Three Miscellaneous Haiku by Dennis Lange

 

 

Politicians

Washington –
Blooming idiots
Not flowers.

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Rock Dance 

Often, waves
Challenge the surfers.
Sometimes, rocks.

——————– 

 

 

Eternal Comfort

Beloved toy
E’er near to be hugged,
Still faithful.

——————–

Politicians – photo by Nicolas Raymond at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nFtL7eE/Washington+DC+Cherry+Blossomshttp://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nFtL7eE/Washington+DC+Cherry+Blossoms

Rock – photo by Nicolas Raymond at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nC5D7OQ/Boulders+Beach+-+HDR

Eternal – photo by Nicolas Raymond at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nFblWy2/Tombstone+Teddy+Bear

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* 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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The Ballad Of Moll Magee by W.B. Yeats

Come round me, little childer;
There, don’t fling stones at me
Because I mutter as I go;
But pity Moll Magee. 

My man was a poor fisher
With shore lines in the say;
My work was saltin’ herrings
The whole of the long day. 

And sometimes from the saltin’ shed
I scarce could drag my feet,
Under the blessed moonlight,
Along the pebbly street.

I’d always been but weakly,
And my baby was just born;
A neighbour minded her by day,
I minded her till morn. 

I lay upon my baby;
Ye little childer dear,
I looked on my cold baby
When the morn grew frosty and clear. 

A weary woman sleeps so hard!
My man grew red and pale,
And gave me money, and bade me go
To my own place, Kinsale. 

He drove me out and shut the door,
And gave his curse to me;
I went away in silence,
No neighbour could I see. 

The windows and the doors were shut,
One star shone faint and green,
The little straws were turnin’ round
Across the bare boreen. 

I went away in silence:
Beyond old Martin’s byre
I saw a kindly neighbour
Blowin’ her mornin’ fire. 

She drew from me my story –
My money’s all used up,
And still, with pityin’, scornin’ eye,
She gives me bite and sup. 

She says my man will surely come,
And fetch me home agin;
But always, as I’m movin’ round,
Without doors or within. 

Pilin’ the wood or pilin’ the turf,
Or goin’ to the well,
I’m thinkin’ of my baby
And keenin’ to mysel’. 

And sometimes I am sure she knows
When, openin’ wide His door,
God lights the stars, His candles,
And looks upon the poor. 

So now, ye little childer,
Ye won’t fling stones at me;
But gather with your shinin’ looks
And pity Moll Magee.

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