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Posts Tagged ‘retreat’

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

The guns of Truth upon the battlefield
Are such that Error cannot e’er resist
Because it can but faulty weapons wield
That weakly fire, and ev’ry mark is missed. 

Then Error, in embarrassment, retreats
And finds a vacant lot in which to camp.
There, firing guns to not admit defeat,
It trumpets to the wind that it is champ.

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photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhiDUcu/Flag

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

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cpark

The middle
Of brick, mortar, stone –
Oasis.

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photo by Freddie Marriage

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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 and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Mid-February, and it seems
We bask in April’s heat.
The sullen gray, the cold, the mist
Are in a long retreat.

And while we welcome warmth’s advance,
We wonder if this spell
Of early conquering means that
July we’ll be in hell.

And too, what if the sleeping trees
Come forth to celebrate,
And Winter marches south again
To freeze, and subjugate?

I fear that, though it’s pleasant now,
Of warmth, the tale is more,
And Northern cold and Southern heat’s
A weather Civil War.


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

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Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword.
His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on.”

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat:
O, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant my feet!
Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.

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