Free verse № 136410
greymo(u)rn
pigeons fly across the brick paved plaza.
the lampposts, some leaning, stand sentry,
although their light has long since gone dormant.
the dull grey scud across the sky lowers,
ominously bearing down upon
the squat dun-coloured buildings.
awkward spaces are sparsely poulated
with awkward people.
it was better before the fog burned off;
at least the mystery of what may be hidden
within was appealing.
earlier, the dog and i took our morning walk.
opening the door to the side yard revealed
a dimly lit space between the two houses.
although the area is broad and deep,
the density of the morning mist
did not allow the sun to cast light;
neither were there shadows.
the late winter grass was further drabbed
by the slight amount of frost upon
its dry brown blades.
the whole draining of colour
allowed the grey trees, stretching
their empty knarled fingers to the leaden sky,
to meld into one whole, indistinguishable
from the morning shroud.
the longing for the sea and sand
on mornings like this is strong indeed.
to feel the wrappings of the fogbank,
more dense and without objects
disturbing its continuity,
is to feel both safe and vulnerable:
the fog can only obscure.
the sense of enclosure within the nebulousness
is akin to some minor deprivation of the senses,
a greyness drawn over them,
directing the focus inward...
14 comments
I see no reason for not introducing a Short Story category, under 500 words.
I thought it was a good idea you had to swap the text layout styles. It's also a good way to find qualities and flaws in your poem you may not have noticed before.
God, my vocabulary is weak today for some reason.
And then "safe and vulnerable" is all you need there as well.
On a similar note, I think you could improve this poem by giving it more, um, movement. More structure and progression. Your images are good, your ideas are good, the sense of place is good. We just want to see more how you move from one image to the next or one idea to the next. You can do this with a kinda progression of time (ie, you and the dog walk, the sun rises, the fog burns off, the pigeons come out, the pigeons fly away). Or by really thinking of yourself as a person there and looking (or moving) and thinking from one thing to the next in some order. Think like Hemmingway walking through Paris in The Sun Also Rises. Or think like you're turning your head or walking through a square; you see things a natural order, right? Things on your right, then things in the middle, then things on the left. I know that's a harder task than what you've been doing. But I know you don't want to sell yourself short when by just a little extra work you can make something really great.
Anyway, this poem is pretty good as it stands. You can try working on it more, but a better idea is just keep structure and order in mind when you're writing the next one, maybe. Good work. Bravo. Cheers. Etc.
re "like Hemmingway walking through Paris":
"I went out onto the sidewalk and walked down toward the Boulevard St. Michel, passed the tables of the Rotonde, still crowded, looked across the street at the Dome, its tables running out to the edge of the pavement. Some one waved at me from a table, I did not see who it was and went on. I wanted to get home. The Boulevard Montparnasse was deserted. Lavigne's was closed tight, and they were stacking the tables outside the Closerie des Lilas. I passed Ney's statue standing among the new-leaved chestnut-trees in the arc-light. There was a faded purple wreath leaning against the base. I stopped and read the inscription: from the Bonapartist Groups, some date; I forget. He looked very fine, Marshal Ney in his top-boots, gesturing with his sword among the green new horse-chestnut leaves. My flat was just across the street, a little way down Boulevard St. Michel."
PPS-Don't ever really read Hemmingway when you're trying to write. One way or another, it will make you write crap.
at least the mystery of what may be hidden
within was appealing."
The usual disclaimers here.
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