WElcome Guest, story poem
Harried by hounds the stag is spent.
He is worn out and terrified.
Enters my gates by accident,
In search of somewhere he can hide.
He finds safety in a stall
which has long been unoccupied.
He’s found his haven after all.
Because I instantly decide.
To bar my gates against the hounds
and to the idiots who ride.
They will not trespass on my grounds.
The law is firmly on my side.
The stag is safe and free to stay.
I will ensure he is not harmed
until the hunters go away.
He has no cause to be alarmed.
I’ll set him free to go his way
when he regains his energy.
They must forego their kill today.
The Stag is no mans enemy.
I hate the men who hunt for sport
the harmless creatures of the wild
Who they can kill without a thought.
Our views can not be reconciled
They will return from whence they came
slowly and dejectedly.
Because I spoilt the little game
They’ll ban me from their company.
A ban that will not worry me
although they are convinced it will.
I much prefer the company
of the wild deer they hope to kill.
The Stag appear to understand
although it watches warily.
That it is safe by my command
and he is resting easily.
When it grows dark I’ll turn him loose
back to the freedom that he knows.
I am quite sure he won’t refuse.
Though I’ll be sad to see him go.
He was not born to be confined.
He has a nobler destiny.
Protecting his small flock of hinds
and raising up a family.
I think he knows I wish him well
and looks at me before he goes.
He has no tongue in which to tell.
But I am certain that he knows.
Tuesday,16 March 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
A Runnable Stag
When the pods went pop on the broom, green broom,
And apples began to be golden-skinn'd,
We harbour'd a stag in the Priory coomb,
And we feather'd his trail up-wind, up-wind,
We feather'd his trail up-wind-
A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
A runnable stag, a kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
A stag, a runnable stag.
Then the huntsman's horn rang yap, yap yap,
And 'Forwards' we heard the harbourer shout;
But 'twas only a brocket that broke a gap
In the beechen underwood, driven out,
From the underwood antler'd out
By warrant and might of the stag, the stag,
The runnable stag, whose lordly mind
Was bent on sleep though beam'd and tined
He stood, a runnable stag
So we tufted the covert till afternoon
With Tinkerman's Pup and Bell- of-the-North;
And hunters were sulky and hounds out of tune
Before we tufted the right stag forth,
Before we tufted him forth,
The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
The royal and runnable stag.
It was Bell-of-the-North and Tinkerman's Pup
That stuck to the scent till the copse was drawn.
'Tally ho! tally ho!' and the hunt was up,
The tufters whipp'd and the pack laid on,
The resolute pack laid on,
And the stag of warrant away at last,
The runnable stag, the same, the same,
His hoofs on fire, his horns like flame,
A stag, a runnable stag.
'Let your gelding be: if you check or chide
He stumbles at once and you're out of the hunt
For three hundred gentlemen, able to ride,
On hunters accustom'd to bear the brunt,
Accustom'd to bear the brunt,
Are after the runnable stag, the stag,
The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
The right, the runnable stag.
By perilous paths in coomb and dell,
The heather, the rocks, and the river-bed,
The pace grew hot, for the scent lay well,
And a runnable stag goes right ahead,
The quarry went right ahead--
Ahead, ahead, and fast and far;
His antler'd crest, his cloven hoof,
Brow, bay and tray and three aloof,
The stag, the runnable stag.
For a matter of twenty miles and more,
By the densest hedge and the highest wall,
Through herds of bullocks lie baffled the lore
Of harbourer, huntsman, hounds and all,
Of harbourer, hounds and all
The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
For twenty miles, and five and five,
He ran, and he never was caught alive,
This stag, this runnable stag.
When he turn'd at bay in the leafy gloom,
In the emerald gloom where the brook ran deep
He heard in the distance the rollers boom,
And he saw In a vision of peaceful sleep
In a wonderful vision of sleep,
A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
A runnable stag in a jewell'd bed,
Under the sheltering ocean dead,
A stag, a runnable stag.
So a fateful hope lit up his eye,
And he open'd his nostrils wide again,
And he toss'd his branching antlers high
As he headed the hunt down the Charlock glen,
As he raced down the echoing glen
For five miles more, the stag, the stag,
For twenty miles, and five and five,
Not to be caught now, dead or alive,
The stag, the runnable stag.
