Tourist not Tuareg
I have visited the lands
where no sign of green is seen
I have walked the desert sands
where the Nomads roam between
the oases which they know
Secrets that they do not tell.
As they wander to and fro
by hidden ways from well to well.
I don’t know how they navigate
A total mystery to me
but I can appreciate.
They see signs I do not see.
Adapted to their habitat,
they have learned to live an thrive
They deserve respect for that
ability to survive.
I am glad I can return
to my own green fertile country.
Leave behind the sands which earn
A lasting place in memory.
23-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Short term gains experimental form
A great grey/green expanse of mud.
Covered twice daily by the flood
when the high tide comes flowing in.
Where does land end and sea begin?
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
They recognise no boundary.
For they are free to come and go
between the salt marsh and the sea.
They know all that they need to know.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
Here they can live quite easily
safe from most land based predators
protected by the friendly sea.
The wading birds parade in force.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
To men a bleak unfriendly place.
To wading birds a paradise
providing them with a safe base
which guarantees their food supplies.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
Until men choose to interfere
and build dykes to hold back the sea.
The mud flats slowly disappear
The denizens are forced to flee.
For men adapt their habitat
so they can live more comfortably.
Though nature wins eventually
she will regain that which men claim
as theirs by waiting patiently.
She knows that she will win the game.
Though men adapt their habitat
it’s only temporarily.
The works of man though built to last
are not immune to nature’s laws.
They’re undermined and overcast
by years that slowly pass of course.
Nature restores the habitat
back to the way it used to be.
The birds return to their domain
as if they’d never been away
What man once held the birds regain
as Mother Nature gets her way.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
22-Feb-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lost legion for Friend Thad
The earth beneath the desert sun is baked to shades of brown and dun.
A sea of sand which ceaselessly moves with wind uneasily.
The land marks here are far and few but known by those belonging to the nomad bands who freely roam this sea of sand and call it home.
A people fierce and proud and free who guard their secrets ruthlessly.
Intruders are not welcome here; invaders simply disappear.
Their fate is very seldom known, the desert can protect its own
Whole Roman legions were erased their resting place cannot be traced.
The desert knows but will not speak some bones are found by those who seek
to solve the ancient mysteries. Perhaps rewrite the histories.
To validate their theories of how an army disappears.
without a clues as to their fate. A subject open to debate.
The desert sands move constantly, sometimes revealing teasingly
bleached bones and weapons on the sand which scholars strive to understand.
Does it matter anyway? Why do we seek to know today
what happened to the lost legion. Although the legend lingers on.
The desert will not satisfy our burning curiosity
The desert knows but will not share the scholars find this hard to bear.
The desert lands conceal with ease volumes of untold histories.
Which earnest scholars yearn to read, perhaps one day they will succeed.
But until then the burning sun will bake the earth to brown and dun
Maintaining its long secrecy in brooding silent dignity.
30-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Minds eye for M lady Allie
The beauty of the desert lands
Lies in the multi coloured sands
which vary with the light of day.
Only the nomad understands.
By night the dunes look black and grey
but alter when the moonbeams play
across the valleys and the peak.
Creating pictures which cannot stay.
The beauty that the nomads seek
is to the desert lands unique.
Invisible to western eyes
which view the barren sands as bleak.
The beauty of desert lies
in what the viewers mind supplies.
11-Apr-08
Rubaiyat Sonnet
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Hills Abide
The everlasting hills their secrets keep
concealed in paces where men rarely tread.
Lie mouldering bones of men who are long dead
What caused their death nobody knows or cares.
In quietude and solitary they sleep.
Their skeletons defy the passing years.
The peaceful hills have seen men come and go.
Some few remain but most are passing through
In search of land to settle. Somewhere new.
Where they can raise their crops and live in peace
in the more fertile bottom lands below.
Protected from the winds that never cease.
Across the ancient hills which can endure
as they have done for passing centuries
The heat of summer and the winter’s freeze.
The hardy breed of men who chose to stay.
Were slow and steady men but very sure
they could and would survive in their own way.
The half wild sheep which graze these ancient hills.
Know much more than their shepherds know
of secret trails that wander to and fro.
Across the vast expanse beneath the sky
from sheltered sheepfolds to the flowing rills.
The sheep accept and do not wonder why.
11-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Karma
To sleep, perchance to dream and wake no more
I know I have to stay but long to go
and leave behind me all my cares and woe
Back to where I have often been before.
A place of rest in which I can restore
my weary spirit easily I know.
