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Posts Tagged ‘leaves’

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By my road
Was the river road
Paved with leaves.

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The photo is mine, taken in 2017 during a trip to the Northeast to see the fall foliage.

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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 Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

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I love the slowness of the autumn rain
That does not pelt like bullets from a storm,
But floats like languid butterflies to gain
A waiting blossom, landing without harm. 

I love the ambience of autumn rain
That falls between the glaring summer sun
And harshness of the winter’s frigid pain –
A yearly brilliance that does always stun.

I love the colors of the autumn rain,
When north winds shake the clouds that once were green
And from them fall the leaves that entertain
And soothe our lives till they become serene.

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The photo is mine, taken in Vermont (I think) this fall.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

 

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Eight Legs Beat Two

That guard that’s
Guarding the garden
Keeps me out!

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Tea Leaves Leafing

One little
Teapot short and stout.
Tea? I doubt.

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Beauty

Beauty bright;
Beauty distinct and
Even blurred.

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Eight – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/puUthh0/in+the+back+garden27

Tea – photo by Adrian van Leen at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/puUtqWw/in+the+back+garden26

Beauty – photo by Dez Pain at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mf1c7rC/Purple+Flower+Over+Water

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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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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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Gray ghosts afar, like elephants,
More massive than the men
Who gaze with awe upon the wall
That rises from earth’s den. 

Green-coated shoulders, forest feet –
The sight as one draws near;
And donned in Autumn – Joseph’s coat,
That jealous brothers jeer. 

Ridged behemoth, cloaked dinosaur
Whose crested, arching back
We crawl upon like helpless ants,
So tiny in attack. 

Receding Nature’s safe preserve,
The soul’s would-be retreat
If one finds how to get away
From all the other feet.


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The photo is mine, taken on a trip through Smoky Mountains
National Park last month (Oct., 2015).

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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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It’s Spring!

The pastures dead in winter live;
The grass and all the trees
Are shades of green – glorious green!
That ripple in the breeze.

Each tree is one grand blossomed bloom;
Green petal-leaves abound.
A carpet layer also laid
Fresh carpet for the ground

It’s spring! – the yellow, gold, and blue,
The purple, white and red!
It seems a rainbow river runs
Within earth’s riverbed.

It’s spring! It’s spring! New life springs forth;
It bubbles like a brook.
The colors burst into the world,
“At me! No, me! Just look!”

A pair of mated redbirds flash;
The little bluebells ring.
The hummingbirds are back to flit –
It’s spring! It’s spring! It’s spring!

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photo by Betty Wolverton-George at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nxw6cIU/Glory+of+Spring

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

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‘Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o’er the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love’s shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?

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