The Mystery Remains story poem
By my lanthorn dimly burning.
I have trouble in discerning
the faint words scrawled upon the page
By the hand of a long dead sage.
What I study is forbidden
a secret I must keep hidden.
I dare not study it by day
and that is why I hide away.
In the dark hours of the night.
I study by a lanthorns light.
Lest the priesthood should suspect.
For they would kill me to protect
from what they see as wizardry
although it’s only chemistry.
The shaveling priests of Mother Church
have full authority to search.
As and when and where they choose
.a power open to abuse
And they abuse it readily
in their search for men like me.
Men who defy authority,
pursue their studies secretly.
The church pretends to safeguard souls
but aims to keep in place controls.
Which keep the people ignorant
so that they will accept the cant.
The falsehoods and hypocrisy
of the priests more easily.
The common man must never know.
Because the church will have it so.
That education is the key
to knowledge which will set them free.
From religious domination.
To me a foul abomination.
The Holy Book from which they preach
written in a language will do not teach
To any but the favoured few
Who think the same way that they do.
Which will maintain the Status Quo
beneath the piety they show.
I am convinced that in due course
The population will enforce
the will of the majority
And strip them of authority.
Award all men the liberty
to study what they want to openly.
I know too well if I am caught
my labours will have been for naught
Though I must study secretly
I hide my records carefully.
Perhaps one day someone will find
the writings which I leave behind.
I was betrayed so I must die
but I will die with head held high.
Accused of practising magic
they’ll burn me as a heretic.
The papers I hid secretly
lie waiting for discovery.
By some scholar of a future time
When learning is not seen as crime.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.
I found this manuscript by chance
and thought it worth a second glance.
My hobby is church history.
I can’t resist a mystery.
Although the parchment was fragile
and written in an archaic style.
Some parts of it I could translate
sufficient to appreciate..
This document deserved to be
translated more efficiently.
By someone who could understand
old manuscripts written by hand.
So I enlisted expert aid.
A scholar of the highest grade
from Oxford university
to solve the mystery for me.
It caught the scholar’s interest
and easily passed every test.
To prove it was no forgery.
Which was of little help to me.
Although the scholar could translate
there was no way that he could state.
The dead authors identity
which must remain a mystery.
A fact which disappointed me.
Alhough I gladly paid his fee.
I would much rather that I knew
who we could ascribe it to.
I must accept we’ll never know
who wrote these word so long ago.
Because he failed to sign his name.
He is denied his well earned fame.
His careful notes on alchemy
though hidden from his enemy.
Have formed the basis of research
which can’t be repressed by the church.
As it was in the distant past
before the people over cast
the dead hand of the Holy See
and achieved their liberty
15/04/2009
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15/04/2009
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Total Denial.
If the Messiah came again.
He would be certified insane.
Society could not possibly
allow him to preach and teach freely
I have no doubt he’d be confined
Because the powers that be would find.
That what he taught was dangerous
To every single one of us.
The rulers of the church and state
are not prepared to tolerate.
Any change to existing rules
which for years they’ve used as tools
To maintain the Status Quo
They do not want us all to know
They lack divine authority
They are not what they claim to be.
The guardians of morality
and keepers of the mystery.
They know the truth would set us free.
Of course they could not possibly.
Accept the fact that he might be
the ultimate authority.
They would decree that he must be
kept in protective custody.
No need for crucifixion.
Their method is a kinder one.
Keep him sedated constantly
which would work as effectively.
With no adverse publicity
Just dealt with bureaucratically.
We cannot say with certainty
The messiah is not presently.
Held in some institution
quite unknown to anyone.
Except perhaps the powers that be
Who act unjustly secretly.
08/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Gone Astray a rant
Gone Astray
A solemn silence fills the space
contained with cathedral walls.
A sanctuary filled with grace
But over it a shadow falls
There are few worshippers today
and they’re engaged in private prayer.
Although the tourists make their way
to see the wonders which are there.
They gladly pay the entrance fee
a charge imposed to help defray
the maintenance that has to be
paid for. This is the only way.
the church authorities can find
the funds which are necessary.
Although the ancient rules defined
access to worship should be free.
The churches now are businesses
and not what they were meant be.
It seems religion matters less
to the presiding hierarchy.
Than making profits to maintain
these symbols of authority.
Although the signs are very plain
Because they do not want to see.
That piety has less to do
with structures glorifying God.
Provided by the wealthy few.
Who did not think it at all odd.
To see this as their entry fee
to buy a place in paradise
A triumph for hypocrisy.
