You’ve Seen Balloons Set – by Emily Dickinson

You’ve seen Balloons set – Haven’t You?
So stately they ascend –
It is as Swans – discarded You,
For Duties Diamond – 

Their Liquid Feet go softly out
Upon a Sea of Blonde –
They spurn the Air as ’twere too mean
For Creatures so renowned – 

Their Ribbons just beyond the eye –
They struggle – some – for Breath –
And yet the Crowd applaud, below –
They would not encore – Death – 

The Gilded Creature strains – and spins –
Trips frantic in a Tree –
Tears open her imperial Veins –
And tumbles in the Sea – 

The crowd – retire with an Oath –
The Dust in Streets – go down –
And Clerks in Counting Rooms
Observe – “‘Twas only a Balloon” –

 

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Fields Of Golden Wheat by Dennis Allen Lange

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On summer days when it is still and steaming,
The scene is but a colored canvas seeming.
But if the wind walks through, the gold in motion
Becomes a sailor’s dream, the rolling ocean.

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photo by Kevin Tuck at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgGaND4/Summer+storm

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

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Forget Thee? by John Moultrie

“Forget thee?” If to dream by night and muse on thee by day,
If all the worship deep and wild a poet’s heart can pay,
If prayers in absence breathed for thee to Heaven’s protecting power,
If winged thoughts that flit to thee – a thousand in an hour –
If busy fancy blending thee with all my future lot –
If this thou call’st “forgetting,” thou, indeed, shall be forgot! 

“Forget thee?” Bid the forest-birds forget their sweetest tune;
“Forget thee?” Bid the sea forget to swell beneath the moon;
Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve’s refreshing dew;
Thyself forget thine own “dear land,” and its “mountains wild and blue.”
Forget each old familiar face, each long-remember’d spot –
When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt be forgot! 

Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still calm and fancy-free,
For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow less glad for me;
Yet, while that heart is still unwon, oh! bid not mine to rove,
But let it nurse its humble faith and uncomplaining love;
If these, preserved for patient years, at last avail me not,
Forget me then; but ne’er believe that thou canst be forgot!

 

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Don’t Tread Or Burn – haiku by Dennis Allen Lange

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Love freedom?
Love America.
Love its flag.

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photo by Billy Frank Alexander at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meMFjkc/America+3

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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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Horse Sense – anonymous

A horse can’t pull while kicking.
…This fact I merely mention.
And he can’t kick while pulling,
…Which is my chief contention. 

Let’s imitate the good old horse
…And lead a life that’s fitting;
Just pull an honest load, and then
…There’ll be no time for kicking.

 

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Liberal Bridge Is Falling Down by Dennis Allen Lange

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Where once they were panting and drooling,
The bridge love of liberals is cooling.
…They can’t bear the word
…That they’ve always heard
Since Donald’s the big Trump that’s ruling.

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photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhiqCTa/Old+man%27s+hand

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

 

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How To Be Happy – anonymous

Are you almost disgusted with life, little man?
…I’ll tell you a wonderful trick
That will bring you contentment, if anything can,
…Do something for somebody, quick! 

Are you awfully tired with play, little girl?
…Wearied, discouraged, and sick –
I’ll tell you the loveliest game in the world,
…Do something for somebody, quick! 

Though it rains, like the rain of the flood, little man,
…And the clouds are forbidding and thick,
You can make the sun shine in your soul, little man,
…Do something for somebody, quick! 

Though the stars are like brass overhead, little girl,
…And the walks like a well-heated brick,
And our earthly affairs in a terrible whirl,
…Do something for somebody, quick!

 

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Telegraph Me – haiku by Dennis Allen Lange

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The old way
For a teen to send
Text message.

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photo by Miguel Saavedra at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/1mUxSG/Telegraph+2

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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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Don’t Quit – anonymous

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must – but don’t you quit. 

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow –
You might succeed with another blow. 

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out –
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt –
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit –
It’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit.

 

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The Wick Has Burned Down To The Wax by Dennis Allen Lange

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The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The yellow flame’s flicker is weak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The toil of the day takes its toll and it wracks
The candle and man till life’s bleak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

The slope of sleep’s soothing sweet tunnel attracts,
Though Day clutches man with its beak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The cares of tomorrow add to the mind’s tax.
One wrestles, it seems, for a week.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

Oh! for a pinch to the flame to relax
The light-load; bring rest that we seek!
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The sandman has tried, but his sand supply lacks.
The sheep flock? – the worry wolves wreak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.

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photo by Camilla Hviid at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/puzT8WQ/Nothern+Coziness

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

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