No Empty Pews For M 'lady Yvonne
There are no empty pews tonight.
The worshippers are packed in tight,
the vicar’s surplice gleaming white.
Be because we’re on T.V: That’s right.
These pillars of society
put on a show of piety.
A symbol of propriety
Because tonight we’re on T.V.
The congregation usually
consist of only two or three.
Who come each Sunday faithfully.
But this Sunday we’re on T.V
The ultimate hypocrisy
T.V Christianity.
6-Sep-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Enigmatic
Within the woodlands dappled shade.
I came across a block of stone
I had no doubt it was man made
Though when and why cannot be known.
So perfect was the craftsmanship
which had been lavished on this stone
A place of ritual worship
It had to be an altar stone.
Though no one worships here today.
The altar stone still stands alone.
Within the woods hidden away
But sadly there is little known.
There’s no recorded history
To help me solve the mystery.
(09 August 2011)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Flautist For M lady Erenestine
The soft sweet notes flow from the flute,
played by a busker old and gray
He chooses melodies to suit
The folks he knows will pass this way.
His old cloth cap lies at his feet,
already holds a coin or two.
His lilting music bitter sweet
ensures that I will add one too.
The old man breathes new life into
forgotten tunes from long ago
and turns them into something new.
He seems instinctively to know
what kind of music he must play
to fill his hat with coins today
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Welcome Home
The lonely ghosts who ride the wind
forever seeking sanctuary.
Are too afraid to leave behind
their old familiarity.
They’ve earned their wings but dare not fly
and so they wander endlessly
repeating their pathetic cry.
I do not know where I should be.
They dare not ask: Fear the reply
you must have faith and just let go
It’s not your place to wonder why
When you arrive then you will know.
The answers which eluded you
throughout your life and they are true.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Help
Angels come in many guises.
Different shapes and different sizes,
concealed by their odd disguises.
Angels manage to surprise us.
Sometimes we do not recognise
because of blinkers on our eyes
or the dark clouds that fill our skies.
The title angel still applies.
To those that lend a helping hand
or only try to understand.
The problems which seem to demand
resources which we can’t command..
Your guardian angel will appear
to calm your mind and quell your fear.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Slip of the tongue for M lady Francesca
Brunhilde Bloggs a local lass
was so convinced that she could pass
as being of the upper class.
She spoke in tones of pure cut glass.
At least when she remembered to,
It’s not an easy thing to do.
If she was crossed she quickly flew
into a rage: Turned the air blue.
the language that she used was crude
to say the least and very rude.
A complete change of attitude
So people quickly understood.
She was not what she seemed to be
one of the aristocracy.
9-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Walk on by.
Just walk on by ignoring me
Why should you care that I'm hungry
You are well fed and warmly dressed
You demonstrate no interest.
You can pretend you do not see
And go your way quite happily.
I used to hold the self same view.
But that was long before I knew.
What it was like to lose it all.
The happy times I can recall.
Fate snatched away most suddenly.
Now I depend on charity.
Something I thought I'd never do
But circumstances force me to.
Friday,28 September 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Fuzzy Logic.
Between the worlds the boundary.
Sometimes grows thin and disappear.
Fantasy and reality
Which is which no longer clear.
Imagination can supply
Alternative scenarios
Where normal rules do not apply
But are they real? nobody knows
It may well be that it is so
I can accept a different view
I do not really want to know
whether or not that it is true
I can believe quite easily
there is no definite boundary.
Sunday,17 January 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Chorale for M' lady Penny
The black bird sweetly tunes his throat.
A stream of liquid notes which float.
As if suspended somewhere
in between fact and fantasy.
Thus starts the morning symphony
The throstle warbles his reply,
the skylark joins in happily
from his position in the sky.
Each song bird now will raise its voice
in interweaving melody.
To demonstrate that they rejoice
because the morning brings release
from the terrors of the night.
Their morning chorus My delight.
27-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unfulfilled Dreams
The best laid plans of mice and men.
Are often foiled by circumstance.
Undaunted though we try again.
We are convinced there is a chance.
That things will change and re arrange.
So in due course will succeed.
Although I find it passing strange.
That circumstances can impede.
The plans we made so carefully.
There's nothing we can do but wait.
As best we can; impatiently.
It all depends on fickle fate.
It matters not how hard we try.
The best laid plans gang oft awry.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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