I think today we are more wise.
No longer ruled by the dead hand
of church enforced religious laws.
We are entitled to demand
the church must find a different course.
The world has changed and so must they
We aren’t required to obey
church leaders who have lost their way.
And do not meet our needs today.
It matters not which creed you choose
they do not practice what they preach.
Their teachings are of little use
If they don’t believe what they teach.
Intolerance and bigotry
Fostered by narrow minded priests
are prevalent it seems to me.
Truth does not matter in the least
21-Nov-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Confession is good for the soul.
Canonised and sanitised.
The Vatican has changed its mind
Australian saint is recognised.
She blew the whistle long ago
Exposed a priestly paedophile.
Was she believed/Oh dear me no
Excommunicated, cast out
Because dared to speak the truth.
but times have changed and banished doubt..
The Vatican was in the wrong
protecting priestly paedophiles.
So now they sing a different song
The pontiff and the prelates know.
they have been caught committing crimes
Fresh scandals adding to their woe.
Reducing their authority.
Because they can no longer
hide behind facades of piety
So they create another saint
Too little and to late by far.
The church cannot escape the taint.
Perhaps it’s time to change the rules.
Why should a priest be celibate?
The general public are not fools.
I think the pontiff must accept
They got very badly wrong
When they decided to protect
The pervert priest from punishment.
Interfering with the laws
meant to protect the innocent
I do not think they can regain
the trust they secretly betrayed
Although they’ll try doubts will remain..
I’m sure the victims won’t forget
Nor do I think they will forgive
The church must recognise the debt.
And pay hard cash to compensate
The victims for their suffering
Again too little and too late.
If they had acted honestly.
They would not be in such a mess.
But sadly they chose secrecy
Wednesday,20 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It could be true for M' lady Ernestine
Anselm the abbot avidly believed in bibliography.
He loved learning passionately and filled the abbey library
with scrolls and books of sacred lore and had scriveners by the score.
Who had the task of copying and reproducing everything.
Anselm decreed each monk must learn to read and write each in their turn
Although some monks were not impressed they had to learn at his behest.
Anselm the abbot’s word was law and soon the Abbey boasted more monks who were truly literate and able to communicate.
knowledge acquired painfully to other brothers easily.
Anselm had inadvertently created very probably
The very first religious school where love of learning was the rule
And so the abbey came to be more of a school than monastery
Anselm had realised his dream and risen high in the esteem
not only of the monarchy but of the church authority
The king decreed Anselm should be rewarded for his industry.
So he created Kings College where monks could pass on their knowledge.
And that’s how Oxford came to be in time a university
Where students came from far and wide to study by the riverside
A little bit of history not noted for its accuracy
I have no doubt you will agree it could well solve the mystery.
16-Dec-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Maybe Female Priests
Priests can't have wives so the job attracted pedophile guys,
Using fancy colorful vestments as a form of disguise,
But new rules should change and require priests to have wives,
So that the Catholic Church might again thrive and survive.
Indeed these type of ideas might seem to be sacrilegious,
But there was a time when this was accepted as religious,
When holy priests all had wives and kids and this was the norm,
Until they decided to change everything and reform.
It's obvious that the church needs to reform again and soon,
Back to the twelfth-century system at the first opportune,
It's also obvious that this should have happened a long time ago,
But instead we all learned from the hierarchy, how to kowtow.
Because the widows of priests were dependent on the church,
This hidden factor does not appear in an Internet search,
But there's something very wrong now that needs to be put right,
Maybe female priests could help get us out of this blight.
poem by James Bredin
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I have decided: Finally.
My family donated me to mother church, a priest to be.
Because no one consulted me, I had no chance to disagree.
So in due course I was ordained and found I’d lost more than I gained
The church had educated me. I’d won a double first degree
My parents did what they thought best they acted in my interest.
There was no way I could protest. Though I must say I’m not impressed with the way that things were done and recently I have begun.
To realise resentfully my future was mapped out for me.
I am expected to repress the normal feelings I possess.
A problem which all priests address. I am a man no more no less.
I am quite certain that I would not have chosen the priesthood.
I have decided that I should quit the priesthood and for good
The practice of celibacy seems quite unnatural to me.
I am convinced a priest should be free to have a family.
The church has made a grave mistake expecting every priest to take
A vow which causes so much heart ache. I must resign: Make a clean break.
To earn my living honestly in some profession where I’m free
To wed and raise a family. Celibacy is not for me.
