ivor or ivor.e hogg
Biography of ivor or ivor.e hogg
Ex airman Ex policemam ex social worker etc
rather varied career pattern
Married second time around to a poetess artist and musician
two duugthers one son two step sons 10
grandchildren between us spread all over the globe
Interests reading and writing poetry Reading sci fi and fantasy.Comparitive religion Re incarnation and Psi in general
Retired and busier than I have ever been
ivor or ivor.e hogg's Works:
Grandmas Button box poetry anthologu
Bitter sweet poetry anthologyCollaborated anthology by my wife and I with publisher at present
Bardic Dreams, Bitter sweet
All self published
ivor or ivor.e hogg Poems
Any fool can be a father. It takes a man to be a Dad. Though some fellows would much rather play the field as Jack the Lad.
A Fading Dream
The purple gloom of midnight hides all outward signs of the decay. A sense of grandeur still abides. That’s absent by the light of day.
A Gentlemans View
I hold the door open for you a simple act of courtesy This any gentleman would do. To you I act insultingly.
A Dog's Tale For M' Lady Ernestine
A dog’s tale A small dog shows his loyalty
Am I Prejudiced?
I am a slave to poetry. I do not wish to be set free a willing prisoner happily.
Abormality? I suffer from a strange disease. A most peculiar malady,
A Cynics View A Rant
Religion is about control. Although they claim to save your soul. The truth is it’s a power game the priests of all creeds are the same.
November month of fog and mists. The early mornings have a bite the silver grass by Jack Frost kissed in the dark hours of the night.
The gaudy glow of neon lights dispels the darkness of the nights on city streets.
A New Deal
A New Deal The shouting and the tumult dies. The people have declared their choice
Naturally For M Lady Marci
At midnight still the roses bloom Their colours pale beneath the moon Scenting the air with rich perfume while nightingales sing their sweet tune.
A Matterof Belief
Bob Adamson an ordinary guy, woke suddenly one night and wondered why. He saw or thought he saw within his room a radiant figure lighting up the gloom.
I can recall nothing at all. My mind is like a pristine page, it’s rather sad but comical I do not know my name or age.
A Voice Crying In The Wilderness
Revealed to me exclusively. Its natures plan to erase man. No one accepts this prophecy. They don’t believe that nature can.
Inside of me I have a tree.
Where every leaf’s a memory
and every memory can connect with
something else I recollect
Although some leaves do fade and fall
I do not need to keep them all.
The sad, bad ones I can let go.
Ones I no longer need to know.
The happy ones I safely store