40 Poems about Fog That’ll Make You See It in a New Light

Fog is a phenomenon that has inspired poets and writers for centuries, evoking feelings of mystery, uncertainty, and introspection.

It is a natural occurrence that occurs when the air becomes saturated with water droplets, reducing visibility and enveloping the landscape in a veil of mist.

Fog has been a source of inspiration for some of the most celebrated literary figures of our time.

This collection of poems about fog offers a fresh perspective on this atmospheric phenomenon, exploring its many nuances and the emotions it can evoke.

Let’s read some fog poems!

Famous Poems about Fog

Fog has long been a popular subject of poetry and literature, inspiring authors and poets to capture its mysterious and ethereal nature. These famous fog poems about fog reflect the mood and emotions that fog can evoke.

1. Gray Fog

       by Sara Teasdale

A fog drifts in, the heavy laden
Cold white ghost of the sea—
One by one the hills go out,
The road and the pepper-tree.
I watch the fog float in at the window
With the whole world gone blind,
Everything, even my longing, drowses,
Even the thoughts in my mind.
I put my head on my hands before me,
There is nothing left to be done or said,
There is nothing to hope for, I am tired,
And heavy as the dead.

2. Brain Fog

       by Sam Clemens

Brain Fog, Fog Brain
Head in the clouds
Thoughts twist and form, but never become physical
Words tickle my tongue, but my mouth is not yet solid
The birds fly through my ears passing through my fog filled brain
Worse than a brain freeze
It floats and fades,
particularly when there are plebeians around
“Can you hear me”
“Can you, like, speak”
Of course I can, but it doesn’t mean I will
I look clueless
I am speechless
My jaw drops down and cold, moist air fills the cave that can’t carry an echo
The ground fog grounds my once free-flowing thoughts, light as air
vapor settles on my throat’s harp
it freezes
into a hard lump
Still that’s nothing compared to the fearful forgetful feeling that fogging foe sets in my brain
Turning around I say a word,
my brain
still full of fog
lets the light through my ears
the sun shines through and blue skies return
It melts the lump;
it’s finally clear

3. Perhaps Not to Be Is to Be Without Your Being

       by Pablo Neruda

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,
We will, come to be.

4. The Fog

       by Anonymous

It lies dim and cold on the face of the mould,
Like a smile on the lips of the dead.
As chill and as white, as dense and as light
As the winding-sheet laid in the still of the night
Over the funeral bed.
No pulse seems to throb, no voice dares to sob
Beneath the grey calm of the cloud.
A hush holds the air with pale bands of despair,
Too close to be pierced by a curse or a prayer—
The hush of a soul in its shroud.
No stars in the sky; no lights low or high;
No laughter; no weeping no breath;
No murmur, no sound in the whole world around,
But a silence that lies blank and chill on the ground,
Like the visible presence of Death.
No murmur. No sound. Only white on the ground
There creeps the thin silence along—
Creeps near and more near,—oh, so dim! oh, so drear!
Till I shiver, as one who has stood by a bier,
And the words die away in my song.

5. Fog, The Flow of a Poet’s Realm

       by Jon Von Erb

One has to love water-laden fog
San Francisco, Seattle, Lisbon,
the way she labors so –
lingers in the hills and crannies of coastal cities.

It’s like nature invented her
to entice romance.

Little else says ‘I love you,
long to protect you for eternity’
as does a gentleman offering his coat
to Miss Lady Fair.

All the time stroking nature’s children
of the wild on her path towards her inner sanctum.

Funny Poems about Fog

While fog can be a source of inspiration and mystery, it can also be the subject of humor and levity. Interesting poems about fog take a lighthearted approach to this atmospheric phenomenon.

