Initiate 2008
Reveille sounds a trumpet call
Rise from your beds reluctantly
This wake up call applies to all.
Strident with authority.
We do things militarily.
You will now wash and shave your face
You signed on voluntarily
and now you have to earn your place.
A raw recruit’s of little use
still tainted by civilian ways
A subject for stripeys abuse.
Of sympathy there’s little trace,
For drill instructors have no hearts.
Their job to turn boys into men
Reveille sounds and the day starts,
Your protests must remain unspoken.
You’ll be harassed from morn til night.
Your only duty to obey.
Until you learn to get it right
and do things in the army way.
If you survive and make the grade.
One of the few the very few
to reach the passing out parade.
Your parents will be proud of you
Though it was tough you had enough
pride in yourself to stick it out.
Showed you were made of sterner stuff
than those who failed without a doubt.
You proved yourself to be a man
So wear your uniform with pride,
you earned the right. You know you can
succeed although you were sorely tried.
You did what you set out to do
achieved the goal you had in mind
You toughed it out and saw it through.
Now you can leave boot camp behind
In coming years you will recall.
When you must face the enemy
and see your fellow soldiers fall.
Your boot camp days nostalgically.
25-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
The Reveille
Trumpets of the Lancer Corps
Sound a loud reveille;
Sound it over Sydney shore,
Send the message far and wide
Down the Richmond River side.
Boot and Saddle, mount and ride,
Sound a loud reveille.
Whither go ye, Lancers gay,
With your bold reveille?
O'er the ocean far away
From your sunny southern home,
Over leagues of trackless foam
In a foreign land to roam,
With your bold reveille.
When we hear our brethren call,
Sound a clear reveille.
Then we answer, one and all,
Answer that the world may see,
Of the English stock are we,
At their side we still will be,
Sound a bold reveille.
English troops are buried deep.
Sound a soft reveille.
In this foreign land asleep,
Underneath Majuba Hill,
Lying sleeping very still,
Nevermore those squadrons will
Answer to reveille.
Onward without fear or doubt,
Sound a bold reveille.
'Till that shame is blotted out.
While our Empire's bounds are wide,
Britons all stand side by side,
Boot and saddle, mount and ride.
Hear the bold reveille.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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REbel for friend Rema
The cockerel crew at break of day.
Bid working men to make their way
to where they earned their honest crust
when hunger drives a man needs must.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
So harness Dobbin to the plough
and leave behind a straight furrow
or hasten to the factory
amongst the grim machinery.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
Of if perchance you’re office bound
surrounded only by the sound
of papers shuffled to and fro.
You have no choice you still must go.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
On winter mornings dark and cold
and summer days when it grows hot.
But I don’t care I am grown old
and have retired so I will not.
Obey the cockerel’s clarion call.
3-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Daily Round.
The grey dawn breaks and I awake,
slowly and reluctantly.
A wash and shave is all it takes
for me to wake up properly.
I get dressed automatically
in preparation for the day.
But first I need some fresh coffee
before I plunge into the fray.
The household chores which must be done,
although I did them yesterday
But yesterday’s already gone
and tomorrow is on its way.
the household tasks always remain
and every day need done again.
Friday,29 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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To Become A Soldier (Didactic)
To be a soldier
get your country to call you up
to a place where you listen and shut-up
to defend those whom you hold dear
or join the military at your own choice
and in basic training (boot camp)
listen to the instructor’s voice
even if he looks wicked like a devil or a tramp
follow instructions to the letter
do everything physical
and drill and drill
while you hope that things will become better,
as they probably never will
while they train you day and night
and especially teach you how to kill
while staying out of the enemy’s sight,
on instruction run from tree to tree,
in full battle dress
and keep going when others are in distress
even if you have got to wee-wee.
If you are up to it, join a special commando unit
or the parachute brigade
while you show them of what you are made
and then really enjoy it.
Wait until they sent you off to war
while you are a different person than you had been before:
a specialist in creating havoc,
in destruction and bloody gore.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Above and beyond the call of duty for JT Ellison
Above and beyond the call of duty
Do Roman ghosts still guard the wall?
Far from their homelands in the sun.
I wonder if they thought at all.
They would remain their duty done.
As corpses in cold northern clay
or dreamt that they would return home.
In triumph on some distant day
to a well earned heroes welcome.
Sometimes when the blue twilight fall
I sit enrapt in reverie
and fancy that I hear their calls.
Although there’s nothing I can see.
Though one or two claim they can see
the roman sentries on patrol.
Along the wall quite frequently.
