Fog WalkingA Poem by David O Whalen (O Haolin in Celtic)It's of better judgement. (next time!)Fog so thick that one could almost…
Part it with one’s finger Enter into where dwell ghosts And mayhaps worse might linger Just a few paces and familiar things Cease to exist So few traces that memory brings Penetrates the mist Bearings lost, in droplets tossed Rain that ne’er touches the ground But floats about, like frosted floss And about me doth surround Hands before me groping reaching Sound smothered in gray cotton Colours fade like dye leaching From clothes old and rotten My mind had visions Of a pleasant walk in the fog Not frightful frissons As bristled hair on a dog Before me…Now! Looming…rearing!! Dark shape…The prow Of a great ship appearing! My heart was paralyzed My mind thrown for a loop! Til I took reckon and realized ‘Twas my own house and back stoop Seemed a jolly good idea, brash and fine A jaunty walk-about all fine and dandy But I think a better idea (next time) Is to look at the fog from out the window Recline in my chair…and sip brandy © 2013 David O Whalen (O Haolin in Celtic)Author's Note
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1 Review Added on November 23, 2013 Last Updated on November 23, 2013 AuthorDavid O Whalen (O Haolin in Celtic)Las Vegas, NVAboutBorn in Kentucky, teen years in Loveland Ohio, old in age, young in mind, I'm not human, I don't believe in religion, love. faith or trust, I do believe in: lil' kids, ol' dogs, leprechauns, and water.. more..Writing
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