"fogged" poems
We were once kids.
We were once wild.
We were once soldiers.
In the dead of winter, you greeted death.
You fell from my grip and into the darkness,
and now a hundred years have rotted away and I have never felt so alone.
I ran from the winter because war was to attached to it.
I close my eyes and I see you there on the front line.
Young and drained, you were just a body rotting away.
Full of life so you hung on with everything you had.
bang
bang
It was such an awful sound.
Only if I had taken your place.
If only you would have run the other way.
Just how unfair is our luck.
Someday I'll teach myself to learn and live alone.
I'll teach myself that death was not the enemy.
But the winter storm rages on and I'm still having trouble breathing.
Don't be alarmed.
I march on.
Like the soldier I once was.
Don't be alarmed.
I've seen many winter storms
and I have miraculously survived them all.
Can't you see that I don't want to move on?
Don't bring tomorrow because I can't take another.
My eyes are too fogged to see the light.
My minds too cluttered to think right.
I've tasted my own tears
and faced all my fears.
So here I am.
Laying on the floor.
So here we are.
Together once more.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
A Robin said: The Spring will never come,
And I shall never care to build again.
A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,
My sap will never stir for sun or rain.
The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,
I neither care to wax nor care to wane.
The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,
Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main.--
When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,
And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight.
Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might
Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.
The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,
Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.
25.6k
i wish we'd met under different circumstances,
in a beautiful parallel universe.
where the dull blue skies we dwell under now were light,
and the hatred we respire no longer spewed from our mouths.
i want the air to be cleared and our brains
fogged from the heartless reality we maintain.
i want our imperfect utopia to be untouchable,
a place of perfect imperfection,
where i can love you with all my heart.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 9:05 PM UTC
Everyday I walk around.
I don't understand what I'm seeing.
There is Stardust in my eyes.
It's fogged up my sight.
I see how everyone is the same.
With their Ugg boots, North Face Jackets,
iPhones, and Coach bags.
Just take off your empty frames and,
Get Stardust in your eyes.
See things through a vivid light.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
Be yourself and don't conform.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
And let your colors shine.
I thought I was weird.
With my off brand cloths,
And no internet on my phone.
With my black eyeliner,
And my rhythmic soul.
But my eyes are burning,
I'm exhausted from hiding.
I am who I am.
I've got Stardust in my eyes.
I see things through a vivid light.
Get Stardust in your eyes.
See the world as it really is.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
Be yourself and don't conform.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
And let your colors shine.
Be yourself, you Are unique.
With Stardust in your eyes, you see.
Don't follow the robot hipster army.
Get Stardust in your eyes,
And Shine!
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
Come sew buttons into my eyes, and allow me to believe all of your lies.
For the beauty of love shall seep deep within; even if perception is fogged by your sins.
Alysia Marie 2014 ©
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 4:42 PM UTC
A rainy sunday afternoon...
I'm stuck inside singin' a tune..,
The weather's forcing me to stay,
I'm not runnin' away...
It's a rainy, dreary, fogged out town,
Just a couple days ago everything shined,
But now, no one can leave
No one can breathe...
It's such a rainy, pourin' sunday, afternoon.
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 3:33 PM UTC
I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of a vulture. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the ***** whale, and the ***** whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I never want to be away from you again, except at work, in the restroom or when one of us is at a movie the other does not want to see.
I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.
I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world.
I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong.
I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday.
Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.
Life will never end when you are in it.”
