Posts Tagged ‘ignorance of youth’


We sometimes now gather, all wrinkled and gray,
And talk of the past that has faded away.
The past that was better, the good days, the old –
And fonder we cherish as farther behold.

There’s nothing that’s better in your mind and mine
Than days in the past when all facets were fine –
When nights were like diamonds and days were like gold,
When we were but youths and unknowing and bold.

We speak of them often; our words glow; we sigh –
Those birds have flown off without saying goodbye.
Migration is not why they’ve flown far away,
For birds gone in winter come back in a day.

The old days have flown to the past, not the south
Existing now only in our mind and mouth.
In first, they’re a treasure; in second, a treat
To all who were with us ere Time seemed so fleet.

Those wheat fields were golden; we glean just the best,
Gloss over the trouble, forgetting the rest.
What matters are mem’ries, the good that survives,
And happy are we with our loves and our lives.

That world now seems perfect without the decay
(No matter the decade, it’s always that way).
In gardens of ignorance, bliss is beget
And now, if we know it, we tend to forget.

So, good friends, my old friends, come by and we’ll sit
In rockers, both smiling, and visit a bit.
And there we will travel and go back in time
To good days, the old days, when life was sublime.


Photo by  Billy Frank Alexander at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRWHPQ/Grunge+Texture


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

Read Full Post »

………………..The Hurricane

In the softness of the morning
When the sun is barely dawning
And the vigor of the day is like a youth,
There is scarcely any stirring,
Neither whisper, nor a whirring,
Of a wind that searches weakness like a sleuth. 

But there’s news that should be heeded
That a hurricane is breeded
And it’s churning in the waters off the shore.
We are scoffers in the morning,
And we listen to no warning,
For the knocking is not knocking at the door. 

It’s the blazing of the brashness
And the blindness with its rashness
That keeps shutting out awareness of the storm.
And the bliss of keeping busy,
Like a buzzing bee, in tizzy,
Keeps the many from awareness of the harm. 

Now upon the far horizon
Is a line of clouds, a ribbon,
And their issue is a gentle blowing breeze.
It is strange, this wind that’s blowing,
Never speeding, never slowing,
Coming straight from widening ribbon that one sees. 

Now the warning bells are sounding,
Steady, pealing, e’er abounding,
But the many focus on their daily care.
They all hurry, hunting honey,
Loving sun and making money.
Certainly, they’re knowing, yet so unaware. 

Steadily, the band advances
Till it fills the sky, and chances
Of escaping all the damage fade away.
And the very act of sowing
Thoughtless seed while going, going,
Helps the hurricane to have its deadly day. 

Hives are busy in the morning,
And they want no word of warning,
For the sweetness of the honey blinds the eye;
Blinds the eye, does daily living,
To the sign that life is giving
Of the line across our days when we must die.


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


Read Full Post »