Each month, write a new collection.
Pyramids of light through the fogstreetlights mark the distancebetween dreams and promisesuntil they disappear from viewand I focus on the journey aheadThe road is dark but I know the way
That's great Sean. I love that last line. LOVE IT
Love that last line especially!
Fog Dreamalonein themiddleof the streetinside thefog circleI can almosttouch the cloud yetit evades meand thegraveyardalmostis in myview and Iam buriedinside my owndream grave inthe mist
Fantastic. I can feel the emptiness and loss man!
I love the spareness; it contributes to a feeling of desolation. Cool!
Through the FogIt eddies in rolling and movingA cloud of grey and whitenessLike a monster lurking slowlyTo smother covering unsuspectingDrivers traveling unawareOf what it would be like to Become blinded even for a momentThe safety of knowing your surroundingWho was ahead or behind or what was beside youSurrounding you with the death and despair of fogReminds.me of traveling in my car aloneThe cloud of fog hit like a giant waveof white avalanche through the highway overpassThe exchanging of freeways on a curve For a few terrifying secondsWill I surviveOr go off the railing?Or will a car ram into meAs my hearing became heightened Waiting for the crunch of metal and the sound of shattering glass Rolling fog It was a blindness of trouble I put myself inA sense of anxiety and fearNot knowing as couragewas undaunted and intensifiedfrom the loss of sightThe moment the fog liftedwas a relief I was aliveDriving through the freewayand without a crash
Great. It's a kind of terrifying poem really.
I wasn't sure what to write until later in the day inspiration hit to write of a light tower and how the man in the thing would feel a loss but still feel a worthiness to having something of a value in his field.
8th Grade Field TripThe sun never came out that day on San Jacinto.They carried us up in buses to hike around in fog,our teachers taking a break from teaching so we could run free. Greg was a magnet for us. We didn’t know why, but where he waswe needed to be. Tall, seeming older than the rest – Adam’s apple, shadowed upper lip – he must have known some things that we needed to know. We followed him down trails, behind boulders, everywhere losing him to the scarves of fog that curled around tree trunks and filled hollows. What was this ache I felt, this pleasant lump in my throat, this poignant longing? It wasn’t the boy, exactly, or the fog, but somehow the fog and the boy together, the fog and the boy and the mountain, the fog, the boy, the mountain and the trees all dark and wet and shadowy like the future drawing me into its mysteries, the past behind me a sunny path I would never walk again.
Oh that's wonderful. I love the way it builds to the ending.
I read it as narration describing discovery changing to stream of consciousness ending in loss. compelling work
Silent as the GrapevineThe ascent is unnervingclimbing into the white vortex of an otherworldly placethe road is goneall traces of civilization are lost in the thick, milky swirlthe car is silentshallowed breathing and the smell of stress fills the airthe wind is missingonly the movement of traffic circulates the impenetrable hazethe lights are fadedglimpses of red, glowing eyes peer back at us through the murkthe descent is maddeningwarily the speed increases on the way down the other sidethe reprieve soon arrivesslowly the moon and stars begin to take back the mountainthe return to normalcyas the road opens up, the world I thought was gone, returns
Ah that Valley fog. I love the poem Molly. I feel it, its otherworldliness.
Its a right of passage to survive that airborn sludge! Oooo that's good!
I felt sick the day you leftAnd many days beforeWe ate festively that noonWe talked about your coming lifeI dropped you at a stranger's house.It was a dizzy-sunny dayA great day to begin a lifeA great day to grow up and outFor you.For me the fog rolled in.
I love the way the fog blows in at the end. Good poem!
a mountain sitsin the space between usthe pass drenched in fog--Lynne
That's fantastic. A beautiful piece.
Days of FogSo I love when it's foggy outside.But every time there is a foggy day,I get frustrated.Not so much because I cannot see my way.I like that part.But because I know it could be foggier.It makes me mad to think that others have experienced Fog more dense.How fun it must be To be completely lostWhere you can see nothing elseBut fog.Or where all you see in the fogAre beautiful, haunting trees from the past,Surrounded by lonely but gorgeous grassesEverything dipped in dew.So when I see dirty buildings and a 7-11Through the fog clouds I feel the unfairness of life and modern day,I feel a little void of authenticity at those times.A product of time,Wishing for dark, dark, meadows...I think if I were aloneIn woods like that I'd be too scared.
I totally feel this poem. I'm the same way.
Fog Fog means sex in the mist with that manWho played guitar and was a genius theGrass cold beneath bare feet, I had leftMy shoes somewhere at the party house andForgotten where I put them and he grabbedMy hand and we ran across the field In the dark. I never did things like that exceptWhen I did them, and then I did them withAn abandon that scares me to remember —It was so fierce that running blind til I fell on theGround like in some Hardy novel with a manWho wished me nothing but harm, but that’s inThe book not how it was with this boy who Dumped me later for another woman, and I Was mad but I was already with someone elseAnd looking through the foggy fall turning winter the iceCovering the branches for the next man after that who spokeSwedish and was a genius, although he could notPlay guitarAt all.