Above and beyond the call of duty for JT Ellison
Above and beyond the call of duty
Do Roman ghosts still guard the wall?
Far from their homelands in the sun.
I wonder if they thought at all.
They would remain their duty done.
As corpses in cold northern clay
or dreamt that they would return home.
In triumph on some distant day
to a well earned heroes welcome.
Sometimes when the blue twilight fall
I sit enrapt in reverie
and fancy that I hear their calls.
Although there’s nothing I can see.
Though one or two claim they can see
the roman sentries on patrol.
Along the wall quite frequently.
A sad parade of earth bound souls.
Who died too quick to understand
that they were dead their spirits free.
So they obey the last command
still do their duty faithfully.
Do Roman ghost still guard the walls?
I cannot answer honestly
I only know when twilight falls.
I think they might quite possibly
.15-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
No Twilight Falls
I can hear my true love calling.
Although she’s dead and gone from me.
Only when the twilights falling
I can hear her voice so clearly.
At sundown when the light is failing
I hear her sweet voice once again.
Only when the twilight’s falling.
Can I surrender to the pain.
My lonely tears are soon slow crawling
I hide myself so none can see
Only when the twilight’s falling.
To lose your love’s a tragedy.
Some day I’ll answer to her calls
and go to where no twilight falls.
18-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Twilight
When twilight falls silently
It’s time to meditate,
As daylight drains away
consider thoughtfully.
the events of the day.
When twilight falls silently
the ending of the day
My worries disappear
I sit in solitude
my mind becomes clear.
When twilight falls silently.
The quiet soothes me,
I find I can release
the stress I do not need.
An interlude of peace
When twilight falls silently.
I know what I must do.
Submit to reverie.
no one will disturb me.
At least not easily
18-Mar-09
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Monchielle
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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On guard duty
On guard duty I hear boots crunch,
walking up and down
almost in a march.
On guard duty I hear boots crunch,
the wet earth smells fresh
and somewhere a tent flaps in the wind.
On guard duty I hear boots crunch,
walking up and down.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Return of the exiles for M'lady Lucianne
At last the dragon race is free
from the long exile they have served.
A very heavy penalty imposed
although it was not deserved.
Found guilty although innocent.
They had no choice but to obey
and so began their banishment.
Reluctantly they made their way.
To a far distant galaxy
where they were forced to make their home.
The Dragons waited patiently
they knew in time the call would come.
They have returned triumphantly.
Their unjust exile at an end
back to their home world eagerly.
Where they are needed to defend
the human race from anarchy
They reassume their ancient role,
as guardians of humanity
and once again they will patrol.
The skies of earth vigilantly
and will restore the old values.
Neglected by the humanity
allowed to fall into disuse.
All will be treated equally
and peace will reign on earth once more.
Now that the dragon race is free
These benign guardians of the law.
All will accept this gratefully.
The gentle and the innocent.
But some will tremble fearfully
afraid of well earned punishment.
Today I saw the dragons fly.
A sight I never thought to see
in graceful arcs across the sky.
To guard and guide humanity.
13-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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When In Rome
Well, you must be from the city
'Cause you sure ain't from round here
There ain't no smoke free section
We don't sell no import beer.
You been throwin' round that attitude
Since you walked in that door
I don't know where you come from
But you ain't there anymore
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But, when your down home
You better do like us.
You been lookin' down your nose
At our water tower town
Ain't no one getting rich
But, there's enough to go around.
If ya don't like tracy's cookin'
Well, ya best still leave a tip
She's back there in that kitchen
With a baby on her hip.
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But, when your down home
You better do like us.
You put your best foot forward
When you go to meet a man
Look him in the eye
And put a good grip on his hand.
Don't cuss around the ladies
Tell us how to raise our kids
We like doing business
Like our daddys, daddys did.
When you drive off in your beamer
If ya don't do 35
Don't give no lip to Beuford
Or he might just dot your eye.
And when your at the courthouse
Before Ole judge McCall
You best not say a word
About them comandments on his wall.
Naw!
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But when your down home
You better do like us.
Yeah, Yeah Yeah
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But when your down home
You better do like us.
Mmmm Hmmmm
Better do like us boy
Don't you come in here talking all that trash
Ya just might get your nose smashed.
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's...
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uninvited company for M 'lady Ernestine
Shy shadows surreptitiously,
when twilight falls invade my room.
