Auntie Emmaline for Friend Leslie
Auntie Emmaline.
My cousin Peter was a prig.
A precious little Mamas boy.
Who thought it rather infra dig
a little mischief to enjoy.
He combed his hair and shined his shoes
and was polite to every one
I was quite pleased to hear the news
that he had just up and gone.
To live with a girl, Elsie Ma.
Who was no better than a whore.
It made me glad I have to say.
He’s not my rival anymore.
Nobody says that should I should be
just like Peter. Dear me no.
The rotten apple on the tree.
But what the family do not know.
Is that I arranged for them to meet.
I knew she would lead him astray
He had no chance at all poor Pete.
I don’t regret it in any way.
I’m sure that Peter has more fun.
Than if he had stayed safe at home.
Today he’s just another one
Who felt that it was time to roam.
Far from his mothers eagle eye
escape from under mothers thumb.
They were some things he had to try
and realised their time had come.
He was disowned immediately.
His name is never mentioned now.
Sometimes I meet him on the sly
I like him better now somehow.
Now that he’s not held up to be
the Icon I should emulate
To tell the truth he’s just like me
Although he found out rather late.
Though I appear respectable.
I have a wild streak which I hide.
My aunt finds me acceptable.
I think she would horrified
to know that I both smoke and drink
and chase young ladies ardently.
But things are seldom as you think.
I find that fooling her pleases me.
A good God fearing lady who
still believes whole heartedly.
That there are things one does not do
Quite blind to life’s reality.
29/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Success Story fo M 'lady Ernestine
She was as timid as a mouse.
Kept firmly under mothers thumb
she very rarely left the house.
Her mother taught her she was dumb.
But mother died and she was free
to do the things she wanted to.
None to frown disapprovingly
and tell what her she had to do.
An innocent of twenty three
Although she lacked self confidence.
She was still wise enough to be
well guided by her common sense.
She knew that she must take it slow.
There was so much she had to learn,
so many things she did not know.
Each hurdle she would take in turn.
She was resolved to seek advice
but was not sure where she would find
Although she could afford the price,
Advice that was both wise and kind.
Her mother’s sister Aunty Jean
was who she took her troubles to
A lady who had always been
disapproved of by mother too.
So Aunty Jean took her in hand
and showed her how she ought to dress.,
Wise enough to understand
that her young niece felt helpless.
A lifetime under Mothers thumb
had left its mark indelibly,
A problem she must overcome
before she was completely free.
to be the woman she should be
They worked together as a team
moving forward very slowly
But in due course fulfilled her dream.
Now with her new found confidence.
She was a woman self possessed,
well made up and smartly dressed.
Her mother’s ghost now laid to rest.
Freed from her mothers influence.
No longer dowdy and afraid.
Epitome of elegance
She was a model highly paid.
Though mother would have disapproved
well armoured in her prudishness
that she was wrong her daughter proved
By her own efforts a success.
Mothers do not always know best
Although they always think they do
I think this mother failed the test
She knew less than she thought she knew.
12-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Bush Veteran
Old Pete Parraday, he toddles up the road,
'Dangin'' things and 'darn in'' things and hefting of his load
For yesterday was pension day, Peter has his goods:
Butcher's meat and groceries and all sorts of foods;
A bit of plug 'tobaker' and a tin of 'jelly Jam,'
'Termatter' sauce and yellow soap, a knuckle-end of ham,
And a little flask of 'special stuff' discreetly tucked away.
'I takes it for me rheumatiz,' says Peter Parraday.
Old Pete Parraday, he lives all on his own.
People say he's getting old and shouldn't be alone.
They talk of institutions where he'd have most kindly care.
'Wot? Me?' says Peter Parraday. 'An' wot would I do there?
Lose me independence, an' be 'umble when they scold,
Eat an' sleep an' dress an' smoke just when an' how I'm told?
Shove ME in an Old Man's 'Ome to rust me life away?
I'd like to see 'em try it on!' says Peter Parraday.
Old Pete Parraday has little time to spare
For a bush hut and a garden are a common source of care.
