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Posts Tagged ‘sister’

hatteras

At Galveston, the Brooklyn saw a ship,
A merchantman? Sent to investigate –
The Hatteras, lest Union blockade’s grip
Be loosened like the shattered ship of state.

The Hatteras gave chase; the sun
Was setting both the sea and sky afire
Until it sank beneath the brine to shun
The same world it had beamed upon as squire.

Into the night, from safety of the day,
The phantom flitted like a butterfly,
Till Union sister ships were far away.
Then stopped, said, “I’m a bee; prepare to die!”

The ship was Alabama from the South.
The Hatteras sank quickly like the sun.
She took the bait till hook was in her mouth,
Then ‘Bama reeled her in and she was done.

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

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Sibling River-ies

A sister
Waits in the tall grass,
Push ready.

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Lovely Pair

Catching rain,
Drop by tiny drop –
Umbrellas.

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Do, Act

Sitting still
Life becomes a blur,
Left behind.

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Sibling – photo by Stockperfect at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/n2rwW4A/Baby+monkey

Pair – photo by Adrian van Leen at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nb2B9n6/raindrops+keep+falling

Act – photo by Krzysztof (Kriss) Szkurlatowski at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mvrQx5Y/Fast+train

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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 Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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The fearless, fair-haired youth go racing by
To beat the sun with their eternal play;
Ignoring all the volumes as they sit
On shelves, made dusty by the ancient day.

But if they pause to look within the door,
Tis brief, for volumes do not speak with rap,
Nor beer commercials with seductiveness.
Instead, they stand or lean, and seem to nap.

Philosophy and history there dwell
As tenants, with a monthly rent long paid
By labor in the decades of the past,
And speak of Time, not black, or white, but grayed.

A smattering of math and arts reside
By politics in its disgraceful cave.
A button brings the turning of a tune –
A play-by-play of athletes in the grave.

Outranking all the facts that dwell within
Is Wisdom, treasured for her pillared strength,
Who, in the living of the testing years,
Spread through the books to fill the width and length.

She lives in leathered lexicons and tracts,
Anthologies of age, experience,
In almanacs beneath the thinning hair
Beside her sacred sister – Common Sense.

Youth shudder at the shaking in a hand;
They wince at wrinkles, see the years as gloom.
They view the silver hair like cobwebs.  Flee!
The tomes of wisdom are too near the tomb.

Library and librarian – the same –
He shuffles down the lane the young ones fly.
Their laughter sounds, as though the race was won,
But they, as yet, have no discerning eye.


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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