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Posts Tagged ‘temporary’

nEuJlhO

Is your aim
Wine, women, and song?
Not for long.

— 

When time’s passed,
You’ll be yearning for
What will last.

— 

photo by Alex Bruda at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nEuJlhO/water

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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, 2018.

 

 

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puPUCGO

The fragile little child, to me,
Some bubble liquid brought,
And looked to me with big brown eyes
So I knew that I ought

Take out the ring all wet with soap
And put it to my face,
And blow my warm breath out upon
That round and sopping space.

And that I did, and bubbles streamed
Like spheres of glist’ning glass
Escaping from their own round world
To new round world more vast.

Her eyes grew round; her smile was wide;
She watched the bubbles fly
Like dandelions upon the wind.
And she helped make them die.

She reached and poked each that she could
And looked around for more.
But Charon had transported them
O’er to the distant shore.

And in that moment when she learned
There were none left to show,
She sank and loosed a little sigh,
A disappointed “ohh”.

I hate to burst your bubble, girl,
But bubbles do not last.
They’re blown into this waiting world
From which they pass so fast.

It is a lesson that you’ll learn
My little bubbly girl:
That soap or glass or human flesh
Has one quick brittle whirl.

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photo by coolhewitt23 at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/puPUCGO/Nature+bubble

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

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church-cemetery

While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death’s incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last.  Therefore I gladly trust

My body to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and find his birth
Written in dusty heraldry and lines:
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at Jet and Marble put for signs,

To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting.  What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true decent; that when thou shall grow fat;

And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know,
That flesh is but the glass, which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust.  Mark here below
How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,
That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.


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The photo is mine, a church cemetery in Cade’s Cove
in the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee.

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This time sticks, and most times stones
Raised above one’s flesh and bones.
Markers for those who are left,
O’er the one of whom bereft.
Stakes of wood will rot, decay.
Stones last longer (one horse shay).
Mourners, though, are like the wood
Cannot stay like stones will, should.
Markers, then, of wood are fine.
Mourners’ time with them align.

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photo by Michal Zacharzewski at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nq1PRjw/Graveyard

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

 

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