Best Spores Poems
Wisps of recollections waft through my mind
like spores on soft white memories’ threads -
vague remnants of May's sun-gold heads.
I glimpse but cannot hold them.
How foolish the girl who
sent them blowing in
the wind - wishing
her springtime
soon would
end!
8/24/17
Recollections waft
across my mind like
wisps of soft white spores -
the vague remnants of
my memory’s threads.
Spring’s sun-gold heads
I now can‘t hold!
But glimpsing them,
I can recall. . ..
a young girl
blowing fluff
and wishing
time would
quickly
pass.
For Brian Strand's
UP TO FIFTEEN any form/any theme max 15 lines Poetry Contest
for Cate Lindsey's What the Hex contest
"The Silence Speaks"
Listen,
the Silence speaks
to Souls that listen
Stranger things
have walked
before the cold distance
wars and plagues
hell and money exchanged
the fires that have been burning
but no one has truly listened
seen or heard the signs
greed overtook gravity
we were all on
Our Own Mission -
weren’t we?
Here
We Are,
"IT" is
"Now"
spores flying free
in the skies
kissing lips
touching skin
borrowing within
burrowing
within
and the air
we breathe
we breathe
"IT" in
we are touched
madness in the mirror
we become
greed and fear
the good and evil twin
separated hearts
and families
on another plane
Ghosts speak
truth when
the day turns grey
on another plane
respecting silence
and turning to what’s
Within
but in the dark
what we need are
the watts within
Too late?
Or do we now begin?
Dark Night
All souls waiting
waiting for the Light
waiting for
The Spark
to speak
Open minds see
this is the lull before the storm
the true path of this blight
is yet to be
borne
Too late?
Or do we now begin?
We are all together
In Dark Night
blood-red
sanguine
What is within
is the strength to win;
But what is within?
Love?
Strong, it is
we begin to understand
it’s might
The Silence
the silence speaks
another language
foreign it calls
pathologically we fall
Within
We look towards
each other
The strength
to find
each other
To Begin.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Into the Unknown” / Aurora
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcDYP0oDB5A
Interesting:
“How We Get Out of This”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d13QM9EErmQ
The Silence Speaks:
http://a.msn.com/01/en-au/BB121xXE?ocid=se2
A marionette to the mind,
Whispering fading schematics,
Deluging the heart and soul, in a
Juxtaposition of good and evil,
Betwixt Heaven and hell, amidst
Snowdrifts that swirl before my eyes, while
Spiritless shadows restlessly carouse;
Discordantly, far from reach,
Vagrantly ambling across
Deadened Arcadias, glimpsing
Floating embers, in wake of
Vivid firestorms, swallowing me whole,
Faltering with every step I take,
Decelerating towards the escape I seek,
As it rhythmically scars my timorous nature,
Awakening the monsters hidden deep within-seeing red-
Bleeding out miasmic toxins, as noxious
Spores erupt, immersed in a haze of austerity,
While it seeps and saturates, throughout
Malignant wounds exposed, undulating between
The storms of push and pull, as daunting
Tasks, of rippling sequences, splits my
Chasmic core.
Soulless footprints are all that remain, as
Moon tides wash ashore, ebbing away
Towards dystopian depths.
Written: August 02, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
***************
In the slipshod cradle beneath the apple tree,
a bruised fruit folds ajar—
molten sweet sapidity pooling
through velvet skin.
Eviscerated grace, they say,
but I grasp the quiddity of life unmasked.
A burnt sienna kiss of aurora—
flesh undulating with fungal bloom,
wispy gossamer threads that stitch
the inevitable return to the earth.
It is not ruined.
It is a transformation:
a diaphanous ballet
between death and what dreams may grow.
We ogle brightness,
but rot is brighter still—iridescent with purpose,
alabaster spores pirouetting as sylphlike specters
on a sacred odyssey to placate
the starving soil.
It is seraphic.
It is a panacea.
It is quintessence made humble.
Rapture lies in this ineffable nexus—
decay whispers loud as a lullaby.
The rakish grubs maunder through
a velvet pyre of rind and memory,
and the loquacious beetle sermonizes
on endings as beginnings,
as though time had a gullet
And rot was its sweetest wine.