Three hundred gentleman, able to ride,
Three hundred horses as gallant and free,
Beheld him escape on the evening tide,
Far out till he sank in the Severn Sea,
Till he sank in the depths of the sea
The stag, the buoyant stag, the stag
That slept at last in a jewell'd bed
Under the sheltering ocean spread,
The stag, the runnable stag.
poem by John Davidson
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The Stag (ballad)
The Stag it ran through fields and woods
Flitting here darting there
Running fast from men with hoods
Fast as a hare
A bird over head cries a warning song
A warning song cries the bird
For the stag the bravest stag
Who is torn away from the herd
The gun trumpets on the still air
This frightens the stag that runs like a hare
He runs through the trees and to a pool
He stops to take a breath but then he hears, leaves fall
The gun cries again and the stag he falls
By the trees and the pool
he makes one last cry and his body goes cool
The spirit of the stag
Leaped up and flew
And frightened the men
As he galloped across the dew
poem by Cheetah Girl
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Hunter's Song
The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.
It was a stag, a stag of ten,
Bearing its branches sturdily;
He came silently down the glen,
Ever sing hardily, hardily.
It was there he met with a wounded doe,
She was bleeding deathfully;
She warned him of the toils below,
O so faithfully, faithfully!
He had an eye, and he could heed,
Ever sing so warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed--
Hunters watch so narrowly.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Uhland's White Stag
Into the woods three huntsmen came,
Seeking the white stag for their game.
They laid them under a green fir-tree
And slept, and dreamed strange things to see.
(FIRST HUNTSMAN)
I dreamt I was beating the leafy brush,
When out popped the noble stag--hush, hush!
(SECOND HUNTSMAN)
As ahead of the clamorous pack he sprang,
I pelted him hard in the hide--piff, bang!
(THIRD HUNTSMAN)
And as that stag lay dead I blew
On my horn a lusty tir-ril-la-loo!
So speak the three as there they lay
When lo! the white stag sped that way,
Frisked his heels at those huntsmen three,
Then leagues o'er hill and dale was he--
Hush, hush! Piff, bang! Tir-ril-la-loo!
poem by Eugene Field
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The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag
I hunt for the golden stag.
You may smile, my friends, but I
pursue the vision that eludes me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands, because I am
hunting for the golden stag.
You come and buy in the market
and go back to your homes laden with
goods, but the spell of the homeless
winds has touched me I know not when
and where.
I have no care in my heart; all my
belongings I have left far behind me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands--because I am
hunting for the golden stag.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Bitter Harvest for Friend Corey
The seeds of death are planted by
men reckless of the consequence
They’re meant to kill the enemy.
But they can destroy innocence.
The warring factions have moved on.
Survivors try to till their land
convinced they’re safe that dangers gone.
They simply do not understand.
Land mines don’t differentiate
between a friend and enemy.
They have been armed and lie in wait
until exploding suddenly.
They are designed to kill and
and this they do impartially.
It’s difficult to name and blame
the authors of each tragedy.
There’s very little you can do
except donate towards the cause.
To pay the experts willing to
clear up the land mines left by wars.
This is your chance to show you
care enough to help financially.
We can provide the men who dare
disarm the land mines carefully
To let subsistence farmers farm
so they can feed their families
Without the constant fear of harm
from dangers which they cannot see.
And leave the children free to play
as children are entitled to.
We can all help in some small way
but only if we’re willing too.
3-Feb-09 http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Tonight could be the last you see!
.
The night is not my enemy.When darkness falls it sets me free.
Thanks to my night adapted eyes.I take my victims by surprise.
Young healthy girls preferably, each one is chosen carefully
It is their choice to walk alone before I claim for my own
I drain their blood efficiently ‘til I have fed sufficiently
Although I know there’s sure to be a hue and cry to search for me
By the time that they are found I will have safely gone to ground
To where my coffin waits for me. I sleep peacefully
Until the sun sets in the west then I resume my nightly quest.
I stalk the city stealthily and find fresh victims easily.
Although the old legends persist they don’t believe vampires exist.
Until the night they catch my eye.Then they believe before they die.
I have to kill to satisfy the burning thirst I can’t deny
I do not slay for cruelty.I need their blood to sustain me
I am as I was meant to be. The predator you do not see
until the night you meet your fate. You may not have too long to wait
It could be you I choose tonight to satisfy my appetite.
If you are wise you’ll stay indoor, safe from night prowling predators.
I don’t suppose you’ll pay much heed. Humans are a stubborn breed
Sunday,07 March 2010.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Free Thinker.
I don’t believe the world we see could happen accidentally.
Considered scientifically the evidence convinces me.
There has to be some master plan, some power which is greater than anything conceived by man. Which I believe because I can
think independently. Refuse to follow slavishly
the ideas which are currently accepted by humanity.