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
There are so many ways to worship the divine
Though my absolute favourite is in an abandoned parking lot
With fogged up windows to hide our devotion within
A temple of our own construction, and as sacred as the sin between our lips
As your hands roam the curves of my body, the fire within us ignites
Ready to sacrifice any and all logical thoughts
The rituals begin soon after in a rush to take our clothes off and I am nothing more than a humble offering
So you can drink me in like the finest of nectar, suited only for the gods
And finally the festivals commence with a tangle of limbs and a fight to keep ones breathe
Hands still explore as the fire burns hotter and before I know it you take me to the home of the gods
You welcome my acts of piety and respond in ways that make me see stars
My screams echo louder as your pace only quickens
And as the fire consumes us both
You take great pleasure in hearing your name being sung from my lips like a prayer
Satisfied by my worship you have no doubt in knowing which god my devotion belongs to
Dec 19, 2021
Dec 19, 2021 at 11:40 AM UTC
This isn't him,
This can't be the face he's left here,
This isn't the face he's used to seeing,
Solidified in the mirror.
It can't be the current one,
Or even close,
It's not at all how he recalls from the ponds he's known.
Not the one admired,
On crystal clear days,
Or the one sang with,
Through some humming nights.
Maybe his memory is just fogged up,
Maybe this reflection is just blurry from the showers,
They'd have burned others skin.
Still this can't be the face.
Not with the potholes for eyes,
Waning moons for lips,
And cliches for brains.
Or maybe things,
Maybe they do just change,
Maybe sometimes somethings sink in the earthquakes,
And are never swam in again.
Maybe sometimes there's no hope for reversal, redemption,
Or some rectifying light to right what's left,
Only hope in surviving the new.
I guess that's all there ever was.
If only he had it sooner,
He would have thrived in the old world,
Found melodies in the days and more mirror-less memories for the nights.
Only then could things be better off,
Different.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
let go, brother
let go of your forest
your ocean spray
your frantic
manic
tendencies
the ability to wipe it all away
lost somewhere in the wind
let go of your rain
let go of your shaky hands
and hold your pencil straight
with your teeth
don’t fret, forest
don’t burn, brother
hold
hold tight
the hallucinations of what swims
a polished stone skipping
in one endless encephalon cycle
fogged and
fogged again
the forest smokes
and the rain to put it out wanes
steam
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
You breathed gin.
This is blood for you.
Your hands held your hair and your eyes shut.
The alcohol lulled your brain to black.
It escaped your veins,
Diluted by 37.5% truth serum.
Gasping at the
Divine realisation
Where slurred lips
Contradicted
Your once straight-faced,
Certainly-certain speakings
Of your very crooked lie.
So crooked, it wound his heart around yours.
But that ball of yarn unravelled in an instant.
And the jumper you knit together,
Came apart
Stitch by stitch.
In my fogged memory,
I had choked myself that night
With a bottle and a ball of yarn.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
the body of this poem is about two bodies, sometimes poetic things are ***** and sometimes ***** things are poetic things under the dirt of what i'd been taught my whole life about my virginity. i was told that if i lost it i wouldnt be able to find it again. i was not told about a boy, tall and skinny and blonde, blue-gray eyes, i was not told that i would kiss him, i was not told that my kiss would be his first. i didnt know at the time that summer would collapse into one moment, i could never have guessed that two crazy transgender boys could coincide with virginity as strongly as we pressed our bodies together. i was fourteen years old and my body was a choppy pencil sketch of anorexia and rib damage, of breast tissue and scar tissue, of anxiety and hipbones. he was fifteen years old and to me he was beautiful, everything strange and weird in our brains was erased and forgotten, fogged up with our heavy breathing. i am wrapped up in firsts and lasts and the first time was not entirely the world-shattering that it was built up to be, we were built up, and then i forget why we stopped. but we stopped. but we stopped being far apart and afraid to tell each other how close we wished we were. we learned how to commit heavy sins, the kind that make you feel good. we learned that our relationship is textbook unhealthy, but unhealthy people means unhealthy partners means unhealthy- means **** off, we are trying our best and **** you, this is what love means. this tangle of fingers. we learned that we have to not only have secrets but become them. we didnt have to be taught what it feels like to need someone. we didnt need to learn how it tastes to be absolutely sure of something.
my entire life i was taught that i should save myself for a man, but instead i let go of myself and loved a boy.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
It was the summer my
feet tanned like a gladiator,
my coliseum was more a
city piled on dirt, dust, trash
and under that; sand. It was
a desert summer though pollution
and global warming stole the
'dry heat' notion, burned it
up between layers of humidity and
buried it under the city-
down to sand that touched jewels
and biblical lust.
sometimes I ate pigeons and
sometimes I ate McDonald's.
sometimes I was in love and
sometimes I cried myself to sleep.
my eyes were brown, my skin was dark
and my accent was convincing.
