We are not amused for M lady Mary Gordley
I cannot sleep the whole night through.
My muse will not allow me to
when she commands I must obey.
I wish she’d take a holiday.
She thinks that sleeping is a crime
she does not sleep so why should I.
A complete and utter waste of time.
Which I could better occupy
by sitting at my desk to write
instead of lazing in my bed.
I think she thinks she has the right.
She just ignores all I have said.
Some folks complain of writers block
whilst I have writers Diarrhoea
My muse would hide beneath a rock
if she could not supply ideas.
Which I must translate into verse
to demonstrate her eloquence
She views my fatigue as perverse;
of very little consequence.
An active muse can be a curse
I sometimes wish she’d stay away
To have no muse would be much worse
I just give in do it her way.
5-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Ultimatum
Above, below to left or right.
There is no where that I can hide,
my muse finds me and makes me write.
My wants must go unsatisfied
She interrupts my sleep and meals
insists that I take up my pen.
She has no idea how it feels
to be forced to write again.
She wakes from my peaceful dreams
and asks me why I’m wasting time.
She has a whole new list of themes
for me to translate into rhyme.
I think she has insomnia
Or else prefers to work at night.
She’ll really have to learn I fear
I am entitled not to write.
I need to sleep, I need to eat
I need some time to call my own.
But she refuses to retreat
She thinks she occupies a throne.
And her commands I must obey
immediately without protest.
Ignoring every word I say
convinced that only she knows best.
I dig my toes in and refuse
sometimes a man must make a stand.
I only have a muse to lose
At last she seems to understand.
That I’m not at her beck and call
I have other things I must do.
Her attitude won’t do at all’
It’s something that she must review.
I only write when I want to,
not when muse decides I should.
Renewal of her contracts due
That fact alone should give her food
for thought. I may decide not to renew.
If she wants to retain her place
She will do as I tell her to
accept my bidding with good grace.
There are some muses unemployed
Seeking for opportunities
who would be simply overjoyed
to get the chance to work with me.
She really has to realise
There’s limits to my patience
which she far too often tries.
The time has come to show some sense.
I am in charge and not my muse.
Although she thinks that she should be
I’ve had enough of her abuse
She either leaves or obeys me.
2-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Help Wanted
I am compelled, perhaps obsessed.
Would be a better choice of word.
My muse allows me little rest.
She is convinced that she know best
No matter how much I protest
She insists she has the right
To make me write by day and night.
I sometimes feel I am possessed
Although the idea seems absurd.
My judgement marred by lack of rest
I find reality is blurred.
I’m sure my muse abuses me
I’m tired of her tyranny.
I really think that it would be
Better if she left. Undeterred
She still insists that she knows best.
And acts as if she hasn’t heard.
That poets can dismiss their muse
When they are guilty of abuse.
I’m sick of being under stress
Although I would have much
preferred not to cause my muse distress
She pretended she misheard.
When I told her we were through
It was the only thing to do.
I did not like her attitude.
But now I am without a muse.
Although I have some aptitude
I must arrange some interviews
I will be careful when I choose
Some muse to fill the vacancy.
A muse that will not bully me.
Monday,17 October 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Foregone Conclusion. For M'selle Perrault
My muse like any woman will
use her feminine wiles and skill
To persuade me to her view
and will persist until I do
Exactly as she wants me to.
I’m well aware that she will win.
Should I surrender just give in?
I must defend my self respect
it is the least she will expect
So I protest to no effect.
When my muse makes up her mind.
Like any poet I will find.
I have no choice but to obey
and there is nothing I can say.
She will reject each argument.
That I can muster and present
Although it’s futile to resist.
My fragile ego will insist
I have no option but persist
to register my discontent.
Though this does not deter my muse.
She knows full well I can’t refuse.
She knows from my past history.
I will submit reluctantly
She always wins eventually
She knows I must put on a show
to satisfy my male ego.
She is prepared to wait until
I do obey her sovereign will.
She makes that clearly evident.
I cannot win I’m bound to lose
When I argue with my muse.
She’s confident she will prevail.
After all I’m only a male
Somewhat naïve and innocent.
She knows I am a gentleman
that’s why she’s certain that she can.
Persuade coerce or bully me
Until give in and agree.
My muse will brook no argument.
Sunday,24 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A matter of choice for M'Lady Indira
Some take their writing seriously
Whilst others are just dilettantes
Though my muse states imperiously,
that I must write the way she wants
The duties writers undertake
are manifold and various.
