the fog condenses
the young of the fairy folk
ice shards suspended
We were playing football, tiny shards of ice just sat drifting in the air, it was most bizarre. I think the fog was freezing. It was beautiful when you looked through the cloud of these crystals towards the flood lights.
The yellow smog chokes
a city stained and belching
soul drained of colour
I’ve been writing about the great smog of 1952 in one of my many unfinished novels. My parents arrived in London in 1955 and although the smog was not as bad as 1952, which actually killed thousands of people through the oppressive pressure and poison it contained, they were still thick and ugly times. The clean air act of 1956 helped to eradicate those monstrous fogs.
I remember my mum and dad saying one of their neighbours, who also had come over from rural Cyprus to live in the Pentonville area, near Kings Cross, was so terrified by the fog, he thought London was ablaze. Which was understandable, as he didn’t comprehend and hadn’t ever witnessed a fog like it before.
patient jackdaws roost
stewed fog brew settles heavy
on the muddy moors
the treacle trickle
faint sounds of the river Flit
meandering on
I’m glad I didn’t have to commute anywhere today, the fog was thick and miserable.
