Toadstools Poems | Examples

Pink Frog is Chased Away

pink frog was chased away by the divas of the day
she leapt over toadstools and moss, trying to get away
Don’t ever come back!  The prejudiced female frogs yelled in a mean way.
Because she was pink, they had quickly chased her away.

the sneeze

I sensed something spectacular was going to happen
So, I stayed in place, secure behind a fallen oak
The forest did not share secrets with unhidden humans

Feeling anticipatory winds from the west, I remained silent
The fey would not come out and play if they heard me.
Within a few minutes a faerie shower began

Faeries of all shapes and sizes rained in the middle of the clearing
A startled deer bound off, showing her white tail
I had no idea they could jump that high from a standing position

Faeries have a weird tittering laugh, it tinkles like dainty chimes
Hundreds of them landed on toadstools, mushrooms, and ferns.
I sneezed and they were gone in an instant.

Heaven and Earthworms

I have given many a thought to what happens when we die, specifically, what happens to our bodies. You have the option to be classically buried, cremated, donated to science. I think I don't want to be cremated, kept in a jar or the specks of my former self thrown across water. I think I don't want to donate myself to science, lying on a cold metal slab for years. I think I don't even want to be buried, at least not traditionally, set in a wooden or metal box marked by a plain slab of stone. I want to be buried in the forest, no casket, no headstone. Mark my resting place by flowers, wrap my body in leaves and let me melt into the ground, decaying alongside bones of animals forgotten, let birdsong be my funeral organ, let the willows do the weeping, let the toadstools and earthworms feast themselves on my corpse. And let it be that my soul does not rise to heaven above nor to hell below, rather seeps into the soil, into the seeds and moss, allows the remnants of my earthly form to grow into beauty once again.

feeling superior to trolls

they live in the toadstools of Venue Valley
materializing only when wanting to do mischief
or to frighten a superstitious human

I heard them giggling once,
but they did not appear to me
trolls are fearful of redheaded girls

We have a reputation of turning them into toads
or bats, cats, snakes or worse
it is our Celtic heritage on speed

come on out! I teased them
there was stony silence
I knew then how they feared me
it made me feel superior to trolls

Without Handlebars

Come out, come out, taste the bouquet!
Flowers smell better tossed with stars;
Tonight the fairies will come out to play;

Riding the sky without handlebars 
the Fey’s toadstools delicately ring;
Their vibrato hanging within bell jars;

As you gaze within wings are fluttering,
throwing a wimpering whirring glow;
Your reality is left all but stuttering;

Vim and vigor pollinate with gusto,
tender loving care allows wishes to grow.

Futility

I.

The weather is cold.  Do you need a sweater?
I feel warm and fine – never better.
Anything I can do for you?
Can’t think of one thing or two.
Want a hot cup of tea?
No thanks, not for me.
A nice back rub?
Not now bub.
Goodbye!
Bye!

II.

Hi!
Oh, hi!
How are you?
I have the flu.
Something I can do?
Can I have chicken stew?
So sir, I have no chicken,
But with toadstools I could thicken.
A nice back massage would sure be nice.
I surely doubt you could afford the price.

Dreams

Sunlight tickles my eyes
Hypnagogic hallucinations steal the show
with surprise

A creature creeps
I gasp, in fascination’s glow
he leaps

He schemes
as toadstools blow
dreams

Sunlight tickles my eyes
I gasp, in fascination’s glow
dreams

Her Mushroom Hat

Her mushroom hat gave us pause, made us stop.
We saw beautiful monarchs nearing the top.
Mosses and violets surrounded the edge.
In the middle of the back was a woodland ledge.

Her mushroom hat was designed with love.
Inherited from her grandmother’s talents from above.
We were in awe of the gorgeous concoction she made.
There were tiny toadstools down in the grass shade.

The Perilous Tickling of Shallow Waters

In the softest sponge, a ripples caress
in a toadstools dress, in just one pins point of pain
danger,
with its tiny fangs, smiles just for us,
its toothy grin lurks within.

Come, let us trip the fantastic light-footed and dancy.
Care not, nor care for the dragon in its rainbow lair,
it may be gone away and today not here.

For are we not, in this soft sandy toe-tickling spot
deep inside a sunny day, and yet we pray
that old man death by chance
not come our away -

even so, we are always near
and thus remain his most fond and dear
his careless, everlasting prey.

Low Steps Into Sunrise

A bottom land
where green is thread through 
with a trailing mud.

A late fruited decay seeps and smears 
these low meadow pasture.
Pot-bellied dewdrops hang,
strung upon spawny strings.

Here toadstools labor to open 
upon cadaverous stems.
Tractor ruts have churned 
a common lea into
sully and mire.

Waders squelch, stirring 
drenched odors.
A slick grass slopes
here into oily shallows.

Beyond, the Ohio river shimmers bright
as it swiftly flows onward
delivering journeys
taken between moon and sun.

If you stand here splay-footed
and boot rooted,
you may catch a Great Blue Heron,
ascending,
its wings catching fire
within first shafts of golden light.

An illumination of a destination 
reached by this marshy dock 
of backwater day-peep.

Baby Groot Faces Mountain Troll

He came down from the mountain to find a wife.
He looked under toadstools, pulling them up by the root.
Go get somebody who can stop him, we screamed with strife.
Someone came running back with baby Groot.

What good is he? We asked. How can he stop this troll?
The troll tore down a stone wall, uprooting worm and mole.
Baby Groot spoke to the mountain troll in a language he knew.
Troll sprouted some vines, and they began to grow anew.

Pretty soon he was standing as an oak with very pretty leaves.
How did you do that? We asked Baby Groot, who gave a little sneeze.
I told him if he became an oak, I would find him a wife.
Baby Groot kept looking for one, until the end of his life.

Er

Wild mushrooms
toadstools instead
Emergency room

So Delicately Penned

The trail is lovely here around the bend
The rains of spring have formed a clear, deep pool
God's handiwork, so delicately penned

The red buds, almost hard to comprehend
Adorned in pink and ruby colored jewels
The trail is lovely here around the bend

The crocuses, in purple, to what end?
The foliage, now greening, keeps them cool
God's handiwork, so delicately penned

The robin showing off to lady friend
The salamander naps beneath toadstools
The trail is lovely here around the bend

Mere form eclipsed, here, beauty far transcends
Design revealed to all but blinded fool
God's handiwork, so delicately penned

So much to take in as I slowly wend
My way through classwork not revealed in school
The trail is lovely here around the bend
God's handiwork, so delicately penned

—————


FIFTH PLACE WINNER
For the ‘An Original Villanelle Contest’ Poetry Contest
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
Written 02/25/2022

The Hour of All Hallow's Eve

Restless ghostly night,
      whilst full moon hangs bright
         drench in yellow with fright.

   The hour of All Hallow's Eve
      has chimed like a venal thieve;
         all in wild frenzy they leave.

   A shrill whistle in the distance
      behest by spirits persistence
         and wicked witches on broom assistance.

   Those brave to be out in the dark,
      stumble in their steps they mark,
         as lanterns in trembling fingers spark.

   Twilight soul into burnt cinder
      shadows and ghost linger,
         as cowering frightened dogs whimper.

   Luminously yellow eyes blaze,
      of the alluring vampire's gaze,
         in the dark a hypnotic maze.

   Goblins, gnomes, and black fairies
      dance around blood-red berries;
         a chilling ritual mummeries.

   Standing in the moonlight there,
      a few feet from toadstools; a pixie pair,
         merry tricksters everywhere.

   Waxen daylight creeps across the sky,
      arise a yawn from sneaking dawn nigh.
         Gone, in a wink All Hallow's Eve cunning and sly



10/25/2021

Children Story

Faerie Fancies

Nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree
above the mermaid and jellyfish sea.
     Scaly horse & teacup-octopus lads
near the sea-soaked teen; tail thrashes with glee
     as her amethyst hair bobs and flows.


  Nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree;
leafless branches with fantasia-tendrils.
     Speckled doe, circumspect and still,
keeps eye on darling-pink faerie and her eglantine esprit—
oft spied nudging toadstools & splish-splashing lily pads.

     
Nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree—
eyes shut, oblivious of the gadabout show.
     Steel-eyed doe believes fowl’s not asleep but lazy.
     She’s diligent, but unlike the owl, her hearing’s hazy.
Still, champagne-wing’d sweetbriar faerie fancies
the nut-brown owl nestled in a crooked tree.

9/15/2021

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