A sad parade of earth bound souls.
Who died too quick to understand
that they were dead their spirits free.
So they obey the last command
still do their duty faithfully.
Do Roman ghost still guard the walls?
I cannot answer honestly
I only know when twilight falls.
I think they might quite possibly
.15-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Back to my roots for friend Bob
The sun is setting on the sea.
It paints the restless waters red.
I sit alone solitary
and from my vantage point I see
The sky darken to indigo
I sit alone and watch night fall.
I choose to stay although I know
that duty calls and I should go.
Back to the harsh reality
I have to cope with every day.
The endless noise of the city.
With which I feel no empathy.
I must suppose I’ll always be
the country boy that I once was
But driven by necessity
I left my home reluctantly.
There was no future there for me
No way to earn my daily bread
Just endless grinding poverty.
A prospect which I chose to flee.
I was naïve and hopeful then.
I thought the city offered me
A better chance to start again
But sadly I was mistaken.
The hungry city swallowed me.
I found a job which paid my way.
A porter in a mortuary
The ultimate in irony.
I served the dead to stay alive.
But every hour that I was free.
I needed fresh air to survive.
I took my car and I would drive.
Out to the hill above the sea
to fill my lungs with fresh clean air.
And for a little while be free
from scents and sounds of the city.
I will retire very soon.
I think that I have earned the right.
To sit outside my door at noon
or if I choose to watch the moon.
I shall go back where I belong
Back to the open countryside.
Although I’m old I am still strong
I have no doubt I’ll get along.
Quite happily where I should be
I was not meant for city life.
I‘ll leave the city thankfully.
Retirement will set me free.
26/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Veterans
When the last charge sounds
And the battle thunders o'er the plain,
Thunders o'er the trenches where the red streams flow,
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, beneath your torn old flag, we burst upon the foe?
When the last post sounds
And the night is on the battle-field,
Night and rest at last from all the tumult of our wars,
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, with duty done like yours, we lie beneath the stars?
When the great réveillé sounds
For the terrible last Sabbath,
All the legions of the dead shall hear the trumpet ring!
Will it not be well with us,
Veterans, veterans,
If, beneath your torn old flag, we rise to meet our King?
poem by Alfred Noyes
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A Dad
Any fool can be a father.
It takes a man to be a Dad.
Though some fellows would much rather
play the field as Jack the Lad.
Take their pleasure where they can
avoid responsibility
The lack the guts to be a man
despite their masculinity.
Real Dads are made of sterner stuff.
Take their duties seriously
stay steadfast when the goings tough
and always try their best to be.
The kind of Dad who’s firm but fair.
But best of all He’s always there.
7-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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But for the grace of God! !
Suspiciously she stands and stares
at every passing strangers face.
She is convinced that no one cares,
the world to her a hostile place.
She has no place to call her own,
nowhere to rest her weary head.
She has to face the world alone
and each new day she views with dread.
She was brave enough to defy
the marriage plans her parents had.
To wed her to an older guy
a man much older than her dad.
Now outcast from her family.
she does not know who she can trust.
Though she’s determined to be free,
not subject to an old mans lust..
If she is lucky she will find
place of safety she can stay
with other girls of her own kind.
For freedom there’s a price to pay.
Although in truth there should not be.
Custom and practice still prevail
in Asian society.
I tell an all too frequent tale.
Although some do integrate
There has to a be a few of course
who cannot appreciate
they must obey this country’s laws.
Forced marriages amount to rape.
A blatant form of child abuse.
A fate from which some do escape
if they are brave enough to choose.
To leave behind the life they’ve known.
Its not an easy thing to do
and face the future on their own
For freedom their entitled to.
Support themselves as best they can.
They sell big Issue Magazine
and are dependent on no man.
Perhaps you pass them by unseen.
Consider this, it might have been
a choice which you were forced to make.
So buy a copy don’t be mean
and smile at her for pity’s sake.
You will not miss a pound or two.
Your smile makes all the difference.
The smile that she receives from you
is better than indifference.
She’s not a beggar seeking alms.
Although some people take that view.
The very sight of her alarms
the prejudiced uncaring few.
But for Gods grace it could be you.
By circumstances driven to
desperate measure just to live.
So lighten up and gladly give.
8-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Keeping Faith for M lady Naizz
Keeping Faith.
I am benighted and afraid.
Darkness descended rapidly.
As if the gods themselves forbade
me to complete successfully.
The pilgrimage to which I’m sworn
to save my soul from jeopardy
I'll watch and pray until the morn
And then continue on my way
Though demons whisper in the night
and challenge all that I believe
My faith sustains me in the fight.
