Each in their turn forM 'lady Dee

Now autumn has passed. The old years dying
the harvest’s safely gathered in and stored.
The labourers have earned their just reward.
The breezes now no longer softly sighing
but as bitter winds are trying.
To break the trees like straws, without remorse.
Men are no longer working out of doors
but inside for tool repairing.

In preparation for the quickening,
when the spring sunshine banishes the snow.
In his full majesty all conquering
the sun dictates that it is time to sow
the seed to grow for future harvesting.
The seasons cycle yearly sure but slow.

12-Jun-08

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Unfinished Symphony for M lady Tara

The ultimate pastoral symphony,
beyond the skill of man to reproduce.
Of all the music I have heard I choose
the complex interweaving melody.
Of flowing brooks and the wind in the trees
all natural sounds are put to use.
No sound the great composer will refuse
to use for his exquisite harmonies.

The wind the waters and the tree s combine.
Supported by the voices of a host
of living things who add their voices to
form part of a symphony divine.
The great composer has no need to boast
about his compositions ever new.

12-Dec-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Thinking Deeply.

I find these days quite frequently.
I slip into a semi trance.
When meditating quietly
on fate and changing circumstance.

I close my eyes to contemplate
Which seems quite sensible to me.
It leaves me free to concentrate
On what I think not what I see.

Of course my wife accuse me
of napping when I’m in a trance
But she does enjoy teasing me.
A little when she gets the chance.

I can’t deny it’s possible
I dropp off when I’m comfortable.
But I do not believe I do.
Although my wife insists it’s true.

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Neater meter for Mr Earley

Neater meter?

I have to write a sonnet in free verse.
I must stick to Iambic pentameter.
A meter that I do not often use.
Pentameter is my more usual style.
A Sapphic meter would be so much worse.
I am more comfortable with the latter.
I find that some odd metres can confuse
a simple rhymester like me for a while.
I’m quite convinced that pentameter
makes my presentations appear neater.
It may be that you think I am obtuse
and that my simple verses make you smile.
You are entitled to your point of view.
Naturally I won’t agree with you!

11-Apr-08

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rules and rulers for friend Thad

Bureaucracy has quietly
displaced the aristocracy.
Who wielded power openly
The bureaucrat rule secretly.

What seems to be democracy
is now subverted constantly.
Countenanced by apathy
Because the people cannot see.

The government machinery
which is kept hidden cleverly.
Is not the way that it should be.
The dead hand of bureaucracy.

Controls it very thoroughly.
Should they decide to disagree.
There is no way that they can be
brought to account effectively.

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Inevitable

The setting sun as daylight fades,
before the dark of night descends.
Must paint the clouds in pastel shades
almost as if to make amends.

Before the dark of night descends.
Soft hues of various shades and grades,
make valiant efforts to defend
their last stronghold from darkness’ raids.

Must paint the clouds in pastel shades
in vain attempt which won’t extend
the closing of the day’s parade.
Today as all days has to end

Almost as if to make amends.
The night winds softly serenade
Mark the beginning of the end,
the fall of night cannot be stayed.

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Lack of oversight A rant

The quality of mercy is not strained.
Today it seems to be more underused.
Charity appeals have us all confused.
The urge to contribute is now constrained
We can’t be sure that anything is gained
We are afraid donations have been misused
Our generosity has been abused
Although we ask no one has explained.

Exactly where the money raised has gone.
Administration costs are far too high.
The doubts I have will linger on
Until somebody can explain why.
and what the money has been spent upon.
No one accepts responsibility.

Sunday,28 February 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Obedient to natures laws

Obedient to nature’s laws.

The last remaining berries glow
On frosted branches white as snow.
A meagre source of sustenance.
Which gives small birds a fighting chance.

Of surviving until the spring.
Returns to renew everything.
The few who manage to survive.
The hardy ones will live and thrive.

Compete for mates with whom to breed
Spring will provide their every need
They will build nest and raise their brood.
Instinctively they know they should.

The last remaining berries fed
The hardiest the rest are dead.

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Summer nights delights.

The sable cloak of night is sown
With a beauty which is shown
By a myriad points of light.
Which show against the dark of night

A background certain to enhance
Selena mistress of romance
As she observes young lovers dreams
She blesses them with soft moon beams.

Although the moon is permanent
Young love is often transient
But for tonight the moon will do.
Her best to make your dreams come true.

The sable cloak of night conceals
What the morning sun reveals
Feelings engendered by the moon
Can fade away alas too soon.

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The River Knows

Englyn unodle crwca

Quietly the river flows
never telling all it knows.
Has no reason I suppose and no voice.
We rejoice it does.

Whilst the river holds its peace.
We need not fear it might release,
From its store of memories: Dark secrets.
It forgets and heeds our pleas.

Secrets which we wish to hide.
We can cast our cares aside.
The wise river will decide, not to tell.
suits us well, all denied

Sins we now view with regret
.Sins we would we could forget
The river will keep secret for ever

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