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Posts Tagged ‘color’

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The white-tailed deer I feed seem mostly gray,
Though nothing makes my mind to think that way
Until one comes along of diff’rent shade
And side by side comparison is made. 

Once-spotted summer-born, now autumn fawn
That in these last few weeks has crossed my lawn
Is diff’rent from the rest in brass and hue.
Like first-sight love, I saw her shade and knew. 

She sometimes come to feed without her doe.
That’s so unlike the others that I know,
For nature births a fawn with legs that fear
And take to flight instead of coming near. 

By what I first exclaimed, she’s now addressed.
Brown Baby is thus diff’rent from the rest.
I do not love her less because of that,
Or more as if her hue’s a thermostat. 

If all my deer were brown I would not mind
For white tails, warm, soft eyes would be their kind.
And if no brown one ever came my way,
It would not matter if they all were gray.

What matters is that they would be my friend
And not turn tail and run away as wind,
And that they do not war as neighbors war.
One’s color is not cause to love them more.

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The photo is mine. Brown Baby is the fawn in
the upper left.

—————————————–

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

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King dreamed that he would say (when chains were past
Or strands so thin and few), these words long overdue,
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

Though Egypt was behind, her reach was vast.
And like the wind, he blew winged words that fell like dew.
King dreamed a dream when all the chains were past.

His voice was Gabriel’s mighty trumpet blast;
The march began on cue, toward Canaan’s words and view,
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

His dream? – by hate and pharaohs not harassed;
Men judged, not by their hue; a future bright and new.
King dreamed a dream when all the chains were past.

Upon the farther shore, his people massed,
The sea returned and blue, they’d shout because they knew,
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

Let go the broken chains! Away, them cast!
The speech and dream came true, for all who dare and do.
And now men say, since all their chains are past:
“Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

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

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Ain’t Gonna Mow No More, No More

Mower blades
Need rescuing
From grass blades.

——————–

 

New Rider

An old bike
Still being climbed on
By a vine.

——————–


Memories

Like photos,
Fade from color to
Black and white.

——————–

Mow – photo by Michael Athorn at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nKNKJYS/Time+To+Mow

Rider – photo by Macie Lewandowski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/oeAng5c/Old+bicycle

Memories – photo by Sanja Gjenero at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhAI542/old+times

——————–

* 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 Devourer Of The Green

Leaves’ colors
Changed by approach of
Winter’s teeth.

——————–

 

Death And The Grave

No escape:
The gates of Hades
Bar death’s door.

——————–

 

Decisions

Oft we gaze
Toward other worlds –
Shall we go?

——————–

Devourer – photo by Michael and Christa Richert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mfjHlUM/castle%27s+gate+in+autumn

Death – photo by Colin Brough at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mDmWCyW/Imprisoned

Decisions – photo by Sander Klaver at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mriaLPY/Padang+beach

———————

* 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, 2013.

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Orange-fruit

        For Ang (Angie)

If I write of orange, the fruit,
   And know there are no rhymes
For that cursed word, the poet’s bane,
   I know frustration’s times.

When of color orange I write,
   The problem still occurs.
It’s irritating to a bard,
   Like sitting on some burrs.

And so you’ll notice my neat trick
   Above, I put the orange
Within the line, not at the end –
   Except when it’s for Ang.

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

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In a poem titled “Peas Are Only Green, Andy Fox wrote the following lines:

Peas are only green!
How boring is that!
Just a single colour.
No more.
At least onions are white and red….

I would urge you to read the rest of the poem at his blog:
http://sixfootbear.wordpress.com/2011/06/05/peas-are-only-green/

After reading his poem, I wrote the following, tongue-in-cheek, in reply:

…..Leave Peas at Peace, Please

Yes, peas are only green in hue;
That seems to be your ‘plaint.
But there might be another beef,
Something else than paint.

Would you be pleased if you found peas
Were purple to the core?
Or would you just insist again
That peas are still a bore?

And what if we found peas as striped
As candy canes in stores,
Would peas still bother you so much
You’d swear they are a bore?

If I made peas as spotted as
A hundred-speckled pup,
Would you still run them down in poems
And beat their image up?

If that be so, the problem’s not
That they are single-hued.
The trouble’s in the bite you eat –
They treat your taste buds rude.

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

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