Best Mushrooms Poems
This world needs more hope
Mushrooms that fly
And swings with no rope
Under bright stars and night sky
Mushrooms sprout in the black forest of lore
Under which live dancing elves
Who give hope by the score
Magical is laughter that fills young hearts
Hope and mushrooms
Now that's what we need
Hope gives happiness
And mushrooms our dreams
Note:
Inspired by Seren Roberts and her tablet! :)
sacred secrets found
forest treasures golden hued
cracklin' frypan stew!
Toast and jam
Sausage, ham
Cap mushrooms
Red legumes
Tomatoes
Potatoes
Eggs to try
Poach or fry
Breakfast tea
All for me
Tummy full
Last mouthful
Happy tum
Yum, yum, yum!
Day dismal
Pink bismol
For an hour
Cicadas saw at the early August evening
While thunder purrs as kittens
In the yarn of dark clouds balled up out west over Ionia County
Trees prepare their umbrellas
The Tigers on TV swing away in the 3rd inning
A good book in hand
Then out of hand
A den of lions-wind roars outside our patio window
Devours the screens
I jump back
House turns black
And our 100-year old standing friends
Just like that
Break in half no more than the unlucky draw of straws
While others are plucked like Hedgehog mushrooms
All thrown down
At dawn
Sunlight strikes of leftover lightning
Flashes through new holes punched in the canopy
I hadn’t seen the sky in my backyard for decades
But there it is
Claw marks across the laid-down lambs on forest floor
And upon the beast of me who lies beside them.
Watching from the shore for long,
tides and waves roll with a rhythmic beat all foretold.
New blossoms of temple flowers bloom,
As some did fall face first to the ground in sweet surrender.
“Oh dancing leaves on this rainy day!
Dance how you may lest you sway.”
At the sea’s edge, a rush of wind parts memories left far behind...
With remorse stood I conjuring the self-imposed torture;
with pain that soared with the cross I bear.
Like the dancing dew drop that rolleth from the blade of the staggering leaf on a
withering tree,
like a merry soldier whistling his final tune to the tip of the guillotine,
looking skyward stood I dripping in complete surrender.
The zenith had no bounds and the nadir inched too deep;
wanting to dissolve in the hastened fury, complacency the soul rendered;
knowing for sure that certain dreams are better gone when awake.
The wine rolleth well, piercing those buds screaming for more.
Till the blood-red wine knoweth not if its the blood or the wine
that tasteth so well in the mouth it rolls.
"My poisonous mushrooms! Left behind with the serpent's kiss,
knowing too well and none better than he will know what he knows best…
that he desires to be plucked undeserving to be tasted;
unless death beckons the soul from deep for the one who plucketh."
"They Say Mushrooms Grow Best in the Dark"
Winter
arrived after
The Darkness
blew in
with its boiling
black clouds.
they say mushrooms
grow best in the dark.
we hid underground.
eventually
we crawled out
from the cracks
like bugs
to ash, the fallen
bones of dust.
we breathed
in the
blow back.
strange angels,
aliens to us, wandered
like monsters
in the starkness
of a different war,
covered in black ooze
and demon masks.
there was
no eclipse,
there was no Sun.
3 days
of scorching fire,
blood shed, and the
stabbing nails
of judgement, and its
horrible crucifixions.
such terrible carnage.
there was much worse
than this, to come.
for the few who survived,
the fumes burnt our skin
the air burnt our lungs.
the iodine
capsules
were useless.
our innocence
perished
many children, taken,
the true meaning
of our lives,
dissolved, gone.
we were blind.
comfortable in
our complacency.
we weren’t prepared
when the truth
of it all,
like parables from old,
blew in
on the clouds.
the ancient stories
we considered
pages of nothing,
we thought fiction,
in long forgotten books,
from our childhood
presented itself
with its meaning
and our inclusion.
when Dominion,
arrived in full force,
it was unwelcome.
they say,
mushrooms
grow best in the dark.
eventually
we crawled out
from the cracks
like bugs;
to ash, the fallen
bones of dust.
strange angels,
aliens to us, wandered
like monsters
in the starkness
of a different war,
covered in black ooze
and demon masks.
the sleeve of armour
on the dead angel
buried under burnt wings,
that the wheels
of battle had driven over
and busted in,
read:
18th Tiberius
25.03/03.04/07.04/AD
Sons of …
well,
we can only
surmise
it was the soldier’s
rank and serial,
his regiment title,
where he
once
belonged,
the rest
was charred
18th Tiberius
25.03/03.04/07.04/AD
Sons of ...
there was
no eclipse,
there was no Sun.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
es
Mushrooms,growing, out of the ground,fleshy
white,stems soft some hard some brittle.blue,
reds and greens,gills, pores.scales,poisonous
some, deadly, medicine, edible, delicious
expensive
mycelium
I love mycology
spores
colorful
helpful
fruitful
Hypha
woods
Magic
bitter
morels
Amanita
puffballs
Oysters
Boletus
psilocybe
psychedelic
Shelf fungi
good food
yuuuuuum
es
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014) (Free Verse poetic format)
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014)
In shadow
Mushrooms making room
To survive
I love mushroom,
I sing mushroom,
I buy mushroom,
I do mushroom,
I cook mushroom,
I eat mushroom,
I study mushroom,
I sleep mushroom,
I dream mushroom,
I am mushroom,
I wake up mushroom,
I might die mushroom,
And again mushroom.
mushrooms
growing on the forest floor –
suicide
Ó December 4, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Two mushrooms made of marmalade
Looked out across an everglade,
One wore a bright red pork-pie hat
The other tossed an acrobat.
Nearby, upon a mound of cheese
A Wizzle blew a little breeze,
Ignawing what the Nondle said
As words flew flying from its head.
His friend, The Jumb-e-lock of course
Came lumphing on a hobby horse,
‘I’ve bigger fish to fry than you!’
He said, as he was oft to do.
The Nondle, in a boat he plied
With little arms hung by his side,
Said, ‘butterflies were all the rage
In far off hazy summer days.’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ cried the pork-pie hat,
Who hated when he talked like that.
‘A bee is such a frightful please
With mutton stuck about their knees.’
‘And don’t forget to mention, dear,’
The acrobat cried in his ear,
‘That crazy florid purple haze.
The one that left an awful graze.’
‘The one that caused a dreadful rash
And caused an elephant to bash-
And trump, as loud as sound itself
Until it faltered through ill health.’
‘But this is not the time nor place,’
The pork-pie hat said, quite red faced.
‘To mention things that have no sound
And tremble everything to ground.’
‘Nor give the matter such reprise
So as to make a compromise.
And finish with some fine regale
About a quite outstanding tale!’
mushrooms explode 'pon
felled willow stump after rain....
pink lilies appear
An innocent looking fungus,
With a wonderful psychedelic purpose.
What are we to see?
Fictional reality in cinematic 3-D.
A four hour journey,
Which creates a compelling story.
Can it really be?
Life's purpose visioned beneath a single tree.
What a strange sculpture,
Until one looks brutally closer.
Are you staring at me?
The condemned mirrored look, lusting to be free.
On closing my eyes,
I can see clearly the complex function of the skies.
A lucid dream?
Where illusions that hallucinate can be seen.
With no more fear limits,
After time-stopping regular love visits.
What does this mean?
The transformation into a beautiful human being.