They have to write make no mistake
on subjects light or serious.
They know it is their duty to
deflate the self important fools.
Who in their ignorance pursue
a vain attempt to scrap all rules.
Discard the lessons of the past.
Insisting anything will do.
A fashion I am sure wont last
when readers can compare it to.
Fine verse that stood the test of time.
The glories of formality
by masters of meter and rhyme.
Which they left for posterity.
Though I concede all have the right,
to write in any way they choose.
To some free form is sheer delight.
All down to taste I must suppose.
26-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Emell
This muse of love is like how to write a song,
This muse of care is like how to write a poem,
This muse of peace is like how to write a stroy,
This muse of joy is like how to write a book,
But, i am now delivered with the muse of your love!
Because, i now live in the land of your muse and,
You are called Emell.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My Muse Is Free
I swim in the glimmers on the rivers muse
There I muse of love and love muse of me
In muse is ecstasy
my muse is free.
I lay by the brook, the muse's brook
And thirsty, I get up, to get a little drink
When I look, I see, I think
A beautiful Muse and my heart is shook
I dwell in a soul, a soulful muse
And to its harmony my soul withdrew
To the trumpets of muse the song of blue
My soul a muse, I always knew
I smell the odor, of muse's incense
In its torpor my body sleeps in my soul
And I smoke the smoke of muse intense
I laugh at myself amusingly droll
With my muse's nymphs we love in Hellas
Naked and free in the republic
Of beauty and art of love's Bellas
We love to we're entirely love sick.
My muse is free from the Devil's temptation
My Muse is free from God's judgment
My Muse is my only wordly nation
My Muse is a dream, I live, I lament
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Hot Noodles!
Hot noodles!
Vigorous,
On the road,
With my health and my stregth,
But, whoever can't see it must touch it.
Original!
Here i am;
Home sweet home! !
With your muse,
With my muse;
However, you can feel it when you can't hear it.
Clock, flock, hock, block, lock, dock!
With the muse of your love,
And like chatting with your teacher;
Very active! !
Because you were just paid;
But, mighty be your powers.
Jock, rock, knock, stock!
Just got paid,
reaper, repair! !
Cream and butter,
Love and romance,
And like 40 light years away!
But this frozen planet is like the muse of your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Enough Already
I sometimes wish my muse would take
a holiday, A longish break.
She is convinced she has the right
to badger me by day and night.
There’s other things I want to do.
I love to write that is quite true
But household chores must still be done.
I’d like a little time for fun
A bit of time to paint and draw
I don’t have time to anymore’
I have some books I want to read
but constantly she fills my head
with poetry, she cannot see
Sometimes I need some time for me.
27/10/2009Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Enough already.
I sometimes wish my muse would take
a holiday, A longish break.
She is convinced she has the right
to badger me by day and night.
There’s other things I want to do.
I love to write that is quite true
But household chores must still be done.
I’d like a little time for fun
A bit of time to paint and draw
I don’t have time to anymore’
I have some books I want to read
but constantly she fills my head
with poetry, she cannot see
Sometimes I need some time for me.
27/10/2009Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Who is in charge?
My muse continues to abuse
her position. She will refuse
to use her skills to help me out
That she’s in charge she has no doubt.
But I have bad news for my muse.
I have arranged some interviews
with other muses unemployed
Who say they would be overjoyed
to find themselves in with a chance
Which would improve their circumstance.
My muse is old and crotchety
she really thinks, she employs me.
I think it’s time that she retired
a thought which she herself inspired.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Petition
To spring belongs the violet, and the blown
Spice of the roses let the summer own.
Grant me this favor, Muse--all else withhold--
That I may not write verse when I am old.
And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time!
Be not too ready to deny me rhyme;
And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse,
I beg you very gently break the news.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Annabel
It will surely rise up!
Because, i am Annabel in the land of your muse;
And like the works of art and the beauty of your love,
For, the colour of the sea is like the muse of your town.
I know your mind and,
You are unable to hide this muse from me! !
For, it will always rise up to satisfy me;
And like the joy of success!
But, try to understand my sweet muse around you always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Who Knows for J T Earley
Who Knows
I wonder where muses reside.
Externally or deep inside
some remote corner of the brain.
A quiet spot where they can gain
full access to your memories.
Which they manipulate with ease,
inserting things you could not know.
About events too long ago
for you to possibly recall.
The screaming of a minie ball
as butternut fought with blue grey.
As if you heard it yesterday.
Is my muse an entity
who has her own identity.
Or just another part of me
which can act independently.
Forgive me if I seem confused
sometimes I think I’m being used
Who really writes my poetry
is it my muse or is it me.
4-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Past Participant for M lady Ernestine
Though it may seem I am obsessed.
The truth is that I am possessed
by an old writer long since dead.
Who now resides inside my head
He’ll have no truck with modern verse
and thinks that free form is perverse.
That’s something with which I agree,
perhaps that’s why he’s chosen me
To be his slave, his to command
he doesn’t seem to understand
He is a most unwelcome guest
at best I see him as a pest.
He may be Shakespeare as he says
but I write poetry not plays.
8-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Phase Two
Things are not the same as they use to be!
And like the muse of your love 20 years ago;
But my sweet muse to you is like the works of joy! !
For the muse of hate is never noted to me;
And, i will always stay around you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Accident.experiment or something meant.for M lady Ernestine.
I sometimes wonder why I ponder
on questions I cannot answer.
Why do I sit and wrack my brain
when there is nothing I can gain.
My endless curiosity
constantly compelling me.
To try and solve the mystery,
which has plagued man through history.
Did God create the race of man
for reasons known to him alone?
Is there an underlying plan
Which lies beneath all that is known.
Or were we just an accident
which has no purpose or intent.
The question which I put to you.
Which do you believe is true?
It’s not a case of either or
there could be many, many more,
explanations I suppose,
the truth is nobody knows.
You do not even have to choose,
you are entitled to refuse.
Though personally I shall still muse
and try to clarify my views.
Tuesday,11 May 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A matter of opinion.
Some people say I am perverse
because I choose to write in verse.
The kind of stories I compose.
They think I ought to write in prose.
They have the right to I suppose.
But I won’t do as they propose.
I much prefer to write in verse
Because I think there’s nothing worse
Than badly written boring prose.
That is the reason why I chose.
To concentrate on rhyming verse.
I see no reason to reverse.
My original decision
to conform to your opinion.
I do not choose to write in prose
I am convinced that I would lose.
My rhyming capability
reducing my ability.
To write my words spontaneously.
I don’t expect you to agree.
Although I am compelled to write.
You’re free to exercise your right
To read or not as you choose to.
Though I confess I hope you do.
I know I can’t please everyone.
That is something that can’t be done
By any writer though they try
A truth no writer can deny.
Your comments are of interest
they spur me on to do my best.
We can agree to disagree
on which is best quite easily.
A poet must choose poetry.
But other writers are quite free.
to share their thoughts written in prose
Because they choose to I suppose.
If you should doubt my competence.
I will not choose to take offence.
You are entitled to your view
Please remember I am too
Sunday,02 May 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Provisions
Oil, wine and some fruits;
And to reassure your sweet love with my muse!
But i met you in am open field last night,
And i will look after you with my love.
Provisions and gifts,
In the open fields of love and care;
But i will surely deliver you with my love,
And like the muse of joy in the land of plenty.
Provisions, soon, son, sons, vision, visions, in, pin, poor!
And all around with the muse of your love;
But write down the words that i have spoken to you in a book,
For my joy is like the muse of the rainbow seen around.
Provisions, on, no, pros, sin, sins, ion, ions, is, in, pins!
But the life of a hunter is like the life of your muse;
And like the joy of your love as seen around,
Because i am ever ready to share my mind with you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ebenezer Shillingtree.R.I.P
I sit and muse amongst the tombs.
Only disturbed by sonic booms
as fighter planes pass overhead.
A noise enough to wake the dead.
The dead do not agree with me.
Continue sleeping peacefully.
Planes interrupt my train of thought
I cannot get the peace I sought
I seek peace in this cemetery
So I can write my poetry
The dead don’t question what I do.
Perhaps they might do if they knew.
Their headstones can inspire me
I use their strange names shamelessly.
18-May-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Addiction for M lady Kim
Addiction
I’ll exercise self discipline.
Today I will not write a word.
I have decided it’s no sin.
This constant scribbling’s absurd.
I choose a book and start to read
but then some phrase enraptures me.
Quite suddenly I feel the need
I have to write and urgently,
Before my train of thought is lost
I find my pad take up my pen
and writing in the style of Frost.
I find I’m scribbling again.
My muse cannot contain her glee.
She knows that she’s in charge not me.
20-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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