Posted in Limericks, My Poems, tagged abortion murder, Adolf Hitler, bard on the hill, daughters, Dennis Allen Lange, Germans, husbands, Indifference, Jewish holocaust, Jews, limerick, Nazis, old, poems, poetry, slaughter, sons, wives, young on March 12, 2018| Leave a Comment »
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The Germans, grown calloused to slaughter
Of Jewish man, wife, son, and daughter
…Could go on their way
…Not bothered all day
While just over there was the slaughter.
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We do the same regarding 2500 abortion murders per day.
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.
Posted in E-H, Poems of Other Poets, Uncategorized, tagged bard on the hill, bloom, dwelt, garments trail, In A Vale, maiden's pale, misty fen, poems, poetry, Robert Frost" >, young on March 3, 2016| Leave a Comment »
When I was young, we dwelt in a vale
…By a misty fen that rang all night,
And thus it was the maiden’s pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
…Across the reeds to a window light.
The fen had every kind of bloom,
…And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the sill from the outer gloom.
…Each came singly unto her place,
But all came every night with the mist;
…And often they brought so much to say
Of things of moment to which they wist,
One so lonely was fain to list,
…That the stars were almost faded away
Before the last went, heavy with dew,
…Back to the place from which she came –
Where the bird was before it flew,
Where the flower was before it grew,
…Where bird and flower were one and the same.
And thus it is I know so well
…Why the flower has color, the bird has song.
You have only to ask me, and I can tell.
No, not vainly there did I dwell,
…Nor vainly listen all the night long.
Posted in My Poems, Villanelle, tagged bard on the hill, death, Dennis Lange, die, dying, greed, poems, poetry, power, rhyme, rhythm, sent to battle, shed their blood, The Old Men And The Young Men, villanelle, war, young, youth on January 19, 2015| 3 Comments »
…The Old Men And The Young Men
The old men sit in chambers plotting war.
The generals push pieces here and there.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.
The wise and white-haired aged walk the floor
And find young fools so they the burden bear.
The old men sit in chambers plotting war.
And they remain where they have been before
While others are uprooted like a tare.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.
In meeting rooms and offices – no gore.
There, ideologies seem pure and fair.
The old men sit in chambers plotting war.
Somewhere, a selfishness is at the core
The meal is greed or power, life’s the fare.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.
One is removed from battle where blood pours
The other from a field, cold, unaware.
The old men sit in chambers plotting war.
The young men sent to fight are seen no more.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.
The Bard on the Hill