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Posts Tagged ‘bard on the hill’

I went out to find a friend,
But could not find one there.
I went out to be a friend,
And friends were everywhere!

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nofeuL4

The ice cream is before me in the bowl
And suddenly my spoon is far too small.
I need a shovel so to eat it whole
(My Tongue’s the one who makes this urgent call).

Surrendering to it with eager Eyes,
I take a bite and quickly make it two,
And then a third, exulting in the prize
That’s sweet and melts, so I don’t have to chew.

Almost as quick as pleasure is the pain
As though my forehead rammed into a wall,
As though the ice cream climbed into my Brain
Not like the normal foods that take a fall.

The Brain says, “Stop!” The Tongue says to the Hand,
“I want some more.  Now shovel even faster!”
And Hand says, caught between the two commands,
“Who do I listen to?  Who is the master?”

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photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nofeuL4/chocolate+icecream+indulgence2

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

 

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If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,
Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales,

O nymph reserv’d, while now the bright-hair’d sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O’er hang his wavy bed:

Now air is hush’d, save where the weak-ey’d bat,
With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises ‘midst the twilight path,
Against the Pilgrim borne in heedless hum:
Now teach me, maid compos’d,
To breathe some soften’d strain,

Whose numbers, stealing thro’ my darkning vale
May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial lov’d return!

For when thy folding-star arising shews
His play circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and elves
Who slept in flowers the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,
And sheds the fresh’ning dew, and lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car.

Then lead, calm vot’ress, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow’d pile,
Or upland fallows grey
Reflect its last cool gleam.

But when chill blust’ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut
That from the mountain’s side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover’d spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o’er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his show’rs, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport,
Beneath thy ling’ring light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Or Winter yelling thro’ the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan shed,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lip’d Health
Thy gentlest influence own,
And hymn thy fav’rite name!

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meT0FTE
Two sailboats
Sitting calmly on
Sea of glass.

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photo by Constantin Jurcut at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meT0FTE/calm+1

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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, 2017.

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You Highlands and you Lowlands.
Oh! where have you been?
They have slain the Earl of Murray,
And have laid him on the green.

Now woe be to thee, Huntly,
And wherefore did you sae?
I bade you bring him with you,
But forbad you him to slay.

He was a brave gallant,
And he rid at the ring;
And the bonnie Earl of Murray,
Oh! he might have been a king.

He was a brave gallant,
And he play’d at the ba’;
And the bonnie Earl of Murray
Was the flower among them a’.

He was a brave gallant,
And he play’d at the glove;
And the bonnie Earl of Murray,
Oh! he was the Queen’s love.

Oh! long will his lady
Look over the castle Down,
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Come sounding through the town.

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(I have changed some words, such as “hae” to “have”, etc.)

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quantrill

When William Quantrill, in the Civil War,
Led his gray troops, like swarming ants, in raid
On Lawrence, citizens died by the score –
Unarmed.  A battle, or just vengeance paid?

John Morgan, likewise, was a Southern pride;
But to the North, his acts were piracy.
His men would conquer, taking all they spied –
An army’s pillaging?  Or robbery?

The line between an army waging war
And scoundrels, murderers, and common thieves;
Between a wicked gang and army corps
Is thinner than a person oft believes.

To see this truth is but to know the names:
With Quantrill rode both Frank and Jesse James.

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The picture is of William Quantrill.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantrill%27s_Raiders

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

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In the Orchard-Days, when you
Children look like blossoms, too,
Bessie, with her jaunty ways
And trim poise of head and face,
Must have looked superior
Even to the blossoms, – for
Little Winnie once averred
Bessie looked just like the bird
Tilted on the topmost spray
Of the apple boughs in May.
With the redbreast, and the strong
Clear, sweet warble of his song  –
“I don’t know their name,” Win said –
“I ist maked a name instead.” –
So forever afterwards
We called robins “Bessie-birds.”

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mWjRlAm
Honest tongues;
Honest way of life;
Honest weights.

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photo by Jean Scheijen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWjRlAm/Oma%27s+Old+Weights

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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 Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Why should I keep holiday
When other men have none?
Why but because, when these are gay,
I sit and mourn alone?

And why, when mirth unseals all tongues,
Should mine alone be dumb?
Ah! late I spoke to silent throngs,
And now their hour has come.

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nZ1d434

A man and a woman are separated on a darkened stage, then get closer together and finally meet.  Positions ( )

(1)           (2)           (3)(3)             (2)             (1)

The light shines on the one singing and on neither during the chorus, except in the last position.  There, the light shines on the man and does not go off as the light then shines also on the woman, and on both during the chorus.

(1) M: I sit and sing a lonesome song,
My life is hard and cold.
I sometimes think I’ll never have
A special girl to hold.

(1) F: There’s nights when I can’t fall asleep,
One pillow on my bed,
The only shoulder for my grief
And bitter tears I shed.

Chorus:
M: But one day
F: Someday
M: Says my mind
F: Perhaps I’ll find
M: And then I’ll know,
F: I’ll surely know.
M: And holding hands
F: Through life we’ll go.
M: I’ll love her so.
F: I’ll love him so.

(2) M: I’d give a rib to have a mate;
I’d even give an arm.
This lonely life I’m leading now
Brings my heart far more harm.

(2) F: I know that I have love to give,
But none to give it to.
I ache to find a man for me
With whom to go life through.

Chorus:
M: But one day
F: Someday
M: Says my mind
F: Perhaps I’ll find
M: And then I’ll know,
F: I’ll surely know.
M: And holding hands
F: Through life we’ll go.
M: I’ll love her so.
F: I’ll love him so.

(3) M: I sometimes think she is so near,
That she can hear my cry,
And I could see her lovely face
If I would harder try.

(3) F: The curtain has been lifted;
My sorrow veil is gone.
The warmth and brightness flooding
Is a new loving dawn.

Chorus:
M: And one day
F: This day
M: Says my mind
F: I now have found
M: And I now know
F: I surely know.
M: And holding hands
F: Through life we’ll go.
M: I’ll love you so.
F: I’ll love you so.

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photo by Eve Blackwood at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nZ1d434/frame+with+hearts

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

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