Forward Planning.
God rest ye greedy merchants all.
The time has come when you display
the tawdry goods you hope to sell
to foolish folk prepared to pay.
Much more than what your goods are worth.
To give as gifts on Christmas day
Your tills are ringing merrily
in tune with carols which you play
Creating an ambience which
encourages folks to spend.
A great deal more than otherwise
On which your profits will depend.
I have no doubt you’re planning to
make more profits at Easter too.
Saturday,27 November 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Time to Strike
It seems to me necessities
grow more expensive day by day
and at the same time luxuries
cost less than what we used to pay.
The values which we hold today
are not the ones our parents knew
It seems somehow we’ve lost our way.
I am convinced that this is true.
If you can’t pay you should not buy
For credit can put up the price
The crafty merchants have to try
to pay for when they advertise.
The goods for sale we do not need.
So they increase the price of food
Pursuit of profits is their creed.
Yet still they cry misunderstood.
Perhaps its time to call a halt
and force the merchants to review
A system very much at fault
I am afraid unless we do.
Well starve to death in luxury
because we cant afford to eat.
This is not how things ought to be.
I can do nothing but repeat
It seems to me necessities
grow more expensive day by day
and that unneeded luxuries
cost less that what we used to pay.
I find it hard to understand
why we must pay more for our food.
The laws of supply and demand
unless I have misunderstood.
Say necessities should cost less
Than luxuries we do not need
and only purchase to impress.
The merchants know we have to feed.
They do not need to advertise
the foodstuffs which they know we need
but constantly increase the price.
To satisfy their endless greed.
We only have ourselves to blame.
Our apathetic attitude
ensures that we can’t win
Though I am certain that we could
We have the power we could use
to bring the merchants in to line.
If we don’t buy, point blank refuse
except on terms which we define.
They’ll very quickly change their tune
they have to sell
But we wont win if we don’t try
5-Mar-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Today might be my lucky day.
Today might be my lucky day.
At auction sales I choose to buy
Odd quirky things that catch my eye.
I do not have a lot to spend
So in the end I must depend.
On buying things which I select
That greedy dealers would reject.
They only buy what the can sell.
From which they hope to profit well.
Attending auctions is my pleasure
Perhaps one day I’ll find a treasure.
Something the dealers left behind.
For amateurs like me to find
To benefit from their mistakes
A little luck is all it takes.
Saturday,03 December 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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One of those days
Although I try I cannot hide,
the fact that I’m dissatisfied
with everyone and everything
Despite the fact that I have tried.
Why it is that life is so unfair.
It sometimes drives me to despair
of everyone and everything
I could give up but I don’t dare.
For everyone depends on me
to provide their security
Yes everyone and everything.
Is this the way that things should be
I suppose I’m entitled to
take a very jaundiced view
of everyone and everything.
When I am feeling sad and blue.
Quite suddenly my blues are gone.
I know I can depend upon
every one and everything.
No longer feeling woebegone..
I know without a shred of doubt
I’ve little to complain about
That everyone and everything
are all prepared to help me out.
I snap back to reality.
The world does not depend on me
not everything and every one
is my responsibility.
I realise that my black mood
has coloured my whole attitude.
to everything and everyone
Because I was not feeling good
8-Nov-08
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House Hunting for M lady Ann Beard
Some houses seem to welcome you.
You feel at ease immediately.
It is if the walls recall
What happened here and store it all.
The triumphs and the tragedies
Firm memories of past events
Have been recorded faithfully
Each and every incident.
If you are at all sensitive
You tune into the ambience,
the positive and negative.
Impinge somehow so you can sense.
That something dreadful happened here
It may be faint it may be strong
but it affects the atmosphere.
You know at once this house is wrong
You’re certain that it will not do.
You have no doubt, no doubt at all
You know the house is telling you
it has no choice it must recall
All the unpleasant memories
which it has stored so faithfully.
For decades perhaps centuries.
You choose to leave immediately.
The next house which you choose to view
affects you in a different way.
It seems prepared to welcome you.
You can decide without delay
It is not hard to make the choice
This is the house that you will buy
You listen to that house’s voice
because you know it cannot lie.
You go ahead complete the deal
prepare to move in right away
You are content because you feel
that everything has gone your way.
You know that it was meant to be
It’s all that you were looking for.
This house responds positively
You need not look at any more.
21/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Miseable existence.
Miserable existence.
I don’t admit to being old.
Nor will I put my life on hold.
As others think I ought to do.
I have a different point of view.
There’s so much that I want to do.
Each day I can find something new.
Something I have not done before.
It’s not a case of either or.
Let oher people vegetate
If they're prepared to sit and wait
in their arm chair and watch TV
Until they’re switched off finally.
When death decides to swing his scythe
and end their travesty of life.
Saturday,04 September 2010
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Writers Block-Poppycock
I think that there will never be
A lack of wonders we can see.
