Posted in A-B (by poet name), Poems of Other Poets, tagged anonymous, bard on the hill, black, confederacy, cornfield, emancipation, free, Negro Soldier's Civil War Chant, Ole Abe, poems, poetry, powder shot lead, Rebel's in gray, secession, sesesh, slavery, union, victuals on September 23, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Ole Abe (God bless ‘is ole soul!)
Got a plenty good victuals, an’ a plenty good clo’es.
Got powder, an’ shot, an’ lead,
To bust in Adam’s liddle Confed’
In dese hard times.
Oh, once dere was union, an’ den dere was peace;
De slave, in de cornfield, bare up to his knees.
But de Rebel’s in gray, an’ Sesesh’s in de way,
An’ de slave’ll be free
In dese hard times.
Posted in M-N, Poems of Other Poets, Uncategorized, tagged bard on the hill, black, Claude McKay, dreaded dawn, leaden sigh, misty veil, night is mine, o whisper my soul, poems, poetry, The Tired Worker, ugly city, wretched day was theirs on February 1, 2016| Leave a Comment »
O whisper, O my soul! The afternoon
Is waning into evening, whisper soft!
Peace, O my rebel heart! for soon the moon
From out its misty veil will swing aloft!
Be patient, weary body, soon the night
Will wrap thee gently in her sable sheet,
And with a leaden sigh thou wilt invite
To rest thy tired hands and aching feet.
The wretched day was theirs, the night is mine;
Come tender sleep and fold me to thy breast,
But what steals out the gray clouds red like wine?
O dawn! O dreaded dawn! O let me rest.
Weary my veins, my brain, my life! Have pity!
No! Once gain the harsh, the ugly city.
Posted in E-H, Poems of Other Poets, tagged bard on the hill, black, company outward bound, cottages, creaking feet, eve, Good Hours, poems, poetry, profanation, Robert Frost" >, shining eyes in snow, slumbering village street, sound of a violin, ten o'clock, winter evening walk, wordpress blog, youthful forms faces on December 12, 2015| 1 Comment »
I had for my winter evening walk –
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.
And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.
I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.
Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o’clock of a winter eve.
Posted in My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, black, Dennis Lange, hate, integration, naive, plant, poems, poetry, prejudice, race, racial discrimination, sheltered life, The Greenhouse, white, wordpres00s blog on October 1, 2015| 2 Comments »
I am a greenhouse plant that grew
…From seed to youthful tree,
Kept far from both the frost and dew
…Where plants felt agony.
I was not pampered as a child,
…But sheltered from the hate
That runs throughout a world gone wild
…Like cracks creep ‘cross a plate.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care;
…I simply was naïve
That prejudice was even there
…O’er color of a sleeve.
And so it was, that I was blest
…And at the same time, cursed.
Of prejudice – I passed the test.
…At knowledge, I’d not nursed.
No integration at my school;
…I didn’t even know
That coal was still against the rule
…E’en with the piles of snow.
And so the strangers came one day
…As if a planet far
Had sent their messengers to say,
…“May we live where you are?”
It mattered not one whit to me;
…Green was my greenhouse hue,
And under our glass canopy,
…Weren’t all the new ones, too?
—
———————————–
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.
Posted in Poems of Other Poets, W-Z, tagged Africa, baby, bard on the hill, black, freedom, kidnapped, parents anguish, Phillis Wheatley, poems, poetry, separation, slavery, sorrow, To The RIght Honorable William Earl Of Dartmouth on August 25, 2015| Leave a Comment »
…Should you, my lord, while you pursue my song,
Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,
Whence flow these wishes for the common good,
By feeling hearts alone best understood,
I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate
Was snatch’d from Afric’s fancy happy seat:
What pangs excruciating must molest,
What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast?
Steel’d was the soul and by no misery mov’d
That from a father seiz’d his babe belov’d.
Such, such my case. And can I then but pray
Others may never feel tyrannic sway?
Posted in A-B (by poet name), Folksongs / Spirituals, Poems of Other Poets, tagged anonymous, bard on the hill, black, I thank my God I'm free at last, meet my Jesus, Negro, poems, poetry, slaves, song, spiritual, way down yonder in the graveyard walk on July 15, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Free at las’, free at las’,
I thank God I’m free at las’.
Free at las’, free at las’.
I thank God I’m free at las’.
Way down yonder in de graveyard walk,
I thank God I’m free at las’.
Me an’ my Jesus gwineter meet an’ talk,
I thank God I’m free at las’.
On-a my knees when de light pass by,
I thank God I’m free at las’.
Thought my soul would arise and fly,
I thank God I’m free at las’.
Some o’ dese mornin’s bright and fair,
I thank God I’m free at las’,
Gwineter meet my Jesus in de middle of de air,
I thank God I’m free at las’.
Posted in My Haiku, tagged bard on the hill, beauty of sunlight, black, butterfly, cross, crucifixion, daffodils blooming spring, darkness, Dennis Lange, Haikus, love of Christ, night, poems, poetry on May 28, 2014| 1 Comment »
And In Many Seasons
In the spring,
Two flowers in bloom –
Daffodils.
——————–
The Bright, The Black
Rare picture
Both sun’s light, night’s dark.
Two beauties.
——————–
Who Sees?
Does the sea
See love hanging there?
Do we see?
———————
Seasons – photo by Maciej Lewandowski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfPRQA2/Two+vintage+cars
Bright – photo by Manu Mohan at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgF4kDo/Butterfly
Sees – photo by Miguel Saavedra at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/1mQUBx/Cruceiro+form+Galicia+1
———————-
* 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, 2014.
Posted in Poems of Other Poets, W-Z, tagged bard on the hill, black, Cain, Christians, God, Negroes, On Being Brought From Africa To America, our sable race, pagan land, Phillis Wheatley, poems, poetry, redemption, Saviour on November 10, 2013| Leave a Comment »
On Being Brought From Africa To America
‘Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there’s a God, that there’s a Savior too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
“Their colour is a diabolic die.”
Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,
May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.
The Bard on the Hill