Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for September, 2018

nMPzAP0

Katrina, tsunami, quakes, and wind
What more terrors will the great God send?
Trumpets that warn us; thunders that rumble
Wrath storms from heaven cause kingdoms to crumble. 

We’re mockers; we’re scoffers when told to “Repent”,
Yet woes and the warnings – both heaven sent.
But bad as they were, the worst is now nearing
Unless we start heeding and turn to God – fearing.

———————————————————————————–

Unless this nation repents and stops abortion murders of
the unborn (2500 per day), God will destroy us.   More
information is at my website: MineNotTheNine.com

———————————————————————————-

Photo by Dez Pain at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nMPzAP0/Forked+Lightning

———————————————————————————-

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

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

I dreaded that first Robin so,
But He is mastered, now,
I’m some accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though – 

I thought if I could only live
Till that first Shout got by –
Not all Pianos in the woods
Had power to mangle me – 

I dared not meet the Daffodils –
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own – 

I wished the Grass would hurry –
So – when ’twas time to see –
He’d be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch – to look at me – 

I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they’d stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
What word had they, for me? 

They’re here, though; not a creature failed –
No Blossom stayed away
In gentle deference to me –
The Queen of Calvary – 

Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking Drums –

 

Read Full Post »

o5Qx1di


The righteous man escapes much trouble,

But wicked men receive it double.  (Proverbs 12:21)

——————————————————————–

I’ve written all of Psalms and Proverbs in poetry that
rhymes and has rhythm.  I’m in the process of having
the book published before Christmas.  If you are
interested, let me know in the comments.

———————————————————————-

Photo by Billy Frank Alexander at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/o5Qx1di/Proverbs+Banner

———————————————————————-

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

 

Read Full Post »

35234607764_de99dee939_o

Names we know
Once walked in these halls –
Jay, Fish, Hughes….

——————————————–

The photo is mine, of the capitol building of New York in Albany.

——————————————–

* 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.

Read Full Post »

……When Age comes on! –
The deepening dusk is where the dawn
Once glittered splendid, and the dew,
In honey-drips from red rose-lips,
Was kissed away by me and you. –
And now across the frosty lawn
Black footprints trail, and Age comes on –
……And Age comes on!
And biting wild-winds whistle through
Our tattered hopes – and Age comes on!
……When Age comes on! –
O tide of raptures, long withdrawn,
Flow back in summer floods, and fling
Here at our feet our childhood sweet,
And all the songs we used to sing! …
Old loves, old friends – all dead and gone –
Our old faith lost – and Age comes on –
……And Age comes on!
Poor hearts! have we not anything
But longings left when Age comes on?

 

Read Full Post »

mg1TTLu


(please read the note after the poem after reading the poem)

1,2 Behold, as the eyes of a servant
…..To the hand of their master they glance;
…..Behold, as the eyes of a maiden
…..To the hand of her mistress advance –
…..So, too, do my eyes as I worship
…..Look to God in grand heaven’s expanse.
 

3,4 Be gracious, O Lord, do be gracious,
…..For we bear much contempt from the proud.
…..At ease, they are brazen in scoffing;
…..The sound of rude mocking is loud.
…..In judgment, O Lord, be forthcoming;
…..And ride, swift to save, as You’ve vowed.

—————————————————–

I am in the process of publishing my poems in rhyme and rhythm
of all of God’s Psalms and Proverbs.  I hope to have it finished in
time for Christmas.  I think they would make great gifts for those who
love those two books in the Bible.  Let me know if you’re interested.

————————————————————————-

Photo by Bill Davenport at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mg1TTLu/The+Living+Word

————————————————————————-

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

Read Full Post »

I stood at eve, as the sun went down, by a grave where a woman lies,
Who lured men’s souls to the shores of sin with the light of her wanton eyes;
Who sang the song that the Siren sang on the treacherous Lurley height,
Whose face was as fair as a summer day, and whose heart was as black as night.

Yet a blossom I fain would pluck today from the garden above her dust –
Not the languorous lily of soulless sin, nor the blood-red rose of lust,
But a pure white blossom of holy love that grew in the one green spot
In the arid desert of Phryne’s life, where all was parched and hot.

In the summer, when the meadows were aglow with blue and red,
Joe, the hostler of the ‘Magpie,” and fair Annie Smith were wed.
Plump was Annie, plump and pretty, with cheek as white as snow;
He was anything but handsome, was the “Magpie” hostler, Joe.

But be won the winsome lassie. They’d a cottage and a cow;
And her matronhood sat lightly on the village beauty’s brow.
Sped the months and came a baby-such a blue-eyed baby boy;
Joe was working in the stables when they told him of his joy.

He was rubbing down the horses, and he gave them then and there
All a special feed of clover, just in honor of the heir.
It had been his great ambition, and he told the horses so,
That the Fates would send a baby who might bear the name of Joe.

