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Author Topic: Man In The Mist  (Read 880 times)
tomchap
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« on: April 22, 2007, 06:05:34 AM »

MAN IN THE MIST

The mist was thick and heavy and suspended in the air.
It shielded all the forest from the sunlight's hard harsh glare.
The mountain ash, like sentinels, were standing straight, and tall;
The ferns provided, on the ground, a green protective shawl.

A muddy mountain road was fading upwards out of sight;
It disappeared from view where further on the mist was white.
Then, faint at first, a darker form was slowly taking shape
'Till horse and rider, clearly seen, emerged from that cloudscape.

The horse was wet with misty rain and walked with measured tread,
The rider wrapped in Drizabone, Akubra covered head.
The picture of that mountain man astride his trusted bay
Portrayed a close relationship. I saw it well that day.

Man and beast both moved as one and gently passing by
The rider looked in my direction, briefly caught my eye.
The vaguest nod of recognition shown and then gone soon.
They showed no sense of urgency that quiet afternoon

Where had he been? I could not tell.  His destination too
Was undetermined as he faded slowly out of view.
Our lives, 'though vastly different, were destined, on that day,
To touch, however briefly, on that muddy mountain way.
 
I sometimes see those tall white gums and ferns when I'm at rest,
I think of Shipley village in the mountains to the west,
And then amid the misty scene of figures passing by
The vision of that mountain horseman simply will not die.

A thread of private thought will often drift into my mind
Of imprints, on the lives of others, I have left behind.
May I not be a stumbling block in word or action's gist
But rather bringing peace and love, a figure in the mist.

Copyright © April 2007 Tom Chapman
« Last Edit: April 22, 2007, 06:47:02 AM by tomchap » Logged

What you are speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say.
therese
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« Reply #1 on: April 22, 2007, 06:59:45 PM »

wonderful tom, much enjoyed
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Life is a Romantic Adventure of Mystical Proportions
~ peter mitchell ~
Irene
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« Reply #2 on: April 25, 2007, 05:21:42 PM »

Tom,
 You have painted a wonderful picture of the rider appearing out of the mist - I can see him in my mind!!
Lovely poem

Catchya
Irene

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Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
the mad mare
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« Reply #3 on: April 26, 2007, 03:22:27 AM »

Wow, Silver Fox!  That was great!  I thought he was a ghost for a while ...

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Sing along now ... Oh!  The old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be ... ain't what she used to be ...
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