Posted in My Haiku, tagged adding pounds, bard on the hill, big belly, Dennis Allen Lange, haiku, Now They're Okay, poems, poetry, pregnancy, pregnant, round mound, unwelcomed, weight gain on October 9, 2019| Leave a Comment »
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Proud of pounds –
The renowned round mound:
Pregnancy.
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photo by Gabriella Fabbri at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mtJN2xi/Waiting+a+baby
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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, 2019.
Posted in abortion, My Poems, politics, tagged abortion, bard on the hill, choice, copulate, Dennis Allen Lange, didn't know what to do, dismemberment, had so many children, heart attack, I knew an old lady, murder, nursery rhyme, poems, poetry, pregnant, rip apart limb from limb, sacrifice pay the consequences, salt poisoning, She Lived in a Shoe, tear on September 5, 2019| 1 Comment »
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There was a young lady who lived in a shoe;
She kept having children but knew what to do.
“I’ll kill them,” she said. “They’re better off dead.”
And she blamed all her murder on YOU.
She poisoned the first one; she killed it with salt.
Friends cheered for that woman; it wasn’t her fault.
Her boyfriend left her as soon as he knew –
“I got what I wanted. Now, lady, we’re through.”
The baby was burned and was red from the fire
But she didn’t see it and didn’t inquire.
She went on with living, no thought for the dead;
The choice was hers, that’s what everyone said.
There was a young lady who lived in a shoe;
She charmed a new partner and bred number two.
I don’t want a child when I’m young and I’m single
I party a lot and I mix and I mingle.
She waited a while and she took a short hike
And found a good hit man to kill the new tyke.
They talked about killing, just how it’d be done.
They hit on dismemberment – that was the one!
My baby, my choice! was her battle cry
Let’s focus on that, and not that they die.
And while it was living, doc tore limb from limb
First arms, then the legs – that her or that him.
There was a young lady who lived in a shoe
She’d killed her two babies, but she wasn’t through
She’d made herself free to get on with her life
No babies would stop her, though single or wife
‘Cause she was a climber, as good as the men!
But then she got pregnant, not one blob but twin.
Oh, double the parasite, double the attack
She fell in a rage that her life was set back.
This time she’d try vacuum, yes that was the way!
She waited a bit until just the right day
And huge was the suction and tiny the tots
And when she was through there were small bloody spots.
Full half of the people thought she was just fine,
And helped her to murder repeating her line:
We can’t hold her back – SHE’S GOT LIVING TO DO!
Full half of them helped her, but what about you?
That wonderful lady who lived in a shoe
Decided that college was not for the few
Rights equal for women! On, up to the top!
Not one thing would hinder, not one thing would stop
Her living her life in her own special way
Except – she got pregnant. Which man? Couldn’t say.
She knew that, on her part, not one sacrifice!
The child that she carried would just pay the price.
And how would she get this new child off her back?
She settled this fourth time on a heart attack.
And so the death needle was plunged in its heart
Exploding the heart so the child would depart.
There are some young ladies who live in a shoe
And copulate freely – yes, that’s what they do.
Then faced with the consequence, they will not pay
But search for a hit man who will their child slay.
You think that barbaric? Then you would be right
Our nation has made this the unborn child’s plight.
MY body! MY choice! I’ll kill if I please!
And many are evil in greatest degrees.
But how about you? Is there left any good
That’s still in your heart to do what you should
To campaign forever ‘till this plague is o’er
And slaughter as Nazis is found here no more?
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photo by Gabriella Fabbri at
https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mtJN2xi/Waiting+a+baby
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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.
Posted in My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, Dennis Allen Lange, horses at the starting gate, making the most of one's time, nine months, patience, patiently, poems, poetry, pregnant, restrictions, smell of the rain, sweet blam of peace, the check's in the mail, waiting, whiling away the time on April 10, 2018| Leave a Comment »
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I’m here, and I’m waiting again
(Another will suffer the pain).
But as that’s occurring – away –
My minutes are whittled – my day
Is shortened, restricted. My view:
An office, a worker, or two.
Life’s filled with these moments we wait
Like horses to start at a gate.
A woman will wait for a child
Nine months, though it’s driving her wild.
The check’s in the mail – will it come?
Impatient, our fingers may drum.
I’m sitting here thinking of this,
And waiting is not far from bliss.
I’m turning these thoughts in my mind
To verses some others may find.
Thus, sweet balm of peace fills my brain
Like sounds and the smell of the rain.
Occurring to me is this thought:
Since waiting is often, we ought
Put weight in our waiting so space
Won’t sit on, like shadows, our face.
If silver, or if it is gold,
The wait will shine forth forty fold.
Our living itself is a wait,
For death, we hope distant in date.
And what with our lives will we do
While days whittle down till we’re through?
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photo by Robert Proksa at
https://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nj98RMe/Clock+01
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.
Posted in My Poems, tagged bard on the hill, beauty for my soul, deer, Dennis Allen Lange, doe, fawn, heavy, laziness, Mutualism, poems, poetry, pregnant, stress, summer heat, symbiotic link on May 15, 2017| Leave a Comment »
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The sun grows warmer day by day
…As if the earth was sick,
Afflicted by a fever’s rise
…Like flames crawl up a wick.
The deer are lazier, but heat
…Is not the only cause.
New mothers or mothers to be
…May in their wand’ring pause.
Close to her hidden fawn, doe stays
…And pricks her ears to hear
The tiniest of frightened cries
…Through summer’s atmosphere.
And those with swollen bellies yet
…Have chosen where they’ll nest.
Like trucks with heaviest of loads,
…They’re slow and quick to rest.
The deer, beneath the cedars, lie
…On hill just ‘cross the way.
And when I first step out my door,
…Not one is on display.
And then like recent rains brought floods,
…The deer begin to pour
Like water down the gentle slope
…For what they know’s in store.
They follow me to where I feed,
…Since work for grass they scorn.
I help them in their laziness
…With just a little corn.
Our symbiotic link is sweet:
…I, in their stress, console.
And from both doe and fawn I need
…Their beauty for my soul.
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The photo is mine, taken through my front window.
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.
The Bard on the Hill 