back to Poets' Corner


No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights. Contact:


"The Fog" by Joe DiMino

It came from the sea,
chill and damp;
grounding the gulls,
huddling the seals,
quiet as a thief,
gray and thick;

it came from the sea,
over the shore,
obscuring the waterfront,
entering the city,
found way
past each door;

seeped into parlors,
rooms where they dine,
nooks for their wine;

A familiar pop,
then a slurp
some say they heard,
at the time
too fearful for word,
too confused by mist,
by the smell-
sting of brine;
for downright good reason
began to pine;

but that was an age
when men had their doubt,
children bad dreams,
women their bout;
and no one knew
what the fog would bring,
good fortune,
bad omen,
a pall
or a ring.

It left as it came,
back to the sea,
no bottle spared
not a drop left
to be

and this is the tragedy
and lesson
if one to be learned:
vintage is time-
not wine-
and the fog will return.