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Good night! Which put the Candle out?
A jealous Zephyr – not a doubt –
Ah, friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The Angels – labored diligent –
Extinguished – now – for you!

It might – have been the Light House spark –
Some Sailor – rowing in the Dark –
Had importuned to see!
It might – have been the waning lamp
That lit the Drummer from the Camp
To purer Reveille!

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The beauty of the outside hides the beast;
The delicate conceals how strong its hold.
Carnivorous, the trap springs on the least,
Lured to their death by nectar that cajoled. 

The one that’s flying high, the one that crawls,
Are both attracted to a common end,
As though swept by swift currents to the falls,
And then ensnared before they comprehend. 

A captive of desire, it lost its soul,
Its all, to an attractive lusty lie.
Its freedom gone, slave! sentenced now to die!
The Venus fly trap now will eat the whole. 

The monster maw for mankind is the Earth –
The world whose nectar starts to charm from birth.

 

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I went to the animal fair,
The birds and the beasts were there.
The big baboon, by the light of the moon,
Was combing his auburn hair.
The monkey, he got drunk,
And sat on the elephant’s trunk.
The elephant sneezed and fell on his knees,
And what became of the monk, the monk?

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A frog went a-courting, away did ride, huh-huh,
A frog went a-courting, away did ride,
Sword and pistol by his side, huh-huh.

He rode up to Miss Mousie’s door, huh-huh.
He rode up to Miss Mousie’s door
With his coat all buttoned down before, huh-huh.

He took Miss Mousie on his knee, huh-huh.
He took Miss Mousie on his knee,
And he said my dear will you marry me, huh-huh.

Oh no! kind sir, I can’t say that, huh-huh.
Oh no! kind sir, I can’t say that,
You’ll have to get the consent of my uncle rate, huh-huh.

Uncle rat he laughed and shook his fat side, huh-huh.
Uncle rat he laughed and shook his fat side,
To think that his niece would be a bride, huh-huh.

Oh, where shall the wedding breakfast be, huh-huh.
Oh, where shall the wedding breakfast be,
Way down in the woods in a hollow tree, huh-huh.

The first that came was a long-tailed rat, huh-huh.
The first that came was along-tailed rat –
etc.

 

——————————————-

sung here (with different lyrics) by The Brothers Four:
(2:45) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRmk_nKfn9Q

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I’ve created a new page whose title you can see at the top of my blog:
What Readers Say.  It consists of quotes by readers about some poems I’ve written and links to those poems.  They enjoyed them so you might, too.
Here’s the link for my Facebook and Twitter friends:

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/what-readers-say/

(I may post this occasionally.)

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The well was dry beside the door,
And so we went with pail and can
Across the fields behind the house
To seek the brook if still it ran;

Not loth to have excuse to go,
Because the autumn eve was fair
(Though chill), because the fields were ours
And by the brook our woods were there.

We ran as if to meet the moon
That slowly dawned behind the trees,
The barren boughs without the leaves,
Without the birds, without the breeze.

But once within the wood, we paused
Like gnomes that hid us from the moon,
Ready to run to hiding new
With laughter when she found us soon.

Each laid on other a staying hand
To listen ere we dared to look,
And in the hush we joined to make
We heard, we knew we heard the brook,

A note as from a single place,
A slender tinkling fall that made
Now drops that floated on the pool
Like pearls and now a silver blade.

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Hazy air.
Sneezing and wheezing.
Allergies.

Seems dusty.
No, not Sahara,
Not this time.

The farmers
Set fire to their fields –
Smoky air.

It travels
From where to bless us?
Mexico!


——————–

* 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/
——————–

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

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Thus I lift the sash, so long
Shut against the flight of song;
All too late for vain excuse, –
Lo, my captive rhymes are loose! 

Rhymes that, flitting through my brain,
Beat against my window-pane,
Some with gayly colored wings,
Some, alas! with venomed stings. 

Shall they bask in sunny rays?
Shall they feed on sugared praise?
Shall they stick with tangled feet
On the critic’s poisoned sheet? 

Are the outside winds too rough?
Is the world not wide enough?
Go, my winged verse, and try, –
Go like Uncle Toby’s fly!

 

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The fragile flowers, in their beauty,
Are never seen as vain.
In breezes soft, they stand, their duty:
That we, might pleasure, gain. 

The sweet young thing who is a cutie,
And stands long at a pane,
Stays pure. But shift might make her snooty:
The mirror makes one vain.

————————————————-

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

 

 

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Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, –
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.

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