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Dennis Lange Poems
The sounds repeated please the soul - We love the falling rain That softly pitters on the porch And patters on the pane.
The Melody Of The Wind
The wind may roar; the wind may shriek, In passing trees - a rustle. But 'tis the sweetest sound I seek, Wind flexing music's muscle.
A Lost Love
How could she love me like the wind - So touch my face, and make it bend To her, and then soon disappear On backs of white-tailed leaping deer?
Front Page Of The Purple Sage
Three days ago, the falling rain Gave life to limb and root. And now the sage bursts forth in song, Enriched by liquid loot.
The Plain And Simple Man
I am a plain and simple man. I'll tell you simply, if I can, And tell you plainly so you'll know How the plain and simple go.
Sonnet 2 - When Trouble Tills Our Garden
When trouble tills our garden with a woe, And rakes to rubbled ruin this earthly life, It gives us no escape, no place to go, And never asks permission for the strife.
I picked a penny up today; It lay there on the ground As if it were a fallen moon, As bright and just as round.
The Circle Widens
The circle widens as a man grows wise. He comes to know what lies beyond the veil. The world is wider than the ears and eyes.
The Divorce Is Final
When my gallbladder had the gall To kick up trouble after all The time we'd spent in harmony, Like precise parts of symphony,
He walked, a stick, both lean and tall The streets, both night and day, Disturbed by demons, not by tasks, That wouldn't go away.
The Rain Falls On The Hill Above
The rain falls on the hill above, And some runs through my yard, Across my driveway, and then down The sloped road, rushing hard.
The Poet's Prayer
Like oaks bow down before the wind, I come with bended knee: Almighty God, source of my strength, Here's all I ask of Thee -
It's My Vocabulary, Stupid!
You know, I'm not ill iterate, you know; Just sick of school, you fool. I read a book, you know, but WHOA!
You And I
The wind to the willow, while whistling along: I'll blow through your hair and we'll write a new song; I for the tempo; you for the tune; We for the stars; us for the moon;
Comments about Dennis Lange
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The sounds repeated please the soul -
We love the falling rain
That softly pitters on the porch
And patters on the pane.
Alliteration fills our ears,
Like trilling r's in Spain,
Like opera singers singing scales
Of la la's in a chain.
Perhaps it is the heart of man,
The pulsing in the vein,
That whispers sweetly, whispers for
A whispered back refrain.