Long Fog Poems
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FOG AND MYSTERY
(on the last day of the year 2021)
There is something scary and magical about fog
erases the boundaries of the landscape
and we choose to see what we want to see
In this woolly silence
just waiting to see elves and trolls
a spirit mood, creatures and forces
in the world that no human has actually seen
31/12/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
The Fog Local Gems
Note: one of my oldest poems was written in 1972 when I was 16. Revised as a cherita.
The Fog
The Fog
The Fog
Rolls in and in.
And on forever
Till the end of time
Past where once stood proud San-San.
Now there is nothing
But bones rolling in
Forever and ever
Rotting in the blue sunlight
Turning in the yellow clouds
filling the air
With the stench
The fear
The feel
Of a people forever dead
Merging with the fog
Filling the air
The fog rolls in and in
Laughing as the Sun
Sinks into the purple coated sky
Above the encrusted sky of time
With the people of the earth
Just another dead civilization.
Day 8: A Layer Of Fog
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Re-write the fog if I can find it I should be able to either re-write or use a couple of my horror haiku poems or combine into a longer piece perhaps a cherita? Or a Haiku sonnet? That would be the funniest one to do
We think we are
what we do?
How grossly untrue!
We strive to be the top
dog?
I call that, egotistical,
“brain fog.”
Be a brother or sister
to another.
They do not need a boss
nor a mother.
Keep your credentials to
yourself.
Arrogance belongs on
a shelf.
Be a true friend, share,
fully what you can.
A servant of God, in the
family of man!
Seek out the meek and
the humble.
The popularity game~
a huge ego rumble.
8/7/2021
~1~
He loves to walk in the morning fog…he loves to look around
to feel the mist upon his face….and watch the cloud hover over the ground.
This morning’s felt a little different…he could not help denying
there was a faint sound, somewhat muffled….as if the fog was crying.
“What’s the matter fog?” he asked. “Why are you so blue?”
Why are you so sad today? Is there anything I can do?”
“Thank you, no.” the fog whispered for the fog never talks too loud.
“I am just a morning fog…when I’d much rather be a cloud.”
“But you are a cloud.” The young boy said. “the best cloud of any around.”
It just so happens you’re a cloud that floats above the ground.”
“But I don’t want to float above the ground,” the cloud said as he pointed to the sky.
I want to be up there…I want to soar…I want to fly.”
The young boy smiled. "But don’t you see that is the wonder of you.” he said
“You make the morning beautiful as across the land you spread.”
“You add to the ground a tranquil beauty… but when the sun rises you say goodbye
and you float up to the heavens and add your beauty to the sky.”
“Are you sure?” The fog asked the young boy as he stretched across the land
“I’m sure.” The young boy replied. “Wait a little while and you will understand.”
“Will you wait here with me?” The fog asked. The young boy nodded his head.
“To see you fly up to the sky.…would be my honor.” he said.
And so they waited there together and the boy enjoyed the mist upon his eyes
and when the sun peeked over the horizon the fog smiled as she danced up to the sky.
“Goodbye fog.” the boy said as the fog brushed against his head.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” the fog cried.
I’ll be waiting, the young boy said.
This poor brain
That thinks for me
Is all spent at the moment
Malfunctioning
Farting embarrassingly
Creaky; it needs...
A few drops of grease
Do check back tomorrow
For it is too tired to engage today
Sorry, it has gone to bed
Early
Let it sleep, please
Brainy Brevity Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Maureen McGreavy (Winner: 8th Place)
Date written and posted: 01/01/2019
The vibrant colours of a Venice day
Are muted now, and drained to sombre grey,
As huddled shades of countless long past years,
Sharing their tears and ever constant fears,
Silent, intangible, diffused, now roam,
In tones of dank, primeval monochrome.
Sweet Melancholy breathes her mawkish air
As stony faces add their baleful stare,
Sightless, yet knowing well within their core
The days of pageant, and the grief, of yore.
These shifting nearly-souls of latter day
In sorrow, and against their will, they stay.
