I keep my head for Sdi Mahtrow
I
I am a bard with tales to tell
I know my trade I know it well.
I am made welcome when I call
at any manor house or hall.
I have sweet tales of courtly love
which will the ladies spirits move
and epic tales of battle lore
to entertain the men of war
Plus jests and japes of every kind
All carried in my well stocked mind.
I travel round the countryside
collecting news from far and wide.
I try my very best to be
certain of my accuracy
Although sometimes I stretch the truth
some puissant lord’s anger to soothe.
I pride my self on honesty
although some critics disagree.
All bards at times are forced to lie.
There is a simple reason why.
I would much rather live than die
and when my life’s in jeopardy
I lie as well as any bard
to go on living my reward.
10-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Justice for all storypoem
The bards of old their stories told.
In rhyming verse they had writ,
to entertain the young and old.
Sometimes they stretched the truth a bit.
To please their current lordly host
They would extol his bravery
and of his prowess loudly boast.
Although their words lacked verity.
They spread the news from far and near.
Tailored to suit their audience.
Some news which they were glad to hear.
The bards received in recompense.
The recognition and respect
accorded to them for their skill.
A place to sleep as you’d expect
and food and drink enough to fill.
Always treated as a welcome guest
in manor house or lordly hall
They could fulfil their host’s requests
with stories suitable for all.
Love stories for the ladies ears
and tales of war to suit the men
Old tales for those advanced in years
which could recall their youth again.
The bards were guardians of the lore
which was passed down from bard to bard.
The masters of bryhonic law
Which they had studied long and hard.
It took them one and twenty years
to earn the title of a bard.
Long years of travel sweat and tears.
Authority was their reward.
All men were subject to the law
from kitchen churl to lordly knight
All disputes then were brought before
a bard to judge as was their right.
He listened to the evidence
then made his judgement openly
Applied the law with common sense
but always judged impartially.
But that was then unlike today.
When every man obeyed the law.
But sadly we have gone astray
There is no justice any more.
The laws today are not applied
to rich and poor men equally.
All thoughts of justice cast
aside in our corrupt society.
A guilty man can go Scott free
when clever lawyers twist the laws
and find some technicality.
For which they are well paid of course.
There are no bryhon bards today
and poets get but scant respect
But still we try to show the way
We must protest poetically.
The conscience of society
that has to be our modern role.
To outline with our poetry
Justice for all should be our goal.
2-Feb-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spin Doctors for friend alex
In days of yore long, long before
the spoken word took written form.
The Bards, the guardians of the lore.
In Great Men’s halls they would perform.
Their epic tales from history
to entertain the listening host.
With tales of war and mystery
and heroes which their race could boast.
Each teller added something to,
adjusted what they had been told.
By teachers who had altered too
the ancient tales they had retold.
Each myth and legend seems to be
a twisted version of some tale.
Which was quite true originally
Our search for truth is doomed to fail.
There’s little evidence to find.
Although we can extrapolate
from different versions left behind.
These fragments we appreciate.
Contain some truth enwrapt in lies,
Driven by curiosity
embark upon an enterprise,
The ultimate futility.
Though we can guess, we cannot know.
Our theories could be correct
Events which happened long ago
change with each telling I suspect.
03/06/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A simple man.
I am not a Christian
Nor a Muslim or a Jew
I am just a simple man.
Who has a different point of view.
I can't believe the fairy tales.
Which I was taught in my youth.
Because the evidence fails
to convince me of their truth.
I am prepared to listen to.
What you believe with due respect.
But I expect respect from you.
Though you're entitled to reject.
What I believe as being false.
A matter of selection
I dance a jig you choose to waltz.
A different dance for everyone.
Sunday,12 February 2012
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
English Lit as it is taught For Sidi Mahtrow
English lit as it is taught.
My daughter was quite fond of Chaucer.
It was her choice I didn’t force her.
She treated Shakespeare with disdain.
Considered him to be pain.
Although her teachers would insist
he was the greatest tragedist.
That England ever had produced.
She refused to be seduced.
By the established point of view.
