Frost filigrees for M 'lady Ernestine
The first frost paints the window panes
with filigrees of silver white
The artist takes the greatest pains
to ensure that he gets it right.
Though very sad it’s also true.
His artistry is all in vain,
it only lasts an hour or two
before the glass is clear again.
We can enjoy it for a while.
That is what we’re meant to do.
Tomorrow in his usual style
he will have painted it anew.
A different pattern put on show
created there on my window.
28-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Nocturnal artistry for M lady Ann Beard
Nocturnal artistry
The frost adds glitter to the grass.
Which stands erect like silver spears.
Transient beauty which will pass.
The suns rays make them disappear.
Lacy designs on window glass.
More delicate than human art
We’d like to keep them but alas.
WE must accept they will depart.
When morning breaks the sun will rise
Undo the efforts of Jack Frost
which we expect it’s no surprise.
Though we bemoan the beauty lost.
Tonight Jack Frost will paint again
his patterns on each window pane.
Sunday,13 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fleeting Impressions.
Fleeting Impressions.
Soft silver moonbeams passing through.
A stained glass window in the night.
Are guaranteed to turn into
An abstract picture to delight.
Those who can appreciate.
A different form of artistry
Which never becomes out of date.
But remains contemporary.
The way the colours merge and blend
The interplay of light and shade
The constant changes will not end.
Until the sun announces a new day
When daylight breaks the moonlight goes
Back where it came from I suppose.
Tuesday,29 November 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Rainpictures On Glass Canvass...
Watching th' ever sadness, of th' rain....am i
Listening to it speak......between its torrents
On winded wings it strikes defenseless sod
Yet, thru these window panes of fog'n streak
I open th' Pandora's Box....natures teary fall
Water paint images streak th' clouded glass
Like an abstract, surrealistic...faux-pas finish
Streetlights, like spotlite...on a fresh Picabia
Before my watchful mind, th' picture changes
Kaleidoscopic lines invent.....with criss-cross
Some say: ''a picture paints a thousand words''
If true, th' artistry of rain, paint thousands more
Radiance of window panes adorned in nature
And, on th' other side...a smiling child marvels
With fingers pressed on fogged glass canvass
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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Pale Phantoms for M'lady Ernestine
Variant sonnet
Bare branches bear snow blossoms now.
Like forlorn ghosts of summers past.
A vain attempt that cannot last.
To counterfeit the summer show
Of roses that there used to be
in gay profusion blooming there
In gorgeous hues beyond compare.
In the rose garden’s scented air.
Winters attempts at artistry
can create an austere beauty.
Appealing to an artists eye
in black and white simplicity
.Enhancing our ability
to see beauty we can’t deny.
Tuesday,07 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Time for M lady Ann Beard
Hoar frost on trees can imitate
the snow white blossoms of the spring.
On this I choose to meditate
to clear my mind of everything.
The whirling thoughts which madly dance
and try to hold my interest.
Cannot disturb my quiet trance
they cease to spin and fall to rest
My mind is clear as a deep pool
reflecting nothing but the sky.
The placid depths are clear and cool.
I’m only conscious I am I.
This is my time to simply be
If only temporarily.
2-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Perfection for M Lady Allison
White chrysanthemum.
symbol of purity.
Perfect medium
chosen very carefully
by a man who knows
elegant simplicity.
His selection shows
his perspicacity.
The flower he chose
becomes the epitome
of his skill for all to see.
None can disagree
Artistry and modesty
On display apparently.
Choka sonnet
2-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Simplocity appeals to me for M lady Catrina
All I can see from my window.
A vast expanse of fallen snow,
Unmarked as yet by wheel or feet
As perfect as a laundered sheet.
Reflecting back the pale moonlight
in shades of silver blue and white.
This will not last it cannot do
it will marred by tyre and shoe.
At first light when the morning breaks
and all the sleeping world awakes
To make their way reluctantly
to office shop and factory.
Although the falling snow has stopped
the temperature still has not dropped
The snow will turn from white to gray
and very slowly melt away
Just for tonight the pristine white
will satisfy my appetite
for unadorned simplicity
There’s beauty in austerity.
