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The unions still support because of greed;
The homos do, since by it they are blessed.
For power, it will make the nation bleed,
And even die so long as they are best. 

A shrill excuse and welfare sugarcoat,
A promise made to ope’ the nation’s store,
And greed-deceived, the Party buys their vote.
Then, at the ballot box, they play the whore. 

They’ll save the trees; they’re green – and kill the child,
The babe within that says you’re not your own,
That you can’t do all that you wish, be wild.
They’ll raise you up and take God from the throne. 

With sin the soul, and selfishness the core,
It ain’t your parents’ party any more.

———————————————————-

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

 

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Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the Northwest died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;
Bluish ‘mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;
In the dimmest Northeast distance dawned Gibraltar grand and gray;
“Here and here did England help me; how can I help England?” – say,
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,
While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.

 

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A fire-mist and a planet,
A crystal and a cell,
A jellyfish and saurian,
And caves where the cavemen dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty,
And a face turned from the clod –
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.

A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky;
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese sailing high –
And all over upland lowland,
The charm of the golden rod –
Some of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.

Like tides on a crescent sea-beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in –
Come from the mystic ocean,
Whose rim no foot has trod,
Some of us call it Longing,
And others call it God.

A picket frozen on duty –
A mother starved for her brood –
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway trod –
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.

——————————————-

photo by Thomas Kelley

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Venus reflected in the Pacific Ocean

Venus reflected in the Pacific Ocean (Photo credit:Brocken Inaglory via Wikipedia)


Trying To Trick Me

Bright, bright star
I know what you are –
NOT a star.

——————–

Tonight’s first
Star that I can see –
A planet!

——————–

Do you move?
If so, you’re merely
An airplane.

——————–

How can I
Wish upon a star?
It’s tricky.

——————–

* 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, 2012.

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