"ivor" poems
*"Well Mr Holmes, this is a nasty business!
The victim, Ivor Biggun, has been stabbed!
There was of course no one around to witness
Although a few good suspects have been nabbed!
Miss Sally Forth was reading ancient history
Mike Hindle claims he too was all alone
Miss Daisy Chain was reading a new mystery
And Mr. Terry Bull was on the phone!"
"My dear Lestrade, your blindness is your failing!
Must I point out that awful ****** mess?
The victim clearly crawled, his blood was trailing
And then it seems he played a game of chess!
Look closely at the moves, see what I mean?
The strangest game of chess I've ever seen!"*
H5-D5
C8-C2
E3-E4
F8-C1
D8-D1 MATE!
Who killed Ivor Biggun?
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
WALKING WITH GOD
God had gone
for a walk.
"Let the Universe..." He thought
"...take care of itself!"
He just wanted to walk.
Walk...like any human wood.
And here was a world
He could be proud of.
It did Him good
to see it as a human could.
Grass covered
his naked toes.
The morning
bleating with lambs.
Blue sky as if
He were in a living painting.
Sunshine - golden.
Tangible...touchable.
All it was missing was
a cuckoo.
So, He adde it
as an afterthought.
Because...
He - could.
And God saw
that it was good.
Met Him halfway
up a hill
walking my little dog
Ivor.
God and his creature
and his creature's creature.
"Howya!" I said.
"Howya!" said God.
"Woof!" said the dog.
"Woof!" mimicked God.
In another half an hour
I was due a heartattack.
The dog licking
my fallen face.
Wouldn't be discovered
for an hour or more.
The dog refusing to leave
the body.
God foresaw
all this of course.
"Ahhhh this is the kind of thing
that really ruins my day!
God moaned.
"And for which
I always get the blame!
God groaned.
"Go back now!"
the voice of God
echoed inside my head.
"Kiss your wife...
look into her eyes!"
And, so -
- I did.
Lived another 20 years
My wife died the following year.
I got knocked down by a car
in the end.
"So this is Heaven?"
I conjectured.
"Howya!" a voice I thought
I recognised.
"Howya!"
I said.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC
Greenleigh:
Rounding your cottage side,
There you were, bundles tied,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
What plan were for the blooms?
In the kitchen rose fumes,
You truly hoped for a tryst,
Wine love potion cauldron,
Boiled in my drink to stun,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed.
Haven:
My beauteous neighbor,
I submit to ardor,
All in obscure struggles midst,
I see your distant gaze,
But you I try to faze,
You were all to me exist,
“I will beckon at noon,
In this hot summer June,”
All in obscure struggles midst.
Greenleigh:
But as I spy, I think,
Then discreetly slink,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
I culled my own blossoms,
His allures my thraldoms,
I truly hoped for a tryst,
To you a bit of remorse,
Yet my heart waxed full force,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
I catch the way you stare,
I will avoid our affair,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Supplanted your fetters,
Entreaty, scrawled letters,
He were all to me exist,
I thought to meet halfway,
Might I be led astray,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Wyn:
And I received her word,
Intended a detour,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Read the book of magic,
My love to you chronic,
I truly hoped for a tryst,
Donned my riding garments,
Leas, with my assortments,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Her eyes, you I outshone,
Heedless to her writ tone,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Fancied your ivor teeth,
Smooth skin, your clothes ‘neath.
You were all to me exist,
In daydreams I drifted,
Blunders, I self chided,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Greenleigh:
Shocked when I saw him trot!
With grasp I became fraught,
All in obscure struggles midst,
He visits you, not me,
Deceit deserved, yet plea!
You were all to me exist,
Could not look in his eye,
Yet utter not goodbye,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Haven:
“Neighbor, wrong I done ye!”
I watch only blankly,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Her twisted mouth distressed,
No one thought we were blessed,
You were all to me exist,
I mumbled, brimming tears,
Should have asked direct, fears,
All in obscure struggles midst,
He was the fool of fate,
Confused yet did await,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
I vied for your full love,
As you to his yet shove,
I only hoped for a tryst,
Rapt in misconceptions,
Mocked us, even aspens,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
All:
Yet not so sly were we,
Does cognizance come bleak,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
We greeted happenchance,
What’s left but insistence?
Our furtive attempts yet missed,
Admit not errs, turn rightwards,
Fracturing our concords,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Greenleigh:
Anxiously sipped bottles,
And did we start battles,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Suffused eyes, flushed faces,
Affects spill, anguishes,
Our furtive attempts yet missed,
We die lone in shambles,
Bonds of love in scrambles,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed.
Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 7:53 PM UTC
There is no such thing as the perfect writer
Nor a perfect fighter
I take my lighter
and pull a all-nighter
I pulled it in tighter
and became the igniter
I have to shine brighter
I push paste on my copywriter
Add one to wiser
then decipher
look in the nerve fibre
find the survivor
While remaining the conscious driver
You're name is Ivor
The army warrior
The last destroyer
I couldn't be sorrier
For my constructive barrier
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
I remember days spent rocking to and fro on a boat with no particular place to go, just waiting for the next race, sandwich in hand which is somehow filled with sand, though none is in sight. The massive grin as I almost fall in, and a look of disappointment as he realises I’m not completely soaked to my skin.
I remember nights spent under electric lights, rolling bowls down an artificial green, and seeing him clap and cheer if I got anywhere near.
I remember piles and piles of meat being grilled, Ivor looking perfectly chilled as the barbecue flamed around his ears, always calm and happy to be cooking, ribs and burgers and sausages and steak, always burnt a few by ‘mistake’ which just happened to find their way to the dog.
I remember him smiling.
I remember singing with him in the car, on our way to do something somewhere, voices raised high, without a care for the tune, or pitch, and even the lyrics were mostly substituted with anything we came up with at the time. Belting Les Mis together for the 42nd time that trip because we had forgotten to take any other CD’s.
I remember how proud he looked when he showed me the first Potato he took home from the new allotment, trying to justify the days of work digging and toiling, plowing and boiling in a summer heat that couldn’t seem to keep him inside, for the sake of more courgettes than you could shake a stick at.
I remember crying, and him telling me it was okay to feel this way, that it just means we cared, and not to be ashamed to let the tears fall.
I remember watching him sit in the garden, Toby at his feet, content to just watch the world go by, only the occasional fly to bother him. He just sat, a small smirk on his face, happy with the pace of the world as it was, the afternoon sun just starting to sink. I wish I could remember what he said as I joined him.
I remember him as he was, as he will always be in my mind and my heart.
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 7:52 PM UTC
He sees the world through learned eyes
that have witnessed many affairs
All the rising, falling empires
through history's gaze he now stares
But on they come from far and wide
beating a path up to his door
As if what they had to offer
he had never heard of before
Yet still they will not stop trying
to sell him wares of their own ways
And save the soul of this good man
before he meets his end of days
As a product of the old school
he's seen it and done it before
There is no need to prove himself
to each child who comes to the door
They could stand an education
from this man with a long life span
Never try to teach an old bard
on the new ways of god and man
Tate
Original poem with music
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/652074/
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC