Summers Day stroll
She wore a simple summer dress
Her arms and legs were brown and bare
What stole my heart I must confess,
the red/gold beauty of her hair.
Which rippled like a waterfall
caressed by every passing breeze.
Formed round her head an aureole
a sight that could not fail to please.
A poet with an artist’s eye
for that is what I claim to be
I did but see her passing by
but I remember vividly.
She looked so young and innocent
I looked my fill and was content
I do not think that she saw me
but if she did she would have seen.
An old man strolling aimlessly
An old grey haired worn out has been.
She looked at me unseeingly.
Much too engrossed or so it seemed
to spare a single glance for me.
I formed no part of what she dreamed.
She was still young and so naïve.
She thinks that youthful dreams come true.
But I am old and don’t believe
I know they very seldom do.
So I continued on my way
and left her wrapt in reverie
This pretty girl had made my day.
Albeit quite unknowingly.
Although I’m old I still recall
when dreaming mattered most of all.
10-May-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
Double Sonnet
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Double
Everyone has a double
at least that is what they say.
I am beginning to believe it
after what happened yesterday.
My wife and I went shopping
and to the checkout, we went.
Then I stopped and felt hesitant,
the cashier, a young girl looked familiar,
but it couldn’t be,
for who she looked like lived thousands of miles away.
Everything about her
from the style of her hair
and the glasses she wore,
even the way she smiled
looked the spitting image of a friend I speak to on the internet.
The resemblance was uncanny
and I almost called her by friends name.
She made me take a second glance
to make sure.
I know it wasn’t my friend who lives in America,
she was younger than she,
but she certainly looked like her.
When they say now everyone has a double,
here is one now that believes.
19 November 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Guilt 08 for friend J.T.Ellison
The slow soft sighing of the breeze, recalls a stir of memories.
Some good, some bad, some sad, some glad. concerning all the friends I’ve had
All of my youthful dreams which failed young love affairs which quickly staled
All of my petty victories I can recall with greatest ease.
My failures too are on parade, all of the errors I have made.
Insist on coming to the fore, they do not matter any more.
I have regrets of course I do I can’t deny that this is true.
Now looking back I clearly see. It wasn’t always up to me.
sometimes because of circumstance I was prepared to take a chance
and acted irresponsibly. Instead of thinking carefully.
When I was young, naïve and green Made promises I did not mean
in order to achieve my ends. Now it’s too late to make amends.
Some memories come as punishment and other memories are meant
to comfort me in my distress. Assuage the sins which I confess.
I think perhaps this might be true of each and every one of you.
I offer in my own defence that I learnt by experience
the lessons which I needed to as everybody has to do.
1-Jun-08
http: // blog my space.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In praise of older women for M lady Ernestine
There is beauty in old age
which younger girls can’t emulate
As if the lady’s reached the stage
where she need not dissimulate
She’s not afraid to let you see
the lines that life’s writ on her face.
Each wrinkle was earned honourably
each laughter line has earned its place
Cosmetics may conceivably
appear to slow the passing years
but only temporarily
before you are reduced to tears
Youthful beauty soon fades away
no matter how hard you may try
by artifice to make it stay.
In lucky ladies replaced by
A much longer lasting beauty
which shows from somewhere deep inside
without a trace of vanity
Though grace and dignity abide.
Old ladies can be beautiful
and often turn a young man’s head.
Although they are quite comfortable
accepting compliments unsaid.
Admiring glances from young men
who readily appreciate
The beauty of older women
is something youth can’t imitate.
Young women lack maturity
which older ladies can display.
Their youthful insecurity
somehow always gets in the way.
29-Jul-08
http// blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Faded photograph
A snapshot taken years ago.
Somewhat lacking clarity.
Of some young guys I used to know
In fact the skinny one is me.
The other two I can recall,
their faces well but not their names
Although I try nothing at all.
My memory is playing games
I wonder where they are today
I wonder if they remember me
The passing years erode away
your memories ability.
To regain any access to
some things you know that you once knew
Monday,13 February 2012
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ageless Beauty for M lady Ernestine
True beauty lies beneath the skin.
It’s not something for surface show.
A quality which lies within
but others can bask in its glow.
Some beauty fades as years pass by.
No matter how hard you may fight
to hide the signs you can’t deny
True beauty shines through ever bright.
True beauty is not visible
but rather something which you feel.
Something which makes you comfortable
the passing years can never steal.
True beauty thinks of others first
and offers love without reserve.
As a cool drink will quench our thirst
it gives us more than we deserve.
True beauty is a quality
which lasts until the day you die.
A precious gift that’s given free
which no amount of cash can buy.
Beauty is skin deep so they say.
Of mere good looks that is quite true.
Youthful prettiness fades away
but inner beauty still shines through.
23-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Summer 1958
You sat with Fay that summer day
on the flat concrete roof
of the World War Two bomb shelter
down below the tall flats
where you both lived
and you said
do you want to go
to the movies with me?
she looked across
at the coal depot
with its trucks loading
and unloading
I don't have no money
she replied
you looked at her
my dad'll pay
you said
he's always giving me money
for the movies
she shook her head
and you looked ahead
at the sun shining above
the rain tracks
over the coal depot
you had on your blue jeans
and white tee shirt
and she you noticed
turning your head
had a red and white dress
which came just over her knees
and she wore sandals
on bare feet
besides my mother wants me
so she can see me
Fay said with a sigh
she raised and lowered
her legs against
the concrete wall
her sandals making
tapping noises
as they hit the wall
and you noticed bruises
along her thigh
as she moved
and her dress rode higher
what are those bruises
on your leg?
you asked
she looked down
and stopped moving her legs
and pulled her dress hem
over her knees and thighs
I fell
she replied
down the stairs
you looked at her arms
where other fading bruises
blended into her skin
like worn-out badges
we can see a Western film
you said
I'm sure
there's a Jeff Chandler film
so my dad tells me
but she shook her head
too violent
Mother says
Fay uttered looking away
but there's kissing stuff too
you added
Fay looked at you
her blue eyes
moving over you
like a smoothing
palm of a hand
I'm not allowed
to go to the movies
Daddy says
its sinful and only
wicked people
go there
to be tempted
by the Devil
she sighed
and you both sat in silence
for a while
watching pigeons fly
in the blue summer sky
then she turned quickly
and kissed your cheek
and said
don't have to go
to no movie
to see kissing
and you thought
of the boring bits in films
where the cowboy
gets kissed by the girl
after a gun shoot out
and having been kissed
by Fay
you were glad
and guessed that kissing
wasn't at all
too bad.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Last Judgment
With beating heart and lagging feet,
Lord, I approach the Judgment-seat.
All bring hither the fruits of toil,
Measures of wheat and measures of oil;
Gold and jewels and precious wine;
No hands bare like these hands of mine.
The treasure I have nor weighs nor gleams:
Lord, I can bring you only dreams.
In days of spring, when my blood ran high,
I lay in the grass and looked at the sky,
And dreamed that my love lay by my side--
My love was false, and then she died.
All the heat of the summer through,
I dreamed she lived, that her heart was true
Throughout the hours of the day I slept,
But woke in the night, at times, and wept.
The nights and days, they went and came,
I lay in shadow and dreamed of fame;
And heard men passing the lonely place,
Who marked me not and my hidden face.
My strength waxed faint, my hair grew grey;
Nothing but dreams by night and day.
Some men sicken, with wine and food;
I starved on dreams, and found them good.
* * * * * * *
This is the tale I have to tell--
Show the fellow the way to hell.
My Little Brown Haired Girl
I keep a looking for my little brown haired girl
I've searched, I've looked all over the world for her
I've even been to county down
and even though you know how that story goes
mines different cause I had her
I lost her and now can't find my Rose.
