Passive Resistance.
Beneath the sky, the restless sea
Was lapping at the shingle shore.
As it had often done before.
The shingle resists stubbornly.
It won't surrender easily.
And when tide ebbs will restore
The pebbles from its endless store.
Kept in reserve permanently.
The shingle beach lies passively
The sea is forced to come and go.
Although it act aggressively
When the tide is in full flow.
It will retreat reluctantly
When tidal energy runs low.
Wednesday,29 February 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Table Bay [2]
I can hear the waves roar,
slamming shingle on the rocks, the beach
drawing in and out
on Bloubergstrand
and the cadence is a age old shuddering
of waves breaking, continuing like before
and in the distance Table Bay
lies stretched out specked with
hundreds of little lights
like a enormous crown
with the flat mountain top
on display, etched against the night sky
and its full tide, the moon is full
yellow and magnificent
and the place of good hope,
lies on the shore
with waves breaking forever more
and lonely the beach stretches out before me,
in a long white ribbon
and the dark water goes out to the horizon,
almost as far as I can see
and the sea wind is fresh and new
and there's no light in sight
on the wavering ocean
just a darkness that envelopes me
as the waves
are throwing pebbles out
and drawing them in
before breaking on the beach
and there's nobody to be true to,
nobody to trust, only the reality of the here and now
and all hope, all promises, all joy and pain
remains the same
swept in and out of a confused world
forever breaking, forever rushing in.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Nothing New under the sun
The sunlight shimmers on the sea.
Its light reflects from white wave crests
The waves which roll in endlessly
engaged upon their ceaseless quest.
Twice every day the tide comes in.
Twice every day the tide flows out.
It fights a battle it can’t win
That is the truth without a doubt.
The sea and land each have their place.
Although the boundaries can change
and very often leave no trace.
Except to make the shore look strange
Not quite the way it used to be
for it is changing constantly.
14/05/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Karma
To sleep, perchance to dream and wake no more
I know I have to stay but long to go
and leave behind me all my cares and woe
Back to where I have often been before.
A place of rest in which I can restore
my weary spirit easily I know.
In soft green meadows where the waters flow
and work out what the future holds in store.
I must return I’ve lesson yet to learn
I am sure that death is not the end
but just another step along the way
Towards perfection for which I yearn.
Each wrongful action which I can’t defend
I know that I must suffer in my turn.
31-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Rootless
Swept away on the ebbing tide
I long to stay but I must go
my wanderlust unsatisfied.
I go where the waters flow
(I have no choice I don’t decide)
The rolling sea has much to show.
Strange places where no men abide.
The frozen lands of ice and snow
where human needs can’t be supplied.
Sunlit isles where palm trees grow.
My urgent need won’t be denied,
there’s so much that I want to know.
I have to travel to and fro.
I ride upon the restless tide.
My ever moving friendly foe.
There is no place I can hide
She’d search for me both high and low
I can’t escape though I have tried.
She’s in control and she says no.
My mistress will not be defied
When she calls me I have to go.
Swept away on the ebbing tide.
I go reluctantly although
some part of me enjoys the ride.
22-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I believe 2012
When moonlight filters through the trees.
I sometimes hear sweet melodies.
Carried towards me on the breeze.
Music guaranteed to please.
It comes from where the fairies dance.
I'm not afraid to take a chance.
To follow it and steal a glance.
Which would do nothing but enhance.
My belief that fairies do exist.
A fact that others may resist.
Despite the legend that persist.
Although I am a realist.
And not some dreaming fantasist.
I claim to be a pragmatist.
Wednesday,15 February 2012.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
As in a sack some thing washed in:
And lay amidst the shells
And pebbles of the shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
Ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
The sea-waves washed her in
One eye was closed the other open
And on her golden hair
Were drops of red:
Wild lapped the sea-waves and the cloud
Frowned on the sea-shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
How many winters rude have skimmed
Their frozen fingers on the white breast
Of the pale moon-lit lake a-dreaming sound
How many a Spring of green
Has come and gone:
Since that ashore, ashore with the tide’s flow
The sea-waves washed her in
Her clothes that rich were tattered were
Unseemly with the smoke of cigars
And the drunk smell of alcohol
Her look was wild and sad and raw:
Wild lapped the sea-waves and the cloud
Frowned on the sea-shore
Amidst the lapping of the waters rude
And the sea-waves’ roar.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Transfiguration.
