as the fog rolls in -
August 12, 2007
by gordon coombes

1

cars pass along the low road

more pass on the higher road

red & blue lights along the horizon

disappear in the thick atlantic fog

which swallows all remaining lights -

til the farmer arrives turning on the light

which floods out through the barn doors

releases the horses to wander around their corral

the big red horse moves towards the fence

eyes me wishing to speak to me

or just looking for a treat

or someone to stroke his head -

2

a Chinese flute is playing

such sad high fragile notes

as the fog rolls in

someone is teasing a tabla drum in the distance

as the fog rolls in from the grey atlantic

someone is strumming a sitar

as the fog rolls in

someone is playing a jig on a fiddle

as the fog rolls in

everything has its own theme music

from the fog rolling in

to the celestial bodies

rolling across the firmament -

3

an ancient voice in the distance bellows

an old god reawakening

rising out of the sea

of myths & dreams

turns into a prosaic electronic being

the fog rolls in stays for days

our world shrinks

the buzzing stars a delight

as if dying one by one

as the black curtain is drawn shut

the distant hills disappear

lights flicker on towers then fade

cars pass on the road

til the road is cloaked in the mist

horses wander around their corral

keeping me company

as they too dissolve

as the light from my porch is swallowed

sucked into the pitch blackness

as I sit smoking a cigarette at 3am

on the veranda of a rented log cabin

the smoke swirls & curls

as the darkness enfolds me

in this almost rustic scene

betrayed by all these high tech cadgets

microwave oven cable TV

high-speed internet & more -


4

roads criss-crossing entangled

leading us into endless circles

lost in a maze of concrete & tar

black ribbons entwined

meandering among trees & more trees

fields opening up

spreading to the horizon

cows lying down waiting for the rain

red barns & towering silos

houses on distant hills

then suburbia

a thousand cull de sacs

suddenly giant apartment complexes

pushing up through the earth

dropped out of the firmament

rise around us on all sides

towers of steel & glass

a city conquering the country-side -

5
passing through a thousand quaint fishing villages

each a clone of the last

rocky shores boats tied up

old weather worn docks

in blinding light

or cloaked in mist & fog

trees along the shore road

velvet grey & green moss hanging from branches

a few scattered patches of living green

some trees half-dead line the shores

for a thousand miles

death-throes of a dying alien planet

not the one known in our childhood -

6

cannoeing across lifeless lakes

waves lapping against the canoe

not quite like the Indian Princess

who wrote of her singing paddle

lost in colonial dreams -

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