Monday, January 30, 2017

WHO GENERATES FOG--WE DO



GENERATING FOG

We stand on the shore.
The fog rises
overpowering
sights of the distant coast,
our fading distant memory.

Places behind all who sail the sea here
on winds of hope, home fires obscured

The air, our life,
is slowly engulfed,
becomes heavy,
too thick to breathe.

Sounds from the cloaked sea, muted, muffled,
opaque vapors enhancing executing movement

closer to us,
to the mind.
No more
do we light our side,
blow the horns to warn,

there is nothing left them sailing unredeemed upon the sea
or to us but the slow roll of construction, a cursed drowning

© M Durfee
1/29/17

10 comments:

  1. I feel the slow death of dying light, a cursed drowning. My mood has been terribly grey and dark lately Mark. I wish I can wake up from the terrible trump nightmare.

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  2. the dark smothers the pale. evil trumps love

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  3. I seem to be feeling foggier everyday. Nature, I guess. xo

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  4. And so the decline continues until we drop off the edge of he map.

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  5. Cool beans, Walking Man!

    The Fog of War. Frederick Douglass v. Foghorn Leghorn in the Thick Pea Soup of the American Psyche. Valhalla, yonder shore, hear Sirens ever caterwaul.

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  6. this was a great follow up to the don't feel post earlier this month. Great stuff.
    dark, but not hopeless... hunker down. Tough times.

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  7. You nicely work in nature and our own feelings of what's happening around us. Nice writing.

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  8. Dark shores indeed when the view is fogged in by a closed mind

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  9. It is always nice when the sea inspires. What comes. . .

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  10. A bit of departure this seems to me from your usual style--more sea-like, if you will, still direct and assertive, but cloaked a bit in the mist that comes with dim light and storm--and of course, that sense of breakdown--'no more do we light our side..' indeed--that requires a functional civilization. Liked this very much.

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So Walking Man I was thinking...