Though she was forced to listen to
Them singing praise of the bard.
They failed despite their trying hard.
She still considered Will a fraud
a failed exam was her reward.
Monday,08 November 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tricked and mistreated.
Tricked and mistreated.
I’ve been evicted dispossessed
I was fool did not believe
I really thought that knew best
and had no fear of all souls eve.
To me a jolly holiday
to trick or treat with all my friends.
But sadly I became the prey
of evil spirits who intend.
To seize the opportunity
Usurp a body take its place
assume again humanity
and thus rejoin the human race.
By accident I was alone
with no one near to offer aid
when I was cast out overthrown.
It was the one mistake I made.
To disbelieve was foolishness.
The legends made it very plain.
So now I am left bodiless
although I can still feel the pain.
I’m not the me I used to be
I am not sure just where I am.
Though all around me I can see
foul spirits who don’t give a damn.
For me and my predicament
They are too busy trying to
realise their only intent
of occupying a body too.
I’ve been evicted dispossessed
I know too well the tales are true.
I’ll disappear with all the rest
When the sun comes smiling through.
I’ll have to suffer 'til next year
Between the worlds in limbo lost.
Until all souls eve draws near.
For disbelief I pay the cost.
Then I’ll be hunting with pack
Seeking an opportunity
to try and seize my body back.
To be again who I should be.
I would advise you to believe.
The warning that I offer you
and stay indoors on all souls eve
because the old wives tales are true.
13/10/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Rat-Catcher
I AM the bard known far and wide,
The travell'd rat-catcher beside;
A man most needful to this town,
So glorious through its old renown.
However many rats I see,
How many weasels there may be,
I cleanse the place from ev'ry one,
All needs must helter-skelter run.
Sometimes the bard so full of cheer
As a child-catcher will appear,
Who e'en the wildest captive brings,
Whene'er his golden tales he sings.
However proud each boy in heart,
However much the maidens start,
I bid the chords sweet music make,
And all must follow in my wake.
Sometimes the skillful bard ye view
In the form of maiden-catcher too;
For he no city enters e'er,
Without effecting wonders there.
However coy may be each maid,
However the women seem afraid,
Yet all will love-sick be ere long
To sound of magic lute and song.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dead Men Tell No Tales
They say that dead men tell no tales!
Except of barges with red sails
And sailors mad for nightingales;
Except of jongleurs stretched at ease
Beside old highways through the trees;
Except of dying moons that break
The hearts of lads who lie awake;
Except of fortresses in shade,
And heroes crumbled and betrayed.
But dead men tell no tales, they say!
Except old tales that burn away
The stifling tapestries of day:
Old tales of life, of love and hate,
Of time and space, and will, and fate.
poem by Haniel Long
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Promises Unkept for friend Chad
The back streets of the city hide
a multitude of untold tales
The mean streets where the stench abides
of rancid dreams left to decay.
Far different from the countryside
the green hills and the pleasant vales.
Where simple country folk reside.
Fresh dreams emerging every day.
The city street may well decide
which man succeeds and which man fails.
The ebbing flowing surging tides
of little men who have no say.
The city fathers try to hide
(but their efforts are bound to fail.)
the city’s seamy underside.
Where petty criminals hold sway.
Some folks escape by suicide
and others fill the city’s jail.
There’s poverty on every side.
It seems the problems here to stay.
Here ideologies collide
But more is said than’s ever done.
The city has no cause for pride.
We’ve little choice but wait and pray.
The city fathers say they’ve tried
but I beg leave to doubt their word.
I’m totally unsatisfied
There’s jam tomorrow none today.
17/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Am I? for friend Thad.
I think therefore I am but I
can only be aware of me.
If I should ask could you reply
with well considered honesty.
I am as I appear to be
to myself with my inner eye
Or do you see me differently
and if so can you tell me why.
Or will you simply lie to me
and tell me what I want to hear.
Because you think that you can see
the truth might be too much to bear.
I think therefore I am but I
Cannot claim true validity
There’s no real way to verify.
The simple fact that I am me.