I could have been anybody
tiptoeing between past-dead
hatchbacks and stray cats-
any lonely girl with sleep in her eyes
and fogged up sunglasses,
so why did I stay me?
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 10:33 PM UTC
Write these words on empty stomach
unasked, I spilled my guts.
You said, "My life's a joke
and every choice a punchline."
You just wrote my prologue and the afterword
is dangling off my lips, now;
on the tips of tongues.
Steel night skies thrum and echo
when the bells are struck.
Goose Creek pays tribute to the wide Missouri.
I can't offer much--
clenched hands and mouth clamped shut.
Fling some words at empty wall space
from corners, room warms up
My reddened face obscured
behind two frost-fogged lenses
Guess I penned the punchline. Now my line-worn face
is crinkled up and frozen didn't get the joke
Tried to make a map out of the
words we spoke.
These streams pay tribute to a sea of memories
Now you don't say much
"Good luck," and "Stay in touch."
Clenched hands and mouth clamped shut.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
She's carrying around heartache,
It's tucked deep into her pockets.
It's heavy weight causing her to stumble.
That light up ahead is for her.
But insecurity causes doubt.
Whispering oh so softly her name.
Others fogged perception forces her to scream.
But all they hear is noise.
Not the heart bursting forth.
Not the over flow of sorrow she sometimes can't contain.
The light still shines bright.
All her beautiful soul has to do..
Is pick up her head from her knees,
and empty her pockets.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Observing these old men sitting at the stockyard cafe,
Suspendered bellies hanging above huge buckles
And button-crotched Levi's tucked tight over leather boots,
Legs grown bowed and thin, but carrying them to the sale, still,
To hear the auctioneer, talking fast to work the buying crowd,
And get their fill of cattle, shoved indoors,
Sold beneath the steady cracking whips,
A spectacle to burn its way into my minds's forever eye:
The skidding steers, the rolling eyes, the frantic scramble to find cover,
While buyers gave their quiet signs:
A tilted cap, a winking eye, a thumb or index finger up or at a side,
To purchase cow or bull or horse, in living flesh...
Then out again, through the other door,
And turn our heads to wait for more, and read the scrolling numbers:
How many head, how much per pound, perhaps a buyer's name,
And then the swinging sound of other cattle coming in to start again.
So, here these old boys sit again,
Slurping coffee through their yellowed teeth,
Remembering days of indoor cigarettes and harried waitresses,
The smell of cow manure and jingling spurs,
Though now the smokeless ring seems tame, more civilized,
I see the glory days reflecting in the old men's eyes.....
I was just a boy back in those good old days,
My memory is a little hazed, but I can recall
When smoking was allowed and sawdust covered the filthy floor,
A Coca-Cola cost a dime, and the cattle sale with Dad was the big time;
Quaking as we treaded light on the catwalks above the pens,
Looked for our calves, or cows Dad culled to bring to sale,
Then going down and in to see them sell.
Fondly now, I can recall the restaurant at the ring
Where I hoped for a slice of lemon pie from behind chill-fogged glass,
Saw cowmen wearing spurs and neckerchiefs and chaps...
Dreamed of growing up to be a cowboy.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
The cold January air has filled my lungs. A fiery gaze I give the moon—my tight breathing, hitching, my divine shadow foreshadowing what will happen next. Blood and my sweet cherry wine.
The stars hovering over the moon and the gray clouds fogged up, and him beside me. His heartbeat almost dug out of his chest; even if I can make out what he will say next, I make sure I wear an all smile. He needs to see I am better off without him. He needs to know I will be okay.