Though different creeds hold different views from a man is free to choose.
I am entitled to refuse. After all what can I lose?
I can accept that I might be completely wrong quite possibly.
But I believe that I am free to reject theology.
Though warring creeds have every right to see it as a sacred rite
Freedom to worship as they choose. I can respect their different views.
That does not mean I must agree. I tolerate quite easily
and all I ask their respect. I ‘m not a fool I don’t expect
they will relinquish bigotry and cease to try to convert me.
I don’t belong to any creed Because I can’t see any need.
I think that god created me and gave me the ability
To use my brain to think things through and that is what I choose to do
.
Tuesday,11 May 2010.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Lupus
The Lupus
Wolf, feared animal in folktales, is back in north Europe
it was eradicated, or so we thought, but they have been
observed in woodlands wiser than before, they don’t
like sheep and rabbits avoid humans and dislike dogs.
prefer deer though, and wild boars. As historians tell us
never did wolves kill man. But you can’t beat the power
of fairytales, they eat little children and prowling cats.
If this goes on hunters say there will be no wild animals
For us to kill, get rid of them “grey foot” is our enemy.
And dark tales fill the papers, a wolf has been observed
near a kindergarten, spots of lamb blood in the snow.
Wolves are always seen in the mist just like in folklores
Let’s kill them now before it is too late our children get
eaten by those shadowy four legged, satanic monsters.
A question remains thought, why don’t wolves like sheep?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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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Fair Exchange? for M'Lady Ernestine
A man alone is incomplete.
He needs a helpmeet by his side
a fact from which you cannot hide.
He may be self sufficient
but I am sure that nature meant.
He needs a mate to be content.
Man was not meant to live alone.
Though he can cook and clean and bake
he needs a mate make no mistake.
A bachelor but not for long.
Some pretty maid will come along
and prove to him that he is wrong.
She will convince him easily.
She can fulfil all of his needs
the oldest tale of all succeeds.
He takes the bait with open eyes
and then he finds to his surprise.
That she not he has won the prize.
He may look back with some regret.
In fact it is quite normal to,
but things have changed as they must do.
A married man you are constrained
your roving eye must be restrained.
But you’ve lost less than you have gained.
Though bachelors may be quite free
to come and go just as they please
without responsibility.
No longer foot loose fancy free
you will adapt quite easily.
Swap freedom for security.
10-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Why should you believe me?
I guarantee that you can be
from this day forth quite vampire free..
Don’t turn away, listen to me
It is quite free there is no fee.
I do not ask that you pay me
nor even ask you to agree.
Vampires can bite so suddenly
and then you live eternally.
Driven by hunger constantly
you will thirst uncontrollably.
Every throbbing throat you see
as a meal tantalisingly.
If this is what you want to be.
Then just ignore me pointedly
As people do ignorantly.
In my opinion foolishly.
No crucifix can guarantee
your permanent security.
From a blood drinking entity
Who has selected you to be.
Provider of his energy
He’ll drink your life blood thirstily.
You should consider carefully
this awful possibility.
Because there is no remedy.
Once bitten you’re condemned to be
numbered amongst the enemy
and will be so eternally
It is your choice you are quite free.
To turn away mistakenly.
Convinced that I talk crazily
Although I’m offering honestly.
That I can truly guarantee
that I can make you permanently.
Quite safe from any vampire who might be
regarding you as possibly.
A victim he can easily
subdue because you foolishly.
Refuse advice that’s offered free.
Perhaps you doubt my honesty.
So go your way but carefully
I cannot force you to agree.
Although choice saddens me.
I will continue hopefully.
To offer folks the chance to be
protected permanently for free.
from dangers which they do not see.
Although they threaten constantly.
The vampires walk abroad quite free
from questions of morality.
They can appear to be friendly
Before they pounce on you greedily.
So take my warning seriously
Some friends are not what they seem to be.
You can be fooled so easily
by monsters acting charmingly.
7-Oct-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Nimrod
There were brave men, some one has truly said,
Before Atrides (those were mostly dead
Behind him) and ere you could e'er occur
Actaeon lived, Nimrod and Bahram-Gur.
In strength and speed and daring they excelled:
The stag they overtook, the lion felled.
Ah, yes, great hunters flourished before you,
And-for Munchausen lived-great talkers too.
There'll be no more; there's much to kill, but-well,
_You_ have left nothing in the world to tell!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Towards Break Of Day
WAS it the double of my dream
The woman that by me lay
Dreamed, or did we halve a dream
Under the first cold gleam of day?
