Fog poems bring the best collection of short and long fog poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great fog rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these fog poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on fog are here for you.
‘Don’t create fog’, covering truth, people say, afraid of fog, For me, the invisible beauty, nothing to cover, but be here, With me, at least in the morning and evening, as my love, To cover ourselves, as we walk, embracing
Every 20 seconds, its lonely voice cries Out to someone it will never meet like an ancient voice, never ceasing Through the cold rain and silent darkness Standing, waiting, as patient as time How many a forlorn sailor heard its
In the London fog she walks like light Light as soft as the lofty stars Dreams are haunted Liverpool ships Herdwick sheep bleating by Lake Windermere She sounds the bells of destiny Oscar Wilde with a black cane Morose of
skipped rocks through a stream today the opening of a brand new day its frame is in minor decay the bleached wood massed in bone piles, we pulled it from dark beach and built fire in a fenced clearing the
Roaring engines blow sand from the shoulder of a broken mirror, They scream into the night. Candy coats capture passing glances, The shine dances with a golden streetlight, Casting gilded dust over newly discovered worlds, Toledo and Boston, Chicago and
Oh deep, dark depression, my uninvited guest, the persistence of oppression is precluding my life’s zest. The dark before sunrise of a dawn that just won’t break, suppressed by a thirst for my soul that only sorrow can now slake.
Thank the stars I whispered You slept well Last night Thank your stars You feel fine To run around And cook your food Thank your stars Your heart beats Without sadness today And the mind is at rest Thank your
Through the perils of human bondage, through the strife of life’s journey, Entrapped and enmeshed in the tangled web of human existence, I scream at the top of my lungs- I AM FREE. Walking the path of life Embedded with
Hardly he could see the sun And the eyes misted by fog. Walks and walks this frozen lad Until the unknown terminal. Who could he rely upon? Accompanied by the woods. Singing a song of folk, Nothing but walks on
The door closes behind me with a snap. My footsteps echo strangely on the street’s pavement. I feel the urge to go back. A pale sun is struggling hard to escape the cloud’s clutches. The smell of incense covers the
In younger years & on my own accord…I wasted so much time on you love, searching for validity of your created nature… seeking the same emotional high, others who’ve experienced you, say, is in the vapors emitting from your exotic
1 She is the tree green and wide abundantly dressed overflowing spreading her sleeves blesses all in her cool shade solitude teems with breezy songs I feel nearer God 2 That autumn tree from this window looks like a young
A collection of poetry written by Srdjan Solkotovic. The themes are love, hate, death, hope and life. Its a collection of poems that will make you feel like on a roller coaster of emotions. In a world that’s shattered, in
Seeking vengeance Racing across the heavens at a frightening speed An unearthly fog spreads Consuming the moon and stars It creeps across the water Hotter then the sun A jagged bolt of lightning tears the sky in half Highly ionized
Sore with discontent, Oblivion beckons, Fade out or live long- Perhaps not an option. Choices are illusions, Life a big lie, Return to innocence- Most desired. Loath and anguish, No logic to talk about, Haze of negativity- Call it depression.
High in the Cascade Mountain Range, camped in a wilderness cathedral. Overlooking a vast expanse of wilderness, only meters back from the edge of a sheer precipice. Admiring the shear beauty of a brilliant double rainbow, bridging this vast void.
