I Wouldn’t – haiku by Dennis Allen Lange

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Wooden witch –
I wooden want her
As neighbor.

—

The witch called,
“Here, kitty kitty.”
Wooden come.

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photo by Michael & Christa Richert at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfjNVtY/witch+figurine

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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, 2019.

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Mary Wollstonecraft And Fuseli by Robert Browning

O but is it not hard, Dear?
Mine are the nerves to quake at a mouse:
If a spider drops I shrink with fear:
I should die outright in a haunted house;
While for you—did the danger dared bring help—
From a lion’s den I could steal his whelp,
With a serpent round me, stand stock-still,
Go sleep in a churchyard,—so would will
Give me the power to dare and do
Valiantly—just for you!

Much amiss in the head, Dear,
I toil at a language, tax my brain
Attempting to draw—the scratches here!
I play, play, practise and all in vain:
But for you—if my triumph brought you pride,
I would grapple with Greek Plays till I died,
Paint a portrait of you—who can tell?
Work my fingers off for your “Pretty well:”
Language and painting and music too,
Easily done—for you!

Strong and fierce in the heart, Dear,
With—more than a will—what seems a power
To pounce on my prey, love outbroke here
In flame devouring and to devour.
Such love has laboured its best and worst
To win me a lover; yet, last as first,
I have not quickened his pulse one beat,
Fixed a moment’s fancy, bitter or sweet:
Yet the strong fierce heart’s love’s labour’s due,
Utterly lost, was—you!

 

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Sonnet 62 – Death Perches Near by Dennis Allen Lange

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Since life is but a mist that burns away,
A blossom that delights a day, then goes.
And since the barn’s ablaze and we are hay,
The condor e’er awaits because it knows.

We’re helpless ‘fore the ever watching eyes;
Each is exposed as in the noonday sun
One’s shadow clings no matter how he tries –
Appointment in Samarra – none can run.

Death perches near to pluck our bodies bare,
Bereft of life as idols are of gods.
The sword of Damocles hangs by a hair;
Grim Reaper, with his scythe, fore’er marauds.

Death’s always hanging over each of us;
Its touch before is slight, then ponderous.

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photo by Elvis Santana at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oosvh1O/california+condor+2

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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My Star by Robert Browning

All, that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!
Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled:
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.

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NOW They’re Okay – haiku by Dennis Allen Lange

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Proud of pounds –
The renowned round mound:
Pregnancy.

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photo by Gabriella Fabbri at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mtJN2xi/Waiting+a+baby

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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, 2019.

 

 

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The Prisoner by Emily Bronte

(a fragment)

In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray,
Reckless of the lives wasting there away;
“Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!”
He dared not say me nay—the hinges harshly turn.

“Our guests are darkly lodged,” I whisper’d, gazing through
The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue;
(This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;)
“Ay, darkly lodged enough!” returned my sullen guide.

Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;
I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung:
“Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear,
That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?”

The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild
As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean’d child;
It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair,
Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;
“I have been struck,” she said, “and I am suffering now;
Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong;
And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long.”

Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: “Shall I be won to hear;
Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer?
Or, better still, wilt melt my master’s heart with groans?
Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

“My master’s voice is low, his aspect bland and kind,
But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind;
And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see
Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me.”

About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,
“My friend,” she gently said, “you have not heard me mourn;
When you my kindred’s lives, MY lost life, can restore,
Then may I weep and sue,—but never, friend, before!

“Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear
Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair;
A messenger of Hope comes every night to me,
And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

“He comes with western winds, with evening’s wandering airs,
With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars.
Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire,
And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.

“Desire for nothing known in my maturer years,
When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears.
When, if my spirit’s sky was full of flashes warm,
I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm.

“But, first, a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony,
That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.

“Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals;
My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels:
Its wings are almost free—its home, its harbour found,
Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound,

“Oh I dreadful is the check—intense the agony—
When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;
When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again;
The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.

“Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less;
The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;
And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,
If it but herald death, the vision is divine!”

She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go—
We had no further power to work the captive woe:
Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given
A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven.

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From Me To Thee by Dennis Allen Lange

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I remember, I remember
…The seat we shared and when,
And watched the world go racing by
…And racing by again.
It mattered not how fast it ran,
…How rough turned out the ride
On rocket ship or Rattler,
…When we were side by side.

I remember, I remember
…When you came to my door.
And searched me out till I was found,
…Like treasure one hunts for.
I love you for the worth you gave
…To my life in that quest,
That out of all the others there,
…That you loved me the best.

I remember, I remember
…The moment that I knew,
When we met within the halls,
…I was in love with you.
Without a thought of where we were,
…I started to reach out
And wrap you up inside my arms,
…But others were about.

I remember, I remember
…A very special place,
Where I so gently raised your chin;
…And then a warm embrace.
There, I was lost as man can be
…Within your whirlpool eyes,
And magic of your gentle touch,
…The wonder of your sighs.

I remember, I remember
…The secrets that we shared,
A knowing wink across the room
…That showed each of us cared.
And when someone came in our space,
…And broke the fragile bond,
We sighed for our own loneliness
…And wished that he were gone.

I remember, I remember
…The stories that you told
Of your life, trusting it to me
…To have, and safely hold.
And in those tales, I heard of one
…Who sought an inner peace,
And found some ways that did not work
…And vowed that they would cease.

I remember, I remember
…The things that did not last,
That aren’t now flesh, but fingerprints
…That mark what is the past.
Those are the things that are no more;
…And mourn for them I must.
The only thing that keeps me sane,
…And this alone I trust –

That I’ll remember; I’ll remember.

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photo by Dez Pain at https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nWWdhGs/Valentine+Cats+4

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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