nation | The Bard on the Hill

Posts Tagged ‘nation’

The Future Of America by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in abortion, My Poems, Religious, Villanelle, tagged abortion, babies, bard on the hill, crimson hands, Dennis Allen Lange, don't blush, God, Hitler, holocaust, innocent, Jews, judgment, kill the unborn child, murder, nation, poems, poetry, sins, slaughter, The Future of America, wrath on March 3, 2019| 2 Comments »

meSDQ0O

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The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
We kill the unborn child, the blameless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.

Position, power, self are what we seek.
The unborn are not wanted, nameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak.

They are the helpless, weakest of the meek.
We’re Hitlers; they’re the Jews and claimless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.

Ones act by millions; millions for them speak.
The murder streak is wide and tameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak.

We’re rootless, superficial, shallow, weak.
We’ve turned from God and so our lives are aimless.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.

Our sins have ris’n to God and heav’n and reek.
We flaunt it to His face; we’re shameless.
The future of the land seems dark and bleak.
We’ve crimson hands but not the crimson cheek.

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photo by Constantin Jurcut at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meSDQ0O/burning+3

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Post-Election 2000 by Dennis Allen Lange

Posted in My Poems, politics, tagged Al Gore, bard on the hill, Dennis Allen Lange, Florida, George W. Bush, hanging chad, nation, poems, poetry, Post Election 2000, presidential election, recount, supreme court on December 8, 2018| Leave a Comment »

2dzzxWE

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There was an uproar many years ago
O’er Florida, about a suicide.
For days, e’en weeks, the news did overflow,
And was the focus, like all weddings – bride.

The death of one poor soul is tragic, sure,
But this did all the nation fascinate.
We wondered: how much more can we endure –
The days, the hordes sent to investigate.

We stirred into a swarm of frenzied bees;
It split us into halves – some mad, rest glad,
And etched a phrase into our memories
Of one who died, and how – the hanging Chad.

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Photo is by Steve Woods at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dzzxWE/Vote

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