Turning point for Friend Thad
The piercing arrows driven by
the power of a yew long bow.
Would change the course of history
As peasants laid the mailed knights low.
Aristocrats had hitherto
Been protected by plate mail.
Now thanks to English bows of Yew.
Their sure defence was doomed to fail.
At Agincourt the French knights found
The could be slain like common men.
The change this made was so profound
That war would never be the same again
Although the knights thought it unfair
and lacking in all chivalry.
The English bowmen did not care
and slew the hated cavalry
Who in the past had cut them down
like ripened grain without a thought.
Now that advantage overthrown
their charges were reduced to naught.
A commoner could kill a Lord
Whilst he still too far away
to use his lance or his long sword
The English archers won the day.
The rules of war were re arranged.
The bowman proved decisively.
The art of war forever changed.
The start of modern history.
Men could kill men now distantly
and very quickly gained in skill
To kill much more efficiently.
A skill men are improving still.
Man has progressed until today
He has the skill but lacks the will
to try and find a better way.
To settle disputes than to kill.
03/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
Arithmetical progresssion
When driven by a bow of yew
A clothyard shaft which truly flew
would pierce plate armour through and through
and many were the knights we slew.
The armoured knights had previously
overridden the enemy.
By charging at them furiously
were now picked off quite easily.
By archers who were common men
The tides of war had changed again,
no longer favoured noblemen.
Against the lower classes when
a simple peasant with a bow
can lay a titled warrior low.
The knights vowed that on the morrow
They would avenge their recent sorrow.
The peasants were supposed to fly
when challenged by the cavalry.
Noble men weren’t meant to die
but arrows brought equality.
This was a lesson archers learned
and with it dignity returned.
Each man received just what he earned
and thus the style of battle turned.
No longer would the knights prevail.
Their furious charges doomed to fail
Plate armour worn to no avail
when armour piercing arrows sail.
In whistling clouds which bring quick death.
to lordly knights who ride beneath.
A well placed arrow stops their breath
transports them to the River Lethe..
What did we learn from history.
How to kill men distantly
more quickly and efficiently
improving the technology.
But we are learning as we go
moving to muskets from the bow.
Although advances may be slow
dissatisfied with what we know.
Man invents better ways to kill
in striving to enforce his will.
Death has his quota to fulfil
The common man still foots the bill.
Now officers, aristocrats
though they are wearing different hats,
are still the same self serving pratts.
Who despise diplomats
Proclaim the justice of the cause
always advise the use of force
Convinced that they are right of course
and when proved wrong show no remorse.
It does not dent their self esteem.
As long as they’re allowed to scheme
a world at peace is just a dream.
Mankind will not work as a team.
1-Dec-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Selina sees our misery.
The moon mistress of mystery
has observed mankind’s history.
For centuries and centuries.
Though she has seen it all before
Mankind’s love of making war
Against her rules which men ignore.
While trying to impose their will
on other men. They lack the skill
to come to terms and so they kill.
The goddess watches in despair.
Because her children do not dare
to show each other that they care.
All members of one family
and still they squabble endlessly
Instead of living peacefully.
In time perhaps they will mature
and change the course of their nature
She hopes but cannot be sure.
Because her children have free will.
And choose their way for good or ill.
The goddess waits and watches still.
A symbol of serenity
she waits and watches patiently.
Long suffering humanity.
Monday,16 August 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Naani for Subarraman N.V.
War will persist
as long as men exist.
Men have the will and skill to kill.
They always had and always will.
Peace apparently
an impossibility.
Men expect hostility
Universally.
Why should this be?
It seems to me
we were meant to live peacefully.
In perfect amity.
6-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Realpolitik
A trumpet blared defiantly.
Into a hell of shot and shell,
a gallant charge of cavalry
But few survived their tale to tell.
There is no place in modern war
for such outmoded strategy.
More suited to the days of yore.
Today there is no chivalry.
You must defeat the enemy.
Attempt to take him by surprise
and gain superiority
by any method you can devise.
Improving your technology.
You have to strive to keep abreast,
increasing your ability
To kill more quickly than the rest.
The rules of war are broken by
most nations when its suits their book.
They are prepared to cheat and lie.
They mean to win by hook or crook.
The winners write the history.
Which proves that they were innocent.
They could have been quite possibly
Devoid of any ill intent.
I find it difficult to believe.
Perhaps I am too sceptical
of the facts I can retrieve.
from stories that are typical.
