Be Still and Listen for FRiend Colin
Be still and listen for the sound,
the voice of God speaks quietly.
Although the silence is profound
It cannot blank out completely.
The never ending melody.
We have not listened to before
except perhaps subliminally.
Something we usually ignore.
We are too busy listening to
competing sounds of every day
We do not do as we should do
and set some time aside to pray.
This can’t apply to just one creed
but fills a universal need,
27/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Water Music for M lady Chitra
I hear the music of the waterfall.
I am held fast entranced against my will.
It’s ceaseless flowing fluid melody
more potent than the fabled sirens call.
I cannot think nor can I move at all.
Completely absorbed by the symphony
it is as if that time is standing still.
Nothing seems to matter, nothing at all.
I am enraptured by the waterfall
Quite unaware that I’ve duties to fulfil
I think it may be true quite possibly
I’m not averse to being held in thrall.
There is no where I’d rather be
than where I am just listening quietly.
24/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Time to be,
Steal away quietly meditate
You can spare time enough. For a while
silently hide away. Contemplate
who you are, what you are thoroughly.
You may find peace of mind, leave behind
the pressures and distress easily.
All you need to succeed is concede.
You can fly if you try earnestly.
You will see, you can be really free.
12/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Sound Of Silence....
it speaks no words,
yet they fall on the soul..
quietly falls on the heart so heavy,
pain wrapped, the words of silence....
filth and grime,
pure and honest,
the words do a medley of sorts,
ever felt the sound of silence..
the world pulls down,
the dust seems sticking,
tears entrapped in the soul,
commotion in the worldly shows.
what's life? regret, remorse..
the dull light always burning,
resonating from inside,
try listening, the sound of silence...
the voice screams,
it brings the truth,
momentarily, the pain halts,
with the tasting of the salt.
ironical the world is,
contradiction filled...
sounds stupid, but true,
the sound of silence...
befriend silence,
redemption u find...
the lost answers,
u will find.
sound, so enthralling,
sound, so enigmatic..
yet so healing, , ,
the sound of silence..
poem by Nupur Singhal
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You are Mistaken! !
The arguments range far and wide.
Opinions held stubbornly
will be adhered to by each side
Because we do not want to see.
That we may be wrong possibly.
Brain washed by what we have been taught.
By teachers who most probably
had not expended too much thought.
Passed on the tenets of their creed
for which they had no evidence.
They merely listened and agreed
which shows a lack of competence.
A teacher should be confident
that what he teaches is the truth.
Mere words are insufficient
when you are educating youth.
Challenge all you have been taught.
Although in fact it may be true
Do not accept without much thought.
The currently prevailing view.
Each creed will claim they are correct.
It ‘s human nature so to do
This will not change. I don’t expect
We’ll ever know which one is true.
12/07/2009
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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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Dog watch
The night is cold and clear and still.
The village streets lie quietly.
A bitter wind adds to the chill.
At home is where I’d rather be.
I have no choice I have to go.
My dog insists I take him out.
He knows he is entitled to
his final evening run about.
Then he will settle for the night.
It matter not rain, hail or snow.
He is correct he has the right
to tell me that its time to go.
He knows the time I must suppose.
What puzzles me is how he knows.
Wednesday,23 December 2009.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Silence Is...
Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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Beneath the surface 09
I choose my friends instinctively.
Signals received unconsciously
decide compatability
I am convinced accurately.
I trust my hunches completely
I find they work efficiently
and so I listen carefully
To what my guts are telling me
I understand obviously
I could be wrong quite possibly
It makes no difference to me.
It suits me to believe you see.
I do not have to make a choice
I leave that to my inner voice.
27-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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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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Forbidden Knowledge For Dr H.Sheth
Driven by curiosity
the monkey mind of modern man.
Creates new technology
to find out everything he can.
Regardless of the consequence.
He has to know, he is obsessed.
Although rarely can he make sense
of things that catch his interest.
He has to try and satisfy
his raging curiosity.
The normal rules do not apply
to someone searching earnestly
for answers to the mysteries
Which have bedevilled humankind.
Throughout all mankind’s history.
The answers we will never find.
Some knowledge is forbidden us
Because we do not need to know
We’re immature and dangerous.
We must accept the Status Quo
Until we learn to think ahead
Consider probabilities
alternatives to use instead
within our capabilities.
We are spendthrift and profligate
Take what we want without remorse
Destroy much more than we create.
Greed is the creed which we endorse.
04/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Self justification.
It’s not so easy to forget.
The things we did which we regret
Though if we try we may succeed
in justifying every deed.
Convince ourselves we had no choice
Ignore the inner nagging voice.
Which reminds us constantly.
We did what we did willingly.
We know when we indulged our lust
that we betrayed another’s trust.
We did not see it as a crime
and we enjoyed it at the time.
Although in time we realise
that our excuses are all lies.
Friday,21 January 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Time out. for M lady Denise Bekker
The fountain murmurs quietly,
in the rose garden in the sun.
A haven of serenity
where I relax when work is done.
Inhale the perfume thankfully
It serves to calm my troubled mind.
This is a special place to me.
The only place where I can find
the peace I need to meditate.
Unwind after a busy day
and let the perfumes permeate.
To soothe me in their subtle way.
The fountain murmurs quietly,
its gentle song entrancing me.
Wednesday,09 June 2010-06-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Morning Hymn
Gladly do I greet the dawn
a new day born for me to see.
The dawn chorus fills my ears.
