Moral Cowardice.
.
Should I regret or just forget.
The things I’ve done or left undone
Accumulative unpaid debt.
Part of the web the fates have spun.
The three weird sisters spin the thread
and weave into tapestry
Each thread is chosen carefully.
Though blind the sisters see ahead.
The future fate of everyone.
No one escapes what they decree.
What is to will come to be
All that you did or left undone.
So I pretend it’s predestined
and just dismiss it from my mind.
Saturday,10 April 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Kismet 2009
A man cannot escape his fate.
He must fulfil his destiny.
A peasant or a potentate
what is decreed will come to be.
His future is decided by
the three weird sisters who still weave.
Their multi coloured tapestry.
It matter not what you believe.
Each thread that represents a man.
Their nimble fingers intertwine.
They do not work to any plan
Completely random in design.
For they are blind and cannot see
the chaos they have caused to be.
They too are ruled by destiny.
they cannot change: No more can we.
15/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I Rebel
The Norns who weave the tapestry
which rules the fate of mortal men.
Can make mistakes apparently
and some time have to think again.
Though each one blames the other two
and none will admit to their mistake
They have to weave the threads anew.
A lengthy process which can take
almost the life span of a man.
But even Norns are governed by.
The need to heed the master plan,
they have no choice the rules apply
A single thread that’s out of place
can alter mankind’s history.
So they comply with little grace.
What is to be must come to be.
Has man no choice but play the part?
They’ve woven in their tapestry
His path through life right from the start
is fore ordained: no man is free.
The three weird sisters can foresee
future events and bind them fast,
As pictures in their tapestry.
No mortal man can overcast.
The lasting spell the sisters weave.
Although he thinks his will is free.
It matters not what we believe
and therein lies the mystery.
If we believe that this is true.
We are but puppets on a string
and there is little we can do.
To change the slightest little thing.
But I rebel I don’t believe
and make my way as best I can
Accomplish what I can achieve
I am no puppet I’m a man.
22-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Consider the alternative For M'lady Chitra
I don’t regret that I am old.
When I look back I clearly see.
The things that fate chose to withhold
I had to accept finally.
When I look back I clearly see.
That all your dreams cannot come true.
I had to accept finally
you can’t argue with fate’s decree.
that all your dreams cannot come true.
Although perhaps you thought they would.
You can’t argue with fates decree
and fate decreed they never would.
It’s for the best that they did not
although perhaps you thought they would.
When I look back I clearly see
I don’t regret that I am old.
11-Jul-08
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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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Don't ask me
Sometimes I see though partially.
Like images through frosted glass.
Beyond control, sporadically
A foretaste of what is to come.
Sometimes reflections from the past.
Abilities which are not welcome.
A family trait inherited
an extra sensitivity
At times we see the way ahead.
But what we see we do not say.
Because we know we cannot change
future events in any way.
This is the cross we have to bear
the second sight can be a curse
to know but know we cannot share.
I would prefer that I was blind
Unable to see through the mists
.I feel that fate has been unkind.
To grant a talent I can’t use
It seems quite purposeless to me
If I had choice I would refuse.
I do not really want to see
what lies ahead for anyone.
What fate decrees will come to be.
I did not choose I was chosen
to inherit this ability
to see what lies beyond our ken.
My family is known to be
possessors of the second sight
but taught to use it sparingly.
I dare not share the things I see.
I can’t be sure I am correct
I will not share. So don’t ask me.
15/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I am still me.
I’m not the man I used to be
When in the first bloom of my youth.
Who had abundant energy
I must accept the awful truth.
As I grow old I realise.
I’m not the man I used to be
I have no choice but recognise.
I must conserve my energy.
It’s for the best quite probably.
I have to think before I act.
I’m not the man I used to be.
I can’t deny that simple fact.
I can do what I need to do
Though I must plan it carefully.
I am quite sure you feel it too.
I’m not the man I used to be.
Saturday,15 May 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Could this be you?
I
Cannot
understand
intolerance.
I don’t even try.
You have the right to be
bigoted if you so please.
All I can do is pity you.
Who are enslaved by your prejudice.
I much prefer to keep an open mind
Tuesday,13 April 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fate (Death Poem)
Before I was born my fate was a thread,
To be spun and measured and cut at a time,
Determined by Fates inflicted on men.
Why is an impossible burden allotted to me?
And why the decision that since
Pandora was created,
My fate ever since,
Is determined,
By spinning of thread,
In the sandstorm of life,
By immortals who meddle.
On this earth, when I really prefer,
To be left on my own to live life in despair?
With my daily bread and a glass of wine,
And the love of the woman I love by my side,
Who sleeps in my arms as I dream or my fate.
poem by Ian Beckett
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A Birthday
THE three Fates sat in a house of birth,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
Their eyes were bright, but not with mirth—
They have no love for the sons of earth—
And their lips were parched and gray.
5
Their gray locks hung from brow to chin,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
One held the distaff, and one did spin,
And one held shears in her fingers thin;
Three silent hags were they.
10
We saw not the thread which the sisters spun,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
Nor whether in white or in black begun,
But on her with the shears, that elder one,
Our eyes were fixed alway.
15
A thread, I ween, of tangled years,
Ah, well a day; ah, well a day;
God stay her hand that holds the shears;
Our hopes are stronger than our fears
For the bud upon life's spray.
20
poem by Frederick George Scott
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The Waster's Presentiment
I shall be spun. There is a voice within
Which tells me plainly I am all undone;
For though I toil not, neither do I spin,
I shall be spun.
April approaches. I have not begun
Schwegler or Mackintosh, nor will begin
Those lucid works till April 21.
So my degree I do not hope to win,
For not by ways like mine degrees are won;
And though, to please my uncle, I go in,
I shall be spun.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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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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A whole new ball game.
The time had come for me to go and leave the world of work behind
I was not sure, did not know how I would occupy my mind
To fill the long hours of the day. I knew some things I’d like to try.
But work had left small time for play and now there s was no reason why.
My times my own an I am free to try my hand at something new
from pottery to poetry and that is what I mean to do.
It may seem strange but now I find there are too few hours in the day.
To do the things I have in mind. I look at life a different way.
Retirement wrought a change in me I do the thing I want to do
I have no one to please but me. Something you can look forward to.
When you too leave the world of work behind. You’ll be too busy to regret.
The years you spent as a wage slave you’ll be quite happy to forget.
19-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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When the time is right for M'lady Ernestine
Broad sonnet
We search for love to no avail. We try too hard and so we fail.
Although it may seem curious, fate knows much better than us.
When we are ready for a mate and then she does not hesitate.
She sets the time she sets the place, when she will bring us face to face.
With the partner of our dreams although to us it always seems.
That we have met by accident, but we did not it was by intent.
Fate knows exactly what we need and with her help we will succeed.
In finding what we have searched for. We don’t need to search anymore
We have been chosen carefully and who are we to disagree
We are quite sure our dreams come true, precisely as fate means us to.
It might be just co incidence, what matters is the consequence.
The end result is we got wed. I think that fate accomplished.
The task that she set out to do, for you love me and I love you.
You don’t find love, love will find you but not until it’s ready to..
Monday,22 March 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Inspiration, motivation, satisfaction
Your wants and needs are not the same.
You needs you cannot do without.
Your wants are quite a different game.
Things that you choose to dream about.
Long cherished dreams can motivate
you to make that extra effort
and when you win appreciate.
It was much easier than you thought.
Some people are content to dream
others will make their dreams come true.
All part and parcel of life’s scheme.
Dreamers just dream and doers do..
Though some of us combine the two
We dream at first and then we do.
Saturday,21 August 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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No Chance!
.
Though gifted with great eloquence.
The candidate lacks common sense
He phrased his speech in such a way,
that few in any chose to stay.
His words though chosen carefully
would never get him elected.
They didn’t understand a word he said.
He might as well have stayed in bed.
We did not know what he stood for
and saw him as a crashing bore.
A patronising upper class snob
who’d never had a proper job.
Which spoilt his opportunity
to be elected an MP
Wednesday,08 September 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Smitten
I loved a maid who loved not me.
This was a love that could not be
For she was wed, though I was free.
But had she been at liberty
I would have wooed her openly.
Instead I loved her secretly.
Just one of life’s small tragedies
There was no cure for my disease
I hoped through time the pain would cease.
But sadly this was not to be.
The fates had ruled capriciously
there could be no one else for me
Although the lady never knew
my love for her was deep and true
I held my peace how could she do.
Although I tried my best to find
another love. She filled my mind.
The snare fate fashioned well designed.
The lady saw me as a friend,
someone on whom she could depend.
I had no choice but to pretend
That friendship was enough for me.
Although I loved her hopelessly.
I loved her well enough to see.
That she was married happily.
But I was bound by fates decree
to love her unrequitedly
26-Oct-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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Threepenny Bits
Our little dog is very old.
She’s rather deaf and almost blind
and if the honest truth were told
You might think my words unkind.
She often has an accident
The reason isn’t hard to find,
she’s senile and incontinent
She has but one thought in her mind
She hasn’t lost her appetite
The only pleasure left to her
she hunts by scent and not by sight
for any food that’s on offer.
We never know where we will find
some souvenir she’s left behind.
13-Nov-08
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Our little Yorkshire Terrier Threepence is fourteen years old
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I can.
Inverted hexaduadad.
I can
choose to be a man.
Stand tall upon my own two feet
Or to retreat.
The choice is up to me.
Though not quite free
I can’t refuse
I am compelled to choose.
What shall I do.
I will not change my view
I will be the best man
I can.
Saturday,10 July 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Anticipation.
Anticipation.
I must accept that you have gone
one step ahead you have moved on.
I’m certain we will meet again
some otherwhere, some otherwhen.
We had no secrets you and I.
We always knew that one would die
and leave the other one behind.
That you went first I do not mind.
I could not bear to think of you.
Suffering the way I do.
Although I know I must wait
I know I can anticipate.
The joy we’ll share when we next meet.
Together once again: Complete.
Friday,31 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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