Poetry (11)

Dear Escritori,

I feel almost reluctant to publish anything I don’t personally rate that highly but here is this week’s Sunday poem.

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            Mind Fog

Bright days hurt my eyes.

I would much rather

That instead of ceaseless

Blue, sprinkled with

Clouds of chalk dust –

That the sky remained

Ever thus:


An immense sheet

Of marbled grey paper

That blotted the vague

Ink of my thoughts,

Fraught as they are

With deadened

Ambiguity or outright distress

And granted them

By so doing

If not clarity then,


And purpose.


Then I could imagine

Gaining from such a sky,

Celestial assistance

From an ethereal ship

Passing by.

Or, instead,

A beloved



The swaddling fog

Inside my head.


And it would then be

Far easier to see

How many stumbles

Towards sunshine

My mind leaves

In store for me.


Outside though,

It rains in sheets

Like silk

Or kisses.

A scarf on the wind,

Or old reminiscences.


And though I stumbling go

Feeling dull, speaking plain,

I only ape

The picture of health


For I’ve gone

Too long


In mind-fog

And rain.


(© Copyright Pola Negri 15/09/2015.)


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