poetry,prose and dopamine dreams
The first foggy morn
I awoke to a grey dawn.
A heavy, damp grey,
no summer float misty morn,
just a sombre start of day.
Yet in it’s cloying drape
was a beauty of some kind,
as it clung to the shape
of all it could find,
needy for some touch,
unsure why it’s here,
never moving much
making sight unclear.
More blanket than sheet
arriving unseen in the night
hovering up a few feet
and delaying the light,
this cold opacity faint
this damp grey taint.
Mostly fiction mixed with a little poetry and a smidgen of real life drama
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When inspiration arrives, you not only take its hand, but you run with it and make it the most beautiful thing! I saw that foggy morn with you. Love this piece! And that photo is just breathtaking!
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Bless you colleen..
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🙂
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Lovely flow Nigel, drops drops from one word to the next
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Fabulous…reading it out loud and imagining the crisp fog making me want to pull up my collar and enter its murky depths. Fabulous, again 😊
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Thank you lovely lass, be careful, for entering an English foggy morn these days is to risk being hit by a Polish juggernaut whose driver is having txt wars with his girl back home !
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Oh dear! I’ll stay indoors then as I need to protect Nige junior from such distracted folk. They are an international hazard it seems.
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As a Brit I can’t complain as we’ve been an international hazard for centuries ! Sticking our pretty flag all over the place.
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I like it in the corner of my Aussie (home) flag Nigel! 🇬🇧
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There is something magical about these type of mornings Nigel and you have managed to capture it in this excellent poem. Reading it creates so many vivid images. Fairy-tale or horror?
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Thank you Davy, I was trying to convey just that, a kind of beauty maybe as a ‘power of nature ‘ thing but wholly subjective as opposed to a summer mist which promises a day of sunshine.
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