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Posts Tagged ‘bard on the hill’

18210475451_564af209e0_o

O’ little cloud who would be big,
A thunderhead now forming,
You work so hard at growing up,
You are already storming.

But here, at first, the only one
‘Gainst whom your winds are raging
Is just yourself, as if you are
A war of two minds waging.

One says to grow – the time is ripe
The moist air to you gather.
The other says, “Let’s slow it down.
To have some fun I’d rather.”

And so you have a ragged head
With tendrils that are tearing
By your own winds so that you have
A look both wild and daring.

You’ll build and tear and when you’re through
With your two minds discussing,
Then you’ll be grown; your wind will blow
On our heads, our hair mussing.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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FESTIVAL OF THE ALUMNI, 1857

The noon of summer sheds its ray
On Harvard’s holy ground;
The Matron calls, the sons obey,
And gather smiling round.
CHORUS.
Then old and young together stand,
The sunshine and the snow,
As heart to heart, and hand in hand,
We sing before we go!

Her hundred opening doors have swung
Through every storied hall
The pealing echoes loud have rung,
‘Thrice welcome one and all!’
Then old and young together stand,
The sunshine and the snow,
As heart to heart, and hand in hand,
We sing before we go!

We floated through her peaceful bay,
To sail life’s stormy seas
But left our anchor where it lay
Beneath her green old trees.
Then old and young together stand,
The sunshine and the snow,
As heart to heart, and hand in hand,
We sing before we go!

As now we lift its lengthening chain,
That held us fast of old,
The rusted rings grow bright again,–
Their iron turns to gold.
Then old and young together stand,
The sunshine and the snow,
As heart to heart, and hand in hand,
We sing before we go!

Though scattered ere the setting sun,
As leaves when wild winds blow,
Our home is here, our hearts are one,
Till Charles forgets to flow.
Then old and young together stand,
The sunshine and the snow,
As heart to heart, and hand in hand,
We sing before we go!

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mVH52ci


Narrow path
To walk in between
Two fences.

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photo by Kevin Tuck at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mVH52ci/Country+walk

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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, 2019.

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Her hands are cold; her face is white;
No more her pulses come and go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light;–
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.

But not beneath a graven stone,
To plead for tears with alien eyes;
A slender cross of wood alone
Shall say, that here a maiden lies
In peace beneath the peaceful skies.

And gray old trees of hugest limb
Shall wheel their circling shadows round
To make the scorching sunlight dim
That drinks the greenness from the ground,
And drop their dead leaves on her mound.

When o’er their boughs the squirrels run,
And through their leaves the robins call,
And, ripening in the autumn sun,
The acorns and the chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.

For her the morning choir shall sing
Its matins from the branches high,
And every minstrel-voice of Spring,
That trills beneath the April sky,
Shall greet her with its earliest cry.

When, turning round their dial-track,
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,
Her little mourners, clad in black,
The crickets, sliding through the grass,
Shall pipe for her an evening mass.

At last the rootlets of the trees
Shall find the prison where she lies,
And bear the buried dust they seize
In leaves and blossoms to the skies.
So may the soul that warmed it rise!

If any, born of kindlier blood,
Should ask, What maiden lies below?
Say only this: A tender bud,
That tried to blossom in the snow,
Lies withered where the violets blow.

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mtJN2xi

There was a young lady who lived in a shoe;
She kept having children but knew what to do.
“I’ll kill them,” she said. “They’re better off dead.”
And she blamed all her murder on YOU.

She poisoned the first one; she killed it with salt.
Friends cheered for that woman; it wasn’t her fault.
Her boyfriend left her as soon as he knew –
“I got what I wanted. Now, lady, we’re through.”

The baby was burned and was red from the fire
But she didn’t see it and didn’t inquire.
She went on with living, no thought for the dead;           
The choice was hers, that’s what everyone said.

There was a young lady who lived in a shoe;
She charmed a new partner and bred number two.
I don’t want a child when I’m young and I’m single
I party a lot and I mix and I mingle.

