Wednesday, October 14, 2009


The fog is supposed to and will burn off by late morning. . . .Here in the Upper Valley we often have misty mornings. . .

By Poetic Muse


On the morn of wispy fog I stood in the chill dawn

I watched it feather it's way up the sign posts

Curling like bony fingers around trees and busses and traffic lights

I watched it pouring over the foothills like dry ice pours from a beaker in science lab

I shiver in the coolness wondering why I didn't wear a sweater

I watch the first floor of my school building disappear in the encroaching fog

I would be late again

I wasn't meant to be locked in a room all day even if it was in the name of education

I was meant to feel the fog wrapping around my ankles

I watched it obliterate all the details around me

I basked in the surrealistic glow

I heard the relentless bell ringing in the distance

I walked with lead feet in that direction


Pilgrim said...

That poem from you? Exept for some words, it could almost go for one by Robert Frost. Propz Pilgrim

JustinO'Shea said...

hello Pilgrim. . . No, I am not a writer of poetry. The poet uses The Muse as her screen name. If you click on her name at top it will take you to more of her poetry.

Yes, she does write along Robert Frost's style. . .maybe that is why I liked FOG. . .

a bientot. .

Gary Kelly said...

Something to think about... what is the first word of almost all the sentences in that poem?

J said...

These lines are more like Sandburg,who wrote about the fog creeping up "on little cat feet".