As pigeons bleakly view the scene below,
The church bells, softly stifled, peal, as though
In cotton wool. Canal sounds harmonise,
And gently rhythmic solace therein lies,
Easing the pain of those the city shuns,
Her unseen, phantom, long-forgotten sons.
We went on a hike to the top of a mountain…on a morning still sprinkled with dew…
anticipating all the way up..and once at the top..we were in for some wonderful views.
We knew we would see forever…in the sky…high above the pines
but the more we walked..the more we realized nature had other designs.
A fog rolled in…obstructing our view….covering the land surrealistically
so we focused on what was in front of us…all the things we were able to see…
We saw the beauty of the fog…the way it moves…how to the trees and mountains it clings.
We noticed how, even in the fog, flowers bloom and birds continue to sing.
We watched at times the fog soar up and other times crawl across the trees…and we wondered does the breeze control the fog or does the fog control the breeze.
We felt the fog roll over us…like ghosts floating through the air
leaving behind a bit of dampness…on our clothes…on our hands…in our hair.
We noticed that moisture on the flowers and plants…making them shine as it helps them to grow…we saw how the fog in the distance…covered the land like a blanket of snow…
We noticed there was magic in the fog…magic we never knew…
turning trees into magicians as they faded in…and then out of our view.
We found more magic in a large rock surrounded by rose petals…
and although the ceremony was through…
we imagined a couple standing there…
smiling…both of them saying I do.
Yes…we went looking for beauty on the mountain….
we had a certain kind of beauty in our heads…
but unable to see the beauty we came for…
we found our beauty in the fog instead.
We mortals are known for waging good
And gallant fights to ward off some of
The fury of mother nature. We often
Succeed in fighting, defending, and
Minimizing her calamitous effects,
But we can never wip Mother Nature.
I once lived in an area that fogged
Heavily certain times of the year,
Especially late nights and early
Mornings. The heavy fog sometimes
Caused much damage and loss of
Life in anto accidents.
Some motorists equipped their vehicles
With fog lights to aid in their visibility.
Unfortunately, the company vehicle
I drove did not have fog lights.
When driving was required under such
Conditions, I often sought the tail lights
Of big rig trucks. Their big red tail lights
Would usher me safely through the fog.
Poet's Note:
Written for the Skeletons Poetry Contest. This dramatic monologue uses "skeleton of hope" as a metaphor for resilience that appears during grief.
Ash Into Phoenix
You ask why I walk barefoot through this frozen forest?
The broken road cuts me, and dancing fog swirls at my feet.
Every step is heavy and cold.
Demons of sorrow and despair circle me.
I thought grief would bury me in the dark.
Then the skeleton of hope rose from my chest.
He wore a gown of silver, with stars on its glittering seams.
He sat beside me, a golden staff in his hand.
He took my hand and looked into my eyes.
"Hardship burns your old soul," he said.
"From the ash rises a phoenix of hope."
"Grief is fire. Let it light your path."
"In darkness, you can still glow."
He smiled at me, at the person drowning in grief, and said:
"Grief is not a punishment.
It is the polish that strengthens your inner self."
And then I stood, because he was right.
When I was young…before I could speak…before I was capable of dialogue…
unbeknownst to my parens…I saw life through a fog.
Everything my eyes could see…looked like a painting by Monet
I didn’t know I saw the world differently…I was born that way.
I thought everyone had eyes like mine…and saw the world like me…
It would be years till I got glasses and could see the world that others see.
With only my eyes or with my glasses on…my world was as different as night and day.
I either saw the details of DaVinci…or through the haze of a Monet.
Yesterday, however, for a little while my world took a different spin.
The skies were clear when we began our walk…then slowly…the fog rolled in.
As the fog moved in and over us…as it blanketed the shore.
I thought to myself…this is wonderful…I don’t need my glasses anymore.
So I took them off and for a moment played this little game…
with my glasses on or with them off…everything looked the same.
Yes, once the fog engulfed the people, the cars, the beach…the trees…
I realized, at that moment, everyone there was seeing the world I see.
So I put my glasses in my pocket…and for a few minutes at the beginning of the day…
I welcomed everyone I met…into my world…and the beauty of Monet.