She waited a while and she took a short hike
And found a good hit man to kill the new tyke.
They talked about killing, just how it’d be done.
They hit on dismemberment – that was the one!

My baby, my choice! was her battle cry
Let’s focus on that, and not that they die.
And while it was living, doc tore limb from limb
First arms, then the legs – that her or that him.

There was a young lady who lived in a shoe
She’d killed her two babies, but she wasn’t through
She’d made herself free to get on with her life
No babies would stop her, though single or wife

‘Cause she was a climber, as good as the men!
But then she got pregnant, not one blob but twin.
Oh, double the parasite, double the attack
She fell in a rage that her life was set back.

This time she’d try vacuum, yes that was the way!
She waited a bit until just the right day
And huge was the suction and tiny the tots
And when she was through there were small bloody spots.

Full half of the people thought she was just fine,
And helped her to murder repeating her line:
We can’t hold her back – SHE’S GOT LIVING TO DO!
Full half of them helped her, but what about you?

That wonderful lady who lived in a shoe
Decided that college was not for the few
Rights equal for women! On, up to the top!
Not one thing would hinder, not one thing would stop

Her living her life in her own special way
Except – she got pregnant. Which man? Couldn’t say.
She knew that, on her part, not one sacrifice!
The child that she carried would just pay the price.

And how would she get this new child off her back?
She settled this fourth time on a heart attack.
And so the death needle was plunged in its heart
Exploding the heart so the child would depart.

There are some young ladies who live in a shoe
And copulate freely – yes, that’s what they do.
Then faced with the consequence, they will not pay
But search for a hit man who will their child slay.

You think that barbaric? Then you would be right
Our nation has made this the unborn child’s plight.
MY body! MY choice! I’ll kill if I please!
And many are evil in greatest degrees.

But how about you? Is there left any good
That’s still in your heart to do what you should
To campaign forever ‘till this plague is o’er
And slaughter as Nazis is found here no more?

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photo by Gabriella Fabbri at
https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mtJN2xi/Waiting+a+baby

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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I go to prove my soul,
I see my way as birds their trackless way,
I shall arrive. – What time, what circuit first,
I ask not: but unless God send His hail
Of blinding fireballs, sleet, or stifling snow,
In some time, His Good time, I shall arrive;
He guides me and the bird. In His good time.

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oxapFAc

Laid him low,
But in death, still high.
LSD.

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photo by Dez Pain at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oxapFAc/Rainbow+Gravestone

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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, 2019.

 

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From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged – a Summer Afternoon –
Repairing Everywhere-

Without Design – that I could trace
Except to stay abroad
On Miscellaneous Enterprise
The Clovers – understood –

Her pretty Parasol be seen
Contracting in a Field
Where Men made Hay –
The struggling hard
With an opposing Cloud –

Where Parties – Phantom as Herself –
To Nowhere – seemed to go
In purposeless Circumference –
As ’twere a Tropic Show –

And notwithstanding Bee – that worked –
And Flower – that zealous blew –
This Audience of Idleness
Disdained them, from the Sky –

Till Sundown crept – a steady Tide –
And Men that made the Hay –
And Afternoon – and Butterfly –
Extinguished – in the Sea –

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mWBsC4E

There are some days so drab and plain
That by themselves they’re naught.
They’re overshadowed like a Jane
By one who’s by all sought. 

Now Christmas Eve is such a day –
It cannot stand alone.
Its name reveals the next holds sway;
By Christmas, it’s outshone. 

And such it is the day before
An execution day.
Tomorrow’s eve – it is no more
Than fragile wisps of hay. 

Though none would seek it, if it comes
It casts the greatest shade.
It takes away light, warmth, and numbs,
And all else is its maid.

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photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWBsC4E/Christmas+Baubles+2

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee! 

Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. 

Still, still with Thee, as to each new-born morning
A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,
So doth this blessed consciousness awakening,
Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven. 

When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o’er shading,
But sweet still to wake and find Thee there. 

So shall it be at last, in that bright morning
When the soul waketh and life’s shadows flee;
Oh, in that hour fairer than daylight dawning,
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee!

 

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