Young Writers Society

Light spread upon those who retreat to their mists.
Walking through a central London Park,
A festival of some description,
Stalls of foreign food, tie dyed t-shirts,
A small stage emanating something similar to music,
But not quite.
Not my scene, I’m wearing Jack Wills,
Holding a starbucks…
The epitome of capitalist subscribers.
It’s not that kind of celebration.
Hippy springs to mind,
But not the genuine kind,
The self-promoting, radical for the sake of it type.
My well honed skills of the cynic working overtime,
Raising my eyebrow so much I had to switch eyes,
May have pulled a muscle.

But as I kept to my outsider stance,
My condescending middle class stroll,
I strode through a path of words.
Literally.
Hanging pieces of paper, randomly constructed phrases,
Amongst the vegan vendors an avenue of images,
The wind was high so they flapped like the tongues of the pretenders on the stage,
But they actually had something to say.
A strip, of what I discovered was actually hard plastic,
When it hit me in the face, swung from one side.
Grabbing the audacious sheet I flipped it to its speaking side,
And upon it nine words that a poet couldn’t come up with in a week,
Light spread upon those who retreat to their mists.
Nonsense of course, like the rest of it,
But I’m still thinking about it.

Ooh... actually I quite liked this! Not sure why it hasn't been reviewed yet, but I'm glad it hasn't, otherwise I probably wouldn't have seen it!

Anyway, the way I read it is that the narrator is well-to-do and very comfortable in living in his lifestyle. Er... I am reading it as a he, though his actually gender is not specified. Anyway, he has all the things that a man such as he would need in his instance and position, but something catches his eye... that little piece of paper. Or plastic! And the words haunt him because, while he's cynical to the point where he has lost hope in everything except for his own status, he has an uncomfortable feeling that there is something more.

And the reason why he believes that there is something more is because of the little piece of plastic with nine words: "Light spread upon those who retreat to their mists." The whole idea of light has this wealth of symbolisms. For example, there's that very familiar phrase, "Let there be light!" in the creation of the world, as seen in Genesis. And then there's that period known as "The Enlightenment" where rationality emerged as the way to do things in many different fields, but especially in law, politics, economics, and science. So, this metaphor of light is very vivid. Where there is light, people can see straight. Where there isn't, you can't.

But, contrary to what generally happens is that light goes to those who are retreating. This is a pretty strange picture when you think about it, because the modern world, in general, does not treat retreating with any specialness. There is a phrase, "Step into the light" which means that you must take an active stance in order to receive this light, or perhaps enlightenment. However, this phrase turns it completely backwards... an active push for light means there is no light, however if there is a passive movement away into the mists, there can be light. So, light does not follow boldness but rather meekness.

And mists. Mists indicate here a dreamy quality. Unlike fog, which is full of confusion and disorder, mists indicates that there is a returning to what is primordial. In the mists, it is difficult to see what is, but in not seeing what is, it is easier to come up with a better reality. So, in the mists is where one becomes enlightened.

Anyway, this poem reminded me of that one scene in Fahrenheit 451 where Guy reads that poem and the woman cries, but she doesn't know why she cries, but it just makes her so upset. In this case, it's not as powerful as that particular scene, but you can tell that he's definitely confused.

Anyway, just a couple of thoughts! Nice poem.