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Archive for the ‘My Poems’ Category

snow 2
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Glum Winter’s clouds are seamless, smooth,
No hint of smile, no twinkles.
The cold winds in the sky above
Have ironed out all the wrinkles.

They never have a cheery gleam
From sunshine on their faces.
Instead, cold Winter says to march
And puts them through their paces.

They seem to be an enemy,
Cold, brusque, and so unfeeling,
That hover where the blue once was
As an unwelcome ceiling.

Yet they are much more friendly than
A man who once was neighbor
To whom all others were a pain
And happiness a labor.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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engine light

My engine light is on; I groan.
What could the matter be?
Will I be like the mariner,
Left stranded in the sea?

Will noises from my car be next –
A rattle and a knock?
Is there a crack developing
In my car’s engine block?

The engine light stares/glares at me
As I drive down the road.
Is trouble ticking like a bomb
To in my face explode?

Whew! Safely home, the light still on,
Mechanic I will see
To diagnose my awful plight
And its severity.

I’m fin’lly told, when I have been
By worry driven mad,
The engine light was telling me
The engine light was bad.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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antifa


The Brown Shirts, the Klu Klux – both losers,
And so is Antifa, the bruisers.
They’re wearing a hood;
They’re up to no good.
The Left is for those thugs excusers.

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photo by Carptrash – I, Einar Kvaran, took the picturePreviously published: none, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=80084419

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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oosvh1O

Since life is but a mist that burns away,
A blossom that delights a day, then goes.
And since the barn’s ablaze and we are hay,
The condor e’er awaits because it knows.

We’re helpless ‘fore the ever watching eyes;
Each is exposed as in the noonday sun
One’s shadow clings no matter how he tries –
Appointment in Samarra – none can run.

Death perches near to pluck our bodies bare,
Bereft of life as idols are of gods.
The sword of Damocles hangs by a hair;
Grim Reaper, with his scythe, fore’er marauds.

Death’s always hanging over each of us;
Its touch before is slight, then ponderous.

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photo by Elvis Santana at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oosvh1O/california+condor+2

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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nWWdhGs

I remember, I remember
The seat we shared and when,
And watched the world go racing by
And racing by again.
It mattered not how fast it ran,
How rough turned out the ride
On rocket ship or Rattler,
When we were side by side.

I remember, I remember
When you came to my door.
And searched me out till I was found,
Like treasure one hunts for.
I love you for the worth you gave
To my life in that quest,
That out of all the others there,
That you loved me the best.

I remember, I remember
The moment that I knew,
When we met within the halls,
I was in love with you.
Without a thought of where we were,
I started to reach out
And wrap you up inside my arms,
But others were about.

I remember, I remember
A very special place,
Where I so gently raised your chin;
And then a warm embrace.
There, I was lost as man can be
Within your whirlpool eyes,
And magic of your gentle touch,
The wonder of your sighs.

I remember, I remember
The secrets that we shared,
A knowing wink across the room
That showed each of us cared.
And when someone came in our space,
And broke the fragile bond,
We sighed for our own loneliness
And wished that he were gone.

I remember, I remember
The stories that you told
Of your life, trusting it to me
To have, and safely hold.
And in those tales, I heard of one
Who sought an inner peace,
And found some ways that did not work
And vowed that they would cease.

I remember, I remember
The things that did not last,
That aren’t now flesh, but fingerprints
That mark what is the past.
Those are the things that are no more;
And mourn for them I must.
The only thing that keeps me sane,
And this alone I trust –

That I’ll remember; I’ll remember.

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photo by Dez Pain at https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nWWdhGs/Valentine+Cats+4

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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Kim Jong un

Kim rules as an evil harsh master
Which will, in the end, bring disaster.
His yes men must say,
“We’ll beat USA.”
And lies will flow bigger and faster.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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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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18210475451_564af209e0_o

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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