Legendary profitabilty.
A quiet space a secret place.
A rocky cave in the cliff face.
Which somehow makes you feel welcome.
A hermit once made this his home.
A healer and an herbalist.
The legends say he did exist.
It’s said he never charged a fee
But gave his services for free.
To the poorest folks of his day.
But those who were rich enough to pay
Had to pay accordingly
For medicine the poor got free.
He was regarded with respect.
Exactly as you would expect.
His treatments worked effectively.
Because he knew the properties.
Of every herb both root and leaf.
And which to use to bring relief.
From common ailments of the day
His nostrums drove the pain away.
Although his fame spread far and wide.
He was determined to abide.
In the haven he had chosen
Far apart from other men.
As a hermit ought to do
And to his principles be true.
None knows his true identity
Lost in the mists of history.
The cave can still be seen today
And tourists come from far away.
Perhaps from curiosity
although there’s not a lot to see.
The tourists are prepared to spend.
That’s why the local all pretend.
That they believe the legends true
Because it suits their pockets to.
Sell souvenirs to visitors
at an inflated price of course.
You might well think I’m cynical
The locals are quite typical.
If there’s a profit to be made
Encouraging the tourist trade.
You can be sure they will supply
whatever tourists want to buy.
The legends may or may not be
Well rooted in reality.
What does it matter anyway
As long as it can be made to pay.
Thursday,02 February 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
You never know.
At the approach of All Souls Eve
I am not sure what to believe
Most see it as a time for fun.
The preparations have begun
The stores are stocking fancy dress.
For little children to impress
and hopefully frighten their friends.
With the very latest trends
Witches, warlocks, vampires and ghouls
And other stealers of men’s souls.
That’s what they will pretend to be.
They’ll trick or treat innocently.
I have a different point of view
I fear the legends may be true.
I lock my doors and stay at home.
When unclean spirits free to roam.
Can wreak revenge on enemies.
At will in any way they please.
Every year folks disappear
And very rarely re appear.
But those that do are not the same.
To me it’s not a children’s game
When folks vanish mysteriously.
I tend to take it seriously.
I will remain behind locked doors
Which seems to me the wisest course.
Until the Sun rises on a new day
I will tell my beads and pray.
You’re free to do what you want to
What I believe may not be true.
You never know who you might meet
When you are playing trick or treat.
Friday,14 October 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Racial Memories: Perhaps
A thick fog lies along the shore.
Much denser than I've seen before.
It seems somehow unnatural.
Far different from the usual.
Fog banks which we see frequently.
It seemed to spring up suddenly.
Too suddenly for it to be
Conforming with normality.
I watch it apprehensively
I feel some how it threatens me.
I can remember all too well.
The tale the local legends tell.
Of the great fog which stole away
Whole villages or so they say.
Though local legends tend to be
Less accurate than history.
Folk memories are based on truth.
Although there is no written proof
That does not mean they can't be true.
That's why they persist as they do
That I'm afraid I can't deny
Although I am not certain why.
I half believe the tales are true
And wonder if the fog can do
What legends say it's done before.
Perhaps it has returned for more.
I think it's time for me to go.
I do not really want to know.
What will happen if should stay
My instinct is to run away.
To climb into my car and drive
My only aim is to survive.
I realise I have been dreaming.
I can see the street lights gleaming.
And that things are as they ought to be.
My mind's been playing tricks on me.
I'm safe and warm in my armchair.
Although my mind has been elsewhere.
Concocting fear filled fantasies
From half remembered memories.
Thursday,13 September 2012.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Prayer for many is like a foreign land. When we go there, we go as tourists. Like most tourists, we feel uncomfortable and out of place. Like most tourists, we therefore move on before too long and go somewhere else.
quote by Robert McAfee Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will You? for friend Thad
The singing spring, a sacred well.
Is heard to sing so legends tell.
At midnight when the moon is full.
They say the singing’s wonderful.
So beautiful you are entranced
until the sunrise sets you free.
You basic nature is enhanced.
So you are changed; permanently.
The good become even better.
The wicked ones grow much worse.
These rules are followed to the letter.
Bring changes which you can’t reverse.
I was advised to stay indoors
on evenings when the moon was full
I disregarded this of course.
When you are young you play the fool
I did not believe the tales were true
So I resolved to check it out
a very foolish thing to do
But Now I know I have no doubt.
I was a young and headstrong fool
Although that does not change a thing.
I went there when the moon was full
And heard the singing of the spring.
That’s why I sit here on death row.
I grew to enjoy violence.
I killed a man with just one blow.
Although I pleaded self defence.
The jury found I was guilty.
I know I didn’t mean to kill.
The evidence convicted me.
