Merciful Release?
Merciful Release.
The mist descended suddenly.
Totally unexpectedly.
I could not see to find my way
So I decided I should stay
Just where I was. It seemed to be.
The wisest choice
I’m not so certain that it was
I think perhaps that is because.
The clammy fog embraces me
And whispers to me quietly
You have no choice.
If I decide to let you go
I am quite certain you will know.
Not to brave the moors alone
These moors are mine all that I own
and I rejoice.
I have the power to heal or kill
I always had and always will.
These moors are worthy of respect
It is mission to protect.
It whispered sotto voice.
I will remember till I die.
There is no reason I should lie
The day the mist enveloped me
and whispered to me quietly
I hear that voice.
In nightmares to this very day.
Although it let me go my way.
I still retain the memory
Of the lesson taught to me.
The moors own voice.
Although it spoke so quietly
Is etched deep in my memory
I can’t forget although I try
And to this day I wonder why.
It made the choice
To set me free as suddenly
as the mist had captured me.
I don’t suppose I’ll ever know
Why it chose to let me go
I had no choice.
The moors have little time for fools
They can and will enforce their rules
I'm forced to take it seriously
Or pay the price
Tuesday,15 November 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Take and be prepared for my friend C.P
The desert plains of ice and snow are not a place I’d choose to go.
Nor sandy wastes under the sun dry deserts don’t suit everyone.
The high plateaus of the Andes; I can assure you will not please.
Perhaps I’m choosy but I find such desert places most unkind.
I much prefer the moors I roam which welcome me. I feel at home.
Although they’re barren, wild and bleak I find the solitude I seek.
Each to his own I must suppose. My own high moors are what I chose.
I listen when they speak to me, I understand them easily.
They can be dangerous it’s true. You can take risks if you choose to.
I don’t take risks I know the rules. The high moors have no time for fools.
I have been sometimes weather bound by sudden mists which cloak the ground.
I have sufficient sense to see my moors are merely testing me.
Mistakes the moors will not forgive, I am prepared so I survive.
A wise man gives the moors respect but fools don not but they expect.
Tolerance for their carelessness their stupid unpreparedness.
The moors are not the enemy they judge all men impartially.
Some learn by hard experience there’s limits to their tolerance.
But others pay the penalty. Killed by their own stupidity.
06/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The High Moors free verse
The high moors lie beneath a changing Sky
As seasons in their turn assume the throne
The landscape changes yet remains the same.
Cosmetic changes superficially
appear to alter what is permanent.
Changing perceptions of what we can see
by adding or subtracting colouring
The pleasant shades of green wrought by the spring
The hues of summer heather dominates
and autumn paints the moors in shades of gold.
Then winter shows monochrome artistry.
Uninhabited. uninhibited
The high moors appear to be desolate
and yet sustain more life than meets the eye.
The circling hawks on high can see their prey
and stooping, swiftly expertly they dine.
They take some small life to sustain their own.
Obeying Natures rule kill or be killed.
The high moors can be very dangerous
especially to the uninitiated.
Their beauty attracts both wise men and fools.
And yet there is no place I’d rather be
Alone, or with congenial company.
13-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Theroretically
God instructs me in the thunder
and speaks to me in wind and rain.
He corrects me when I blunder
and sets me on the path again.
My God expects that I will try
to live my life the way I should.
I sometimes fail I can’t deny.
Because I have misunderstood
that the temptations offered me.
Are lessons from which I should learn.
I have the choice my will is free.
All men are tempted in their turn
Though men should know instinctively
to listen to that still small voice
which whispers to them quietly.
When they are forced to make a choice.
My God can speak to me direct.
He needs no intermediaries
Which is the reason I reject.
All of religions theories.
What I believe holds true for me
although it may seem wrong to you.
Its just another theory
you can reject if you wish to.
.13-Jan-09http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The River Knows
Englyn unodle crwca
Quietly the river flows
never telling all it knows.
Has no reason I suppose and no voice.
