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Archive for the ‘My Poems’ Category

mhAW3nu

Love gives what one another takes,
And takes what one another gives.
And in the giving back and forth,
Such his and her love always lives.

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photo by Sanja Gjenero at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhAW3nu/summer+love

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

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meT0dZa

The traffic lights where strangers meet,
The grocery store where neighbors greet,
The colleges where learners flew,
And airport where the world comes through,

A café’s corner table, where
The only other sitting there,
As if the world did not exist,
Your lover in romantic tryst.

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photo by sundesigns at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meT0dZa/Red+Heart

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

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27024184473_1510738287_o

The sun grows warmer day by day
As if the earth was sick,
Afflicted by a fever’s rise
Like flames crawl up a wick.

The deer are lazier, but heat
Is not the only cause.
New mothers or mothers to be
May in their wand’ring pause.

Close to her hidden fawn, doe stays
And pricks her ears to hear
The tiniest of frightened cries
Through summer’s atmosphere.

And those with swollen bellies yet
Have chosen where they’ll nest.
Like trucks with heaviest of  loads,
They’re slow and quick to rest.

The deer, beneath the cedars, lie
On hill just ‘cross the way.
And when I first step out my door,
Not one is on display.

And then like recent rains brought floods,
The deer begin to pour
Like water down the gentle slope
For what they know’s in store.

They follow me to where I feed,
Since work for grass they scorn.
I help them in their laziness
With just a little corn.

Our symbiotic link is sweet:
I, in their stress, console.
And from both doe and fawn I need
Their beauty for my soul.

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The photo is mine, taken through my front window.

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

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mldy0fE


There is a people – oh, how big the heart! –
A heart that swells like a primeval ooze
Till others not as blessed must take a part,
Forced by an overflowing they don’t choose.

And, oh! how wonderful those hearts now feel
That others, too, have done the good they deemed
With what the righteous from them rightly steal –
Not steal, but take by all the plans they schemed.

And, oh! how those blest hearts now fill with pride
That theirs the nobler way, the higher road,
That they, a cut above the baser side
Have helped man’s load by adding to his load.

It seems they think it some great human feat,
A merit in the doing that they dream
Not by their back and boon, but from their seat
By forcing others into what they scheme.

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photo by Scott Snyder at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mldy0fE/Eggnapper

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

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Confederate_Rebel_Flag

The Union soldiers heard and knew,
E’en if they could not see,
A tidal wave was rolling forth
To pound them dreadfully.

The Gray began their fearsome charge
With a blood-curdling yell.
Like Furies, they came screaming forth,
Like demons out of hell.

‘Neath Union blue, it tingled spines;
‘Neath caps, their hair would stand.
Relentlessly, the tide surged ‘cross
The narrow strip of land.

Today, the Rebel yell seems lost;
We have no certain sound.
For though they screamed into the past,
No echo does rebound.

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

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Lost Maples 1

I walked among the seeming docile trees,
Not noticing there was a gentle breeze,
So placid that it did not muss my hair,
So slow and silent – was it really there?

And yet, inside and looking down from high,
I saw wind blowing through their boughs, and by,
Because their leafy heads were nodding yes
As they both bobbed and bowed to acquiesce.

Tops trembled like the surface of the sea,
A turmoil of the whole; within, the leaves,
Made dainty flutters of the butterfly
And branches swayed like youth do when they’re spry.

A little wind will cause a tree to shake,
But only greatest winds will make it break.
For trees know with each stress to gently roll
So mighty ones that come won’t take a toll.

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The photo is mine, taken in Lost Maples State Park,
Vanderpool, Texas.

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

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nrnowLm

A single parent family’s a chore –
A lonely sole without an absent mate.
It is a rowboat with a single oar.

God saw that one was in great need of more,
That only one had too much on his plate.
A single parent family’s a chore.

The single parent strives to reach the shore.
The burden borne’s an overwhelming weight.
She/He’s a rowboat with a single oar.

When laden, there is none to ope the door;
For another’s help, the one can’t wait.
A single parent family’s a chore.

There’s none to comfort when the muscle’s sore
From single ‘gainst the doubled current’s rate.
She/He’s a rowboat with a single oar.

There is no second for esprit de corps;
Entirely in the hands of one’s their fate.
A single parent family’s a chore.
It is a rowboat with a single oar.

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*The spelling in line 2 is deliberate.

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photo by Bern Altman at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nrnowLm/Weathered+Rowboat

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

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Maxine

In minutes, these were seen (near back to back):
That Maxine Waters would remain on track
And fight the Donald till he was impeached.
And second, near consensus has been reached –
That Murdercrats, her party’s out of touch.
I’m thanking her, the protests, and all such!

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http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/maxine-waters-i-will-fight-every-day-until-trump-is-impeached/article/2620386

http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/video/abc-news-poll-shows-67-percent-americans-democratic-46967202

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

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mlCuLUm

The donut’s a puzzle to me;
The hole has not one calorie.
I should then be able to eat
A hundred or more of that treat.

A hundred times zero is NONE!
It should be that eating’s just fun,
A feast that is purely for taste.
But still they all go to my waist.

It could be the problem’s my rule –
Examine with care my sweet jewel:
I don’t think I’ve eaten the hole
Until I have eaten the whole.

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photo by Michael Lorenzo at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mlCuLUm/doughnut

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

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mA6Smt6

The minor leaguers play for wealth and fame
Or just for pleasure on their daily plate,
Or anything to carry on their name
In hamlets small, or cities that are great.

Ambition is the wind that fills their sail
And drives them toward the only port they see,
Which may not measure much upon a scale –
But forward without knowing, blissfully!

Though some succeed and gain the greater stage
Most toil on in obscurity to fail,
A rueful fact they recognize in age,
And in depression, raise a bitter wail.

But majors hit a fastball none can see
And rarely swing at curves the foe may throw.
The list of contrasts go on endlessly –
So, too, those on the high road, not the low.

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photo by Robert Linder at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mA6Smt6/Dominican+Baseball

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

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