Into Obscurity

Into Obscurity

Those memories once held dear
at first light now sneak in
like rolling fog. Near to being lost,
the traces they leave are more sparse
with each passing, taking with them
any desire to keep them in my grasp.

This poem is my response to Colour me poetry, the prompt from Sarah at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to write a poem inspired by a list of paint colors that Sarah has provided. I’ve used two of them: first light and rolling fog. With “rolling fog” in mind, I thought of this photo (fog on the Missouri River at Jefferson City, Missouri), which I used to illustrate Lost Keepsakes in 2019, so I guess this poem might be considered a continuation. In fact, another version might be an edit of the original (without using “first light”):

Into Obscurity

Do you still keep those memories
we once held dear, now that we have
nothing else to share? The one thing
we could not divide between us
has dwindled away from me, like a rolling fog
that leaves fewer traces with each passing,
taking with it any desire to keep it in my grasp.

 

my native town ~ troiku

Carpe Diem #1673 Troiku Month – my native town offers
a haiku by Santoka Taneda (
in blue) to be used to create a troiku.

my native town
far, far away–
burgeoning trees.
               Santoka Taneda
~~~~~~~

my native town
standing beside blue water
morning fog melting

far, far away–
remembered through mists of time
distant shores calling

burgeoning trees
tall along the river banks
heron at sunset

A troiku is three haiku, with each of the three lines from a suggested haiku as the first line of each haiku in the troiku. It’s not always possible to have a 5-7-5 format in the second haiku, due to the limitations of the suggested haiku. The name of the form is derived from “troika,” a sled or carriage drawn by three horses harnessed side-by-side, an iconic symbol of Imperial Russia.

Troika

Images
Niagara River
Wikimedia Commons (troika)

Walking on Air – #writephoto

Walking on Air

Amongst the stones with heather grown
A fog lay on the land
And it did seem, as in a dream,
That I could almost stand

Upon that shroud with my head bowed
And drink the fragrance in
Transporting me to days carefree
When it did all begin

We’d walk these hills in warmth or chill,
Glad in any weather
To spend our time, oh so sublime
Here amongst the heather

But now you’re gone, and I still long
To have you by my side
And so, bereft, accept what’s left
Imagine days gone by

Upon these hills there’s now a chill
And all’s not as it seems
Between the stones with heather grown
I walk as in a dream

This is my response to Photo prompt #writephoto -walking on air, by Sue Vincent at Daily Echo, with her photo.

writephoto

Shifting Shroud

Shifting Shroud

Morning’s damp
river companion
deceptively serene
mutes, silently shifts
shapes and sounds

Light diffused
images confused
concealing
revealing
concealing
visions, real
imagined

Echoes absent
distortion in
direction
shrouded sounds
surrounding
a seeming silence

Rising sun
and reality returns
as tendrils, fingers
wisps withdraw with
autumn’s morning air
warming in the sun