I keep a looking for my little brown haired girl
I have the words I didn't express
the importance of you to me I did not stress
instead I did let my stress stop me from loving you my best
so I'm saving to buy a car, and I'm a heading a west.
I keep a looking for my little brown haired girl
cause when you are a boy, you know all boys wanna be men,
thinking of the time when we first met
the times together I will never forget them
I can't help but wonder if I'll ever look into your green eyes agen.
I keep a looking for my little brown haired girl
I'm dressed in my Sunday clothes
but I just look like a somebody nobody knows
when I was in county down I couldn't find you so I got you a rose
so if I knock on the door of your room please don't keep it closed.
Because I keep a looking for my little brown haired girl
there are many familiar in this world, but none like her
cause if you wanna walk towards me without her smile
I'll be telling you for more than a mile, you can run on
because when I see my little brown haired girl
I see she is now a young brown haired woman.
poem by Daniel McCann
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Well suited
I feel no need to power dress
No longer trying to impress.
My style today is casual
What you see is what you get
and I confess to no regret.
Today I can be comfortable/
I need not wear a shirt and tie
and try to act impressively.
I find it rather comical.
When I observe young men today
trying hard to make their way.
It’s not at all unusual.
For them to think they know it all
But pride oft goes before a fall
and sadly that is typical
When we are young we foolishly
we must dress fashionably
So that we seem acceptable.
Now that I’m old I do not care
If no one likes the clothes I wear
I dress to suit myself not you
it is my right and so I do.
25-Mar-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Baldly Stated
I use to wear it centre parted.
But now alas it has departed
When I was young I had thick hair
but now my head’s completely bare.
I wear a hat against the sun
a sunburnt scalp is not much fun.
The only plus that I can see
I need not pay a barbers fee
nor spend my money on shampoo
As hirsute men are forced to do.
A sign of masculinity
they say though I would rather be
Possessor of a well thatched head
than one from which all hair has fled.
1-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grandchild M' lady Chitra
She walks in beauty innocent.
Too young as yet to understand
beauty can create discontent.
Men will regard her with desire
and other girls with jealousy.
Emotions that she will inspire
in other folks against her will
She is content to be herself,
she has her own dreams to fulfil.
She is not quite a woman yet
retains a trace of childishness.
Which in due course she will forget.
As she matures and comes to know
the power that her beauty brings
But can she use it wisely though?
Or let power go to her head
and use her beauty to control
and gain her selfish ends. Instead
of being what she’s meant to be.
Some one who cares for other folks.
Oblivious to their jealousy.
and to the lustful looks of men.
Continue to act naturally
as she does now. She is open
to the demands circumstance.
What influence is brought to bear
which will define her future stance.
She walks in beauty innocent.
There is so much for her to learn,
before she becomes competent
to choose the way that she will go.
The choice she faces hers alone,
and not a gift I can bestow.
She has free will as we all do.
I dare not offer my advice
after all what do I know.
18-Nov-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Going Grey
I woke up late this morning
And looked into the mirror
But the woman looking back at me
Had a grey streak in her hair
Where did this grey streak come from?
It wasn’t there last night
How did it get into my hair?
My god I looked a sight
I washed and I washed my hair 3 times
And washed my hair some more
But the grey it would not come out
And I was getting stressed for sure
I grabbed the phone to ring my friend
And said get your arse round here
I have a big problem that you need to fix
And bring all your hairdressing gear
Half an hour seemed like a life time
Before my friend was here
She said what’s all the fuss about
I sobbed and wept oh dear
I removed the towel from round my head
Well I didn’t want anyone to see
Look I’ve got greyness in my hair
And I’m only thirty three
She sat me down to have a look
And said don’t worry dear
We can soon cover all that up
With hair dye, so don’t fear
She put this dye upon my head
And then made me a brew
He had to wait for ages
Until the colour did come threw
So now I feel much better
And don’t need to get irate
I don’t have any grey streaks now
And my hair looks really great
poem by Lynn Cowman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Morning At The Barbershop
This morning at the barbershop,
a barber is busy with the hair
of a much older grey haired man
that he is trimming neatly
and a young man
sits in one of the barber’s chairs.
