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Archive for the ‘My Poems’ Category

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.

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

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stop abortion now


That party should ever lie fallow;
Let’s bury them deep and not shallow.
Deserving, it dies
For murder it plies.
And may we its grave never hallow.

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Voting for Murdercrats makes one an accessory to the 2500
abortion murders that occur in this nation each day.

https://www.minenotthenine.com/2017/03/

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

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2dRXURt

Two Smiths they were, and Mrs. both:
A matriarch was one;
The other was the welcomed lass
Who wed the loving son. 

The latter made him happy and
The two were closely knit.
The matriarch walked easily with
The new shoe that still fit. 

The younger Mrs. Smith gave birth
And bore a son, an heir
That now would carry on the name
Both common and so rare. 

All – father, son, and newborn male
Were each one of a kind,
Like lonely roads that lead one way
Into an end that’s blind. 

The father’s father passed away;
The matriarch alone
Was left to head the family,
Be hostess, and its tone. 

And so, for all the holidays,
And some days in between,
The little family met as one –
A small tree that was green. 

The Third grew up and left the nest,
But flew oft to return
Eventually with his own mate,
A Mrs. Smith in turn. 

Then, inexplicably to all,
The middle Mrs. Smith
Had an affair, exploding trust
In all her kin and kith. 

But junior Mr. Smith, with love,
Took back his wayward mate
Who sorrowed much o’er what she’d done
To bring this fallen state. 

And taped together with resolve,
Repentance, and regret,
The pair and married son and wife
Were a close unit yet. 

But Christmases were not the same.
Though bells were bright and bold.
And frozen rain ne’er ruined the roads –
The matriarch was cold. 

No phone calls stitched the time between;
No post cards in the mail,
No message relayed through the son
To the abandoned jail. 

Next Christmas came, and she stayed home,
Forgiven and yet not.
The Third, next Christmas, and his wife,
Joined in her lonely lot. 

Soon Junior, too, would travel less
Since he would be alone.
His link then to the matriarch –
A single thread, a phone. 

And thus the family fell apart
And could not ever mend,
The fragile fabric torn to shreds
By Mrs. Smith who sinned.

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photo by Billy Frank Alexander at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRXURt/Torn+4

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

 

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electric chair


It’s said that punishment should fit the crime:
On bloody hand, slide on a glove to match.
The worse the act, the longer is the time;
The lesser only needs a little patch. 

At crimes that shock our sensibilities,
We shy as if the shadow is too dark.
We would not bash a head or break both knees;
The monster gets a minnow, not a shark. 

And thus, they pay a paler punishment,
Escaping sharper knife for one’s that’s dull.
They suffer less than savaged innocent,
Since we won’t mete what’s cruel, unusual. 

Some criminals should die by slow degree,
Unless a monster’s made of you and me.

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

 

 

 

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earth


In orbit ’round Sun, Earth is curling,
While top-like on axis it’s whirling.
Hold on to your seat!
,,,There’s more to the feat,
For farther through space we are hurling!

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

 

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murdercrats

(In the U.S. 60,000,000 unborn babies have been murdered by abortion since 1973.)

I say you have the Nazi mind,
And in that I am not unkind.
‘Tis you with baby butcher knives
Who sanction doctors taking lives.

You think that women get to choose
If they should kill their baby Jews.
To you it matters not the why –
That selfishness will make them die.

Why can’t you see the wicked swing
Twixt mothering and murdering?
How hardened is your concrete heart
That in the slaughter you take part!

I say you have the Nazi mind,
And in that I am not unkind.
I’m sure your friends think you’re quite swell
But murderers will go to hell.

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The book is available at Amazon.

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

 

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Fort Fisher


Ben Butler called Fisher too solid.
Grant fired him, which Ben thought was squalid.
He showed a committee
His proof, wanting pity.
They listened, their faces all stolid.

But news came, and streets filled with cheering.
Fort Fisher had fallen; the hearing
Was filled with great laughter
Which Butler joined after,
Concluding that Ord was unfearing.

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After the Union’s General Benjamin Butler was removed by Grant and replaced by Ord, Butler went before a Congressional Committee to plead his case. In the midst of that hearing, while Butler was explaining with charts and graphs and maps that Fort Fisher was impregnable, newspaper boys began shouting the headline that Fort Fisher had fallen and cheering began in the street. “Impossible!” was Butler’s first response but a message was soon sent into the room confirming it. Laughter spread through the room and Butler finally joined in. He concluded with, “Thank God for victory.”

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Another poem of mine about Fort Fisher:
https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2017/03/30/fort-fisher-sounds-by-dennis-allen-lange/

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

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aborted baby

(thoughts of the one who supports abortion murder)

None else should on another body bind.
Don’t take from women their nice right to choose.
I have a noble mind and think that kind.

It’s not for me. But with them I’m aligned.
It is her body save for that she’ll bruise.
None else should on another body bind.

A woman’s life should not be so confined
That what she wants for self she then would lose.
I have a noble mind and think that kind.

My sense of right and wrong is not assigned
To those bent on assigning death’s dark hues.
None else should on another body bind.

Her life, if not, would be a horrid grind.
So rip and tear the little baby shoes.
I have a noble mind and think that kind.

To all except the woman, I am blind
To think of other lives would just confuse.
None else should on another body bind.
I have a noble mind and think I’m kind.

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

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sherman

(General William Tecumseh Sherman)


Some thought that Sherman was insane
In early days of war.
Though at the end most didn’t, while
Atlanta thought it more. 

He mused, when he in triumph stood
Before a nation, glad,
“I stayed by Grant when he was drunk,
And he while I was mad.” 

They thought he’d make a president,
A leader, great, of men.
He said, “I’d rather choose instead
Locked four years in the pen.” 

Most likely, he was crazy then,
Just crazy like a fox,
To not let people lock him in
A presidential box.

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

 

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IMG_9709

The sky is full of clouds today,
White puffs wreathed ’round with blue.
Not one seems bigger than my fist
From my long distance view. 

In each, or all combined, there is
The possibility
That from their present laziness
Might come utility. 

A cloud can grow or clouds can clump,
And rain may start to fall.
There is potential, then, in clouds
That they might bless us all. 

Life, too, is like the pregnant sky,
And this truth one must seize:
Each day’s a treasure chest, and full
Of possibilities.

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

 

 

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