Monday,26 April 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A pinch of Salt
A title does not signify
you are in fact a gentleman.
Aristocrats can cheat and lie
as readily as any man.
alleged degrees don’t guarantee
that you possess intelligence
They can be purchased easily
by those who lack the common sense
To know that titles and degrees
although intended to impress.
Are counterfeit as currencies
which are in fact quite valueless.
You can’t expect to get respect
because you a titled man.
I see no reason to accept
your claim to be a gentleman.
Some people are fooled easily.
Accept your claims at face value
but some are wise enough to see
that what you claim may not be true.
A scholar and a gentleman
is not too hard to recognise.
I’m’ sure you will find that you can.
If you just use your ears and eyes.
Do not be fooled by their pretence.
The claims they cannot verify
Rely upon your common sense
The inner voice you can’t deny.
Why should you show them your respect.
They show but small respect for you.
Its wiser to be circumspect
until they prove their claims are true.
13/07/2009 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Possibilty for J.T.Early
The universe appears to be
expanding outwards constantly
At speeds exceeding that of light.
Its origin a mystery.
But throughout mankind’s history
We have observed the stars at night.
Though early men with naked eye
recorded movements in the sky.
Which had the power to excite
their naïve curiosity
They were convinced that there must be.
Some reason why the stars shone bright.
But different men thought differently.
It seemed that there would never be
consensus as to who was right.
But now with new technology
We have gained the ability
To study stars far out of sight.
The use of radio telescopes
can raise and sometimes dash our hopes.
They are in use by day and night.
We still can’t solve the mystery,
are we alone or might there be
Races hidden from our sight.
In other distant galaxies
Too far away for us to see.
It seems entirely apposite.
That like the early men we try
to read the message in the sky.
Perhaps one day we’ll get it right.
Saturday,01 May 2010.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Poem: The Dark Heretic
In diligent search of God
was the dark heretic,
a master of the natural world
and our father of modern physics.
In defiance of the Church
stood Sir Isaac Newton alone,
cloistered in his office, clinging…
To personal beliefs, of his own.
Interest in “The End Times”
was his lifelong, secret mission -
His papers were intentionally hidden,
from recognizing the gravity of his situation.
In the study of Divine Prophesy,
Newton poured incessantly over The Word,
convinced that his Doomsday calculations were…
Godly insights - that he alone had learned.
Indeed, we are seeing natural disasters and earthquakes;
however, God stated that “no man shall know the date”.
So in 2060, will Newton have the last laugh,
regarding his expected demise of all human fate?
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poem by Joseph James Breunig 3rd
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The ever watchin eye.
Be careful what you choose to do
C.C.T, V is watching you.
If you’re caught short and need to pee
You can be certain you will be
recorded by C.C.T.V.
A matter of security
I’m not too sure that I agree
I’m sure that it was meant to be
But have to say it seems to me.
Invasion of our privacy
Though placed on private property
they are positioned so they see.
Where people have a right to be.
Recording automatically
whatever happens secretly.
That’s not the way things used to be
nor am I sure things ought to be.
Favoured by the powers that be
The ultimate authority
C.C.T.V has come to be
Accepted though reluctantly.
That is the harsh reality
We must live with apparently.
Please take this warning seriously
Remember that C.C.T.V
Is watching and watching me.
Because they’re placed strategically
they can’t be seen too easily.
You might well think you are quite free
from scrutiny by C.C.T.V.
It is a possibility
in isolated property
In city streets a rarity.
It’s seen as a necessity
which will safeguard your property
Although sometimes it saddens me
The advent of C.C.T.V
Has changed the world permanently.
Progress does not come for free
We have no choice but pay the fee..
Monday,29 August 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Vengeance delayed storypoem
My country taught me how to kill
and when I had sufficient skill
I was recruited secretly
to serve a special agency.
My given task was to erase
any who opposed our ways
at home abroad where I was sent
To which I gave my free assent.
I slowly came to realise
I could not always recognise.
My target as an enemy.
Suspected they were using me
Though I had little evidence.
Some missions seemed to make no sense
I was expected to obey
my instructions come what may/
My duty was to do or die
I had no right to question why
There was no way I could resign
or else the next death would be mine.
I had known other colleagues die
quite frequently Now I knew why.
I was convinced my turn would come
Because a dead man will stay dumb.
I chose instead to disappear.
Create a new life far from here.
Although I killed for my country
I’m certain they will search for me.
They are afraid that if I chose
their dirty secrets to expose.
They have no means of stopping
me whilst I remain at liberty
They would much rather I was dead.
