Best Fungus Poems
Mushrooms grow in yards,
are plucked for tonight’s supper,
but grow back by morn.
I really think that you want to read on
... why?
well, because
you haven't anything better to do.
you are looking through the looking glass
eye
that has nothing to with "I".
bored
and alone and moving towards
the fridge
for some comfort;
Go and have god bless you
because no Gods are present.
and the music,
the mosaic prevalence
in your membraneous mind
makes you think
like I always think
want to join the ignoramus?
haven't you been here many times?
Spindle of spending
Spores of speaking
mushrooms grow in the mycelium
of monkey aftermath
and i like calculus
Ted’s big toe is covered in fungus
It’s massive, in fact it’s humongus
He can’t fit in his shoes
and he sure gets the blues
as he cannot hang out among us
Ted began to feel very depressed
as barefoot he’s not suitably dressed
So I made him fur boots
From road kill bandicoots
his infection medics have assessed
The medic looked at Ted’s toenail
he pressed it, Ted let out a wail
but the doc didn’t scoff
when the toe nail dropped off
Ted fainted, his face was so pale
Two nurses scooped Ted off the floor
Then they escorted him out of the door
The swollen toe soon went down
And Ted went out on the town
(His manky nail's kept in a locked drawer)
Written in response to a comment was made on my recent POTD. May I suggest if folks don't like my poetry they don't bother to read it or make a comment.
8/4/18
The Rose loved the Mushroom
Who only came out at night
They lived in different soil
It just wasn't right
But the Mushroom never
Noticed her beauty
Or smelled her perfume
He simply tilted his cap
By the light of the Moon
In the morning dew
She spread her petals wide
The Mushroom seemed indifferent
Daily he would hide
A fairy came to the garden
The Rose sang out to her,
"I love the Mushroom, can
You help me to transfer?"
The fairy looked upon the Rose
With awe and surprise
"To give up such beauty
I do not think it wise."
"And what of the Mushroom?"
"Does he even know?"
"Mushrooms are blind , and
Have no scent do you still want to go?"
The Rose had not known these facts
She simply felt alone
And that she loved the Mushroom so
Could not be undone.
Yes my fairy friend I must go
For my heart hungers and soul cries
With the Mushroom at my side
Is where my physical body dies
Fairy dust filled the air
Beneath the light of the moon
The Rose beautiful and perfumed
Became a Mushroom
She stood beside her love
In the very same soil
Beneath the light of the moon
The two Mushrooms did toil.
Take care not to get hold
Of bread that's very old
Behind the breadbox door
A microscopic spore
May have turned it to mold.
Sometimes mold is blue
or white or gray or green
Some mold is so small
it can't even be seen.
If you ate moldy bread
Mold would get in your head
It would eat up your brain
And make you insane.
Remember what I said.
Decay, decays?
Never, this oak lives forever!
Bit by beetle bugs that on me did graze.
Birds my bark did sever.
A broken twig pointed the way of my decline.
Twisted limbs, fungus, and burls strained this trunky spine.
Termites made my hollows to whine.
Leaves lost their grip, falling, as I, over chill days.
Date: 06/14/2019
Contest: Writing Challenge 1, June 2019, Crumbling Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
It attacks our species and genus
Detect trumposaurus meanus
By its orange mane
Its mycelium brain
And its shiitake-stemmed pen!s
I have a tendancy
to really grow on everybody,
but then again that's the nature of yours truly.
I'll grow on anybody
like a fungus. That's guaranteed.
Moving through tightly woven groves of young, thin, oaks
the air sits heavy on the skin like stepping into a sauna
wet earth mingles with decaying leaves, this odor of familiarity.
Trails walked more than just a time or two
a few look the same while a few testify that time changes all things, eventually.
Sticky sugar sand scatters across leafy debris,
every footstep kicking up more, unavoidable, annoying,
complaining quietly how it sticks to everything,
when a shout of excitement cuts through the air.
"There's one mommy!" My child points to the roots of an old, mossy tree
pointing, popping up from under the ground
splitting the layered blankets of composting leaves
a bright white cap shines brightly.
Snapping a picture, praising a good eye,
spotting orange, brown, white and yellow fungi
forgetting for the moment, the annoying sand sticking to our shoes.
Catching a deer only twenty yards away,
grazing through the leafy limbs
excitement hard to contain for a child of eight.
Quiet innocent whispers of 'Look mommy!'
Cause my chest to swell and my eyes to shine
the deer soon heads on its way
allowing us to continue,
documenting our fungi finds,
on a wet Texas day.