Curfew an epic tale
A deep toned bell heard loud and clear.
which resonates between the walls.
Awakens echoes far and near
they disappear and silence falls.
This was a great metropolis.
The pace of life was furious
and now it is reduced to this.
A warning for the rest of us.
When men grow too ambitious
and fail to heed the warning signs
Nature deems them iniquitous
and undermines their grand designs.
Men now live nearer to the soil
in small compact communities
and earn their bread by honest toil.
But still find opportunities
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Applegarth
There is a garden where the sun
reflects from rough cast whitewashed walls.
Close by the quiet river runs
here you can hear the soft bird calls.
The scents of lavender and sage,
which grow near to the lilac trees.
Compete with fields of blue borage
ich draw to them the questing bees.
The lawn of moorland turf is neat
and everywhere the flowers bloom.
The honey smell of meadowsweet
is mingling with the perfumed broom.
This garden is a sheltered spot.
Where old and tired from the fray
I sit and doze when it is hot
and ponder in my quiet way.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Reprieve
The street are silent there is no sound.
The lack of noise is frightening.
There is nobody to be found.
I find this most unsettling.
No sign of damage to be seen
this absence is what puzzles me.
Like a deserted movie scene.
Not as busy as it should be.
My men are searching thoroughly
we keep in touch by radio.
The silence is disturbing me.
What happened here we have to know.
This was a thriving market town
A centre of activity
Then suddenly it closes down.
Bereft of all humanity
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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In The Fulness Of Time Story Poem
The high priest cleansed the altar stone.
Prepared it for the sacrifice,
this task was his and his alone.
No lesser person would suffice.
The voice of God spoke through his priest
and no man dared to disobey
from the greatest to the least.
The high priest held the power to slay.
The sacrifice a comely youth
was not coerced he volunteered.
He had no doubt it was the truth
that for his life all debts be cleared.
Then suddenly a blinding light.
White fire consumed the altar stone,
the high priest fled in mortal fright.
The voice of “God” was but his own.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Defeated Story poem for M lady Ernestine
A yellowed skull, still on display
above the oaken fire place
A relic from a by gone day.
Which it is possible to trace
back for five hundred years or more.
I hate the thing my host explains
grotesque against modern décor.
It can’t be moved or it complains.
The house re- echoes to its screams.
Until its back in place once more.
It’s been a fixture now it seems
Since fifteen hundred sixty four
Although it has been exorcised
and given Christian burial.
It’s very quickly recognised
there’ll be no peace until the skull
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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anything is possible For M'lady Tara
I’d been driving since early morn
and some where I had gone astray
I was weary and travel worn.
I had to find a place to stay.
A good nights rest, a hearty meal
would make a new man out of me
I hoped the road would soon
reveal a wayside inn or hostelry.
I had not seen another soul
since I had left the main highway.
This single track seemed to unroll
in front of me in some strange way.
I was too tired to concentrate
I was fatigued and needed rest
I knew the hour was growing lat
and I decided it would be best
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Goose fair for my new friend baylei
A regiment of honking geese,
disturb the early morning peace.
As they are driven to the fair
by girls with flowers in their hair.
The goose fair is the great event
and the excitement's evident.
As Farmers, wives and serving maids
and hucksters join the great parade.
Small tinkers carts of pots and pans.
Dispute the way with caravans
of gypsy families who meet
at the goose fair. Where they compete
with local merchants. They all try
to persuade fair goers to buy.
The fairings that they have for sale
gilt gingerbread and bottled ale.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Self made Man
Alas alack and woe is me
My life is filled with misery
I loved a lass who loved not me
She treated me disdainfully.
She saw herself as upper class
And much superior to me.
A barrier I could not pass.
A subtle form of cruelty.
But time moves on and so did I
I went to university
Where somewhat different rules apply
You’re judged on your ability.
I earned a double first degree.
I studied politics and law
So I was qualified to be
What I decided either or.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Perverted Progress story poem which became a rant
The bards are dead and none recall
the glory days, when every hall.
Would echo to their epic tales
and hear the news they would regale
The ancient bards were men of law
They were welcomed at every door.
A peasant’s cot or chieftains hall
it made no difference at all.
They were accorded great respect
as arbiters as you’d expect.
These minstrels wise in Brehon Law
and holders of the magic lore.
All men were treated equally
and their decisions seen to be
delivered so impartially.
The way that justice ought to be.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Mystery Remains story poem
By my lanthorn dimly burning.
I have trouble in discerning
the faint words scrawled upon the page
By the hand of a long dead sage.
What I study is forbidden
a secret I must keep hidden.
I dare not study it by day
and that is why I hide away.
In the dark hours of the night.
I study by a lanthorns light.
Lest the priesthood should suspect.
For they would kill me to protect
from what they see as wizardry
although it’s only chemistry.
The shaveling priests of Mother Church
have full authority to search.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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