samhain for M lady Marianna Jo
The veils grow thin on all souls eve
and vengeful ghosts are free to leave.
The kingdom of eternal night
to seek revenge and vent their spite.
On erst while relatives and friends,
Who have not tried to make amends.
Insults offered before they died
long brooded on and magnified.
Although you may not be aware
you were the cause if their despair.
To them it makes no difference
because they chose to take offence.
At something which you did or said.
For this night only they can tread
amongst the living once again
They are intent on casing pain.
Some call it superstition.
Not me I keep an open mind
It is an old tradition
although it is not well defined,
Though when the veils are torn aside
to let the vengeful spirits through
I much prefer to stay inside,
It seems the wisest thing to do
I am afraid that’s why I hide
behind stout walls which can protect
and keep the wrathful ghosts outside
That way I show them some respect.
10-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Confident? for M lady Lucianne
Do you dare to be different
And raise your voice when you dissent?
Or do just go with the flow.
Far too afraid to make a show
of the fact you disagree.
Why not speak out confidently
Why should you follow someone who
you are quite sure knows less than you.
Or are you just a follower
like other folks who much prefer.
To be told what they should do.
Because it is much easier to
than refusing their assent,
and daring to be different.
16-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Just in case
The death knell sounds sonorously.
The mourners dressed decorously
have come to say their last farewell.
Invited by the tolling bell.
Some come to pay their last respects.
Nobody mentions his defects.
An unspoken conspiracy.
A custom universally.
observed by all the human race.
A funeral is not the place
to criticise the newly dead.
Perhaps because we live in dread.
That vengeful ghosts will take offence.
We choose to lie in self defence.
19/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Grandpas Rocking Chair for M lady Chitra
On the front porch a rocking chair
nobody uses no one dare
Nor dare they move it anywhere.
Grandpa decreed it must stay there
What grandpa said was what he meant
he left no room for argument.
He simply stated his intent
Though other folk felt different
When Grandpa died the family tried
to set his iron rule aside
You’ll rue this day their Grandma cried
Your Grandpa will not be defied.
They moved the chair to show they could
though grandma did not think they should
She warned them all that nothing good
would come of this. She understood
although she knew Grandpa was dead.
She knew he’d rise in wrathful pride
to reinforce what he has said.
His last command before he died.
The chair was moved despite her pleas.
Her warnings were not listened to.
From that day on they knew no peace
Til grandma told them what to do
The rocking chair must be restored
to where Grandpa said it should be.
They all agreed of one accord
the chair replaced immediately.
Sometimes at night it seems to be
moving gently slowly rocking
Although there’s nothing they can see
they know that Grandpas visiting.
To see his word is still obeyed.
That no one moves his rocking chair.
Nobody will they’re too afraid.
They know sometimes he still sits there.
27-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Two schools of thought.
.
The lady chose to take offence
Although I said she wrote fine prose
She may not know the difference
between poetry and prose
She thought that she wrote poetry
But what she wrote was free form prose.
I offered no apology
It was not my fault that she chose.
Not to learn the basic rules
defining prose and poetry
Two very different writing schools
in which to show your artistry.
The so called experts can’t agree
and coined the term poetic prose.
Though writing cannot possible
be classed as poetry and prose.
If it’s not metered it is prose
no matter how poetical.
But you’re entitled to compose.
Fine prose and call it poetry.
Though I suggest respectfully
you should be proud of writing prose.
As some do most successfully.
But it was poetry I chose
Thursday,11 March 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ghosts in Love
"Tell me, where do ghosts in love
Find their bridal veils?"
"If you and I were ghosts in love
We'd climb the cliffs of Mystery,
Above the sea of Wails.
I'd trim your gray and streaming hair
With veils of Fantasy
From the tree of Memory.
'Tis there the ghosts that fall in love
Find their bridal veils."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Remembrance Day
Remembrance Day.
Poulters Measure
This day when we recall; the fighting men who fall
We stand erect, heads bowed in silence to show our respect.
For men who died for freedoms cause; who gave their all
Who made the supreme sacrifice, dying to protect.
The right of all men to be free: Answered the call.
But we forget although we demonstrate our deep respect.
The lessons taught by history. Ignored by all
Soldiers on either side die to no effect.
Now though we stand in silent respect to recall
The men who fell.I can see no reason to expect
that things will change sufficiently, if at all
I fear the future looks to be a grim prospect.
This day set aside to remember all the men who fall.
with due respect; but sadly say that I suspect
Remembrance Day makes no difference at all.
Sunday,06 November 2001
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Night owl for Friend Colin
The sky a layer cake of hues
from darkest greys to palest blues.
The sun has set and daylight fades.
The birds have sung their serenades.
All noise is hushed as darkness falls.
