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Gleb Zavlanov Oct 2013
The toadstool stood, a cloud of vice
    Blown far by evil’s sway
Above ahead, the azure skies
    Were taken o’er by gray

Cloud loomed o’er, each a savage brute
    Blown off by winds, insane
The ugly toadstool calmly stood
    And welcomed silver rain

Which danced with grace, silently fell
    On little, soundless toes
The toadstool, once a hag from hell
    Became a maiden rose
Copyright Gleb Zavlanov 2013
He was known as the local Mycophagist
In the dales, the woods and the hills,
What happened was sad, for he wasn’t so bad
Just a tad underdone, Toby Gills,
They say that the cord was around his neck,
He was born with a carroty mop,
And a pale white head, he was almost dead
When the doctor had called out ‘Stop!’

They cut the cord and they let him breathe,
The damage was already done,
The blood had been stopped to his carroty top
So they said that he’d always be dumb.
But he found a niche where the fungi creeps
And went out collecting the spore,
In a year or two he knew more than you
And the college Professor next door.

He studied his mushrooms with loving intent,
He knew about hen of the woods,
He knew about bracket and shaggy manes, magic
And paddy straw, they were the goods;
He fostered his lobster and hedgehog and oyster
And coral fungi and stinkhorns,
But didn’t discern between fly agarics
And toadstools that grew in the lawn.

He grew his spore in a deep, dark cellar
And sold to the folk who came by,
And never would judge between Widow Weller
And the ordinary witches of Rye,
He’d sell death caps, and pigskin puffballs
Not thinking to question them why,
Or who would be eating his laughing Jim’s
And whether they knew they would die.

The air was thick and the air was damp
And he fell in the dark one day,
Scattering toadstools into the air
And their spores had floated away,
He breathed the spores right into his lungs
For he hadn’t been wearing a mask,
But ****** them in right over his tongue
And they came to his lungs, at last.

I happened to see him out in the street
He was finding it hard to breathe,
He could only take a couple of steps
Then sit on the kerb, to heave,
I tried to help but he waved me away
And his eyes were yellow and cruel,
Then I saw what he’d thrown up on the kerb
Some yellow and red toadstools.

The man was a walking toadstool spore
They were popping up out of his hair,
Pushing their way though his carroty top
In a bid to get to the air,
And his skin was blotched like a puffball, he
Looked up at me, and he cried,
As a giant toadstool grew from his throat
And he lay on his side, and died.

David Lewis Paget
Harry Roberts Aug 2018
The Crows Caw,
Its A Close Call,
Hidden In A Ring Of Toadstool,
Had To Run Before The Roads Fall,
Against The Fey We Fare Small.

Gutted The Planet,
The Unseelie Planned It,
Flames Of War (.)
The Reptiles They Fanned It,
The Truth Is Much More (.)
But Who Here Is Candid.

Volcanic Eruption & Spiritual Disruption,
Cosmic Consumption & Intelligent Destruction.

The Fey With Their Way
Make The Earths Axis Sway,
The Night Takes The Day
While We Humans Pray.

The Crows They All Caw,
Mourning Shrouds All Fall,
Warning Clouds Will Not Stall,
But I'm Safe With The Toadstool.
Harry Roberts - Toadstool © 17/08/18
The Toadstool Goblins are at it again
soon as the sun goes in and it starts to rain
they have eaten all my cabbages
I think they are going for my sprouts

I think I may set a few beer pits up
they can't get enough of the stuff
they drink their fill, then can't stand up
then in they plop and drown in the swill

Well off I must go with macintosh on
down to the store for some beers
sink the traps for the blighter's
then when drunk they fall in
I will hold my can up and say cheers


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Father demolished in a collision
Dark feelings brew in the young man’s soft murmuring heart
Pain in the eyes of his victims
Fear in the spine of his weakened targets
Hate in the frozen debt of winter
Angry and tortured night and day

Suffering screams, he mutilates them
Violence brought to a family on vacation
Chaos caused by confusion
Arrogant resentful greed

Father why?
Natasha Jan 2014
I am but a single
dry dead leaf
laying beneath an endless willow tree
around the waters bend
close to the toadstool pow-wows
only inhabited by the faeries.

& the moon- she still shine,
captured but by a sphere, yet so free
her light may breathe
a chilling, frigid touch
between the memories you
have buried so deep.