It seemed to be an act of will.
It seems I can’t escape the fate
The sacred well foresaw for me
I know now when it is too late
I must fulfil the prophecy.
I can’t complain I made the choice
I should listened carefully
But no I had to hear the voice
I went there unbelievingly.
I should have known but I did not
Old legends are based on some truth.
That’s why the legends aren’t forgot.
Except by disbelieving youth.
I must accept the penalty
There is nothing I can do.
One morning they will come for me.
Not pleasant to look forward to.
So heed my words and heed them well.
Do not ignore the legends that you hear
The strange tales that the old wives tell.
Although their meanings are not clear.
It won’t harm you stay indoors
on evenings when the moon is full.
It is by far the wisest course.
It never hurts to be careful.
Although you are a modernist
and can’t believe the tales are true
The ancient legends still persist.
The question is my friend Will you?
10/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The piper plays his clans lament.Story poem
On cold grey days, a piper plays
his pibroch on the battlements.
Clad in the garb of bygone days.
He proudly plays his clans lament.
From down below he can be seen
but no one knows who he might be
A misty figure on the scene
Bewailing his clan’s history.
The swank young men who fought and died
in foreign wars far from their home
their sacrifice can’t be denied.
He bids their long dead spirits come.
Come back braw lads where ye belong
Ye have been far too long away.
He guides them home a mighty throng.
His bounden duty is to play.
Should you attempt to draw too near
all you will find is empty space.
The piper simply disappears.
No one has ever seen his face.
The locals know and understand
He too is dead another ghost
Who still obeys his last command
a phantom who sticks to his post.
A sight the tourists come to see
and vainly try to photograph.
of course they cannot possibly.
Their efforts make the locals laugh.
On certain days the piper plays
the tourists have to make their choice
Though most arrive on sunlit days
if he appears they will rejoice.
They have more chance on sad grey days
to see the piper through the mist.
the locals know the piper’s ways.
The legend cannot be dismissed.
The experts may explain away
the ghostly figure. which appears.
But can’t account in any way
for the lament which they can hear.
So they pretend it is the wind
a rather silly thing to do.
All experts have a tight closed mind
and can’t accept the story’s true.
I disregard the experts view
for I have seen and I have heard.
and know that others have done too
Expert opinions are absurd.
Why can’t the learned fools accept
the piper’s presence as a fact.
Their explanations are inept.
Forgive me for my lack of tact.
I can forgive stupidity
Ignorance is an excuse.
I state my case with clarity
most experts are of little use
Outside their field of expertise.
I much prefer the locals view
The piper’s visits will not cease
until he has good reason to.
17/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Sceptical
In the beginning was the word.
A statement patently absurd.
This is the message we receive
from priests who think we should believe.
If there were none to speak or hear.
It is not credible I fear.
The myths and legends multiply
but always fail to satisfy.
My avid curiosity
I simply can’t believe you see.
I think the truth is no one knows
nor ever I will I must suppose.
Why can’t these learned men confess?
they know no more and often less.
Than those who they attempt to teach.
Some knowledge is beyond their reach
and must remain a mystery.
This is the only certainty.
To which I have become resigned
but I will keep an open mind.
I’m sceptical that is quite true
but so I think my friend are you.
18-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Racial Memories: Perhaps Storypoem
83846A thick fog lies along the shore.
Much denser than I've seen before.
It seems somehow unnatural.
Far different from the usual.
Fog banks which we see frequently.
It seemed to spring up suddenly.
Too suddenly for it to be
Conforming with normality.
I watch it apprehensively
I feel some how it threatens me.
I can remember all too well.
The tale the local legends tell.
Of the great fog which stole away
Whole villages or so they say.
Though local legends tend to be
Less accurate than history.
Folk memories are based on truth.
Although there is no written proof
That does not mean they can't be true.
That's why they persist as they do
That I'm afraid I can't deny
Although I am not certain why.
I half believe the tales are true
And wonder if the fog can do
What legends say it's done before.
Perhaps it has returned for more.
I think it's time for me to go.
I do not really want to know.
What will happen if should stay
My instinct is to run away.
To climb into my car and drive
My only aim is to survive.
I realise I have been dreaming.
I can see the street lights gleaming.
And that things are as they ought to be.
My mind's been playing tricks on me.
I'm safe and warm in my armchair.
Although my mind has been elsewhere.
Concocting fear filled fantasies
From half remembered memories.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Hi Mom; Remember me?
Tissue warning.
Her eyes abrim with unshed tears
She tries her best to hide her fears.
But tells her beads compulsively.
Her soldier son a fighting man.
Is serving in Afghanistan.
She prays for him continuously.
She prays he will soon be home again
And bring an ending to the pain.