For those of us prepared to look
in mother natures own scrap book.
We have the time to stand and stare
at beauty we find everywhere.
A flower where it should not be
inspires us to write poetry.
We poets are a special breed
and poetry fulfils our need.
To share the beauty we can see.
We choose our language carefully.
Creating images to share
with anybody anywhere.
Monday,26 July 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Goose fair for my new friend baylei
A regiment of honking geese,
disturb the early morning peace.
As they are driven to the fair
by girls with flowers in their hair.
The goose fair is the great event
and the excitement's evident.
As Farmers, wives and serving maids
and hucksters join the great parade.
Small tinkers carts of pots and pans.
Dispute the way with caravans
of gypsy families who meet
at the goose fair. Where they compete
with local merchants. They all try
to persuade fair goers to buy.
The fairings that they have for sale
gilt gingerbread and bottled ale.
Hair ribands of every hue.
“golden” rings and brooches too
At least that’s what the hucksters say.
As they attempt to make you pay.
much more than what their wares are worth.
A cause to wiser heads for mirth.
But the young will not be told
that all that glistens is not gold.
It would be wasting time to try
to persuade them not to buy.
What they perceive to be bargains.
Excitement has addled their brains.
There stands a stall of pewter ware
The finest value at the fair
with pots and plates of every size.
The pewtersmith does not tell lies.
There’s something to suit every taste.
Be quick, be quick no time to waste
The merchants cry in unison
your only chance will soon be gone.
There’s games to play to test your skills
and fat quack doctors selling pills.
Which they’re prepared to guarantee
will cure your every malady.
Your rotten tooth you can have out.
The dentist knows what he’s about
He does not claim it is pain free
but pulls it out efficiently.
There’s stalls of boots and stalls of shoes
which make it difficult to choose
from whom you’ll buy your merchandise
Prepared to haggle over price
You have to have the cash to pay
for anything you buy today.
This simple rule to everyone applies.
And woe betide the fool who tries
To steal the goods he cannot buy.
For they will raise the hue and cry.
The baying crowd will join the chase
the thief will find no hiding place.
They will harass him mercilessly
until he’s caught eventually.
Then he’ll be locked away to wait
his trial by the magistrate.
He has been beaten black and blue
as angry crowds are wont to do
He faces transportation
or even execution.
If valued at twelve pence or more
then only death will pay the score.
If it is less he will sent
to some far distant settlement.
Where he must labour for the time
that was thoughtmete to fit his crime.
The angry crowd have had their fun
and soon forget what they have done.
They drift away as twilight falls
completely deaf now to the calls
of merchant who still have goods to sell.
They make for home with tales to tell.
The merchants must remove their stalls
although outside the city walls
They must be gone by break of day
or they will have a fee to pay.
The fair is over for this year.
The finest Goose Fair anywhere.
The local worthies proudly boast
about the Goose Fair which they host.
It has been held for centuries
and still today it guarantees
a fun filled day for families
Although today you see few geese.
3-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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R.I.P story poem
Here where once there used to be.
A quiet village cemetery
A hallowed place in which to find
Tranquillity and peace of mind.
The graveyard served the village well
Though for how long no man can tell.
I’m sad to say the village died.
The land on which they all relied.
Suddenly lost fertility.
The people facing poverty.
Saw no good reason they should stay
and one by one they moved away.
To other places far from here
they seemed to simply disappear
to destinations we don’t know.
They had no choice they had to go
Houses fell into disrepair
because there was no one to care.
The passing years were none too kind.
There’s very little left to find.
Bar rotten floorboards here and there.
Weeds in profusion everywhere
The churchyard too is over grown
with brambles hiding each gravestone.
A long forgotten tragedy
a piece of ancient history.
The city suburbs must expand
and in their search for building land.
The greedy eyes are cast this way.
They know they will not have to pay.
The true worth of this empty land,
The kind of price it will command.
When it is cleared ready to build.
They hope their coffers will be filled.
But fate has other plans in mind
and to their great surprise they’ll find
That they have made a grave mistake.
The profits which they hope to make.
Will not now materialise.
Because they failed recognise.
The old grave yard as hallowed ground
Despite the evidence they found.
They wantonly destroyed head stones
showed no respect for buried bones.
It makes me happy to report
the vaunted plans all came to naught.
Because some archaeologists
Researching local history lists
Discovered this old cemetery
and they decided it must be.
Preserved in perpetuity
for generations yet to be.
The greedy men had lost their cash
Their dreams of profit turned to ash
the damage done for no reward.
The good folk who were buried here
can sleep in peace they need not fear.
That their rest will be disturbed.
The greedy builders have been curbed.
A happy ending to my tale
Their efforts were to no avail.
It seems that fate itself decreed
they must be punished for their greed.
Wednesday,28 July 2010 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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End of day thoughts.
The glory of the sunset fades.
The evening sky surrenders to
a nonstop flow of darkest blue.
Which overwhelms the pastel shades.
The evening stars come on parade.
A panorama we can view.
In hopes of seeing something new.
Although the stars we see displayed.
May well have burnt out long ago.
There is no way that we can know.
Which of the stars we think we see.
That twinkle brightly overhead,
are still alive and which are dead
We never will most probably.
Saturday,27 November 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Gut Feelings?
I can read omens in entrails
of cockerels I sacrifice.
my inner vision seldom fails.
I am the local Haruspice.
Although you may not understand
the message that I give to you.
I must do as the Gods command
as I am bound by oath to do.
The Gods enjoy their little jest.
They make their messages obscure.
Although I always try my best.
There is no way I can be sure
The message I relay to you
is the one I am supposed to.
Saturday,11 September 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Infidels prayer.
It seems from mankind’s history,
that there is and will always be.
Some new compelling reason why.
Men are prepared to fight and die
in pursuit of some abstract cause.
They think they have the right to force
on other men who disagree
and will resist them violently.
Religions come, religions go
and every new one claims to know.
Much better than the ones before
and is prepared to go to war.
On anyone who disagrees.
God save me form religion please.
Sunday,31 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Mental Arithmetic
Twice two is four twice four is eight.
I do not need to calculate.
I learnt my tables long ago.
I need not think because I know.
The check out girls rely on tills
because they do not have the skills
Which I was taught in junior school.
They’ve always been a useful tool.
Without the till they would be lost
they cannot calculate the cost
of groceries I want to buy.
I think I know the reason why.
They don’t learn tables any more
and consequently can’t keep score.
Friday,16 July 2010
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Inalienable right.
All hail to ale, good honest ale
the comforter when all else fails.
The lack of ale makes stout hearts fail.
Attempts to ban it doomed to fail.
When things are looking at their worst.
A man has need to quench his thirst
Ale is what men think of first
A man would truly be accursed.
Should he attempt to interfere
between a thirsty man and beer.
There is no doubt its very clear.
Without ale life would be too drear.
It is a right for which I’d fight.
Ripe nappy ale is my delight.
Saturday,08 May 2010
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Winterval for M 'lady Ernestine.
The whirling swirling flakes of snow.
Fall silently but ceaselessly.
Creating havoc here below.
Mother Nature intends to show
The human race that they can see
The whirling swirling flakes of snow.
Wherever they may choose to go.
She demonstrates this ruthlessly
Creating havoc here below.
What traffic moves is crawling slow.
As drivers find it hard to see.
The whirling swirling flakes of snow
Reflect their headlights pallid glow.
Reducing visibility
Creating havoc here below.
Assisted by the winds that blow
at intervals quite randomly.
The whirling swirling flakes of snow
creating havoc here below.
Tuesday,30 November 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I can.
Inverted hexaduadad.
I can
choose to be a man.
Stand tall upon my own two feet
Or to retreat.
The choice is up to me.
Though not quite free
I can’t refuse
I am compelled to choose.
What shall I do.
I will not change my view
I will be the best man
I can.
Saturday,10 July 2010
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Last Request
I want no marble monument
erected in my memory
I’m sure that I would lie content
beneath the branches of a tree.
Ignore established precedent
when it is time to bury me.
Remember all the hours we spent
living and loving happily.
Pay me the supreme compliment.
Let my body nourish a tree.
Creating something permanent
a thing of natural beauty.
I can trust you above the rest
to carry out my last request.
Monday,26 July 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fixed routine.
I always choose to take this way
This quiet path leads to my door,
Today as every other day.
I have no fear that I may stray.
I see no reason to explore.
I always choose to take this way.
Here sun and shadow interplay
Creating shapes not seen before.
Today as every other day.
The song thrush sings his roundelay.
I feel my jaded spirits soar
I always choose to take this way.
Though I could choose another way
I am aware of two or more.
Today as every other day.
It adds some pleasure to my day
a feeling I have known before.
I always choose to take this way
Today as every other day.
Wednesday,10 November 2010
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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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I am still me.
I’m not the man I used to be
When in the first bloom of my youth.
Who had abundant energy
I must accept the awful truth.
As I grow old I realise.
I’m not the man I used to be
I have no choice but recognise.
I must conserve my energy.
It’s for the best quite probably.
I have to think before I act.
I’m not the man I used to be.
I can’t deny that simple fact.
I can do what I need to do
Though I must plan it carefully.
I am quite sure you feel it too.
I’m not the man I used to be.
Saturday,15 May 2010
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Seize the day
Although society expects
that old folk should live quietly.
I don’t accept foolish precepts
I cannot possibly agree
Nobody can dictate to me
what I should or should not do.
I won’t surrender easily
I’m always trying something new.
I will not sit and vegetate
in my arm chair and watch T.V.
I say this most vehemently.
Though I am old I’m not brain dead
I lead an active life instead.
31-Jan-09
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