We rejoice it does.
Whilst the river holds its peace.
We need not fear it might release,
From its store of memories: Dark secrets.
It forgets and heeds our pleas.
Secrets which we wish to hide.
We can cast our cares aside.
The wise river will decide, not to tell.
suits us well, all denied
Sins we now view with regret
.Sins we would we could forget
The river will keep secret for ever
and never cause upset.
Tuesday,09 February 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Superior Force for M 'lady Tara
Across the windswept moors it came.
A cloudburst worthy of the name
A million, million spears of rain
which pierced the earth again again.
The suddenly the storm has passed.
The sky no longer overcast.
A vast expanse of palest blue
with sunlight shining down anew.
The raging wind has ceased to scream
as if the storm had been a dream.
The thirsty earth has drunk her fill
replenished every flowing rill.
I venture forth resume my stroll.
But in the distance hear the roll
of thunders war drums ceaselessly
Beat out a rhythm threateningly.
Far, far away towards the coast
the storm clouds gather in a host
Preparing for a fresh assault.
The rain will fall without a halt.
The sea absorbs it easily
until the storm clouds wearily.
Give up their fight against the sea,
They cannot win its plain to see
The storm moves on but leaves behind,
a vivid picture in my mind.
A sight I never thought to see.
Rain pouring down torrentially.
So that the raindrops hid from view
The moorlands that I loved and knew.
A sight I may not see again
my moors submitting to the rain.
5-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The High Moors for M'lady Tara
I love the beauty of the moors. Those vast expanses wild and free
But I am prejudiced of course; there is no place I’d rather be.
In any season I feel at home. The winte, spring, summer or fall.
Be because I claim the right to roam. There are no rules here none at all.
The only laws are those decreed by mother nature long ago
Thou shalt not kill except to feed. The laws all living creatures know.
I love the freshness of the spring despite the fact the winds are keen
I am quite happy wandering to search for any sign of green.
The bitter winter slowly passed and soon the hillsides will be grassed
Though snow still lingers here and there. As bald spots undergo repair.
Underground new life is stirring as the sunshine returns with spring
to warm the winter frozen land. This artistry I understand
Natures consummate artistry: Infinite in variety
Each plant supplies a different hue and shadows add a touch of blue.
A contrast to the greenery which dominates the scenery
The purple heather showing through as spring continues to renew.
The beauty of the moors again to be enjoyed other men
Who love the moors as much as me, a privilege completely free.
Eventually spring slips away, the moors preparing for the day
When they will bask beneath the sun. A slow process which has begun.
Beneath a sky of cloudless blue I chose a spot where I can view
The kestrels circling on patrol and see the landscape as a whole
With my field glasses I can see the sunlight gleaming on the sea
Much further than my naked eye and for moment wish that I
Had wings so I could freely fly (indulging in a fantasy)
Towards my other love the sea, dream I know that cannot be.
The year moves on at its own pace as autumn waits to take her place
The twilight falls much earlier, this is my favourite time of year.
The pace of life is slowing down the greenery is turning brown
The heather fades to lavender, wise rodents store their provender;
The young birds long since flown the nest are gathering to start their quest.
Quite soon they’ll start their journeyings carried on well practiced wings
The colours of the high moors fade no longer purple, gold and jade
Assuming neutral brown and dun the change to winter has begun
The north wind blows and sprinkles snow.In winter time I do not go
up to the moors I’ve earned the right to stay inside where I can write.
I am too old to brave the cold. I leave that to the young and bold.
13/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Public Servant
Public servant
I have no choice it must be done
before my only chance is gone.
I have him clearly in my sights
and I am well within my rights.
He is armed, prepared to kill.
I have no doubt at all he will.
He is a threat to everyone.
I have no choice it must be done.
Although I would rather not
I must squeeze off the fatal shot.
I chose to shoot him through the head
make certain sure that he is dead.
Before he can shoot anyone
The choice is mine and mine alone.
