One true fact story poem
From whence he came nobody knew.
Out of the mists he came alone
A frightened child in ragged clothes
How he survived remains unknown
He cannot or will not tell
from where he came or who he is.
Found wandering in a freezing hell
few places are as bleak as this.
Snow clad the rugged mountains rise
Far, far above the plains below.
A barren place of rock and snow
scoured by the bitter winds which blow.
I have to say with certainty.
No human beings could live here.
But I am wrong apparently
this child appearing makes that clear.
We were all taken by surprise
to see this urchin wandering
Yet there he was before our eyes
In need of help and shivering.
His urgent need must override
the object of our mission
Unanimously we decide
this alters our position.
We have no choice we have to try
to save the life of this small child.
It’s not our place to wonder why
he came to be here in the wild.
We radio H.Q. for aid
explain the situation.
There are arrangements to be made
for this small boys reception.
We keep him warm and give him food
Descend the mountain carefully
H.Q had fully understood
and had prepared accordingly.
When we arrived he was flown to
the nearest modern hospital.
Where they would do all they
could do to save his life if possible.
We done our best could do no more
but wait and pray impatiently.
Sit by the wireless waiting for
some news of his recovery.
News came he was responding well
but still he could or would not speak.
there was no way that we could tell.
Why he was wandering on the peak.
It must remain a mystery
a subject we will long debate.
Though we discuss it endlessly.
At least we can appreciate.
The boy will live that is enough
and make a full recovery
Although we’ll never know the truth
of how and why he came to be.
Alone amidst the ice and snow
abandoned on a mountain peak.
Where human beings rarely go
The boy is dumb he cannot speak.
His story he can never tell
Despite our curiosity
Perhaps in time if all goes well
we will resolve the mystery.
We must return try to complete
research we set out to do.
Though warring theories will compete
for ever more as theories do.
No one can say with certainty
Though experts may pontificate
upon this strange anomaly.
I do not care to speculate.
What does it matter anyway
The boy is safe and that will do.
No longer wandering astray
That fact I know at least is true.
05/04/2009
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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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Eyes of a child
Eyes of a child
Such gems in stones
Staring you close
Still as blue sky
They don't lie
Their sun is shining
While you are crying
Eyes of a child
Day or night
I got no light
Free as a child
I can be wild
Eyes of a child
Let them go, into the snow
Without your grace
There's a lot more to know
Just glance over their face
It's the eye of a child
Free and wild
Child don't think too much
Ain't no worry as such
Joy driven life they live
Half-a-soul they give
It's the eyes of a child
Free and wild
Save me child
Save me child
Set me free and wild
Eyes of my child
poem by Siddharth Shah
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Old Artefacts Reveal New Facts
This used to be a dwelling place
For members of the human race
Two thousand years or so ago.
The passing years have changed it though.
Today the archeologists
Seek to penetrate the mists.
There’s very little they can see
Which will support their theory.
The evidence lies underground
Buried; waiting to be found
By those equipped to recognise
a broken pot can be a prize.
Which might well prove they were correct
If they can find as they expect
Sufficient evidence to show
that humans dwelt here long ago.
If they are luck they will find
Amongst detritus left behind
Artefacts discarded by
The folks who used to occupy.
The houses that there used to be
Which formed a small community.
They are completely confident
.This was a stone age settlement.
The tools they found all made of stone
Except for needles made of bone.
No signs of metal to be found
Their reasoning seems to be sound.
I think that they have proved their case.
And added to their knowledge base.
I watch the time team on TV
And I am privileged to see.
The work of experts in the field
as they persuade the earth yield
the evidence for which they seek.
Each site they work on is unique.
Each find adds something to the store
Sometimes they find a great deal more.
Than what they can expect to find
They have to keep an open mind.
Sometimes great treasures can be found
Long buried in a funeral mound.
But mostly much more mundane things
a coin or two, brooches and rings.
Each find recorded carefully
Examined scientifically
The use of modern technology
can date the finds more accurately.
Than what they could do in the past
Some times the findings overcast.
Theories long held to be true
replacing them with something new.
I find the programme satisfies
My avid curiosity.