Monday,25 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dreamscape reality for Friend Thad
Some think Sci Fi is fantasy
which could become reality.
For it has proved so in the past
technology develops fast.
The far fetched tales of yesterday
are merely common place today.
Maybe in the next century
then men will travel easily.
To places we imagine now
although I cannot forecast how.
But until then we settle for
the time to dream and dream some more
of worlds we think that we create.
Who knows what wonder still await
what other treasures we may find
When we choose to leave behind
the world we know and simply go
into a heightened mental state
In which we can appreciate
That things aren’t always as they seem.
So just relax my friends and dream.
No matter how improbable.
Or how silly it may seem
Believing makes it possible.
17-Jul-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What if it were true?
Hector, Ajax and Hercules
and other heroes such as these.
All suffered from the same disease.
They thought they were invincible.
Now every one of them is dead.
I know this from the books I’ve read.
Unlike my ancient Uncle Fred.
Who thought it might be possible.
To find a way to stay alive
a certain method to survive
Towards this end then he would strive
Although it seemed improbable.
A coward too afraid to die.
Although he was clever guy
well versed in ancient history.
He thought he could be comfortable.
If he could find a vampire who
he thought could be persuaded to
make him into a vampire too
and grant him immortality.
I half believed when I was small
My uncle often came to call
but always late after night fall.
Which made me feel uncomfortable.
But now I take a different view.
I don’t believe his tales were true
Nor do I think my siblings do.
I think it is impossible.
By bright sunlight I am certain
but after dark I think again.
What if my uncle Fred did gain
his wish for immortality.
I hoped that he was telling lies
and so it came as no surprise.
To find one single rule applies.
Vampires do not seek publicity.
Real vampires do not advertise
They consider it’s not wise.
Although my uncle really tries
his stories cannot convince me.
I know my uncle’s very old.
And that he cannot stand the cold.
From stories that my parents told
concerning his longevity.
My father says he will not die
My mother says that’s all my eye.
But still I wonder sometimes why.
He’s lived so long. It seems to me.
Just possible he’s told the truth.
The secret of eternal youth
springs from some ancient vampires tooth.
The bite of immortality.
I know that in reality
vampires are just a fantasy.
That people can live naturally.
Far longer than seems possible.
No body knows the reason why.
Examined scientifically.
It seems that everyone must die.
No one can live eternally.
But Uncle Fred refuses to.
I can’t believe his tales are true.
He sleeps all day as vampires do.
at his age it’s permissible.
I tell myself it makes no sense
for Fred to keep up this pretense.
I have to do in self defence.
I find it much preferable.
To believing Uncle Fred
Is exactly as he said
A member of the living dead.
That would be truly terrible.
18/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bardic tradition
The yarns I spin to entertain
are never wholly fictional
I let sufficient truth remain
so they can seem quite factual.
Sometimes I find readers accept
My narratives as being true.
Although it’s not what I expect
it makes me proud to think they do.
From the feed back which I receive
It seems I unintentionally
create something they can believe.
It’s highly complimentary.
Though fashions change, bards can still spin
a likely tale to take you in.
Saturday,30 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Heart Broken
You wish upon a star
Your a child left behind
You fall in love with everyone
you break your heart without a doubt
Crying sorrow and letting fly
Upon a star you leave it all
You wish for better every night
You wish for love to come all night
Were made believe that its all fine
Were made believe about true love
child child hear me out
Your all grown up and stand up right
Child Child listen right
Your lost in mind your never right
Fairy tales and love is wrong
Stars upon the skys are all but tales
Child act your age and learn this right
Love is fake and crazy tales
poem by Kimberly Picazo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Word from the Bards
IT IS New Year’s Day and I rise to state that here on the Sydney side
The Bards have commenced to fill out of late and they’re showing their binjies with pride
They’re patting their binjies with pride, old man, and I want you to understand,
That a binjied bard is a bard indeed when he sings in the Southern Land,
Old chaps,
When he sings in the Southern Land.
