Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Low Pressure System

Low Pressure System

There is a mist
in what you say
each droplet a word
around meaning obscured,
each sound a dulled echo
of something forlorn
wrapped in pale softness
as blank as its warm;
a fog to disarm.

There is a snow
over what you say,
a blanket of blur
for a hiding away,
a mask as white, as smooth
 as its cold,
as gentle as numb;
I need a new sun 
for when your words come.

~September 2015

Image: Sparks, 1906, by Mikalojus Ciurlionis
Public domain via    


  1. This is masterful, from the first word to the last, Joy. The difference between soft and shrouded, between benign and chilly, can be hard to pin down, especially when someone wants it that way.

  2. I really like the flow of these lines. The metaphor unfolds before the reader's eye without haste and I thought the last lines brought the poem to an excellent conclusion.

  3. Beautiful, especially the closing lines. Wowzers!

  4. This is so tricky! I especially like the curious irony of some of the words with their homonyms or maybe that is not the right word, but with other echoing meanings so that you too are creating a kind of fog--like mist and missed--what is missed is the deeper meanings obscured--even disarm feels to me like it has echoed meanings though maybe I am just thinking of the issue of fighting with fog or through fog; the snow like the cover-up of meaning discussed in the first stanza but also like a kind of white noise; and for me the curious use of the "its" which is sort of like a replaying of the mist--I halt over each possessive, but they also emphasize the properties of warmth and cold--that the warmth that is inherent is blank; that the cold that is inherent is smooth-- a wonderful close here--and a very cool title too--I think of the "low pressure system" as a kind of double-speak that is manipulative without putting the screws in/on-- but it's also just a low-handed way of manipulation--agh. Anyway, really well done. k.

    1. Thanks, k--and thanks for noticing the possessive.

    2. I wanted to mention that the pic is just beautiful also. k.

  5. Ah, this is great music as well as poetry.

  6. How interesting. I caught the possessive of its as well. Also the mist and snow both obscure things. Snow can turn a rough field into a pale canvas. Fog always brings mystery with it to me, you can never quite see what is coming until you are right up on it. Now putting these traits to someones words. They wear masks, and you are never quite sure what is behind them.

  7. I almost read the first mist as missed - which, going with k's reading, makes sense as well (though of course completely changing the course of the pen).

    heat at the beach - low 90's, just broken up moments ago with a dusting of rain- Ms. Linda, our nearest hurricane, sends her regards.

    I read a political bent here, especially in the 2nd verse, the war that is coming between crossers and anyone they define as heretic - but perhaps that's just me. ~

  8. This is just masterful.. the words that suffocate, the way only the mist can do. I really like the last line.. there is hope in that sun, just like always when someone takes possession over someone with those word. Just as a pillow might be soft it can also smother.

  9. Interpretation of tongues--discernment of spirits--seems to be the need here, reading between the lines of what is in and on the words, and whether understanding in such weather is even possible. Low pressure systems invoke wind that rushes (toward the low to equalize pressure); a "new sun" burns through to see what's really there, if anything. Opacities daunt, new suns burn: maybe that's another system.

  10. ...the hidden ....the unsaid ...the denied


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats