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Archive for the ‘Religious’ 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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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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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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30162562840_b6c764225e_o

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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fruit

Peace, hope, joy –
The grand fruit of God’s
Forgiveness

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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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3d-doubloons

(This poem is in my book, available at Amazon.)

A merchant, wise, spreads out his wares
   So passing buyers see;
Attracted to the beauty, they
   Inspect admiringly.

The one who’s selling precious stones
   Found deep inside a mine,
Will lay their sparkles up against
   A background, so their shine

And color contrast with the cloth
   That he on table lays,
Thus framing them and drawing forth
     The greatest gushing praise.

And so it is with those rare jew’ls
   On which mankind has gazed
Through all the ages we’ve sojourned –
   And still we are amazed.

The poets pen; the songsters sing;
   The lovers’ hearts are warmed;
The dreamer ponders mysteries,
   And all are daily charmed.

Those shining gems against the black,
   God placed precisely, right.
Like diamonds, He spread stars against
   The velvet of the night.

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devil


For answers we search and we prod
Why murderers kill on this sod.
But one thing we know:
Their list will not show
A single one faithful to God.

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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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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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