Death is not the end For M'lady Ernestine
Death is not the end.
A ray of sunlight penetrates
the quiet gloom of the sick room
Wherein a dying lady waits.
For death to call impatiently.
She has no fear she is content
To know that soon she will be free.
For ninety years she’s done her best.
To her the sunlight seems to be
A sign that she has passed the test.
The ray of light eventually
illuminates her final smile.
She passes over quietly.
Her empty shell lies peacefully.
Almost as if she slumbered still.
Her spirit soars triumphantly.
Towards the light she hopes to see.
Remaining faithful to the end
She goes ahead confidently.
She has outlived her family
and all her friends are long since dead.
She lived her life successfully.
She lived and died competently
and she passed on with no regrets.
To start a new life hopefully.
Wednesday,30 June 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fare you well
Fly free proud spirit on your way.
Towards the truth you sought to find,
No need to tarry or delay.
You know I’ll follow on behind.
The bonds of love death cannot break
For love will last eternally.
We’ll meet again make no mistake.
I will rejoin you presently.
We’ve lived and loved and died before.
I have no doubt we will again.
Each life we learn a little more
although each parting is a pain.
With my blessings go your way
until my call comes I must stay.
22/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Legacy.
Legacy
Ghosts from the past, our ancestors.
Though long since dead are part of us.
WE must accept this truth of course.
Our forbears weren’t all glorious.
If you research your family tree
You’ll be surprised by what you find.
Most forbears were quite ordinary.
But some of them have left behind.
Abilities and qualities.
Which are passed down through their offspring
in varying quantities.
You can be sure of just one thing.
Today we are the latest batch
of evolutions mix and match.
Wednesday,29 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lady in waiting.2011
I live alone, my family
and all my friends are long since gone.
There’s no one left who cares for me.
Others have problems of their own.
I’ve had my share of happiness
and known the depths of misery.
My life now seems to matter less.
So I am waiting patiently.
For death to come and set me free.
Each night I pray I will not wake..
I think that death’s forgotten me
just overlooked me by mistake.
I’d welcome death quite happily
but even deaths abandoned me.
Friday,18 February 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Taboo
I find it rather curious
There are some things we don’t discuss,
not even with our closest friends.
As if our peace of mind depends
on the pretence that we won’t die.
Despite its crass stupidity
We know it is a certainty
but do not know the reason why.
Why is to talk of death taboo
.Except to the enlightened few.
Who believe that death is going to
set them free to start again.
Death is a door we all pass through
we should not fear it but we do
12-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Antidote for J.T.Ellison
Before me lies a narrow road
with hedges, high on either side.
With only sunlight for my load
I am content to boldly stride
I care not where the road may lead
but I am sure it leads somewhere.
That’s knowledge that I do not need
I am not burdened down by care.
For two whole weeks I am quite free.
I chose a walking holiday.
There is so much I wish to see.
How could there be a better way
The sun is warming on my back.
My shadow always runs ahead
on metalled roads or dusty track
and I must follow where I’m led.
Once noon is passed I start to look
I am not fussy not at all
A wayside on or sheltered nook
protected by a dry stone wall.
My sleeping bag is very light
but waterproof and warm withal.
I do not fear the fall of night.
I’ll sleep lulled by the night birds call.
The first rays of the rising sun
will serve in place of my alarm.
Then I will rise and carry one
and breakfast at some friendly farm.
I have sufficient cash to pay
for what I need as I pass through
small villages along the way.
Where I may spend an hour or two.
Or stay the night If I so choose.
I have no deadline I must keep.
My ready cash they won’t refuse
I’m sure to find a place to sleep.
But holidays like all good things
come to an end eventually.
But until them my heart still sing
as I store up new memories.
I must return and be confined
in narrow grimy city streets.
Which seem to me to be designed
for those weighed down by life’s defeats.
I am refreshed and ready to
endure the drabness of each day
with brick walls limiting my view.
Remembering my holiday.
15-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lady Of The Light
You were always the faithful one
with a saviour in your heart
you had seen the light of the Lord
from the very start.
even in your darkest days
and the autumn of your life
you never lost faith in the Lord
lady of the light.
Now you have left this life
and in us a memory
but we all think of you
and how you used to be
you had been the special one
when you lived your life
with a special kind of love
lady of the light.
And when I look back on life
I often think of you
looking out your window
the way you used to do
watching children go off to school
in the morning light
smiling to the world outside
lady of the light.
Now you are there in Heaven
and back again once more
with those who you had loved
who had to go before
always forever the faithful one
when you lived your life
for you had seen the light of the Lord
lady of the light.
poem by Tim Kitchen
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Stupidity.
Stupidity.
We celebrate our dead heroes.
Their white headstones arranged in rows.
To mark where soldiers bodies lie.
They are no longer friends and foes
War cemeteries are tended well
in honour of the men who fell
It is the least that we can do
for men who died by shot and shell.
Each single death a tragedy,
each one recorded carefully.
To satisfy the bureaucrats
who collate deaths statistically.
I wonder why we cannot see.
That death alone claims victory.
Each new war adds to the score
of people dying uselessly.
