Inexplicable.
The night was cold but still and clear.
As I patrolled the riverside.
I felt a sudden twinge of fear.
Quite suddenly I was terrified.
It was a strange experience.
I saw no reason for my fear.
It went against my common sense
When I thought I saw appear.
Two figure from the distant past.
A sailor and his light of love.
Fear for the moment held me fast.
Although I tried I could not move.
The sailor struck her on the head
with some heavy implement.
To make quite sure that she was dead.
Another blow more violent.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Nature has the final say For Yoonos Peerbocus
They tried a cordon sanitaire
in an attempt to stop the spread.
The virulence was every where
the lucky ones already dead.
From whence it came nobody knew
but its effect were obvious.
Its early symptoms like the flu
becoming quickly serious.
The victims were in constant pain
their lungs were filled with bloody pus.
They tried to treat but all in vain
its spread was fast and furious.
The first case was in Singapore
a German girl on holiday
but all too quickly there were more
the numbers rising every day.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Antidote for J.T.Ellison
Before me lies a narrow road
with hedges, high on either side.
With only sunlight for my load
I am content to boldly stride
I care not where the road may lead
but I am sure it leads somewhere.
That’s knowledge that I do not need
I am not burdened down by care.
For two whole weeks I am quite free.
I chose a walking holiday.
There is so much I wish to see.
How could there be a better way
The sun is warming on my back.
My shadow always runs ahead
on metalled roads or dusty track
and I must follow where I’m led.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Blinded by Pride for JT Ellison
Before recorded history.
Were men truly uncivilised?
or are we merely ill advised
and misinterpret what we see.
Some ancient monuments still stand.
Which we cannot explain today.
How were they built? No man can say.
Although we strive to understand.
Suggestive of technology
which is unknown to modern man.
We can’t explain it no one can.
There is no reason I can see.
There should not be technology
which we can’t duplicate today
Which somehow somewhere went astray
which brought them down eventually.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Bleak outlook; for some.
I did not think things could get worse.
But I was wrong quite obviously
The guardians of the public purse.
Decided unilaterally.
We must reduce expenditure
I have no choice but to agree.
Though I am absolutely sure
all will not suffer equally.
The savage cuts which they propose
may well reduce the deficit.
I see no reason to suppose
that everyone will benefit.
The rich of course won’t feel the chill.
The little man will have to pay.
He always did and always will.
Because that is the Tory way.
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Sunday morning Pests.
Two thousand years or so ago.
Three criminals were crucified.
And yet today we claim we know
One was the son of God and died.
We cannot prove that this true
there’s very little evidence.
But we are still expected to
give these stories full credence.
By word of mouth they were passed down.
Translated from old Aramaic.
They came from sources now unknown
Could they free from all mistake.
When they written finally
Although no doubt with good intent
Were they translated properly
or were they changed by accident.
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Dare you come with me?
Do you dare go one step beyond?
the limits of your comfort zone?
Rely upon yourself alone
and take the road to Trebizond.
A city where the minarets
are peopled by resentful ghosts
Who vainly shout their empty boasts
And voice aloud their dire threats.
Brag of past depravity.
For which the suffer punishment.
They weep and wail their discontent.
Condemned for all eternity.
Are you brave enough to face
All of the dangers you might find
enough to break the strongest mind.
In that long lost and fearsome place.
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Gone Astray a rant
Gone Astray
A solemn silence fills the space
contained with cathedral walls.
A sanctuary filled with grace
But over it a shadow falls
There are few worshippers today
and they’re engaged in private prayer.
Although the tourists make their way
to see the wonders which are there.
They gladly pay the entrance fee
a charge imposed to help defray
the maintenance that has to be
paid for. This is the only way.
the church authorities can find
the funds which are necessary.
Although the ancient rules defined
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Auntie Emmaline for Friend Leslie
Auntie Emmaline.
My cousin Peter was a prig.
A precious little Mamas boy.
Who thought it rather infra dig
a little mischief to enjoy.
He combed his hair and shined his shoes
and was polite to every one
I was quite pleased to hear the news
that he had just up and gone.
To live with a girl, Elsie Ma.
Who was no better than a whore.
It made me glad I have to say.
He’s not my rival anymore.
Nobody says that should I should be
just like Peter. Dear me no.
The rotten apple on the tree.
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I Can't Decide. Story Poem
Oil lamps burn on either side
Of a polished stone centrepiece.
Its only purpose is to guide
The task performed by the high priest
The celebrant is crimson clad.
He speaks a language long since dead.
The strangest dream I ever had
Which filled me with a sense of dread.
I knew I dreamed but it seemed real
I tried to wake to no avail.
Held in a trance as strong as steel
My puny efforts doomed to fail.
It was as if against my will
I was transported to the past
By some magician with the skill
The bonds of time to overcast.
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