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Posts Tagged ‘rhymed’


Gray ghosts afar, like elephants,
More massive than the men
Who gaze with awe upon the wall
That rises from earth’s den. 

Green-coated shoulders, forest feet –
The sight as one draws near;
And donned in Autumn – Joseph’s coat,
That jealous brothers jeer. 

Ridged behemoth, cloaked dinosaur
Whose crested, arching back
We crawl upon like helpless ants,
So tiny in attack. 

Receding Nature’s safe preserve,
The soul’s would-be retreat
If one finds how to get away
From all the other feet.


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The photo is mine, taken on a trip through Smoky Mountains
National Park last month (Oct., 2015).

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

 

 

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The Descent From The Cross

Is this the Face that thrills with awe
Seraphs who veil their face above?
Is this the Face without a flaw,
The face that is the Face of love?
Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod,
Hath all creation’s love sufficed,
Hath satisfied the love of God,
This Face the Face of Jesus Christ.

 

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….If Sandburg’s Cat Were Mine

The fog comes silently as if it were
A pensive cat on little paws.
It looks o’er harbor, town without a purr
And then moves on to warm applause.

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Sandburg’s poem can be read here:

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/06/10/fog-by-carl-sandburg/

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;
My fingers ache, my lips are dry:
Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
But oh, who ever felt as I! 

No longer could I doubt him true,
All other men may use deceit;
He always said my eyes were blue,
And often swore my lips were sweet.

 

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The Rhyme Of The Stranded Mariner

Night follows day; day follows night
It’s stuck – no wave or motion,
As idle as the Coleridge ship
Upon the Coleridge ocean.

Green grass, green grass, every where
No water here to drink
Nor water here to float our boat –
At least we will not sink.

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photo by Bill Davenport at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mg1SWr6/Wayward

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

 

 

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……………..Darkness

The lights blink out in this dark world;
A viral blackness spread
By a contagion devil-hurled,
With hearts its breeding bed.

The darkness never knows the light;
The two can’t co-exist.
Night’s never day, day never night;
Impossible a tryst.

Before light, darkness has no might;
A distant glimpse – it flees.
It cannot offer any fight,
Nor beg upon its knees.

The dark compares itself to night,
And rates itself quite high.
For blackness thinks that it is white
Since light is never nigh.

The Lord God’s like the brightest day,
No shadow or a cloud
Moves o’er His just and holy way.
No darkness is allowed.

So men who love the darkness flee;
They hide till He appears.
They will His brightness briefly see,
Then evermore shed tears.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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Hither, hither, love –
‘Tis a shady mead –
Hither, hither, love!
Let us feed and feed! 

Hither, hither, sweet –
‘Tis a cowslip bed –
Hither, hither, sweet!
‘Tis with dew bespread! 

Hither, hither, dear,
By the breath of life,
Hither, hither, dear! –
Be the summer’s wife! 

Though one moment’s pleasure
In one moment flies –
Though the passion’s treasure
In one moment dies; – 

Yet it has not passed –
Think how near, how near! –
And while it doth last,
Think how dear, how dear! 

Hither, hither, hither
Love its boon has sent –
If I die and wither
I shall die content!

 

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                            Creation 

That day, when there was not a day, but Time
   Was on the verge of stepping on the stage,
The host of heaven held its holy rime
    To see the Word on history’s first page. 

When all was naught, the sudden glory shown.
    Awe struck.  They gasped, and emptied wonder’s purse.
Their shout and song reached heaven’s golden throne,
    Crescendos washing baby universe.     

The ages pass; I come into the scene.
   With cues, asides, I have my tiny part.
The things which come before me I can glean;
    I reap the wonders for the human heart. 

The watchers watch me now.  When morning wakes,
    They see I see the sun.  The splendor spreads
Like floods of paint, and pools in yonder lakes
    Of orange sky-puddles, purple clouds, and reds.  

I marvel at the scene, spectacular!
    The angels think of what they can’t forget
And speak of me in my vernacular,
    With laughs, “He ain’t seen nothing yet.”

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photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mVErmjU/Spiral+Galaxy

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

 

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I occasionally publish a post with a link to some of my earlier poems.  These
three were posted when many of you weren’t subscribing to my blog.  I
thought you might want to read these as well.  However, since some may
have read them already, I’ll try to give a description and/or enough
of the beginning lines that perhaps you can recognize the poem.  That way,
you won’t have to read it again – unless you want to.

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There’s Nothing As Sweet

There’s nothing as sweet as the smell of the rain
To farmers that live on the dry dusty plain.
There’s popcorn and peanuts in dark movie halls;
The scent of perfume on the softest white walls.
But nothing’s as sweet as the smell of the rain….

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/09/23/theres-nothing-as-sweet-by-dennis-lange/

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The Traveler

My chair?

I sat, resigned;

Heard pleasant words

Pass by like birds

In flocks or herds….

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/09/16/the-traveler-by-dennis-lange/

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September Snow

It’s Bastrop, Texas, where the Lost Pines grow –
Strays, stragglers, orphaned by none that we know,
But huddled, hold together, flourish well;
Draw men to verdant beauty’s midst to dwell….

https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/09/20/september-snow-by-dennis-lange/

 

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