I do not let this worry me
they have the right to I assume.
When morning breaks they quickly go
I understand that they must hide.
But where they go I do not know
Some secret place where they abide.
Until the twilight sets them free.
It is then they venture out
silently and stealthily
They are set free to roam about..
I know the shadows mean no harm
and see no reason for alarm
Sunday,17 January 2010.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Vengeance delayed storypoem
My country taught me how to kill
and when I had sufficient skill
I was recruited secretly
to serve a special agency.
My given task was to erase
any who opposed our ways
at home abroad where I was sent
To which I gave my free assent.
I slowly came to realise
I could not always recognise.
My target as an enemy.
Suspected they were using me
Though I had little evidence.
Some missions seemed to make no sense
I was expected to obey
my instructions come what may/
My duty was to do or die
I had no right to question why
There was no way I could resign
or else the next death would be mine.
I had known other colleagues die
quite frequently Now I knew why.
I was convinced my turn would come
Because a dead man will stay dumb.
I chose instead to disappear.
Create a new life far from here.
Although I killed for my country
I’m certain they will search for me.
They are afraid that if I chose
their dirty secrets to expose.
They have no means of stopping
me whilst I remain at liberty
They would much rather I was dead.
I have a price upon my head.
So I have planned accordingly
If they succeed in killing me.
My story will be given to
the press who will know what to do
.I’ll take revenge posthumously.
on liars who exploited me.
22/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Warrior's Wall
At the forefront,
of the grassy mead, my post.
Sentry to the residents, resting,
inscribed upon my field.
I am the Warrior’s Wall.
Imposing, polished granite.
Tribute, to the heroes’ names I bear.
With no sound, at attention I stand.
Heroes, who returned, not in parade’s ranks.
But, borne by troop stepping out in silence.
Silence cultivated, by bonds of respect.
Heroes, their names etched upon my face.
From every walk of life,
no matter station or status.
Visitors, comrades, as well the curious.
Before me, all become humbly reverent.
Some sob, and lean upon me.
That I might heal their pain.
Others, lay empty paper ‘cross my face.
Tracing out the names, to forever keep.
‘Tis my honor, my delegated duty.
To guard, my sleeping charges.
I shall stand my post, ‘til time infinite.
I am the Warrior’s Wall.
03May08
poem by Kurt Hearth
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The piper plays his clans lament.Story poem
On cold grey days, a piper plays
his pibroch on the battlements.
Clad in the garb of bygone days.
He proudly plays his clans lament.
From down below he can be seen
but no one knows who he might be
A misty figure on the scene
Bewailing his clan’s history.
The swank young men who fought and died
in foreign wars far from their home
their sacrifice can’t be denied.
He bids their long dead spirits come.
Come back braw lads where ye belong
Ye have been far too long away.
He guides them home a mighty throng.
His bounden duty is to play.
Should you attempt to draw too near
all you will find is empty space.
The piper simply disappears.
No one has ever seen his face.
The locals know and understand
He too is dead another ghost
Who still obeys his last command
a phantom who sticks to his post.
A sight the tourists come to see
and vainly try to photograph.
of course they cannot possibly.
Their efforts make the locals laugh.
On certain days the piper plays
the tourists have to make their choice
Though most arrive on sunlit days
if he appears they will rejoice.
They have more chance on sad grey days
to see the piper through the mist.
the locals know the piper’s ways.
The legend cannot be dismissed.
The experts may explain away
the ghostly figure. which appears.
But can’t account in any way
for the lament which they can hear.
So they pretend it is the wind
a rather silly thing to do.
All experts have a tight closed mind
and can’t accept the story’s true.
I disregard the experts view
for I have seen and I have heard.
and know that others have done too
Expert opinions are absurd.
Why can’t the learned fools accept
the piper’s presence as a fact.
Their explanations are inept.
Forgive me for my lack of tact.
I can forgive stupidity
Ignorance is an excuse.
I state my case with clarity
most experts are of little use
Outside their field of expertise.
I much prefer the locals view
The piper’s visits will not cease
until he has good reason to.
17/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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REbel for friend Rema
The cockerel crew at break of day.
Bid working men to make their way
to where they earned their honest crust
when hunger drives a man needs must.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
So harness Dobbin to the plough
and leave behind a straight furrow
or hasten to the factory
amongst the grim machinery.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
Of if perchance you’re office bound
surrounded only by the sound
of papers shuffled to and fro.