The shadows vanish from he walls.
As curtains drawn against the night
deprive them of the yellow light
that’s cast from windows far and wide
Confining shadows to outside
The living rooms kept warm and bright
perhaps because men fear the night.
But I do not I am content
the darkness is my element.
28-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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You never know.
At the approach of All Souls Eve
I am not sure what to believe
Most see it as a time for fun.
The preparations have begun
The stores are stocking fancy dress.
For little children to impress
and hopefully frighten their friends.
With the very latest trends
Witches, warlocks, vampires and ghouls
And other stealers of men’s souls.
That’s what they will pretend to be.
They’ll trick or treat innocently.
I have a different point of view
I fear the legends may be true.
I lock my doors and stay at home.
When unclean spirits free to roam.
Can wreak revenge on enemies.
At will in any way they please.
Every year folks disappear
And very rarely re appear.
But those that do are not the same.
To me it’s not a children’s game
When folks vanish mysteriously.
I tend to take it seriously.
I will remain behind locked doors
Which seems to me the wisest course.
Until the Sun rises on a new day
I will tell my beads and pray.
You’re free to do what you want to
What I believe may not be true.
You never know who you might meet
When you are playing trick or treat.
Friday,14 October 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Poetry Is Read Surface Meaning Shimmers
mystics devote precious lifetimes
trying to peer through thin veils
trying to tear through thin veils
trying to understand awareness
scholars comb research libraries articles
philosophers psychologists study minds
archaeologists systematically dig in site dirt
poets probe creatively mine visions infinite
once the poetry is read the surface
can no longer hide beneath veils
come ride our roller-coaster be careful
on turns flying through mind's eyes
risk riding roller-coaster poetic thoughts
strips bare superficial bias world reviews
explore past edges get under faces skins
learn reality shadows living rift conditions
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Drawn Curtain
As night veils known land
so God veils
the unseen mysteries to man.
Two dimensional creatures
mournful known
feared scourage of ages past.
Spirits bodiless substance
seeking prey upon
erring souls do eager fast.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Last Man for friend J.T.Early
I am alone, last of my race
The reign of man is nearly done
I wonder who will take our place.
I am the last and only one.
WE had our chance but failed the test.
Our foolish pride ensured we would
Because we thought that we knew best
instead of living as we should.
We chose instead belligerence
and Might is Right became our creed.
Despite the mounting evidence
that we wrong we paid no heed.
We flouted Mother Nature’s rules
Took much more than our rightful share
A race of self destructive fools
for others rights we did not care.
It had to come it was bound to.
She’d reached the end of her patience
and knew exactly what to do.
So she unleashed a pestilence.
Against which man had no defence.
The doctors failed although they tried
they simply lacked the competence.
Each passing day more people died.
I am alone last of my race
and I too soon must leave the stage.
I wonder who will take our place
to usher in a brand new age.
23-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ghost Souls
Pale ghosts against dark walls,
figures thirsting for freedom
Loveless styles force quick arrival,
one way doors heavy their souls.
Ghosts possess souls,
though dark walls do conceal.
Freedom is there
souls all cannot hear
Dimensioned freedom
exists for ghosts who thirst.
Have not these ghosts discovered
contrasting love within infinite darkness?
poem by Elizabeth Wiles
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Forbidden for JT Ellison
I sometimes wonder when you die.
Are you aware that you are dead?
And do you know the reason why
And can you see the way ahead.
Or are you frightened and alone
And do not know what you should do
When you are faced with the unknown.
Does someone come to comfort you?
Some sort of spirit rescue team
who are prepared and on stand by.
Who will explain this is no dream.
A different reality.
Your body died but you live on
Immortal spirits cannot die.
Although you’re sad and woebegone,
you must accept reluctantly.
You can’t go back; impossible.
You must move on to the next stage.
Although it’s highly probable
you will refuse to in your rage.
You were not ready yet to die
and miss all that you left behind.
You cannot see a reason why
fate should choose you. That you can find.
Eventually you realise
this is your new reality.
Death comes to all as a surprise
because that’s how it is meant to be.
All people know that they must die
but may not know the where or when
Though we may ask, there’s no reply.
Some knowledge is forbidden men.
10-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ghostly House
You need language of ghosts
To communicate with spirits that impose on us.
You crave for the very food our ghosts need.
Come with the religion of yours to distract them.
For it pray and they will go away, for all eternity!
Your House is Haunted. Be so wary!
Even call the police, and they will never enter your home.
Your House is Haunted. It needs some policy to rid it of evil and despair.
You House needs some care. It requires the life to adjust. You must.
If ghosts are about then leave the house and complain.
Nobody listens except the Priest, and he is not around.
Go to the doctor, and feel doom in abundance. The ghosts do not win.