There's wood to cut and meals to cook - a thousand things to plan
In the little kitchen-garden that 'do fair absorb a man.'
Green peas and radishes, brussels sprouts and beans,
Silver beet and lettuces - all sorts of green.
'Waterin' an' weedin' 'em, the hours they melts away,
An' days ain't halfways long enough,' says Peter Parraday.
Old Peter Parraday, he sits beside his door
To smoke a pipe at day's-end when fussy toil is o'er.
'This world it changes fast like,' says he, 'as time drifts by;
For old days was easy days when I was young an' spry;
An' cash was easy come by, with fortunes flowin' free,
An' many a man growed wealthy wot toed the mark with me.
But me? I seemed to miss the bus. Fair lost me chance, ses they,
Yet that don't seem to grieve me some,' grins Peter Parraday.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Genenology
When I researched my family tree.
I found out that quite possibly
I should conceal my ancestry.
They were not as my mum believes
aristocrats but cattle thieves.
It’s odd how family pride perceives
their ancestors as respectable.
It makes them feel more comfortable
although it is a load of bull.
I’m not ashamed why should I be
because of my discovery
It makes no odds I am still me.
You will do well to bear in mind
you may not like what you will find.
11-Apr-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Objectified
All beautiful things meet their demise
Flowers in bloom surely will die
Frozen are the wings of the dead butterfly
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Clouds of gray spoil the light of the skies
The ocean must fall in order to rise
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
I knew I was doomed when you first said, “Hi.”
Two ships in the night, we were bound to collide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Four months can pass in the blink of an eye
We lose ourselves without having to try
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
The simplest words become hard to define
You can’t see the truth when you cover your eyes
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Your pay the price to take this ride
Slowly, you find that you’re living a lie
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Pictures of us will fade over time
We become strangers in a world so wide
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
You’ll keep on searching for what you won’t find
You’ll lose your faith while I lose my mind
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
All beautiful things meet their demise
Sometimes your morals get left behind
It will be too late when you realize
Because all beautiful things meet their demise
poem by Vaida Marea
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A true measure for J.T, Ellison
The measure of a life is not
the length of time from birth to death.
Nor the possessions you have got
or what you say with your last breath
But what you did whilst you were here.
The joy and happiness you shared
with those you loved and held most dear.
With total strangers if you dared.
If all your kind deeds can outweigh
the things you did which you regret.
As through the world you made your way,
and folks are willing to forget.
Your little foibles faults and flaws
because you did more good than harm.
As you tried to steer your course
through the rough waters to the calm.
Your worth is only measured by
The memories you leave behind.
this is a truth I can’t deny.
To which I have become resigned.
26-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Ballad Of Peter Pumpkinhead
Peter pumpkinhead came to town
Spreading wisdom and cash around
Fed the starving and housed the poor
Showed the vatican what golds for
But he made too many enemies
Of the people who would keep us on our knees
Hooray for peter pumpkin
Wholl pray for peter pumpkinhead?
Oh my!
Peter pumpkinhead pulled them all
Emptied churches and shopping malls
Where he spoke, it would raise the roof
Peter pumpkinhead told the truth
But he made too many enemies...
Peter pumpkinhead put to shame
Governments who would slur his name
Plots and sex scandals failed outright
Peter merely said
Any kind of love is alright
But he made too many enemies...
Peter pumpkinhead was too good
Had him nailed to a chunk of wood
He died grinning on live tv
Hanging there he looked a lot like you
And an awful lot like me!
But he made too many enemies...
Hooray for peter pumpkin
Wholl pray for peter pumpkin
Hooray for peter pumpkinhead
Oh my oh my oh!
Doesnt it make you want to cry oh?
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Perils of Invisibility
Old PETER led a wretched life -
Old PETER had a furious wife;
Old PETER too was truly stout,
He measured several yards about.
The little fairy PICKLEKIN
One summer afternoon looked in,
And said, "Old PETER, how de do?
Can I do anything for you?
"I have three gifts - the first will give
Unbounded riches while you live;
The second health where'er you be;
The third, invisibility."