I have a price upon my head.
So I have planned accordingly
If they succeed in killing me.
My story will be given to
the press who will know what to do
.I’ll take revenge posthumously.
on liars who exploited me.
22/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Clerical Oppressors
JUST God! and these are they
Who minister at thine altar, God of Right!
Men who their hands with prayer and blessing lay
On Israel's Ark of light!
What! preach, and kidnap men?
Give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted poor?
Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then
Bolt hard the captive's door?
What! servants of thy own
Merciful Son, who came to seek and save
The homeless and the outcast, fettering down
The tasked and plundered slave!
Pilate and Herod, friends!
Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!
Just God and holy! is that church, which lends
Strength to the spoiler, thine?
Paid hypocrites, who turn
Judgment aside, and rob the Holy Book
Of those high words of truth which search and burn
In warning and rebuke;
Feed fat, ye locusts, feed!
And, in your tasselled pulpits, thank the Lord
That, from the toiling bondman's utter need,
Ye pile your own full board.
How long, O Lord! how long
Shall such a priesthood barter truth away,
And in Thy name, for robbery and wrong
At Thy own altars pray?
Is not Thy hand stretched forth
Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite?
Shall not the living God of all the earth,
And heaven above, do right?
Woe, then, to all who grind
Their brethren of a common Father down!
To all who plunder from the immortal mind
Its bright and glorious crown!
Woe to the priesthood! woe
To those whose hire is with the price of blood;
Perverting, darkening, changing, as they go,
The searching truths of God!
Their glory and their might.
Shall perish; and their very names shall be
Vile before all the people, in the light
Of a world's liberty.
Oh, speed the moment on
When Wrong shall cease, and Liberty and Love
And Truth and Right throughout the earth be known
As in their home above.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Authority of Self Expression
Who are you to choose what I do is not suitable?
And...
Who made you the authority of self expression?
Who fell ill and was left crazed?
Who announced you a scholar of prim and proper ways?
Chill that lip around me, please.
My days weren't hand fed by a highly paid nanny.
Nor did I grow to know life through chit chat and gossip.
However...
I have experienced 'intelligent ignorance'.
You know...
The kind that is confined to reading books,
To uncover an interpretation of correctness and etiquette.
Written by someone who deplores common sense.
And suffocates from a corked behind.
That is the way from here it looks.
As if someone is walking,
Trying their best to hold tightly onto a thin dime.
Who are you to choose what I do is not suitable?
And...
Who made you the authority of self expression?
And...
Who announced you a scholar of prim and proper ways?
Who fell ill and was left crazed?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Redirected
The Phantom spoke. He said repent.
I replied I’m innocent.
The Phantom spoke again annoyed
You must repent or be destroyed.
I can’t repent what I’ve not done
I think my friend you should begone
You seem to have your wires crossed.
It seems to me you have got lost
I am Mother Superior.
I’m not who you are looking for
Why don’t you try the Vatican
where if you try I’m sure you can
find many there in residence.
Though they protest their innocence
Evil men, so called priests
who have behaved like rutting beasts.
Protected by the Mother Church
Which has obstructed every search
Misuse of power to delay
every attempt to make them pay.
The Phantom groaned, apologised
confessed he had been ill advised
and would go to investigate.
The Holy See, The city state.
I understand he is there still
his sacred duties to fulfil.
I rather think that he will be
kept busy for eternity.
25/06/2009
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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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Your Choice story poem
My cause was just I could fulfil
a life long dream, an urge to kill.
An urge I knew I must resist
by application of my will.
Circumstances alter cases.
I planned my action on this basis.
All paedophiles deserve to die
Just disappear and leave no traces.
My chosen victim was beast.
Who masqueraded as a priest
and preyed upon young choirboys
He’s missing now presumed deceased.
I groomed my victim carefully.
Confessed that I had frequently
had unclean thoughts about small boys.
The priest absolved me readily.
In me he thought he’d found a friend.
A man on whom he could depend
to keep a still tongue in his head.
His own perversions to defend.
But he was wrong in his belief.
He was remarkably naïf
He thought his cloth protected him.
A fact that brought me much relief.
I told him that I belonged to
a private club know to but few.
Men who shared our interest.
When next I went he could come too..
The trap was set now I would
wait for him to nibble at the bait
I knew that he could not resist
He was hardened deviate.
It was arranged that we should go.
Quite separately so none would know.
He thought it best to be discreet
and I agreed it should be so.
We reached the chosen rendevous.
