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Pete Crowther

(Hull, East Yorkshire, England)

Fog


From dawn this misty
morning we have heard
the doleful calling of the distant
foghorn warning all the sailors
of the dangers on the waters of the deep.

Would that we likewise were warned
when dangers loom and threaten
to destroy, when wars, disease and greed
weigh down their woes upon us
and we find that we are blinded
by the cold and clammy fogs
of ignorance, intolerance and hate.

Submitted: Thursday, April 20, 2006
Edited: Friday, July 16, 2010

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  • Julia Klimenova (4/29/2006 3:11:00 AM)

    We often need some guidance in life, and then a foghorn or a lighthouse would save us. But there are none, so we are left to our own resources, which are insufficient. Nice poem. Though-provoking as all your poems, Peter. Warmly, Julia (Report) Reply

  • Ernestine Northover (4/20/2006 3:03:00 PM)

    A lovely thought provoking poem Peter, slow and steady, giving a very pleasant read. Nicely constructed. Love Ernestine XXX (Report) Reply

  • Scarlett Treat (4/20/2006 8:46:00 AM)

    I still wonder, however, how many sailors went into the rocks, fog horn or no. That seems to be the course, because the warning signs ARE being sent - we just choose not to hear. Powerfully written. (Report) Reply

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