That Little Fog Inside: A Man Who Has Just read a story by

hey hey waht story.. by joyce who.. what story by jocye.. i dont think i totally got this.. like some parts clicked and then it went away and then drifted back in but over all it came out like a puppet made by a 6 year old who doesnt want to spend his money on a proffessional made puppet at the fair.. but what story by JOyce! tell me! NOW

Wonderfully done! I have just re-posted your poem with my own little side comments. Please don't take offence to any suggestions, they are just my thoughts.

Trying to make it by

He walks with his mind ill-at-ease

Wondering why it is

He feels so weird for helping someone out? (Good beginning, it pulls the reader in)



As the boy answers the door

With an idiots face, (What does that mean "an idiots face")

Must he feel better keeping to himself;

He sure feels so right about now.



The idiots face looks on,

First impulse is to lie,

He explains he’s merely trying to inform him;

Oh yeah that is our car with the lights on,

The idiots face proclaims;

He walks away feeling awkward,

As he remembers feeling content when he kept to himself.



Making his way to his job

He’s beginning to feel sick,

As he looks on in disgust

At more idiot faces;

First instinct is corruption, indulgence,

This can’t be it, he wonders

Who is he to know?

Religion to him was made for the idiot faces,

So they could utilize it with their first natural instinct. (OK, that makes sense)



But he wonders,

If he can see that

Then he can surely see his mind feels foggy,

As what he sees

Is only in a few that go by his eye,

As he looks around at all the rest; the many

And feels quite a bit at rest. (Good ending as well. I feel as though my questions were answered in a satisfactory manner!)

hey hey how come none of mhy questions got answers.. what am i not getting that this guy with the bear picture gets.. i see this guy going up to someone and helping him out but looks stupid... then what happens explain this to me danke surn

The story is called "A Little Cloud" by James Joyce in his short story collection Dubliners!

What I see is that like in most poetry, the whole thing is never supposed to make sense, unless the writers intentions are for his/her poem to be received that way. The general idea is all I ever try to look for in a poem.
What I got out of this one is that the main person is confused as to the environment and the people around him, and why he seems so different from everything. But in the end he realizes that he may not be so different after all!
Just my thoughts.