In soft green meadows where the waters flow
and work out what the future holds in store.
I must return I’ve lesson yet to learn
I am sure that death is not the end
but just another step along the way
Towards perfection for which I yearn.
Each wrongful action which I can’t defend
I know that I must suffer in my turn.
31-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It makes no sense.
A dog goes mad and is destroyed
A danger to society.
Why do we strive to avoid
the use of the death penalty.
Why do we pay to keep alive
a madman that we cannot cure.
It seems unjust he should survive
His victims didn’t that’s for sure
There is no cure for his disease
No chance at all he will be freed,
no way that he can earn release
He should be put down humanely
Why should he live in luxury?
with all mod cons provided free.
Saturday,05 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Watch and Pray.
A baby who was born too soon.
Is struggling bravely to survive
Perhaps the Gods will grant the boon
we ask and let this tiny baby live.
For now we watch with bated breath
for any sign of progress made
with our support to fend off death.
We hope and pray she makes the grade.
We can but wait and hope and pray
There's nothing else that we can do.
Nature has the final say
She can make our dreams come true.
Nature can correct mistakes
Total faith is all it takes.
Sunday,31 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Attaining Virtue
Attaining Virtue.
I climb up to the monastery
my sanctuary seeking Zen.
Find peace of mind again: I’m free
from all that troubles me. Until
I must descend the hill. Return
to where I earn my daily bread.
Where noise instead of quietness
begins to press. I can endure
of that I’m sure, my thoughts are pure.
I will not injure any man.
Because I’ve learned to tolerate,
accept my fate patiently.
27/07/2009
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Burmese style climbing rhyme
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Enduring beauty for M'ladyCatherine Rica Coso
From bare black twigs against the sky.
Transformed by spring to blossoms white.
To me a more than welcome sight.
Which alas too soon will die.
But in their place new greenery
Leaves seem to unfurl overnight
in shades of green which catch sunlight
Add lustre to the scenery.
The leaves will last the summer long.
Before they don their autumn dress
in garish colours to impress
The winds which sing the winters song.
The trees return to nakedness
Retaining beauty none the less.
31-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Worthy Man?
The Very Reverend Doctor Green.
A doctor of divinity
This learned cleric can be seen
as lacking in humility.
The Doctor knows or thinks he knows.
The answers to the mysteries
and by his proud demeanour shows
Intolerance is his disease.
Pontificates on the T.V
and denigrates all other creeds
His bloated pride won’t let him see
that different folks have different needs
Is his blinkered attitude
deserving of our gratitude?
07/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Take and be prepared for my friend C.P
The desert plains of ice and snow are not a place I’d choose to go.
Nor sandy wastes under the sun dry deserts don’t suit everyone.
The high plateaus of the Andes; I can assure you will not please.
Perhaps I’m choosy but I find such desert places most unkind.
I much prefer the moors I roam which welcome me. I feel at home.
Although they’re barren, wild and bleak I find the solitude I seek.
Each to his own I must suppose. My own high moors are what I chose.
I listen when they speak to me, I understand them easily.
They can be dangerous it’s true. You can take risks if you choose to.
I don’t take risks I know the rules. The high moors have no time for fools.
I have been sometimes weather bound by sudden mists which cloak the ground.
I have sufficient sense to see my moors are merely testing me.
Mistakes the moors will not forgive, I am prepared so I survive.
A wise man gives the moors respect but fools don not but they expect.
Tolerance for their carelessness their stupid unpreparedness.
The moors are not the enemy they judge all men impartially.
Some learn by hard experience there’s limits to their tolerance.
But others pay the penalty. Killed by their own stupidity.
06/09/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unmet Need or M' lady Tara
I know not that for which I yearn
But know my life is incomplete,
At night I lie and toss and turn
But always I meet with defeat.
Sometimes my heart will miss a beat.
I know not that for which I yearn
A malady I cannot treat
Sometimes it goes but will return.
Perhaps in due course I will learn
What I must know to be complete.
I know not that for which I yearn
Until I know I can’t compete.
So like an echo I repeat
What must I do to earn
full forgiveness for my deceit
I know not that for which I yearn.
1-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unmet Need
I know not that for which I yearn
But know my life is incomplete,
At night I lie and toss and turn
But always I meet with defeat.
Sometimes my heart will miss a beat.
I know not that for which I yearn
A malady I cannot treat
Sometimes it goes but will return.
Perhaps in due course I will learn
What I must know to be complete.
I know not that for which I yearn
Until I know I can’t compete.
So like an echo I repeat
What must I do to earn
full forgiveness for my deceit
I know not that for which I yearn.
1-Jul-08
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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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At Parting II
AND you could leave me now--
After the first remembered whispered vow
Which sings for ever and ever in my ears--
The vow which God among His Angels hears--
After the long-drawn years,
The slow hard tears,
Could break new ground, and wake
A new strange garden to blossom for your sake,
And leave me here alone,
In the old garden that was once our own?
How should I learn to bear
Our garden's pleasant ways and pleasant air,
Her flowers, her fruits, her lily, her rose and thorn,
When only in a picture these appear--
These, once alive, and always over-dear?
Ah--think again: the rose you used to wear
Must still be more than other roses be
The flower of flowers. Ah, pity, pity me!
For in my acres is no plot of ground
Whereon could any garden site be found,
I have but little skill
To water weed and till
And make the desert blossom like the rose;
Yet our old garden knows
If I have loved its ways and walks and kept
The garden watered, and the pleasance swept.
Yet--if you must--go now:
Go, with my blessing filling both your hands,
And, mid the desert sands
Which life drifts deep round every garden wall,
Make your new festival
Of bud and blossom--red rose and green leaf.
No blight born of my grief
Shall touch your garden, love; but my heart's prayer
Shall draw down blessings on you from the air,
And all we learned of leaf and plant and tree
Shall serve you when you walk no more with me
In garden ways; and when with her you tread
The pleasant ways with blossoms overhead
And when she asks, 'How did you come to know
The secrets of the ways these green things grow?'
Then you will answer--and I, please God, hear,
'I had another garden once, my dear'.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Anticipation.
Anticipation.
I must accept that you have gone
one step ahead you have moved on.
I’m certain we will meet again
some otherwhere, some otherwhen.
We had no secrets you and I.
We always knew that one would die
and leave the other one behind.
That you went first I do not mind.
I could not bear to think of you.
Suffering the way I do.
Although I know I must wait
I know I can anticipate.
The joy we’ll share when we next meet.
Together once again: Complete.
Friday,31 December 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Why do you hesitate.
He had one eye, one arm, one leg
a landmine had removed the rest
he does not whinge or whine or beg.
His attitude is best expressed.
I’m still a man and I can do
almost as much as any guy.
A little slower that is true
but I can see no reason why.
You feel you have to pity me
I would much rather earn respect
Though not the man I used to be
I can do more than you expect.
Give me chance and I’ll show you
I still have skills which I can use
to do as well as others do.
Why hesitate what can you lose?
I draw the pension I am due
but need to boost my self esteem.
Prove to the world that I can do
much more than sit at home and dream.
Give me the opportunity
to demonstrate what I can do.
Ignore my disability
if I can do it so can you.
Just set your prejudice aside
and treat me as a normal guy
Give me a chance and then decide
to keep me on or say goodbye..
Why do employers constantly
turn down disabled veterans.
Are they so blind they cannot see
that veterans deserve a chance.
25-Apr-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Voluntary exile.
One day the dragons will return.
A privilege we have to earn.
The fled from our belligerence
They had to flee in self defence.
The dragons know humanity
Has not yet reached maturity.
The do not doubt that in due course.
Men will give up the use of force.
To resolve every argument.
But talk when war is imminent.
Learn to use diplomacy.
Which works much more effectively.
Than fighting for supremacy
When two nations disagree.
This world could be a paradise.
If we can learn to compromise.
The dragons will return again.
Resume their mentorship of man
When we mature sufficiently
and can agree to disagree.
The dragons know the day will come
when once again they are welcome.
To arbitrate impartially
as mentors of humanity.
Although I may not live to see
The silver dragons flying free
Above the earth as they should be.
The guardians of humanity.
Is this a dream, a fantasy
Which is peculiar to me?
That judgement I must leave to you.
Though I believe it to be true.
Saturday,21 January 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Obedient to natures laws
Obedient to nature’s laws.
The last remaining berries glow
On frosted branches white as snow.
A meagre source of sustenance.
Which gives small birds a fighting chance.
Of surviving until the spring.
Returns to renew everything.
The few who manage to survive.
The hardy ones will live and thrive.
Compete for mates with whom to breed
Spring will provide their every need
They will build nest and raise their brood.
Instinctively they know they should.
The last remaining berries fed
The hardiest the rest are dead.
Saturday,21 January 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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