Life is for living forfriend Thad.
I’m musing on mortality.
Which seems entirely apposite.
I think at my age I should be.
I can see clearly with hindsight.
As I recall the distant past.
Three quarters of a century.
The long years all too quickly passed.
Experience that made me, me.
I know that one day I will die.
I cannot know when that will be.
So until then I can but try
to use my time productively.
I read and write, I paint and draw
and I maintain my interest
in everything I’ve done before
and tackle new projects with zest.
Although I was born long ago
I don’t admit to being old.
Because I’m wise enough to know.
I should not put my life on hold.
Take to my armchair, watch TV
As others may expect me too.
Sit back and just wait patiently
for death. Something I will not do.
Until the day I die I’ll try
to live as I have always done.
I will think optimistically
and find each day some time for fun.
Saturday,03 April 2010
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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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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Wishful Thinking.
.
The old year’s coming to its end.
Few will be sad to see it go.
We greet the New Year as a friend
We live in hope but cannot know.
If the New Year will prove to be.
A year in which we can achieve.
Our cherished dreams successfully.
Though some have doubts most can believe.
Despite their past experience
of disappointments they have known
They set aside their common sense
and are sustained by faith alone.
It seems we all prefer to see.
The New Year optimistically.
Saturday,26 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Sick fancies of a tired mind
A bell rings out, a deep toned bell.
A single chime; that’s ominous.
What does that single chime foretell?
So resonant and sonorous
It marks the passing of the hour.
Perhaps the passing of a soul
It issues from the ivied tower
and echoes imitate its toll.
I long to know but I must wait
while night hours crawl slowly past
deliberately to agitate.
It seems to me the night hours last
much longer than they ought to do.
When aches and pains keep me awake
Although I know it isn’t true.
It seems to be for pity’s sake.
My morbid fancies lead me to
conclusions that I should not draw
As morbid fancies tend to do
more often than they did before.
There’s nothing left in life for me
I’ve run my race I’m satisfied
That friendly death will set me free.
I‘ve been alone since my wife died.
I know I won’t hear my death knell
I find the thought amuses me
but there is no one I can tell
about this thought that tickles me.
When my call comes I will rejoice
I’ve long been waiting patiently
but we are given little choice
I will greet my death eagerly.
I’m weary and I long to go
but know I have to wait my turn.
Although I wish it wasn’t so
I must wait patiently and yearn.
16-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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At least that's my excuse. For J.T.Ellison
Fatigue sets in more quickly now.
As passing years catch up with you.
But circumstances will allow
A quick cat nap which can only do.
A recharge of your batteries.
So do not let it worry you.
You must conserve your energies.
For things you really want to do.
I have a snooze each afternoon
A habit which I cultivate
I consider it to be a boon.
There is nothing which cannot wait.
Retirement has set me free
from any sense of urgency.
Saturday,11 September 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Who was he? Welsh bardic form
Cywydd Llosgynrog.
I am forced to live alone
All those I knew long since gone.
There’s no one left who loves me.
This must be the penalty
I pay for longevity
It will be my turn soon
I am waiting patiently
Death will claim me finally
I will be happy to go.
There’ll be nothing left of me
but a fading memory
Which will be soon forgotten.
Thursday,11 February 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Boundless curiosity for friend Thad.
The world is full of mysteries.
Colossal buildings left behind
by earlier societies.
Their purposes still ill defined
Although the archaeologists
advance their favourite theories.
The mysteries will long persist.
Their different hypotheses.
Cannot be proven any way.
They’re based on their experience
Of living in the world to day.
A different frame of reference.
Which cannot possibly apply
They saw the world quite differently.
I do not think we can deny
We’re blinkered in the way we see.
The evidence which we can find,
We can’t interpret properly
The artefacts they left behind
Their uses are a mystery.
Though we attempt to classify
we can’t be sure we are correct.
These relics from past history
aren’t always what we would expect.
Temples and Tombs or Palaces
The truth is that we do not know
Secular or sacred places.
There is no evidence to show.
That we can state with confidence
confirms our modern theories.
We have no point of reference
With which everyone agrees.
The arguments rage to and fro
As experts wrangle bitterly
They daren’t admit they do not know.