Attempts to prove the enemy
were without doubt the ones to blame.
Proclaim themselves to be guilt free.
All part and parcel of the game.
The winners speak eloquently
The losers are denied a chance
to state their case with clarity.
In the prevailing circumstance.
The tales you read of chivalry.
may serve quite well to entertain.
The tales of friendly rivalry
Cannot be true: I must maintain.
I try to keep an open mind.
When I am reading history.
But the anomalies I find.
Merely serve to convince me.
The first casualty in any war.
Is the plain truth, it has to be.
As the opponents jockey for
their chance to rewrite history.
Lies damn lies and statistics prove
Exactly what the victors choose.
It seem historians approve
Perhaps they have too much to lose.
25/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Opposing skills.
A brilliant man a polymath
but nonetheless a psychopath
Who thought he had the right to kill.
His reign of terror just begun
He killed his victims just for fun.
To exercise his sovereign will.
He terrorised the city streets
with his all too frequent repeats.
He seemed to need the added thrill.
Of being caught quite possibly.
and so he was eventually.
Or he would have been killing still.
He saw his hobby as an art.
Something that would set him apart.
And he was right it did until
he chose a victim to attack
A victim who could fight back.
a lady who possessed great skill
She was a martial arts expert
Though she intended him great hurt
She made quite certain not to kill.
He spends his life in a wheel chair
Complaining that is was unfair.
He had a quota to fulfil.
Although he is strictly confined
in a cell specially designed
Definitely not run of the mill.
To hold this twisted genius
aware that he’s still dangerous.
His one ambition is to kill.
The heroine that broke his back.
He lives and relives that attack
I have no doubt he always will.
I don’t think he has realised
the fact that he is paralysed
He cannot walk and never will.
Poetic justice some might say
to keep him safely locked away.
Who calls the tune must pay the bill.
Tuesday,08 December 2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Public Servant
Public servant
I have no choice it must be done
before my only chance is gone.
I have him clearly in my sights
and I am well within my rights.
He is armed, prepared to kill.
I have no doubt at all he will.
He is a threat to everyone.
I have no choice it must be done.
Although I would rather not
I must squeeze off the fatal shot.
I chose to shoot him through the head
make certain sure that he is dead.
Before he can shoot anyone
The choice is mine and mine alone.
I kill the man reluctantly
but that is how it has to be
I swore to serve and to protect.
The public and they all expect.
Me to carry out my duty
As best I can efficiently.
The man is dead the threat is gone
And normal life can carry on.
Nobody spares a thought for me
They do not care apparently.
05/04/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Frustrated Ambition.
Frustrated ambition.
I can remember vividly
The first person that I chose to kill.
Although selected randomly.
It somehow made me feel fulfilled.
No longer a non entity.
Overlooked by everyone.
It proved my capability
To make my name and be someone.
I thought about it constantly.
I knew that I must kill again
I felt a growing certainty
my only thought was to regain.
The rush of the adrenaline
The sense of power which it brought.
As if the whole wide world was mine.
That was the feeling which I sought.
Though when my second victim died
My pleasure was not so intense
and I was left unsatisfied
Which did not seem to make much sense.
When I killed victim number three
There was no rushed adrenaline.
Which only served to convince me
That killing had become routine.
I had not yet achieved my aim.
Although killing had lost its thrill.
The only way I would gain fame
Was by continuing to kill.
I will defy the threatened rain
To add another to my score
Tonight I mean to kill again
and claim my victim number four.
Though others have killed many more
To earn their place in history.
I aim to beat the highest score.
I’m sure I will eventually.
Because I’ve only just begun
I study the case histories.
Familiar with everyone
I find that this inspires me.
To choose my victims carefully
and not at random as before
and change my M.O frequently
Whilst I am racking up my score.
Six years have passed my final score
I don’t believe can be surpassed.
by anyone who’s gone before.
Perhaps the time has come at last
For me to claim the fame that’s due.
Because I have successfully
Achieved what I set out to do.
By confessing publically.
The best laid plans can go awry.
The powers that be were satisfied
My story was a fantasy.
And so they had me certified.
No access to publicity
I never got the chance to boast.
Perhaps a fitting penalty
Organised by a vengeful ghost.
They keep me safely locked away
With no access to the outside.
Though I am certain that one day
All my claims will be verified.
Some one will find my record book
Containing records of my kills.
But when I tell them where to look
They do not listen: no one will.
