Dennis Lange Poems

In here, behind these eyes from which I peek,
There is no 'we', no 'us'; there's never been.
It is a place whose population's bleak -
A universe of one, a private inn.
...

I smell the sweet smell that the rain is a'coming,
And soon it will sound like God's fingers are drumming,
And tapping a message to answer my pleading:
I'm here and I hear and your prayer I am heeding.
...

The cattle were loaded and only could stand
While carried about through the dark hateful land
In trains that were crowded with all they could bear
And rolled on for hours, or days of despair.
...

To be in love's the grandest thing,
The highest of the highs,
Like Everest or astronauts,
Or stars in ebon skies.
...

As day was ending and the light was dimmer
(But Sun still shone through trees and brush
And bounced across the water with a shimmer) ,
The birds began to tire and hush.
...

The wind I cannot see I know
By looking at a tree.
The gentle rocks or wilder waves
Say wind is there, to me.
...

Was there a shade at Gettysburg or Waterloo?
At Marathon, was there a spreading tree, a view
Where one could set his chair and watch the battlefield,
See flash of swords - while from the sun his own face shield?
...

As dusk was drifting to the dark of night,
The hidden stars were shining out of sight,
Bid by the parent clouds to hide away,
And all those distant tots had to obey.
...

The sky is blue-cloudless, but still the sky rains,
Not water it holds, but the dust of the Plains.
The mist that is brown like the land, not the sky,
Now wearies the nose as it worries the eye.
...

Across the deep green faces of the cedar fly,
Or flit or flutter with a sudden scarlet flash,
A cardinal, and his much subtler mate - a tie
That binds the two together till their life is ash.
...