The Dancing Maidens for M'lady Tara
Tall standing stones still mark the spot.
Where Sunday dancers turned to stone.
You may believe or you may not
But sometimes standing there alone.
I try to solve the mystery.
All legends hold a grain of truth.
lost in the mists of history.
It may be just a tale to soothe.
The anger of those pious fools
who thought enjoyment was a sin
and formulated their strict rules.
That may have been the origin
But I think that the stones date back
since before Christianity.
Before the churchmen could attack
the dreadful sin of gaiety…
Nobody knows who raised the stones
nor yet the reason they were placed.
A monument to guard dead bones.
The passing years have long erased.
What evidence there might have been
and left no clues for us to find
They can present an eerie scene
Which leaves its mark upon your mind.
They say on certain nights they dance
but only when the moon is full.
If you should see them dance by chance.
The maidens are so beautiful,
no other maid will satisfy
The lust which they inspire in you.
You will stay single til you die
because no human maid will do.
I don’t believe that this is true
I think it very fanciful.
But happily admit to you
I stay home when the moon is full.
18-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic pies
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Will You? for friend Thad
The singing spring, a sacred well.
Is heard to sing so legends tell.
At midnight when the moon is full.
They say the singing’s wonderful.
So beautiful you are entranced
until the sunrise sets you free.
You basic nature is enhanced.
So you are changed; permanently.
The good become even better.
The wicked ones grow much worse.
These rules are followed to the letter.
Bring changes which you can’t reverse.
I was advised to stay indoors
on evenings when the moon was full
I disregarded this of course.
When you are young you play the fool
I did not believe the tales were true
So I resolved to check it out
a very foolish thing to do
But Now I know I have no doubt.
I was a young and headstrong fool
Although that does not change a thing.
I went there when the moon was full
And heard the singing of the spring.
That’s why I sit here on death row.
I grew to enjoy violence.
I killed a man with just one blow.
Although I pleaded self defence.
The jury found I was guilty.
I know I didn’t mean to kill.
The evidence convicted me.
It seemed to be an act of will.
It seems I can’t escape the fate
The sacred well foresaw for me
I know now when it is too late
I must fulfil the prophecy.
I can’t complain I made the choice
I should listened carefully
But no I had to hear the voice
I went there unbelievingly.
I should have known but I did not
Old legends are based on some truth.
That’s why the legends aren’t forgot.
Except by disbelieving youth.
I must accept the penalty
There is nothing I can do.
One morning they will come for me.
Not pleasant to look forward to.
So heed my words and heed them well.
Do not ignore the legends that you hear
The strange tales that the old wives tell.
Although their meanings are not clear.
It won’t harm you stay indoors
on evenings when the moon is full.
It is by far the wisest course.
It never hurts to be careful.
Although you are a modernist
and can’t believe the tales are true
The ancient legends still persist.
The question is my friend Will you?
10/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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In Memoriam
In memoriam
Tribute to Alfred Lord Tennyson
Old Yew, which graspeth at the stones
that name the underlying dead.
Thy fibres net the dreamless head
thy roots are wrapt around the bones.
Old Yew, which graspeth at the stones.
Hale and heart still long after
the aged men and withered crones.
Have ceased their life of love and laughter.
That name the underlying dead.
Fine samples of the mason’s art
in letters finely chisell’ed.
The stones remain though souls depart
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
the flesh consumed to feed the tree.
Which lives long after they are dead.
Still clothed each year in greenery.
Thy roots are wrapt around the bones
An embrace closer than they knew
when they were wracked by passions moans
and no doubt longer lasting too.
4-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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R.I.P story poem
Here where once there used to be.
A quiet village cemetery
A hallowed place in which to find
Tranquillity and peace of mind.
The graveyard served the village well
Though for how long no man can tell.
I’m sad to say the village died.
The land on which they all relied.
Suddenly lost fertility.
The people facing poverty.
Saw no good reason they should stay
and one by one they moved away.
To other places far from here
they seemed to simply disappear
to destinations we don’t know.
They had no choice they had to go
Houses fell into disrepair
because there was no one to care.
The passing years were none too kind.
There’s very little left to find.
Bar rotten floorboards here and there.
Weeds in profusion everywhere
The churchyard too is over grown
with brambles hiding each gravestone.
A long forgotten tragedy
a piece of ancient history.
The city suburbs must expand
and in their search for building land.
The greedy eyes are cast this way.
They know they will not have to pay.
The true worth of this empty land,
The kind of price it will command.