I thought: 'There is a waterfall
Upon Ben Bulben side
That all my childhood counted dear;
Were I to travel far and wide
I could not find a thing so dear.'
My memories had magnified
So many times childish delight.
I would have touched it like a child
But knew my finger could but have touched
Cold stone and water. I grew wild.
Even accusing Heaven because
It had set down among its laws:
Nothing that we love over-much
Is ponderable to our touch.
I dreamed towards break of day,
The cold blown spray in my nostril.
But she that beside me lay
Had watched in bitterer sleep
The marvellous stag of Arthur,
That lofty white stag, leap
From mountain steep to steep.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Could this be you?
I
Cannot
understand
intolerance.
I don’t even try.
You have the right to be
bigoted if you so please.
All I can do is pity you.
Who are enslaved by your prejudice.
I much prefer to keep an open mind
Tuesday,13 April 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Am I a Sinner or a Saint?
I will supply pure heroine
To all the hopheads on the street
And then the clean up will begin
I’ll rid the city of dead beats.
A drastic plan but effective.
The have free choice they need not use.
It is their choice to live or die.
I doubt that many will refuse.
Am I sinner or a saint?
to contemplate mass homicide
To rid the city of this taint.
It’s up to you, you must decide.
Am I murderer or not.
They choose to use what I supply
Some use a little some a lot.
Is it my fault if they all die.
I am the last man they’d expect
to even think of such a plan.
For after all who would suspect.
such tactics from a clergyman.
My plan proved to be a great success
The city streets are safer now.
I have some doubts I must confess.
But I feel justified some how.
I do believe in mans free will.
To choose to use or not use
A substance which will likely kill.
I don’t believe in drug abuse.
17/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Hidden watcher. For M'; lady Francesca
Hidden watcher.
The salt marsh stretches endlessly
and forms a perfect habitat
Where migrant birds nest in safety
to brood and raise a family.
Few hunters ever venture here,
because they fear the boggy ground
That’s noted for its treachery.
So most prefer to hunt elsewhere.
Bird watchers come the whole year round.
They only shoot with cameras
and they avoid the boggy ground
They know that rare birds can be found.
In the salt marsh beside the sea.
It is a twitcher’s paradise
They record meticulously
each and every bird they see
The salt marsh lies beside the sea.
As it has done since time began.
A panorama of rare beauty
That is changing constantly.
It changes as the seasons change.
I does not stay the same for long.
Nature can and does rearrange
to make the landscape look quite strange.
An eerie place and frightening
when covered by a dense sea fret.
When you can see and hear nothing
above the roar of waves breaking.
There’s nowhere I’d prefer to be
Than esconced in my favourite hide.
To watch the birds in secrecy
I can see them They can’t see me.
Sunday,15 August 2010.
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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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Cool Vibes
Don't want you
To lead me to the dark
Don't need you
To tear my heart apart
Don't do that
Though people say that you're my enemy
I know you can set me free
Don't want you
To come so close to me
Don't need you
To blow my fantasy
But i know
That you are livin' far beyond those lies
I can see the danger rise in your eyes
Cool vibes why don't you kill me?
Cool vibes why don't you turn your eyes away
Can't you see we're free to die
Cool vibes all we can do is fight and pray
Cool vibes why don't you thrill me
Cool vibes why don't you kill me
All that i can see
Are shadows of my destiny
Don't want you
To make me feel afraid
Don't need you
To take away the hate
But i know
that you will break the seal of mystery
Leave it to my fantasy what will be?
Cool vibes why don't you kill me?
Stay close to me
Infinity
Enigma's what we share
But i don't care
You'll be there
song performed by by Vanilla Ninja
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voluntary Genocide?
The shrill wind whistles through at will.
The remnants of venetian blinds.
The rooms inside are tainted still
with viruses of different kinds
All tailor made which were designed
To only kill selectively
The product of a mad mans mind.
A plan which backfired tragically.
He was convinced he had the right
to alter mankind’s destiny
That everyone who was not white
should be destroyed efficiently.
His master plan was to erase
all non white populations.
And thus provide more living space
for go ahead Caucasians.
Now he is dead with all the rest
of mankind both black and white
Perhaps it worked out for the best.
There are no humans left to fight.
The whole world is free from wars
The only killing is for meat
and that by natures predators.
Who have no choice they have to eat.
The human race which killed for sport
Has had its day and left the stage
It failed to satisfy the court.
Maturity would come with age.
12/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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