Related quotes: Fog's a species of weather-...

Couplets In The Fog

Fog's a species of weather-
gray, like a pigeon's feather.
Auden once wrote, 'Thank you, fog.'
Sandburg thought of cat, not dog.
Fog's in Eliot's Unreal City-
yellow fog, what a pity.
Call it mist, call it fog:
Still you tripped over that log.
If you can, take off work.
No sense traveling in that murk.
Anything you try to say
will come out mumbled, foggy gray.
The fog is subtler than the snow.
And so it's the more dangerous foe.

poem by Hans Ostrom
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Related quotes

Last Answers

I wrote a poem on the mist
And a woman asked me what I meant by it.
I had thought till then only of the beauty of the mist,
how pearl and gray of it mix and reel,
And change the drab shanties with lighted lamps at evening
into points of mystery quivering with color.

I answered:
The whole world was mist once long ago and some day
it will all go back to mist,
Our skulls and lungs are more water than bone and tissue
And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers
Go running back to dust and mist.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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0004 M i n d

and mind might ask,
why then are brain cells gray? Is it
because the world is just
so wonderful, that they, stunned
and amazed, cannot decide
which colour to praise first?
(Mix all the colours of the paints,
and the result is gray.)

or is it because they feel themselves
so dull in comparison
with the miracle which is creation,
the miracle they (miracles themselves) , faithful, serve?
(Mix all the colours of the spectrum,
and the result is white.)

or is it, because they know
their work lies between ultimates
such as (do they themselves
call them this?) black,
and white? do they know
their work is equity –
to balance all things, so that gray is not gray
as we use gray for worldly metaphor; but

the gray of lakes at peace;
of silver that lives in itself,
needing no sun but its own innerness;
mercury that is moved but longs
to be united in a perfect sphere;
gray of clouds that know
the blessings that they hold;

and, the shining gray of mind -
for which gray hair is living metaphor,
the wisdom which life holds in store for you -
as how many poets, this moment round the world,
are joining new electric paths of thought between
these tiny, great gray worm-like cells which hide, compact,
their vast and inner space which spins out eager words
of metaphor, for that so nameless,
boundless, dazzling spectrum,
the radiant space of self?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Foggy Dew

A splendid place is London, with golden store,
For them that have the heart and hope and youth galore;
But mournful are its streets to me, I tell you true,
For I'm longing sore for Ireland in the foggy dew.

The sun he shines all day here, so fierce and fine,
With never a wisp of mist at all to dim his shine;
The sun he shines all day here from skies of blue:
He hides his face in Ireland in the foggy dew.

The maids go out to milking in the pastures gray,
The sky is green and golden at dawn of the day;
And in the deep-drenched meadows the hay lies new,
And the corn is turning yellow in the foggy dew.

Mavrone ! if I might feel now the dew on my face,
And the wind from the mountains in that remembered place,
I'd give the wealth of London, if mine it were to do,
And I'd travel home to Ireland and the foggy dew.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Spring On The Runway

Spring wears gray today
Twirling in a foggy mist,
but her underlying colors
of daffodil orange and yellow,
azalea purple, and pink
tulip red and splashes of white...
What a sight to behold!
Forsythia gold,
so bold,
apple-blossom pink
thinks
spring is ravishin in gray and
her smile comes shinning through,
to prove it's true.

10: 11 a.m.
Sunday March 25,2012 (written)

Why Not!

Dorothy Alves Holmes
A Poet Who Loves To Sing

poem by Dorothy Holmes
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A Winter Smile

The first icy mist of morning covered the land
With foggy, hazy, vague and blur memories of the Autumn
Where silence is deafening
Ans winter frost are chilly and deep.....

where vale of grief is lonely
And frost wind of mid winter looks cold and gray
And freshly fallen snow
Warms up the nostalgic memories.........

Where imagination helps to add a tint and a shade of life
And show the color of miracles on the garden covered with snow
And springs the hope in our hearts and souls
To bring us a whisper of joy and a winter smile........

And all this takes us on the momentary trip
Of an emotional journey of life
Where we can hear the echo and sounds of silence
And a hand full of memories from the gray and frosty winter mist........

Seema Chowdhury
23rd Nov,2010

poem by Seema Chowdhury
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I've tried doing so, for it was never my intention to paint only with gray. But in the course of my work I have eliminated one color after another, and what has remained is gray, gray, gray!

quote by Alberto Giacometti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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neath A Cold Gray Tomb Of Stone

Passing by a lonesome graveyard
Everything I love is gone
Weeping as they lay my darling
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
In this world i'm left to wander
With no one to call my own
While my precious darling's sleeping
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
Out there in that lonesome graveyard
She is sleeping all alone
And I burried my heart with her
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
Skies above are dark and stormy
All the sunshine,all is gone
For the while my love is sleeping
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone
My heart is dead and yet i'm living
Traveling through this world alone
I wish that I was with my darling
Neath a cold gray tomb of stone

song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Day Traveler

Whenever I've traveled to a crowded city
I always think, 'Oh what a pity
to live in a city.'
For the skyscrapers there
so high in the air
have hidden the blue of the sky
except for the birds that fly.

