True Heroes
There at my feet my comrade lies
as though he were but fast asleep.
Death came and took him by surprise.
All soldiers know that life is cheap.
As does each politician.
Whose lies persuade young men to go
and sign on as a fighting man.
Because they are too young to know.
Their country’s leaders are not wise.
Although they all profess to be
They all refuse to recognise
in war there is no victory.
Except the claims which death will make.
That he has added to his score
the lives he’s taken and will take.
In this and any future war.
It has been so through history.
Old men send young men to die
and praise them for their bravery
Although they lie and know they lie.
Dead heroes are of little use.
Of course we praise their memory.
It takes a brave man to refuse
to go and face the enemy.
Though some accept they will not kill
but tend wounded where they can
They are prepared to use their skill
to help not harm their fellow man.
01/05/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Stupidity.
Stupidity.
We celebrate our dead heroes.
Their white headstones arranged in rows.
To mark where soldiers bodies lie.
They are no longer friends and foes
War cemeteries are tended well
in honour of the men who fell
It is the least that we can do
for men who died by shot and shell.
Each single death a tragedy,
each one recorded carefully.
To satisfy the bureaucrats
who collate deaths statistically.
I wonder why we cannot see.
That death alone claims victory.
Each new war adds to the score
of people dying uselessly.
Though we remember them with pride.
The countless men who sadly died.
Each thinking that their cause was just.
Involuntary suicide.
We celebrate our dead heroes
with white headstones arranged in rows.
Yet we still send young men to die
And always will do I suppose.
We do not learn from history
For no good reason I can see.
That wars prove nothing in the end
Except how stupid we can be.
Wednesday,30 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Thanks but no thanks
I will not buy a doctorate or any other second rate.
Useless diploma or degree that you are keen to sell to me.
A B.Sc or M.BA as long as I’m prepared to pay
You are prepared to certify not only that I qualify.
In any subject I may choose. There is no way you will
refuse to supply me with a degree. Almost not quite a forgery
Apparently legitimate but what these colleges don’t state
Employers who are worldly wise will refuse to recognise
Degrees which have been granted by some obscure university
Though you were fooled they will not be; employers are fooled easily
You will be wiser to ignore spam messages that promise more
Much more than what they can achieve. They should be banned I do believe.
They’re just a money making scam by folks who do not give a damn
About your future anyway as long as you’re prepared to pay
You have no come back legally you pay for your naïveté.
24/06/2009
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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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Final solution
The countless dead unburied lay beneath a covering of clay.
The good earth turned to dark red mud mixed with the best of soldier’s blood.
It mattered not how many died for death could not be satisfied.
Brave men who fought for their country. Death chose amongst them randomly.
I lived although my comrades died. Death often took them from my side.
Why did I live? So I can tell the world about the living hell
wich we endured knee deep in mud. I think it fitting that I should.
So many died on either side. Involuntary suicide
To fight a war they could not win, to no more see their kith and kin
Like every war it proved to be a total waste, a mockery
The cream of Europe’s fighting mem would never see their homes again.
What did it prove the First World War? Nothing we had not known before!
Though we remember those who died. The lessons learned are not applied
for men still battle constantly to prove superiority.
It seems mankind can’t live in peace, that wanton killing will not cease
Until death has added to his score the last man and there are no more.
I think that then and only then the world will be at peace again.
16/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Minding Our Own Business
The universal warrior.
The ordinary fighting man
existing since the world began
A doer not a worrier.
He does as he is ordered to.
Its not his place to question why
The many ordered by the few.
His duty is to do or die.
The politicians and the brass
issue commands which he obeys
Its always been this way alas
and will be ‘til we change our ways.
Why should they send young men to fight
and die in some far distant land.
To try and prove that might is right.
Why can’t our leaders understand.
Each country is entitled to
govern their land in their own way
There’s very little we can do
We cannot force them to obey.
However much we disagree,
we have no right we can’t dictate.
they must accept democracy.
Each is an independent state.
Our leaders ought to concentrate
on problems in our own countries
Address them now they cannot wait
Re stabilise economies.
It’s not our place to interfere
on other countries home affairs
Past history makes this quite clear.
We have our problems they have theirs.
The evidence is plain to see
.Each country gets the government
they will accept eventually
By trial and experiment.
Although we think our way the best
it will not do for everyone.
So in our own best interest
We must learn to leave things alone.
Democracy is not perfect
Although we may pretend it is.
It is the best we can expect
although it’s rather hit or miss.
It is the best we can devise
as long as human nature rules.
We lack the knowledge to be wise.
We are a race of clever fools.
27-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Killers All?
Now bugle boy what do you blow
Your trumpet pressed to your dead lips
I sound recall to let them know
this is the end of their hardships
They came as boys but died like men
From factories farms and mean back streets
They will not see their homes again
The brave young men whom death defeats.
They answered to their country’s call
And donned their Khaki battle dress
And shipped to France where they would fall
by thousands in the wilderness.
Created by the shot and shell
turning the battlefield to mud.
Which drowned young soldiers where they fell
and drenched the earth with their hearts blood.