Though we remember them with pride.
The countless men who sadly died.
Each thinking that their cause was just.
Involuntary suicide.
We celebrate our dead heroes
with white headstones arranged in rows.
Yet we still send young men to die
And always will do I suppose.
We do not learn from history
For no good reason I can see.
That wars prove nothing in the end
Except how stupid we can be.
Wednesday,30 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unfulfilled expectations
.
Three score years and ten: They say
is the life span of a man.
Though it’s no longer true today.
People have realised they can.
Defy the dire predictions
and need not die obediently.
To suit the statisticians.
I‘m fast approaching ninety three.
And still live independently.
Growing disgracefully
content to act rebelliously.
Although the statisticians all agree
I should have died long years ago.
Which proves how little that they know
28/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Until we meet again For MY lady
When I am dead just bury me
in a deep hole and plant a tree
Without any ceremony,
whats left behind’s no longer me.
If I go first it’s not by choice
so do not weep, rather rejoice.
You know that we will meet again,
My leaving’s bound to cause you pain
I’ve run my race I can’t complain
I’ll join you on some higher plane.
If I go first it’s not by choice
so do not weep rather rejoice.
Should you go first then I will know.
You had no choice you had to go.
Though I will weep I’ll weep for me
because I know you’re flying free
But I will wait impatiently
for friendly death to come for me
It’s my belief that we will be
together intermittently
in other lives in different roles.
Remaining always kindred souls
The bonds we have death cannot part
we have been twin souls from the start.
My love for you, your love for me
will last beyond eternity.
Because we are one entity
as we were always meant to be.
8-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Shadow Dancers for M 'lady Amy
The shadow which throughout the day
have hidden quietly away.
In nooks and crannies which they know
Day is their time for lying low.
When darkness falls come out to play.
Although the sunlight rules the day.
The silver moon’s in charge by night
and she has granted them the right.
To freely frolic through the night
they do not fear her gentle light.
Though when the sunrise lights the skies.
They hide again if they are wise.
Perhaps the sleep all through the day
I do not know I cannot say.
I only know it’s my delight
to see the shadows dance at night.
They can appear and disappear
but they are far too fast I fear.
For human eyes to clearly see
the shadows dancing gracefully.
Our eyes accustomed to the light
don’t work efficiently at night.
Though sometimes watching quietly
You see them dancing silently.
17-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Selina sees our misery.
The moon mistress of mystery
has observed mankind’s history.
For centuries and centuries.
Though she has seen it all before
Mankind’s love of making war
Against her rules which men ignore.
While trying to impose their will
on other men. They lack the skill
to come to terms and so they kill.
The goddess watches in despair.
Because her children do not dare
to show each other that they care.
All members of one family
and still they squabble endlessly
Instead of living peacefully.
In time perhaps they will mature
and change the course of their nature
She hopes but cannot be sure.
Because her children have free will.
And choose their way for good or ill.
The goddess waits and watches still.
A symbol of serenity
she waits and watches patiently.
Long suffering humanity.
Monday,16 August 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Life is for living forfriend Thad.
I’m musing on mortality.
Which seems entirely apposite.
I think at my age I should be.
I can see clearly with hindsight.
As I recall the distant past.
Three quarters of a century.
The long years all too quickly passed.
Experience that made me, me.
I know that one day I will die.
I cannot know when that will be.
So until then I can but try
to use my time productively.
I read and write, I paint and draw
and I maintain my interest
in everything I’ve done before
and tackle new projects with zest.
Although I was born long ago
I don’t admit to being old.
Because I’m wise enough to know.
I should not put my life on hold.
Take to my armchair, watch TV
As others may expect me too.
Sit back and just wait patiently
for death. Something I will not do.
Until the day I die I’ll try
to live as I have always done.
I will think optimistically
and find each day some time for fun.
Saturday,03 April 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Paid in full for friend Leslie
Like a feathered arrow flying.
Straight and true but silently
Speeds the message of your dying
a missile you won’t hear or see.
When you chose to slay my tribesmen.
Slaughter squaws and little children
striking in the dead of night.
My people had no chance to fight.
You thought no one had survived
unaware one warrior lived.
From my totem seeking guidance
I chose to meditate by chance.
In the forest secretly
I kept my vigil faithfully.
Alerted by he dying cries
of people dying by surprise.
Cut down by killers as they slept.
I had no choice but to accept.
My totem had protected me
because my totem could foresee.
The secret plans of wicked men
Who had killed and would again.
Great Manitou had chosen me
to hunt them down relentlessly
Their punishment my sole intent
I knew I would not rest content.
Until the last of them had died
My spirit wails unsatisfied..
when the last of them has paid
the price for the part he played.
in murdering my family.
My quest will end successfully
When my arrow pierces you
a punishment long overdue.
I will give praise to Manitou
as any warrior ought to do.
20/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Return to Eilean Mhor for friend mark
Return to Eilean Mhor
My island homeland calls to me from far away across the sea.
She whispers to me quietly but none the less insistently
I left my home reluctantly; there was no future there for me
except a life of poverty. I braved the terrors of the sea
I was still young and fancy free, had no responsibility
The last one of my family no relatives to advise me
No man controls his destiny; it seems that fate had plans for me.