Like an old wound healed crooked The weather changes in remindful aches With cold breezy chills over sunless hills People…(sigh) I sit Apparently comfortable Advising from somewhere outside of my in Hiding long cold unseen spaces Awakened again with reminders
The wind’s flaming sword cut through the brazen land, grasses along its wrath are flared, and seeds for the songbird fell flat on the ground, temperature’s tune seems amplified, 360 degrees around: Baked clod. And the stems turn into dried
She walks the mystic shoreline Tides and seagulls Clouds lift the curtain of pain Rain and fog gone like decades I find her waiting for my dreams Dreams of fire to warm my lonely world Unfurled hearts with eyes bright
Gazing through the swirling fog; the cloying mists of time, hoping to see the ones I love, before the clock’s cold chime. Beyond the final curtain; the call of a tolling bell, what destiny awaits me as shadows fall over
“HMS Trincomalee, a British Corvette, sixth rate warship of 28 guns, Five hundred gross tons was she. The King’s Pressman am I, handling a pressgang of five, My firm service of country and King. Her ships bell marking time; bosun
To be in love. Her heart was a hill that I climbed with slippery soles. To be still in the moments of encouragement. I’d slide down unable to catch my footing. I acknowledge that I wasn’t dressed for the occasion.
Handprint of innerself was writ large in your eyes. I hear you in your becoming. Are you me and me are you in sameness? The words and silence? I hope you are listening to the waves, from inside, from outside.
Crows, Mosquitoes, School buses, Crunch of snow Secured in my memory like the sound of your voice Morning fog on the lake, Fish jumping, Changing colors, Lake freezing over Secured in my memory like watching you drink coffee Mud, Cut
It was a graceful exit with audacious idiocity. A cyclops was going for a dress disaster. Visitation of flesh, mars the beauty. Cheating starts between the pails of tears. I start hitting the planet. Let the bride sleep in fog.
(1) Poetry is holding eternity by its front curl, each time it passes through a transitory flicker. It is seeing all winters in just a refraction of a water drop. It is your face blushing whenever a firefly flames its
I’ve fallen in love with the poet In all its dimensions rippling across the pool of time, incarnate in its everything the rosy cheeked and wet lipped girl rattling existential verse over the clamor of a twelve car train, barreling
When terror strikes, fear inside you makes a hissing sound, breaks the vessel. Pain spurts out. Your limbs swell like sapphires in a naked suffering. You were searching the face of your dead brother on burning ghat. And then on,
Walking on dead leaves covering the grass to and fro, to and fro in solitude, hiding behind the mask, pithy face, ideas rebounding, a loaded eloquence, opening a dialogue with self, quietly bleeding inside. You are hearing the sounds of
I wanna know what secrets the library of Alexandria Held before it was burned to the ground, I wanna know What happened to Atlantis and Lemuria before the Ocean drug them down, I wanna walk and talk with Angels and
Hear the music beatin’ Stronger Feel the brandy kickin’ in Stronger See me gettin’ hotter and a growin’ Stronger Well and as the candles burn brighter the dream comes to light once more faces crystallize but I really don’t know
That tribal instinct sits in the denial. Words fly in fog carrying absurd meanings. I was ready for the impeachment. Like a pinned butterfly you lived several times, repeating a dialogue on a mindless thought. From nothing to nothingness, you
Walking out of the body I was drowned, accepted and condoned by depth of sorrow. A wide circle of testosterone giving pardon to a sin becomes sexless. You were overwhelmed by the missed beats. Your prosaic crime of not fathering
Widening cracks, leaking roofs choked drains in the courtyard water logging and myriad such small things make rains a pain There’s no romance in rainbow I can’t shape colors of morning morning shapes my color: I’m the victim of my
I’m alive though all the years of abuse, but I’ve not been able to truly “LIVE” because my head is full of fog, confused and don’t know who I am. Suffering from anxiety and depression. I live in a prison,
The evening was cool, dark and heavy, I took the path less trodden by leading into the dense, deep, dark forest; From a distance I could hear the breaking of the waves. Alas!! How fortunate they are…..! I don’t have
It’s a childish sensibility that builds its own walls With drawbridge, moat and ramparts to break down Besieged for years by catapults and archers and fire-slinging foes Before the fortress finally falls and the flag is captured That’s when he
Charmed by a witch in the days of the Knight Templars Reflections in the dark, Reflections of the heart and as the moon goes across the mountains here I remember firelight and snowfall and an ivy covered castle wall where