A year's worth of poems, every week for 52 weeks, spanning 2023 and 2024, plus the year following, from August 2024 to August 2025.(provided I live that long, of course).
Thank you, Allan Charles. I've contested the Charlie Chaplin thing a couple of times, won once, if I remember correctly. But it's the kind of thing I try when bored and have nothing better to do - just doesn't seem to have happened lately.
Africa does not waste its time with mist,
its sunwashed plains are seldom kissed,
precipitation saved for thunderstorms
and cloudbursts being the season’s norm.
And so I found the mists of northern shores
a mystical, mythical dream from literary lore,
a secret land of silent sight constricted
by guarded peace and softest grey restricted.
Inside this insubstantial world now shrunk
with distant ocean’s breath inhaled and drunk,
I find ancestral cause for celebration
and I, in mists, a certain affirmation.
Line count: 12
Rhymed aabb
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, Week 46
Prompt: Mist.
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