When I sit down to wait
the young man rises
turning to me
and asks if he can cut my hair.
I was happy to get attention immediately
while the other barber was finishing
with the older man,
as he looks to finely tuned to me.
My hair was smartly cut
with a pair of scissors
and the young barber
held his fingers
to determine the length
and I wanted it shorter
than just cutting off the ends
while the other barber
first took a hair blower
from a drawer,
sprayed something over his own hair
before he started to blow it in the mirror
and he then said
that he cannot go
to the bank to wait in line
with a head looking like Tut’s ass
and I saw my locks
falling dark brown
with dots of grey around me
and saw the other barber
combing his long hair
and smiled at myself
about the vanity of humanity
while I looked at myself
and were starting to look much better.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dreams are not reality for M 'lady Ann Beard
Dreams are not reality
She was not fat nor was she thin
but rather somewhere in between.
She was not dark nor was she fair
for she was blessed with auburn hair
Her eyes were neither brown nor blue
but of a subtle sea green hue
She was not bold se was not shy
but always acted modestly
She had a brain which she could use.
Quite unafraid to state her views.
By nature she was sweet and kind.
The ideal girl I had in mind.
I searched but unsuccessfully
Perhaps I set my sights too high
Still single at thirty and two.
I met and fell in love with you.
I knew you were the one for me
and I surrendered easily.
Gave up my foolish fantasy
and recognised reality.
I was not meant to be alone
I think that I had always known.
Some day somewhere there had to be
A real girl not a fantasy.
So I asked you to marry me
in the faint hope you would agree.
Overjoyed when you said yes
I could forget my loneliness.
We face the world now side by side
I have some reason now for pride.
Because you love me I must be
a better man than I could see.
Until I looked into your eyes
and saw you saw me as a prize.
27-Nov-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hannibal's Lecture a cautionary tale
She was pretty clean and neat
from her head to her bare feet.
The kind of girl to whom I cater.
She looked good enough to eat.
so I did I cooked and ate her.
Now she has become part of me.
Although perhaps you won’t agree
I did the only thing I could
I made a maiden fricassee
I have to say she tasted good.
My given name is Hannibal
an unasham’ed cannibal.
I see no reason to waste meat
I am convinced that after all
Fresh human flesh is good to eat.
I was locked up but I broke free
as I think rather cleverly.
I prowl the streets in search of prey.
There is no prison can hold me.
Maybe you’ll meet me one fine day.
I do look rather ordinary
There’s nothing visible to see
to mark me out from other men
I tell you confidentially
That I intend to feast again.
Perhaps I have selected you
to be one of the chosen few
To satisfy my appetite,
to braise or roast or make a stew.
To dine upon tomorrow night
But do not worry you won’t know.
I’ll kill you with a single blow
I don’t believe in cruelty
I’ll kill you quick but cook you slow.
Enjoy you Gastronomically
Although recognise my name
I am quite certain when I claim
That should we meet one day by chance,
as part and parcel of life’s game
I would not rate a second glance.
This is the key to my success
I do not dress up to impress.
So should I ask you out to dine
there is no chance that you might guess
That the pleasure will be all mine
I’m Hannibal the Cannibal
a predatory animal
I find the taste of humans sweet
To you its reprehensible
to me you are a source of meat.
I dare to break this strict taboo
which makes me different from you
I see no reason for the ban
Although you may deny it’s true
but man has always preyed on man.
Now who am I to change the rules?
although they are not taught in schools.
I believe that they should be
If only to protect the fools.
From roving predators like me.
30-Nov-08
Http: // blog.my space.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Serenity is my portion for M lady Ann Beard
The last rays of the setting sun
encarnadine the grey stonewalls
of my small house when day is done.
I watch content as darkness falls.
I have an unimpeded view
from where I sit towards the sea.
Each sunset shows me something new
the darkness holds no threat for me.
