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Posts Tagged ‘abortion’

donkey

They’d save the world; make sure the unborn die;
Of sin they laugh, of righteousness they cry.
They crucified Petraeus for his sin,
And let another Clinton go again.
They’d mock a Bush or Quayle where’er they slipped,
But Biden for the prez is well-equipped.
They’d take much from the rich; give to the poor
And middle class must the same thing endure.
For their hypocrisy there is no cure.

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

 

 

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mgynpso


Nakusa is Hindi for “unwanted”, a name given to
many unwanted girls in India.  See the article link
below the poem.

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In ancient Rome, the babies were exposed
To all the elements and left to die
When their existence was by men opposed
And hardened hearts heard not their tiny cry.

Today, we wear smooth silk, don sweet perfume,
Refined in all we do, quite civilized.
Expose them? No! They have another doom:
We cut their spinal cords – murder reprised.

In name or deed, we say, “Unwanted child!”
Our self, not you, is what is highly prized.
The old and new have hearts by hate defiled.
But we’re far better – we are civilized!

—————————————–

The unwanted girls of India change their names:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/44998378/ns/world_news-wonderful_world/?gt1=43001

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photo by sanja gjenero at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgynPSO/garbage+bin+3

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

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The unions still support because of greed;
The homos do, since by it they are blessed.
For power, it will make the nation bleed,
And even die so long as they are best.

A shrill excuse and welfare sugarcoat,
A promise made to ope’ the nation’s store,
And greed-deceived, the Party buys their vote.
Then, at the ballot box, they play the whore.

They’ll save the trees; they’re green – and kill the child,
The babe within that says you’re not your own,
That you can’t do all that you wish, be wild.
They’ll raise you up and take God from the throne.

With sin the soul, and selfishness the core,
It ain’t your parents’ party any more.


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

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The Glossy Ibis

A body
Plus noodles for their
Beaks, necks, legs.

 

Give And Take

Bulldozer.
Making tracks. Waves, wind –
Erasers.

 


For Murder

supreme court?
No. Nine will be tried
Before God.

——————–

 

Ibis – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nIvebnm/glossy+ibises2

Give – photo by Javier Gonzalez at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mpvrd9a/Sand+tracks+1

Murder – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/okHzGps/solid+justice

——————–

* 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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You carry Sodom’s purse; you hold Gomorrah’s hand.
You say your prayers to God and court the idols of the land.
You’re double-minded like old evil Israel
And God destroyed the wicked with a Babylonian hell.
You are for women’s rights, but murder’s always wrong.
Abortion takes a human’s life; the weak killed by the strong.
Your demon lies are legion but your hardened hearts are seared;
No change, you double-down the daily slant you’ve engineered.
Our national debt is such that we can never pay –
Your spending and your promises have ruined us in that way.
You train as slaves the poor in barrio and slum
To lean and laze on government, addicted, always dumb.
Your tips are served with fear, your hands upon their throat.
Then, harlots in their misery, they spread their legs and vote,
While you, the pimp, moan o’er their pain as if you care,
When all you want is scepter, throne, and jeweled crown to wear.
You’re blind from power’s thirst so that you cannot see
That you rule from Titanic’s decks as she sinks rapidly.

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

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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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………..A Village Villain Villanelle

(a conversation between Hillary Clinton and Nell)

H: To raise a child, it takes a village, Nell.
N: It seems that God made parents for that part.
…..Hands off my child or soon you’ll be in hell.

H: The government must teach your child to spell;
…..Conception to the grave – the very start.
…..To raise, a child, it takes a village, Nell.

N: You murder the unborn and say all’s well.
…..Now course of living, you’d control and chart.
…..Hands off my child or soon you’ll be in hell.

H: But the collective “we” is like a shell;
…..The individual not led’s a wart.
…..To raise a child, it takes a village, Nell.

N: For your skewed values, your own soul you sell;
…..You’re fools – you dabble in the devil’s art.
…..Hands off my child or soon you’ll be in hell.

H: We want him in the mold, lest he rebel.
N:  I want him wise with God within his heart.
H: To raise a child, it takes a village, Nell.
N: Hands off my child or soon you’ll be in hell.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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(photo by purplepic via rgbstock.com)


You Must Be Nuts

Yes, I will
Swing for my supper.
But what’s next?

——————–

LETTER, sound

Aging, will
Generation X
Become Yz?

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In Each Election

What matters? –
Murder (abortion);
Sodom’s sin.

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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/

——————–

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

 

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Penknife

(Photo credit: Richard Wheeler via Wikipedia)

(dedicated to all abortionists)

The Cruel Mother

She sat down below a thorn,
Fine flowers in the valley;
And there she has her sweet babe born,
And the green leaves they grow rarely.

“Smile na sae sweet, my bonnie babe,
Fine flowers in the valley,
And ye smile sae sweet, ye’ll smile me dead,”
And the green leaves they grow rarely.

She’s taen out her little penknife,
Fine flowers in the valley,
And twinn’d the sweet babe o’ its life,
And the green leaves they grown rarely.

She’s howker a grave by the light o’ the moon,
Fine flowers in the valley,
And there she’s buried her sweet babe in,
And the green leaves they grow rarely.

As she was going to the church,
Fine flowers in the valley,
She saw a sweet babe in the porch,
And the green leaves they grow rarely.

“O sweet babe, and thou were mine,
Fine flowers in the valley,
I wad cleed thee in the silk so fine,”
And the green leaves they grow rarely.

“O mother dear, when I was thine,
Fine flowers in the valley,
Ye did na prove to me sae kind,”
And the green leaves they grow rarely.

 

 

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