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Wrinkles are no more or no less
Than beauty turned to sourness.

 

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nqjS3K6

I see it!
Finally! Do you
See the wind?

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photo by Michael and Christa Richert at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nqjS3K6/windsock

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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 and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

Shall I wasting in despair
Die because a woman’s fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
‘Cause another’s rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow’ry meads in May—
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined
‘Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joinèd with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle dove or pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman’s virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her merits’ value known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of Best;
If she seem not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

‘Cause her fortune seems too high
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do
That without them dare to woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne’er the more despair:
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

SONY DSC


The battlefield is cloaked to deaden sound;
A struggle waged upon a sullen ground.
The bullets in this war are silent bees
That bump a bloom without apologies.
 

The cry to “charge” in this war’s never heard,
Since all the world’s a battlefield – absurd!
A truce is never called to clear the field
The wounded, thus, are never healed. 

The pouting silent did not get her way
And he who was the victor’s made to pay
For what he won so he will next time know
That he may win but price is high in woe.

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photo by Marcelo Mokrejs at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/miyqLHO/Chairs

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

 

Adieu, farewell, earth’s bliss;
This world uncertain is;
Fond are life’s lustful joys;
Death proves them all but toys;
None from his darts can fly;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade.
All things to end are made,
The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen’s eye.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector’s brave;
Swords may not fight with fate,
Earth still holds ope her gate.
“Come, come!” the bells do cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us.

Wit with his wantonness
Tasteth death’s bitterness;
Hell’s executioner
Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us.

Haste, therefore, each degree,
To welcome destiny;
Heaven is our heritage,
Earth but a player’s stage;
Mount we unto the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us.

 

..(from Much Ado About Nothing)

 

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never:
……Then sigh not so,
……But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
……Then sigh not so,
……But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.

 

 

mfeEaIa

Here’s the deal:
If I scratch your back,
You scratch mine.

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photo by Mei Teng Wong at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfeEaIa/Colourful+Bird+3


* 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 and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

mzhlU8m

I looked at this, and looked again
At flowers spelling DAD.
I may be dreaming, but e’en they
Seem teary-eyed and sad.

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photo by Robert Linder at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mzhlU8m/Cemetery

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

As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,
Surpris’d I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,
A pretty Babe all burning bright did in the air appear;
Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed
As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed.
“Alas!” quoth he, “but newly born, in fiery heats I fry,
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I!
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns,
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns;
The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals,
The metal in this furnace wrought are men’s defiled souls,
For which, as now on fire I am to work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.”
With this he vanish’d out of sight and swiftly shrunk away,
And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas day.

mtLGsm0


I don’t want the sweet talk you pour in my cup.
I am not a biscuit; don’t butter me up.
I don’t want the syrup, just sweet honest tea;
Until you begin just to criticize me.

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photo by chidseyc (Christ) at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mtLGsm0/Spreading

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