For the Southern Land is the Poet’s Home, and over the world’s wide roam,
There was never till now a binjied bard that lived in a poet’s home, old man;
For the poet’s home was a hell on earth, and I want you to understand,
That it isn’t exactly a paradise down here in the Southern Land,
Old chap,
Down here in the Southern Land.
The Beer and the Bailiff were gone last night and the “temple” doorstep clean,
And our heads are clear and our hearts are light with wine from the Riverine—
With wine from the Riverine, old man, and I want you to understand
That Bard, Beer and Bailiff too long were kin down here in the Southern Land,
Old man,
Down here in the Southern Land.
It is not because of a larger fee, nor yet that the bards are free,
For the bards I know and the bards I see are married enough for three;
Are married enough for three, old man, and I want you to understand,
They’ve a right to be married enough for four, down here in the Southern Land,
My girl,
Down here in the Southern Land.
But I think it’s because a bird went round and twittered in ears of men
That bards have care and the world seems bare as seen from the rhyming den,
And twittered in ears of men, old chaps, and got folks to understand
That a poet is something more than a joke down here in the Southern Land,
Old man,
Down here in the Southern Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tutorial for David de Santis
I read some poetry today
by long dead poets from the past,
which I enjoyed I have to say.
Their golden words were meant to last
.
Though they long since returned to dust.
The legacy they left behind
for poetry students is a must.
It is as if they were designed.
To act as templates we can use
as we learn to write poetry
It would be foolish to refuse
to benefit from history.
So find a poet you admire
from the past or present day
You might just find his works inspire
you to write a different way.
Experiment with every kind,
free form, free verse, formality
then in due course you’re sure to find
which one of these is your forte
The time you spend to learn the rules
is one investment you must make
Like any trade you need the tools,
Before you can attempt to make
your claim to be a master bard.
The road to fame is long and hard
with very little cash reward.
you have to try, no one is barred.
30-May-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Different Dreams
Do not judge me by your standards
Because they don’t apply to me
Your punishments and your rewards
Are of no consequence to me.
The principles which I live by.
Apply to me and me alone
I see no reason I should try
to change my ways; act differently
I do not seek the spotlights glare.
Fame is of no interest to me
I really do not think I’d care
to be some flash celebrity/
I am quite happy with my life
I do not need the extra stress,
the trials troubles and the strife
Which are the trappings of success.
Continue to pursue your dream
as you have every right to do
But things aren’t always what they seem
You’ll learn through time my words are true.
I find I am content to be
a simple ordinary man.
I jog along quite happily
and live the best way that I can.
I don’t judge you, so don’t judge me.
You have your life and I have mine
Can we agree to disagree
and part as friends amicably.
11-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Here and There for M'lady Mary Gordley
To you they are pure fantasy.
To me they are reality,
So we are bound to disagree.
In worlds I visit frequently,
you can see dragons flying free.
But only if you have the key.
To open up your tight closed mind
to all the wonders you can find
when reality is left behind.
Try it out what can you lose,
travel anywhere you choose.
You have free will you can refuse.
But when I need a holiday.
I close my eyes and drift away.
7-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fairy stories?
Are fairy tales just fantasy
or things we know subconsciously.
Warnings we heed instinctively,
although presented pleasantly
Why do we tell our children tales?
in which it seems that evil fails
and in the end virtue prevails.
When we know that life entails.
Some hard decisions we must make
about the road that we should take.
Perhaps the fairy tales awake
abilities to spot the fake
that’s masquerading as the truth.
A lesson learned in early youth.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rough Ride
The path of love is rarely smooth
but love can obstacles surmount.
True love will find a way to soothe.
Objections which it can’t remove,
pitfalls too numerous to count.
The path of love is rarely smooth
These words I say are simple truth.
An old adage which I recount.
True love will find a way to soothe
With the resilience of youth
if you should fall you will remount.
The path of love is rarely smooth.
You know just what you have to prove
and play your cards to good account.
True love will find a way to soothe
Though you have hurt feelings, forsooth
a lesser or a great amount.
True love will find a way forsooth
the path of love is rarely smooth.
11-Jul-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!