Tuesday,13 December 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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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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No Time To Kill
Theres no time to kill between the cradle and the grave
Father time still takes a toll on every minute that you save
Legal tenders never gonna change the number on your days
The highest cost of livins dyin, thats one everybody pays
So have it spent before you get the bill, theres no time to kill
If wed known ten years ago today would be ten years from now
Would we spend tomorrows yesterdays and make it last somehow
Or lead the cheers in someone elses game and never learn to play
And see the rules of thumb are all the same that measure every day
The grass is green on both sides of the hill, theres no time to kill
No time to kill, even Ive said it and probably always will
But I can look ahead and see that time aint standin still
No time to kill but time to change the kind of hurry Ive been in
And quit this work and worry lookin back at where Ive been
If you dont look ahead nobody will, theres no time to kill
If we had an hour glass to watch each one go by
Or a bell to mark each one to pass, wed see just how they fly
Would we escalate the value to be worth its weight in gold
Or would we never know the fortunes that we had til we grow old
And do we just keep killin time until theres no time to kill
Repeat chorus twice
No time to kill
No time to kill
No time to kill
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Age Of Chivalry
Back in the days of old
when knights were bold
who with a sword or lance
in armour sought romance.
It was the age of chivalry
long ago in man’s history
when to fight for a righteous cause
one did gain considerable applause.
It was mainly for show, love and glory
they deemed themselves being worthy
to capture the heart of some fair maiden
which was the most desired prize laden.
Oh, they would strike heavy blows
on all of their opponents and foes
in a one to one combat defying death
as crowds watched with abated breath.
Yes, it was far back in those days of yore
that courage and strength came to the fore
where there was this life and death struggle;
such issues at hand the knights would juggle.
And in fighting for their country, faith and king
noble impressions on people’s minds would ring
that even through the ages are held in high esteem
those knights in shinning armour do now all seem.
There are many legends based on their heroic exploits
a legacy of tales which have been told with much adroit
highlighting aspects of human wisdom related to virtue and vice
and the lessons to be learnt are those of goodness and sacrifice.
History usually repeats itself time and again
as it often happens a situation comes when
we’re asked to do something for a just cause
and acting with chivalry we shouldn’t pause.
poem by George Krokos
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Spin Doctors for friend alex
In days of yore long, long before
the spoken word took written form.
The Bards, the guardians of the lore.
In Great Men’s halls they would perform.
Their epic tales from history
to entertain the listening host.
With tales of war and mystery
and heroes which their race could boast.
Each teller added something to,
adjusted what they had been told.
By teachers who had altered too
the ancient tales they had retold.
Each myth and legend seems to be
a twisted version of some tale.
Which was quite true originally
Our search for truth is doomed to fail.
There’s little evidence to find.
Although we can extrapolate
from different versions left behind.
These fragments we appreciate.
Contain some truth enwrapt in lies,
Driven by curiosity
embark upon an enterprise,
The ultimate futility.
Though we can guess, we cannot know.
Our theories could be correct
Events which happened long ago
change with each telling I suspect.
03/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Kill or Skill?
Spain had a skill.
South Korea had the kill
They played, clashed
In the Korean Soil,
In front of forty thousands
Spectators, in the Quarter
Final of 2002 World Cup
Foot Ball tournament.
Korea beat Spain
By penalty kick.
Kill is stronger than skill
22.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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I saw them from History,
I saw them from History,
I saw them from History,
All that they did,
It is seen all Clear,
That some people bring Ruins on Earth,
I must Believe,
Some abuse us after all Good Done,
Some perform the Wrong acts to Kill,
Whilst this Time Ignorance is fading,
Those that Kill other's Unjust will face the Judgement.
poem by Abdul Karim
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License To Kill
Man thinks 'cause he rules the earth he can do with it as he please
And if things don't change soon, he will.
'Cause man has invented his doom,
The first step was touching the moon.
Now, there's a woman on my block,
She just sits there as the night gets still.
She says who will take away his license to kill?
Now, they take him and they teach him and they groom him for life
And they set him on a path where he's bound to get ill,
And they bury him with stars,
Sell his body like they do used cars.
But there's a woman on my block,
She just sits there facin' the hill.
She says who will take away his license to kill?
Now, he's hell-bent for destruction, he's afraid and confused,
And his brain has been mismanaged with great skill.
Until all he believes are his eyes
And his eyes just tell him lies.
But there's a woman on my block,
Sitting there in a cold chill.
