Will You? for friend Thad
The singing spring, a sacred well.
Is heard to sing so legends tell.
At midnight when the moon is full.
They say the singing’s wonderful.
So beautiful you are entranced
until the sunrise sets you free.
You basic nature is enhanced.
So you are changed; permanently.
The good become even better.
The wicked ones grow much worse.
These rules are followed to the letter.
Bring changes which you can’t reverse.
I was advised to stay indoors
on evenings when the moon was full
I disregarded this of course.
When you are young you play the fool
I did not believe the tales were true
So I resolved to check it out
a very foolish thing to do
But Now I know I have no doubt.
I was a young and headstrong fool
Although that does not change a thing.
I went there when the moon was full
And heard the singing of the spring.
That’s why I sit here on death row.
I grew to enjoy violence.
I killed a man with just one blow.
Although I pleaded self defence.
The jury found I was guilty.
I know I didn’t mean to kill.
The evidence convicted me.
It seemed to be an act of will.
It seems I can’t escape the fate
The sacred well foresaw for me
I know now when it is too late
I must fulfil the prophecy.
I can’t complain I made the choice
I should listened carefully
But no I had to hear the voice
I went there unbelievingly.
I should have known but I did not
Old legends are based on some truth.
That’s why the legends aren’t forgot.
Except by disbelieving youth.
I must accept the penalty
There is nothing I can do.
One morning they will come for me.
Not pleasant to look forward to.
So heed my words and heed them well.
Do not ignore the legends that you hear
The strange tales that the old wives tell.
Although their meanings are not clear.
It won’t harm you stay indoors
on evenings when the moon is full.
It is by far the wisest course.
It never hurts to be careful.
Although you are a modernist
and can’t believe the tales are true
The ancient legends still persist.
The question is my friend Will you?
10/08/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Racial Memories: Perhaps Storypoem
83846A thick fog lies along the shore.
Much denser than I've seen before.
It seems somehow unnatural.
Far different from the usual.
Fog banks which we see frequently.
It seemed to spring up suddenly.
Too suddenly for it to be
Conforming with normality.
I watch it apprehensively
I feel some how it threatens me.
I can remember all too well.
The tale the local legends tell.
Of the great fog which stole away
Whole villages or so they say.
Though local legends tend to be
Less accurate than history.
Folk memories are based on truth.
Although there is no written proof
That does not mean they can't be true.
That's why they persist as they do
That I'm afraid I can't deny
Although I am not certain why.
I half believe the tales are true
And wonder if the fog can do
What legends say it's done before.
Perhaps it has returned for more.
I think it's time for me to go.
I do not really want to know.
What will happen if should stay
My instinct is to run away.
To climb into my car and drive
My only aim is to survive.
I realise I have been dreaming.
I can see the street lights gleaming.
And that things are as they ought to be.
My mind's been playing tricks on me.
I'm safe and warm in my armchair.
Although my mind has been elsewhere.
Concocting fear filled fantasies
From half remembered memories.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tricked and mistreated.
Tricked and mistreated.
I’ve been evicted dispossessed
I was fool did not believe
I really thought that knew best
and had no fear of all souls eve.
To me a jolly holiday
to trick or treat with all my friends.
But sadly I became the prey
of evil spirits who intend.
To seize the opportunity
Usurp a body take its place
assume again humanity
and thus rejoin the human race.
By accident I was alone
with no one near to offer aid
when I was cast out overthrown.
It was the one mistake I made.
To disbelieve was foolishness.
The legends made it very plain.
So now I am left bodiless
although I can still feel the pain.
I’m not the me I used to be
I am not sure just where I am.
Though all around me I can see
foul spirits who don’t give a damn.
For me and my predicament
They are too busy trying to
realise their only intent
of occupying a body too.
I’ve been evicted dispossessed
I know too well the tales are true.
I’ll disappear with all the rest
When the sun comes smiling through.
I’ll have to suffer 'til next year
Between the worlds in limbo lost.
Until all souls eve draws near.
For disbelief I pay the cost.
Then I’ll be hunting with pack
Seeking an opportunity
to try and seize my body back.
To be again who I should be.
I would advise you to believe.
The warning that I offer you
and stay indoors on all souls eve
because the old wives tales are true.
13/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Racial Memories: Perhaps
A thick fog lies along the shore.
Much denser than I've seen before.
It seems somehow unnatural.
Far different from the usual.
Fog banks which we see frequently.
It seemed to spring up suddenly.
Too suddenly for it to be
Conforming with normality.
I watch it apprehensively
I feel some how it threatens me.
I can remember all too well.
