The Fog

This is the poetry assignment from the Speak Memory module

Original submission:

The Fog

The fog rolls in, clammy and moist,
caressing my grandmother’s house and surrounding it completely.
I watch it happen and feel suffocated.

I quietly sit on the couch and read a book about a boy
who has such grand adventures that I almost vibrate with longing.
When a giggle escapes it is quickly slapped down
By my grandmother’s narrowed eyes, one gray and one blue.

The couch is covered in a thick crocheted blanket
of green, orange, cream, and brown.
It scratches my skin and leaves red welts on pale skin
I do not complain.

A large, gray, bearded schnauzer patrols the halls lined with photographs
though he is so old that his imaginary foes are blurred by blindness.
Black and white miniatures of relatives I have never met stare blankly from plain bronze and black frames.
Their mouths are tight-lipped and disapproving.

The fog rolls in, clammy and moist,
caressing my grandmother’s house and surrounding it completely.
I watch it happen
and feel suffocated.

Now with Gary's revision suggestions:

A Fog

The fog rolls in, clammy and moist, I love fog!
caressing good word here my grandmother’s house and surrounding it completely.
I watch it happen
and feel suffocated.


I quietly sit on the couch and read a book about a boy
who has such omit grand adventures that I almost vibrate with longing.
When a giggle escapes it is quickly slapped down
By my grandmother’s narrowed eyes, one gray and one blue. great stanza, just works


The couch is covered in a thick crocheted blanket
of need this word? green, orange, cream, and brown.
It scratches my pale skin and leaves red welts on pale skin omit (on pale skin)
I do not complain.


A large, gray, bearded schnauzer patrols the halls lined with photographs
though he is so old that his imaginary foes are blurred by blindness. yes
Black and white miniatures of relatives I have never met stare blankly from plain bronze and black frames.
their mouths tight-lipped and disapproving.


The fog rolls in, clammy and moist,
caressing my grandmother’s house and surrounding it completely.
I watch it happen
and feel suffocated.

Outstanding, Carol. Your strongest piece to date!! Review my comments for direction, and again, consider my comments, changes, and additions concerning your poem, for someplace in the middle is probably your finished piece.
Gary

This is the final poem:

The Fog

The fog rolls in, clammy and moist,
caressing my grandmother’s house and surrounding it completely.
I watch it happen
and feel suffocated.
I sit quietly on the couch and read a book about a boy
who has such freedom that I vibrate with longing.
When a giggle escapes it is quickly slapped down
by my grandmother’s narrowed eyes, one gray and one blue.

The couch is covered in a thick crocheted blanket
green, orange, cream, and brown.
It scratches my pale skin and leaves red welts
I do not complain.

A large, gray, bearded schnauzer patrols the halls lined with photographs
though he is so old that his imaginary foes are blurred by blindness.
Black and white miniatures of relatives I have never met stare blankly from plain bronze and black frames.
Their mouths tight-lipped and disapproving.

The fog rolls in, clammy and moist,
caressing my grandmother’s house and surrounding it completely.
I watch it happen
and feel suffocated.