
Low lie these fields and white
with mist that drapes the air in veils of pearl.
Furled the sheets when there is
no breath of wind, and only
stealth in the creeping of the night.
the mist comes down,
rolls from the high land
where the sun peers, cool gold
through a spray of surf, pearl
ocean vapour, and behind,
the glorious blue stretches,
unmarked, unribbed and silent.
light like water
drips from sky to ditch and stream
rises in dusk mist
There’s probably a name for this padded out cinquain form.
Dark day
that starts in fog
weaves shadows at midday
where water puddles leaf-muddy
and ends in birdless cold
silent billows
of mist.
For Ronovan’s weekly challenge.
Evening shadows creep
mist rises from the river
day’s race almost done.
Foggy, foggy river,
Shivers, sending ripples racing,
Tracing the earth’s stretching,
Fetching the gulls in from the sea.
Trees, stark black, leaf fall flutter,
Shutters creak, damply swinging,
Flinging droplets wide, dripping,
Slipping in muddy patches,
Snatches of song floating past,
Last night’s paper lying, soggy,
Foggy, foggy river.
Walking through the drizzle
When cloud presses down
Tangling water and air,
When there’s
No earth to tread upon
Just scraps of mist
That trip and entwine,
Snake sinuous,
Slippery carcasses strewn on the quay,
I stumble, my head full of
Cold, dead fish
And the ghosts of gulls
That flit through the fog,
Silent as the river, sliding
Like cooling lead
To the unseen sea.
The painting doesn’t really fit, but I like it anyway. You have to imagine the fog.
Gulls on white wings
wheel over the misty river
fishing for lost dreams.
*
Fog falls thick hiding
water and sky—only gulls
glide nonchalantly.
*
River mist rises
white grey pearls gulls string their wings
feathered river gems
*
Cloud winter-swollen
white-flecked with gulls snow drifting
still the robin sings.
*
Rain whips cold—gulls cry
grey cloud buffets swirling flocks
gale tests feathred strength.
*
Fallen branches strewn
raft islands on the river
gulls sail to the sea.
You hold out your hand
I reach but you are too far
faded with distance
*
In the far distance
tree ranks soften the skyline
I wish I was there
The grey distance blurs
pale cloud pearls into sea mist
waves roll rain-dimpled
*
Too distant the past
mists shroud what eyes cannot pierce
memory plays tricks
A blog by Billy Mills
or a White Other or an Eastern European
Assembling the Jigsaw of a Febrile Imagination
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Canadian Zen Haiku canadien ISSN 1705-4508
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offbeat words for you...
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