Now poppies blow in Flanders fields’
The soil enriched by dead men bones
which has increased the harvest yields.
The poppies act as their headstones.
So many died and were not found
their fate unknown, No man could say
Their bodies melded with the ground
but we remember still to day.
The slaughter and the sacrifice
The useless waste of human lives.
They were prepared to pay the price.
Though a small band of them survives.
Each passing year their numbers fall
Old age more sure than shot and shell.
Soon there will be none at all
who endured that living hell.
The war to end all wars they said
You will be home by Christmas tide
Instead of that most would be dead.
Involuntary suicide.
We honour those who bravely died
a generation of young men.
The best of breed on either side.
But still we go to war again.
The world has never been at peace
since the war to end all wars.
I don’t believe that wars will cease
as long as there are warriors.
Who think they can enforce their will
on other men by force of arms.
It seems that killing is a skill
Which can seduce men with its charms.
16-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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War Never Solves Anything
Of battles won and noble soldiers you hear the old balladeer sing
But war only brings death and suffering and war never solves anything
And the mental scars of war keep festering long after the battle does end
You badly injure or kill someone's loved one that person will not be your friend.
For God and the flag of their Nation too many in battle have died
And the Government honour war heroes in their false show of patriotic pride
But the fact is their young lives were wasted and the fact with us sadly remain
That old battles are never over and for old grieviances human blood spilt again.
War weaponry and explosives big business in a World where human life is taken cheap
By some a human life seen as of no more value than that of a cow's or a sheep
From history we have not learned the war supposed to end all wars long gone
Yet every day more violence and terror and war and war mongering lives on.
Of battles won and acts of war bravery so many songs written and sung
And war instigated by old men must always be fought by the young
But the song for the young dead war hero to the hero's mum to it has a bitter ring
And war is a waste of human life for war never solves anything.
poem by Francis Duggan
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It might come back into fashion for all long suffering husbands
Why do we hoard things we don’t use?
Why is that we always choose
to take the easy way.
Turn a blind eye.
We will decide another day
what to keep, what to throw away
Although there’s no reason why
we should refuse
We’re well aware what we should try
to clear some space before we buy.
That gorgeous pair of shoes
We should say nay.
We know quite well we should refuse
but bargains we can always use.
Thursday,19 November 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It might come back into fashion
Why do we hoard things we don’t use?
Why is that we always choose
to take the easy way.
Turn a blind eye.
We will decide another day
what to keep, what to throw away
Although there’s no reason why
we should refuse
We’re well aware what we should try
to clear some space before we buy.
That gorgeous pair of shoes
We should say nay.
We know quite well we should refuse
but bargains we can always use.
Thursday,19 November 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Losers Never Write The War History
The losers never write the war history that's something we already know
Yet for the many wars fought through the ages we do not have the wisdom to show
That victory too comes at a huge cost for war the price is huge to pay
For families who grieve for their dead members their sense of loss with them will stay
Until they themselves go to the reaper the reaper who claims one and all
The loved one war had taken from them with great sadness they will recall
But the dead to life cannot be returned better to live as a coward than die brave
For none has yet come back for to tell us that there is a life beyond the grave,
They died for their God and their Country of dead war heroes some well may brag
Those who place too much worth on the unknowable and the colour of their Nation's flag
I for one find religion and patriotism confusing of god and war heroes hymns and songs are sung
But surely it is a misnomer that only the good do die young
And yet from war we have not learned young lives are lost for wars to be won
And if lasting peace ever does come it won't be through the barrel of a gun
poem by Francis Duggan
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100% Fatal
I suffer from a malady.
which is slowly killing me.
There’s no known cause nor any cure.
Its something which I must endure.
A disease universally
accepted reluctantly
As affecting every race
A truth that everyone must face.
We’re born to live a while than die.
Its only when the end draws nigh.
That we review the life we’ve led,
what we could have done instead.
If we had known what we now know.
When we were young so long ago.
Would we have done things differently?
We cannot say with certainty.
Our lives are ruled by circumstance.
We roll the dice and take our chance.
Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose
complaining is of little use.
We can’t opt out refuse to play
the game continues anyway.
Why are we born only to die.
There has to be a reason why.
A part of some great master plan
too complex for the mind of man
to grasp in it’s entirety.
Embracing all impartially.
Wednesday,18 November 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unwritten for C.P.Sharma
I bought a new anthology
of poems from the First World War.
I offer no apology
The poetry filled me with awe.
To understand that tragedy
could inspire young poets to write.
Poetry of such great beauty.
To read it is a sacred rite.
I have a strange affinity
with young men cut down in their prime
Who made their mark on history
describing hell in metered rhyme.
I am forced to wonder what
they might have written but could not.
18/05/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Along The War Avenue Of honour
Along the war Avenue of Honour a plaque to a dead soldier nailed to every tree
Brave young men who died in battle their reward for their bravery
They died in the war said to end all wars in the killing fields of World war one
But many wars since and far too many bloody battles and peace in the World not yet won.