The cold gray stone adorned with lights
never seem warm until the nights.
Their blinking neons can't compare
with the twinkling stars up in the air.
And again I think,
'Oh what a pity to live in the city.'

The hustle, the bustle and constant noise
have become for some the city's joys.
The screeching brakes, the honking sounds
is an abrupt assault to my head that pounds.
And again I think,
'Oh what a pity to live in a city.'

A one day visit and I'm ready to leave
and I know that I could never conceive
of being at home, never to roam
where the grass grows under my feet,
except for a country street
and again I think,
'Oh what a pity to live in a city.'

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Foggy Day

Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Thru the moments of twist
That the streets are now in
And gray morning has kissed
With a diffusional spin

Every hour in its gray
As the evening passes thru
And kids in streets play
For each opportunity new
When feelings are in laughter
In every moments awake
And what there comes after
In their giving and take

Foggy day in the city
Like a haze of the grays
So much playful and witty
That is now in its haze
Sideway kids there talking
Youth of hope and a smile
Brussels playground walking
For its enduring while

Foggy day in the street
Of its wandering play
Giving shadows on concrete
As they grow long their way
Whisper dark soon there
With its nocturnal sleep
As darkness is everywhere
In their dreams to keep

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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I Wasn't Over You

Girl no matter where I go
I call you after every show
In your voice I hear a funny tone
Somebody's holding you
Now you see me on TV
I thought you'd be proud of me
Somehow things have changed (oh yea)

I wasn't over you (over you)
I was away from you
And now you've left me (oh baby)
When sky's are gray
I wasn't over you (over you)
I was away from you
And now you've blown it all away

When I'm on stage with 98 Degrees
Trying to make a way for you and me
City to city

song performed by by 98 Degrees from 98 Degrees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bells Of Gray Crystal

Bells of gray crystal
Break on each bough--
The swans' breath will mist all
The cold airs now.
Like tall pagodas
Two people go,
Trail their long codas
Of talk through the snow.
Lonely are these
And lonely and I ....
The clouds, gray Chinese geese
Sleek through the sky.

poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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Baltic Fog Notes

Seven days all fog, all mist, and the turbines pounding through high seas.
I was a plaything, a rat’s neck in the teeth of a scuffling mastiff.
Fog and fog and no stars, sun, moon.
Then an afternoon in fjords, low-lying lands scrawled in granite languages on a gray sky,
A night harbor, blue dusk mountain shoulders against a night sky,
And a circle of lights blinking: Ninety thousand people here.
Among the Wednesday night thousands in goloshes and coats slickered for rain,
I learned how hungry I was for streets and people.

I would rather be water than anything else.
I saw a drive of salt fog and mist in the North Atlantic and an iceberg dusky as a cloud in the gray of morning.
And I saw the dream pools of fjords in Norway … and the scarf of dancing water on the rocks and over the edges of mountain shelves.
Bury me in a mountain graveyard in Norway.
Three tongues of water sing around it with snow from the mountains.

Bury me in the North Atlantic.
A fog there from Iceland will be a murmur in gray over me and a long deep wind sob always.

Bury me in an Illinois cornfield.
The blizzards loosen their pipe organ voluntaries in winter stubble and the spring rains and the fall rains bring letters from the sea.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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Cattle Call

(tex owens)
Woo - hoo - woo - ooo - ti - de
Woo - hoo - ooo - oop - I - de - de
Woo - hoo - woo - ooo - ti - de
Yod-el - od-el- lo - ti - de.
The cattle are prowlin the coyotes are howlin
Way out where the dogies bawl
Where spurs are a-jinglin, a cowboy is singin
This lonesome cattle call.
He rides in the sun til his days work is done
And he rounds up the cattle each fall
Woo - hoo - woo - ooo - ti - de
Singin his cattle call.
For hours he will ride on the range far and wide
When the night winds blow up a squall
His heart is a feather in all kinds of weather
He sings his cattle call.
Hes brown as a berry from ridin the prairie
And he sings with an ol western drawl
Woo - hoo - woo - ooo - ti - de
Singin his cattle call.

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Envoys

BROWN leaves forget the green of May,
The earth forgets the kiss of Spring;
And down our happy woodland way
Gray mists go wandering.