22-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Window
I was staring out the window
The whole time he was talking to me
It was a filthy pane of glass
I couldn't get a clear view
As he went on and on
It wasn't the outside world I could see
Just the filthy pane that I was looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I was never focused on just one thing
My eyes got fixed when my mind got soft
It may looked like I'm concentrated on a very clear view
But I'm as good as asleep
I bet you didn't know
It takes a lot of it away if you do
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
Because the fact in fact
Whatevers in front of me is covering my view
So I can't see what I'm seeing in fact
I only see what I'm looking through
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
So again I've done the right thing
I was never worried about that
The answer's always been in clear view
But even when the window's clean
I still can't see for the fact
That when it's clean it's so clear
I cant tell what I'm looking through
So I had to break the window
It just had to be
Better that I break the window
Than him or her or me
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window
Then forget what I had to say
I had to break the window
It was in my way
Better that I break a window
Then forget what I had to say
Or miss what I should see
Or breaking him or her or me
song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lament of a filing clerk.
Another day draws to its close.
A boring day like yesterday.
Much like tomorrow I suppose.
Each and every day the same.
I go to work from nine to five
The boredom starts when I arrive.
I hardly know that I'm alive
Each and every day the same
Though I' well paid for what I do
I would like to try something new.
A day dream which will not come true
.Each and every day the same.
I'd like to change but dare not try.
I'll be nobody ‘til I die.
26/02/2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Que Sera, Sera for M lady Ann Beard
Sometimes I see beyond the veil
As through a frosted window pane.
I try my best to no avail.
The vision fades, won’t come again.
I can’t control it purposively
that is beyond my meagre skill.
Although I see what is to be.
I cannot choose to see at will.
Sometimes I know but dare not say.
Someone is facing tragedy,
I hold my tongues as is my way.
Although I suffer silently.
I cannot alter Fate’s decree.
That which I see must come to be.
14-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Natural Artistry
Natural artistry
The onion domes against the sky
by morning light blush rosily.
Before the sun has risen high.
Resplendent in his majesty.
He paints the domes with gleaming gold.
Without finesse but lavishly.
His whole approach is overbold.
I prefer delicacy..
The pastel shades that I could see
before the blazing sun applied
his crude form of artistry
and hid the beauty from my eyes.
With coats of gold he misapplied,
that he believes mistakenly.
Will be pleasing to the eyes
of the vast majority.
Who only value opulence.
I could be wrong he may be right.
But I prefer the evidence
which is provided by my eyes.
Te golden glow the sun supplies
to onion domes is transient.
Although pleasing to most men’s eyes,
an artists eyes are different.
I keep my vigil faithfully
though I confess impatiently.
Tomorrow morning I shall see.
The onion domes bathed in beauty.
Before the sun can brutalise
with crass insensitivity.
The pastel colours dawn applies
to onion domes against the skies.
Thursday,27 May 2010 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Saving grace for M'ladyAnn Beard
Moonlight on the water glowing gently. As the tide out flowing
leaves silver traces on the sand. I think that now I understand,
the feeling of serenity. Which quickly flooded over me.
From being lonely and depressed I felt as though I had been blessed.
Bathed in the Goddess’ radiance I was given a second chance.
To be who I was meant to be, that peaceful night beside the sea.
I can recall it vividly. It was a peak experience
I still hold her in reverence.Although I have no evidence.
to prove to you my words are true do not feel that I need to.
Unless touched by the Goddess’ hand you simply would not understand
So I began my life anew because the Goddess bid me to.
The goddess cares for her children, she gave me confidence again.
I know that I can make the grade I face the future unafraid.
19-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The first Snow for M 'lady Tara
Now almost imperceptibly the snow is falling steadily.
Unruffled by the slightest breeze to coat the branches of the trees
with layers of the purest white which sparkle in the pale moonlight.
A sight that’s pleasing to my eyes. Beneath the trees a blanket lies
as yet a flimsy covering but it is slowly thickening.
As falling snow relentlessly, continues drifting quietly.
The world reverts to black and white. It is a bitter winter’s night
I sit and watch from my window backlit by the firelights glow.
I’m thankful that I need not go outdoors amidst the falling snow.