The tale the local legends tell.
Of the great fog which stole away
Whole villages or so they say.
Though local legends tend to be
Less accurate than history.
Folk memories are based on truth.
Although there is no written proof
That does not mean they can't be true.
That's why they persist as they do
That I'm afraid I can't deny
Although I am not certain why.
I half believe the tales are true
And wonder if the fog can do
What legends say it's done before.
Perhaps it has returned for more.
I think it's time for me to go.
I do not really want to know.
What will happen if should stay
My instinct is to run away.
To climb into my car and drive
My only aim is to survive.
I realise I have been dreaming.
I can see the street lights gleaming.
And that things are as they ought to be.
My mind's been playing tricks on me.
I'm safe and warm in my armchair.
Although my mind has been elsewhere.
Concocting fear filled fantasies
From half remembered memories.
Thursday,13 September 2012.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Idle thoughts
Chaos ruled the nothingness.
Only potentiality
existed in the timelessness
The universe was yet to be.
We cannot know the primal cause
which overcame the entropy.
Forced it to take a different course.
It must remain a mystery.
From nothing came reality
A fully orchestrated plan
Which could not happen possibly.
So says the finite mind of man.
So we build up hypotheses
and legends trying to explain
Rejecting others theories
Though there is nothing we can gain.
Arguments based on ignorance
are bandied freely to and fro.
If we found the truth by chance
it’s probable we would not know.
We know the universe exists.
We can’t deny the evidence
and yet the legends still persist
Though logically they make no sense.
Did God create the universe
and if so who created God
I do not wish to seem perverse
but I confess I find it odd.
Why is that mankind pursues
this useless quest obsessively.
I think the questions too abstruse
For us to view objectively.
I just accept the way things are
Which seems the wisest course to me
and hasn’t troubled me so far
But then perhaps I’m just lazy.
25/07/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My uncle was born at the end of the Edo era and was a great authority on the various bizarre and gruesome legends that were so popular in those days: tales of haunted houses with rooms no one dared enter; tales of the souls of scorned women, still living, tormenting an unfaithful lover; tales of ghosts unable to relinquish an attachment to their former lives... Yet he took great pains to deny there was any truth to these legends, repeating the lesson of his samurai education that "a true warrior does not believe in ghosts."
Kido Okamoto in The Ghost of Ofumi (1930), translated by Ian MacDonald
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Dancing Maidens for M'lady Tara
Tall standing stones still mark the spot.
Where Sunday dancers turned to stone.
You may believe or you may not
But sometimes standing there alone.
I try to solve the mystery.
All legends hold a grain of truth.
lost in the mists of history.
It may be just a tale to soothe.
The anger of those pious fools
who thought enjoyment was a sin
and formulated their strict rules.
That may have been the origin
But I think that the stones date back
since before Christianity.
Before the churchmen could attack
the dreadful sin of gaiety…
Nobody knows who raised the stones
nor yet the reason they were placed.
A monument to guard dead bones.
The passing years have long erased.
What evidence there might have been
and left no clues for us to find
They can present an eerie scene
Which leaves its mark upon your mind.
They say on certain nights they dance
but only when the moon is full.
If you should see them dance by chance.
The maidens are so beautiful,
no other maid will satisfy
The lust which they inspire in you.
You will stay single til you die
because no human maid will do.
I don’t believe that this is true
I think it very fanciful.
But happily admit to you
I stay home when the moon is full.
18-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Silent Eloquence for M lady Dee Daffodil
They say dead men do not tell tales.
This once was true but not today
Forensic science rarely fails.
Technology has shown the way.
We re-examine evidence
long thought to be of little use.
Our scrutiny is so intense,
that criminals are bound to lose.
Although they think they’re free and clear.
No one can tie them to their crime,
we’re dogged and we persevere.
We do not rush, we take our time.
Some criminals who still walk free
will soon discover that we can
prove their guilt indisputably.
In variably we get our man.
We have the latest gadgetry
we can recover D.N.A
from tiny fragments easily.
Eventually then you will pay.
The full price for your evil deed
although you think you’ve got away.
We will persist til we succeed.
We’re on your track and there we’ll stay.
We’ll forge a chain of evidence
that proves your guilt beyond all doubt
Then you will pay for your offence.
As in due course you will find out.
When you are brought before the court
No doubt you will plead not guilty.
You aren’t as clever as you thought.
You thought you’d got away Scott free.
Although Dame Justice may be blind.
She is prepared to listen to
any evidence we can find.
That pins the blame squarely on you..
Dead men can speak eloquently
and do when we investigate
assisted by technology
You can’t escape it is too late.
23-Jan-09
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Far Across The Sea
Africans at home and abroad!
Physical,
Spiritual,
Culture and heritage,
Uprising roots,
Recorded;
Destination,
But, everything occuring now is part os prophecy.
Love is that thing,
To check-in and to check-out!
Summer time,
Winter time,
African stars! !
Legends,
Living legends;
For, there is a land so far across the sea.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maps And Legends
He's not to be reached he's to be reached.
He's not to be reached he's to be reached.
Called the fool and the company
On his own where he'd rather be.
Where he ought to be he sees what you can't see can't you see that?
Maybe he's caught in the legend
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood.
Down the way the road's divided
Paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I don't know
refer to the yellow, red and green
Maybe he's caught in the legend,
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood.
He's not to be reached, he's to be reached. (4 times)
The map that you painted didn't seem real.
He just sings whatever he's seen
Point to the legend, point to the east,
Point to the yellow, red and green
Maybe he's caught in the legend,
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood, been misunderstood. (Maps and legends)
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached.
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached.
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached anymore
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everyone's Gone To The Moon
Everyone's Gone To the Moon
by Pee Wee King, Chilton Price and Redd Stewart
sung in the special "Art or Bust"
Streets full of people all alone.
Rows full of houses never home.
Church full of singing but it's out of tune.
Everyone's gone to the moon.
Eyes full of sorrow never wet.
Hands full of money all in debt.
Sun disappears in the middle of June.
Everyone's gone to the moon.
Long time ago life had begun
and everyone went to the sun.
Hearts full of motors painted green.
Mouths full of chocolate-covered dreams.
Mobs that can only lift a spoon.
Everyone's gone to the moon.
Everyone's gone to the moon.
Everyone's gone to the moon.
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Legendary profitabilty.
A quiet space a secret place.
A rocky cave in the cliff face.
Which somehow makes you feel welcome.
A hermit once made this his home.
A healer and an herbalist.
The legends say he did exist.
It’s said he never charged a fee
But gave his services for free.
To the poorest folks of his day.
But those who were rich enough to pay
Had to pay accordingly
For medicine the poor got free.
He was regarded with respect.
Exactly as you would expect.
His treatments worked effectively.
Because he knew the properties.
Of every herb both root and leaf.
And which to use to bring relief.
From common ailments of the day
His nostrums drove the pain away.
Although his fame spread far and wide.
He was determined to abide.
In the haven he had chosen
Far apart from other men.
As a hermit ought to do
And to his principles be true.
None knows his true identity
Lost in the mists of history.
The cave can still be seen today
And tourists come from far away.
Perhaps from curiosity
although there’s not a lot to see.
The tourists are prepared to spend.
That’s why the local all pretend.
That they believe the legends true
Because it suits their pockets to.
Sell souvenirs to visitors
at an inflated price of course.
You might well think I’m cynical
The locals are quite typical.
If there’s a profit to be made
Encouraging the tourist trade.
You can be sure they will supply
whatever tourists want to buy.
The legends may or may not be
Well rooted in reality.
What does it matter anyway
As long as it can be made to pay.
Thursday,02 February 2012
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It might be you for M lady Tara
A silver snake the river ran
deep and slow beneath the moon
It knew as only rivers can
the time was coming very soon.
When some lone traveller must pay
the dues it was entitled to.
Some reveller who’s on his way
after he’s had a drink or two.
The river chooses carefully
the one who’ll be the sacrifice.
The victim will die quietly
his ordeal over in a trice.
Each year the river takes its toll
a man or woman who’s full grown.
Releases their immortal soul
from all the sorrows they have known.
The locals know that this is true
and treat the legend with respect.
They know that when the fee falls due
the quiet river will select.
Somebody who will foot the bill.
Somebody who does not expect
this quiet water way to kill.
Though with their death they will protect
other travellers who cross.
The river is quite satisfied
with one who did not get across.
This sacrifice has mollified
the ancient hoary river horse
The Kelpie who controls the flow
of this deep river in its course.
But modern men don’t want to know.
Attribute deaths to accident
investigate to find a cause
for every single incident.
They disregard the River Horse.
Mere superstition so they say
and disbelieve the old wives tales.
But still the Kelpie has his way
one death per year he never fails.
Nobody see, nobody hears
there are no witnesses at all.
When the River horse appears
as he collects his yearly toll.
It has been so since days of yore
the records show with clarity.
One death per year and never more.
The river does not change its fee.
So should you choose to holiday
in Scotland you had best beware
The river valley of the Tay.