And the next thing I knew... He was gone far away like a ship in the night, drowned by waves and the dark, fiery gaze of the ocean. I listen, and as I slowly lose the noise of everyone, I lose myself. And then this song came; another tear swelled at the sight of my eyes. I sang a little bit, and a part of me lost everything that night.
The cold January air and my sweet cherry wine.
Dec 3, 2021
Dec 3, 2021 at 7:37 AM UTC
+
A bed-sits high and dry,marooned on a sandbank of night.
As radio 4-casts its nets to isolated ships like me that rudderless drift on into the light.
Still dark outside,no sounds,save the distant echoing bark of a hungry fox ----streets away.
Another dawn ripped blackbin bag of a day creeps and ouzes in
Heavy unfocused lids fogged in the steamy smokeyness of tea and a first fag
plenty of time plenty of time.
Time before the world wakes to the morning pips and its flushing, brushing, rushing sounds
A greyness gathers just beyound my pained curtains, as with a silent sigh a roosted blackbird clears its fasted throat.
Then as if by magic I 'm carried, scimming high above and beyound this mooring set in a silvered sea,on a welcomed mantra known to all.
As if a calling pray at day break,following each word in a moment subline
Un angle vole un angle vole.
Rockall - Malin - Hebrides
Humber - Fisher - German bight
Thames - Dover - Wight.
Each single secert understood and noted only by a few as I glide over in paced, pausey surf rolling words
North northeast - 994 - Falling slowly - Low pressure moving away - Gales 8 very poor - Backing 3-4 later - Mainly good - Becoming variable - Syclonic later - Increasing 6-7 mainly west - Swally showers for a time - Fair - Good.
Oh so good, each pure English comforting sounds heard over lapping waves of air.
The bushy wet nosed fox sulks and cowers away from the breaking sun, as the blackbird draws a dewdropped breath though golden nib and tapping gently, call a hidden choir into song just for me.
Reminding me of the things I'd for gotten I care about.
Sharp timed unwelcomed pips flood the ears to prise open sticky eyes from promised dreams and spoon-cuddles warm
As I set forth on wetted pavements, ready to decline into my charted day.
Yet smiling as if blessed and no longer alone
But filled with early morning salty thoughts of strangers
I
have
yet
to
meet
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
Rain falls on the windscreen
in shades of grey brown and fogged-up blue,
car become boat in the rain-clogged road
floating away like in a Monet,
into the evening mess.
Frayed nerves, rules break, as dangers lurk.
The wiper slow tells its tale own.
Irrelevant discourse, irreverent songs,
the FM trend for DJ fame.
And we have two 'rivers' in our city,
swelling in refuse, bolstered by the rain;
And we have two beaches in our city,
soak in the surf, if you can ignore the rubble;
And we have many parks in our city
where litter garlands our heroes daily;
The last patch of green, cramped between
rising heights all around, accursed of
dump and construction junk,
steals a dying look at the moon late.
A walk in the woods, by the mist, by late evening.
A stroll, warm, through a field covered in snow.
Nice paintings on my concrete wall.
I'm told, the money plant is good for one's health.
Trees, a luxury for our wealth.
These are all good developments.
Hyper malls round the corner.
Home prices, soaring to Kepler.
Please pour in more investment into my country.
Guaranteed, riches grow in multiplication.
The markets are all about manipulation.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
Her laugh, rain-soaked, cups creamy heated skin.
Together undress dusk, fingers white as steam.
Cold kissed our thighs—short cotton skirts, oh so thin—
Warm breath finds cold lips, fogged glass between their world and our dream.
Together undress dusk, fingers white as steam.
Our bath—hot, cold breasts-to-back, a drip, within my embrace.
Warm breath finds cold lips, fogged glass between their world and our dream.
Gentle waves of my hand, her blond silk sighs search our secret place.
Our bath—hot, cold breasts-to-back, a drip, within my embrace.
