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Posts Tagged ‘purpose’

mMCEE8c

The world is as restless as the sea;
I stand, while it is swayed.
The winds and the clouds go whistling by –
A briskly marched parade.

Wind fondles the leaves in ev’ry tree;
It rustles grass like hair;
It touches me and I am not moved;
I’ve not gone anywhere.

The chimes too, are tickled by the wind
And move to get away.  
But wind works them like the ivories
That men sit down to play.

The wind moves by, caressing the grass,
And makes green churning waves
That ripple across the lea as the wind
Says goodbye to its slaves.  

It is a most restless world today;
Men’s feet cannot be still.
And the leaves and grass and swaying limbs
All dance the same quadrille.

The smallest of creatures, e’en the ants
Who run a settled route –
A searching for food and home again –
Know what they’re all about.

But men on an artery don’t know;
They haul their lives behind.
They cross in their moves from east to west
To find what fate’s designed.

Feet restless and minds quite restless, too
Leave city, job, and mate
For something that has more zest and spice,
More tasty on life’s plate.

If there’s a solution, most reject
As though a bitter taste.
And temporary won’t satisfy
So all becomes a waste.

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photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mMCEE8c/sepia+palm+tree+silhouette

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

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All those who journey, soon or late,
Must pass within the garden’s gate;
Must kneel alone in darkness there,
And battle with some fierce despair.
God pity those who cannot say:
“Not mine but thine”; who only pray:
“Let this cup pass,” and cannot see
The purpose in Gethsemane.

 

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mA6Smt6

The minor leaguers play for wealth and fame
Or just for pleasure on their daily plate,
Or anything to carry on their name
In hamlets small, or cities that are great.

Ambition is the wind that fills their sail
And drives them toward the only port they see,
Which may not measure much upon a scale –
But forward without knowing, blissfully!

Though some succeed and gain the greater stage
Most toil on in obscurity to fail,
A rueful fact they recognize in age,
And in depression, raise a bitter wail.

But majors hit a fastball none can see
And rarely swing at curves the foe may throw.
The list of contrasts go on endlessly –
So, too, those on the high road, not the low.

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photo by Robert Linder at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mA6Smt6/Dominican+Baseball

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

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Quill and ink

(Photo credit: Joan M. Borras via Wikipedia)

 

       One Wrote; One Read

There is great satisfaction when
   The last piece of the puzzle’s placed,
When the last stone is in the wall,
   When vict’ry’s won, last foe is faced. 

And so it is when poem is done,
   The last verse writ, with fitting rhyme,
With thoughts together as a whole –
   A unit marching forth in time. 

And when the poet’s done, he has
   A feeling – smile or somber heart.
He hopes the reader when he’s done
   Will share that sense in equal part.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

 

 

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