You have no choice you still must go.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
On winter mornings dark and cold
and summer days when it grows hot.
But I don’t care I am grown old
and have retired so I will not.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
3-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Do Your Duty
Wesley sox wilson
If I call three times a day
Come and drive my blues away
When you come, be ready to play
Do your duty
If you want to have some love
Give your baby your last buck
Dont come quackin like a duck
Do your duty
I heard you say you didnt love me
Numb as mrs. brown
I dont believe a word they say
Shes the lyinest woman in town
When I need attention at home
Ill call you on the phone
Come yourself, dont send your friend jones
Do your duty
If my radiator get too hot
Cool it off in lots of spots
Give me all the service youve got
Do your duty
If you dont know what its all about
Dont sit around my house and pout
If you do youll catch your mama tippin now
Do your duty
If you make your own bed hard
Thats the way o life
Im tired of sleepin by myself
But you too dumb to realize
Im not tryin to make you feel blue
Im not satisfied with the way you do
Ive got to help you find somebody too
Do your duty
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Outpost of Empire for Friend Thad
It’s clear that archaeology.
Can tell us of the history
of long forgotten Roman forts.
From evidence of many sorts.
Broken shards of Samian Ware.
Which turn up almost everywhere
can tell within a year or two
the date when they were brought here new.
Foundation walls that still remain
when deciphered make it plain.
That this was a most important site.
Our findings greeted with delight.
Vinovia a Roman fort
is much, much older than was thought.
13-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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St. Adrian
to St. Adrian I give thanks
the dead leader of dead Roman ranks
a silent prayer to the Roman man
that calm man like deadly white hands
his steadfast wife even locked her door
when she thought he was like her no more
so a prayer to Adrian, saint of knights
a St. only after the lion beasts rites
to him be a morsel of honor, be it true
not more flames or a blunt corkscrew
to Saint Adrian I give thanks
the dead leader of dead Roman ranks
enter the night of Adrianus Incarsaurus
the holy, now, of Rome...MARTYR US!
to Saint Adrian, the saint, the beast
oh cover us, Adrian, from Abaddon and the beast
to Saint Adrian I give thanks
the dead leader of dead Roman ranks
sing your hymn with the name on your lips
or simply, silently 'Adrian' in felt tips
to him be a morsel of honor, be it true
not more flames, or unjust undo
to the leader of dead Roman ranks
to St. Adrian I give thanks
poem by Michael Cook
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Initiate 2008
Reveille sounds a trumpet call
Rise from your beds reluctantly
This wake up call applies to all.
Strident with authority.
We do things militarily.
You will now wash and shave your face
You signed on voluntarily
and now you have to earn your place.
A raw recruit’s of little use
still tainted by civilian ways
A subject for stripeys abuse.
Of sympathy there’s little trace,
For drill instructors have no hearts.
Their job to turn boys into men
Reveille sounds and the day starts,
Your protests must remain unspoken.
You’ll be harassed from morn til night.
Your only duty to obey.
Until you learn to get it right
and do things in the army way.
If you survive and make the grade.
One of the few the very few
to reach the passing out parade.
Your parents will be proud of you
Though it was tough you had enough
pride in yourself to stick it out.
Showed you were made of sterner stuff
than those who failed without a doubt.
You proved yourself to be a man
So wear your uniform with pride,
you earned the right. You know you can
succeed although you were sorely tried.
You did what you set out to do
achieved the goal you had in mind
You toughed it out and saw it through.
Now you can leave boot camp behind
In coming years you will recall.
When you must face the enemy
and see your fellow soldiers fall.
Your boot camp days nostalgically.
25-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Another Brick In The Wall, Part 3
[Sound of many TV's coming on, all on different channels]
"The Bulls are already out there"
Pink: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!"
"This Roman Meal bakery thought you'd like to know."
I don't need no arms around me
And I dont need no drugs to calm me.
I have seen the writing on the wall.
Don't think I need anything at all.
No! Don't think I'll need anything at all.
All in all it was all just bricks in the wall.
All in all you were all just bricks in the wall.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Camp
I.
There is a cloud before the sun,
The wind is hushed and still,
And silently the waters run
Beneath the sombre hill.
The sky is dark in every place,
As is the earth below:
Methinks it wore the self-same face
Two thousand years ago.
II.
