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Archive for the ‘My Poems’ Category

salient

At Spotsylvania in ’64,
I fought and somehow lived to fight some more.
I fought near very center of the front –
The Bloody Angle of the salient,
A fingernail that tore, and torrent bled –
From wounded Blue and Gray and from the dead.

The Angle was the likely weakest spot,
Which both sides knew, so armies formed a clot,
With wave and wave of Blue prepared to send,
And Gray entrenched at all costs to defend.
I fought there and its horrors know too well;
Yet you will think it bloody lies I tell.

So massive was the steady charge of Blue,
For twenty hours we could not subdue,
Or stop the penetration of our line
Till Blue and Gray did equally combine
With shots close range and fighting hand to hand –
A horror only Satan could command.

The terror that we had to stay alive
Fueled strength to make the weary strive
Against exhaustion of our flesh and soul
To try and keep our lives, keep body whole,
Not like the thickened oak* that, riddled, fell
By all the bullets flying in our hell.

Rain reigned and trenches softened into mud
Soaked by the falling water, flowing blood.
The mortal blows were given face to face
And wounded fell among them in that place.
Five deep the bodies were, dead or alive,
While we fought on above them to survive.

I sob to tell you of this ghastly day:
The Blue, still charging, and we standing Gray,
Had fought from dawn and still fought toward the night
And trampled dead and wounded out of sight!
Both armies killed men with their hands and feet,
The nightmare that my nightmares still repeat.

I fought there and its horrors know too well;
Yet you will think it bloody lies I tell.

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The battle at the salient was a 200 yard wide stretch.

*Federal fire was so heavy and some over the confederate troops in trenches that an oak tree two feet in diameter was felled by chipping bullets.

https://ironbrigader.com/2014/04/22/union-soldiers-recall-fighting-mule-shoe-salient-spotsylvania-courthouse/

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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ol0Xfew

In centers of cities, there’s often a park;
And there grow the flowers, and there flies the lark.
Oasis it is in the midst of the bare,
The succor of people o’erladen with care.

And often they flee from the concrete and steel
To mountains or valleys, with skis or a reel,
Pursuing relief from the meaningless grind,
In search of a something that gives peace of mind.

The cells they call home, made by man and machine,
They garland with flowers and garnish with green.
Internally driven, unknowing, they quest
For road to return to their root and its rest.

To nature, away from the things made by man,
Is going to God anyway that we can.

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Photo by Hanspeter Klasser at
https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ol0Xfew/Park+scene

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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ply57HE

In midst of isolation, quarantine,
My grass still goes to work and it does thrive.
This morning while I mowed it ere the rain,
To turn around the mail”man” used my drive.
And smiling, I waved, and she waved at me;
Both glad to see another one alive.

In this new world of caution lest we die,
Smoke signals or a distant wave must do
(Replacing handshakes or heartwarming hugs)
For each brave kayak with a lonely crew.
When one’s a Crusoe on his private isle,
His inner strength and God must see him through.

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photo by Kevin Tuck at https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ply57HE/Lofoten+Islands

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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26820041783_a3d947073e_o

A child will sit at window, rue
   The raindrops as they fall.
But when storm clears, he’s fast outdoors,
   Where children have a ball.

Each puddle is a wading pool;
   Each rivulet, a ford.
The world is now a water park,
   With rain and mud adored.

A grownup may be more reserved
   Yet there are those who love
The treasure of the falling rain,
   Like diamonds from above.

They may not frolic in the mud,
   But since they know the pain,
Drought-stricken adults share with child
   The joy of the rain.

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The picture is mine, of rain advancing over the valley down below.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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Mike_Bloomberg

It seems that from the taller trees
Comes presidential timber.
Israel’s first king stood out –
‘Twas Saul, if you remember.

There’s been a run of six foot men
This nation has elected.
If we cannot look up to some,
Those are the ones rejected.

It seems that female chances, then,
Of winning are quite narrow
Since few of them are ostrich tall
And closer to a sparrow.

And same for that short fellow who
Has/spends a lot of money.
If he wore elevator shoes,
His outcome might be sunny.

He might as well go home, recline,
Light cigars with his dollars.
He has to come up taller than
The tall ones’ necks and collars.

As each aspirant’s views are scanned,
Subconsciously we measure
How far into the clouds he stands
To find a redwood treasure.

So looking up to candidates
Is double in its senses.
To come up short in either one
Has highest consequences.

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Mike Bloomberg 5’8″
Elizabeth Warren 5’8″
Bernie Sanders 6’0″
Joe Biden 6’0″
Donald Trump 6’3″

King Saul of Israel – “he was taller than any of the people
from his shoulders upward” (I Sam.10:23)

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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oSnvT84

(with apologies to Joyce Kilmer)

I think that I shall never see
Something that’s not a conspiracy.

One whispered in my hungry ear,
Far more than what things first appear.

A conspiracy to ruin the day,
That only God and I can say.

Woe! Everywhere’s conspiracy,
Beneath each rock and ev’ry tree!

Its evil permeates the air
Like snakes writhe in Medusa’s hair.

Men dream conspiracies for fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

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photo by Michael and Christa Richert
@https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oSnvT84/spider+web

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2020.

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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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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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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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