Motionless trees sinister
In their silence
Images swirl of twisting pirates
Shapes and shadows stoop
Contorted, turn and beckon
A voice whispers softly
Of things that only darkness knows
Shivering, eyes deceived

my dear it's so quiet here without you
and oh my dear is it raining there too?

my dear while you're gone there's nothing here to save
so i think i'll visit the cemetery and name the unmarked graves.

Drawn up in fogskirts
blind eye belights treecrowns
silvered needles wherethrough
motes and embers dance like ice and blood

हो गुनाहगार भी कोई तो,
तक्क़लुफ ना करें,
मैँ भी अपने दामन मेँ थोड़े दाग रखता हुँ ।
कोई भूखा अगर मिलेँ तो,
उसे बहला सकूँ,
मैँ अपने बटुए मेँ रोटी और साग रखता हुँ।
करेँगेँ मजहबोँ की बाते फुरसत मेँ,
मैँ अपने दिल मेँ हिन्दोँस्तान रखता हुँ।
क़ाफिर की इबादत हुँ, शायर की माशूका,
कर दे जो हरपल को रंगीन,
मैँ वो धुँआ हुँ।
हर एक कदम पर दुनिया कहती हैँ,
तू क्या हैँ?
और मैँ हर बार कहता हुँ,
सबके दरमियाँ हुँ मैँ,
लेकिन कैसे बताऊँ ?
क्या हुँ मैँ?
सुनहरी सरज़मीँ मेरी, रुपहला आसमाँ मेरा,
मगर तुम अब तक नहीँ समझें,
ठिकाना है कहाँ मेरा?
क़ाफिर की इबादत हुँ, शायर की माशूका,
कर दे जो हरपल को रंगीन,
मैँ वो धुँआ हुँ।
हुँ मैँ तेरी मुट्ठी मेँ,
खोल अपनी मुट्ठी,
तेरे सामने हुँ मैँ,
हाँ मैँ वही हुँ,
मैँ धुँआ हुँ!
शफ़्फाक हैँ,
फूल हैँ,दीपक हैँ, चाँद भी है,
मगर इनसे दूर कहीँ मैँ भी हुँ,
मैँ वही धुँआ हुँ।
फर्श और अर्श के दरमियाँ मत ढूँढ मुझे,
तू जिसे ढूँढ रहा है,
मैँ तेरे अंदर हुँ,
मैँ धुआँ हुँ।
क़ाफिर की इबादत हुँ, शायर की माशूका,
कर दे जो हरपल को रंगीन,
मैँ वो धुँआ हुँ।

I did not beg to be loved by you
Your affection itch every ounce of me
I'll do well knowing that I'm not yours
Gracious omen it would spell for me

You will do well to keep your distance
I do not wish to come across your footprints
Even if it's the only way in the world
I rather stay here and burn cold like ghost

I don't see us sharing the same fate
There is nothing in the future you propose
I see me standing alone, there is no you, no us
Just the distance between us and the fog ahead

I lie with eyes
Stinging with a lack of
Sleep, open with a
Burning gaze boring a hole
In my ceiling.

I had woken from a dream
Of a man with the skin tone
Of my morning coffee, and
A stare that stripped
My body from my
Quivering soul.

-------------------

Moments of slipping
Out of class to take
A peek at the dense
Fog rolling in.
Hovering above
The skin of our
Heads like a smoky
Halo of water
Particles.

The thick, grey air
Has probably never
Seen such a
Beautifully dead
City.

-------------------

With rooms shrounded in
Undertones of dull grey, what
Can I do but conceal my
Own color so that the walls
Don't steal it away?

I wish that this
Tension underneath
My skin could just
Seep out of my
Pores and alleviate
My soul from its
Unbearable pressure.
Let it trickle
Down and evaporate
Into the warm,
Sunny air.

There is a strangeness in fog
that is palpable
and perhaps it is the strangeness in me
which responds

It is no accident I know
that I was raised
where fog is legend
and so remains
a cloying fact of life
for coastal Sunny California
is coldly blanketed each morning
six months of every year
in chilly dampness

What once was familiar
now changed
hidden within soft billows
of clouds brought to earth
the monotonous drip
from the leaves of the trees
the eaves of the roof
the rocks on the hillsides . . .
stars and planets obscured
only the mysterious moon
peeks through the diaphanous veil
lighting her shroud from above

now moving
now shifting
a glimpse of . . . something
caught
only to disappear once more
deep within the flowing haze

Yet where others find in fog
a thing to fear
I find in it a pleasure
seldom found elsewhere
for me familiar comfort
in the heavy grey mist
enveloping me
as a blanket of spirit
or ancestors

And perhaps it is this
the others fear
for the spirits of fog
can be cunning and cruel
hiding dangers
from those unwary
or disrespectful

But I miss the fog
laying low upon the cliffs
turning ordinary landscape
into otherworldly and strange

I long for the lonely cries
of the foghorn at sea
and should the sea monster come
I pray it finds
the love it seeks

Cori MacNaughton
19Jan2007

witness dusk on the top edge
of a mountain higher
than the largest problem man ever created

Having a best friend is a wonderful happening
its a wonder and a **** of the head
a twist in the neck
like the most interesting engagement
transpiring right now

the pink sky fading on a girl's birthday
and a disposable snap shot
of a moment
where two girls smiled
arms outstretched towards infinite sky

individuals independents
fond over memories
of a friend somewhere
out of reach
they pull out like a ruffled note
in a pocket
during times when great things
are happening
but no one to bask with

witness the dusk

we found ourselves there once
except we were dancing above
the problems

Joyous Goddesses content
with blindness in the fog
heading for dawn