Call it grotesque.
Call it abhorrent.
But beauty—true, ineffable beauty—
wears many masks.
And in these nebulous throes of perishing,
I watch a face burnished by truth,
smiling with roots in its eyes.
Aren't many or any finer than Dan me ol mucker & china who now looks out for nightmare cooks or crooks making money off the books with rare meat on dirty hooks in filthy nooks but don't care want to give him a shiner for saying don't be hasty or cheat prepare pukka tasty tucker & succour...safe fayre to eat for every diner...
Owners booming hysteria at inspector criteria
Kitchens so unclean like a war scene in Liberia
Zooming in you find they're grooming Listeria
Rightly fuming that it is blooming like wisteria
Hardly stellar told fella to have old mortadella
Rank covered in dank mould stank in the cellar
Dan who's a fan of Paul Weller is a fortune teller
Scores on doors stop more spores of Salmonella
Suss some are no faff or fuss a them & us schism
Despairing whiners cuss not caring about criticism
Cleanliness next to Godliness just an anachronism
Foolish witticism as diners get ghoulish botulism
Out of date food they buy deny do things on the fly
Just comply no treason and here’s the reason why
If duff stuff you season on the sly to try and get by
The Council’s the fall guy as folks do die from Ecoli
Hunch lunch or brunch scare dodgy ware of tupper
Owners get shirty but it’s so dirty can’t serve supper
Ask my man Dan this is not a masterplan to scupper
A public sector inspector would rather have a cuppa
-1-
This narrow vein
pulses in red earth
blood of thousands
meanders
through valleys barren
a surface wounded
cries dry tears
down to Iskandariyya (1)
White sails cover
undercurrent
once sun burned
monoliths choke
tide provides
no air for their
drowned lungs
-2-
Where grows papyrus
How can I write
with these reeds
my ancestors' annals
Where is that land
that has my name
displaced
cast out
yesterdays and tomorrows
erased.
-3-
Merciless strangers
hewn mouths in set faces
staccato tongue
dismissive diaspora
White cotton spores blown
in khamaseen (2)
feel their protective shelter
burn
suffocate
(1) Al-Iskandariyya: Alexandria
(2) khamsin: Hot desert wind, blowing from south to north.
***
July 17, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
See the pollens and spores
from flowers and weeds
and all manner of life
sparkle on a stray breeze
in the late afternoon
sunlight.
Know that the dust in your house
is mostly you and your spouse
and what ever children are
still hanging around,
and that thousands of creatures
call that dust
home.
Hear that scientists are concerned
with the melt of polar ice
that releases ancient viruses
and a zillion bacterium
into our daily
lives.
Read that life and more life
travels through space
on a billion meteorites
and we must wonder where
we march in the procession of
life.
As I wend my way around curving roads
up high into the mountains
I finally arrive at the Eight Gables Inn.
I wonder what it is that drives me here!
Perhaps I have developed wings
and flew across the Atlantic towards
The Great Smoky Mountains
on my adventurous ride
to the Blue Ridge Mountains.
Tired I hope the Inn
will live up to its reputation.
The sun is setting as I view
the purple orange skies darken,
whilst here and there lights
in desolate cottages twinkle in the dark.
I hasten to my private bath
and slowly sink in the warm water,
overpowered by the smell of soapy foams.
Pleased with my silky skin
I put on a plush bathrobe
luxuriously enjoying the feel
of the soft fabric against my spores,
and with a graceful dive find myself
on top of a feather-top bed.
This is the life of luxury...
Until I feel the taste of blotting paper
that cover my whole mouth.
I open my eyes and know
it was all a dream, alas.
The morning broke pragmatically
As the warmth kissed the dew goodbye.
And the thunder clouds who haunted nigh
Had fled and left an open sky.
Where an aged thrasher voiced a song of love
That rained down from up on high.
The towered trees would cast their shade
As the Sun rose to melt the day.
And a breath of coolness came over me
To lead my soul astray.
And marvel at the many twigs and leaves
Still left from fall's decay.
A beguiling tiger lily lay at my feet
To mark its space from meddling spores.