"O little fairy PICKLEKIN,"
Old PETER answered with a grin,
"To hesitate would be absurd, -
Undoubtedly I choose the third."
"'Tis yours," the fairy said; "be quite
Invisible to mortal sight
Whene'er you please. Remember me
Most kindly, pray, to MRS. P."
Old MRS. PETER overheard
Wee PICKLEKIN'S concluding word,
And, jealous of her girlhood's choice,
Said, "That was some young woman's voice:
Old PETER let her scold and swear -
Old PETER, bless him, didn't care.
"My dear, your rage is wasted quite -
Observe, I disappear from sight!"
A well-bred fairy (so I've heard)
Is always faithful to her word:
Old PETER vanished like a shot,
Put then - HIS SUIT OF CLOTHES DID NOT!
For when conferred the fairy slim
Invisibility on HIM,
She popped away on fairy wings,
Without referring to his "things."
So there remained a coat of blue,
A vest and double eyeglass too,
His tail, his shoes, his socks as well,
His pair of - no, I must not tell.
Old MRS. PETER soon began
To see the failure of his plan,
And then resolved (I quote the Bard)
To "hoist him with his own petard."
Old PETER woke next day and dressed,
Put on his coat, and shoes, and vest,
His shirt and stock; BUT COULD NOT FIND
HIS ONLY PAIR OF - never mind!
Old PETER was a decent man,
And though he twigged his lady's plan,
Yet, hearing her approaching, he
Resumed invisibility.
"Dear MRS. P., my only joy,"
Exclaimed the horrified old boy,
"Now, give them up, I beg of you -
You know what I'm referring to!"
But no; the cross old lady swore
She'd keep his - what I said before -
To make him publicly absurd;
And MRS. PETER kept her word.
The poor old fellow had no rest;
His coat, his stick, his shoes, his vest,
Were all that now met mortal eye -
The rest, invisibility!
"Now, madam, give them up, I beg -
I've had rheumatics in my leg;
Besides, until you do, it's plain
I cannot come to sight again!
"For though some mirth it might afford
To see my clothes without their lord,
Yet there would rise indignant oaths
If he were seen without his clothes!"
But no; resolved to have her quiz,
The lady held her own - and his -
And PETER left his humble cot
To find a pair of - you know what.
But - here's the worst of the affair -
Whene'er he came across a pair
Already placed for him to don,
He was too stout to get them on!
So he resolved at once to train,
And walked and walked with all his main;
For years he paced this mortal earth,
To bring himself to decent girth.
At night, when all around is still,
You'll find him pounding up a hill;
And shrieking peasants whom he meets,
Fall down in terror on the peats!
Old PETER walks through wind and rain,
Resolved to train, and train, and train,
Until he weighs twelve stone' or so -
And when he does, I'll let you know.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Par for the course
When I was young and hormones raged
throughout my system like a flood
To keep my libido assuaged
I bedded every girl I could.
With little thought of consequence.
I place the blame on Mother Nature
she robbed me of my innocence.
when I grew older more mature.
I realised my ignorance
My past behaviour I foreswore
I would no longer seek each chance
to add another to my score.
The time has come to find a mate.
Someone to cherish and protect.
‘Til then I would be celibate
and treat all ladies with respect.
Hot blooded youth will have its way
but men must act responsibly.
Forget the games they used to play
and start to take life seriously.
9-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Misapprehension
A blue eyed blonde but rather dim.
Or so he thought
But she still made a fool of him.
Just for the sport
He thought he would have his way
then leave her flat
but she saw things a different way.
I fancy that
she led him a merry dance.
She knew his game,
right from the start he had no chance.
But all the same
The lesson was long overdue
he had to know.
That he was not entitled to
just take and go.
She had met men like him before
and knew full well
He wanted to add to his score
so he could tell.
His friends about his new conquest.
But she declined
and told him he was just a pest.
Then she consigned
him swiftly to the garbage heap
where he belonged
and she would lose no beauty sleep.
Though he felt wronged.
Philanderers should make a note
to change their ways.
or surely they will miss the boat.