1. A Brain Fog

       by Edward Ibe

This poor brain
That thinks for me
Is all spent at the moment
Farting embarrassingly
Creaky; it needs…
A few drops of grease
Do check back tomorrow
For it is too tired to engage today
Sorry, it has gone to bed
Let it sleep, please

2. Wet Fog Enters Trees

       by Sara Kendrick

wet fog enters trees       
clings upon dry dead leaves
droplets water earth

3. This Fog Right Now

       by Alex Roberson

This fog is thicker
than a Southern girl put on
a cornbread diet

Inspirational Poems about Fog

Fog has the ability to inspire and awaken our senses, reminding us of the beauty and mystery of the natural world. These inspirational fog poems explore the many ways fog can evoke emotions of wonder, introspection, and gratitude.

1. Heaven in The Fog

       by Jim Yerman

There is a mysterious almost eerie beauty to the fog and her tapestry of grey
It’s as if we’ve found ourselves immersed in a painting by Monet.

As the fog begins to blanket us…holding the sun at bay
all the boundaries that divide the world…for a moment…fade away.

All the colors become muted…blend together…co-exist…
perhaps that is the wonder of the fog…the beauty of the mist.

I grew up believing heaven was high above the clouds…where everything was white.
Where there was only love…no pain…no suffering…no bigotry…no spite.

Where all the things that divide us here on Earth when we get to heaven cease…
Where we spend an eternity among the clouds living in kindness, and friendship and peace.

But I wonder if the Gods are trying to show us as the fog they send us is unfurled
If blurred boundaries and muted colors are how we’re meant to see the world.

That, if here on Earth we can make all the things that divide us finally cease,
then we can live a lifetime here… in kindness, and friendship and peace.

Now I think the heaven of my youth can be thought of a different way…
that it doesn’t have to be white or in the clouds…that heaven can be grey.

That the heaven I grew up believing in…doesn’t have to be an epilogue…
That all we have to do is look around…and find our heaven in the fog.

2. The Fog

       by Esther M. Clark

The gray world, the gray world,
That clouds the face of Spring,
That clothes in nebulous white shrouds
Each near, familiar thing—
Even the river’s voice sounds strange,
Sullenly murmuring.
No warm light finds the gray world,
Of filmy mists and spray;
The clinging beauty of the fog
Has shut the hills away;
God’s living sun has died and left
This lovely wraith of Day.
The gray world, the ghost world,—
The winds lie as they list,
While Spring comes shyly veiled in gray
To keep her April tryst.
O you who died before this day,
What loveliness you missed!

3. Let Us Have Madness

       by Kenneth Patchen

Let us have madness openly.
O men Of my generation.
Let us follow
The footsteps of this slaughtered age:
See it trail across Time’s dim land
Into the closed house of eternity
With the noise that dying has,
With the face that dead things wear–
nor ever say
We wanted more; we looked to find
An open door, an utter deed of love,
Transforming day’s evil darkness;
but We found extended hell and fog Upon the earth,
and within the head
A rotting bog of lean huge graves.

Short Poems about Fog

Sometimes, a few carefully chosen words are all it takes to capture the essence of a moment or emotion. Short poetries about fog use concise language to paint vivid pictures of this phenomenon.

1. All Day Long

       by Carl Sandburg

All day long in fog and wind,
The waves have flung their beating crests
Against the palisades of adamant.
My boy, he went to sea, long and long ago,
Curls of brown were slipping underneath his cap,
He looked at me from blue and steely eyes;
Natty, straight and true, he stepped away,
My boy, he went to sea.
All day long in fog and wind,
The waves have flung their beating crests
Against the palisades of adamant.

2. Fog

       by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

3. The Little Cloud Comes Down

       by Annette Wynne

The little spot of earth below
So pretty seemed the strong wind could not blow
The curly cloud away;
But right above, it lingered all the day;
And O, it got to like the spot so well,
It wanted to go down, and all at once—
Down, down, it fell,
With a pattering noise that was swift and loud,
But the earth was as glad as the curly cloud!

4. Brevity – in The Fog

       by M.L. Kiser

The fog of suffering, an amorphous beast
torturing the psyche, like a cat teasing
its prey before the final kill,
weaving in and out of the gray cells
to create a dark tapestry of agony.

