Thursday, June 18, 2015

June 18 -- The Foggy Poem


  1. Pyramids of light through the fog
    streetlights mark the distance
    between dreams and promises
    until they disappear from view
    and I focus on the journey ahead
    The road is dark but I know the way

    1. That's great Sean. I love that last line. LOVE IT

    2. Love that last line especially!

  2. Fog Dream

    in the

    of the street
    inside the
    fog circle

    I can almost
    touch the cloud yet
    it evades me

    and the

    is in my
    view and I
    am buried

    inside my own
    dream grave in
    the mist

    1. Fantastic. I can feel the emptiness and loss man!

    2. I love the spareness; it contributes to a feeling of desolation. Cool!

  3. Through the Fog

    It eddies in rolling and moving
    A cloud of grey and whiteness
    Like a monster lurking slowly
    To smother covering unsuspecting
    Drivers traveling unaware
    Of what it would be like to
    Become blinded even for a moment
    The safety of knowing your surrounding
    Who was ahead or behind or what was beside you
    Surrounding you with the death and despair of fog of traveling in my car alone
    The cloud of fog hit like a giant wave
    of white avalanche through the highway overpass
    The exchanging of freeways on a curve
    For a few terrifying seconds
    Will I survive
    Or go off the railing?
    Or will a car ram into me
    As 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 in
    A sense of anxiety and fear
    Not knowing as courage
    was undaunted and intensified
    from the loss of sight
    The moment the fog lifted
    was a relief I was alive
    Driving through the freeway
    and without a crash

    1. Great. It's a kind of terrifying poem really.

    2. 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.

  4. 8th Grade Field Trip

    The 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 was
    we 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 in
    to its mysteries, the past behind me a sunny path
    I would never walk again.

    1. Oh that's wonderful. I love the way it builds to the ending.

    2. I read it as narration describing discovery changing to stream of consciousness ending in loss. compelling work

  5. Silent as the Grapevine

    The ascent is unnerving
    climbing into the white vortex of an otherworldly place
    the road is gone
    all traces of civilization are lost in the thick, milky swirl
    the car is silent
    shallowed breathing and the smell of stress fills the air
    the wind is missing
    only the movement of traffic circulates the impenetrable haze
    the lights are faded
    glimpses of red, glowing eyes peer back at us through the murk
    the descent is maddening
    warily the speed increases on the way down the other side
    the reprieve soon arrives
    slowly the moon and stars begin to take back the mountain
    the return to normalcy
    as the road opens up, the world I thought was gone, returns

    1. Ah that Valley fog. I love the poem Molly. I feel it, its otherworldliness.

    2. Its a right of passage to survive that airborn sludge! Oooo that's good!


  6. I felt sick the day you left
    And many days before
    We ate festively that noon
    We talked about your coming life
    I dropped you at a stranger's house.
    It was a dizzy-sunny day
    A great day to begin a life
    A great day to grow up and out
    For you.
    For me the fog rolled in.

    1. I love the way the fog blows in at the end. Good poem!

  7. a mountain sits
    in the space between us
    the pass drenched in fog


  8. Days of Fog

    So 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 lost
    Where you can see nothing else
    But fog.
    Or where all you see in the fog
    Are beautiful, haunting trees from the past,
    Surrounded by lonely but gorgeous grasses
    Everything dipped in dew.
    So when I see dirty buildings and a 7-11
    Through 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 alone
    In woods like that
    I'd be too scared.

    1. I totally feel this poem. I'm the same way.

  9. Fog

    Fog means sex in the mist with that man
    Who played guitar and was a genius the
    Grass cold beneath bare feet, I had left
    My shoes somewhere at the party house and
    Forgotten where I put them and he grabbed
    My hand and we ran across the field
    In the dark. I never did things like that except
    When I did them, and then I did them with
    An abandon that scares me to remember —
    It was so fierce that running blind til I fell on the
    Ground like in some Hardy novel with a man
    Who wished me nothing but harm, but that’s in
    The 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 else
    And looking through the foggy fall turning winter the ice
    Covering the branches for the next man after that who spoke
    Swedish and was a genius, although he could not
    Play guitar
    At all.