Posts Tagged ‘black’

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.



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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.

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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.


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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.


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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?

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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’.


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And In Many Seasons

In the spring,
Two flowers in bloom –



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

Bright – photo by Manu Mohan at

Sees – photo by Miguel Saavedra 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, 2014.

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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.

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