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Posts Tagged ‘children’

In the Orchard-Days, when you
Children look like blossoms, too,
Bessie, with her jaunty ways
And trim poise of head and face,
Must have looked superior
Even to the blossoms, – for
Little Winnie once averred
Bessie looked just like the bird
Tilted on the topmost spray
Of the apple boughs in May.
With the redbreast, and the strong
Clear, sweet warble of his song  –
“I don’t know their name,” Win said –
“I ist maked a name instead.” –
So forever afterwards
We called robins “Bessie-birds.”

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Merry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Sees you, swift as arrow,
Seek your cradle narrow,
Near my bosom.
Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
Pretty, pretty robin,
Near my bosom.

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Saluting Lenin

A coin
Salutes cause of great
Misery.

——————–

 

Beached

Those beached whales
Are just mimicking
Fishing boats.

——————–

 

Most Precious

Yellow bloom
Midst yellow flowers
Growing child.

———————

Lenin – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhiyq0I/Lenin%27s+decoration

Beached – photo by jonfletch (Jon) at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/moQdcT0/Fishing+Boat

Precious – photo by Maciej Lewandowski at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mf90Iye/Flowers
———————
* 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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Once You Start

In Eden –
Have a hunch they ate
The whole thing.

——————– 

 

Color For Coloring 

For children,
A yellow harvest
For crayons.

——————– 

2dyXyr6

 

All Too Often

What is true,
The reality –
Distorted.

——————–

Start – photo by Dirk De Kegel at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgGpO6K/A+bite+in+a+strawberry.

Color – photo by Kevin Tuck at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nxPYcyE/Farm+crops+in+spring

Often – photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dyXyr6/Flight+Over+Water+2

——————–

 

* 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, 2015.

 

 

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The grass is brown. Oh, Mother, why?
The rain won’t fall and so it’s dry.

The river’s slow. Oh, Mother, why?
The clouds are missing from the sky.

The deer are thin. Oh, Mother, why?
The grass is gone and some may die.

It’s dry! It’s dry! Oh, Mother, why?
We’re in a drought; for rain we cry.

Why is there drought, oh, Mother, why?
Without a rain, the weeks go by.

———————————————–

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

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The sale began – young girls were there,
Defenceless in their wretchedness,
Whose stifled sobs of deep despair
Revealed their anguish and distress. 

And mothers stood with streaming eyes,
And saw their dearest children sold;
Unheeded rose their bitter cries,
While tyrants bartered them for gold. 

And woman, with her love and truth –
For these in sable forms may dwell –
Gaz’d on the husband of her youth
With anguish none may paint or tell. 

And men, whose sole crime was their hue,
The impress of their Maker’s hand,
And frail and shrinking children, too,
Were gathered in that mournful band. 

Ye who have laid your love to rest,
And wept above their lifeless clay,
Know not the anguish of that breast,
Whose lov’d are rudely torn away. 

Ye may not know how desolate
Are bosoms rudely forced to part,
And how a dull and heavy weight
Will press the life-drops from the heart.

 

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She’s three, and she’s ready – a long trip.
I say that we’re going; the first dip
Is straight down the small hill.
She says, “Wheeee!” (It’s a thrill.)
A “there yet?” were next words from her lip.

————————————————————

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

 

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…….Through Thick And Thin

(the poem is about my granddaughter,
                  now almost 3.) 

I called her scratchings spider webs,
The first one brought to me.
She calls her scratchings spider webs,
Now drawn deliberately. 

Sometimes I am her audience;
I clap and lavish praise
For song or dance or toddler art.
I’m sunshine on her days. 

Sometimes we partner in the scratch;
I draw the spider in.
And by web-weaving we are bound,
One thick in years, one thin. 

I water well this growing plant,
Protect from sun and storm.
I’m now remaining young at heart
With her, my magic charm.

———————————————-

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

 

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You’re Just A Tree

Out! Out to sea,
I’d love to go,
And thus I lean
To-ward my beau. 

But others cry,
“Out? Out to sea!
You cannot go;
You’re just a tree” 

And on my dream
Those others lean
And make it flat –
Not that they’re mean. 

The picture’s old;
One day a man
Came by and cut
Me with a plan. 

He took his time,
And worked with craft.
I’m not a tree;
I am a raft! 

Out! Out to sea!
No lean – I go!
And there I ride
Upon my beau.

———————

photo by Kevin Tuck at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mQXSMPi/Lone+tree

———————-

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

 

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Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore –
No doubt you have heard the name before –
Was a boy who never would shut a door! 

The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door. 

His father would beg, his mother implore,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!” 

Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore. 

When he walked forth the folks would roar,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don’t you think to shut the door?” 

They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore. 

But he begged for mercy, and said, “No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door.” 

“You will?” said his parents, “then keep on shore!
But mind you do!  For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!”

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