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Posts Tagged ‘sea’

   The Poet And His Songs

As the birds come in the Spring,
   We know not from where;
As the stars come at evening
   From depths of the air; 

As the rain comes from the cloud,
   And the brook from the ground;
As suddenly, low or loud,
   Out of silence a sound; 

As the grape comes to the vine,
   The fruit to the tree;
As the wind comes to the pine,
   And the tide to the sea; 

As come the white sails of ships
   O’er the ocean’s verge;
As comes the smile to the lips,
   The foam to the surge; 

So come to the Poet his songs,
   All hitherward blow
From the misty realm, that belongs
   To the vast Unknown. 

His, and not his, are the lays
   He sings; and their fame
Is his, and not his; and the praise
   And the pride of a name. 

For voices pursue him by day,
   And haunt him by night,
And he listens, and needs must obey,
   When the Angel says, “Write!”

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Color Paradox

A brown cow
Turns the lush green grass
To white milk.

——————–

 

 

Hello?

One lone tree
Waiting for shoutout
‘Cross whiteout.

——————–

 

Saline Sorrow

Salt tears shed
Slide to salty sea
Sad waves wash.

——————–

Paradox – photo by Michal Zacharzewski at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhilVMW/A+brown+cow

Help – photo by Jay Simmons at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mMfvJUg/winter

Sorrow – photo by Sanj Gjenero at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nl9j5Ro/crying+by+the+sea

——————–

* 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, 2013.

 

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I must go down to the seas again, the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

                 

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