Posts Tagged ‘Christmas’


Two Smiths they were, and Mrs. both:
A matriarch was one;
The other was the welcomed lass
Who wed the loving son. 

The latter made him happy and
The two were closely knit.
The matriarch walked easily with
The new shoe that still fit. 

The younger Mrs. Smith gave birth
And bore a son, an heir
That now would carry on the name
Both common and so rare. 

All – father, son, and newborn male
Were each one of a kind,
Like lonely roads that lead one way
Into an end that’s blind. 

The father’s father passed away;
The matriarch alone
Was left to head the family,
Be hostess, and its tone. 

And so, for all the holidays,
And some days in between,
The little family met as one –
A small tree that was green. 

The Third grew up and left the nest,
But flew oft to return
Eventually with his own mate,
A Mrs. Smith in turn. 

Then, inexplicably to all,
The middle Mrs. Smith
Had an affair, exploding trust
In all her kin and kith. 

But junior Mr. Smith, with love,
Took back his wayward mate
Who sorrowed much o’er what she’d done
To bring this fallen state. 

And taped together with resolve,
Repentance, and regret,
The pair and married son and wife
Were a close unit yet. 

But Christmases were not the same.
Though bells were bright and bold.
And frozen rain ne’er ruined the roads –
The matriarch was cold. 

No phone calls stitched the time between;
No post cards in the mail,
No message relayed through the son
To the abandoned jail. 

Next Christmas came, and she stayed home,
Forgiven and yet not.
The Third, next Christmas, and his wife,
Joined in her lonely lot. 

Soon Junior, too, would travel less
Since he would be alone.
His link then to the matriarch –
A single thread, a phone. 

And thus the family fell apart
And could not ever mend,
The fragile fabric torn to shreds
By Mrs. Smith who sinned.


photo by Billy Frank Alexander at


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



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Dock. Golden mouse ran
Round this clock.

Christmas Time

E’en a mouse
Wants to know how long
Till Christmas.


photo by Karen Link 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 Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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This is the Month, and this the happy morn
Wherein the Son of Heav’ns eternal King,
Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty,
Wherwith he wont at Heav’ns high Councel-Table,
To sit the midst of Trinal Unity,
He laid aside; and here with us to be,
...Forsook the Courts of everlasting Day,
And chose with us a darksom House of mortal Clay.

Say Heav’nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the Infant God?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strein,
To welcom him to this his new abode,
Now while the Heav’n by the Suns team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approching light,
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See how from far upon the Eastern rode
The Star-led Wisards haste with odours sweet,
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet:
Have thou the honour first, thy Lord to greet,
And joyn thy voice unto the Angel Quire,
From out his secret Altar toucht with hallow’d fire.


I’ve left the spelling the same as my source, not changing
anything to what is now accepted as right.

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……..Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I hear heaped praise, like waves upon the shore,
And in its falling, hints to me of more –
Of gods who disagree, a distant thunder.
All I can do is read… and read – in wonder! 

It’s straight when carpenter has found his line,
Then varies naught from what’s both true and fine.
Longfellow, too, laid down the plumb and chalked it,
Then word by word and rhyme by rhyme, he walked it. 

So often did his heart leap to his throat!
So many memorable lines we know and quote!
For his poetic gift and gait, we’re grateful.
Why thus must others be so mean and hateful? 

A critic’s dab, but people’s love – deluge.
When all love Christmas, what think we of Scrooge?
The critics cannot write; they fire a mortar.
It’s pencil envy; theirs is so much shorter.


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


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A Filling Meal

My table’s taken, so I sit
   At next convenient place,
The café like a cozy nook
   Where one escapes the chase. 

A ceiling fan turns lazily
   Like hawks wheel in the sky.
The Christmas music sets the mood,
   Since that big day is nigh. 

The waitress wears a Santa cap
   And jolly little smile
As she delivers plates of food –
   But thinking all the while 

Of Christmas shopping still undone,
   And how she’ll spend her tips
On kin, especially her niece –
   Sweet Little Sugar Lips. 

