Unconventional

The day was cold but she was not in point of fact she was too hot.
So she stripped off all of her clothes because she chose to I suppose
Her neighbours thought it rather quaint but only one raised a complaint
The vicar did not think she should do her gardening in the nude
But she replied acerbically that if he did not want to see
Then he should look the other way. She did not tell him how to pray
He should not tell her how she must dress. For all his show of piousness
She had seen him gazing lustfully when he was no one could see
Upon young school girls passing by from whom he could not tear his eye. What right has he to condemn me when I display quite openly
All that I have quite naturally with no false show of modesty
I’m not ashamed why should I be.I am the way that God made me
But he conceals his prurience behind an air of innocence
By advocating nudity at least I’m acting honestly.
I have no time for pious frauds who secretly gain their rewards
by using their imagination to enjoy what they would dearly like to do.
I told the vicar to his face I thought he was a black disgrace
He mumbled something in reply but could not look me in the eye.
He knew I had divined his lustfulness. He knew I knew no need to guess.
He thought it best to move away but where he went I cannot say.
We have a lady vicar now who does not try to tell me how

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Paadise Regained story poem

My deafness is hysterical.
Psychosomatic so they say
They may well be right old pal.
I had to find some legal way.

to escape her whining voice
She’s Catholic and won’t divorce
That leaves me very little choice
for I abhor the use of force.

She nags and moans from morn till night
Her venom never satisfied.
No single thing I do is right.
I have considered suicide

She thinks the doctor’s on her side
and he will find a cure for me.
That leaves me only homicide
but I must plan it carefully.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Complementary viewpoints for friend Chandra

Philosophy and poetry
are not completely different.
Each represents a way to see
What is not always evident.

Philosophers and poets try
to understand the universe.
The answers which they can supply.
Expressed in turgid prose or verse.

Philosophers can be abstruse
and difficult to understand
Because of how they phrase their views.
I don’t dismiss them out of hand.

I much prefer the poets verse
To endless reams of complex prose.
I do not think I am perverse
Simplicity I must suppose.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Back to my roots for friend Bob

The sun is setting on the sea.
It paints the restless waters red.
I sit alone solitary
and from my vantage point I see

The sky darken to indigo
I sit alone and watch night fall.
I choose to stay although I know
that duty calls and I should go.

Back to the harsh reality
I have to cope with every day.
The endless noise of the city.
With which I feel no empathy.

I must suppose I’ll always be
the country boy that I once was
But driven by necessity
I left my home reluctantly.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Blind Justice for friend Thad

Grey stone walls wherein confined.
A prisoner can meditate
upon the life he left behind
and curse the vagaries of fate.

What weeps upon the withered walls?
sad shadows from his distant past.
His subconscious does not rest at all.
Reminding him that time can pass.

At different rates according to
the differing of circumstance
When he knew freedom the time flew
But when confines there’s little chance

Of happiness that once knew.
Heed now the knocking on the door.
The iron door which will lead to
the gallows then to nothing more.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Foreordained?

I suffer from a malady
And have done since I first drew breath
I know this for a certainty.
The end result will be my death.

Why should I let this worry me?
I know that I have died before.
My soul will live eternally.
Each time I die I'm born once more.

Each life I must learn something new.
Something I have not learned before.
One life insufficient to
add enough knowledge to my store.

I must return again to learn
Each life I have to start anew
To garner credits which I earn
By doing what I have to do.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unknown Author

I dip my pen in vitriol
to pen the letters which I write.
To highlight sin my only goal
It’s my belief I have the right.

An aging spinster old and bent
I always walked the narrow path
remaining pure and innocent.
Frustration now fuels my wrath.

Behind lace curtains I can see
much more than people think I can.
I keep my watch vigilantly.
I know the movements of each man.

Not only men but women too
as they conduct sordid affairs
and I will write to those who do.
To let them know somebody dares

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Blind Trust for M'lady Lynda

I searched for love a life long quest
but always love eluded me.
Although I tried I failed the test
no woman ever looked to see.

Beneath my rough exterior
that I was faithful true and kind.
They saw me as inferior
and not the man they had in mind.

The ideal man they hoped to wed.
They shuddered at the sight of me
regarded me with fear and dread.
I had no doubt I was ugly.

Though tall and strong my face was marred.
A port wine stain disfigures me.
Although I found it very hard
I was quite sure that there must be.

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Guardian Angel?

I think I’m being haunted by
a female ghost who constantly
Appears to want to be with me
Although I can’t imagine why.

I ask her but she wont reply.
She seems afraid to meet my eye.
I think she thinks she and I
have shared some common history.

I see her as faint image.
A blurred impression from a page
of fashions from a bygone age
Or some actress upon the stage.

A misty figure clad in grey
stays close to me by night and day
I ask again but she won’t say
She cannot seem to stay away.

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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.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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