The Future Of America by Dennis Allen Lange

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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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I Have A NOBLE Mind! by Dennis Allen Lange

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(thoughts of the one who supports abortion murder)

None else should on another body bind.
Don’t take from women their nice right to choose.
I have a noble mind and think that kind.

It’s not for me. But with them I’m aligned.
It is her body save for that she’ll bruise.
None else should on another body bind.

A woman’s life should not be so confined
That what she wants for self she then would lose.
I have a noble mind and think that kind.

My sense of right and wrong is not assigned
To those bent on assigning death’s dark hues.
None else should on another body bind.

Her life, if not, would be a horrid grind.
So rip and tear the little baby shoes.
I have a noble mind and think that kind.

To all except the woman, I am blind
To think of other lives would just confuse.
None else should on another body bind.
I have a noble mind and think I’m kind.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

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Pearl Harbor by Dennis Allen Lange

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Japan bombed Pearl, won by a crooked score.
Though U.S. fleet was famed, they left it sunk and maimed.
But cost to Japs and Germany was more. 

The Japs pretended peace instead of war.
With many subtle lies, they took us by surprise.
Japan bombed Pearl, won by a crooked score. 

Our sailors did not hear the distant roar
Till death was overhead, and bombs were in their bed.
But cost to Japs and Germany was more. 

The Arizona sank to harbor’s floor
Eight battleships were hit; war’s fire by them was lit.
Japan bombed Pearl, won by a crooked score. 

Two thousand U.S. (more!) went out death’s door.
Japan lost but a few of all the ones that flew.
Still, cost to Japs and Germany was more. 

True victors are the ones when war is o’er
Not at the rising sun when war has just begun.
Japan that day won by a crooked score,
But cost both them and Germany the war.

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

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The Wick Has Burned Down To The Wax by Dennis Allen Lange

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The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The yellow flame’s flicker is weak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The toil of the day takes its toll and it wracks
The candle and man till life’s bleak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

The slope of sleep’s soothing sweet tunnel attracts,
Though Day clutches man with its beak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The cares of tomorrow add to the mind’s tax.
One wrestles, it seems, for a week.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

Oh! for a pinch to the flame to relax
The light-load; bring rest that we seek!
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The sandman has tried, but his sand supply lacks.
The sheep flock? – the worry wolves wreak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.

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photo by Camilla Hviid at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/puzT8WQ/Nothern+Coziness

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

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The Single Parent Family by Dennis Allen Lange

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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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The Three K’s by Dennis Allen Lange

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A Kennedy, a Kennedy, and King –
Three K’s for strikes and all were struck, struck out.
A nation also felt the bullets’ sting.

Before the wheat was ripe, the sickle’s swing
Cut through the taller heads a deadly route –
A Kennedy, a Kennedy, and King.

Each had a following to closely cling
To them, and ‘cause they were deeply devout,
A nation also felt the bullets’ sting.

To be a vital part, then from us wring
Brought tears to eyes, e’en those dried up in drought
For Kennedy, a Kennedy, and King.

The bells, the solemn bells for them did ring
And stilled the song and buried ev’ry shout –
A nation also felt the bullets’ sting.

A deadly fall and summer, deadly spring
In years so close we suffered from the clout –
A Kennedy, a Kennedy, and King
And nation also felt the bullets’ sting.

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photo from Wikipedia

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

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Do Not Despair by Dennis Lange

Do not despair when you are young and tender –
Though pierced by thorns, confused, and by thrown stones are bruised,
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Time serves you and the answer it will render.
Though dark now is the night, the sunrise will be bright.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Though it may seem that hope of joy is slender,
The aged felt that way, in some past dismal day.
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

Till weak are strong, the world attempts to hinder.
A sapling blown by wind, a mighty oak will end.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –

Now isn’t all; it preens as a pretender
It fills the present space; confronts us face to face.
But aches will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

The sullen days are few; do not surrender
The prize goes to the few who see their troubles through.
Do not despair when you are young and tender –
The ache will pass; then comes the days of splendor.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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Abraham Lincoln And Robert E. Lee by Dennis Lange

The Civil War etched two men into history,
Head, shoulders o’er the rest, two of our nation’s best –
A president and gen’ral: Lincoln, Lee.

Men came to recognize their pedigree;
They were a different breed; both in their roles could lead.
The Civil War etched two men into history.

One led the North and let the slaves go free;
One led the armed in gray, a fox in ev’ry way –
A president and gen’ral: Lincoln, Lee.

Less Lincoln, North might cave and bend the knee;
Lee knew what Grant would do, as though the future knew.
The Civil War etched two men into history.

One set a course midst scorn like scalding tea;
The other sat astride the route the Blue would ride –
A president and gen’ral: Lincoln, Lee.

Men fell; some soared, and blood became a sea
As two great men arose midst all a nation’s woes.
The Civil War etched two men into history,
A president and gen’ral: Lincoln, Lee.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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The Killing Room By Dennis Lange

The safest place on earth should be the womb,
Wrapped by maternal love instilled by God above.
But love of self makes it a killing room.

It’s woman’s greatest glory and her plume
That God made her the one, to bear a daughter, son.
The safest place on earth should be the womb.

A child is weaved in her; she is the loom.
Conception’s grand event – new human’s great advent.
But love of self makes it a killing room.

A tiny bud is just a folded bloom
Woe to the gardener who snips – the murderer!
The safest place on earth should be the womb.

Too oft, the wicked rides upon her broom
And sweeps away the child that has her life defiled,
And love of self makes it a killing room.

There is no right to bring another doom.
The murder’s always wrong, e’en when it’s sung as song.
The safest place on earth should be the womb,
But love of self makes it a killing room.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

 

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Martin Luther King, Jr. by Dennis Lange

King dreamed that he would say (when chains were past
Or strands so thin and few), these words long overdue,
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

Though Egypt was behind, her reach was vast.
And like the wind, he blew winged words that fell like dew.
King dreamed a dream when all the chains were past.

His voice was Gabriel’s mighty trumpet blast;
The march began on cue, toward Canaan’s words and view,
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

His dream? – by hate and pharaohs not harassed;
Men judged, not by their hue; a future bright and new.
King dreamed a dream when all the chains were past.

Upon the farther shore, his people massed,
The sea returned and blue, they’d shout because they knew,
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

Let go the broken chains! Away, them cast!
The speech and dream came true, for all who dare and do.
And now men say, since all their chains are past:
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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