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Archive for the ‘My Poems’ Category

george h w bush

No matter if one’s good or bad,
Or simply incompetent,
It takes the same amount of earth
To bury a president. 

But when one’s loved for who he was
E’en more than what he did,
It takes a flood of heart-felt words
Before the body’s hid. 

And so for him whose life is o’er,
They buried him for days –
With earth quick-sprinkled at his grave
But waves of words of praise.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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oYaxpjc

Fat truck, slow truck on the road,
Carrying somebody’s load.
Somehow, some way, I’m behind,
And way around I cannot find.
Will you, turtle, make a way
Hare may pass and speed away?

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photo by Cactus1 at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oYaxpjc/Big+Trailer

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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mMCEE8c

The world is as restless as the sea;
I stand, while it is swayed.
The winds and the clouds go whistling by –
A briskly marched parade.

Wind fondles the leaves in ev’ry tree;
It rustles grass like hair;
It touches me and I am not moved;
I’ve not gone anywhere.

The chimes too, are tickled by the wind
And move to get away.  
But wind works them like the ivories
That men sit down to play.

The wind moves by, caressing the grass,
And makes green churning waves
That ripple across the lea as the wind
Says goodbye to its slaves.  

It is a most restless world today;
Men’s feet cannot be still.
And the leaves and grass and swaying limbs
All dance the same quadrille.

The smallest of creatures, e’en the ants
Who run a settled route –
A searching for food and home again –
Know what they’re all about.

But men on an artery don’t know;
They haul their lives behind.
They cross in their moves from east to west
To find what fate’s designed.

Feet restless and minds quite restless, too
Leave city, job, and mate
For something that has more zest and spice,
More tasty on life’s plate.

If there’s a solution, most reject
As though a bitter taste.
And temporary won’t satisfy
So all becomes a waste.

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photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mMCEE8c/sepia+palm+tree+silhouette

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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mjA0W56

The king who rose once nightly looked to sea,
And saw what could have been would never be.
The sorrow filled his aching sleepless heart,
And gold nor kingdom would not make it part.

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photo by Johnny Berg at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mjA0W56/Castle+-+night

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

 

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Boston_Tea_Party_w

Shed tears for Boston and the troubled tea,
That toast in harbor’s glass to tyranny.
The glass, when raised, was flung into the face
Of one enthroned across an ocean’s space. 

Shed tears for Boston and the colonies
Who felt the anaconda’ deadly squeeze,
The air of life pressed from their breasts and backs
By an oppressive rule and heavy tax. 

Shed tears for Boston who’s been newly led
By liberals by whom their blood was bled –
A brainless Barney Frank’s economy
And “want more government” Ted Kennedy.

Shed tears for Boston now, that once was free,
But slid back to a royal tyranny.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

 

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Lincoln inaugural

It looked dim for Lincoln’s election
To second term till changed complexion.
Sheridan o’er Early won;
Atlanta burned till it was done.
The army assured Abe’s selection.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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pIfwF6O

Those making a name by the shedding of blood
All share that new name and that one name is mud.

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photo is by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/pIfwF6O/Blood+Spatters+4

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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meSDQ0O

The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
We kill the unborn child, the blameless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek. 

Position, power, self are what we seek.
The unborn are not wanted, nameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak. 

They are the helpless, weakest of the meek.
We’re Hitlers; they’re the Jews and claimless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek. 

Ones act by millions; millions for them speak.
The murder streak is wide and tameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak. 

We’re rootless, superficial, shallow, weak.
We’ve turned from God and so our lives are aimless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek. 

Our sins have ris’n to God and heav’n and reek.
We flaunt it to His face; we’re shameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.

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photo by Constantin Jurcut at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meSDQ0O/burning+3

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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n6zjt9Y


Some Britons have lost all their senses

In saying that lads may have menses.
For the sake of the sane
And those with a brain,
Keep fools far away with good fences.

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https://www.breitbart.com/europe/2018/12/16/schools-eight-year-olds-boys-periods/?utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook&fbclid=IwAR0ZChSkw3PmcvdLGnJDWwm46bjoCHnk_LwgUMQ6bWWhgyRxSXBmf6YUAXs

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photo by Jo Spargo at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n6zjt9Y/Silverton+2

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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2dyVpde

The headline drips blood and is gory;
Alarmingly tells of lost glory.
Read deeper, you’ll find
‘Twas merely a line.
The title ne’er matches the story.

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photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dyVpde/News+Headlines

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

 

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