When can watch before my eyes
unfolding of a mystery.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Que Sera, Sera
Que Sera, Sera
A New Year lies ahead of us. I must admit I’m curious.
to see if experts prophecies will turn out to be theories.
Which passing time will not sustain and leave the experts to explain.
Just how and why they got it wrong I’m sure they’ll sing the same old song.
We’re only men what we express is just an educated guess.
You have to place it in context. They do not know what will come next.
No more than any other man.Although they all profess they can
interpret the faint signs they see and can predict with accuracy.
What events will come to be but get it wrong consistently
That’s why I listen cynically and mostly unbelievingly.
When experts choose to air their views, I find their words of little use.
I much prefer to wait and see: What fate decrees will come to be..
1-Jan-09
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I wish you all a happy and peaceful 2009
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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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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Sly
Nicolette
I try to believe what I feel these days
It makes life much easier for me
Its hard to decide what is real these days
When things look so dizzy to me
I already know my childrens childrens faces
Voices that Ive heard before
Theres always more
Theres always more
Wandering leaving the sea behind
To my home which everybody owns
Wandering, wandering
Where we can do ? ? ? ? ?
Wandering
I feel like a 1000 years have passed
Im younger than I used to be
I feel like the world is my home at last
I know everyone that I meet
Somewhere in the music I can hear the bells
I heard a 1000 years before
Theres always more
Theres always more
Wandering is this there all there is
Since I was since I began to be
Wandering, wandering
Where we can do ? ? ? ? ?
Wandering
song performed by by Massive Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Global Warming? I think not.
Snow has fallen, snow on snow.
The temperatures remaining low.
There is no sign of any thaw,
In fact we are expecting more.
It’s snowing intermittently.
With intervals of weak sunshine
but it is freezing constantly.
With dread black ice the bottom line
A hazard for the traveller
who has no choice but has to go
Though most of them would much prefer
to stay at home out of the snow.
Authorities are struggling to
ensure the major roads are free
of snow to let the traffic flow.
Albeit very carefully.
Its more than thirty years ago.
Though some of us can still recall
the problems caused by heavy snow.
But memories don’t help at all.
We have to cope with here and now
and not what happened years ago.
We have to show that we know how
to overcome this winters snow.
We do not know when thaw will come
as it has always done before.
But we are sure we will welcome,
the sight of snow free roads once more.
Tuesday,05 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Conforming
I cannot unilaterally,
decide to do what pleases me.
How very easy life would be
if that was satisfactory.
Although it makes me furious.
I must confer, debate discuss
until it is unanimous.
I find it rather curious.
It seems your free will is not free.
Although you think it ought to be.
In order to live peacefully
as part of our society.
We have to voluntarily
place limits on our liberty.
05/11/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Who is responsible?
When molten magma surfaces
beneath an ancient glacier.
A bitter struggle then takes place
to prove which is superior.
The superheated steam produced
expends its force explosively
With molten rock and ice reduced.
Almost instantaneously.
To particles of dust and smoke
projected high into the sky.
Just Mother Natures little joke
A fact that no one can deny.
She demonstrates her power to show.
That though we think we’re in control
that we are not. She lets us know
that she’s in charge from pole to pole.
She forces us to ground our planes.
Ensures it isn’t safe to fly
as long as the ash cloud remains
suspended in the upper sky.
There’s very little we can do.
Except to wait impatiently
and let the scientists review
the situation constantly.
If and when they do decide
the sky is clear and safe to fly.
And not potential suicide.
There will be many asking why.
It took so long to satisfy
The powers that be, we could fly
without compromising safety.
We’ll ask but will get no reply.
We can accept as being true.
We do not trust the government.
Regard it with a jaundiced view
A bias which is permanent.
Damned if they don’t damned if they do.
We aren’t prepared to recognise.
That what they say could well be true.
That we were taken by surprise.
An act of God it’s classified
that lets insurers off the hook
Our claims will not be ratified.
They will go strictly by the book.
They will not lose they never do.
The small print will make sure of that.
It may be sad but it is true.
most claims they’ll simply turn down flat.
