I was sitting, late one night, at a ferry landing, waiting and watching the boats ferry back and forth until it was my turn to board. Fog horns, misty fog, reflections on the black water, the screech of the gulls, and the silent hunting of the pelicans.
The wet air, the silence, the sound of a lone fog horn warning vessels of danger. The fog smearing everything I looked at… I was inspired to write poetry. But the scene could have inspired a murder mystery writer to write about a body, weighted down, being slipped into the water; or it could have inspired a romance writer to write about two lovers parting as the boat docked. Never to be together again. For me, it was poetry. Here is an excerpt of what came out of that black night……..
FOGGY NIGHT ©
The white orb, saturated with tidal flows
peers through the veil,
a ghost ship slips up the fog laden channel
Night gulls’ sing with strident cries
fog seeps in, the tide rolls out,
day is gone, the night creeps on
Trees, dressed in ebony, drift by
water glistens, injectable methandienone online in uk gold and wet
Night is soft and tender, edges blurred
damp seeps into cloth, hair, bone
Fog casts tents of light over the landing
Hunters of the sea know not day nor night
Fishers all, white feathers stark
against the night shadows
Palm trees, silhouetted against the ochre gauze,
brushes hardened with black paint……
I raced home as I had nothing to write with in the car. Opening my front door, I dropped my keys and purse onto a chair, tore off my coat as I sped down the hall to my studio. Waking up my computer, my fingers flew across the key board, lest I forget the words that were born in the night.
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