Through The Fog
Perhaps when this fog clears
A man sleeping under sodden cardboard will wake to kindness,
Not the cold indifference that has kicked him for years.
A helping hand extends, as the fog clears.
Perhaps, when this fog clears,
At Anfield, Xherdan Shaqiri will announce his return to the starting XI
With a perfect hattrick, Lovren sending invisible pinpoint assists,
Just enough residual vapour obscuring the red for the Swiss to creep in,
Take the Kop net off to bluenose tears, as the fog clears.
Perhaps,
Good people will vote for good people,
Through the clouds a better world looms into view.
Perhaps people will see through the lies and spin
As a satellite zooms in through the atmosphere
To outline the coastline of continents.
Maybe neighbours and strangers will strengthen each other
By strengthening each other,
Perhaps people will summon their hopes, not their fears,
When the fog clears.
Perhaps, when this fog clears,
We might wake up and see what we’re risking,
And blow away the smoke that’s choking our world,
Wage war on the waste that sticks in our throats
When it washes up, miles deep on our shores.
Maybe we’ll see how lush it can be on this blue-and-green sphere,
When the fog clears.
Perhaps when this fog clears,
A brighter, blinding bluesky morning will begin,
And all those who we have lost and missed
Will reach out, as if through the mist, and say
They’re always with us. They’ll always be here.
Maybe we’ll hear, when the fog clears.
I wouldn’t say I’ve struggled for inspiration today – I’ve had several ideas, to be honest, including a prompt from my good friend Kate of a Somerset slagheap emblazoned with anti-Jacob Rees-Mogg graffiti – but I think I’ve struggled for positivity. Which is a bit weird, given how pleased I was with yesterday’s effort (and with the various kind words thrown in its direction, as well as my first Croatian reader!) but then I guess that’s the up-and-down nature of a project like this.
The idea that finally got enough of a foothold to make it through the Door arose because, to put it simply, it’s just really damn foggy out there. I was walking through the wet stuff up to my Mum’s house to watch the Merseyside Derby (on Joe’s slightly stuttering Amazon Prime) and thinking variously about the football, the General Election, and the house where my Granny used to live. It was a bit of a swirling cocktail of thoughts, which is sort of reflected in the random, not entirely cohesive poem.
Also, please do spare a thought as you draw your curtains tonight on those without such relative luxury, and maybe throw some money towards the good folks at Crisis.
Still – at least Liverpool are winning (as it stands.) If you don’t want to know the result, look away now…
4-2. Origi’s on a hattrick.
Allez allez allez. Twenty-one days to go.
Owen x
The Poetry Advent Calendar 