En.Citatepedia^®.ro

And no bird sings fot new friend Mel

.

The breeze which rustles in the trees
assisted by the birds and bees
Whose interlacing melodies
produce pastoral symphonies
Which vary as the seasons change
and the musicians re-arrange
the notes to suit their vocal range.
I think it would be very strange
if suddenly there ceased to be.
The music which can set us free
from worries temporarily
and silence reigned; permanently.
The sound of silence echoing
instead of song birds carolling.

13/04/2007
Revised
18/04/2009

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Centred experimental form

Centred

The silence of the night profound.
Unbroken by the slightest sound.
Envelopes me.

Serenity envelopes me
From earthly worries I am free
Just for a while.

I can enjoy just for a while
a complete change from my life style.
No need to rush.

I am content no need to rush.
Sit quietly amidst the hush.
I still my mind.

Effortlessly I still my mind
and meditate until I find
my inner core.

When I have reached my inner core
I need not struggle any more.
I am at peace.

I realise I am at peace
when all my errant thought trains cease.
I can just be.

I understand I can just be
if only temporarily.
Then I must go.

An hour or two then I must go
back to the noisy world I know.
Reluctantly.

Surrendering reluctantly
the only time that I am free
to be just me.

21-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I Hear

When the trees sing what matters is knowing.
That the trees are singing at all.
their gentle music ever out flowing
for those attuned to hear its call.
Although all children hear and sing along,
most adults have forgotten how
to listen to the trees and hear their song
They’re far too busy to allow
themselves to be distracted by the trees
Their minds are fixed on other things
and do not miss the melodies
The gentle breeze amongst the branches sings
It makes no difference at all
The trees still sing as they have always done
in summer, spring winter and fall.
I listen for the music of the trees
those sad but sometimes joyous harmonies.

10-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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She Is fir MY Lady Irene

My lady strolls to take the air.
The flowers bow as she goes by,
because they know they can’t compare
with my lady, so they don’t try.
The song birds sing my lady’s praise,
sweet music to my lady’s taste.
Here as she walks the woodland ways
They flock to sing to her; in haste
Where e’re she walks a cool breeze blows
plays with the glory of her hair.
It is as if all nature knows
my lady’s more than passing fair
She walks in beauty naturally.
she is as she was meant to be.

01/04/2009

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Wind in the trees for Friend Thad

The winds play haunting melodies
Upon the branches of bare trees
From which they pluck the notes they seek.
Each composition is unique.

The music that the wind can play
is different in every way.
From any score that humans write.
Holds me entranced in sheer delight.

Soft sad laments which seem to be
expressing sorrow endlessly
But these sad notes can segue into
a lively beat so you want to

Clap your hands and tap your feet
entranced by the hypnotic beat.
The music changes constantly
a show of virtuosity

That doesn’t need an audience
Although some times I seem to sense
that is playing just for me
To which I listen gratefully

It plays the tunes that suit my mood
as if the wind well understood
I'm sometimes happy sometimes sad
depending on the day I’ve had.

I know quite well the wind is free
and is not playing just for me.
It does no harm if I pretend
the wind regards me as a friend.

Although it has no reason to
I think perhaps it might be true
I am content to listen to
its haunting music so I do.

26-Oct-08 http; // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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There and back again for M 'lady Chitra

There are no blossoms to be seen.
They’ve served their turn and left the stage
The trees are clad in shades of green
One further step on their passage

from the bare twigs of winter time.
Stark silhouettes against the sky
then blossom time which is sublime
Providing pleasure for the eye/

The trees are in their summer dress
More subtle than their spring attire.
Waiting for autumn to impress
with leaves that seem to be on fire.

The autumn winds well strip them bare
and spread their glory on the ground.
A coloured blanket everywhere.
and twigs now dancing to the sound

of early winter gales that blow.
Creating eerie harmonies,
bare branches moving to and fro
produce discordant melodies.

The trees endure the winters rage,
the bitter cold and falling snow,
The know it’s just another stage
they’re well prepared to undergo.

Before the welcome spring returns
to prompt new tender leaves to grow
Followed by blossoms in their turn.
As seasons come and seasons go,

07/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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New every Morning for M'lady Ann Beard

The Blackbird leads the dawn chorus.
His feathered cousins harmonise.
Their morning music glorious.
As if the song birds realise.
The opalescent light of dawn
provides them with the perfect cue.
To greet the new day newly born
as they are well equipped to do.
Each songster adding something to
the melodies that intertwine.
A ritual forever new
as they instinctively combine
into a choral symphony
Their every note blends perfectly.