She cannot hide effectively.
But those of us who love her know
She is prepared to undergo
Her sufferings stoically.
It is her choice to hide her fears
It is her choice to hold back tears.
So we pretend we cannot see.
It is our choice to show respect
We know she’s trying to protect
us from sharing in her misery
but we have a secret too
We know her soldier son is due
to land almost immediately.
But he swore us to secrecy
Though we agreed reluctantly
We will stay with her until we see.
Him say “ Hi Mom remember me.”
The she will let her tears flow free
whilst she is smiling joyfully.
Sunday,22 January 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It's up to you for M lady Flora
The mist that crept in from the sea.
Advancing inexorably,
enveloped first the sandy beach.
Then well beyond the high tides reach
Invaded streets and avenues
the thoroughfares that people use.
To go about their business.
A wet and cold unpleasantness.
Which nobody had seen before
at least along that friendly shore.
Exuding sheer hostility
as if the demons of the sea.
Deciding that humanity.
had forfeited their right to be.
Had gathered there with one intent
to prove the sea omniscient.
The villagers were sore afraid
some cursed and swore while others prayed.
Though neither made much difference.
Against such mist there’s no defence.
The village disappeared from sight.
Hid by a mist as black as night.
When morning broke there was no one.
No body left to greet the sun.
Now to this day the village stands
although nobody understands.
What happened on that dreadful night
when the sea fret absorbed the light.
No one survived to tell the tale.
Enough to make the bravest quail.
Perhaps you think I’m telling lies
But you will find to your surprise.
If you should choose to visit me
from my front window you can see.
The evidence that what say
A village empty to this day.
Nobody dares to move into
the empty village and renew
a single house in which to live.
Because of legends kept alive.
By older folks who can recall
the night the demons came to call.
If you should wish to you could buy
the whole village and you could try.
To sell the houses one by one
if you’re convinced it can be done.
I think your work would be in vain
What happened once could come again.
To local folks it is taboo
and there is nothing you can do.
but try to sell to foreigners
Who do not know about the curse.
I own the site and I would sell
quite cheaply and I’d wish you well
If you’re prepared to take the chance
There’s been a change of circumstance.
For there are profits to be made.
Maybe the mist will not invade
maybe the tales I tell aren’t true
what you believe is up to you.
I am too old to change my ways
and I prefer to end my days
believing as I’ve always done.
This village should left alone.
24-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Some things never change.
I do.
She said and so did I
We wed,
one Saturday in June.
We went
away on honeymoon.
A taste
of paradise for two.
We swore.
Each year we would renew.
The vows
we made when we were wed.
Today
though many years have flown.
We are
on honeymoon again
The kids
grown up and fled the nest.
Nothing
has changed we feel the same.
Our love
grew deeper day by day.
The same
hotel the same bedroom.
We had
reviving memories.
Although
We have raised a family.
We knew
all those years ago.
We would
return to paradise.
A dream
that would come true.
Today.
While watching the sun rise.
She said,
I love you so did I.
It’s true.
We were wiser than we knew.
When we
decided we should wed.
We two.
Were meant to be a pair.
Decreed
by fate: We still care.
The way
we did when we first wed.
She knows
its true and so do I.
Monday,15 March 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Eternal Guardians fr M lady Fiona
To you a thousand years would seem
as a mere moment passing by
The faintest echo of a dream
that would not even justify.
The opening of a watchful eye
nor yet the twitching of an ear
From guardian dragons who still lie
in peaceful sleep not far from here.
As they have done for centuries.
Until some danger threatens. Then
they will fulfil the prophecies.
Take to the skies to protect men.
Or so the ancient legends say.
Though disbelieved by modern men.
It may be true I cannot say
the dragons will not fly again.
The time will come when they must fly
emerging from their hiding place.
What the will modern man reply
to saviours of the human race.
25-Jan-09
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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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Was I just spooked?
The inner cave was vast in size
with bits of quartz that looked like eyes.
Embedded in the limestone walls.
The bits of light reflecting quartz
which made me feel uneasily
that something was observing me.
I had not been in here before
And do not think I will again.
A feeling that I can’t explain.
I must confess I was afraid
I felt a cold hostility
as though I was where I shouldn’t be
Intruding on the privacy
This made me so uncomfortable
I left as fast as I was able.
When I look back I wonder why
an empty cave should frighten me
There was nothing I could see.
My friends all stayed though I had fled
explored the pot hole thoroughly
They never tire of teasing me.
I always go with my instinct
My subconscious knows more than me
It sees things that the eye can’t see.
I gave up speleology
I much prefer the open air
Where I can see all that is there.