When it is cleared ready to build.
They hope their coffers will be filled.
But fate has other plans in mind
and to their great surprise they’ll find
That they have made a grave mistake.
The profits which they hope to make.
Will not now materialise.
Because they failed recognise.
The old grave yard as hallowed ground
Despite the evidence they found.
They wantonly destroyed head stones
showed no respect for buried bones.
It makes me happy to report
the vaunted plans all came to naught.
Because some archaeologists
Researching local history lists
Discovered this old cemetery
and they decided it must be.
Preserved in perpetuity
for generations yet to be.
The greedy men had lost their cash
Their dreams of profit turned to ash
the damage done for no reward.
The good folk who were buried here
can sleep in peace they need not fear.
That their rest will be disturbed.
The greedy builders have been curbed.
A happy ending to my tale
Their efforts were to no avail.
It seems that fate itself decreed
they must be punished for their greed.
Wednesday,28 July 2010 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Retrieve The Moon
He did not depart
or reached anywhere,
and did not realize himself.
When words could not find the meaning,
where the man will go?
He thought he did not believe in ‘why’,
the limits of purpose,
dictating the sentence.
Stones were still floating on the sea
and he was standing on a shipwreck.
Thinking and unthinking do not solve the mystery
of human turnings,
the malignancy of artificial intelligence.
A rebirth of enlightment can take over?
The objectivity becomes the subject.
You trot on the grass
to retrieve the moon,
fallen midnight.
poem by Satish Verma
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History Stones People.
History stones people.
They stoned Moses, David and Linclon,
history did that for all to see
Marbel and cement,
that's all it leaves behind
of a long changing life.
Great heroes of time,
fall under the mercy
of the sculptor's knife.
History stones faces,
in a way that would make
ecclestias cringe.
History stones feet,
in a way that would make
piligrims cry.
History stones life
to always stay fresh,
yet, what is life without
the sins of the flesh.
All the radical kids
get stoned
and never change
or even move a muscle.
All the sword raising warriors
history stoned
without blood in their veins.
You can see all the victims
that history stoned
when you walk in the park,
they got kings
and queens
hell, they even got Gods.
They are there captive
in history's stones,
never to be again what they were;
wilting flesh and
breakable bones.
People look up at them
they are victims too.
History's stones fall far,
even on to you.
Those stoned to live
are like the ones stoned to die.
enslaved to the search
of the frozen smile.
Life is a burning bush
that doesn't get consumed.
not a dead rock
or a statue of history.
It's a fusing wind
of happinnes and misery.
An exploding volcano
of courage and fear.
It is the stem of the flower
struggling through the seasons
to stand and bloom
above the drying soil.
Life is the fighting wave
you see at sea
forgotten and denied
by the stones of history.
poem by Samuel Katz
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Thought I Couldnt Dance
Stand back, and give me room
And listen to that beat
I got the music in my soul
And the rhythm in my feet
When I hear the music,
You wont catch me standing still
And I wont miss a beat
I never have and I never will
And you thought I couldnt dance
And you thought I couldnt dance
I can dance to anything
That any band can play
Ive got old-fashioned values
But Im pretty up to date
And I know all the latest hits
On the radio
You dont have to join me
Stand back and watch my show
And you thought I couldnt dance
And you thought I couldnt dance
Thought I couldnt dance
Hey, watch me prance
Lets make romance
Thought I couldnt dance
You gotta take a chance
If youre gonna learn to dance
And you thought I couldnt dance
And you thought I couldnt dance
Theres a lot of closet dancers
Just dyin to come out
They dance alone inside their rooms
With the music way up loud
And I know you thought I couldnt dance
But I guess I sure fooled you
It just goes to show you never know
Whos wearing dancin shoes
And you thought I couldnt dance
Im full of surprises
And you thought I couldnt dance
Its too late now
I cant slow down...cant slow down
Oh, feel the heat
From these dancin feet... cant slow down
And you thought I couldnt dance
And you thought I couldnt dance
Repeat...
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Long Forgotten for Friend David Threadgold
Who dares?
Disturb my peace
after so may years.
My sleep
was undisturbed.
Who is it dares to peep.
This grave
is mine alone.
It is all that I have.
To show
who I once was.
What do you seek to know?
My bones.
Are all that’s left
here beneath these stones.
Which mark
my resting place
Here in the quiet dark.
Begone
you have no right
in truth to look upon.
Remains
mouldering here
What do you hope to gain.
Leave me
in peace and go.