I am content to stay inside I much prefer my fireside.
Although it’s beautiful to see the snow descending steadily.
I am too old to brave the cold I leave that to the young and bold.
Tomorrow with the morning sun the children will be having fun.
With cries of glee they’ll greet the snow and I will watch from my window.
The antics of small girls and boys as they engage in childish ploys.
Just as I did so long ago when I could enjoy the snow.
One benefit of being old I stay inside when it is cold.
My aching bones will not permit me to do much more than sit
and watch the children as they play and remember my young days.
18/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Grin and Tonic for M 'lady Marilyn
I sometimes have a jaundiced view
when I survey the world today.
I have to pause and look anew
to try to see a different way.
It all depends on upon my mood.
The way in which I choose to see
and my prevailing attitude.
So in the end it’s down to me.
I wear an artificial smile
which will conceal the way I feel.
But oddly in a little while
I find my smile becoming real.
What I pretended has come true.
It works for me: why mot for you.
01/05.2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Simplistic Style. for J.T.Early
Winter is waiting in the wings
Until his turn to take the stage.
Amused at autumns posturings
He will create a pristine page
On which to paint in black and white
An austere winter beauty show.
Pictures dependent on the light
reflecting from the fallen snow.
He has a limited palette
Displaying his flawless technique.
Paints pictures you will not forget
because each picture is unique.
The gaudy autumn colours go
Replaced by winters coat of snow.
11/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unsung Hero.
Although he has prosthetic limbs.
His sense of purpose never dims.
Now he has learnt to walk anew.
He is quite certain he can do.
As well as any other man.
He’s out to show the world he can.
He still a man and he is proud
that he can mingle with the crowd.
On equal terms apparently.
He has the capability
to reach success in any field.
The wounded warrior will not yield.
He will achieve his vowed intent
to return to his regiment.
Thursday,02 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Addiction for M lady Kim
Addiction
I’ll exercise self discipline.
Today I will not write a word.
I have decided it’s no sin.
This constant scribbling’s absurd.
I choose a book and start to read
but then some phrase enraptures me.
Quite suddenly I feel the need
I have to write and urgently,
Before my train of thought is lost
I find my pad take up my pen
and writing in the style of Frost.
I find I’m scribbling again.
My muse cannot contain her glee.
She knows that she’s in charge not me.
20-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Window Paned Like A Person
a window paned
is like a person
divided up sections
closed off sections
separate
compartments
sealed
clear glass emotions
suffering clear seen
behind walls not hidden
pertained putty
applied sealants
sectioned glass
fixing broken
panes takes
time skill will
avoid rush jobs
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Windows
Frost circles, on a glass.
I watched.
Hour upon hour.
Through a day's loneliness.
Insignificant seeds.
Sat by the window.
Traced its essence.
Into the air.
As mist disappeared.
A vapor of breath.
Onto nothingness.
Has translated.
Thinking of life.
I blew my heat.
Onto the glass.
Time and again.
Drew your name.
Into its frost.
Some pictures.
To vanish.
With the next breath.
Float into the sullen air.
There, I picture your face.
Those haunting eyes.
Saw within them.
Your face.
A reflection.
Of my own.
Candle flickers...
Dancing light.
Reflecting across the wall.
Frozen windows.
Playing, on its icy roses.
Side-to-side.
Around it goes.
Until dizzy from tossing.
Turning again I shall go.
Wonder, what evil thus.
Would keep me awake?
Conscious, through the night.
Prevent my escape.
From still and frost.
To the dreamland, I hope.
Within the window, I peer.
See my eyes, through thine.
Into the window, I stare.
Both souls thus bare.
poem by Ilari Rahja
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Natural Progression for M'lady Catrina
Natural Progression.
A amidst the green a flash of red
and here and there a golden tone
The summertime has swiftly sped.
Now Autumn comes to reign alone.
Her reign is short but beautiful
The trees adopt their party dress
the brilliant colours wonderful.
Well calculated to impress.
Soon wintry gales will strip the trees
denude them of their finery.
Until this happens they will please
students of nature’s artistry.
And then revert to black and white
to some photographers delight.
21/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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