Posts Tagged ‘cloud’


I confess:
I’m hooked on Texas.
Like the fish.


The photo is mine, of the statue of a fish in a nearby park.


* 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, 2019.


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It struck me – every Day –
The lightning was as new
As if the Cloud that instant slit
And let the Fire through –

It burned Me – in the Night –
It Blistered to My Dream –
It sickened fresh upon my sight –
With every Morn that came –

I thought that Storm – was brief –
The Maddest – quickest by –
But Nature lost the Date of This –
And left it in the Sky –

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It Grew Up Up Up

A boy lost
A kite with a tail.
Became cloud.



Job Review

You’re too cute.
No one will be scared.
Mean needed.



Serenity And Beauty

Path prepared
For the late ev’ning
Of one’s years.


Grew – photo by Lars Sundstrom at

Job – photo by Lynne Lancaster at

Serenity – photo by Phil Edon 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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   The Poet And His Songs

As the birds come in the Spring,
   We know not from where;
As the stars come at evening
   From depths of the air; 

As the rain comes from the cloud,
   And the brook from the ground;
As suddenly, low or loud,
   Out of silence a sound; 

As the grape comes to the vine,
   The fruit to the tree;
As the wind comes to the pine,
   And the tide to the sea; 

As come the white sails of ships
   O’er the ocean’s verge;
As comes the smile to the lips,
   The foam to the surge; 

So come to the Poet his songs,
   All hitherward blow
From the misty realm, that belongs
   To the vast Unknown. 

His, and not his, are the lays
   He sings; and their fame
Is his, and not his; and the praise
   And the pride of a name. 

For voices pursue him by day,
   And haunt him by night,
And he listens, and needs must obey,
   When the Angel says, “Write!”

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In innocence, the night began,
Like most of nights, by far.
But shortly after Sun had set
Two brutes raised heads to war.

The pig cloud and the dog tree were                                              
Outlines against the sky.
The fun began when lightning leapt
And struck the pig cloud’s eye.

The pig blinked not, but winked a bit,
And said it was a grin
He’d flashed across the evening.
His lie, not he, was thin.

He laughed as if it tickled him.
He snorted loud and roared
From rumblings deep within his bowels.
He was, and was not, boared.

The dog tree bobbed his head and howled,
As pig cloud belched the wind.
Dog’s boughing neck and branching legs
Did rub and creak and bend.

Dog would have wagged his tail at Pig –
…The problem, I suppose,
Was that his tail was rooted deep
Beside a rising rose.

Instead, he tossed his head about
To watch as Pig approached.
And would he run away with Pig?
The subject was not broached.

The whipping wind ripped some of Dog –
The eyes, ears, nose, and throat.
The pig cloud cried to see his plight,
Enough to fill a boat.

But dog trees grow more playful when
A pig cloud comes to call.
And so the dog tree barked and jumped,
And joined in the brawl.

Like dinosaurs they thrashed about,
Like monsters in the deep;
They raged and stormed most of the night,
So no one else could sleep.

Before the dawn could shine upon
Their comic-tragic end,
The pig had rained himself away,
And dog had lost to wind.

That night was such that folks would say,
“Not fit for man nor beast.”
But Pig of Cloud and Dog of Tree
Had fun, to say the least.    


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

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