Wars started by silly ageing men who send the young for them to die
Ageing men who themselves will die of old age and their twilight years they will enjoy,
ageing males heroes of their people we honour cowards as heroes one might say
The young men will go to war for them and the young men with their young lives pay.
The war supposed to end all wars long over almost nine decades since have gone by
But many wars have been fought since then and war pilots dropp their big bombs from the night sky
But suppose that's what will always happen when we give all of our power away
To silly and ageing male war men who with hair dyes cover their gray.
Along the war avenue of honour long dead soldiers names on every tree
Young noble men who died in battle far from homeland and family
In what was to be the war to end all wars yet we don't have much wisdom to show
For the loss of so many fine young men well over eight decades ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Country Lied
I lack the urge but have the skill.
My country taught me how to kill.
I had no choice could not refuse
nobody asked me for my views.
They said my country needed
to subjugate the enemy.
I was still young, green and naïve.
That I was sure I should believe
that what they told me must be true.
That it was something I should do.
But I discovered in due course
we were fighting to enforce
on those with just cause for dissent.
A very unjust settlement,
the promises my country made
and did not keep. We now forbade
their self determination.
The right of every nation,
it was battle we must lose.
The people have the right to choose.
To be an independent state
no longer seen as second rate.
Which they achieved eventually
they were not just a colony.
On looking back it seems to me
my country lied apparently.
An abuse of authority
I will not forget easily.
I lack the urge but have the skill.
My country taught me how to kill.
Though I can say with confidence
I’d only kill in self defence.
23-Jun-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Let it Kill
let it kill me and if it doesnt let it try again and again and again till i die, then let it try again and again and finally let it kill me if not then let it try again till i die of pain cause this pain i cannot take, so let it kill until i feel death creep up the corner, let me die with honor or without it just let me die, so let it kill me again and again and if not let it try until i die, for this life i cannot take i have lost all faith so just let me die, let it try to kill me dont set me free come on kill me i refuse mercy or sympathy all i want is death so please let it kill let it send me to death as fast as things go past, let it kill, let it destroy my soul and leave it not whole for i want death, i want death again i say i want death let it kill and if not let it kill again and again till death is all that remain, let it kill
poem by Adens Kamwi
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Dulce et Decorum a rant
What of the dead, the glorious dead.
The heroes who of whom it’s said
Laid down their lives in freedoms cause.
The men who died in foreign wars…
Whose freedom were they fighting for?
Whose liberty did they restore?
The history books do not make clear.
What right we had to interfere?
In other countries home affairs
or is it true nobody cares
about the plight of the oppressed
in any country East or West.
Unless the threaten our supplies.
It seems to me one rule applies.
We are prepared to tolerate
the tyrants ruling any state.
That can supply something we need
despite their cruelty and greed
We have no right to intervene.
Or double standards are obscene.
We do not send our men to die
and justify our actions by.
Quoting international laws
nobody body bothers to enforce.
Though when it comes to oil supply
we intervene immediately.
A very different rule applies
and over comes morality.
Freedom is a commodity
which can be bartered bought and sold
and has been by humanity
Forever if the truth be told.
What of the dead the glorious dead
of whom in truth it could be said.
Unknowingly they paid the price
of other peoples avarice.
16-Sep-08
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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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I'm still a man for M 'lady Milica
I’m still a man though I grow old
I am no longer brave and bold.
I think before I chose to act.
I have to face up to the fact.
I have to do as I am told.
I’m still a man
The aches and pains that trouble me
all tend to sap my energy.
I cannot do what I used to
That’s matterless for in my view
I’m still a man,
Short Rondel format
15/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Pure Rationalisation for Friend Thad
A fly has been annoying me.
Persistently and constantly.
My conscience bids me not to kill.
But damn it all I think I will.
That fly will bother me no more.
I killed with a single blow.
I had endured it patiently.
At least an hour maybe more
It pestered me insistently
I had to even up the score
That fly will bother me no more.
I slew that fly intentionally.
It left me with no other course.
Perhaps in time I’ll feel remorse.
Though at the moment I feel pleased
That wretched fly is now deceased.
That fly will bother me no more
though I’m afraid my conscience will.
Sometimes we sin because we choose
although we know we should refuse
and listen to our inner voice.
That bloody fly gave me no choice.
That fly will bother me no more
I killed it quite deliberately.
I know I sinned and must atone
The fly would not leave me alone.
The fly not I caused the offence.
I think my argument makes sense.
The fly will bother me no more
Its death was more than justified.
21/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Dilemma.
Afghanistan where young men die,
protecting us from terrorists
Here normal rules do not apply.
But still the powers that be insist.
They will not change their strategy.
They are convinced they are correct.
Although it’s obvious to see
things do not go as they expect.
Afghanistan has never been
conquered throughout history
The facts can be clearly seen.
There really is no mystery.
The tribal chieftains rule their fiefs
exert supreme authority.
Contrary to western beliefs
There’s little probability
That outside forces will prevail
against Afghani stubbornness.
It seems that we are doomed to fail.
Although we have made some progress
How many more lives must be lost
before we decide to withdraw
Why should our young men bear the cost
of fighting someone else’s war.
Friday,23 July 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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