Her thoughts go to the store and find
   The perfect little gift
That Sugar Lips is sure to like,
   And then, like snowflakes drift, 

Her thoughts roam further as she fills
   An empty glass of tea,
To pale pink paper and a bow,
   The package for the tree. 

And like snow flurries blown by wind,
   Her thoughts find Christmas day,
And Sugar Lips with gift in hand,
   Face lit up like flambé. 

The light that fills a loved one’s face,
   A grownup or a child,
Is greater than all trees combined;
   Makes ornaments seem mild. 

The waitress, staring into space,
   Herself has sudden glow,
Sparked by the thought of Sugar Lips
   And how her smile will grow.

She told her thought; it was dessert
  That she passed on to me;
And as I left the small café,
  My heart hummed merrily.


photo by Sanja Gjenero at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgylSMU/present


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

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An Idea

At Christmas
Decorate small trees –


Merry Christmas

Many lights
To light up a life
With joy.


Yet, All Share

Your joy
Like the confetti
May differ.


Have A Very Merry Slappy Happy Yule & Year

Let us all
Reach, seize the season –
Ride the wave.


An Idea (photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ng29aFO/Ladybug )

Merry Christmas (photo by Alessandro Paiva at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mq2Ev7u/Xmas+Lights+5 )

Yet,  All Share (photo by Billy Frank Alexander at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meMCZXO/Confetti )

Have A Very Merry (photo by Danka K. at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWeyBI4/Christmas+tree )


* 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, 2012.




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Christmas in the post-War United States

Image via Wikipedia

Shopping Today?

Crazy folks!
Wet, cold.  Out in droves –
Oh! Christmas.


A Bit Extra

Bow, ribbons –
A Christmas present.
And more – love.


Calling Teetotalers, Too

Get ready.
Christmas hangover –
Credit cards.


Christmas Paradox

Tis often
Coldest of weather,
Warmest hearts.


Night and Day

Not a match:
Wild and hectic day;
Silent night.


Man’s Tradition

Birth of Christ?
Not Christmas.  Best guess?
In the spring.


Trip Dilemma

We have room
For Christmas presents,
Or the kids.


* 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, 2011.

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English: Photo of a stone fireplace.

             Remembering You

 (sent in Christmas cards in 2008)

These are days when eyesight sinks
Through fireplace flames to find
Bright visions flickering from the past
Like coals, to warm the mind.

Love wraps the presents and the hearts.
It links today with friends
And draws them near, though far away
‘Cross miles and years and winds.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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      September Front

The first cold front (like Christmas comes)
Arrives with greatest flair,
Anticipated (roll of drums!)
For seasons of the air.

All Texas sat, on Santa’s knee,
Throughout the month before,
And with a single earnest plea,
Did o’er and o’er implore

For just one gift from old Saint Nick,
One gift, and that is all;
As soon as possible, a quick
Sign of impending fall.

It was the fourth our present came,
Delivered by the wind,
That stiffly blew with stubborn aim,
From north, to bring an end

To marching hundreds on the scale,
An army straight from hell,
That licked and left an empty pail
Of Texas lake and well.

We wake to mornings crisp and cool
With smiles like Cheshire cat,
More gladly keep the Golden Rule,
More jaunty tilt the hat.

We celebrate, exult, and still
Our disappointment hide –
The colors of our gift-wrapped chill
Were missing, far and wide.

The radar blank, a baby’s slate,
No green or yellow hue;
No line of rain across the state
As front came marching through.

And so we live, in drought – no rain.
But break in summer heat,
Takes some of pain.  Some aches remain –
Our lives are bittersweet.


The above is true about the front that swept the state
on Sept.4.  It brought no rain.  But since then, I’ve had
a rain a week (1/2 in., 1/2 in., .8 in., 1 in.).  During two
of those rains, including the one Saturday night (10/8/11),
widespread areas of Texas also received rains, some far
heavier than we’ve had here.  Since we’re 15 inches
behind in rain and I see no difference in the creek below
my perch, we certainly can’t say the drought is over.
The rains we’ve received, however, have blessed us and
we’re grateful, not to Saint Nick, but to God.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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