Tuesday, 27 June 2006

Morning Fog by Bondbloke

A thick cunning fog slinks in from the sea,
Lending the morning a ghostly chill, and,
An uncanny mixture of tranquillity and dread.
Terrifying in its silence and gentleness,
Like the harbinger of some impending catastrophe.

The tea-tray flat sea, a mirror no more,
The curious, creamy, smooth water covered
By a nebulous shroud of bleached opaqueness.
Blurring the outlines of all it encounters,
Deadening, distorting the disembodied sounds.

Beyond the shore we hear the putt, putt, putt,
Of a boat's engine as, tentatively, warily,
It gropes its way through nature's curtain,
Following the mournful wail of the fog-horn,

Trying to attain once more the safety of the harbour.

Bondbloke, Leith, Scotland

3 comments:

Juliet Wilson said...

Bondbloke's blog A Brush with Art is a blog of art, aesthetics and the occasional poem. His poems to be included on Bolts of Silk are all set in his native Cornwall. This one is particularly atmospheric.....

jim said...

Waking to consciousness, from the depths within, three steps to caution, most impressive, Bondbloke, the Piece works beautifully. Magnificent.

Anna Piutti said...

This poem has stunning imagery.