Transfiguration?
The sunset was spectacular
Transforming the familiar
Sights which I am accustomed to
Into a very different view.
The slated roofs no longer grey
But changing with the interplay
Reflected colours from the sky
which blend and merge then multiply.
Creating a surreal beauty
Which hides the stark reality
That I am faced with every day.
Monotony in black and grey.
I watch until the colours fade.
Reluctantly I draw the shade.
Wednesday,18 January 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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One Day for Michael
The Jetsam cast upon the shore.
The ebbing tide has left behind
I wonder where it’s been before.
I search to see what I can find.
Some small but worthwhile souvenir
which will repay the hours I’ve spent
in combing beaches far and near.
Some treasure lost by accident.
One day I hope to strike it rich
and find gold coins amongst the sand.
But Lady Luck can be a bitch,
she doesn’t seem to understand.
That gold’s no use beneath the sea
but I’d accept it gratefully.
9-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Faith & Hope.
I am not a religious man
I place my faith and loyalty.
Like any other football fan.
In the demi -gods I see.
Performing minor miracles
of ball control and football skill
In overcoming obstacles.
To score the goal which will fulfil.
My ambitions for my team
Which is to see them win again
The FA Cup, that is my dream.
A team of dedicated men.
The faithful pray to save their souls
But football fans just pray for goals
Wednesday,15 February 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Final solution implemented
I often feel the urge to kill
and just as often I resist.
I know for sure one day will.
These insane urges still persist.
I told my doctor how I feel.
He said that I must learn to deal
When such urges bother me
that they are only fantasy.
Just yesterday I nearly killed.
My life dream almost fulfilled
But some last shred of decency.
Intervened and prevented me.
The lady was so beautiful
her swan like neck so round and full
Oh Lord the woman tempted me.
I could have killed her easily.
The only way to satisfy
my urge to kill: Someone must die,
make fantasy reality.
the one solution I can see
from which I can no longer hide.
My last resort is suicide.
No one else should have to die
My killing urge to satisfy.
I will depart with dignity
and not all reluctantly.
I’ll overdose, die quietly.
My problems solved permanently.
17/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Needs Must
I am awoken by a need
My bladder signals urgently
you must make haste there’s need for speed
No sleep until you empty me.
I rise from bed reluctantly
as fast as aged joints permit.
Go to the bathroom where I pee.
Then when I have accomplished it
go back to bed and try to sleep.
I usually manage easily
I see no need for counting sheep
Quite soon I’m sleeping peacefully
I am quite old and I expect
its something which I must accept.
24-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Seize the day
Although society expects
that old folk should live quietly.
I don’t accept foolish precepts
I cannot possibly agree
Nobody can dictate to me
what I should or should not do.
I won’t surrender easily
I’m always trying something new.
I will not sit and vegetate
in my arm chair and watch T.V.
I say this most vehemently.
Though I am old I’m not brain dead
I lead an active life instead.
31-Jan-09
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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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It's not unusual.
She smiles at him seductively
And he reacts instinctively.
Mother Nature still employs.
Her oldest most successful ploys.
Ensuring that the race survives
By any means that she contrives.
Hormones raging in their veins.
Make certain that she wins again.
Though neither of them understand
They still obey nature’s commands.
Because they have been programmed to
And there is nothing they can do.
But carry out Dame Natures plan.
It has been so since time began.
Her winsome smile invites him to
Do what he’s supposed to do.
Mother Nature makes the rules.
Hormones are her favourite tools
A tried and tested formula
Which hasn’t let her down so far.
Wednesday,01 February 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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One fine Day: perhaps for J T Ellison
The sea lies millpond calm and still, obedient to the Goddess’ will.