At first light I will surely leave.
I will defeat the enemy
and reach my goal triumphantly.
22/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Indelible Guilt.
Indelible Guilt.
More scenes of devastation.
The tides of war have left behind.
A naked child wanders alone.
She does not know the ground is mined.
She cries for aid but there is none
There is nobody left to care.
The tides of war have come and gone.
Death and destruction everywhere.
The lucky ones are those who died.
Though she survived: What chance has she
A helpless infant cast aside.
To starve to death most probably.
She may be killed by predators.
Who see her as their lawful prey.
Obeying Mother Nature’s law
Because they know no other way.
Kill or be killed the age old law
Instinctively they all obey
Each and every predator
The hunter can become the prey.
But Man the greatest predator
Brushes Natures rules aside
His greatest skill is making war
His blood lust never satisfied.
What of the child? No one can say
It must remain a mystery
The memory haunts me still today
When I look back regretfully.
The guilt I feel is permanent
Does not abate with passing years.
Still flashbacks to that incident.
Reduce me to impotent tears.
That is the price that soldiers pay.
For answering their countries call.
A guilt that will not fade away
and makes no difference at all.
Though we recall the heroes fall.
No one records the innocent
The weakest ones go the wall
By long established precedent.
It seems that we will never learn
The lessons taught by history
Each generation in its turn.
Must learn experientially.
There are no winners in a war.
The strong survive the weak must die.
Mother Natures age old law
When demand exceeds supply.
Sunday,18 December 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Remembrance Day
Remembrance Day.
Poulters Measure
This day when we recall; the fighting men who fall
We stand erect, heads bowed in silence to show our respect.
For men who died for freedoms cause; who gave their all
Who made the supreme sacrifice, dying to protect.
The right of all men to be free: Answered the call.
But we forget although we demonstrate our deep respect.
The lessons taught by history. Ignored by all
Soldiers on either side die to no effect.
Now though we stand in silent respect to recall
The men who fell.I can see no reason to expect
that things will change sufficiently, if at all
I fear the future looks to be a grim prospect.
This day set aside to remember all the men who fall.
with due respect; but sadly say that I suspect
Remembrance Day makes no difference at all.
Sunday,06 November 2001
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Generation Gap for M lady Dee Daffodil
I wonder why some parents try
to make their children satisfy.
Ambitions they did not achieve.
A subtle form of child abuse
which proves to be of little use.
It seems such parents can’t conceive.
Their children may not want to be
what they desire so fervently.
Apparently they can’t believe.
Their children will point blank refuse
to fall in with parental views.
Because their children don’t perceive
the world the way their parents do.
They have a different pint of view.
Which does not do much to relieve.
The stress and tensions which arise
until they reach some compromise.
It can be done I do believe.
11-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Looking back, nostalgically
The dreaming spires of Oxford lie
beneath an ever changing sky
A place where students aspire to
the earning of a sporting blue.
Or concentrate their energy
towards a double first degree
Some will succeed and make their mark.
To others just a youthful lark
An honoured university
which has been here for centuries
The town and gown oft disagree
they co exist uneasily
The students come from far and wide
to study by this riverside.
They stay here temporarily.
Then they must move on hopefully.
They leave the dreaming spires behind
as they strike out and try to find.
Some way to make their dreams come true
Some will succeed the elite few
.
On leaving university
you have to face reality.
The dreaming spires reluctantly
must be consigned to memory.
There is so much they need to learn.
As everybody must in turn,
success does not come easily.
Degrees provide no guarantee.
Now is the time when you must show
How much or little that you know.
Demonstrate your ability
and your adaptability..
Convince employers that you can
Do just as well as any man.
Although you lack experience
you have expressed a preference
by choosing them to apply to.
You like the kind of work they do.
If you survive the interview
and they decide to employ you.
Your years at university
As you will very quickly see
have not prepared you to compete.
Your dancing to a different beat.
You have signed on to the Rat race.
The city is a different place
From Oxford and its dreaming spires
where scholars pursue their desires.
All that counts here is success
you have work hard to progress.
Life here is lived by different rules
the city has no time for fools.
You must produce results it seems
If you want to fulfil your dreams.
Although in truth you’d rather be
back at your university.
The dreaming spires of Oxford lie
beneath an ever changing sky.
They do not change, no reason to.
Unlike the students who must do.
16-Mar-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I don't regret what might have been.
When the sun sets and the world is still.
I seek release in solitude
This is my time for memories
Some I can recall vividly
Selected from the multitude
Of dreams which I could not fulfil.
