Short Morels Poems

just bought three bananas from the corner bodega for a dollar
to send on his way the sweat of a kitchen the immigrant

ducks from hudson almost canada we know our plucks
and the foie gras a science

why me as mostly do not eat meat to over feed the liver
but a kidney I will enjoy with cream and morels....

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The woods were wet; there was a smell of anticipation that we only smell in August.  My feet sunk down into the damp wet leaves, and I began to feel the morels, watching me, taunting me. I could taste them before I found two large enough to pick.  


damp and gingerly
quite deep in the underbrush
morels show themselves...

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The Mushroom Witch had a flair of her own
She Spun her spells around a mythical throne
Morels who knew her stayed out of her way
She was intense, she did not play.

The Mushroom Witch had a style unique.
Even the brave did not dare take a peek.
She took the names of those whom she suspected of double-cross.
And turned most of them into severe apple sauce....

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portal to autumn’s brilliance
promenade of boulevard
crimson, pumpkin, lemon trees
balls of leaves

mynah sings her songs
hidden among the maples
trills of songbirds revive
respectable meditation place

nothing more zen than nature
autumn shows off her prettiness
morels leaning against moss
violets eager to show the way

painted by the ultimate artist
I lean into it and smile...

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autumn mushroom hunting is natural to elves and gnomes.
they parade out into the wilds, leaving the comfort of their homes.
they sing as they work, collecting morels with haste.
i can smell them sizzling in the pans, remembering the taste.

collecting is in full swing, the fey clean, sort, chop, and can.
nothing is more important than mushroom hunting in faerie land.
this is their staple throughout the winter, hands down.
each tasty morel rolled in crumbs, toasted golden brown....

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