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Posts Tagged ‘fall’

Winter

Two seasons
Autumn and Winter –
Fire on ice.

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photo by Marja Flick-Buijs at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meRdgn2/Winter+colors

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

 

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Morning call.
There was no answer.
I wondered.

Appointment?
Maybe. Trip to bank?
Possible.

Further thoughts:
Bathroom? Outside, for
Newspaper?

The phone rang.
I saw my aunt’s name –
And I knew.

Not good news.
How bad is the bad?
Broken hip.

Fell outside
While picking up the
Newspaper.

I wonder –
At ninety, will she
Walk again?

 

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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 barber we call Winter cuts
The leaves from off the trees.
They stay upon his barber chair
Till shorn down to their knees. 

And all their brightly colored locks
Fall down upon his floor,
And clutter up his barbershop
Till they’re swept out the door. 

He has an old assistant – Wind,
Who sweeps them all away.
They’re quite a pair – old Winter, Wind:
They’ll work both night and day.


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

 

 

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Spring is a skipping pretty girl
With flowers in her hair,
Remaking all the meadows’ moods;
By May, she’s twice as fair. 

Close on her heels, kin – Summer – comes,
A lad who likes to race.
He’s bursting with great energy,
And fierce and flushed his face. 

Fall is a lady, elegant –
Dressed in her finery.
She is a bit aloof: just take
Or leave her to her spree. 

But Winter is a grumpy man;
And old and gruff he seems.
Both biting bitterness and gloom
Can be his aged extremes.
 

As each one comes, treat each one well
And pay their tip or fee.
Not only will you live in them,
But each one could you be.

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

 

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.
………………………..
Wind Asks

The breath of the morning is testing the leaves;
It’s whipping through trees as it wanders and weaves.
It blows like a whistle; it blasts like a horn;
It whispers; it tickles; it moves branch and thorn. 

The sparrows that perch in the trees as they dance
All wonder in whispers how likely the chance
That leaves, little leaves, have now learned so they know
Why wind with wild whistling does over them blow? 

The answer’s a question the wind has in mind,
And blowing is how it the answer will find.
It’s wanting to know of the leaves: fall or spring?
And blowing will find if they fall or they cling.

 

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photo by Hanspeter Klasser at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ojvEN4q/forest+in+autumn+4

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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………..Harbingers

I drove across the river bridge,
The traffic smooth and light,
And down below, the river ran,
A silent, silver sight.

The cypress trees that lined its banks
Were sturdy, strong, and tall.
They wore the multi-colored frocks
That trees don in the fall.

Then, from the river, rising, right,
Were two birds – heron, crane?
And one winged white and one winged gray
As Nature’s weather vane.

For as they crossed the copper leaves,
Their colors seemed to say,
“We supercede the yellow, orange –
Old Winter’s on his way.”

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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……………………….Fall

The leaves, now liquid, pour from off the trees.
The summer bloom is past, a pause, and then a blast
Since winter rides upon the northern breeze.

The sun sleeps late and works less like the bees.
Cool is the morning air; the deer no longer bare.
The leaves, now liquid, pour from off the trees.

From harvest moon, earth reaps rich royalties;
The workers ply the fields, and hurry out with yields,
Soon, winter rides upon the northern breeze.

The calmness and the beauty bring an ease
To troubled souls who rest, and let their eyes be blest.
The leaves, now liquid, pour from off the trees.

We long for fall to be a photo – freeze;
Remain in this grand pose; it won’t, and each one knows
That winter rides upon the northern breeze.

The earth has opened brilliant galleries –
Like fireworks burst the blades! – and then the color fades.
The leaves, then liquid, pour from off the trees.
Soon winter rides upon the northern breeze.

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photo by Agnes Scholiers at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nJYyWma/Fall

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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The Brittle Little Leaves

When Fall has passed its color peak,
   The painted leaves take flight,
Blown here by warm winds from the south;
   Blown there by north wind’s bite. 

They fill the air like butterflies;
   They float, freed from the tree.
And as they race, borne by the wind,
   They’re blind to frailty. 

One farther than the others sails;
   One higher than the rest.
One grabs a ride on passing car;
   One boasts as palace guest. 

But though we marvel at their hues,
   Most end in gutters, streets,
Like man who wastes his life in drink
   And final end there meets. 

Their days, when fetter free in Fall,
   Are few, though each achieves
A splash of fame till end does claim
   Those brittle little leaves. 

Awed mankind watches Fall fly by
   As it’s blown too by winds –
The mores of the masses’ moods,
   The fads and passing trends. 

Men fly in hurried little bursts;
   They’re blown by moment’s whim;
They marvel as their colors flash –
   It’s all carpe diem.  

Each, in his fall, casts off constraints
   And for the moment lives,
Not seeing that for fancy flights
   It is his all he gives. 

But foliage that’s evergreen,
   Though staid and fixed, receives
Long life to spend, not bitter end
   Of brittle little leaves.

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photo by Yannick Bisson at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mERacEq/Fallen+Leaves+1
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

 

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The Devourer Of The Green

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

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Death And The Grave

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

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Decisions

Oft we gaze
Toward other worlds –
Shall we go?

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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

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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/

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

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One Autumn Day

A swarm of leaves flew o’er the roof
As if giant yellow bees.
The wind blew them around at will,
As it undressed the trees.

And in the yard, as those flakes fell,
Small yellow wings flapped, too,
And made their way to tiny blooms
To drink their purple dew.

For this devoted fan of Fall,
It was the season’s high,
To be at peace with leaves and wings,
And watch their butter fly.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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