Replication, O photon.
Atmosphere. Molecules.
Phase, like seasons. Here, then gone.
Tools, tremors, toadstools.
Occipital ridge, troll, bridge.
Billy goat, thy horn.
Pestilence, thy name is midge.
Freighter, fain, forlorn.
Lightning bolt, fruit of the gods.
Eat one and become.
Mycelial, goldenrod?
Mushroom, just stay mum.
Sign of salvation, sea-bass?
Shark, set eyes on same.
Liquid legend, O my lass?
Sure. I'm glad you came.
Tympani, crush. Firefly, flee.
Knock thrice, then flit, thrush.
O behemoth, swim thy sea?
Death, you've had a brush.
Enormous or gigantic?
Titan, which to choose?
Oil on surface, stiff or slick?
Flickering fate, fast fuse.
Race, a trace of turkey wild.
In the corn, my child.
Charnel house floor, stains a-tiled?
Ululate, red riled.
Racket, informed packet?
Data, grow in trees.
Weather, wail. Jail, jacket.
Pain, poisonous to please.
A line of trees
Cold blown; benumbed.
What glows for Day's eye thereneath
Sinister is.
Late Autumn eve.
Fogs of cursed tales
Now fall. Funeral bell toadstools
Pixies atop.
Drifter, into a bog's slop
Enticed, amiss....
fairy ring beckoned with fallen oaks the seat
she loosened blond hair for all elves to see
dancing in a circle around one rock deep
toadstools were there numerous with buzzing bees
owl hooted deep, arriving late afternoon
in distance farmhouse empty, sported balloons
spiders and grasshoppers smashed cymbals and drums
vineyard workers sleepily dreamily hummed
fat strawberries blood red on juicy offer
down she descended into a loamy hole
to examine nourishing cocoa coffers
then taste spiced cherry brandy alongside moles
her pink petalled dress became nastily soiled
she lost her wide crimson hat to earthworms coiled
tunnels were decorated with soft chestnuts
ladybugs slowly shopped for investment huts
below she found busy beetles, flora seeds
grey weevils digging into sour rotting leaves
roots of varying colours with buried beads
entangled were elf lovers like naughty thieves
teasingly were filled with the fruity brandy
many were heady drunk they became angry
she judiciously spotted coloured bangles
happily returned to own tree bespangled !
**
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
Wild mushrooms
toadstools instead
Emergency room
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