Her hands cup my world—her breath a hush, lost between my thighs.
Gentle waves of my hand, her blond silk sighs search our secret place.
I softly hold her pulse—a tremble—a longing to bloom, where silence lies.
Her hands cup my world—her breath a hush, lost between my thighs.
Blond—auburn silk sighs, find a glowing dawn, as one.
I softly hold her pulse—a tremble—a longing to bloom, where silence lies.
Winter’s wet and cold forgotten, our new love, begun.
Together undress dusk, fingers white as steam.
Tight in our arms, wet spent bodies adrift in silence, no past loves, no sound.
Warm breath finds cold lips, fogged glass between their world and our dream.
Our bath still holds our shape, strawberry silk sighs, cosmic bound.
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 5:42 PM UTC
I saw your blood pour down into the abyss, it danced like a river of abundance. I saw them opening their jaws, drinking it like water of vitality. I saw them leap for joy as they bathed in your crimson rain. You laid there beside me, pale and cobalt. You lay so free, you lay so pure. I touched your skin and my fingertips froze, your soul had fled. I felt sorrow, I felt pain. That night I died with you, I stuck the knife to feel your suffering, I stuck it deep without any shame. My eyes fogged as my final exhale misted the black air.
This is sanctity.
Feb 28, 2022
Feb 28, 2022 at 3:25 PM UTC
The wobbly love bits
woke up when the morning is
still fogged by cold purple-hued
freshness
She covers her face
but reveals those baby eyes
to follow you with
mirthful wonder
and she flails her wobbly fingers
and wobbly arms
with playful waves
and her mother
takes away her blankie
And she is dressed in
blue, and that sort of
beauty all crammed inside
that little brand new human being
can be quite
overwhelming
Her few feather hairs
and happiness-crinkling eyes
and mouth in a laughing sort of circle
and her invisible neck
and super puff-loved
cheeks
And love-hearts
fill the air
and spread joy
though your bones
and nerves
like warm sunshine
that melts
yesterday's despair
and dissipates
all the tiny
agonies
within
her radius.
-To Alice
Jan 7, 2016
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
Rarely had my vision been focused in the past
and maybe for this reason the passage of time
felt as if it was little more than a forgotten dream.
I often found my eyes on an icy reflection
of a naked man standing before a fogged mirror,
fresh with the haze of a hot shower.
I would gaze upon him and he back into me,
pondering to myself "who are you stranger?"
I could only assume he thought the same of me.
I would wonder when he walked away
from that tooth paste stained portrait
if he ventured into the world with that familiar vigor,
that naive sensibility to battle
the demons,
the contradictors
and the liars.
If he too would laugh at these same fallacies in himself
with a certain kind of madness that could only touch
the ears of the few free men among us.
Those tragic spirits who dared to dance,
to transcend ancient genetics and modern culture
in hopes of touching a god they had long forsaken.
We may have given it a different name
but we were no better then the theologians before us,
we clung to our most primal desire.
It weighed upon us with such force
that hunger,
thirst
or even lust
felt like a pestering annoyance in the shadow of its glory.
Our appetite for connection far surpassed our need
to facilitate our biological deficiencies
and in those moments of understanding we reveled in the irony
of being minds trapped in fleshy bodies.
A smile crept across my face and one grew upon him.
I knew this man who stand before me,
unafraid,
bare in body
with a dastardly grin.
He was my oldest friend,
the ghost who spoke to me
in my most vulnerable moments
when no others did.
He cried for me when I could not,
would not cry for myself.
He had always been there
for me and for the first time
when I turned away from his reflection
I felt him follow too.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
Emptiness,
from starless nights,
to freezing waters,
paralizing the soul
of a despised parrot.
Just like the love
you gave,
and fogged
my soul.
A phoenix's song,
louder than the storm,
with a sacrifice
to die in flames,
hoping to see you again.
Just like the love
my fogged soul
offered to yours.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC