Related quotes: Like a feathered arrow flying....

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Like a feathered arrow flying.
Straight and true but silently
Speeds the message of your dying
a missile you won’t hear or see.

When you chose to slay my tribesmen.
Slaughter squaws and little children
striking in the dead of night.
My people had no chance to fight.

You thought no one had survived
unaware one warrior lived.
From my totem seeking guidance
I chose to meditate by chance.

In the forest secretly
I kept my vigil faithfully.
Alerted by he dying cries
of people dying by surprise.

Cut down by killers as they slept.
I had no choice but to accept.
My totem had protected me
because my totem could foresee.

The secret plans of wicked men
Who had killed and would again.
Great Manitou had chosen me
to hunt them down relentlessly

Their punishment my sole intent
I knew I would not rest content.
Until the last of them had died
My spirit wails unsatisfied..

when the last of them has paid
the price for the part he played.
in murdering my family.
My quest will end successfully

When my arrow pierces you
a punishment long overdue.
I will give praise to Manitou
as any warrior ought to do.

20/04/2009

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

Poem of the Totem

Miss Totem of Totem School
Wore V-necks and a pair of shoes
Never did care
If others would stare
She knew that she looked cool
Miss Totem of Totem School
Was different than the others
She had a love for different things and never did drink soda
Miss Totem of Totem School
Had tons and tons of others
Big and little
Small and tall
Lots and lots of brothers
Miss Totem of Totem School
Had a million to a trill
Funky kinds of family members
Some are robots too
Miss Totem of Totem School
Has too many sisters
Some are loud
Most are proud
Huggable, funny, loose
Miss Totem of Totem School
Is a big musician
Give her an instrument and a job
Forreal she'll finish the mission
Miss Totem of Totem School
As tan as can be
Sweet as honey
Fluffy like bunnies
Miss Totem doesn't have a lot of money
I'll talk about her ways all day
She's the type to like to play that way
'Cause Miss Totem of Totem loves high rolling
Like skating and eating buffets
Miss Totem of Totem School has one more thing for you
She wants to say have a nice day
Thanks for listening
Staying awake
And not leaving any drool on her shoes
'Cause she likes to use them when she skates

poem by Fox Tail
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Initiate

The time has come for me to seek
the advice of my ancestors.
To take to heart the words they speak
which will reveal my future course.

I have my knife I have my bow
and that is all I am allowed
The time is now I have to go
Until my totem is endowed.

I have to learn to recognise
my totem by his qualities.
Though he conceals them from mens eyes..
True understanding is the prize.

A lot depends on what he sees.
The part of him that dwells in me.
Subjects me to deep scrutinies
Which I must face I cannot flee..

I walk the wilderness alone
I catch and kill the food I need
and for each life I must atone.
As I was taught this is my creed.

I do not fear the solitude
Although I miss my family
I have the correct attitude
I know enough to wait and see.

The first night passes quietly
I rise at dawn salute the sun.
I watch and wait respectfully
but wonder in my heart which one.

Which creature will decide to be
the totem that I’m here to find.
The spirit creatures are quite free
to read the thoughts I have in mind.

The second night I cannot sleep
I pass the dark hours listening
to the night predators who creep
about my shelter foraging.

Again I rise up with the sun.
Then suddenly I see a bear
I have no doubt he is the one
whos taken me into his care.

I look at him he looks at me
He seems to be well satisfied
and off he trundles clumsily.
A totem I accept with pride.

The bear has freely chosen me.
I had no say it was his choice
I return home triumphantly
and with my family rejoice.

I must give up my boyhood name.
Now that I have become a man.
The Shaman plays his sacred game
The spirits tell him that he can.

Leave the choice of name to me.
The elders of the tribe confer
But they accept eventually.
I choose the name of Little Bear.

I am a full fledged warrior now.
No longer just a little boy
I freely let the teardrops flow
an outward sign of my great joy.

I am a man and take my place
amongst the older wiser men.
I passed the test without disgrace
A test I need not take again.

In due course I will earn respect
But I must act respectfully.
Towards my elders who expect
that I will listen carefully.

As I am taught the tribal lore
they have stored in their memory.
The things they could not teach before
my totem bear had chosen me..

4-Apr-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Out of your rut! !

Sometimes a change of circumstance
which seems to be a tragedy.
Turns out to be a second chance
to take you where you ought to be.

Your firm decides it must downsize,
your job amongst the first to go.
Although you’re taken by surprise.
You know you set your sights too low

You have no choice but to review
the reasons that you chose to stay
In a job which offered you
nothing but boredom day by day.

Redundancy may prove to be
to your advantage in the end.
You must examine thoroughly
the options which you have my friend

Accept responsibility
Decide just what you want to do
and then go on triumphantly
You can make all your dreams come true.

14/05/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death is not the end For M'lady Ernestine

Death is not the end.

A ray of sunlight penetrates
the quiet gloom of the sick room
Wherein a dying lady waits.

For death to call impatiently.
She has no fear she is content
To know that soon she will be free.

For ninety years she’s done her best.
To her the sunlight seems to be
A sign that she has passed the test.

The ray of light eventually
illuminates her final smile.
She passes over quietly.

Her empty shell lies peacefully.
Almost as if she slumbered still.
Her spirit soars triumphantly.

Towards the light she hopes to see.
Remaining faithful to the end
She goes ahead confidently.

She has outlived her family
and all her friends are long since dead.
She lived her life successfully.

She lived and died competently
and she passed on with no regrets.
To start a new life hopefully.

Wednesday,30 June 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The best laidplans gang aft agley Storypoem

I planned her demise carefully
I was quite sure that it would be
accepted as an accident.
Which left me looking innocent.

I thought I had made no mistakes
but I made one that’s all it takes.
One single shred of evidence
destroyed my claim to innocence.

I should have sued for a divorce
that would have been the wisest course.
Though it would not have satisfied
the hatred festering inside

Caused by the mental cruelty
to which she had subjected me
So I devised the perfect plan
to rid myself of this woman.

My only thought revenge is sweet.
I truly thought in my conceit
That I would get away Scott free.
But fate had other plans for me.

My home is temporarily
a hospital I am not free.
I can still smile I am content
her punishment is permanent.

I was adjudged incompetent
of forming murderous intent
The lawyer who defended me
convinced the judge successfully.

That though I caused my wifes demise
I was too ill to recognise
That killing her would be a crime.
My mind abnormal at that time.

I have no reason to complain
I know that I am not insane
That very soon the powers that be
will certify my sanity.

Although my plans went all awry.
The price I pay is not too high
At last I am well rid of you.
It was well worth it in my view.

18/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Righteous Attitude for Friend Thad

Righteous Attitude

The hunter rose before the dawn to watch the new day being born.
He raises prayers to Manitou as his wise father taught him to.
This brave though young is known to be a man who hunts successfully
To creatures he must kill for food he shows a reverent attitude.
When they fall victim to his bow he thanks their spirits as they go
back to the source from whence they came he knows each creature by its name.
He thanks them for their sacrifice, because he knows that success lies in following the ancient laws. Which the Great Spirit will enforce.
He has absorbed all he was taught, he kills for food but not for sport.
He sings his praise to Manitou because he knows that thanks are due. When the Great Spirit shows the way which leads him to his lawful prey.
Some days he hunts without success but still finds the will to bless
the sacred name of Manitou the way successful hunters do.
He’ll rise again tomorrow morn before the coming of the dawn
and to the Manitou he’ll pray he has a more successful day.

27-Mar-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Access Denied

Ofttimes enwrapt in reverie
I have a distant memory
but I cannot be sure it’s true
Of my mother who I barely knew.

She died so very long ago.
There is so much I do not know
I only know what I’ve been told
and that recedes as I grow old.

Although I try I can’t recall
her face: bring it to mind at all.
I feel I should be able to
but there is nothing I can do.

Sometimes I wake to find I’ve wept.
But I can do nothing but accept.
That time’s erased the memory
of the face I long to see.

Some faded photographs remain
which I look at, try to regain.
The memories I have repressed
It may be that it’s for best.

I was so young when mother died.
My wants and needs were satisfied.
By father and the family
and I grew up quite happily.

Would mother have been proud of me?
I she’d lived long enough to see.
The man her little boy grew into.
My mother who I barely knew.

Then I remember guiltily
my mother lost much more than me.
The grandchildren she’d never know
the chance to see her children grow.

But I still pursue selfishly
that one elusive memory.
That’s buried somewhere deep inside
A need that can’t be satisfied.

Perhaps because I’m growing old
and only have what I was told
to remember mother by.
I know I’ll fail but I still try.

24/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unforgettable.

I remember, I remember
Every year in November.
The night I saw a young boy die.
Every year I wonder why..

Could this death have been prevented.
Yes if people were contented.
just to stand and watch the show
instead running to and fro

Throwing bangers at each other
and in general causing bother
Demonstrating lack of sense,
careless of the consequence

A firework set him on fire.
The flames spread quickly rising higher.
In his panic he chose to run.
The last thing that he should have done.

It was the last mistake he made.
By the time we rendered first aid.
He was burnt from head to toe.
We knew it would be touch and go.

Despite the efforts of a nurse
his condition became worse.
He died before help could arrive.
There was no way he could survive.

On Guy Fawkes Night I stay indoors.
I think I have sufficient cause.
I can remember vividly
a small boy dying tragically.

I remember, I remember
Every year in November.
The night I saw a young boy die
every year I wonder why.

26/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Misapprehension

A blue eyed blonde but rather dim.
Or so he thought
But she still made a fool of him.
Just for the sport

He thought he would have his way
then leave her flat
but she saw things a different way.
I fancy that

she led him a merry dance.
She knew his game,
right from the start he had no chance.
But all the same

The lesson was long overdue
he had to know.
That he was not entitled to
just take and go.

She had met men like him before
and knew full well
He wanted to add to his score
so he could tell.

His friends about his new conquest.
But she declined
and told him he was just a pest.
Then she consigned

him swiftly to the garbage heap
where he belonged
and she would lose no beauty sleep.
Though he felt wronged.

Philanderers should make a note
to change their ways.
or surely they will miss the boat.
Alone always.

the maiden knew instinctively
she could not trust.
She spotted you immediately.
So go you must.

With your desire unsatisfied.
The lady’s wise
she sees quite clearly that you lied.
To your surprise.

23-Jul-08

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vengeance delayed storypoem

My country taught me how to kill
and when I had sufficient skill
I was recruited secretly
to serve a special agency.

My given task was to erase
any who opposed our ways
at home abroad where I was sent
To which I gave my free assent.

I slowly came to realise
I could not always recognise.
My target as an enemy.
Suspected they were using me

Though I had little evidence.
Some missions seemed to make no sense
I was expected to obey
my instructions come what may/

My duty was to do or die
I had no right to question why
There was no way I could resign
or else the next death would be mine.

I had known other colleagues die
quite frequently Now I knew why.
I was convinced my turn would come
Because a dead man will stay dumb.

I chose instead to disappear.
Create a new life far from here.
Although I killed for my country
I’m certain they will search for me.

They are afraid that if I chose
their dirty secrets to expose.
They have no means of stopping
me whilst I remain at liberty

They would much rather I was dead.
I have a price upon my head.
So I have planned accordingly
If they succeed in killing me.

My story will be given to
the press who will know what to do
.I’ll take revenge posthumously.
on liars who exploited me.

22/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dying

I'm Dying, Dying to wake up without you, without you in my head again
I'm Dying, Dying to forget about you, that you ever lived
There's a shade come over this heart that's coping with laying down to rest
I'm Dying to live without you again
I'm Dying, Dying to find a distraction, get you away from me
I'm Dying, Dying to reach a conclusion, so that the world can see
It's the same old story of love and glory that broke before it bent
I'm Dying to live without you again
The first time you left I said goodbye
Now there's not a prayer that can survive
Dying, Dying to die just to come back so we can meet again
Dying, Dying to say what I always should have said
It's a strange emotion this but there's still hope in this
As long as there's a breath...
I'm Dying and I can't live without you again
It's a strange emotion this but there's still hope in this
As long as there's a breath...
I'm Dying and I can't live without you
I'm Dying and I can't live without you again

song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One day pehaps I'll understand Tissues warning

They say there is no Santa Claus
the bigger kids. Its just your dad
I don’t believe their lies of course
Although sometimes it makes me sad

I haven’t got a dad you see.
He died a long, long time ago
There’s just my mum my sis and me
That’s why I’m certain that I know.

There has to be a Santa Claus.
On Christmas morning there will be.
Some presents for each of us
in piles beneath the Christmas tree.

I only six but I know this.
That Santa works all through the night
making sure he does not miss.
A chance to bring a child delight.

One day I hope to catch the sight
of Santa Claus all dressed in red.
But mummy makes me go to bed
and she will watch for him instead.

She leaves mince pies and ginger wine.
Then she settles down to wait.
My sister goes to bed at nine.
Mum falls asleep and wakes too late.

He’s been and gone, so have the pies
While mother slept, kind Santa crept
into the house and ate the pies.
He left our presents while we slept.

At least that’s what my mother says.
If I should ask why she cries
On this the happiest of days.
Because I miss him she replies.

I’m not quite sure I understand
the reason for my mummy’s tears
Santa has gone back to Lapland
where has lived for years and years.

I think my older sister knows
A secret that she will not tell
She’s not allowed to suppose.
Because she sometimes cries as well.

But I’m a boy and boys don’t cry
But when they cry it makes me sad
Although I really don’t know why.
I never really knew my Dad.

Tuesday,01 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One day perhaps I'll understand.