Your curiosity
Is no
concern of mine.
Why should you seek to know.
Why I
am buried here.
Dry bones will not reply.
My curse
will fall on you.
Things go from bad to worse.
Swiftly
flee from this place.
Where you’re not meant to be.
I lay
hidden from sight
for years until today.
Why do
you disturb me.
There is no reason to.
Leave me
to sleep in peace
here where I ought to be.
Alone
Contentedly
hidden away unknown
.14-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From small begginings story poem for M'lady Ernestine
.
A cairn of stones that’s added to
By travellers who pass this way.
Although today they’re very few.
Few realise the cairn exists
Now no one can remember why
But the custom still persists
Originally the cairn was built
to mark the spot where someone died.
Perhaps assuaging a sense of guilt.
The killing was an accident
a blow which was in anger struck.
There was no murderous intent
He killed his friend and he confessed
The man was truly penitent.
So obviously that he impressed.
The learned judge who heard the case.
Who ruled that he was innocent
of murder but that he still must face.
A whole life sentence of regret
and that was punishment enough.
This old legend lingers yet.
Each time he passed the spot
he placed a stone upon the cairn.
Which whilst he lived grew quite a lot.
It towers now some eight feet high.
As people added their tribute
although no one remembers why.
Although it’s off the beaten track
one day you might just pass this way
and add your pebble to the stack
It has become a monument
a cairn of stone sure to impress.
Yet it began by accident
12/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Throwin' Stones
Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
Dizzy with eternity.
Paint it with a skin of sky, brush in some clouds and sea
Call it home for you and me.
A peaceful place or so it looks from space
A closer look reveals the human race.
Full of hope, full of grace, is the human face.
But afraid, we may our home to waste.
There's a fear down here we can't forget hasn't got a name just yet
Always awake, always around singing ashes to ashes all fall down.
Now watch as the ball revolves and the nighttime calls
And again the hunt begins and again the bloodwind calls
By and by again, the morning sun will rise
But the darkness never goes from some men's eyes.
It strolls the sidewalks and it rolls the streets
Stalking turf, dividing up meat.
Nightmare spook, piece of heat, you and me, you and me.
Click, flashblade in ghetto night. Rudies looking for a fight.
Rat cat alley roll them bones. Need that cash to feed that jones
And the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Commissars and pin-striped bosses role the dice
Any way they fall guess who gets to pay the price.
Money green or proletarian gray, selling guns instead of food today.
So the kids they dance, they shake their bones
While the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Heartless powers try to tell us what to think
If the spirit's sleeping, then the flesh is ink.
History's page, it is thusly carved in stone
The future's here, we are it, we are on our own.
If the game is lost then we're all the same
No one left to place or take the blame.
We will leave this place an empty stone
Or this shinning ball of bule we can call our home
So the kids they dance, they shake their bones
While the politicians are throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Shipping powders back and forth
Singing "black goes south while white comes north"
And the whole world full of petty wars
Singing "I got mine and you got yours."
And the current fashions set the pace.
Lose your step, fall out of grace.
And the radical he rant and rage, Singing "someone got to turn the page"
And the rich man in his summer home,
Singing "Just leave well enough alone"
But his pants are down, his cover's blown
And the politicians are throwing stones
So the kids they dance they shake their bones
Cause its all too clear we're on our own
Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
It's dizzying, the possibilities. Ashes, Ashes all fall down
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sack Full Of Stones
(Travis Tritt/Marty Stuart)
I used to be the kind of guy
I could laugh as well as cry
With a heart feather-soft and summer-warm
Since you've left me I've been faced
With emptiness that's been replaced
With a heart that's hard and heavy as a sack full of stones
I never thought I'd ever see
The man my mirror is showing me
Lord I must have aged ten years
Since you've been gone
The longest mile you'll ever crawl
Is the one after you fall
Draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
With the world upon my shoulders
And my feelings on my sleeve
Every time I close my eyes at night
All I do is watch you leave
But by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
Well I tried turning to a bottle
But the bottle turned on me
I've tried everything
But nothing sets your memory free
I'm serving life here in a prison
That we once called a home
With a heart that's cold and heavy as a sack full of stones
With the world upon my shoulders
And my feelings on my sleeve
Every time I close my eyes at night
All I do is watch you leave
But by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
Yes by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Throwing Stones
Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
Dizzy with eternity.
Paint it with a skin of sky, brush in some clouds and sea
Call it home for you and me.
A peaceful place or so it looks from space
A closer look reveals the human race.
