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Archive for December, 2018

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Once – fire. Now,
Ring of ice and snow –
Crater Lake.

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The photo is mine of Crater Lake in Oregon.

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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, 2018.

 

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The weather-leech of the topsail shivers,
The bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds slacken,
The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers,
And the waves with the coming squall-cloud blacken.

Open one point on the weather-bow,
Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island Head.
There’s a shade of doubt on the captain’s brow,
And the pilot watches the heaving lead.

I stand at the wheel, and with eager eye
To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze,
Till the muttered order of ‘Full and by!’
Is suddenly changed for ‘Full for stays!’

The ship bends lower before the breeze,
As her broadside fair to the blast she lays;
And she swifter springs to the rising seas,
As the pilot calls, ‘Stand by for stays!’

It is silence all, as each in his place,
With the gathered coil in his hardened hands,
By tack and bowline, by sheet and brace,
Waiting the watchword impatient stands.

And the light on Fire Island Head draws near,
As, trumpet-winged, the pilot’s shout
From his post on the bowsprit’s heel I hear,
With the welcome call of ‘Ready! About!’

No time to spare! It is touch and go;
And the captain growls, ‘Down helm! hard down!’
As my weight on the whirling spokes I throw,
While heaven grows black with the storm-cloud’s frown.

High o’er the knight-heads flies the spray,
As we meet the shock of the plunging sea;
And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay,
As I answer, ‘Ay, ay, sir! Ha-a-rd a-lee!’

With the swerving leap of a startled steed
The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind,
The dangerous shoals on the lee recede,
And the headland white we have left behind.

The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse,
And belly and tug at the groaning cleats;
The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps;
And thunders the order, ‘Tacks and sheets!’

Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp of the crew,
Hisses the rain of the rushing squall:
The sails are aback from clew to clew,
And now is the moment for ‘Mainsail, haul!’

And the heavy yards, like a baby’s toy,
By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung:
She holds her way, and I look with joy
For the first white spray o’er the bulwarks flung.

‘Let go, and haul!’ ‘Tis the last command,
And the head-sails fill to the blast once more:
Astern and to leeward lies the land,
With its breakers white on the shingly shore.

What matters the reef, or the rain, or the squall?
I steady the helm for the open sea;
The first mate clamors, ‘Belay, there, all!’
And the captain’s breath once more comes free.

And so off shore let the good ship fly;
Little care I how the gusts may blow,
In my fo’castle bunk, in a jacket dry.
Eight bells have struck, and my watch is below.

 

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sailor kissing nurse

I would like for all to know
That I love you, love you so.
Can the brightness of the sun
Be concealed from everyone?
Can the waters of the sea
Cease their rolling endlessly?

Chorus:
The world is watching – what the heck!
Wrap your arms around my neck.
Kiss me hard and kiss me long;
The world will sing for us a song.

Tilt your head; I see your eyes
Sparkling like the starry skies.
I fall through them and past your face
In-to your deepest inner space.
There, I’m lost, but also found.
‘Tis wonderful – in love, I’ve drowned.

Chorus:
The world is watching – what the heck!
Wrap your arms around my neck.
Kiss me hard and kiss me long;
The world will sing for us a song.

Lift your lips as mine draw near;
Hold me close and never fear.
I will dry your every tear
From your eyes that I hold dear.
And may we always be like this
Entwined as one and filled with bliss.

Chorus:
The world is watching – what the heck!
Wrap your arms around my neck.
Kiss me hard and kiss me long;
The world will sing for us a song.

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

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A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep!
Like an eagle caged, I pine
On this dull, unchanging shore:
Oh! give me the flashing brine,
The spray and the tempest’s roar!

Once more on the deck I stand
Of my own swift-gliding craft:
Set sail! farewell to the land!
The gale follows fair abaft.
We shoot through the sparkling foam
Like an ocean-bird set free; –
Like the ocean-bird, our home
We’ll find far out on the sea.

The land is no longer in view,
The clouds have begun to frown;
But with a stout vessel and crew,
We’ll say, Let the storm come down!
And the song of our hearts shall be,
While the winds and the waters rave,
A home on the rolling sea!
A life on the ocean wave!

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cover

……………………………(available at Amazon – see link below)

   Psalms and Proverbs are two of the most beloved books in God’s word. We are attracted to the beauty of Psalms because we find very little of man there, and much of God. God’s majesty, holiness, power, and love shine forth:

     Ps.126:3 The Lord has done great things for us.
     Ps.104:1 He is clothed with splendor and majesty.
     Ps.77:13 He is holy and great.
     Ps.136:4 His lovingkindness is everlasting.
     Ps.145:17 God is righteous in all His ways.

The result of contemplating the person, promises, and protection of God is praise by the psalmist and praise by us believers who read the Psalms.

   Proverbs is loved for another reason – the wisdom of God in its pages to guide our daily lives. God’s instructions are presented in vivid ways that sink into our hearts. We find His wisdom about anger, faithfulness, laziness, discipline, counselors, knowledge, and much more. 

   My poems of these two books provide, as much as possible, the message of God in a new way, and a memorable way.   They will cause the reader to slow down and contemplate God’s thoughts as if he were reading them for the first time. One will hopefully draw nearer to God by meditating upon Him and His word and that will make these poems worthwhile.

The book makes a wonderful gift to others who love God’s word.

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link to the book at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/172863461X

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From one bridge
To another one
In the fall.

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The photo is mine, taken from the Worrall Covered Bridge
near Rockingham, Vermont.

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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, 2018.

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‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house  
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;  
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,  
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;  
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;  
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,  
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,  
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,  
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,  
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.  
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow  
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,  
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,  
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,  
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.  
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,  
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!  
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!  
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!  
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”  
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;  
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,  
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.  
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof  
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,  
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.  
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,  
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;  
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.  
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!  
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!  
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow  
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,  
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;  
He had a broad face and a little round belly,  
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.  
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;  
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,  
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;  
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,  
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,  
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;  
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,  
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,  
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

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2dzzxWE


There was an uproar many years ago
O’er Florida, about a suicide.
For days, e’en weeks, the news did overflow,
And was the focus, like all weddings – bride. 

The death of one poor soul is tragic, sure,
But this did all the nation fascinate.
We wondered: how much more can we endure –
The days, the hordes sent to investigate. 

We stirred into a swarm of frenzied bees;
It split us into halves – some mad, rest glad,
And etched a phrase into our memories
Of one who died, and how – the hanging Chad.

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Photo is by Steve Woods at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dzzxWE/Vote

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

 

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Others abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask—Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill,
Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty,

Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,
Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,
Spares but the cloudy border of his base
To the foil’d searching of mortality;

And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know,
Self-school’d, self-scann’d, self-honour’d, self-secure,
Didst tread on earth unguess’d at.—Better so!

All pains the immortal spirit must endure,
All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow,
Find their sole speech in that victorious brow.

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Now headless.
She was boiling mad,
Blew her top.

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The picture is mine, of Mt. Lassen in northern California.

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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, 2018.

 

 

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