Although they don’t quite obviously.
At best an educated guess
Must be the best we can expect.
From experts trying to impress
The other experts I suspect.
It seems to me improbable
That we will solve these mysteries
Our mind sets aren’t comparable
as different as chalk and cheese.
But still we are compelled to try
because these monuments exist.
Our boundless curiosity
will not allow us to desist.
Saturday,24 April 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Borrowed Time
His life is drawing to its close.
He has lived past three score and ten
and has no reason to suppose
That he should know the how and when.
He is not ready yet to go
his life is full of interest
Although his pace of life is slow
he has retained his youthful zest.
Now often plagued by aches and pains,
accepts them philosophically.
Its very seldom he complains,
he knows there is no remedy
for his ailments. He is quite sure
death will provide a lasting cure.
8-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Lady in waiting.2011
I live alone, my family
and all my friends are long since gone.
There’s no one left who cares for me.
Others have problems of their own.
I’ve had my share of happiness
and known the depths of misery.
My life now seems to matter less.
So I am waiting patiently.
For death to come and set me free.
Each night I pray I will not wake..
I think that death’s forgotten me
just overlooked me by mistake.
I’d welcome death quite happily
but even deaths abandoned me.
Friday,18 February 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Enough already.
I sometimes wish my muse would take
a holiday, A longish break.
She is convinced she has the right
to badger me by day and night.
There’s other things I want to do.
I love to write that is quite true
But household chores must still be done.
I’d like a little time for fun
A bit of time to paint and draw
I don’t have time to anymore’
I have some books I want to read
but constantly she fills my head
with poetry, she cannot see
Sometimes I need some time for me.
27/10/2009Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Enough Already
I sometimes wish my muse would take
a holiday, A longish break.
She is convinced she has the right
to badger me by day and night.
There’s other things I want to do.
I love to write that is quite true
But household chores must still be done.
I’d like a little time for fun
A bit of time to paint and draw
I don’t have time to anymore’
I have some books I want to read
but constantly she fills my head
with poetry, she cannot see
Sometimes I need some time for me.
27/10/2009Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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September afternoon for M lady Ernestine.
September sun spasmodically
breaks through the clouds which threaten rain.
Sometimes the clouds triumphantly
block out the sunshine once again.
I watch and wait expectantly
to see the sun come smiling through
A little optimistically
I hope to see the sky turn blue.
The storm clouds try but can’t resist
a brisk wind blowing from the sea
They have no choice the wind persists
Although they move reluctantly.
The clouds are gone the sun shines on
and will do ‘til the day is done.
Wednesday,08 September 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Inevitable conclusion
Inevitable.
All who are born will surely die.
Nobody can escape their fate
Be they of high or low estate.
We may not know the reason why.
Each one of us will have to wait.
All who are born will surely die
This is a truth none can deny.
We must accept that soon or late
Our time will come Death will not wait.
All who are born will surely die.
Chaucerian Rondel
21/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Possibilty for J.T.Early
The universe appears to be
expanding outwards constantly
At speeds exceeding that of light.
Its origin a mystery.
But throughout mankind’s history
We have observed the stars at night.
Though early men with naked eye
recorded movements in the sky.
Which had the power to excite
their naïve curiosity
They were convinced that there must be.
Some reason why the stars shone bright.
But different men thought differently.
It seemed that there would never be
consensus as to who was right.
But now with new technology
We have gained the ability
To study stars far out of sight.
The use of radio telescopes
can raise and sometimes dash our hopes.
They are in use by day and night.
We still can’t solve the mystery,
are we alone or might there be
Races hidden from our sight.
In other distant galaxies
Too far away for us to see.
It seems entirely apposite.
That like the early men we try
to read the message in the sky.
Perhaps one day we’ll get it right.
Saturday,01 May 2010.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Watch and Pray.
A baby who was born too soon.
Is struggling bravely to survive
Perhaps the Gods will grant the boon
we ask and let this tiny baby live.
For now we watch with bated breath
for any sign of progress made
with our support to fend off death.
We hope and pray she makes the grade.
We can but wait and hope and pray
There's nothing else that we can do.
Nature has the final say
She can make our dreams come true.
