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Posts Tagged ‘rest’


Corner Of Meadow And Lea

Yellow cabs?
Two planes taxiing –
Yellow tails.

——————–

 

Sleek

Light and dark.
The vervet monkeys
Are velvet.

——————–

 

Rest And The Blues Go Away

Vacation
In the warm tropics –
In the pink.

——————–

Corner – photo by sulaco229 (Robert) at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mx2N79q/Airplane+jet

Sleek – photo by Nicolas Raymond at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nFbfiou/Vervet+Monkeys+Abstract

Rest – photo by Miriam Wickett at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ooHQ5Bs/tropical+sunset

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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/

———————

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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WWW

Without them
You wouldn’t be here –
Internet.

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As I Eyed The Photo

My first glance
Was focused upon
Giant peephole.

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Night Comes When None Can Work

Horses, men.
First, there’s the carry.
Then, the rest.

——————–

WWW – photo by Jay Simmons at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2djrT4D/www

Photo – photo by Bill Davenport at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mg1RK1S/Little+Cabin+in+the+woods

Night – photo by Karunakar Rayker at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mj19udu/Pack+Horses

———————

* 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, 2015.

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The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist:
And a feeling of sadness comes o’er me,
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life’s endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gush’d from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start.

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice;
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be fill’d with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

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