Unless of course you do not care
to listen to the tale I tell
and just dismiss it out of hand.
I speak of that which I know well
but I advise I can’t command.
You have the choice do as you will
take heed or not just as you choose.
You don’t believe that rivers kill
so bet your life its your to lose.
I am local bred and born
and I have seen my threescore years.
You may regard my tale with scorn
until the river horse appears.
You will believe than far too late
that Kelpies can and do exist
That’s why the legends still persist.
24 Aug 06
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maps & Legends
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached.
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached.
Called the fool and the company,
On his own where hed rather be.
Where he ought to be, he sees what you cant see,
Cant you see that?
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood.
Down the way the roads divided,
Paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I dont know
Refer to the yellow, red and green
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood.
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached. (4 times)
The map that you painted didnt seem real.
He just sings whatever hes seen
Point to the legend, point to the east,
Point to the yellow, red and green
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood, been misunderstood.
(maps and legends)
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached.
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached.
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached anymore.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sceptical
In the beginning was the word.
A statement patently absurd.
This is the message we receive
from priests who think we should believe.
If there were none to speak or hear.
It is not credible I fear.
The myths and legends multiply
but always fail to satisfy.
My avid curiosity
I simply can’t believe you see.
I think the truth is no one knows
nor ever I will I must suppose.
Why can’t these learned men confess?
they know no more and often less.
Than those who they attempt to teach.
Some knowledge is beyond their reach
and must remain a mystery.
This is the only certainty.
To which I have become resigned
but I will keep an open mind.
I’m sceptical that is quite true
but so I think my friend are you.
18-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Full Moon
Havent you noticed a kind of madness in my eyes?
Its only me, dear, in my midnight disguise.
Pay no attention if I crawl across the room.
Its just another full moon.
Dont be afraid of me when Im walking in my sleep.
Dont get alarmed, dear, when I start to crawl and creep.
Try not to listen when I mumble like a loon.
Its just another full moon.
Its just another full moon.
You see before you a truly broken man.
cause when it gets to midnight, I dont know who I am.
Full moons a-callin, and its put a curse on me,
And it will never set me free.
The full moons still up there,
Like a great white balloon.
The owls are a-callin,
And theyre singin my tune.
The night keeps a-callin.
I wish the day would come soon,
To get away from another full moon.
Here comes another full moon.
If your hands start shakin
When night starts to fall,
If youre scared of the moonlight
And the shadows on the wall,
If the face in the mirror
Isnt you at all,
Its just another full moon.
Its just another full moon.
La la la la la la.
La la la la la la.
La la la la la la.
La la la la la la.
Its just another full moon.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Black Angus Bull
Out there in the paddock I hear the black bull
He never stops bellowing when the moon is full
I wonder does the moon effect him in some strange way
For I've never heard him bellow in the light of the day
The full moon does effect people 'tis said
It has an unsettling effect in the head
And if a mental weakness in humans the full moon can find
Why not it too effect the animal kind
He has his herd of cows with him yet I do wonder why
He bellows all night when the moon's in the sky
During the hours of day he is always so quiet
And I've never heard him bellow on a dark night
But he never stops bellowing when the moon is full
Out there in the paddock the black angus bull.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Full Cold Moon
This night
All light
Full still moon
Lamp lit
Silhouette
Full still moon
Many faces
Secret places
Full still moon
Supernal eye
In the sky
Full still moon
Big stone
Cold Alone
Full still moon
In reverie
A memory
Full still moon
Only one
You are
gone
Only night
to dream
upon
Full
Cold
Moon
poem by Ari' Anna Arena
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Legends
A legend has emerged from the deep,
Instilling hatred for the time being,
The destruction of the times we call the floods
Carried new legends, for the old legends were dead.
The acts of a past guarantee success, fullness,
Words mean a noise of obvious strength.
The old legends speak authority,
But new have effects of the backbone
For the structure of society is never weak.
The depth of the myths surrounding this walk
Is the whole society, the entire humankind.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Well did they?
Well did they?
And did those feet in ancient times
Walk upon England’s mountains green.
And was the Holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen
William Blake
A Glosa
And did those feet in ancient times
walk here as in the Holy Land
A pretty tale if it were true.
Inscribed by some well meaning hand.
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
A legend which I can’t believe
Although written with good intent.
Some priestly purpose to achieve.
And was the holy Lamb of God
a traveller who came and went.
What reason would he have to come?
what was his purpose and intent.
On England’s pleasant pastures seen
the Lamb of God, it could be true
Although there is no evidence
to prove it: legends will not do.
21-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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