No light is on the ancient wall,
No light upon the mound;
The very trees, so thick and tall,
Cast gloom, not shade, around.
So silent is the place and cold,
So far from human ken,
It hath a look that makes me old,
And spectres time again.
III.
I listen, half in thought to hear
The Roman trumpet blow-
I search for glint of helm and spear
Amidst the forest bough:
And armour rings, and voices swell-
I hear the legion's tramp,
And mark the lonely sentinel
Who guards the lonely camp.
IV.
Methinks I have no other home,
No other hearth to find;
For nothing save the thought of Rome
Is stirring in my mind.
And all that I have heard or dreamed,
And all I had forgot,
Are rising up, as though they seemed
The household of the spot.
V.
And all the names that Romans knew
Seem just as known to me,
As if I were a Roman too-
A Roman born and free:
And I could rise at Cæsar's name,
As though it were a charm
To draw sharp lightning from the tame,
And brace the coward's arm.
VI.
And yet, if yonder sky were blue,
And earth were sunny gay,
If nature wore the summer hue
That decked her yesterday,
The mound, the trench, the rampart's space,
Would move me nothing more
Than many a sweet sequestred place
That I have marked before.
VII.
I could not feel the breezes bring
Rich odours from the trees;
I could not hear the linnets sing,
And think on themes like these.
The painted insects as they pass
In swift and motley strife,
The very lizard in the grass
Would scare me back to life.
VIII.
Then is the past so gloomy now
That it may never bear
The open smile of nature's brow,
Or meet the sunny air?
I know not that-but joy is power,
However short it last;
And joy befits the present hour,
If sadness fits the past.
poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
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The ancient Roman code belongs to a class of which almost every civilised nation in the world can show a sample, and which, so far as the Roman and Hellenic worlds were concerned, were largely diffused over them at epochs not widely distant from one another.
quote by Henry James Sumner Maine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maghe
The Roman god Janus,
The Roman goddess Februa,
The Roman god of war (Mars) !
The Greek goddess of love (Aphrodite) ,
The Roman goddess of growth (Maia) ,
And Juno, the goddess of women, marriages and childbirth! !
Learn from them to know the wife of Jupiter as well;
For, we are all being saurrounded by the works of the gods and the goddesses!
The Germanic languages,
I am Maghe with the works of the secret codes of life in the land of the living;
But, very quick and eloquent is the muse of my love!
And like the acts of the god Woden in the alnd of many rivers.
The god Thunor (Thor) and the goddess Frigg,
With Old Norse like Venus the goddess of love!
But, try to learn from the old facts to push ahead with the truth always;
For, we are blindfolded to the secrets of this world.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Back to my roots for friend Bob
The sun is setting on the sea.
It paints the restless waters red.
I sit alone solitary
and from my vantage point I see
The sky darken to indigo
I sit alone and watch night fall.
I choose to stay although I know
that duty calls and I should go.
Back to the harsh reality
I have to cope with every day.
The endless noise of the city.
With which I feel no empathy.
I must suppose I’ll always be
the country boy that I once was
But driven by necessity
I left my home reluctantly.
There was no future there for me
No way to earn my daily bread
Just endless grinding poverty.
A prospect which I chose to flee.
I was naïve and hopeful then.
I thought the city offered me
A better chance to start again
But sadly I was mistaken.
The hungry city swallowed me.
I found a job which paid my way.
A porter in a mortuary
The ultimate in irony.
I served the dead to stay alive.
But every hour that I was free.
I needed fresh air to survive.
I took my car and I would drive.
Out to the hill above the sea
to fill my lungs with fresh clean air.
And for a little while be free
from scents and sounds of the city.
I will retire very soon.
I think that I have earned the right.
To sit outside my door at noon
or if I choose to watch the moon.
I shall go back where I belong
Back to the open countryside.
Although I’m old I am still strong
I have no doubt I’ll get along.
Quite happily where I should be
I was not meant for city life.
I‘ll leave the city thankfully.
Retirement will set me free.
26/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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As The Purple Shades Of Twilight Call
As the purple shades
of twilight call
from across the garden walls.
I hear old loves reverie
calling out to me.
Old loves refrain
calling out your name
from a distant rendezvous
with you and only you.
The strains of violins
linger on the wind,
pulling at my heartstrings
whenever I think of you.
As the purple shades
of twilight call
from across the garden walls.
Calling out of love again
as the wind whispers your name.
31 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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