Memories held hostage are cocooned
within precipitation’s web,
awaiting death’s dining.

Long Poems about Fog

For some poets, the mystery and beauty of fog require a more expansive canvas. Long poetries about fog take the reader on a journey through its many moods.

1. A Luckless Lover Legendary Lost on Moor Backstory

       by Terence Craddock

the luckless lover
can never meet his beloved
lost in mists of fog
lost in mazes of fog
impossible to see through fog
impossible to get out of fog
the luckless lover is lost
in a place he is not supposed

to be there are legends of lovers lost
lost on wild remote moor wild places
trails sodden soft slippery boggy underfoot
sodden with rainwater slick with mud
stumbled on ascent at least a handful of times
focus is all balance agility not directions

trying to miss mud slip traps in process
focus is all on where to place stepping feet
recent rain a few failed attempts to avoid
deceptive mud traps seeming solid ground
struggling to locate a mist fog hidden path
more more panic disorientated by the minute

weather had sudden closed
in as mist hill country does
closed in reducing visibility
making conditions unpleasant
arms legs now mud covered
often now fatigue stumbled

a few patches of boggy ground
slipping struggling to keep balance
with rain mist mist constant falling
turns once easily followed paths
into squelchy churned up mud baths
waiting waiting to trip unsteady foot

in mist fog land is ancient timeless
it seems possible to walk centuries
past in another time another age past
clear sky safe is swallowed into lost
off tracks bogs sinkholes silent wait
this is a land that mist hides secrets

a journey thoughtless set upon in dark
late afternoon ill fate gathering gloom
is a dark tale in making lost without
trace is reward for thoughtless rush haste
swallowed up without trace sudden gone
never seen again never never never found

2. Paul Revere’s Ride

       by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in ‘Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light, —
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said, “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade, —
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay, —
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! As he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled, —
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm, —
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

3. Song for The Rainy Season

       by Elizabeth Bishop

Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
rain-, rainbow-ridden,
where blood-black
bromelias, lichens,
owls, and the lint
of the waterfalls cling,
familiar, unbidden.

In a dim age
of water
the brook sings loud
from a rib cage
of giant fern; vapor
climbs up the thick growth
effortlessly, turns back,
holding them both,
house and rock,
in a private cloud.

At night, on the roof,
blind drops crawl
and the ordinary brown
owl gives us proof
he can count:
five times–always five–
he stamps and takes off
after the fat frogs that,
shrilling for love,
clamber and mount.

House, open house
to the white dew
and the milk-white sunrise
kind to the eyes,
to membership
of silver fish, mouse,
big moths; with a wall
for the mildew’s
ignorant map;

darkened and tarnished
by the warm touch
of the warm breath,
maculate, cherished;
rejoice! For a later
era will differ.
(O difference that kills
or intimidates, much
of all our small shadowy
life!) Without water

the great rock will stare
unmagnetized, bare,
no longer wearing
rainbows or rain,
the forgiving air
and the high fog gone;
the owls will move on
and the several
waterfalls shrivel
in the steady sun.

4. The Sleeper

       by Edgar Allan Poe

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!

O, lady bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
‘Neath which thy slumb’ring soul lies hid,
That, o’er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O’er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
Forever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o’er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne’er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

6. Neither Snow

       by Billy Collins

Tis sweet to When all of a sudden the city air filled with snow,
the distinguishable flakes
blowing sideways,
looked like krill
fleeing the maw of an advancing whale.

At least they looked that way to me
from the taxi window,
and since I happened to be sitting
that fading Sunday afternoon
in the very center of the universe,
who was in a better position
to say what looked like what,
which thing resembled some other?

Yes, it was a run of white plankton
borne down the Avenue of the Americas
in the stream of the wind,
phosphorescent against the weighty buildings.

Which made the taxi itself,
yellow and slow-moving,
a kind of undersea creature,
I thought as I wiped the fog from the glass,

and me one of its protruding eyes,
an eye on a stem
swiveling this way and that
monitoring one side of its world,
observing tons of water
tons of people
colored signs and lights
and now a wildly blowing race of snow.