Friday,29 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Appreciative Audience.

Soft moonlight filters through the trees
Which seem to dance to melodies
Created by the gentle breeze.

The shadows on the ground dance too
Or to my eyes they appear to
Disintegrate then form anew.

Sometimes the clouds blot out the light
The shadows gain a brief respite.
Rejoin the darkness of the night.

But clouds move on and when they do
And once again moonlight shows through.
The trees will dance, the shadows too.

The sun will rise to start the day.
The dancing shadows hide away
But where they hide no man can say.

The sun completes his daily quest.
Journeying from east to west.
Then sinks below the sea to rest.

The moon will rise she rules the night
Then once again to my delight
She bathes the trees in silver light.

The melodies played by the breeze
Will re awake the sleeping trees.
To dance again with practiced ease.

Beneath the trees reluctantly
the shadows still dance gracefully.
I watch in silence gratefully.

I know they do not dance for me
And I am privileged to see
The shadows dance under the trees.

Friday,23 September 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fashion sense for M'lady Ann Beard

The trees bedecked with blossom now.
Some clad in pink and some in white.
Contestants in the beauty show
which spring provides for our delight

The blossoms which adorn he trees
are unaware, they do not know.
That very soon the gentle breeze
will shake them loose to fall like snow.

The trees will don new coats of green.
More suited to the summer sun
than what the blossoms would have been
Their time has passed so they have gone.

When autumn comes the trees will know
its time to wear their winter clothes
In preparation for the snow.
The theme of winters beauty show.

Though seasons come and seasons go.
The trees adapt quite easily
for summers sun or winters snow
They’re sure to be dressed suitably.

29/04/2009

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Harmless Gossip

An avenue of stately trees
whose branches meet high overhead
exchanging gossip with the breeze.
This is the way that rumours spread.

When lovers stroll beneath the moon.
The trees observe their every move.
They dance to day to the same tune
their forbears danced to when in love.

Though fashions change, some things do not.
The trees have seen it all before.
All that they’ve seen is not forgot
but added the their growing store

of gossip which the trees then share
with every passing breeze that blows.
The trees will spread it everywhere
to all and sundry I suppose.

Be very careful what you do.
Although no one can see.
Know that the trees are watching you
and they will share quite happily.

Everything that they have seen
with any breeze that happens by.
With consequences unforeseen
By trees and breeze or you and I.

When strolling in a moon lit glade
Beware the moons soft silver rays.
That stir the blood of man and maid
to think this is the time and place.

19/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I believe 2012

When moonlight filters through the trees.
I sometimes hear sweet melodies.
Carried towards me on the breeze.
Music guaranteed to please.

It comes from where the fairies dance.
I'm not afraid to take a chance.
To follow it and steal a glance.
Which would do nothing but enhance.

My belief that fairies do exist.
A fact that others may resist.
Despite the legend that persist.
Although I am a realist.

And not some dreaming fantasist.
I claim to be a pragmatist.

Wednesday,15 February 2012.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Tantrum for Sidi Mahtrow

Storm clouds massing threateningly
had turned the sky gun metal gray.
The world waited expectantly,
a thunder storm was on its way.

Silence reigned and nothing stirred.
The breeze disturbed no single leaf
There were no bird calls to be heard.
It was as if I had gone deaf.

The silence was itself a threat
a promise of what was to come.
A copper plated certain bet.
The thunder rolling like a drum.

Foretold the coming of the rain
in driving sheets across the moors.
The wind was howling out its pain,
behind the rain the driving force.

The scattered trees stood patiently
As the dry earth absorbed the flow
of rain which fell incessantly.
The trees were wise enough to know.

The storm would pass it could not last
The clouds disperse, the skies turn blue.
The sun break through the overcast
Reveal a well washed world anew.

It lasted but an hour or so
and then departed suddenly
as summer storms are wont to do.
A lesson in futility.

The earth abides but storms move on.
The brief show of authority
which they display is quickly gone.
A return to normality.

25-May-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Misperception?

Misperception.

The silence of the night; profound.
Is broken by a dismal sound.
The tolling of a single bell.
The sad, sad sound of the death knell.
Another soul has broken free
From this sad world of misery.
Now journeying towards the light
Rejoicing in the power of flight.
But we who have been left behind
to seek what solace we can find.
Weep bitter tears which may relieve
The pain of loss but I believe.
We should not weep but celebrate.
The dear departed’s change of state.