Banishes all fears: I’m free
to raise my hymn of praise.
To the suns rays. I ought to
in gratitude for the sight
of morning light. So I do.
Awdl gwnedd form
07/11/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Nunc Dimmitus For Friend Chandra
The deep notes of the organ sound,
The choirboys look slyly round
to see what mischief they can find.
They look like angels but I find.
They’re really demons in disguise
a choirmaster must be wise.
They seem to have endless supplies
of mischief hid behind their eyes.
But I forgive them when they sing.
The treble voices echoing
high in the roofspace where they bring
pleasure to all those listening.
I love and hate them equally.
But now and then I can still see.
They’re not so different from me,
When I recall I used to be
a naughty little choirboy.
Full of tricks meant to annoy.
The mischief all small boys enjoy.
This knowledge which I now employ.
To keep my choirboys in line
Ensuring that they sound divine.
They do respond to discipline
just as I did when I was nine.
Each one posses a fine voice
sufficient reason to rejoice
I don’t regret I made the choice
to teach cathedral choirboys.
06/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Politically incorrect, so what for M'lady Ernestine
When interviewing candidates
Because you’re trying to be fair.
You sometimes over compensate.
Although completely unaware.
You are discriminating for.
What you’re against instinctively.
Your methods have proved right before
You aren’t obliged to be P.C.
That you should feel you ought to be
completely free of all bias
To me is sheer stupidity.
Just pause a while and it will pass.
The candidates well qualified
So let your prejudice decide
Do as you’ve always done before
and choose the furthest from the door.
What does it matter how you choose.
It is entirely up to you
how you conduct your interviews.
You can do what you want to do.
Your methods may not be PC.
But they have stood the test of time.
By choosing almost randomly
You are not guilty of a crime.
That you are prejudiced is true
A simple fact you can’t deny.
But by selecting as you do
You’ll get it right quite possibly.
31/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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0016 Orpheus - or his lute?
It was his listening; he listened
to himself; he listened to himself
listening to his lute; his lute perforce
listened to itself; listened to itself
listening to him..listened to
the measures of all things, even
the measures of mankind..
space, air, listened to his listening;
listened as the eagle made a silent,
perfect circle around a centre in its mind
high above Delphi that clear morning;
listened to the silent cliffs across the gorge,
silently ominous in their listening;
the stream which trickles down past the carved theatre,
cool and clear enough to wash your face;
look up the mountain and hope it sacred, holy; it
plashes like curiosity pursued, down towards the river
which is a mere pencil line at the bottom of the gorge
in this so unexpected place;
the sea barely visible in the distance,
misty with its myths unspoken;
space listened and loved his music, allowed this scene;
a cool air, this morning elsewhere hot, descends gently
down the mountain to the gorge, curves past these rocks
where a dark shadow here or there
could be where the Sibyl listened too.
we thought, boarding the hot bus,
that we were tourists; then we looked,
became pilgrims; then something more,
more like worshippers of the unknown god
whose altar we left behind in Athens,
silent beyond questions,
listening to the space
as if the space itself
listened to some instrument well tuned,
a voice perhaps, silent, powerful.
the sun, the sunlight, moved from rock to rock
this cool, clear morning, waking
clumps of sparse bright flowers, woken
again by morning bees
who may be unaware – or born to know—
they forage at a world heritage site as do we visitors,
at Delphi, where still truth speaks in silence;
bees who listen to each other,
dance their satnav trails,
listen inwardly to flowers,
to honey, and what else
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Merciful Release?
Merciful Release.
The mist descended suddenly.
Totally unexpectedly.
I could not see to find my way
So I decided I should stay
Just where I was. It seemed to be.
The wisest choice
I’m not so certain that it was
I think perhaps that is because.
The clammy fog embraces me
And whispers to me quietly
You have no choice.
If I decide to let you go
I am quite certain you will know.
Not to brave the moors alone
These moors are mine all that I own
and I rejoice.
I have the power to heal or kill
I always had and always will.
These moors are worthy of respect
It is mission to protect.
It whispered sotto voice.
I will remember till I die.
There is no reason I should lie
The day the mist enveloped me
and whispered to me quietly
I hear that voice.
In nightmares to this very day.
Although it let me go my way.
I still retain the memory
Of the lesson taught to me.
The moors own voice.
Although it spoke so quietly
Is etched deep in my memory
I can’t forget although I try
And to this day I wonder why.
It made the choice
To set me free as suddenly
as the mist had captured me.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever know
Why it chose to let me go
I had no choice.
The moors have little time for fools
They can and will enforce their rules
I'm forced to take it seriously
Or pay the price
Tuesday,15 November 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Blind Luck for Joe Poewhit
Some can foresee what is to be
Fleeting images which quickly pass,
on which they base their prophecy.
When they employ their scrying glass.
Still others can review the past.
Reality not history,
enabling them to overcast
false hypotheses and theory
But most cannot and they must deal
with what is happening here and now.
The things we see and hear and feel.
The most nature will allow
are hunches and presentiments.
You act upon if you are wise.
Sometimes as if by accident
you know more than you realise.
Your mind reacts unconsciously
To what it sees may be a threat.
It observes subliminally
And very often you forget
The reason that you changed your mind
And thus avoided tragedy.
Perhaps you left your keys behind
and had to return hurriedly.
You don’t believe in E.SP.
Although you are willing to
accept your hunches easily.
I am quite sure most people do.
10/10/2009
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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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