Poetry Thursday: two. The prose poem

This weeks Poetry Thursday prompt was to tackle the prose poem. I must admit, I have never written one before, and I am not entirely convinced that I have even now, as I nervously extend my finger to press publish, but what the hey...you be the judge.

The Tulle Cloaked Bride - a Prose Poem
A ghostly apparition of I, drifting within the now familiar fog. Her gauzy veil silhouettes a softened landscape, leaving a world of vague shapes, lingering like enigmatic shadows.
Conifers spire toward the heavens, like renaissance towers shrouded in the lost world above.
Tiny birds bolt from nearby cedars; feathered darts shooting through her tranquil haze.
I breathe this crisp dawn enchantress, knowing her to disappear with the heat of the day. I know not when she might return, to slink across my lawn with dewy steps, lick my eaves and caress the naked branches with a thousand gentle tears.
Tomorrow the rains are set to lavish these whisper-soothed lands, like an insistent groom ravishing his tulle cloaked bride. The fog, she will succumb.

© Strauss
12th February 2007

reaching out into the fog

I have spoken about the fog before. I do love the fog, and we are certainly gifted with many a foggy morn, in our part of the world.

When I look out my window and see the world through the gauzy veil, I don't know...it just feels like the world is wrapped in a cozy blanket; shrouded... protected.

We live near a river, in an old fishing village, and if you listen carefully on a foggy evening, you can hear the mournful sound of a fog horn in the distance. Instantly I feel transported to the river, where imagine I can see a fishing trawler with a cautious fishing crew at the helm. The boat creeps along the silent, still, dark waters, blindingly navigating the fog, journeying through narrow waterways searching for safety and rest, in the dock yards.

It has been foggy for the best part of a week; not just in through the mornings either. Sunday happened to be foggy the entire day.

In part, the fogginess mirrors my current physical state. I am on the better side of the flu now, and am recovering.

Today, I took my son back to pre-school for the first time since the dreaded lurgy hit us. I was still rather groggy, which only became apparent once some one spoke to me. I was off in my own little world, staring off into the hazy distance of thought, while waiting for the school doors to open. Then reaching out to me through the fog, I heard a voice, a second time. The person was standing right there, but I had failed to even realise that they were talking to me.

"Hey, has your family been sick too?"

I apologised for my lack of awareness..."Yes, yes. Sorry. We have all been sick. I am not really with it, quite yet". I shook my head at my own stupidity. I usually have the observation of a hawk, the fog can affect such things.

I guess I also like the fog, because I am forced to used senses other than sight, to get my bearings, which tends to bring other kinds of awareness to light. The fog tends to bring out the details of nearer objects, since we are not able to be distracted by the distant scenery.

Yesterday, for example, I looked out my bathroom window. The old cedar in the backyard bore a single dewy droplet on the end of each of its spindly twig-like branches. The sun was straining through the fog, an iridescent white disk staring like an eye in the sky. The sun was angled in such a way that the droplets appeared like hundreds of tiny white fairy lights were adorning the sad, winter-bare tree. It was so beautiful against the grey.

Yes, I do love fog, but I will be more than happy to welcome back the clear blue skies and warmth on my back, when winter gives way for spring - in its own time.