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Archive for April, 2017

oLoCFEM

I’m passing,
From my failing hands,
A light job.

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photo by Johnny Berg at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oLoCFEM/Harbour+entering+lamp+-+HDR

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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A stranger came one night to Yussouf’s tent,
Saying, “Behold one outcast and in dread,
Against whose life the bow of power is bent,
Who flies, and hath not where to lay his head;
I come to thee for shelter and for food,
To Yussouf, called through all our tribes “The Good.'”

“This tent is mine,” said Yussouf, “but no more
Than it is God’s ; come in, and be at peace;
Freely shalt thou partake of all my store
As I of His who buildeth over these
Our tents his glorious roof of night and day,
And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay.”

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night,
And, waking him ere day, said: “Here is gold;
My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight;
Depart before the prying day grow bold.”
As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness.

That inward light the stranger’s face made grand,
Which shines from all self-conquest; kneeling low,
He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf’s hand,
Sobbing: “O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so;
I will repay thee; all this thou hast done
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son!”

“Take thrice the gold,” said Yussouf, “for with thee
Into the desert, never to return,
My one black thought shall ride away from me;
First-born, for whom by day and night I yearn,
Balanced and just are all of God’s decrees;
Thee art avenged my first-born, sleep in peace!”

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nrnowLm

A single parent family’s a chore –
A lonely sole without an absent mate.
It is a rowboat with a single oar.

God saw that one was in great need of more,
That only one had too much on his plate.
A single parent family’s a chore.

The single parent strives to reach the shore.
The burden borne’s an overwhelming weight.
She/He’s a rowboat with a single oar.

When laden, there is none to ope the door;
For another’s help, the one can’t wait.
A single parent family’s a chore.

There’s none to comfort when the muscle’s sore
From single ‘gainst the doubled current’s rate.
She/He’s a rowboat with a single oar.

There is no second for esprit de corps;
Entirely in the hands of one’s their fate.
A single parent family’s a chore.
It is a rowboat with a single oar.

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*The spelling in line 2 is deliberate.

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photo by Bern Altman at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nrnowLm/Weathered+Rowboat

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls
That they might answer him – And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,  – with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause
Of silence such as baffled his best skill:
Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village-school;
And through that churchyard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe that there
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute – looking at the grave in which he lies!

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Maxine

In minutes, these were seen (near back to back):
That Maxine Waters would remain on track
And fight the Donald till he was impeached.
And second, near consensus has been reached –
That Murdercrats, her party’s out of touch.
I’m thanking her, the protests, and all such!

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http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/maxine-waters-i-will-fight-every-day-until-trump-is-impeached/article/2620386

http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/video/abc-news-poll-shows-67-percent-americans-democratic-46967202

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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miym1ri

Valued things
Must be safe, secure.
Is your life?

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photo by Dan Shirley at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/miym1ri/padlock

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

——————–

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Departed – to the Judgment –
A Mighty Afternoon –
Great Clouds – like Ushers – leaning –
Creation – looking on –

The Flesh – Surrendered – Cancelled –
The Bodiless – begun –
Two Worlds – like Audiences – disperse –
And leave the Soul – alone –

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mlCuLUm

The donut’s a puzzle to me;
The hole has not one calorie.
I should then be able to eat
A hundred or more of that treat.

A hundred times zero is NONE!
It should be that eating’s just fun,
A feast that is purely for taste.
But still they all go to my waist.

It could be the problem’s my rule –
Examine with care my sweet jewel:
I don’t think I’ve eaten the hole
Until I have eaten the whole.

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photo by Michael Lorenzo at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mlCuLUm/doughnut

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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(as told to a child)

As I went out, a Crow
In a low voice said, “Oh,
I was looking for you.
How do you do?
I just came to tell you
To tell Lesley (will you?)
That her little Bluebird
Wanted me to bring word
That the north wind last night
That made the stars bright
And made ice on the trough
Almost made him cough
His tail feathers off.
He just had to fly!
But he sent her Good-by,
And said to be good,
And wear her red hood,
And look for skunk tracks
In the snow with an ax –
And do everything!
And perhaps in the spring
He would come back and sing.”

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pbBdSf6

Together
On a single neck –
Flamingos.

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photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/pbBdSf6/rain+on+tropical+flowers9

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/
——————–

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

Read Full Post »

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