In fact I crave the quietness.
I choose to live in solitude.
I hate the city’s business
an anti social attitude? .
That may be true I can’t deny
I do not seek the company
of fellow men and I know why
I hate the close proximity.
Of the unthinking bustling crowd
Who advertise their discontent
broadcasting random thoughts aloud
By accident without intent.
The random thoughts they radiate
albeit quite unknowingly
combine together and create
a standing wave of misery.
Perhaps I am too sensitive.
Which would explain my attitude
The reason that I choose to live
in isolated solitude.
I’m woken by the rising sun
which bids me that it’s time to rise
and greet the new day just begun.
In perfect peace and quietness.
The grey stone walls now tinged with gold
I look towards the distant sea
Enjoy the beauty I behold
I am content as I should be.
08/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I don't regret what might have been.
When the sun sets and the world is still.
I seek release in solitude
This is my time for memories
Some I can recall vividly
Selected from the multitude
Of dreams which I could not fulfil.
Some were my own and some were not
I can look back in retrospect.
Though some quite unexpectedly
Decide to surface suddenly.
Each one is worthy of respect
Although they have been long forgot.
The quiet time that lies between
The end of day and fall of night
Would seem to be appropriate
To sit alone and meditate
After the sun fades from sight
and contemplate what might have been.
Eventually I must conclude.
That I am where I’m meant to be
Some times I tried only to fail
My efforts were to no avail.
When I look back nostalgically
I know it’s just an interlude.
I’m well aware that all too soon.
I must accept reality.
The humdrum world of every day.
Is never very far away
And banishes my reverie
Beneath newly risen moon.
I face the morrow with a smile
Because I know the sun will set
Then I seek my solitude
Enjoy the peace and quietude.
That I so very seldom get.
If only for a little while.
I tend to stick to my routine
I am too old to change my ways
I see no reason why I should
The peace and quiet does me good
As I review my glory days.
I don’t regret what might have been.
Sunday,04 September 2011
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Love You
When I was younger man I hadn't a care
Foolin' around, hitting the town, growing my hair
You came along and stole my heart when you entered my life
Ooh girl you got what it takes wanna make you my wife
Since then I never looked back
It's almost like living a dream
And ooh I love you
You came along from far away and found me here
I was playin' around, feeling down, hittin' the beer
You picked me up from off the floor and gave me a smile
You said you're much too young, your life ain't begun, let's walk for awhile
And as my head was spinnin' 'round
I gazed into your eyes
Ooh I want you
Thank you girl for being a friend
And shinin' your light in my life
'cause ooh I need you
As my head was comin' round
I gazed into your eyes
And thought ooh I want you
Thanks again for being my friend
And straightenin' out my life
'cause ooh I need you
Since then I never looked back
It's almost like livin' a dream
Ooh I got you
If ever a man had it all
It would have to be me
And ooh I love you
song performed by by Nine Days
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Family tradition.
I feel a hand touching my hair but when I look there’s no one there.
And then I settle down to rest again I felt my hair caressed.
I’ve no idea what it might be. It seems to mean no harm to me.
I’m wide awake I m not dreaming. The gentle moonlight softly beaming
through the window of my room, firmly dispels the twilight gloom Although there’s nothing I can see, some thing is caressing me.
It feels somehow familiar and I recall my Grandmama
Who used to sit beside my bed and very gently stroke my head.
when I was just a little lad. A memory both sweet and sad.
I have returned to my old home back to my roots no more to roam.
Perhaps her spirit lingers here and that is why I feel no fear.
I felt this old house calling me insistently and constantly.
Which finally decided me that this where I ought to be.
It has been in my family for two and one half centuries.
I think that very probably my eldest son will follow me.
Just as I followed my own Dad. If he did not it would be sad.
We are an ancient family part of the local history.
They say there is a prophecy and I believe there may well be.
Which says we must come home to die. That it is true I can’t deny.
Nor can I guarantee its true I leave that question up to you.
Monday,17 May 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!