O’ Little Cloud by Dennis Allen Lange

—

O’ little cloud who would be big,
…A thunderhead now forming,
You work so hard at growing up,
…You are already storming.

But here, at first, the only one
…‘Gainst whom your winds are raging
Is just yourself, as if you are
…A war of two minds waging.

One says to grow – the time is ripe
…The moist air to you gather.
The other says, “Let’s slow it down.
…To have some fun I’d rather.”

And so you have a ragged head
…With tendrils that are tearing
By your own winds so that you have
…A look both wild and daring.

You’ll build and tear and when you’re through
…With your two minds discussing,
Then you’ll be grown; your wind will blow
…On our heads, our hair mussing.

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© Dennis Allen Lange, 2019.

 

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Fields Of Golden Wheat by Dennis Allen Lange

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On summer days when it is still and steaming,
The scene is but a colored canvas seeming.
But if the wind walks through, the gold in motion
Becomes a sailor’s dream, the rolling ocean.

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photo by Kevin Tuck at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mgGaND4/Summer+storm

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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Overhead – haiku by Dennis Lange

 

Storm forming
Straight above my head –
Troubled night.

—

A strange cloud
With a strange shape.  Wind
Tearing it.

—

Started here;
Still forming, moves on,
Misses us.

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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, 2016.

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The Poet And His Songs by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

   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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Windsurfers by Dennis Lange

Windsurfers

When the wind and the waves combine as one
With man and sailboard ‘neath the sun,
The man with the skill of a flying ace
Rides waves and wind with equal grace.
He sails on the sea and up in the wind;
With board and sail a perfect blend.
Like the dolphins leap in athletic arc,
He leaves the surface, flies, a lark,
He twists and he lands, then moves in wind’s grip
With speed that matches clipper ships.
Thus, nature and man join playfully
When butterflies are on the sea.

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photo by Jeffrey Banke at
http://www.dreamstime.com/windsurfer-imagefree2962909

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2012.

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A Lost Love by Dennis Lange

How could she love me like the wind –
So touch my face, and make me bend
To her, and then just disappear
On backs of white-tailed leaping deer?

As quickly as a norther blows
O’er prairie land, and never slows,
And ripples wheat like ocean waves
She stirred my soul.  She made me slave

To her, to wind, that travels on.
And after all the breeze has blown,
And all the leaves and flags are free,
Alone I stand in slavery.

—

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

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