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Payton Feb 25
the moon chased me through cities
growing more as days go by

I could not escape its gaze
through foggy curtained windows

I always thought I was made for
the night but as it turned out

the moon burns in me more
than the sun ever could
This poem was written in 2018.
Talia Dec 2020
grey misty haze
why pray for better days?
silver hues
lick moist air
in the beautiful world we share
puddles painted on the floor
revealing your unfocused stare
grey misty haze
tickling noses blue
should be enough
for you
why do people not appreciate grey days? do these days not accentuate the vibrancy of the rest, whilst being intriguing and softly beautiful in their own right?
Nica Monet Oct 2020
Beyond that fog lies the unknown.
The way it can hide a whole city
may fill a hole in me
bury the trauma within
by keeping our memories blurry
it’s a natural response to forget
to never again recall that story.
the fog in this context can be our own comfort zone. in this fog you may hide but you are not alone.
Nylee Oct 2020
Time will pass
And I'll disappear into mist
it will be too foggy
Never to be found again
.
LWZ Sep 2020
The winter wisps have gripped my neck
Taking every breath has left me unequipped for death

I watch my world spin and loose all control
What can be salvaged from inside my soul?

Foggy, grey, discombobulated in every way.
I sit on the park bench and wonder...
why does the wind spin in nature as it does in my head

I beg for freedom from my thoughts
I beg for independence
I beg for positive energy to reach me entirely

Try again tomorrow
Try again the next
Run until you have nothing left
Jay M Sep 2020
Back to the wall
Music playing
Something slowly arising
Preparing me to fall

Light and giddy
Swaying and saying
Words which stumble out
Sloshing and without
A drop of sense

Fingers tapping each tiny letter
Attempting to convey
The strangeness taking over
Wondering if it would get any better

Alas, it only gets worse
Before it gets better

Lying on the floor
Limbs stretched and curling back in
Laughter erupting in bursts from within
Wild, untamed and oh, what more
What more did come?

A loss of time,
All left in fog
Alone and lightly afraid
Yet thoughtless
Like a small child hearing a rhyme

Fragments
Moments of time
Glimpses into memory
Much left unseen

Slipping into sleep
In my head did I weep
For what I do not know
Kneading the carpet insecurely like dough

Awakened not an hour later
Stiff and unsure
Climbing to my bed
To rest my confused head.

- Jay M
September 6th, 2020
I was alone in my room though, the whole night. I don't know what happened, but I couldn't stop laughing. I don't remember much else. Yes, I'm fine. No, I didn't take anything.
Jay M May 2020
Uncertain of what's coming
Walking in a room with my eyes closed
I'm steady, so I'll keep running
No, how could I ever let go?
When all around me is crumbling to my feet
And there's nobody on my street
My lonely, quiet road
I travel with my dog
Through an invisible fog

Early hours I feel my heart racing
Like in my dreams there was something I was chasing
Leaving me breathless in my waking moments
Memories of the chase fleeing like rodents

None know the entirety of the chaos I've been wading through
In all of this time I feel that my strength grew
True, at some points it felt like I may have reached the ends
But then I talk to my friends

- Jay M
April 10th, 2020
*Found this one in my drafts. It was finished, but I hadn't done anything with it.
Andrew Rueter Apr 2020
The weather is foggy
because the bog bleeds
like my problems lofty
making things foggy.
These problems haunt me
when the forecast is foggy.
I start to become not me
after my reflection lost me
in this hellish hot spring
where the fog is accosting
my vision’s focus and locking
until I absolutely cannot see
through this mist so foggy
my brain gets groggy
with the pain I’m dodging
blasting through the fog feed
making this innocent dog bleed
under the leaves of God’s tree
the same tree that made God leave
where an apple made things foggy.
Brendann Mar 2020
The eerie fog looms just below the treetops
The sound of crunching branches fills my ears
The owls, protectors of the forest, ask who goes there
It is I, great owls of the forest
A pause in noise, as if the world had stopped
Suddenly
Twinkling rays of the moon shoot through the fog
Lighting the path ahead
Like it had always been there
I walk down the path, not knowing who is watching
Or who is following
Or if I will ever make my way home
Free Verse
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Smoke
by Michael R. Burch

The hazy, smoke-filled skies of summer I remember well;
farewell was on my mind, and the thoughts that I can't tell
rang bells within (the din was in) my mind, and I can't say
if what we had was good or bad, or where it is today ...
The endless days of summer's haze I still recall today;
she spoke and smoky skies stood still as summer slipped away ...
[We loved and life we left alone and deftly was it done;
we sang our song all summer long beneath the sultry sun.]

I wrote this poem as a boy, after seeing an ad for the movie "Summer of ’42," which starred the lovely Jennifer O’Neill and a young male actor who might have been my nebbish twin. I didn’t see the R-rated movie at the time: too young, according to my parents! But something about the ad touched me; even thinking about it today makes me feel sad and a bit out of sorts. The movie came out in 1971, so the poem was probably written around 1971-1972. But it could have been a bit later, with me working from memory. In any case, the poem was published in my high school literary journal, The Lantern, in 1976. The poem is “rhyme rich” with eleven rhymes in the first four lines: well, farewell, tell, bells, within, din, in, say, today, had, bad. The last two lines appear in brackets because they were part of the original poem but I later chose to publish just the first six lines. I didn’t see the full movie until 2001, around age 43, after which I addressed two poems to my twin, Hermie …



Listen, Hermie
by Michael R. Burch

Listen, Hermie . . .
you can hear the strangled roar
of water inundating that lost shore . . .

and you can see how white she shone

that distant night, before
you blinked
and she was gone . . .

But is she ever really gone from you . . . or are
her lips the sweeter since you kissed them once:
her waist wasp-thin beneath your hands always,
her stockinged shoeless feet for that one dance
still whispering their rustling nylon trope
of―“Love me. Love me. Love me. Give me hope
that love exists beyond these dunes, these stars.”

How white her prim brassiere, her waist-high briefs;
how lustrous her white slip. And as you danced―
how white her eyes, her skin, her eager teeth.
She reached, but not for *** . . . for more . . . for you . . .
You cannot quite explain, but what is true
is true despite our fumbling in the dark.

Hold tight. Hold tight. The years that fall away
still make us what we are. If love exists,
we find it in ourselves, grown wan and gray,
within a weathered hand, a wrinkled cheek.

She cannot touch you now, but I would reach
across the years to touch that chord in you
which sang the pangs of love, and play it true.



Tell me, Hermie
by  Michael R. Burch

Tell me, Hermie ― when you saw
her white brassiere crash to the floor
as she stepped from her waist-high briefs
into your arms, and mutual griefs ―
did you feel such fathomless awe
as mystics in artists’ reliefs?

How is it that dark night remains
forever with us ― present still ―
despite her absence and the pains
of dreams relived without the thrill
of any ecstasy but this ―
one brief, eternal, transient kiss?

She was an angel; you helped us see
the beauty of love’s iniquity.

Keywords/Tags: young, love, summer, smoke, smoky, haze, fog, foggy, cloudy, sky, skies, heat, summer heat, ****** heat, smog, mist, sultry, Summer of '42, Jennifer O’Neill, Hermie, sky, skies, cloud, clouds, cloudy, farewell, goodbye, memory, memories, teen, teenage, teen love, boy, boyfriend, first love, World War II,
confusion, regret, recall, recollection, memory, remembrance
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