She says who will take away his license to kill?
Now he worships at an altar of a stagnant pool
And when he sees his reflection, he's fulfilled.
Oh, man wants it all his own way,
And he is opposed to fair play.
But there's a woman on my block,
She just sits there as the night grows still.
She say who will take away his license to kill?
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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License To Kill
Man thinks 'cause he rules the earth he can do with it as he please
And if things don't change soon, he will.
'Cause man has invented his doom,
The first step was touching the moon.
Now, there's a woman on my block,
She just sits there as the night gets still.
She says who will take away his license to kill?
Now, they take him and they teach him and they groom him for life
And they set him on a path where he's bound to get ill,
And they bury him with stars,
Sell his body like they do used cars.
But there's a woman on my block,
She just sits there facin' the hill.
She says who will take away his license to kill?
Now, he's hell-bent for destruction, he's afraid and confused,
And his brain has been mismanaged with great skill.
Until all he believes are his eyes
And his eyes just tell him lies.
But there's a woman on my block,
Sitting there in a cold chill.
She says who will take away his license to kill?
Now he worships at an altar of a stagnant pool
And when he sees his reflection, he's fulfilled.
Oh, man wants it all his own way,
And he is opposed to fair play.
But there's a woman on my block,
She just sits there as the night grows still.
She say who will take away his license to kill?
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In A Dark Wood Wandering
The moans and screams of dying men;
a scene and sound surreal.
The flower of French Chivalry
cut down by English steel.
English Harry has won this day
on this wet and muddy ground.
So many high born men laid low,
but I am still around.
It was my blood that ransomed me
when others’ blood was shed.
I am the Duke of Orleans.
A poet, some have said.
In the aftermath of battle;
wounded, left to bleed.
Sir Richard Waller found me
and attended to my needs.
So today I am his prisoner,
we’ll become friends in time.
Now I am bound for England
as a “guest” of the English crown.
We’d had the numbers and the strength
to bring proud Henry down.
His Yeoman archers turned the tide
on this awful muddy ground.
Beset by woods on either flank
No room to strike or move.
It was our Constables’ worst mistake
and the last, as time would prove
Like a dark and deadly rain they fell
out of a clear blue sky.
Here on the field of Agincourt
where Princes came to die.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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By the Sword.
Your father made you
a sword out of metal
at the place he worked
and brought it home
one night after work
and gave it to you
after tea and said
Be careful how you use it
I don't want you using it
dangerously
ok
you said
and went off
with the heavy sword
into the spare room
you called the toy room
the place you fought
bad knights to save
damsels in distress
or have shoot outs
with cowboys
on the wrong side
of the law
and got your gun
out of the holster
before them
and plugged them
full of caps
or the pretend saloon
where you could go
for a shot of red eye
and once you had
the sword with you
you examined it carefully
running a finger along
the blunt blade
and then
you were set upon
by the enemy knights
out of nowhere
three onto one
and you had a sword fight
and being the top guy
you soon had them licked
and lying dead
and you heard your father
call out
from the dining room
Be careful you don't
kill anyone with that
and you murmured
Too late
I've just put them
to the sword
and he laughed
and your mother said
You shouldn't make him
weapons of death
it gives a false view
of the world
but your father just said
It's just a toy
just a bit of pretence
and a kid's got to have
something to use
in his defence
against invisible foes
and then they rowed
and so you shut the door
and put away the sword
and got out your gun
you could blow away
far more of them
and it was louder
quicker and more fun.
poem by Terry Collett
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Ill Always Be With You
I just went to the corner
To get some bread and butter,
Dad called, hed got your letter,
This is his new number.
Chickens on the burner
But wait for me if you can,
Ill be back soon, honey,
Big kiss from mommy.
(chorus)
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill,
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill,
Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
Please, I have a son!
(chorus)
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,
Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.
Sorry, I was so late,
Did you call your dad?
I hope he was nice to you,
I dont wanna see you sad.
I see you ate your chicken,
And saved me a plate,
I dont know how to tell you, I dont know how to tell,
But I love you, baby, rememember, Ill always be with you
Ill always be with you.
I love you, mommy, I love you with all my heart,
Please, always be with me.
(chorus)
Miss, miss, miss, miss,
Miss, miss, miss, miss.
Mommy! mommy!
Why do I love you so if youre just a spec of dust,
Floating endlessly amongst the trillion stars?
Knowing that one day we may float apart,
Meeting each other in universe.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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