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Posts Tagged ‘carpe diem’

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The sky is full of clouds today,
White puffs wreathed ’round with blue.
Not one seems bigger than my fist
From my long distance view. 

In each, or all combined, there is
The possibility
That from their present laziness
Might come utility. 

A cloud can grow or clouds can clump,
And rain may start to fall.
There is potential, then, in clouds
That they might bless us all. 

Life, too, is like the pregnant sky,
And this truth one must seize:
Each day’s a treasure chest, and full
Of possibilities.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

 

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If you’re ever going to love me love me now, while I can know
All the sweet and tender feelings which from real affection flow.
Love me now, while I am living; do not wait till I am gone
And then chisel it in marble-warm love words on ice-cold stone.
If you’ve dear, sweet thoughts about me, why not whisper them to me?
Don’t you know ‘twould make me happy and as glad as glad could be?
If you wait till I am sleeping, ne’er to waken here again,
There’ll be walls of earth between us and I couldn’t hear you then.
If you knew someone was thirsting for a drop of water sweet
Would you be so slow to bring it?  Would you step with laggard feet?
There are tender hearts all round us who are thirsting for our love;
Why withhold from them what nature makes them crave all else above?
I won’t need your kind caresses when the grass grows o’er my face;
I won’t crave your love or kisses in my last low resting place.
So, then, if you love me any, if it’s but a little bit,
Let me know it now while living; I can own and treasure it.

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different

I’d like a different sky before I die
The southern cross, the magic northern lights,
A tropic moon through palm trees, like a pie,
The jagged blue left by Mt. Everest’s bites.

And from a distance, on the Kansas plain,
I’d like to see a rope descend and swell.
And somewhere in the Rocky Mountain chain
Sit watching while a blizzard works its spell.

I’d like a different path before I die –
Boone-blazed, through Wilderness, his road;
Or tread where elephants against the sky
Crossed Alps with Hannibal their brazen load;

Or march scorched earth – Atlanta to the sea
Where Sherman and his locusts laid all waste;
And contrast that with Paul’s first ministry
Till all his journey I have then retraced.

A different place to stand before I die
Would let me see the world through others’ eyes –
Where first Balboa did Pacific spy,
Where Cook stood looking at his North Pole prize.

I’d like to stand, considering man’s fate
Where Jesus wept o’er doomed Jerusalem;
And look to Earth, and heaven contemplate
From where stood Armstrong on his podium.

I’d like a different me before I die
A little less of all that’s cold and hard,
A serving more of love and humble pie,
A softer me that’s nothing like a shard.

In living then, I must be on my way;
I have no certain schedule like a train.
Tomorrow is not promised, just today.
The now of Time as king will ever reign.


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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A life must never be a box
One’s holding almost thrilled,
But closed, with candies filled,
When key’s at hand to open locks.

The comfort of the well-worn path
May keep one from the new
Where lies the golden dew,
While sparing but a little wrath.

When stranger of the moment knocks
And has another’s trust,
To shake his hand’s a must,
For worlds a greeting thus unlocks. 

When we have ceased our earthly stay,
May it be widely said
And on our tombstones read
That here lies one who seized the day.


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

 

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The Brittle Little Leaves

When Fall has passed its color peak,
   The painted leaves take flight,
Blown here by warm winds from the south;
   Blown there by north wind’s bite. 

They fill the air like butterflies;
   They float, freed from the tree.
And as they race, borne by the wind,
   They’re blind to frailty. 

One farther than the others sails;
   One higher than the rest.
One grabs a ride on passing car;
   One boasts as palace guest. 

But though we marvel at their hues,
   Most end in gutters, streets,
Like man who wastes his life in drink
   And final end there meets. 

Their days, when fetter free in Fall,
   Are few, though each achieves
A splash of fame till end does claim
   Those brittle little leaves. 

Awed mankind watches Fall fly by
   As it’s blown too by winds –
The mores of the masses’ moods,
   The fads and passing trends. 

Men fly in hurried little bursts;
   They’re blown by moment’s whim;
They marvel as their colors flash –
   It’s all carpe diem.  

Each, in his fall, casts off constraints
   And for the moment lives,
Not seeing that for fancy flights
   It is his all he gives. 

But foliage that’s evergreen,
   Though staid and fixed, receives
Long life to spend, not bitter end
   Of brittle little leaves.

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photo by Yannick Bisson at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mERacEq/Fallen+Leaves+1
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

 

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The Present

‘Tis morning, and the dogs push out
   The door into the yard.
The sun’s still soft upon the hill;
   The day is fresh, not scarred. 

The deer stream down the sylvan slope;
    A dove sings to his mate.
The world is stretching, now awake;
   The day’s become its date. 

The hill is not aware of this,
   But I should fully be –
That I’ve been given yet again
   This prized commodity.

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photo by John Boyer at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nkv8xwm/Sunrise+Trees

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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Upon the far horizon, Day
   Sat down, his feet to rest.
He’ll stand the morrow without pay,
   A servant, not a guest. 

For Day arises, comes to wait:
   A butler, runner, drudge.
He’s still, for charge to set his gait;
   Without one, will not budge. 

He’ll be a therapist, and stretch
   Your whims and limbs and mind.
Or, he will nurse you as you retch
    If you’re the drinking kind. 

For dissipation or advance,
   He’s at your beck and call.
So use your servant ev’ry chance:
   He steals – and takes your all.

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photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWS22wo/seashore+reflections

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

 

 

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To-Day

Why fear to-morrow, timid heart?
   Why tread the future’s way?
We only need to do our pat
   To-day, dear child, to-day.

The past is written!  Close the book
   On pages sad and gay;
Within the future do not look,
   But live to-day — to-day.

‘Tis this one hour that God has given;
   His Now we must obey;
And it will make our earth his heaven
   To live to-day — to-day.

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photo by Photonut at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dQMYHn/Golden+Sunrise

 

 

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And The Winner Is

Great design
Best helicopter:
Hummingbird.

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The Drunk

Laughs too loud
At things not funny;
Moves too slow.

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Carpe Diem

Life’s menu,
Sign: Today’s Special
Is today.

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

 

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