Thursday,22 December 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Flutter byes for M ladyChitra

The autumn leaves fall from the trees.
Twirling and dancing in the breeze.
Like ghosts of summer butterflies
although they don’t deceive my eyes.
My poets mind says otherwise.
Transmogrifies them easily,
assisted by their autumn guise.
Into bright coloured butterflies.
Like butterflies they dance and play
but they will fall eventually.
Down to the ground and rot away
And form a mulch to feed each tree.
On which trees live as they should do.
Though for a little while they flew.

16-Oct-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Forest Lord for S.J.Gardner

As I walked out beneath the moon
I heard that old compelling tune
The Pipes of Pan that faintly play
have power to steal my will away.

The old God rules the forest yet
I know he does I can’t forget.
I was forced to follow the sound.
Although I know he can’t be found.

Unless he chooses to reveal
he is alive and well and real.
To tell the truth I found it odd
For Pan is a forgotten God.

He has the power to overrule
with music as his only tool.
My hardened shell of disbelief
and in some way grant me relief.

From all the woes which trouble me.
So for a little while I’m free,
to leave reality behind.
For long enough to still my mind.

I might be only fantasy.
I’m well ware that it could be
Although I try I can’t explain
the forest is till Pans domain.

Then suddenly the music ceased.
I knew that I had been released.
I still cherish the memory
Of the night Pan played pipes for me..

28-Oct-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unfinished Symphony for M lady Tara

The ultimate pastoral symphony,
beyond the skill of man to reproduce.
Of all the music I have heard I choose
the complex interweaving melody.
Of flowing brooks and the wind in the trees
all natural sounds are put to use.
No sound the great composer will refuse
to use for his exquisite harmonies.

The wind the waters and the tree s combine.
Supported by the voices of a host
of living things who add their voices to
form part of a symphony divine.
The great composer has no need to boast
about his compositions ever new.

12-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Hidden watcher. For M'; lady Francesca

Hidden watcher.

The salt marsh stretches endlessly
and forms a perfect habitat
Where migrant birds nest in safety
to brood and raise a family.

Few hunters ever venture here,
because they fear the boggy ground
That’s noted for its treachery.
So most prefer to hunt elsewhere.

Bird watchers come the whole year round.
They only shoot with cameras
and they avoid the boggy ground
They know that rare birds can be found.

In the salt marsh beside the sea.
It is a twitcher’s paradise
They record meticulously
each and every bird they see

The salt marsh lies beside the sea.
As it has done since time began.
A panorama of rare beauty
That is changing constantly.

It changes as the seasons change.
I does not stay the same for long.
Nature can and does rearrange
to make the landscape look quite strange.

An eerie place and frightening
when covered by a dense sea fret.
When you can see and hear nothing
above the roar of waves breaking.

There’s nowhere I’d prefer to be
Than esconced in my favourite hide.
To watch the birds in secrecy
I can see them They can’t see me.

Sunday,15 August 2010.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Grace notes echoinf for M lady Olfa

The eastern sky is growing bright.
Signalling the end of night.

Soon in due course the rising sun
confirms a new day has begun

The morning silence broken by
a lark that carols from on high.

Instinctively when she takes wing
.She knows her duty is to sing.

Because she has survived the night
Because a new day has begun
Because she free to fly on high.
Because she knows that her singing.

Is something she’s required to do.
Yet every day her song is new.

Tuesday,02 February 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Double entendre? for M'lady fay

Clear crisp notes on the morning air.
The blackbirds joyous melody,
which he sings loudly to declare.
This is my home territory.
To human ears a liquid trill,
to other birds a warning; clear.
I will not hesitate to kill
intruders who dare venture here.
This is my domain, mine alone
and I will guard it jealously.
So heed my warning and be gone
I wield supreme authority.
A pretty song. A warning note
which issues from the blackbirds throat.

31-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Do I dream or am I dreamt?

Do I dream or am I dreamt?

Surrealistic landscapes can
appear to be reality.
Scenes never seen by any man.
I can imagine easily.
Strange planets occupied
by aliens hostile to men
At other times I’m satisfied
to see the mountains once again.
I’m in control I can dictate
exactly what I wish to see.
I only need to concentrate
and set my questing spirit free.
When I dream I dream lucidly
unless someone is dreaming me.

02/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lament in A flat

A novice practicing scales
upon a battered violin
A raucous sound which never fails
to make my sick headaches begin.
I live above a music school
The rent was all I could afford.
I thought I’d scored, I was a fool
Although at least I’m never bored
I hear unwilling pupils play
strange sounds I cannot classify
as being music in any way.
Although I’m sure some pupils try.
I thank the lord the lord they close at eight
for silence I appreciate.

16-Sep-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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