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Archive for June, 2018

nIQBMmg

End Road Work.
It seems it’s a lie.
It goes on.

— 

End Road Work!
We all command it –
Our desire.

— 

End Road Work?
No, we all know it’s
Eternal.

——————–

photo by Robert Linder at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nIQBMmg/Construction

—————————–

* 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, 2018.

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Supinely we lie in the grove’s shady greenery,
Gazing, all dreamy-eyed, up through the trees, –
And as to the sight is the heavenly scenery,
So to the hearing the sigh of the breeze. 

We catch but vague rifts of the blue through the wavering
Boughs of the maples; and, alike undefined,
The whispers and lisps of the leaves, faint and quavering,
Meaningless falter and fall on the mind. 

The vine, with its beauty of blossom, goes rioting
Up by the casement, as sweet to the eye
As the trill of the robin is restful and quieting
Heard in a drowse with the dawn in the sky. 

And yet we yearn on to learn more of the mystery –
We see and we hear, but forever remain
Mute, blind and deaf to the ultimate history
Born of a rose or a patter of rain.

 

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sherman

(General William Tecumseh Sherman)


Some thought that Sherman was insane
In early days of war.
Though at the end most didn’t, while
Atlanta thought it more. 

He mused, when he in triumph stood
Before a nation, glad,
“I stayed by Grant when he was drunk,
And he while I was mad.” 

They thought he’d make a president,
A leader, great, of men.
He said, “I’d rather choose instead
Locked four years in the pen.” 

Most likely, he was crazy then,
Just crazy like a fox,
To not let people lock him in
A presidential box.

—————————————-

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

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The merry World did on a day
With his train-bands and mates agree
To meet together, where I lay,
And all in sport to jeer at me. 

First, Beauty crept into a rose,
Which when I plucked not, “Sir,” said she,
“Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those?” –
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Then Money came, and clinking still,
“What tune is this, poor man?” said he:
“I heard in Music you had skill.”
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
 

Then came brave Glory puffing by
In silks that whistled – who but he?
He scarce allowed me half an eye –
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Then came quick Wit and Conversation,
And he would needs a comfort be,
And, to be short, make an oration –
But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Yet when the hour of Thy design
To answer these fine things shall come,
Speak not at large, say, I am Thine,
And then they have the answer home.

 

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lamesa

Lamesa

La-may-suh –
Spanish. Now, Texan –
La-meese-uh.

——————–

gruene

Gruene

Groon? Groon-ee?
Just think of color
And say “Green”.

———————

* 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, 2018.

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Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me:
……The smiles, the tears
……Of boyhood’s years,
The words of love then spoken;
……The eyes that shone,
……Now dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

When I remember all
The friends, so linked together,
I’ve seen around me fall
Like leaves in wintry weather,
……I feel like one
……Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
……Whose lights are fled,
……Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber’s chain has bound me.
Sad Memory brings the light
,,,Of other days around me. 

 

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IMG_9709

The sky is full of clouds today,
White puffs wreathed ’round with blue.
Not one seems bigger than my fist
From my long distance view. 

In each, or all combined, there is
The possibility
That from their present laziness
Might come utility. 

A cloud can grow or clouds can clump,
And rain may start to fall.
There is potential, then, in clouds
That they might bless us all. 

Life, too, is like the pregnant sky,
And this truth one must seize:
Each day’s a treasure chest, and full
Of possibilities.

—————————————-

© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

 

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Wrinkles are no more or no less
Than beauty turned to sourness.

 

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nqjS3K6

I see it!
Finally! Do you
See the wind?

——————–

photo by Michael and Christa Richert at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nqjS3K6/windsock

——————–

* 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, 2018.

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Shall I wasting in despair
Die because a woman’s fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
‘Cause another’s rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow’ry meads in May—
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined
‘Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joinèd with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle dove or pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman’s virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her merits’ value known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of Best;
If she seem not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

‘Cause her fortune seems too high
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do
That without them dare to woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne’er the more despair:
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

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