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Archive for February, 2020

bernie sanders

A Bernie Sanders always runs
And fires his liberal ways and guns
At people who are rich – they’re few.
And Bernie’s good at counting, too.
He knows there are far more of “us”
Who think that taxing them’s a plus.
So if he spreads their wealth around
‘Twixt pollies and the “us” that’s down,
Why, there’s not many millionaires –
So of those fewer votes, who cares?
Not Bernie and the liberal crowd;
They buy the votes so they’re allowed
To rise to power, eat the cream,
And suck the life from our bloodstream
While lifelong pollies they remain
And nation, WE, writhes still in pain.
So Bernie counts the larger vote
While knowing that the “us” won’t note,
While knowing that the “us” can’t count
That those few millionaires about
Can’t possibly bear all the load
That Bernie promised on the road.
If he’s elected, then we’ll see
That Bernie promised lyingly,
Or Bernie gives and follows through
But also taxes me and you!

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https://www.forbes.com/sites/danbigman/2012/04/03/john-stossel-tax-the-rich-the-rich-dont-have-enough-really/#74b876006e7d

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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bloomberg-trump

They’re saying that Bloomberg is lacking
In stature, his shortness attacking.
But better short man
Than shortness of plan
For that, we should all send him packing.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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34359011310_831760b3fd_o

Blue flowers
Make the Old State House
More stately.

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The picture is mine, of the Old State House in Boston, Massachusetts.

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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, 2020.

 

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The prayer of Jabez, too, should be our prayer:
“Keep me from evil, that it may not grieve.”
How hard the sight of wrong and ill to bear,
When we cannot the sufferers relieve!
The child of sorrow, he for others’ woe,
As if it were his own, did deeply feel;
Though he had naught of riches to bestow,
Nor power their wrongs and miseries to heal.
God heard his prayer, and answered his request;
And by his sympathy did help impart
Unto the poor; the suffering, and oppressed,
That healed their wounds and robbed them of their smart;
Nor suffered cruel deeds, nor words unkind,
To grieve his heart, or rankle in his mind.

 

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meT0dZa

The maiden by Count Dracula was bitten
And though lacking much blood she was smitten.
She thought, “What the heck!”
And offered her neck.
Her autobiography’s ghost-written.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

 

 

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circus

Oh! the Circus-Day Parade! How the bugles played and played!
And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes and neighed,
As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer’s time
Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime!

How the grand band-wagon shone with a splendor all its own,
And glittered with a glory that our dreams had never known!
And how the boys behind, high and low of every kind,
Marched in unconscious capture, with a rapture undefined!

How the horsemen, two and two, with their plumes of white and blue
And crimson, gold and purple, nodding by at me and you,
Waved the banners that they bore, as the knights in days of yore,
Till our glad eyes gleamed and glistened like the spangles that they wore!

How the graceless-graceful stride of the elephant was eyed,
And the capers of the little horse that cantered at his side!
How the shambling camels, tame to the plaudits of their fame,
With listless eyes came silent, masticating as they came.

How the cages jolted past, with each wagon battened fast,
And the mystery within it only hinted of at last
From the little grated square in the rear, and nosing there
The snout of some strange animal that sniffed the outer air!

And, last of all, The Clown, making mirth for all the town,
With his lips curved ever upward and his eyebrows ever down,
And his chief attention paid to the little mule that played
A tattoo on the dashboard with his heels, in the Parade.

Oh! the Circus-Day Parade! How the bugles played and played!
And how the glossy horses tossed their flossy manes and neighed,
As the rattle and the rhyme of the tenor-drummer’s time
Filled all the hungry hearts of us with melody sublime!

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I went to thank Her –
But She Slept –
Her Bed – a funneled Stone –
With Nosegays at the Head and Foot –
That Travellers – had thrown –

Who went to thank Her –
But She Slept –
‘Twas Short – to cross the Sea –
To look upon Her like – alive –
But turning back – ’twas slow –

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34583785502_b08fb85f00_o

What is it?
Country club? Estate?
No, motel.

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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, 2020.

 

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My glass shall not persuade me I am old
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time’s furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me.
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I , not for myself, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain:
Thou gav’st me thine, not to give back again.

 

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State of the Union

As of today, impeachment now is PAST! –
One party vows that it will carry on.
One party vows that it will make it last.
As of today, impeachment now is past?
So it is certain how the die is cast.
Or maybe not. I hear the nation groan.
As of today, impeachment must be past.
Both parties vow that they will carry on.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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