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Some humor is not quite as funny.
It’s salty, not sweet as pure honey.
It’s whimsy and wit,
And some laugh a bit
For they find this humor is punny.

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photo by Billy Frank Alexander at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mlKx9Ey/Monkey

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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He said WHAT!!?
Should I have said that?
He said WHAT!!?

I heard wrong?
What do I say now?
It’s awkward.

Should I ask?
That would clear things up.
Oh, I can’t!

Say something!
(Says) “It’s a nice day.”
“Yes, it is.”

Yes, heard wrong.
Whew! Doesn’t seem mad.
(Both) It’s love.

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photo by Chlandra4U (C4U) at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nWF2fie/Love+Owls

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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There once was a lass from Nevada
Whose actions were filled with bravada.
The spelling I know –
It should end in “o”,
But once she whipped Spanish Armada.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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The moon and the sun are providing
This minute a sky that’s exciting.
I’d like to say “howdy”,
But here it’s too cloudy.
So I’m at my desk these lines writing.

I wish, since I can’t see the wonder,
Because the thick clouds will not sunder,
That it would just rain –
Pitter patter my pane.
I’d like to see lightning; hear thunder.

I’ll guess I’ll just wait till the next one.
In two ought three three, there’ll be more fun.
Egads! I’ll be old!
……Oh.
I shouldn’t have told.
……Sigh.
Eclipsed super moon brought admission.

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I did get to see the eclipse. After I had
written the second stanza, I checked the
sky again and the clouds had parted and
there was the red moon in the heavens.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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A little leaning is a dangerous thing
When on the Eiffel Tower.
One leans too far fall summer winter spring,
And it’s his final hour.

A little learning of that dangerous thing
About the Eiffel Tower
May mean that one is ignorant still to cling
When it’s within his power.

Too little learning with a little lean
And dive will not be shallow
Into the Pierian spring. Instead, the scene
A fatal one, they’ll hallow.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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The bird with the beep beep so throaty –
Roadrunner – was chased by coyote.
But speed didn’t match;
He never could catch
That bird with the feet that were floaty. 

We kids were all fed that same story
And so the roadrunner got glory
He didn’t deserve
‘Cause someone with nerve
Made slower the faster – lied sorely.


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A coyote is faster than a roadrunner:
http://10000birds.com/how-fast-can-a-roadrunner-run.htm

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

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I’m traveling now to Las Vegas
With doubts of the saying that’s famous.
It stays there; it’s through,
Is certainly not true
For those who find something contagious. 

I’m traveling now to Las Vegas
With doubts of the saying that’s famous.
It’s certainly not true
None knows what you do:
God watches, remembers; He’ll pay us.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015

 

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The sign says that rocks may be falling.
A pebble,  a stone could come calling.
If those, I’m okay,
But this thought holds sway:
A boulder would be quite appalling!

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photo by Michael and Christa Richerta at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mXP25De/rockfall+traffic+sign
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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Men with, or without glasses,
Are more prone to make passes
At girls who wear glasses
As Happy Hour passes
And they’ve emptied their glasses.

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(with apologies to Dorothy Parker)

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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I don’t know what he saw in her,
Or what she saw in him.
But like the garbage and the trash,
The two became a “them”.

And I’m not saying they weren’t matched,
Or that they ought not pair.
It’s just that neither was a catch,
And neither rich, or fair.

And don’t mistake the last as praise
As faint as Texas fog
At noon on any summer day,
Or faint as hair on frogs.

There are those whom all know excel
In one or many ways.
There are those whom we all can tell
Of something less to praise.

But sometimes we just shake our heads
And cluck-cluck like a hen
At people who are thorough breads –
The heels with naught to win.

At lunch, she bit her nails and spat;
She ate, and picked her nose.
To pick and eat is worse than that –
And that’s the way he chose.

He’d laugh and snort just like a horse;
She’d whinny in reply.
And both were wheezing in due course
As if they both might die.

He’d eat a fruit and toss the peel
Behind him on the floor.
She’d pick them up and make a meal
When he tossed number four.

They were great athletes of a kind.
After the licks and slurps,
They’d reach down deep to see who’d find
The longest, loudest burps.

They both drank beer and bellies grew
Like bubbles blown with gum.
They’d lift their shirts, those zany two,
Laugh, beat them like a drum.

Their teeth were snaggled like a fence
Of broken, rotted boards.
Stains made their mouths both dark and dense –
Tobacco’s chewed rewards.

They made a pretty pair of mates,
A pretty awful pair.
They both were truly heavyweights,
A duo ripe and rare.

We’re glad, that paired, they found their groove.
We owe them greatest thanks.
In marrying, they did remove
Each other from the ranks.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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