Little Joe the child was christened, and, like babies, grew apace,
He’d his mother’s eyes of azure and his father’s honest face.
Swift the happy years went over, years of blue and cloudless sky,
Love was lord of that small cottage, and the tempest passed them by.

Passed them by for years, then swiftly burst in fury o’er their home.
Down the lane by Annie’s cottage chanced a gentleman to roam;
Thrice he came and saw her sitting by the window with her child,
And he nodded to the baby, and the baby laughed and smiled.

So at last it grew to know him-little Joe was nearly four-
He would call the “pretty gemlum’ as he passed the open door,
And one day he ran and caught him, and in child’s play pulled him in,
And the baby Joe had prayed for brought about the mother’s sin.

‘Twas the same old wretched story that for ages bards had sung,
‘Twas a woman weak and wanton, and a villain’s tempting tongue;
‘Twas a picture deftly painted for a silly creature’s eyes
Of the Babylonian wonders, and the joy that in them lies.

Annie listened and was tempted-she was tempted and she fell,
As the angel fell from heaven to the blackest depths of hell;
She was promised wealth and splendour, and a life of guilty sloth,
Yellow gold for child and husband-and the woman left them both.

Home one eve came Joe the hostler, with a cheery cry of “Wife!”
Finding that which blurred forever all the story of his life.
She had left a silly letter, — through the cruel scrawl he spelt;
Then he sought his lonely bedroom, joined his horny hands, and knelt.

“Now, 0 Lord, 0 God, forgive her, for she ain’t to blame,” he cried;
“For I owt to seen her trouble, and ‘a’ gone away and died.
Why, a wench like her-God bless her! ’twasn’t likely as her’d rest
With that bonnie head forever on a hostler’s rugged breast.”

“It was kind of her to bear me all this long and happy time;
So, for my sake please to bless her, though you count her deed a crime-,
If so be I don’t pray proper, Lord, forgive me; for you see
I can talk all right to ‘osses; but I’m nervouslike with Thee.”

Ne’er a line came to the cottage, from the woman who had flown;
Joe, the baby, died that winter, and the man was left alone.
Ne’er a bitter word he uttered, but in silence kissed the rod,
Saving what he told the horses-saving what he told his God.

Far away, in mighty London, rose the woman into fame,
For her beauty won men’s homage, and she prospered in her shame.
Quick from lord to lord she flitted, higher still each prize she won,
And her rivals paled beside her, as the stars beside the sun.

Next she trod the stage half naked, and she dragged a temple down
To the level of a market for the women of the town.
And the kisses she had given to poor hostler Joe for naught
With their gold and priceless jewels rich and titled rou’es bought.

Went the years with flying footsteps while her star was at its height,
Then the darkness came on swiftly, and the gloaming turned to night.
Shattered strength and faded beauty tore the laurels from her brow;
Of the thousands who had worshipped never one came near her now.

Broken down in health and fortune, men forgot her very name,
Till the news that she was dying woke the echoes of her fame;
And the papers, in their gossip, mentioned how an actress lay
Sick to death in humble lodgings, growing weaker every day.

One there was who read the story in a far-off country place,
And that night the dying woman woke and looked upon his face.
Once again the strong arms clasped her that had clasped her years ago,
And the weary head lay pillowed on the breast of hostler Joe.

All the past had he forgiven, all the sorrow and the shame;
He had found her sick and lonely, and his wife he now could claim,
Since the grand folks who had known her, one and all, had slunk away,
He could clasp his long-lost darling, and no man would say him nay.

In his arms death found her lying, in his arms her spirit fled;
And his tears came down in torrents as he knelt beside her dead.
Never once his love had faltered, through her base, unhallowed life,
And the stone above her ashes bears the honored name of wife.

That’s the blossom I fain would pluck today, from the garden above her dust;
Not the languorous lily of soulless sin, nor the blood-red rose of lust;
But a sweet white blossom of holy love, that grew in the one green spot
In the arid desert of Phryne’s life, where all was parched and hot.

Read Full Post »

38126178071_88fbec4fc0_o

By my road
Was the river road
Paved with leaves.

——————–

The photo is mine, taken in 2017 during a trip to the Northeast to see the fall foliage.

——————–

* 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.

Read Full Post »

I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea,
And oh! it was all laden
With pretty things for thee! 

There were comfits in the cabin,
And apples in the hold;
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were made of gold. 

The four-and-twenty sailors
That stood between the decks
Were four-and-twenty white mice,
With chains about their necks. 

The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back,
And when the ship began to move,
The captain said, “Quack! Quack!”

 

Read Full Post »

kfc

There once was a man from Kentucky,
Whose fortune was made by the clucky
(Chickens, that is);
The recipe his,
Sans feathers, it made him quite plucky.

—————————————————————-

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

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »