Posts Tagged ‘bells’


It’s proper:
Bell in the belfry,
And not bats.



In The Heights

Many kites
In their wheeling flights –
Pretty sights.



In The Air, On The Ground

It often matters,
Life or death.


Sane – photo by Javier Gonzalez at

Heights – photo by Karunakar Rayker at

Air – photo by sulaco229 (Robert) at


* 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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………………..The Hurricane

In the softness of the morning
When the sun is barely dawning
And the vigor of the day is like a youth,
There is scarcely any stirring,
Neither whisper, nor a whirring,
Of a wind that searches weakness like a sleuth. 

But there’s news that should be heeded
That a hurricane is breeded
And it’s churning in the waters off the shore.
We are scoffers in the morning,
And we listen to no warning,
For the knocking is not knocking at the door. 

It’s the blazing of the brashness
And the blindness with its rashness
That keeps shutting out awareness of the storm.
And the bliss of keeping busy,
Like a buzzing bee, in tizzy,
Keeps the many from awareness of the harm. 

Now upon the far horizon
Is a line of clouds, a ribbon,
And their issue is a gentle blowing breeze.
It is strange, this wind that’s blowing,
Never speeding, never slowing,
Coming straight from widening ribbon that one sees. 

Now the warning bells are sounding,
Steady, pealing, e’er abounding,
But the many focus on their daily care.
They all hurry, hunting honey,
Loving sun and making money.
Certainly, they’re knowing, yet so unaware. 

Steadily, the band advances
Till it fills the sky, and chances
Of escaping all the damage fade away.
And the very act of sowing
Thoughtless seed while going, going,
Helps the hurricane to have its deadly day. 

Hives are busy in the morning,
And they want no word of warning,
For the sweetness of the honey blinds the eye;
Blinds the eye, does daily living,
To the sign that life is giving
Of the line across our days when we must die.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.


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‘Tis The Season
(Christmas 2013) 

Christmas tree,
Package bright
Star atop,
Silent night. 

Snow may fall
Bells will ring
Children sing. 

Making candy,
Shoot the breeze;
Building bonds,

*I sent this poem in Christmas cards I mailed in 2013.


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



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……………(written at the death of Lincoln)

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
……O the bleeding drops of red,
………Where on the deck my Captain lies,
…………Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up – for you the flag is flung – for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths – for you the shores acrowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
……The arm beneath your head!
………It is some dream that on the deck,
…………You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse or will,
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won:
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
……But I with mournful tread,
………Walk the deck my Captain lies,
…………Fallen cold and dead.

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