You have forgotten too, they say;
Yet, does no stealthy memory creep
Among the mist wreaths, ghostly gray,
Where spell-bound violets sleep?

Ah, send your thought sometimes to stray
By paths that knew our lingering feet.
My thought walks there this many a day,
And they, at least, may meet.

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Cattle Call

Cattle Call
(sung by Elvis in concerts of the 1950s)
[In der mir vorliegenden Version summt er nur die Melodie.]
(Tex Owens)
The cattle are prowlin' and the coyotes are howlin'
Way out where the dogies bawl
Where spurs are a-jinglin' a cowboy is singin'
This lonesome cattle call
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo hoo
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo
He rides in the sun, till his days work is done
And he rounds up the cattle each fall
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo
Singin' his cattle call.
For hours he will ride on the range far and wide
When the night wind blows up a squall
His heart is a feather in all kinds of weather
He sings his cattle call
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo hoo
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo
He's brown as a berry from ridin' the prairie
And sings with an ol' western drawl
Woo-hoo woo-hoo hoo hoo
Singin' his cattle call

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kolkata

A nice foggy weather
In this exciting winter morning
I am sitting in a bus
Waiting to reach my school
Thinking about some experiences in the past
When suddenly I notice my beautiful city
Through the only window open in the bus
I see the heavy traffic jam
New trams that have been renovated
The buildings that are on a verge of falling down
Men are walking barefooted
Birds are chirping
Students are studying in their vehicles.
Everybody is heading towards work
Cars are being filled with petroleum
Washer men are washing clothes
A group of women are gossiping
All the scenes will never end-
As they are of my amazing city
But now I have to end
As I have almost reached.
I know my city has been developing
And I will never let each individual's thought end
I will make a step forward
And work for my city
As I have been influenced enough
And I realize the worth of it
I know I love my city a lot
And I have learnt to value it.

poem by Minu Jaiswal
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An August Morning At Upper Gully

The smoke from the chimneys curled down in the sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July
And fog o'er the forest a blanket of gray
And darkening rain clouds more showers on the way.

The currawongs calling the dark birds of rain
And into the station roars the city bound train
And cars on the highway racing to and fro
And down the high woodlands the chilly winds blow.

At 7 a.m. and the temperatures low
And it's cold in upper Gully cold enough to snow
Yet on this bleak morning great beauty i see
Bright yellow flowers blooming on the wattle tree.

Their loud cackling laughter one could not mistake
And they call through the morning just after daybreak
On the higher branches of old mountain gray
The kookaburras herald a cold Winter's day.

Three weeks left in August and Spring is so near
On this perhaps the coldest day of the year
And dark rain clouds gather in bleak morning sky
And it's colder and wetter than 'twas in July.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Hollyweird

welcome to my city
the girls are so damn pretty
such a pity, they don't come for free
just call me pimp daddy
i'll roll ya one big fatty
i think your gonna like hangin with me
chorus
welcome to my city of sin
i believe your gonna fit right in
yes this is my city of sin
your first lesson is about to begin
now you're living in the city of sin
you don't mind if i call you friend
once you enter you can never get out of here
welcome to hollyweird
i'm the king of the streets
i own the cops, the junkies and freaks
it's human wasteland i call home
grow your hair to your shoes
trust me boy you just can't lose
soon this be the only life you've ever known
chorus (solo)
chorus out

song performed by by Poison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Squeeze

Well it's the same old story, but it never made a lick of sense to me
How it's always on the working man to pay for everything we never see
Do you know what I mean?
Well you can call it what you like
But where I come from, they call it the Squeeze
All this talk about some changes
It's just politicians promising the moon
So it's do without, it's in and out
The fools on the Hill gonna need more soon
Well you can call it that you like
But where I come from they call it the squeeze
put the squeeze on me
yeah, they're gonna put the squeeze on me and you
And they say don't drink the water
Could be something in your coffee or your tea
And who knows just what's in the air?
You take a chance now every time you breathe
Well you can call it what you like
But where I come from, they call it the squeeze
So you work two jobs to get ahead
You wind up with less than you had before
do you know what I mean?
And if money can't buy happiness
Then why do I keep needin' more and more?
Well you can call it what you like
But where I come from they call it the squeeze
But that don't make it right just don't give up don't give in
Call it anything you like,
Where I come from
They call it the squeeze

song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Dip Yo Pity Here To Sit

Don't dip yo pity here to sit.
No permitted pity here can visit.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit.
No permitted pity here can visit.

When you tire of your weeping...
You can call on me.
But don't dip yo pity in a pit!
To leave it here to sit.