Some were my own and some were not
I can look back in retrospect.
Though some quite unexpectedly
Decide to surface suddenly.
Each one is worthy of respect
Although they have been long forgot.
The quiet time that lies between
The end of day and fall of night
Would seem to be appropriate
To sit alone and meditate
After the sun fades from sight
and contemplate what might have been.
Eventually I must conclude.
That I am where I’m meant to be
Some times I tried only to fail
My efforts were to no avail.
When I look back nostalgically
I know it’s just an interlude.
I’m well aware that all too soon.
I must accept reality.
The humdrum world of every day.
Is never very far away
And banishes my reverie
Beneath newly risen moon.
I face the morrow with a smile
Because I know the sun will set
Then I seek my solitude
Enjoy the peace and quietude.
That I so very seldom get.
If only for a little while.
I tend to stick to my routine
I am too old to change my ways
I see no reason why I should
The peace and quiet does me good
As I review my glory days.
I don’t regret what might have been.
Sunday,04 September 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Klipdrift basic training camp
The sun inspects
rows and rows of trees
and at night
the moon is at ease while every thing freezes
and when as a citizen you pass the gate
you become part of the machine
that hurries up and waits
and even if you have a brazen soul
some idiot with two chevrons
and crossed swords on his sleeve
makes you run to and fro
as if there is nowhere else to go
and you will not leave
this hell of a place
before he has made you run, leopard crawl
carry the pole and pee in the hole ten thousand times
and with the morning chill
a rascal with a red moustache
who drilled his son to death
and has nobody to bequeath
plays the leader of the parade
makes you stand for hours
on attention in the hot sun
while he waits for who knows what
before detonating in curses
while walking stick-straight
up and down
with a big ugly frown
and then bored to death
a fat giant appears
wearing two castles
and last night’s beer on his breath
and later from the rear
the brigadier general draws near
with gyppo guts, dysentery
and commands every new recruit
and sometimes even officers
in neatly pressed military suits
at times group together
like sheep in chilly weather
and later you get your new best friend
and carry it along, even to the loo
and sometimes to the shower
and into bed
and its name is rifle
and certainly not gun
since you came with one
from birth
and in this place as things go
this was just the fun and games
before they teach you what you need to know
and running with your mate in your arms,
running with poles with swinging truck tires,
crashing up and down through rubbish holes,
running with ammunition chests while under fire
and learning to shoot to kill and not to expire,
to throw hand grenades, launch mortar bombs
and rockets and sometimes to heal the men
is only the beginning
of what others call boot camp.
[Reference: Heartbreak camp by Roy Campbell.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Johnny Everyman [2]
In George uncle P.W. Botha are staying in his house
and at seventeen Johnny is too young to get a car
when his call up instructions indicates Johnny to a camp
and life is really terrible,
Johnny is taught about his holy rifle
and he notices how people really loose their heads
and in Johnny’s life nothing happens by accident
and he is old enough to ride a troop train.
In George uncle P.W. Botha are staying in his house
and however Johnny tries
time ticks off too slowly,
Johnny is taught about his holy rifle
must cross the camp from side to side
and if he doesn’t want to he has to serve a jail sentence of three years.
When his call up instructions indicate Johnny to a camp
Johnny has to face Ovambo’s, Cubans and Russians,
he is far away from his home and his people
time ticks off too slowly,
and are delivered to enemy soldiers, vicious animals and every kind of tick
while uncle Botha and his cabinet are free to make a living.
In George uncle P.W. Botha are staying in his house,
a new jet is bought for him
and Johnny and everybody with him is bomb happy
he is far away from his home and his people
out of the veins of some comrades there are blood foaming red
and of enemy rifle shots nobody is free.
When his call up instructions indicate Johnny to a camp
lies are being told to most of the country,
the army is nice and madder than nuts
and Johnny and everybody with him is bomb happy
constantly in the field and out of doors
and only a number without any respect
In George uncle P.W. Botha are staying in his house
when his call up instructions indicate Johnny to a camp,
enemy shots resounds right around him
and life is really terrible,
the army is nice and madder than nuts
and he notices how people really loose their heads.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Faded photograph
A snapshot taken years ago.
Somewhat lacking clarity.
Of some young guys I used to know
In fact the skinny one is me.
The other two I can recall,
their faces well but not their names
Although I try nothing at all.
My memory is playing games
I wonder where they are today
I wonder if they remember me
The passing years erode away
your memories ability.
To regain any access to
some things you know that you once knew
Monday,13 February 2012
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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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