Nature can correct mistakes
Total faith is all it takes.
Sunday,31 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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I know what is best for me!
.
I did not think I’d live to see.
Three quarters of a century.
But I’m still here hale and hearty.
I shouldn’t be statistically.
The doctors make me furious
and not a little curious.
They say they what’s best for us.
To me it’s very obvious
They have convenient memories.
As they promote their theories
of things they say will damage us.
I find it frankly ludicrous
I started smoking when I was ten.
Doctors advising way back then
to anyone who would listen.
Smoking did no harm to men.
But this is now and that was then.
The modern breed of medicine men
Have changed what they believe again
Admitting they were mistaken.
If they were wrong back in the past
And those beliefs are over cast.
They may have got it wrong again
I wonder why they can’t explain.
Why I should believe their views.
I find they are of little use.
They change their minds too frequently
I am entitled to refuse.
I disregard their theories.
I choose to live the way I please.
I smoke and drink because I choose.
A gamble I can win or lose.
When I reach my centenerary
I will review most probably.
The latest views of medicine men
I have no doubt they’ll change again.
Thursday,26 August 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Far Memory.
I’m haunted by strange memories
of places I have never been
I can remember vividly
Street scenes I know I have not seen
It’s very strange and puzzles me.
I cannot see how possibly
I have access to memories
I know do not belong to me.
I see street scenes from long ago.
Though where they are I do not know.
The clothes are unfamiliar.
To me they seem peculiar.
I think it may be Budapest.
But honestly that’s just a guess.
It could be almost anywhere.
But I am sure I’ve not been there.
My wife suggests telepathy.
I do not see how it could be.
A temporal anomaly
which can’t exist apparently.
The learned experts all agree
it’s an impossibility
But can’t explain how I can see
Scenes from the eighteenth century.
I have a photograph which shows.
People in old fashioned clothes.
Which was taken in old Moscow
More than a hundred years ago.
Establishing the verity
Of the intrusive memories
The scenes I see so vividly.
Though how remains a mystery.
I know they are real memories.
Although the experts disagree.
I hope to prove eventually
these memories have reality.
They are passed down genetically.
Encoded in our DNA.
I will research my family tree
and try to prove it come what may.
Although it’s just a theory.
I will pursue it ardently
Some body in my ancestry
may well turn out to be.
A man who lived in old Moscow
Who emigrated to the west.
Although perhaps I’ll never know.
It gives my life an interest.
I like to think that there might be
somebody in my family tree.
Who will prove to be the key
which will unlock the mystery.
Of who perhaps I used to be
in the eighteenth century.
Which would explain the memories
apparently passed down to me
Saturday,21 August 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Legacy.
Legacy
Ghosts from the past, our ancestors.
Though long since dead are part of us.
WE must accept this truth of course.
Our forbears weren’t all glorious.
If you research your family tree
You’ll be surprised by what you find.
Most forbears were quite ordinary.
But some of them have left behind.
Abilities and qualities.
Which are passed down through their offspring
in varying quantities.
You can be sure of just one thing.
Today we are the latest batch
of evolutions mix and match.
Wednesday,29 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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I hear and Reflect
A bell tolls sonorously
one single chime. Then silence reigns
It wakes me from my reverie.
Conscious again of aches and pains.
I had lost temporarily
in contemplation of the past
That single knell reminding me
Of the long years which quickly passed.
Before the years caught up with me
For old age does not come alone
It brings along infirmity.
Which hitherto you have not known.
When you are young you do not know
What future lies ahead of you
but as you live and learn and grow
You will become as others do.
Much more aware than what you were
of how your body will re- act.
To the stress and strain you bear.
That you must think before you act.
Gone is the energy of youth
You used to waste without a thought
You slowly come to learn the truth
That rude health can’t be sold or bought.
As long as I can hear that chime
which has disturbed my reverie
I can be certain that this time
The death knell does not ring for me.
Each day an opportunity
To do things I can still do
although slow and steadily.
My body still allows me to.
Although I pay in aches and pains
I do not think the price too high.
My interest in life remains.
I am too busy far, to die.
I know I will eventually
but do not let it worry me
It is the only certainty
the bell will toll one day for me.
23-Nov-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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