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Posts Tagged ‘children’

preg woman and child

The sky above is virgin blue;
The breeze has summer’s breath.
The course of Nature’s staying true:
First life, then later, death. 

The children run and laugh and play;
Their adults stand and look,
A little back to miss the spray
The water fountains brook. 

And in their lot’s a sacrifice
That some for others make
Instead of selfishness like ice
Upon a frozen lake. 

The care, concern, is Nature’s course
And not the centeredness
When some because their hearts are coarse
For little lives care less.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

 

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I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea,
And oh! it was all laden
With pretty things for thee! 

There were comfits in the cabin,
And apples in the hold;
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were made of gold. 

The four-and-twenty sailors
That stood between the decks
Were four-and-twenty white mice,
With chains about their necks. 

The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back,
And when the ship began to move,
The captain said, “Quack! Quack!”

 

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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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