Poems about Fog That Rhyme

Rhyming poems about fog use the musicality of language to create a sense of rhythm and flow. These poems on fog with rhyming words create a sense of playfulness and whimsy.

1. White Fog

       by Sara Teasdale

Heaven-invading hills are drowned
In wide moving waves of mist,
Phlox before my door are wound
In dripping wreaths of amethyst.
Ten feet away the solid earth
Changes into melting cloud,
There is a hush of pain and mirth,
No bird has heart to speak aloud.
Here in a world without a sky,
Without the ground, without the sea,
The one unchanging thing is I,
Myself remains to comfort me.

2. Symphony in Yellow

       by Oscar Wilde

An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and there a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.

Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.

The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the temple elms,
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade.

3. Now The Dead

       by Donald R Wolff JR

For now the dead are sure to rise
White form they are in fog disguise

From a dream-
Below, in rest
Rise up above the evening mist

Playing in the foggy night
Running through the fog
A fearful fright

Lifting with the warming morn
They rise above for Heaven’s shore

Through the stars to an open door
Haunting the graveyard, nevermore

Poems about Fog for Children

Fog can be a source of fascination and wonder for children, capturing their imaginations and sparking their curiosity. Poems about fog for kids use language and imagery that is engaging for kids.

1. Morning Fog

       by Bettina Van Vaerenbergh

The morning fog
– White and dense –
Comes creeping in
Through the garden fence.

Over the grass,
Over the lane,
All the way –
To my window pane.

Gone is our garden,
With the old oak tree;
A sea of white
Is all I see.

In my imagination,
My bed is a boat.
I open the window,
And I go afloat.

Smoothly I sail
On the foggy sea –
With my doll and my teddy
For company.

I am the captain,
They are my crew.
We’re headed for a land –
No one ever knew.

The sea is calm,
All is going well.
The life of an explorer
Is really swell.

But then, just as I see
My destination loom,
Out comes the sun –
And I’m shipwrecked in my room!

2. A Sad Child

       by Margaret Atwood

You’re sad because you’re sad.
It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you’re trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

3. A Foggy Day

       by Josie Whitehead

Whilst you and I were sleeping
And before the break of day,
A cunning thief stole upon us
And snatched the sun away.

He left instead wet mist and fog
That clung to hedge and tree;
A cloud, a shroud of clinging haze
To hide the things we see.

Its wave of mist engulfed us all
In dripping wreathes of gloom.
The only place it couldn’t creep
Was in the living room.   

But when the thief observed our grief,
He must have felt some shame,
So he brought the sunshine back again,
For he didn’t want the blame.

4. A Boy and The Fog

       by Jim Yerman

He loves to walk in the morning fog…he loves to look around
to feel the mist upon his face….and watch the cloud hover over the ground.

This morning’s felt a little different…he could not help denying
there was a faint sound, somewhat muffled….as if the fog was crying.

“What’s the matter fog? ” he asked. “Why are you so blue? “
Why are you so sad today? Is there anything I can do? “

“Thank you, no.” the fog whispered for the fog never talks too loud.
“I am just a morning fog…when I’d much rather be a cloud.”

“But you are a cloud.” The young boy said. “the best cloud of any around.”
It just so happens you’re a cloud that floats above the ground.”

“But I don’t want to float above the ground, ” the cloud said as he pointed to the sky.
I want to be up there…I want to soar…I want to fly.”

The young boy smiled. “But don’t you see that is the wonder of you.” he said
“You make the morning beautiful as across the land you spread.”

“You add to the ground a tranquil beauty… but when the sun rises you say goodbye
and you float up to the heavens and add your beauty to the sky.”

“Are you sure? ” The fog asked the young boy as he stretched across the land
“I’m sure.” The young boy replied. “Wait a little while and you will understand.”

“Will you wait here with me? ” The fog asked. The young boy nodded his head.
“To see you fly up to the sky.…would be my honor.” he said.

