Where I live

When the fog comes

The fog comes hard

Rolling in like an endless army

Clogging the sky

Blocking out the sun

Playing its silver symphonies

Across the hills

Trapping you inside

With all your fears

With all your doubts

Lost to the world

An imposed oblivion

Weightless and


Until the fog clears

The sun shines

I am reconnected

To the world

To the vast network of humanity

Where I feel most alone




foginsidelessons learntoutside

◄ ouroboros

garden ►


Travis Brow

Fri 3rd Jul 2015 09:54

Brilliant pay off Stu, didn't see it coming.

You describe the writing of poetry as a 'cerebral emetic' which is, in itself, a fine phrase.

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Stu Buck

Mon 29th Jun 2015 12:12

thanks all for the kind comments. it gives me much needed confidence!

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Mon 29th Jun 2015 12:09

great stuff Stu. It is really the threat and challenge of individuality turned inward or not being received . The metaphor expresses it perfectly.

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Rachel Bond

Sun 28th Jun 2015 22:32

like this..the pace faster and desperate as you describe the fog. cool

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Stu Buck

Sun 28th Jun 2015 20:22

Thanks david. I have suffered from the big 'D' for many years, possibly all of them, and it has only been the last years or so i have sought help. I have found poetry to be the best therapy I can get. its a form of cerebral emetic unlike anything else.

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