Good Luck!
poem by Naveed Akram
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Demystified for M' lady Cate
The mist persists, it will insist
it has the right to block the light
with trailing wisps of dirty white.
The mist is wrong and it will learn
to leave when it has served its turn
Because the sun will rise and burn
the remnants of the mist away
There is no way that it can stay
once the bright sun comes out to play.
The mist defeated has to go.
It leaves reluctantly and slow
but where it goes I do not know.
It will return with fall of night
lurk in the darkness hid from sight.
Unless outlined by the moonlight.
The silver light makes it appear
to be the ghosts which cause men fear.
But they will quickly disappear
When banks of cloud obscure the light.
Be re-absorbed into the night.
to their dismay but men’s delight.
The mists persist they wont desist
as long as day and night exist
and if they did they would be missed.
The moisture which the mist supply
the plants trees drink thirstily.
Without the mists some plants would die.
1-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Grave Yard
Vandals knocked down the gravestones in the churchyard during the night.
They didn’t give a damn about the dead, their families, or what is right.
The grave yard vandals have gone and the usual tranquillity has returned
to the field of the dead, the flattened headstones and broken urns.
The peace and quiet of the night is disturbed by an owl’s repeated hoot,
and the flapping of wings, as the Belfry’s bats come flying through.
The moon bright sky suddenly vanishes behind a darkened cloud,
as if to give a wake up sign to a transparent figure covered by a shroud.
The howling grey figure hovers over the flattened epitaphs and marble stones,
waking the dormant spirits who respond with unhappy morbid moans.
The ghosts of the old and newly departed are rising in anger this very night
to take revenge on the desecrators who broke the dark’s link with the light.
Hosts of vengeful grey blue ghosts and spirits swirl and mingle together,
and then separate to seek out the vandals in this night of damp cold weather.
With deathly haunting cries they howl and search, as they travel with the wind
through keyholes, cracks in doors and windows, they examine everything.
One by one the vandals were cornered and reminded of their shame;
continually they shout, “No harm was meant.., it was just a game.”
Swirling in the air the ghouls prodded and pulled, as they hounded them on
back to the grave yard where they would face what they had done.
Into a large dark cold tomb the weeping gravestone wreckers were driven,
with blood running from their wounds; they were not to be forgiven.
The moaning, groaning, spirits of the dead followed them into the crypt,
slamming shut the heavy door so hard it made one of the vandals shit.
The ghosts and spirits encircled the living, and raised in them pure hell,
and by daylight the following morning no one was alive to yell, or tell.
It was several days later that seven heart attack victims were discovered,
with tormented faces, mouths wide open, and eyes with coins covered.
poem by Orlando Belo
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It is your choice.
.
I think it is ridiculous
What politicians promise us.
When they are on the campaign trail
and hope their party will prevail
They seem to think we are naïve
enough to readily believe
All of the promises they make
which once elected they will break.
We know that politicians lie
we also know the reason why
They are afraid that they will lose.
I we were really free to choose
A system which truly fair
to everybody everywhere.
The present system guarantees
a government which will not please.
The bulk of the electorate.
We have no choice but to demand.
This is no time to hesitate
We need to make them understand.
The time has come to make a stand.
Insist on change long overdue.
They’re not elected to command
But do the job they’re paid to do.
Perhaps this time our votes will show
we will no longer tolerate
The antiquated Status Quo
unsuited to a modern state.
It is your choice it’s up to you
to use your vote or to abstain
To take a chance on something new
Or settle for the same again.
Tuesday,27 April 2010. http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Piercing the veils of mystery.
Piercing the veils of mystery.
Some understand instinctively.
What must remain a mystery
To the vast majority
Of ignorant humanity.
Most just accept the Status Quo
Because they do not want to know.
Although a few an elite few
Will learn things that they never knew
By dint of hard experience
They have to learn in self defence
Although their progress may be slow.
They can’t forget once that they know
How to interpret what they see
Piercing the veils of mystery.
Sunday,04 December 2011
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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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Least said soonest mended
Least said soonest mended
I am condemned to wonder why
I cannot make an apt reply.
When someone has insulted me.
I find I can quite easily
but only when it is too late
Why can’t I just retaliate?
when someone has insulted me.
At the time immediately.
Perhaps I’m taken by surprise
perhaps because I am too wise.
When someone has insulted me
to take the insult seriously.
Though I must say in self defence
I am not quick to take offence
when some one has insulted me
I hold on to my dignity.
I will not be an easy mark
to be hurt by some chance remark.
Perhaps they weren’t insulting me
but merely meant to disagree
I simply smile and let it go
I do not really want to know.
If they were insulting me.
It hasn’t worked as they can see.
20-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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