And so they waited there together and the boy enjoyed the mist upon his eyes
and when the sun peeked over the horizon the fog smiled as she danced up to the sky.

“Goodbye fog.” the boy said as the fog brushed against his head.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” the fog cried.
I’ll be waiting, the young boy said.

Poems about Fog in the Morning

The morning fog can be a particularly evocative and mystical experience, casting a quiet stillness over the landscape and setting the tone for the day ahead. Poems on foggy morning capture this unique quality.

1. One Foggy Morning

       by Sapphic Raven

A dreamy state in morning mist,
As curls of cloud, recline on earth,
The walking feet dare not resist.

The pathway fading just ahead,
Recoiling into the low clouds,
A mystery remains instead.

Wandering feet know their own way,
Whilst striding on without time to pause,
And dwell upon what comes today.

Old footsteps echo on the breeze,
Through dreams of love that time forgot,
Yet still it whispers through the trees.

2. Foggy Morning Woods

       by Vincent Bayer

Wrapped in the soft shroud of daybreak
The tree tops rise above the veil of fog
Like slumbering giants,
Only half hidden by the earthbound clouds.
The world seems immersed
In private reflection,
absorbed in the simple beauty
Of a foggy morning.
Even the birds give reverence
In the church like silence…

Reluctant to begin
The sunrise hangs in thoughtful anticipation.
As if unwilling to illuminate
Those secret silent places
Where the forest still whispers
Of things unknown to man.
But the spell is finally broken
And the fog retreats to its nebulous realm,
And the sun! !
Glorious sun! !
Giver of life
Dispeller of darkness,
Unfolds upon the land
Like the opening scene
Of some grand opera…

3. Morning Breath

       by Janaka Stagnaro

the morning breathes today —
trees and hills fade away;
the earth utters a sigh,
and grass-high fog becomes the sky.

without a flitter birds hush,
surrounded by the misty touch —
valiant lampposts vainly gleam
to bring the world back from the dream.

4. The Beauty of the Fog

       by Jim Yerman

We went on a hike to the top of a mountain…on a morning still sprinkled with dew…
anticipating all the way up..and once at the top..we were in for some wonderful views.

We knew we would see forever…in the sky…high above the pines
but the more we walked..the more we realized nature had other designs.

A fog rolled in…obstructing our view….covering the land surrealistically
so we focused on what was in front of us…all the things we were able to see…

We saw the beauty of the fog…the way it moves…how to the trees and mountains it clings.
We noticed how, even in the fog, flowers bloom and birds continue to sing.

We watched at times the fog soar up and other times crawl across the trees…and we wondered does the breeze control the fog or does the fog control the breeze.

We felt the fog roll over us…like ghosts floating through the air
leaving behind a bit of dampness…on our clothes…on our hands…in our hair.

We noticed that moisture on the flowers and plants…making them shine as it helps them to grow…we saw how the fog in the distance…covered the land like a blanket of snow…

We noticed there was magic in the fog…magic we never knew…
turning trees into magicians as they faded in…and then out of our view.

We found more magic in a large rock surrounded by rose petals…
and although the ceremony was through…
we imagined a couple standing there…
smiling…both of them saying I do.

Yes…we went looking for beauty on the mountain….
we had a certain kind of beauty in our heads…
but unable to see the beauty we came for…
we found our beauty in the fog instead.

Haiku Poems about Fog

Haiku poems about fog use simple language to create a sense of stillness inviting the reader to pause and contemplate the beauty of fog.

1. Foggy River

       by Anonymous

fog, down the river,
erases all traces of
the world beyond

2. Matsuo Bashō

       by Geoffrey Bownas and Anthony Thwaite

Spring: a hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist.

3. Bare Limbs Touch

       by MLee Dickens’son

bare limbs touch
fog-bound full moon
lonesome longing

4. Masaoka Shiki

       by Adam Critchley

Ah, if I come back,
him that passes before me
is nothing but fog.