Full of hope, full of grace, is the human face.
But afraid, we may our home to waste.
Theres a fear down here we cant forget hasnt got a name just yet
Always awake, always around singing ashes to ashes all fall down.
Now watch as the ball revolves and the nighttime calls
And again the hunt begins and again the bloodwind calls
By and by again, the morning sun will rise
But the darkness never goes from some mens eyes.
It strolls the sidewalks and it rolls the streets
Stalking turf, dividing up meat.
Nightmare spook, piece of heat, you and me, you and me.
Click, flashblade in ghetto night. rudies looking for a fight.
Rat cat alley roll them bones. need that cash to feed that jones
And the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Commissars and pin-striped bosses role the dice
Any way they fall guess who gets to pay the price.
Money green or proletarian gray, selling guns instead of food today.
So the kids they dance, they shake their bones
While the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Heartless powers try to tell us what to think
If the spirits sleeping, then the flesh is ink.
Historys page, it is thusly carved in stone
The futures here, we are it, we are on our own.
If the game is lost then were all the same
No one left to place or take the blame.
We will leave this place an empty stone
Or this shinning ball of blue we can call our home
So the kids they dance, they shake their bones
While the politicians are throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Shipping powders back and forth
Singing black goes south while white comes north
And the whole world full of petty wars
Singing I got mine and you got yours.
And the current fashions set the pace.
Lose your step, fall out of grace.
And the radical he rant and rage, singing someone got to turn the page
And the rich man in his summer home,
Singing just leave well enough alone
But his pants are down, his covers blown
And the politicians are throwing stones
So the kids they dance they shake their bones
Cause its all too clear were on our own
Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
Its dizzying, the possibilities. ashes, ashes all fall down.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Personal Column
I seek a maid to marry me.
A homely maid who’s dutiful
a girl who can smile pleasantly.
Above a maid who’s beautiful.
For pretty girls think they can rule.
An equal partner's what I need
and not an empty headed fool
who’s just another mouth to feed.
I am not handsome it is true
But I work hard and I’m well paid
I earn sufficient to keep two
I am a master of my trade.
If this advert appeals to you.
Apply at once do not delay
But only homely girls will do
all pretty girls should stay away.
18-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lahaina Aloha
Where the sea breeze
Sways the palm trees
Paradise awaits
And so does she
Reliving love
That was like a romance
From a page in history
It was the last place
That he stopped at
On the way back to his boat
She was dancing
Met his glancing
Like they say
It was all she wrote
You know I want to
But I cant stay (bye bye)
Girl you know Im gonna sail away (sail away)
When the wind comes up
And when the sun goes down
Ill say goodbye to this hawaiian town
I dont know what way you pull this shines [? ? ? ]
You and lahaina always on my mind
They left the dance floor
So they could spend more
Precious time near the water side
It wasnt wrong
And it wasnt right
They were two ships
Passing in the night
You know I want to
But I cant stay (bye bye)
Girl you know Im gonna sail away (sail away)
When the wind comes up
And when the sun goes down
Ill say goodbye to this hawaiian town
I think about you when the full moon shines
Lahaina always on my mind
You know I want to
But I cant stay (bye bye)
Girl you know Im gonna sail away (sail away)
When the wind comes up
And when the sun goes down
Ill say goodbye to this hawaiian town
I think about you when the full moon shines
Lahaina always on my mind
You know I want to
But I cant stay (bye bye)
Girl you know Im gonna sail away (sail away)
When the wind comes up
And when the sun goes down
Ill say goodbye to this hawaiian town
I think about you when the full moon shines
Lahaina always on my mind
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Full Forever
And I've had to fight
Another blurred affair tonight
Eyelids wrestle once again
Never gonna see my friend
Guided by the blinding white
Have you left home in spite
Knowing I'm alone tonight
Waiting for the light of day
Doesn't matter anyway
Something that I need to say
And I've gone underground
Never hangin' round
Should have made it back again
Why can't the moon stay full forever
Wednesday's bad but Friday's ain't much better (Someone's hell)
Why can't the moon stay full forever
Right now she's got nothin' on her mind
Will this neverland
Free me from its clutching hand
It won't release me
And I've gone underground
Obsessions I have found
Couldn't make it back again
Why can't the moon stay full forever
Wednesday's bad but Friday's ain't much better
(Someone's hell)
Why can't the moon stay full forever
Right now she's got nothin' on her mind
song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Standing On The Moon
Standing on the moon
I got no cobweb on my shoe
Standing on the moon
Im feeling so alone and blue
I see the gulf of mexico
As tiny as a tear
The coast of california
Must be somewhere over here - over here
Standing on the moon
I see the battle rage below
Standing on the moon
I see the soldiers come and go
Theres a metal flag beside me
Someone planted long ago
Old glory standing stiffly
Crimson, white and indigo - indigo
I see all of southeast asia
I can see el salvador
I hear the cries of children
And the other songs of war
Its like a mighty melody
That rings down from the sky
Standing here upon the moon
I watch it all roll by - all roll by
Standing on the moon
With nothing else to do
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you
Standing on the moon
I see a shadow on the sun
Standing on the moon
The stars go fading one by one
I hear a cry of victory
And another of defeat
A scrap of age old lullaby
Down some forgotten street
Standing on the moon
Where talk is cheap and vision true
Standing on the moon
But I would rather be with you
Somewhere in san francisco
On a back porch in july
Just looking up to heaven
At this crescent in the sky
Standing on the moon
With nothing left to do
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you - be with you
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Real Person
even if waltz is the dance of the day
for the dictator
there are those who dance
the tango
to his dismay
they reason out
that brave people only die once
as cowards die
a thousand deaths
they know how to dance the impossible
they are rocks that obstruct
the rage, the flow
we call them men of principles
they
who die earlier than expected
mark a name
in the fame of stones.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Still
Tears of yesterday
we both cried
years forever gone
still we both tried
still nothing left for us to do
So I gave in to you
all that we been through
saw the bright lights
in that lonely desert town
as we watched the sun go down
shimmering off in a distance
Still we thought we'd give it a chance
left in this masquerade
standing here, no-one left to dance
as we both turned to walk away
love wasting the nights
still we had nothing left to say
And when it was all said and done
I seen you still turn around
losing what you already found
still wasn't enough to make you stay
With broken promises once made
this games already been played
still the memories seem to never fade
as I see you there alone
still never to come home
(spiritwind-2005)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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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
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Defeated Story poem for M lady Ernestine
A yellowed skull, still on display
above the oaken fire place
A relic from a by gone day.
Which it is possible to trace
back for five hundred years or more.
I hate the thing my host explains
grotesque against modern décor.
It can’t be moved or it complains.
The house re- echoes to its screams.
Until its back in place once more.
It’s been a fixture now it seems
Since fifteen hundred sixty four
Although it has been exorcised
and given Christian burial.
It’s very quickly recognised
there’ll be no peace until the skull
Is returned to its proper place
upon the panelled chimney breast
. A fact all owners have to face.
Though some have put it to the test.
It’s not a conversation piece.
Although subject of fierce debate.
If it is moved its screams won’t cease
until it hangs above the grate
The legend says he was betrayed
and murdered by an enemy.
Who had seduced a serving maid
who had allowed him free entry.
This story can’t be verified
No written records still remain
But I for one am terrified
and will not try to move again.
This yellowed skull from long ago,
which hangs above the fireplace.
That’s why it is there still on show
The passing years can not erase.
The skulls determination
to rest in peace just where it is
on open exhibition.
No power on earth can alter this.
The skull remains though owners change.
This ugly object quietly
defies attempts to re-arrange
ideas of where it ought to be.
In time it will disintegrate
into a pile of brownish dust
But until the we have to wait
It is quite obvious we must.
Although you think to humour me
by listening to this eerie tale.
I will admit quite openly
That’s why this house is up for sale.
I can no longer stand the skull
which grins above the mantel piece.
Although the house is beautiful
I never have a moment’s peace.
Because I’m not the master here
It seems the skull has laid its claim
allows no one to interfere.
The previous owners felt the same.
I bought it a discount price
Although I knew its history
I thought my knowledge would suffice
to solve the mystery easily..
I’ve had enough I must confess
The screaming skull has won again.
Now I would sell the house for less
than what I paid: I would regain
the peace of mind I used to know.
Before I bought this residence
that housed a skull from long ago.
I should have used my common sense.
I dismissed as an old wives tale
The legend of the screaming skull.
I little thought my dream would fail.
I thought the house was wonderful.
I’ll have to leave I cannot bear
to stay another single day
I fear the yellowed skulls cold stare
Has driven many men away.
The house has stood for centuries
Had many owners in its time.
The house itself is sure to please
but for the skull would be sublime..
This grinning relic from the past
Is the real ruler of this place.
His reign it seems is sure to last
A fact I can no longer face.
11-Mar-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!