Which would not necessarily allow me time to simply be.
I chose employment carefully, rose through the ranks successfully
and joined the board at forty three.Made president eventually
The time has come it seems to me to retire gracefully
Return to where I long to be. There’s nothing now to prevent me.
My home island still calls to me as she has done consistently.
Since I left her reluctantly I will return permanently.
To wake up every day and see the seagulls soar above the sea
and like the gulls I will be free to live my days out peacefully.
No pressures there to distress me I will have time to simply be.
14-Mar-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Last Leaf
That she was old beyond belief
was obvious for all to see.
Her face was like a wrinkled leaf
The last one clinging to the tree
in defiance of the gales.
Which autumns sends to strip the trees.
But now and then this method fails
and one leaf refuses to release
its hold and stubbornly remains
attached to where it’s always been.
Where once it drank the summer rains
when it was tender young and green.
How old she is she cannot say
nor does she care apparently.
But like the last leaf in her way
intends to cling on stubbornly.
She has outlived her family
all of her friends have long since gone
Accepting philosophically
She is the last surviving one
That when she dies her family tree
will disappear and leave no trace.
It will just simply cease to be
there is no one to take her place.
She is a source of wonderment
to scientists who study her.
She does not care she is content
to accept the support they offer her.
Shes not too old to change her ways
no longer has to search for food.
Which she done for all her days
and she still finds that life is good.
There is no record of her birth
her age is subject of debate.
Which is to her a source of mirth
a joke she can appreciate.
She does not care so why should they.
It does not matter in her eyes
She has survived until today
and will do ' til the day she dies.
The scientist all theorise
on how and why she’s lived so long.
They disagree as each one tries
to prove he’s right the others wrong.
She has her own opinion
but they show little interest.
And will not 'til the chance is gone.
When she has died and gone to rest.
She lived her life in her own way
It was the only way she knew.
Aware that she would die one day
as everybody has to do.
How old she was nobody knew
It does not matter I suppose.
That she was old we know is true
but why she was nobody knows.
11-Mar-09
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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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Life and Death, How Ironic
Life, it described my Mother
Life, she was the image
Life, she was healthy
Life, she loved every day
Life, you saw it in her eyes
Life, you heard it in her voice
Life, how ironic it could be
Death, the impossible
Death, too somber a thought for her
Death, she would live a long, long time before it would confront her
Death, sickness maybe, but there is always a cure
Death, not even a thought in the doctor’s mind
Death, it now replaced life
Life and death, my mother passed away with a look of peace on her face
She died knowing that she lived every moment to the fullest.
poem by Janice Karp
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Far Memory.
I’m haunted by strange memories
of places I have never been
I can remember vividly
Street scenes I know I have not seen
It’s very strange and puzzles me.
I cannot see how possibly
I have access to memories
I know do not belong to me.
I see street scenes from long ago.
Though where they are I do not know.
The clothes are unfamiliar.
To me they seem peculiar.
I think it may be Budapest.
But honestly that’s just a guess.
It could be almost anywhere.
But I am sure I’ve not been there.
My wife suggests telepathy.
I do not see how it could be.
A temporal anomaly
which can’t exist apparently.
The learned experts all agree
it’s an impossibility
But can’t explain how I can see
Scenes from the eighteenth century.
I have a photograph which shows.
People in old fashioned clothes.
Which was taken in old Moscow
More than a hundred years ago.
Establishing the verity
Of the intrusive memories
The scenes I see so vividly.
Though how remains a mystery.
I know they are real memories.
Although the experts disagree.
I hope to prove eventually
these memories have reality.
They are passed down genetically.
Encoded in our DNA.
I will research my family tree
and try to prove it come what may.
Although it’s just a theory.
I will pursue it ardently
Some body in my ancestry
may well turn out to be.
A man who lived in old Moscow
Who emigrated to the west.
Although perhaps I’ll never know.
It gives my life an interest.
I like to think that there might be
somebody in my family tree.
Who will prove to be the key
which will unlock the mystery.
Of who perhaps I used to be
in the eighteenth century.
Which would explain the memories
apparently passed down to me
Saturday,21 August 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Outstandingly average.
Outstandingly average.
I’m extraordinarily
ordinary. My only claim
to fame is my normality
I’ll never be a household name.
Nor do I think I’d want to be.
A bit player in life’s game
I do not court publicity
I ask for neither praise nor blame.
I’ll settle for obscurity.
I have no goal for which I aim.
I am content to simply
be a spectator of life’s game.
Express my views in poetry
To no effect quite probably.
Wednesday,13 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Attitudes.
The moon sheds soft and silver light
upon the newly fallen snow
A master piece for our delight.
The city folk will never know.
The snow that falls on city streets.
Is all too soon polluted by
the footprints left by passing feet.
In cities different rules apply.
Country folk accept the snow
They know there’s little they can do
but wait. In time the snow must go.
Something to look forward to.
But city folk impatiently
Demand the streets should be snow free.
Wednesday,06 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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