5. Yosa Buson

       by H. G. Henderson

Morning haze;
as in a painting of a dream,
men go their ways.

Poems about Fog and Mist

Poems about fog and mist explore the many different ways in which these phenomena can shape our perceptions of the world, from the hazy, dreamlike quality of fog to the dewy, glistening nature of mist.

1. Mist

       by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

Its hand compassionate guards our restless sight
Against how many a harshness, many an ill!
Tender as sleep, its shadowy palms distil
Weird vapors that ensnare our eyes with light.
Rash eyes, kept ignorant in their own despite,
It lets not see the unsightliness they will,
But paints each scanty fairness fairer still,
And still deludes us to our own delight.
It fades, regathers, never quite dissolves.
And ah that life, ah that the heart and brain
Might keep their mist and glamour, not to know
So soon the disenchantment and the pain!
But one by one our dear illusions go,
Stript and cast forth as time’s slow wheel revolves.

2. Fog and Mist

       by Sandra Feldman

All dreams are now broken,
Truth is hard to face
When your young and resilient,
Life has another face.

Now lost in clouds of litany,
All my past comes back to me,
Happy future, hard to see,
I think of past joys,
Now outreach, out of touch,
With those I loved so very much.

And a cold fog grips my heart,
A cold mist strangles the Sea,
The Sea, I love so much,
Where no longer shall I sail,
Nor happy be.

3. Walking in The Fog

       by Jim Yerman

I began my walk in silence this morning…save for the muffled barking of a dog…as overnight the clouds descended and cloaked the Earth in fog.

It’s on cool mornings such as this…with the fog muting all details…I’m reminded how the Earth is alive and breathing…as I walk through her exhales.

I love walking in an early morning fog…where all colors are stripped away…for the more I walk…the more I realize…there’s so much beauty in the gray.

Some people may find sadness in the mist…may see it more like smog…but I, for one, am blessed to find happiness in the fog.

When the fog drifts down to visit…I feel a kind of inner peace…every sound is muted…all boundaries seem to cease.

I’ve learned to see the beauty in her obscurity…that without the fog I cannot see…the way she blends together with the rocks, the sky…the ocean…the flowers and the trees.

The fog reminds me how life is ephemeral when I’m surrounded by her at the break of day…for I know if I wait long enough…the fog will fade away.

And when she lifts her blanket…I know there’s no telling the wonders I might feel…from the sounds she will unveil…to the colors she’ll reveal.

I’ve been blessed to know the pleasure of playing in the sun…
of counting stars in the evening sky when the day is done…

of dancing in the rain…
of standing by a lake listening to the singing of the frogs…
And one of my most cherished blessings will always be…
walking in the fog.

4. Love Lost in Life Threatening Fog

       by Terence Craddock

lost in stray mist fog romance
no direction fog mist endless
lost unsure where here is
lost unsure where home is
lost unsure about where to go is
time is ageless frozen timeless
hung in time mist fog emotions
where is love when fog burns

off evaporates as if it never was
caught in sudden bright sun glare
caught on concrete alone footpaths
caught among stumps of dead trees
which was once vibrant love forests
bewildering devastating fog romance

fog bites with too many teeth
out of nowhere sudden reality biting
too little adoration left time is biting
romance burned is bites in butt
mad dog spring attacks bites legs vicious
dogs animals seeking kill go for throat
choke hold kill suffocating jaws throat
asphyxiated strangulated smothered death

Final Thoughts

Fog is often viewed as a hindrance, an obstacle to be navigated through with caution.

But through poetry, we can see the beauty in this natural phenomenon. Poems on fog can evoke feelings of mystery, tranquility, and a sense of being transported to another world.

The way fog blankets a landscape, muffling sound, and obscuring details, can create an otherworldly atmosphere that inspires creativity and introspection.

Through poems about fog, we can appreciate the way fog transforms our surroundings and opens up new avenues of thought and emotion.

So next time you encounter fog, take a moment to appreciate its poetic potential.

Related Articles

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Back to top button