She has decreed it must be so and thus the ocean far below.
Represses its own urgent needs and to the Goddess’ will accedes.
Its gleaming surface satin smooth. It has no choice to tell the truth
The mistress of both sea and sky.Sees no good reason to say why.
She chose serenity tonight; she rules the sea and has the right
to give instructions to sea which must obey immediately.
Sometimes she lets the breakers roar as they approach the rocky shore.
The daily tides which ebb and flow, she will allow to come and go.
Although there is no urgency she knows of their necessity
The high tide will sweep clean the beach and leave behind its furthest reach.
A tide line marked by oddities which have been carried on the seas
From here and there and everywhere. Jetsam which can be foul or fair. Beachcombers will explore to see what treasures they can take for free.
Though they prefer the aftermath of some fierce storm that shows the wrath of the ocean in angry mood. Because they have long understood.
The treasures which they hope to find, an angry sea will leave behind.
A tranquil night produces less of valuables that will impress.
The early birds who comb the beach above the high tides which can reach much further when theres been a storm and far exceed their usual norm.
Tomorrow morning they will find the sea has not left much behind.
But they will still search carefully because they think that there might be
some treasure they have missed before. When they have searched the sandy shore
Beach combers are a hopeful breed, they know one day they will succeed.
Grow rich beyond their wildest dreams their heads are full of madcap schemes
of what they’ll do as wealthy men but keep on searching until then.
It has been known before today that some beachcombers came away
with golden doubloons by the score which they discovered on the shore.
I do not claim this can’t be true. I think such finds are rare and few.
I have researched the evidence and find that most is sheer nonsense.
But local legends long endure although no one can say for sure.
That any treasure ship was wrecked along this coast but I suspect.
That it makes little difference, dreamers aren’t known for common sense.
8-Jan-09
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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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Moonlight Mysteries. for M'lady Tara
Moonlight.
Deceives our eyes
creates moving shadows
which seem to come and go at will.
Be still.
Time ebbs and flows,
in time the sun will rise
To banish shadows of the night.
By night
Our eyes tell lies
because the shadows flow
fluidly. They are never still.
Some will
spring a surprise.
As dawn is drawing close
they disappear and all is still.
Until
the next moonrise.
Recreating the shadows
Cast by the ruler of the night.
Tuesday,15 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Black & white and shades of grey.
The curfew marks the fading of the light.
Now is the time when shadows congregate.
In hidden corners where they wait.
To welcome eagerly the fall of night.
Although by daylight forced to hide from sight.
The fall of darkness sets the shadows free
To go about their business secretly.
The quiet hours when the shadows claim their right.
But dawn will come and with the dawn daylight.
The shadows then are forced to hide away.
Throughout the day, to wait impatiently
Counting the hours until the fall of night.
Though where the shadows hide no man can say
With any degree of accuracy.
Tuesday,07 February 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Within The Waves
Along vast beaches the rippling tides
to strong stone promenades duly proceed.
Taking with them pre-washed shingle that glides,
in a to-and-fro act of endless speed.
The sea bombards the shore, hour by hour,
churning up polished granules in its wake.
Myriads of grains feeling its power,
pile thus against a high concrete windbreak.
Forces within the waves, one cannot quell,
no one can calm the waters constant flow.
It is an endlessly repeated swell,
like music in ‘moto perpetuo’.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Somewhere Precious
A sun bleached fence facing the sea.
Sand dunes, sea grass, on windblown shore.
Seagulls hovering, wings spread wide,
calling as they’ve done times before.
A welcome break from hard routine.
A pressure gone, a restful spell.
Sitting with backs against the slats,
of this stockade, with fears to quell.
When last we surveyed the blue sea,
the tide was laundering the sands.
As up the beach we watched it race,
and touched its ripples with our hands.
Cool salty air invades weak lungs,
giving us a refreshing lift.
With tickling grains between our toes,
our relaxed minds begin to drift.
The water surging to and fro,
Gives a pleasant hypnotic sound.
Shingle, shale, rocks and cliffs that soar,
is somewhere precious that we’ve found.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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