poetry

Fog

Sally

The fog on little cat feet creeps
Hunting, hunting for some prey
The bustling world, not busy, sleeps
The fog pea-soups as it nears day

Unaware of imminent danger
Deer are swallowed up quite whole
Then it gets even stranger
As fog moves up and down the knoll

A flock of turkeys — gobbled down!
Now I see a wayward pup
Disappear — I’m looking ’round
Sun battles fog to come up!

Tall trees battle, disappear
Birds of every shape and size
So many things that were just here
Meet fog-filled fearsome demise

In my heart alarm is growing
Could I possibly be next?
I think it best that I get going
If I’m swallowed, I’ll send a text.

This is my response to this week’s W3 challenge where we are asked to write a poem of any form, no more than 240 words, that weaves a mystery—delightful or frightening—into its lines. Further, we are asked to have landscape and/or weather be a character in our poem

I happen to love the foggy mornings we’ve been having here. The fog is beautiful and mysterious.

Also, the first non-kid poem that I remember memorizing was Carl Sandburg’s poem, Fog, which begins “The fog comes on little cat feet” — hence the first line.

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Published by Sally

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