They’re glad to take your premiums
but they pay out reluctantly.
and only pay the minimums
They have to pay out legally.
Volcanoes, earthquakes acts of God
Although they happen frequently
myself I find it rather odd
are not covered by your policy.
Disasters strikes you’re on your own.
As you discover far too late
Although in fact you would have known
if you had read the rules they state..
Though well concealed in the small print.
You can’t complain they were supplied
Insurance companies make a mint
and we are left unsatisfied
.Wednesday,21 April 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Last Leaf
That she was old beyond belief
was obvious for all to see.
Her face was like a wrinkled leaf
The last one clinging to the tree
in defiance of the gales.
Which autumns sends to strip the trees.
But now and then this method fails
and one leaf refuses to release
its hold and stubbornly remains
attached to where it’s always been.
Where once it drank the summer rains
when it was tender young and green.
How old she is she cannot say
nor does she care apparently.
But like the last leaf in her way
intends to cling on stubbornly.
She has outlived her family
all of her friends have long since gone
Accepting philosophically
She is the last surviving one
That when she dies her family tree
will disappear and leave no trace.
It will just simply cease to be
there is no one to take her place.
She is a source of wonderment
to scientists who study her.
She does not care she is content
to accept the support they offer her.
Shes not too old to change her ways
no longer has to search for food.
Which she done for all her days
and she still finds that life is good.
There is no record of her birth
her age is subject of debate.
Which is to her a source of mirth
a joke she can appreciate.
She does not care so why should they.
It does not matter in her eyes
She has survived until today
and will do ' til the day she dies.
The scientist all theorise
on how and why she’s lived so long.
They disagree as each one tries
to prove he’s right the others wrong.
She has her own opinion
but they show little interest.
And will not 'til the chance is gone.
When she has died and gone to rest.
She lived her life in her own way
It was the only way she knew.
Aware that she would die one day
as everybody has to do.
How old she was nobody knew
It does not matter I suppose.
That she was old we know is true
but why she was nobody knows.
11-Mar-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Divine protection?
Although we try, we can’t define the attributes of the divine
So most of us choose to accept what we are told; someone’s concept.
Is God a he? Is god a she, perhaps both simultaneously
Did God create the universe? Is curiosity our curse?
Is it right that we should fear god? I find this idea rather odd
It does not seem appropriate to live in fear the normal state.
Maybe God is a neutral source of power we can tap into
Though we are free to choose our course. Responsible for what we do
I do not know what I believe and I refuse to speculate
There’s nothing guessing will achieve I will not learn if I but wait.
Perchance we are collectively all tiny parts of one great whole
And will attain divinity, when we rejoin the over soul.
A theory you may reject and many will I must expect
alhough I say in its defence you must weigh up the evidence.
Consider what you have been taught, cast doubt on its validity
It may not be as you had thought, an absolute, a certainty.
The truth is that nobody knows. Because we aren’t intended to.
If we were wise we’d recognise some things are hidden from our eyes.
Because we could not comprehend the nature of divinity.
To suffering humanity God must remain a mystery.
17/06/2009
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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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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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Human's Soul Never Freeze
In snow on a bench a poor man sat,
He was frozen, so cold it was,
He didn't have any shelter,
But shared the bench with a dog.
His mustache and eyebrows were coated with snow,
His legs were numb, looking the color blue,
Although it was so cold, he didn't wear his warm coat,
Feeling for the dog he used his warm coat to cover the dog.
That poor man gave his coat,
To save and protect the dog's life,
Not caring for his own health, in the freezing cold,
He offered warmth and care to a dog.
People found them and took them to the shelter,
Gave them food and warmth to treat,
One sure thing from this is certain,
That a human's soul never freeze.
.................................. .......................
(This poem is inspired from a true story i saw on TV news)
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Infant Of The Snows
Snow leopard cub, just lying there,
At present, all alone,
With no-one else nearby to care
Your bed is made of stone...
With snow a-falling close to you,
How long will you stay warm?
And what on Earth can small cubs do,
If there should be a storm?
Snow leopard cub, just lying still,
Your small white nose so cold,
Do you possess an iron will,
The patience to grow old?
Have you the courage to endure,
The true grit and reserve?
If yes, then may God grant you more,
If you can hold your nerve...
Snow leopard cub, should I draw near?
Have you the will to live?
Is your young heart now filled with fear?
New hope I hope to give...
To wait a while, would that be wrong?
I have some food to share,
Yes, here it is... Eat up, be strong...
Take heart, do not despair...
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Winter of Discontent
I remember a winter a few decades ago.
Where our dear England was covered in snow.
It started on Boxing Day with a blizzard from hell
then in the course of a week the snow just fell.
This once green paradise was now a shroud of white
and everyone was suffering from chillblains and frostbite.
Outdoor life was like an indoor fridge
where everything had frozen like a mountain ridge.
Abandon lorries on the side of the road
men were freezing even their load.
Villages cut off all over the land
so in came the troops to lend a hand.
This was the winter of discontent that lasted from
Christmas, and way past Lent.
As one lot of snow cleared, it would return again
to bring freezing cold tempretures and a lot of pain.
Wind would blow both night and day, and still the snow
never went away.Drifts of snow standing six foot high
just being topped up with snow from a winter sky.
So what of this winter of ice and snow
one that happened a few decades ago.
I remember it as one that was cold and wild
because in the summer God presented me
with my first born child.
In this year, where snow fell in December
it was the coldest winter I will ever remember.
poem by Sylvia Spencer
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Song Of The Evergreens
Listen to the briskly whistling winter evergreen
Whispering through the frozen morning light
And tell me whats to come
Saying my time is near
Never fear
I close each year
Im winter
Reminding me to trade my t-shirts for my woven wools
Trade my sandals for my skis
Whispered warnings in the wind
Saying soon come the dancing snowflakes
Theyre kissing every tree
Theyre kissing you and me
Please hurry
Falling
Dazzling dancing diamonds from the sky
Prisms
Rainbow sparkled flurries in our eyes
Whipping across the frozen crystal meadow
Pond of ice
Race the snow
Well build a warming fire there
And cuddle close and wine and dine
The setting sun
The morning light will find us high
Shooting down the glistening mountain side
Screaming through the whispering pines
The freedom of each day
Will cleanse our minds
I can hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
I can hardly hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mountain Splendour
Snow leopards look at snow all day!
It's here, there, everywhere!
It hardly ever goes away!
It's white beyond compare!
It's dazzling white, it's total white,
It really, really is!
It's safe to say that it's too bright!
It's not something they'd miss...
Snow leopards sit the whole day long
On snow, snow, snow, snow, snow...
It's sometimes nice, don't get me wrong,
But doesn't that stuff glow! ?
It's freezing cold, no good at all...
And bores them all to tears...
They hate it when new snowflakes fall
And tickle both their ears!
Snow leopards wait for food to eat...
They wait, wait, wait, wait, wait...
They take things slow, they tap their feet...
And think life's just great!
They can't hum tunes like humans do...
Remembering each rhyme...
They just sit down, enjoy the view...
And... while... away... the... time...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Mountain Splendour II'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Recovery
(john farrar/tom snow)
I live on an island far away
All by myself, theres no one else
Nobody calls, but thats okay
Dont need their help, Im by myself
Nobody here to make a career
Of hurting me, deserting me
Your crazy life aint ever gonna get me
Dont worry about my recovery
Cause lover, you wont recover me
Im not too low, Im not too high
Ill get by makin my recovery
When I go wrong as people do
Theres only me to answer to
Nobody here to bring me down
No feelings I need step around
Trouble and care are waiting out there
But Im alright, Im safe tonight
Your crazy life aint ever gonna get me
Dont worry about my recovery
Cause lover, you wont recover me
Im not too low, Im not too high
Ill get by makin my recovery
Dont need your sympathy
Save all your tears
Ive lived without tenderness
For too many years
Why would I need it now
Nobody here to make a career
Of hurting me, deserting me
Your crazy life aint ever gonna get me
Dont worry about my recovery
Cause lover, you wont recover me
Im not too low, Im not too high
Ill get by makin my recovery
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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