Alone always.
the maiden knew instinctively
she could not trust.
She spotted you immediately.
So go you must.
With your desire unsatisfied.
The lady’s wise
she sees quite clearly that you lied.
To your surprise.
23-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Then I WILL know the reason why.
I know for sure that I know less
than what I used to think I knew.
I find it easy to confess..
When I was young I knew it all
Experience taught me otherwise
That pride must go before a fall..
The few things which I know are true.
I still recheck them frequently.
It’s something that I have to do.
For change occurs and alters things
and often truth is flexible.
It has been known to topple kings.
I’m not a king I’m just a man
A simple man who knows his place
And tries to do the best he can.
I can say with honesty
Although I am prepared to learn
Who can I find who will teach me...
Some one who knows much more than me.
Somebody who is qualified.
I never will quite probably.
I’ll have to wait until I die
Before I’m privy to the truth
Then I will know the reason why.
Tuesday,26 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Moonlight and Poses
Sweet words can lead a girl astray.
Accept the fact that men will lie
You know full well the reason why.
Some men believe that if they try
a naïve girl might just give way
Sweet words can lead a girl astray
To men love is game they play
and so they lie to get their way.
Sweet words can lead a girl astray.
Any mature woman knows
that men are driven by their lust
and their sweet words you cannot trust.
The question which she has to pose
Is this a man who I can trust?
Any mature woman knows
There is no reason to adjust
what she believes unless she must.
Any mature woman knows
There comes a time she cant resist.
She knows she’s acting foolishly
but they surrender easily.
Because their libidos insist
they explore sexuality
There comes a time they can’t resist.
Deceptive moon light may assist
surrender of the chastity.
We should excuse them readily.
There comes a time they can’t resist.
They blame the moonlight and the man
deny responsibility
for their sexuality
Because they are quite sure they can
expect at least some sympathy.
They blame the moonlight and the man.
Perhaps I’m judging unfairly
but that is how it seems to me.
They blame the moonlight and the man.
It takes a woman and a man
a mutual complicity.
So neither one can be guilt free.
It has been so since time began
throughout recorded history.
It takes a woman and a man.
Theres little probability
that things will change foreseeably.
It takes a woman and a man.
Triolet quartet
23/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Faith the Facts
Search out all things of good report.
Consider each one carefully,
things are not always as you thought.
As you will find most probably.
What you were taught to be the truth
is very often far from true.
Lessons taught you in your youth
by those you thought knew more than you.
As you mature you learn to see.
They taught you their own biased view
Which you examine critically
And then discard most as untrue.
Your old beliefs grow obsolete.
Examine all the evidence
New facts emerge though incomplete,
you then accept what makes most sense.
What you were taught no longer true.
You can’t rely on faith alone.
Although the clergy urge you to
Because too much remains unknown
Wednesday,25 November 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It might come back into fashion for all long suffering husbands
Why do we hoard things we don’t use?
Why is that we always choose
to take the easy way.
Turn a blind eye.
We will decide another day
what to keep, what to throw away
Although there’s no reason why
we should refuse
We’re well aware what we should try
to clear some space before we buy.
That gorgeous pair of shoes
We should say nay.
We know quite well we should refuse
but bargains we can always use.
Thursday,19 November 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It might come back into fashion
Why do we hoard things we don’t use?
Why is that we always choose
to take the easy way.
Turn a blind eye.
We will decide another day
what to keep, what to throw away
Although there’s no reason why
we should refuse
We’re well aware what we should try
to clear some space before we buy.
That gorgeous pair of shoes
We should say nay.
We know quite well we should refuse
but bargains we can always use.
Thursday,19 November 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Youthful fantasies. a redondilla
redondilla
To tell my love forbidden me.
So I must suffer silently.
I love a lady who is wed
and so my love remains unsaid.
The lady is beyond reproach
an Icon I cannot approach.
She would reject me if I should
There is no doubt at all she would.
She does not know that I exist
and yet my feelings still persist.
I dream about her constantly
and I will love her faithfully.
That is until I chance to meet
another maiden just as sweet.
