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Archive for the ‘My Poems’ Category

nofeuL4

The ice cream is before me in the bowl
And suddenly my spoon is far too small.
I need a shovel so to eat it whole
(My Tongue’s the one who makes this urgent call).

Surrendering to it with eager Eyes,
I take a bite and quickly make it two,
And then a third, exulting in the prize
That’s sweet and melts, so I don’t have to chew.

Almost as quick as pleasure is the pain
As though my forehead rammed into a wall,
As though the ice cream climbed into my Brain
Not like the normal foods that take a fall.

The Brain says, “Stop!” The Tongue says to the Hand,
“I want some more.  Now shovel even faster!”
And Hand says, caught between the two commands,
“Who do I listen to?  Who is the master?”

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photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nofeuL4/chocolate+icecream+indulgence2

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

 

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quantrill

When William Quantrill, in the Civil War,
Led his gray troops, like swarming ants, in raid
On Lawrence, citizens died by the score –
Unarmed.  A battle, or just vengeance paid?

John Morgan, likewise, was a Southern pride;
But to the North, his acts were piracy.
His men would conquer, taking all they spied –
An army’s pillaging?  Or robbery?

The line between an army waging war
And scoundrels, murderers, and common thieves;
Between a wicked gang and army corps
Is thinner than a person oft believes.

To see this truth is but to know the names:
With Quantrill rode both Frank and Jesse James.

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The picture is of William Quantrill.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantrill%27s_Raiders

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

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nZ1d434

A man and a woman are separated on a darkened stage, then get closer together and finally meet.  Positions ( )

(1)           (2)           (3)(3)             (2)             (1)

The light shines on the one singing and on neither during the chorus, except in the last position.  There, the light shines on the man and does not go off as the light then shines also on the woman, and on both during the chorus.

(1) M: I sit and sing a lonesome song,
My life is hard and cold.
I sometimes think I’ll never have
A special girl to hold.

(1) F: There’s nights when I can’t fall asleep,
One pillow on my bed,
The only shoulder for my grief
And bitter tears I shed.

Chorus:
M: But one day
F: Someday
M: Says my mind
F: Perhaps I’ll find
M: And then I’ll know,
F: I’ll surely know.
M: And holding hands
F: Through life we’ll go.
M: I’ll love her so.
F: I’ll love him so.

(2) M: I’d give a rib to have a mate;
I’d even give an arm.
This lonely life I’m leading now
Brings my heart far more harm.

(2) F: I know that I have love to give,
But none to give it to.
I ache to find a man for me
With whom to go life through.

Chorus:
M: But one day
F: Someday
M: Says my mind
F: Perhaps I’ll find
M: And then I’ll know,
F: I’ll surely know.
M: And holding hands
F: Through life we’ll go.
M: I’ll love her so.
F: I’ll love him so.

(3) M: I sometimes think she is so near,
That she can hear my cry,
And I could see her lovely face
If I would harder try.

(3) F: The curtain has been lifted;
My sorrow veil is gone.
The warmth and brightness flooding
Is a new loving dawn.

Chorus:
M: And one day
F: This day
M: Says my mind
F: I now have found
M: And I now know
F: I surely know.
M: And holding hands
F: Through life we’ll go.
M: I’ll love you so.
F: I’ll love you so.

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photo by Eve Blackwood at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nZ1d434/frame+with+hearts

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

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n31ZSzw

In your life,
Is there anyone
At the helm?

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photo by Karen Andrews at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n31ZSzw/ships+wheel

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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 and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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15898838946_e0315931cb_o

(The seige of the Alamo ended 181 years ago
on March 6, 1836 when the Alamo fell and its
defenders were killed.)

This story of heroes all free men should know,
Of last stand of eagles protecting their nest –
Remember the men of the famed Alamo.

They stood in the way of an armed Mexico,
Like dunes on a beach slow a wave’s swollen crest.
This story of heroes all free men should know.

Surrounded, out-numbered, hope melting like snow,
They proved to the world that it’s freedom that’s best.
Remember the men of the famed Alamo.

An offer, by Travis, to stay or to go.
Those brave men stepped forward and Texas was blessed.
This story of heroes all free men should know.

Deguello, no quarter, was played by the foe
Yet nary a champion abandoned the quest.
Remember the men of the famed Alamo.

A Crockett, a Bowie, and others cut low
In glory and honor are their names now dressed
This story of heroes all free men should know.
Remember the men of the famed Alamo.

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The photo is mine.

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

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mmejzae

I suffered not much in the drilling;
E’en better I did with the filling.
But worst was to come –
I asked to be numb
For the pain at the time of the billing.

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photo by Marcelo Terraza at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mmeJzae/%3E+Dentist

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

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31068344033_7468599ee3_o

The sun, some days, now burns away the gray:
The fog, the dreary mist will cry, but go.
We, too, will brighten; “Spring is here!” we’ll say.
But ask the old mesquites; they always know.

The robin seeks a harvest on the lawn,
His red breast like the color of Spring blooms.
We celebrate, think all the cold is gone,
But old mesquites are mute as if in tombs.

The saplings green; the fruit trees start to bud.
The earth was pale; now color’s in its cheeks.
And we exult o’er end of snowy mud,
But old mesquites are without leaves for weeks.

The robin says that Spring begins its run,
But old mesquites must say that Winter’s done.

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The photo is mine and the big tree on the right is an old mesquite.

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

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robert-e-lee

The gray-haired man on the iron-gray horse
Toward Pennsylvania led his gray-clad force.
And a Union lass in the Union land
Said, “I wish he was ours – he’s handsome and grand.”

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*A Union lass did say that.


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

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img_0157_18414822724_o

In love, he gives what she desires
And oft ere she would tell him so.
Her face-gleams and her fast eye-fires
Tell him her wants he needs to know.

Because he loves, he views her face,
As mother would her baby scan,
And sees the instant her glows grace
The cherished cheeks he cups in hand.

Her twinkling eyes he always sees;
They list to him what her heart stores.
He’s e’er intent on her to please;
Love studies long what it adores.

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The photo is mine, taken in the Rose Garden in Tyler, Texas.

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

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niwchdi


The world cares not of what I do,
Until my poet life is through.
Then comes parades – if they are due.

But that will be too late for me,
A ship upon a distant sea.

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photo by Krzysztof Szkurlatowski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/niWChDI/Sailing+ship

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

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