Dennis Lange Poems

In the morning, could I love you,
Sunshine, I, upon your face?
Could I wrap my arms around you?
Give you life by my embrace?
...

I love you a lot.
Do you love me a little?
Do you love me enough
To keep my heart that's brittle
...

A small cross by the busy road, above a tiny mound -
It seems an extra daisy to the travelers homeward bound
Who speed their ways to destinies without a second thought
Of just another cup of sorrow that the journey brought -
...

Inside my house of intellect,
In halls of common sense,
Are tools of rational thinking
For palaces or tents.
...

What tender touch formed butterflies
And rosy petals drenched with dew?
What artist painted morning skies,
Composed, carved, sketched, sculpted, and drew?
...

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;
...

They fought and died and this is left -
The narrow space that's for them cleft,
The ground they won while rest was lost.
And this long rest is what it cost.
...

The clouds are scarce across the sky;
The blue is light, sun-washed, and dry,
Bleached like the faded jeans of youth,
And wrung and robbed of all its truth.
...

The clouds, a swollen gray, hang down
Like baby carried low
By woman in her pregnancy
With only days to go.
...

Of all the loads a child must bear,
The one of sibling's great.
It means that one must learn to share,
And even worse, to wait.
...