I fall in love regularly
Always it seems quite hopelessly.
Sunday,04 July 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Things That Dreams Are Made Of
Take time to see the wonders of the world
To see the things youve only ever heard of
Dream life the way you think it ought to be
See things you thought youd never ever see
Take a cruise to china
Or a train to spain
Go round the world
Again and again
Meet a girl on a boat
Meet a boy on a train
And fall in love
Without the pain
Everybody needs love and adventure
Everybody needs cash to spend
Everybody needs love and affection
Everybody needs 2 or 3 friends
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
Take a lift to the top of the empire state
Take a drive across the golden gate
March, march, march across red square
Do all the things youve ever dared
Everybody needs love and adventure
Everybody needs cash to spend
Everybody needs love and affection
Everybody needs 2 or 3 friends
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
Like fun and money and food and love
And things you never thought of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
New york, ice cream, tv, travel, good times
Norman wisdom, johnny, joey, dee dee, good times
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who goes there? for friend Thad
By the rosy light of dawn.
A squirrel chatters noisily
as if his duty is to warn.
a task which takes seriously
He warns them all that draw near.
Although in fact I mean no harm
Wild creatures swiftly disappear
in response to his shrill alarm.
They can’t afford to take the chance
so they react instinctively
The price of life is vigilance
and that is why I seldom see
Wild creatures who quite naturally
conceal themselves and hide from me.
20/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Peccavi for friend Bob
A sword suspended by a thread, precariously above my head
A sin committed long ago I did not want the world to know.
My conscience nagged incessantly I dreaded the discovery
of what I had done as a child. Sufficient cause to be reviled.
By anyone who came to know the secrets that I hid below
my air of seeming innocence. How I’ve regretted my offence.
What I had done nobody knew nor were they ever likely to.
I did not wish to cause alarm nor did I wish the slightest harm.
To anyone I was a fool to think it would be rather cool.
To super glue the ladies loo which left a lady sticking to
The toilet seat to her distress. I was too frightened to confess.
I realised eventually that only I could forgive me
I still regret my foolishness. A childish prank no more no less.
The time has come for my reprieve I am forgiven I believe
My punishment draws to its close.Although in fact still no one knows.
Who superglued the ladys loo.There is no way that they could do.
I have repented of my sin but secretly suppress a grin.
When I recall the memory which all my life has haunted me
26/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A whole new ball game.
The time had come for me to go and leave the world of work behind
I was not sure, did not know how I would occupy my mind
To fill the long hours of the day. I knew some things I’d like to try.
But work had left small time for play and now there s was no reason why.
My times my own an I am free to try my hand at something new
from pottery to poetry and that is what I mean to do.
It may seem strange but now I find there are too few hours in the day.
To do the things I have in mind. I look at life a different way.
Retirement wrought a change in me I do the thing I want to do
I have no one to please but me. Something you can look forward to.
When you too leave the world of work behind. You’ll be too busy to regret.
The years you spent as a wage slave you’ll be quite happy to forget.
19-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Aunt Tabitha
THE YOUNG GIRL'S POEM
WHATEVER I do, and whatever I say,
Aunt Tabitha tells me that is n't the way;
When she was a girl (forty summers ago)
Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so.
Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice!
But I like my own way, and I find it so nice
And besides, I forget half the things I am told;
But they all will come back to me--when I am old.
If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt,
He may chance to look in as I chance to look out;
She would never endure an impertinent stare,--
It is horrid, she says, and I must n't sit there.
A walk in the moonlight has pleasures, I own,
But it is n't quite safe to be walking alone;
So I take a lad's arm,--just for safety, you know,--
But Aunt Tabitha tells me they did n't do so.
How wicked we are, and how good they were then!
They kept at arm's length those detestable men;
What an era of virtue she lived in!--But stay--
Were the men all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?
If the men were so wicked, I 'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma;
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows?
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose?
I am thinking if Aunt knew so little of sin,
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt--it scares me--how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!
A martyr will save us, and nothing else can;
Let me perish--to rescue some wretched young man!
Though when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha 'll tell me she never did so.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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