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Posts Tagged ‘Jane’

mWBsC4E

There are some days so drab and plain
That by themselves they’re naught.
They’re overshadowed like a Jane
By one who’s by all sought. 

Now Christmas Eve is such a day –
It cannot stand alone.
Its name reveals the next holds sway;
By Christmas, it’s outshone. 

And such it is the day before
An execution day.
Tomorrow’s eve – it is no more
Than fragile wisps of hay. 

Though none would seek it, if it comes
It casts the greatest shade.
It takes away light, warmth, and numbs,
And all else is its maid.

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photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWBsC4E/Christmas+Baubles+2

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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I love to hear thine earnest voice,
Wherever thou art hid,
Thou testy little dogmatist,
Thou pretty Katydid!
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,-
Old gentlefolks are they,-
Thou say’st an undisputed thing
In such a solemn way.

Thou art a female, Katydid!
I know it by the trill
That quivers through thy piercing notes,
So petulant and shrill;
I think there is a knot of you
Beneath the hollow tree,-
A knot of spinster Katydids,-
Do Katydids drink tea?

Oh tell me where did Katy live,
And what did Katy do?
And was she very fair and young,
And yet so wicked, too?
Did Katy love a naughty man,
Or kiss more cheeks than one?
I warrant Katy did no more
Than many a Kate has done.

Dear me! I’ll tell you all about
My fuss with little Jane,
And Ann, with whom I used to walk
So often down the lane,
And all that tore their locks of black,
Or wet their eyes of blue,-
Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid,
What did poor Katy do?

Ah no! the living oak shall crash,
That stood for ages still,
The rock shall rend its mossy base
And thunder down the hill,
Before the little Katydid
Shall add one word, to tell
The mystic story of the maid
Whose name she knows so well.

Peace to the ever-murmuring race!
And when the latest one
Shall fold in death her feeble wings
Beneath the autumn sun,
Then shall she raise her fainting voice,
And lift her drooping lid,
And then the child of future years
Shall hear what Katy did.

 

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Our eyes were lifted to this land that lay beyond the sea.
Great dreams arose and hope was born that life could better be.
And such a fire burned in our breasts, I looked into your eyes,
And said, “Let’s go”, and you agreed to sail to-ward this prize.
We booked our passage; packed our things – no, most we left behind –
Like Will’s carved birds, Jane’s second doll. And Moll (wife sweet
…..and kind)
Left pieces of her heart and soul she’d painted, bought or sewn.
And all of us left friends behind as well as flesh and bone.
We sailed. The sea stretched endlessly. Waves rose. Would we survive?
In spite of storms and sicknesses, we stand here, still alive.
Remember how the wagon rolled so slowly down the road
Until we topped the hill today to see our new abode?
What shall we name this treasured place from which we’ll never roam?
His family spoke together, said, “Let’s name it after home.”

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The picture is mine, of The Discovery, one of three ships at Jamestown.
It was shot from the deck of the Susan Constant.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

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And Jane

Jungle gym
Looks like it’s missing
Jungle Jim.

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Chimney

Wind or not –
Always from this one
The smoke swirls.

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Resting

Little kids
Tire me out.  E’en their
Shoes tire first.

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Jane – photo by Michael and Christa Richert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mYRpBwG/monkey+bars+playground

Chimney – photo by Eve Blackwood at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nZ1bqi2/twisted+chimney

Resting – photo by Robert (sulaco229) at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mwMPT7C/Child+shoes

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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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