Fog and Autumn, Poems and Photos

 

Treasure

The trees are poorer for their gold is gone.

Spilled their jewels.

Rich are the creatures who thrive in it,

grow from its colour.

Things inside us

I see things that are inside us,

an old anatomy model, a lung, a liver,

hundreds of miles of capillaries,

nerve endings screaming in their cold nakedness.

Metamorphoses

I caught the silver birches dancing in the fog.

They stopped still.

Hoping I hadn’t noticed.

They are not vengeful.

I am not Actaeon.

Silk

A garrotte of spider silk,

drapes the brambles,

the barbed metal,

burdened with tears,

the weaver waits,

for light.

Shroud

I once read that dying trees,

burst into vibrant green,

a last defiance.

It’s not a dress,

it’s a shroud.

The Stare

Caught in a Gorgon’s stare and

petrified.

 

Mud

The fog paints away

the familiar

All I have is

ditches in the field

turned earth

clay

mud

I’m walking inside

a teardrop.

I can touch

my horizon.

Sun

The sun’s breaking through,

The secret world

will be gone soon

Words and photos © Mel Melis