He was surprised we were but two
and even more surprised to find
just what it was I meant to do.
I did not hesitate or pause
I took his life without remorse.
An old pit shaft his resting place
where none will look for him of course.
The priest would simply disappear
for reasons which will be quite clear.
When his perversions come to light
He was afraid to linger here.
His sins recorded faithfully
in grim detail on his P.C,
Another scandal for the church
will come to light for all to see
For many reasons he would leave
they would quite easily believe.
That he just lost his nerve and fled.
When from his P.C they retrieve.
The photographic evidence.
Undoubtedly it will incense
The men who must investigate
his sudden disappearance.
Their first thought will be suicide
because he has no place to hide
Their search will be desultory
They won’t treat it as homicide.
By killing him I’ve satisfied
The life long dream I’ve had to hide.
The beast has paid the penalty.
I think his death was justified.
It could be that this tale is true
So I will leave it up to you
my gentle reader to decide
You can believe what you want to.
8-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Divine protection?
Although we try, we can’t define the attributes of the divine
So most of us choose to accept what we are told; someone’s concept.
Is God a he? Is god a she, perhaps both simultaneously
Did God create the universe? Is curiosity our curse?
Is it right that we should fear god? I find this idea rather odd
It does not seem appropriate to live in fear the normal state.
Maybe God is a neutral source of power we can tap into
Though we are free to choose our course. Responsible for what we do
I do not know what I believe and I refuse to speculate
There’s nothing guessing will achieve I will not learn if I but wait.
Perchance we are collectively all tiny parts of one great whole
And will attain divinity, when we rejoin the over soul.
A theory you may reject and many will I must expect
alhough I say in its defence you must weigh up the evidence.
Consider what you have been taught, cast doubt on its validity
It may not be as you had thought, an absolute, a certainty.
The truth is that nobody knows. Because we aren’t intended to.
If we were wise we’d recognise some things are hidden from our eyes.
Because we could not comprehend the nature of divinity.
To suffering humanity God must remain a mystery.
17/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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His True Church
I know many religious people, and one Church with no steeple,
A church that’s built with no walls, built on only believing souls,
Built upon an Eternal Foundation, that being our very Salvation,
Built upon The One Cornerstone, and that is Jesus Christ alone.
Many, who worship in a building, to Truth alone, are unyielding,
Building a church on tradition, God’s Truth, with man’s addition,
Added to the work finished by, Jesus Christ who reigns on high,
Ignoring His words “it is finished”, Grace by many is diminished.
Men making a way to Heaven, not by grace but religious leaven,
Building church in a human way, as they lead many souls astray,
As many souls weekly perch, in the pews of a manmade church,
Relying on their religious activity, to help them work into eternity.
“I will build my Church” He said, that was Christ, who is the Head,
Head of His True Church on earth, filled with souls, by New Birth,
All members being Born Again, into His Church, not one of men,
You’ll find, you no longer search, as a member of God’s Church.
Jesus is the Way, Truth and Life, as Head of the Church of Christ,
And each of us is a living stone, built through faith in Christ alone,
His Church He proceeds to build, to complete as His Father willed,
Leading the only True Church friend, as others shall see in the end.
Sunday morning Pests.
Two thousand years or so ago.
Three criminals were crucified.
And yet today we claim we know
One was the son of God and died.
We cannot prove that this true
there’s very little evidence.
But we are still expected to
give these stories full credence.
By word of mouth they were passed down.
Translated from old Aramaic.
They came from sources now unknown
Could they free from all mistake.
When they written finally
Although no doubt with good intent
Were they translated properly
or were they changed by accident.
By accident or purposely.
Perhaps a mixture of the two
To claim divine authority.
To me it simply will not do.
To tell me that I must believe.
What may or may not be true.
Is something which you won’t achieve.
There’s very little you can do.
I can’t accept on faith alone.
Until you can prove the things you teach.
are truths that stand up on their own.
Consider me beyond your reach.
Christianity could very easily
have flourished for a while and died.
It owes its popularity.
To information men supplied.
Who had some private axe to grind
Men who stood to benefit.
Perhaps you think I am unkind
that I can’t prove a word of it
I can’t deny that it is so
I don’t expect you to agree.
But I believe you do not know
The whole truth any more than me.
I can respect what that you believe
I do not find it difficult
But I’m not willing to receive
Indoctrination by some cult.
So please don’t knock upon my door
Attempting to convert me to your view
Because I’ve heard it all before
and I’ve got better things to do.
Than listen to the likes of you.
02/09/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sex & The Church
Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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