And claim a right to live its life
As the victor of a callous Nature's wars.
But it brought me peace knowing of its bloom
Just like the day before.
A coppice wall stretched beyond the light
To give sense and realm to my domain.
And it served me well on weathered days
When subjected to a dreary sleeted rain.
But this pleasant morning would have none of that
So I had few reasons to complain.
A Man wavered at his assigned post
With a gaunt and haunting stare.
And mumbled tearfully as children do
Some long forgotten prayer.
But as to who and what the message was...
I was keenly well aware.
And the day wore on till night's first creep
With the laws of Nature well behaved.
But the thrasher still flew and spun its tune
Of a life so grand and brave.
And I took great comfort from its song of joy
As I lay peacefully in my grave.
The End
9/15/16
Across the lands and shores
Plants and spores
So much life in different shapes and forms
Many storms cold or warm
Always been an omnivore
So I eat vegetables like corn
And meats like albacore and boar
I don't care about the odds on the board
It's about so much more
And not just the reward
I'll continue to row without an oar
Near and far from the seafloor
As well as any trees such as sycamore
One up the highest score
And maintain a good rapport
I've always had an interest in lore
Minerals and ores
I'm not rich or technically poor
Worse than any apple, some people rotten to the core
Such foolish things people support
And over such petty stuff people go to war
Still there are areas on this Earth that have yet to be explored
And possible fossils of new dinosaurs
Looking up at the full moon shining beyond so many other orbs
By: Dalton Ogletree
Lets get lost in our imagination
Let's take a vacation
Let language get lost in translation
Let your feelings take you to your destination
We are learning about the art of creation
Trippy visions and unexplainable vibrations deep inside
Only to be comforted while on an uncontrollable and unpredictable interplanetary ride
Come take a trip on the wild side
Come feel the energy surging out of our pores
You have no fears and no enemies when it comes to the psychedelic spores
They just want to share knowledge about what and who we are at the core
DMT and Ayahuasca want to show you other worldly doors and possibly what the afterlife has in store
Words can't express every chill and hallucination that flows through our being
What is a "true" definition of an entity or a being
Can you actually tell me this is just an illusion?
Or can you understand my language of confusion
So many are fortunate to experience mother nature's chemical fusions
Share art, share love, but most importantly share knowledge
Psychedelics are nature's version of educating us, similar to college
Just one experimentation and then the truth in my words will be easy to acknowledge
Love the Universe until it Love's you back ?
I've been served lots of unappetizing things
that simply did not please my palette.
Being force fed with bitter or insincere words
is unappealing presented as a crisp green salad.
I would rather be underfed and malnourished
than to feast on something too briny or cheesy.
I won't feast on a buffet of regurgitated foods,
like dill pickles offered as sour grapes... sleazy.
Nothing has more stench to me than rotten food.
As an example, mold spores inside blue roquefort,
and don't ask me to swallow one bite of sarcasm.
That would take far too much of my time and effort.
I'd spit out a spoon of any soup if in it swims a fly,
or if the spices were added by the hand of a hypocrite.
A warm peach cobbler would make a scrumptious dish
as long as inside there'd not be left on purpose... a pit.
Like
wisps of
soft white spores -
those vague remnants -
are recollections wafting through my mind -
sun-gold heads of spring I no longer hold,
Yet I can glimpse
when they turned
into
fluff.
I
recall
my young self
blowing off the
fluff of seeds . . . wishing time would pass quickly.
She calls me up
Come over now
Let's experiment
Meow
On arrival
Dressed in black
Body purring
Like a pussy cat
Her leather-ed wear
Two thin strips
Flesh so open
Lips to hips
Stocking delight
Two pillars of black
Opening of joy
No turning back
Tying of leather
Lashed to her bed
Purring to perfection
Her wantings read
Stroked and petted
Writhing in pout
Touching of her
In sensuous shout
Deliverance of love
Our bodies grow
Releasing our spores
Explosive throw
On her command i release
Her ties so slack
The rise of her body
Arch of her back
I'm captured within
In clench of her grip
Total satisfaction
Sexed equip
Passion's continue
Well into the night
Leather-ed and bound
Her wanting delight
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love5.php