I kill the man reluctantly
but that is how it has to be
I swore to serve and to protect.
The public and they all expect.
Me to carry out my duty
As best I can efficiently.
The man is dead the threat is gone
And normal life can carry on.
Nobody spares a thought for me
They do not care apparently.
05/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I chose my way
The road I took came to a fork.
I had no choice but to decide
which of the two paths I would walk.
One narrow way, one broad and wide.
Whichever path I choose to take
a question lingers in my mind.
Perhaps I’ve made a grave mistake
but I press on leave doubts behind.
The narrow way; I made my choice.
Although I chose impulsively
I listened to some inner voice.
That whispered it was right for me.
I reached my goal successfully
which made me what I am today
Although I wonder where I’d be
if I had gone the other way.
Once you decide don’t second guess
but execute the choice you made.
The only way to reach success
is to keep on unafraid.
20-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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You Will Remember
You will remember me
As time passes away for a little while,
When shadow and fragrance has gone,
You will remember the last smile,
On the day a gentle kissed you gave
Made my soul cried for just a while,
And when you quietly held my hand,
The ribbons of broken flags wave,
Feelings politely tried to understand.
Goodbye to lives intrinsically enjoined,
In the future God had planned.
When we both will go far way,
Into another day of a distinct land,
Remember me when you pray.
I should like to hear your voice,
Once, if you forget what I look like,
Then whisper my name in the air.
And afterwards remember to rejoice,
With memories as though I am right there,
Do not be sorry when broken and contrite
For you was my special choice.
If memory leaves only the silence,
And if I see you once before I go,
With the heritage of thoughts we had.
It is far better that I should know,
Than you should live and be sad.
poem by Gerry Legister
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Why must I? for Cp Sharma
Why must I
The mist is lifting slowly. So
I can see the way ahead.
Although I’m not allowed to know
my future fate. I need not dread.
The Unknown hidden by the mist
evaporated by the sun.
I will go on I will persist
until my distant goal is won.
The quest embarked upon at birth
which will not end until I die.
My sojourn on the planet earth
but always I must question why.
I have no choice but journey on
No one can answer my question.
27/05/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Dog watch
The night is cold and clear and still.
The village streets lie quietly.
A bitter wind adds to the chill.
At home is where I’d rather be.
I have no choice I have to go.
My dog insists I take him out.
He knows he is entitled to
his final evening run about.
Then he will settle for the night.
It matter not rain, hail or snow.
He is correct he has the right
to tell me that its time to go.
He knows the time I must suppose.
What puzzles me is how he knows.
Wednesday,23 December 2009.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I Would Ask My Inner Voice
'Do I have a choice? '
I would ask my inner voice.
~Does a bird fly with one wing?
Is a ventriloquist near by,
When you hear that bird sing?
Have you seen a rabbit hop on one foot?
Does a fish swimming freely beg to be hooked? ~
'Do I have a choice? '
I would ask my inner voice.
~Your guess is as good as mine.
If you believe you have a choice,
Why are you wasting my time? ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Gothic Wuthering Heights In Ghost Nights
Gothic souls roam
eternal moors spirit
passion birth land
beauty etched
in tempest mist
weathered soul banshee land
wind etched
into trees our youth love bent
into passions land
heather hues red
yellow green mist
purple blue moor moves land
skies cloud lit
dying red crimson yellow soul
rainstorm bound
wild places silent
haunting soul
music is centuries echo in ghost land
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Les-Durham smoke
Twas like a transferred odd bargain;
the harbor waited - wraith's silence,
Hope lived in souls - utopian thence,
a notion spelled thrice - and again.
Had sent the mail - my filed advice,
upon moors stood, mist-blurred double-dyed,
the ghosts of sodding souls who died,
dark traveler asked for bride price.
In air he thumped, rhythmic like waves;
and cruel did ask for his death toll;
in town the women wore black stoles,
the 'lost in sea' dwell in void graves;
As Charon hummed, our ship entered,
in this harbor where life's borders,
in verse 'bout cold of rhymed folders;
wake-waters trail was off-centered.
He stood upon the moors - I knew
the wind whipped ropes upon head-mast,
- we drew the guns; he lifted fast;
my shots echoed, debt-law to ensue.
I felt the slug, he moved across,
alread'-a-ghost, on moors he stood;
Tasted the blood - lifted, I should,
red drops dropping on grass and moss.
I lit a rolled Les-Durham smoke,
children were watching me round-eyed;
twas May, perhaps another died,
I heard bells ring and three craws croak.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Self justification.
It’s not so easy to forget.
The things we did which we regret
Though if we try we may succeed
in justifying every deed.
Convince ourselves we had no choice
Ignore the inner nagging voice.
Which reminds us constantly.
We did what we did willingly.
We know when we indulged our lust
that we betrayed another’s trust.
We did not see it as a crime
and we enjoyed it at the time.
Although in time we realise
that our excuses are all lies.
Friday,21 January 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Rape...
A horrible crime
Rape.....loss of innocence,
didn't have a choice,
Nobody heard my voice,
memory of the past,
hope it crosses my mind
erases out of my memory,
so i don't have to remember the past
i wish she didn't tell me to go to the park
so I would still have it
my innocence i mean
I used to be so clean
now i'm violated, unclean and dirty
and the guilt is killing me
even though its not my fault
i feel as though it is
when she left something told me to go i could have left
I should have listened to that voice
and ran.....but no.....i choose to stay
and he accomplished his mission
what he set out to do
i was only 13 years old.....he was 16
i hated every minute of it
I closed my eyes and imagined I was invisible
but he took all the invisibility
inside of me and i still remember the day
the scene keeps playing in my head like a movie
Rape.....didn't have a choice
Rape.....nobody heard my voice.
poem by Brittany Mischel
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That Voice Of Choice Is Their Own
When a game of catch up,
Believed can be played to be done...
Is initiated by some who think,
This battle against time can be won...
Is a matter of choice?
Their minds are stuck!
Listening to one voice.
And that voice of choice is their own.
And there is nothing in this world,
To convince people like this...
That their resistance in a stubbornness,
Has nothing to do with enemies or terrorists.
The ones witnessed being victimized,
Are they who perceive doing what they please...
Ultimately results to their benefit.
And there is a mindset of folks who think life is a joke!
With a listening done to one voice!
Not yours or mine,
By choice.
Just one voice and that is their own.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Until we meet again For MY lady
When I am dead just bury me
in a deep hole and plant a tree
Without any ceremony,
whats left behind’s no longer me.
If I go first it’s not by choice
so do not weep, rather rejoice.
You know that we will meet again,
My leaving’s bound to cause you pain
I’ve run my race I can’t complain
I’ll join you on some higher plane.
If I go first it’s not by choice
so do not weep rather rejoice.
Should you go first then I will know.
You had no choice you had to go.
Though I will weep I’ll weep for me
because I know you’re flying free
But I will wait impatiently
for friendly death to come for me
It’s my belief that we will be
together intermittently
in other lives in different roles.
Remaining always kindred souls
The bonds we have death cannot part
we have been twin souls from the start.
My love for you, your love for me
will last beyond eternity.
Because we are one entity
as we were always meant to be.
8-Dec-08
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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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Onward Ever Onward.
I must pursue my endless quest.
My destination is unknown
Although the path is overgrown
I have no choice I must go on.
I’m not allowed to stop and rest
I have to journey on alone.
I have no choice I must go on
although the path is overgrown.
It’s up to me to do my best
until my journeying is done.
Although the path is overgrown
I have no choice I must go on..
Perhaps in time I’ll pass the test
Show I could do it on my own.
I have no choice I must go on
Although the path is overgrown.
Each man must pursue his own quest
It’s something he must do alone.
Although the path is overgrown
There is no choice you must go on.
Mirrored refrain created by Stephanie Rypnyk
Sunday,17 January 2010.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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