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Archive for the ‘My Poems’ Category

16340762445_2b56a77bda_o

I thank you, God: You heard Your servant’s prayer,
My earnest plea that You hold back Your wrath
Upon the wicked city You will tear
To pieces by the seam that makes its path

Across its rotten flesh and wicked heart,
Whose mouth declares that You approve its sin,
That You approve the unborn ripped apart,
That You approve that men would lie with men.

And when Your fury shakes their darkest day,
I’m praying now that sinful men will know
That hea’en above and trembling earth below
Agreed upon the devastating blow.

I am no longer praying for delay;
Perhaps their cup of wrath is full today.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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O’ little cloud who would be big,
A thunderhead now forming,
You work so hard at growing up,
You are already storming.

But here, at first, the only one
‘Gainst whom your winds are raging
Is just yourself, as if you are
A war of two minds waging.

One says to grow – the time is ripe
The moist air to you gather.
The other says, “Let’s slow it down.
To have some fun I’d rather.”

And so you have a ragged head
With tendrils that are tearing
By your own winds so that you have
A look both wild and daring.

You’ll build and tear and when you’re through
With your two minds discussing,
Then you’ll be grown; your wind will blow
On our heads, our hair mussing.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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mtJN2xi

There was a young lady who lived in a shoe;
She kept having children but knew what to do.
“I’ll kill them,” she said. “They’re better off dead.”
And she blamed all her murder on YOU.

She poisoned the first one; she killed it with salt.
Friends cheered for that woman; it wasn’t her fault.
Her boyfriend left her as soon as he knew –
“I got what I wanted. Now, lady, we’re through.”

The baby was burned and was red from the fire
But she didn’t see it and didn’t inquire.
She went on with living, no thought for the dead;           
The choice was hers, that’s what everyone said.

There was a young lady who lived in a shoe;
She charmed a new partner and bred number two.
I don’t want a child when I’m young and I’m single
I party a lot and I mix and I mingle.

She waited a while and she took a short hike
And found a good hit man to kill the new tyke.
They talked about killing, just how it’d be done.
They hit on dismemberment – that was the one!

My baby, my choice! was her battle cry
Let’s focus on that, and not that they die.
And while it was living, doc tore limb from limb
First arms, then the legs – that her or that him.

There was a young lady who lived in a shoe
She’d killed her two babies, but she wasn’t through
She’d made herself free to get on with her life
No babies would stop her, though single or wife

‘Cause she was a climber, as good as the men!
But then she got pregnant, not one blob but twin.
Oh, double the parasite, double the attack
She fell in a rage that her life was set back.

This time she’d try vacuum, yes that was the way!
She waited a bit until just the right day
And huge was the suction and tiny the tots
And when she was through there were small bloody spots.

Full half of the people thought she was just fine,
And helped her to murder repeating her line:
We can’t hold her back – SHE’S GOT LIVING TO DO!
Full half of them helped her, but what about you?

That wonderful lady who lived in a shoe
Decided that college was not for the few
Rights equal for women! On, up to the top!
Not one thing would hinder, not one thing would stop

Her living her life in her own special way
Except – she got pregnant. Which man? Couldn’t say.
She knew that, on her part, not one sacrifice!
The child that she carried would just pay the price.

And how would she get this new child off her back?
She settled this fourth time on a heart attack.
And so the death needle was plunged in its heart
Exploding the heart so the child would depart.

There are some young ladies who live in a shoe
And copulate freely – yes, that’s what they do.
Then faced with the consequence, they will not pay
But search for a hit man who will their child slay.

You think that barbaric? Then you would be right
Our nation has made this the unborn child’s plight.
MY body! MY choice! I’ll kill if I please!
And many are evil in greatest degrees.

But how about you? Is there left any good
That’s still in your heart to do what you should
To campaign forever ‘till this plague is o’er
And slaughter as Nazis is found here no more?

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photo by Gabriella Fabbri at
https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mtJN2xi/Waiting+a+baby

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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mWBsC4E

There are some days so drab and plain
That by themselves they’re naught.
They’re overshadowed like a Jane
By one who’s by all sought. 

Now Christmas Eve is such a day –
It cannot stand alone.
Its name reveals the next holds sway;
By Christmas, it’s outshone. 

And such it is the day before
An execution day.
Tomorrow’s eve – it is no more
Than fragile wisps of hay. 

Though none would seek it, if it comes
It casts the greatest shade.
It takes away light, warmth, and numbs,
And all else is its maid.

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photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWBsC4E/Christmas+Baubles+2

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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meMDiKk

Make pleasing others your aim
And you will be happy the same.
The selfish, wrapped up in a ball
Are the most miserable of all.

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photo by Billy Frank Alexander at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meMDiKk/Happy+Ball

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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nVktJjy

One by one
We walk through Time’s veil,
Vanishing.

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photo by marmit at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVktJjy/Expedition+in+fog

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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, 2019.

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Iran

Iran, are your brains even there?
Did you seize two ships on a dare?
We’d blow you away
Like wind blows the spray
Except that behind’s you a bear.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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mITZbBM

Sometimes it’s true when reading verse
   And we can’t stand the lay,
We wonder which of two is worse:
   The poem or Judgment Day?
And just as we’re about to curse,
   The pain – quick – goes away.
We’re at the end, for he was terse;
   He’d nothing much to say.

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photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mITZbBM/yellow+centre

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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nVig2o2

If there’s no God, I die, my atoms disappear
Like bubbles blown and frantic to escape their ring.
Wind takes them by the hand – “Let’s run away from here!
Let’s go somewhere and find another song to sing!” 

And when I’m gone, perhaps my poems will linger on;
My children with their children and then theirs – a chain;
Or some good deed will swim within my wake – a swan,
Until the sun grows old, expands, and naught remains. 

If there’s no God, I live my life upon the sand.
I leave my print; I have a heavy present weight.
And I reflect upon my life and think it’s grand.
But when I die, it’s like I never left the gate. 

If there’s no God, then soon or late there is no me.
The sand along my beach is smoothed, impression free.

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photo by marmit at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVig2o2/Follow+my+steps+2

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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This earthly life is a test to find
Which ones of us are the heavenly kind.

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The photo is mine – early morning in the Shenandoah Mountains.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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