Short term gains experimental form
A great grey/green expanse of mud.
Covered twice daily by the flood
when the high tide comes flowing in.
Where does land end and sea begin?
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
They recognise no boundary.
For they are free to come and go
between the salt marsh and the sea.
They know all that they need to know.
Adapted to their habitat
the denizens live happily.
Here they can live quite easily
safe from most land based predators
protected by the friendly sea.
The wading birds parade in force.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Pioneer. storypoem
John Willy was a collier lad
and life for him was not too bad
Until the day that he took bad
and could no longer dig for coal.
He had to fill his time somehow.
He found life boring on the dole.
He had left school soon as he could
because it was then understood.
Lads followed Dads just they should.
John Willy was a clever lad
so he returned to studying.
He seized the chance he never had.
John Will chose to study law,
that no pit lad had done before.
He finished with the highest score.
He was awarded his degree
and worked for a solicitor.
For several years successfully.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Proud Pagan
Sky clad we dance the circle round.
Sing hymns of praise to Mother Moon.
The sacred grove was filled with sound
as we gave thanks for good fortune.
We harm no one, this is our law
but rather helped all whom we could.
We are well versed in herbal lore.
because Goddess ruled that we should,
The Christians came and tried by force
to make us change our allegiance
With dire penalties of course
if we refused obedience.
We quickly learnt how to deceive
the foreign priests, seem to obey.
But secretly we still believe
and worship in the age old way.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Longevity but at what price?
He was a man of many parts
Though some were not original.
In fact he had, had three hearts
The latest one mechanical.
Both of his kidneys were replaced.
By organs bought for a fat fee
to surgeons who to their disgrace.
Opted to act illegally.
The donors paid a modest sum
which lifted them from poverty.
Though he was pleased with the outcome.
Convinced that he had the right to be,
only concerned with his own health
and quite prepared to spend his wealth.
On prolongation of his life
A practice fast becoming rife.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Tax Avoidance Strategy
Tonight the tide is in full flood.
The moon provides sufficient light.
For us to unload smuggled goods.
Which must be done before daylight.
The excise men are fat too wise.
To brave the dangers of the night
To try and take us by surprise.
They much prefer the broad daylight.
We risk our life and liberty.
Just as our forbears used to do.
Braving the perils of the sea
Importing luxuries for you.
Although the government will try.
The will not stop free enterprise.
The people want what we supply.
And are prepared to close their eyes.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Small Boys View
The air raid sirens wailing cry.
Search lights criss crossing in the sky
Searching for the enemy
That we can hear but cannot see.
When they are caught in the cross beams
They’re targeted by ack ack teams.
Who aim to score a hit or two.
I’m glad to say they often do.
The gunners know if they get through
the damage that their bombs will do
Fast fighter planes join in the fray
And show no mercy to their prey.
The bombers can’t evade the lights.
The gunners have them in their sights.
Streams of tracers mark the flight
of shells which hurtle through the night.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Indelible Guilt.
Indelible Guilt.
More scenes of devastation.
The tides of war have left behind.
A naked child wanders alone.
She does not know the ground is mined.
She cries for aid but there is none
There is nobody left to care.
The tides of war have come and gone.
Death and destruction everywhere.
The lucky ones are those who died.
Though she survived: What chance has she
A helpless infant cast aside.
To starve to death most probably.
She may be killed by predators.
Who see her as their lawful prey.
Obeying Mother Nature’s law
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Now is the hour for Friend J.T.Earley
The oak tree sees slow centuries.
they pass like days beneath his gaze
An ever changing tapestry
of mankind’s little victories.
He watches kingdoms rise and fall
but they affect him not at all
He stands firm rooted in his place.
A member of a nobler race,
the earth provides his sustenance.
He need not battle to
his power and authority
He stands aloof in majesty
Observes the progress mankind makes.
Their many errors and mistakes.
They do not seem to understand
no man can dominate the land.
For Mother Nature frames the laws
and has the power to enforce
by use of fire, flood and drought.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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