To exploring underground
Where really I have no right to be
I think I acted sensibly.24/10/2009 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Her Own Choice
She could no longer cope alone.
Knew all too well that it was true
and there was something else she knew.
Her race was run, time to move on.
She did not wish to vegetate
in some well run establishment
Where lunch became the main event.
With no attempt to stimulate.
The workings of an agile mind,
trapped inside a useless shell.
A body which had served her well.
Before her health was undermined,
by ailments which progressively
destroyed all of her abilities.
The time had come to quit the game.
So she decided she would die
in her own bed in her own home
To be pain free would be welcome.
So she died voluntarily.
The cause of death no mystery.
She chose to exercise her right,
While she had the will to write
the finish to her life story.
22/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Before the beginning
Why does the human race exist?
Unanswered questions will persist.
Philosophers and scientists
All try to penetrate the mists.
It seems as if each answer found,
leads to a question more profound.
It often seems the evidence
flies in the face of common sense.
Some premises I accept as true
may seem quite different to you.
The things we know or think we know.
Frequently prove to be not so.
It all depends how we perceive
the so called facts which we believe.
Is there a God it would seem so.
I can believe but do not know.
We cannot prove it either way
and so unanswered questions stay.
Unanswered now as they have done
since mans history was begun.
Although we ask we get no reply
Is God still there or did he die?
16/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fantasy or Fact? for friend C.P Sharma
I am not dead nor do I live.
I hover somewhere in between
No explanation I can give
will prove to be sufficient to.
Describe exactly how I feel.
I long to stay but want to go.
To who or what do I appeal?
I am confused I do not know.
When I return to consciousness
and find I am myself again.
Gone is the sense of timelessness.
I am content and free from pain.
I knew deaths door was open wide
but knew my family needed me.
I did not choose to step inside.
It could have been a fantasy.
I’m sure some few will understand
but only those who have been there.
Most will dismiss it out of hand.
Though not because they do not care.
They simply cannot comprehend
they lack the sensitivity.
To know that death can be a friend
who is prepared to set you free.
But in the end the choice is yours.
It is your life you must decide
which would be the better course.
To just give up or to abide.
I don’t remember which I chose
but obviously I am still here.
I must have chosen I suppose.
But on that point I am not clear.
I can remember vividly
The doctors crowding round my bed
Whilst I was floating happily
and watching from above their heads..
Fantasy or reality
I do not know but I am sure
That it has wrought a change in me
that’s permanent and will endure.
No longer will I fear to die.
I know that death is not the end.
I am quite sure but know not why.
My enemy is now my friend.
I know that death will set me free
When my time comes then I will go
Released from my earthly body.
Towards a future I can’t know.
22/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Tourist Plan
‘We have to rule on the Tourist Plan, '
Said Rogan Inchalot,
‘If we haven't come up with an answer soon
Then what have we really got?
The budget's stuck into overdrive
And the costs are going to balloon! '
(The future hung in the balance
On that Saturnday afternoon!)
‘We've always kept it a secret, ' said
The man called Iron Girth,
‘So what do we want with the tourists,
All those imbeciles, from Earth! '
‘We need to collar the dollars, ' said
Minerva Astropine,
‘We're never going to develop, if
We sit around, and whine! '
‘Our secret isn't as safe today,
With all those satellites,
It's becoming an inconvenience
Whenever we douse the lights!
The takings from the Casino drop
The punters stay in the dome,
We need to double our takings, then
Just send the tourists home! '
‘But what if they send their gangsters here,
Their armies, and their guns?
How will we ever defend ourselves,
You know how the story runs!
There's twenty million refugees
I heard a broadcast say,
All spilling over their borders there,
In search of a place to stay! '
‘They'll come out here in their feeble ships,
Break down, and S.O.S.,
While we'll be expected to rescue them…'
‘In their dreams! ' said Gunter Hess.
The meeting called for a show of hands
But was plunged in a sudden gloom,
They've shut the book on the Tourist Plan
For the Dark Side of the Moon!
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Ageless Beauty for M lady Ernestine
True beauty lies beneath the skin.
It’s not something for surface show.
A quality which lies within
but others can bask in its glow.
Some beauty fades as years pass by.
No matter how hard you may fight
to hide the signs you can’t deny
True beauty shines through ever bright.
True beauty is not visible
but rather something which you feel.
Something which makes you comfortable
the passing years can never steal.
True beauty thinks of others first
and offers love without reserve.
As a cool drink will quench our thirst
it gives us more than we deserve.
True beauty is a quality
which lasts until the day you die.
A precious gift that’s given free
which no amount of cash can buy.
Beauty is skin deep so they say.
Of mere good looks that is quite true.
Youthful prettiness fades away
but inner beauty still shines through.
23-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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