So please do not fret your wondrous mind
over all of your insecurities,
though she may shine with a chilling reminder
I promise that in your eyes
a beautiful soul
is all she sees.

As my mind races I feel
I am unable to describe
the exact emotion you
have gently
injected into my mind.
My eyelids grow heavy
my minds afloat to space
all that is left in my world as I know it,
is the perfection on your face

      You see darling,
      I am a hija de la luna;
      the stars will align with
      Castor & Pollux
      Cancer, Aphrodite, & Fortuna.
      They greet me as old friends,
      join me in my nights of fantasy.
      tell me darling what do these strange constellations mean?

Oh how I pity thy cataracts
eyes white & glassy
but I promise the warmth will melt your frozen gaze
& in time, you will see.

       The horizon shifts as I do to you,
      how long do you wish to be at sea?

Alas, you know my poison  
doubt seeps into my skin
like an 80 patch.
Through thick & thin,
even on the sorest of feet
I will skip merrily along your path.

      Round my head I gaze,
      The sky has been stained
      with fuchsia & clementine
      among the blues.
      tell me again, how may I find your presence within the hues?

Wrap yourself within my blanket
of ease & security.
Trust me with your life or not,
for I want to be
there, when you most
need me

      You cannot help
      you are a broken bird
       I cannot deny my psyche as it worries
      does a dove not care about her nest back home
       when she soars above
       the sea?


Next to the beating arrhythmia
you try hold dear ‘twixt your ribs
my favourite poem of yours has changed
where I will weave a small nest
dream of your lips
& the sound of rain.
Graff1980 May 2015
What moral magistrate
Monster of mediocrity
Makes a model citizen of me
Even if I don’t want to be

All upright and uptight
Humorless jackboot
Goose stepping toadstool
The fascist conservative fool
Who pedals misinformation
Counting on fear and stupidity
To turn strangers into tools

Yep that one eyed sheep
In the blind herd
Who wants to tell me
What I should or shouldn’t do

Why bother
With that proctor
Of indignity
Who counsels
The talented
To remain dormant
In their humility

Doctor of docility
Prescribing conformity
Storming the cities
Bleeding us of our individuality
To make more metal cogs
For the culture machine
Oak
A toadstool comes up in a night,--
  Learn the lesson, little folk:--
An oak grows on a hundred years,
  But then it is an oak.
Third Eye Candy Oct 2019
toadstool scrimshaw
high ankled inlaws
harlequin anthems
and awkward Templars
acid battalions
of basic
disbelief.

on a sea of inconstant
allure.
Through the sunlit valley they dance and sing
smiling with constant purity in the arms of spring
in the dales, new born lambs are bleating
daffodils push up to the sun, kindly beating

The buttercup pixies start to find worm holes
to pop there little seeds in threes into
then by night and day they watch the seedlings grow
underneath the shelter of a nearby toadstool

Then at six in the morning
when most folks are yawning
they gather their red hats as a team
and skip to the nearby crystal stream

Then with hats in hand scoop up the water
no more then just over a quarter
then bound back to water their seedlings
sweetly fastidious and tending with feeling


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
S M Chen Jun 2017
She holds the cone
ever gently,
cradling the gift.
Exquisite thing,
delicate hands.
With wonderment
she considers
its strange beauty.

Maybe lethal,
but not to touch.
If this be thing
most deadly she
encounters she
will have been blest
with good fortune.

As what she holds
will transition
through life cycle,
she, too, will grow
and, with time, old.
Her dark tresses
will gray and thin.
Her skin, now smooth,
will furrow and
the now flawless
hands will deform.
Time has its way
with all things
by wintertime.

But it is spring.
Let us rejoice
in this moment
when youth prevails
and life is good.

*

And what of me
(I,  full of years)?

My heart melts.
Inspired by a photo that I cannot post.  It is a closeup of a little Asian girl who cradles a brown cone-shaped toadstool in her perfect little hands.  She gazes at it intently through almond eyes, a smile (a bit more than a Gioconda smile, but only a
little) on her pretty face.  Her black hair is more than shoulder-length, and partly hides the warm blue parka she wears.  She is at the edge of some woods in Canada.  It is springtime; the chill of winter is not yet past.
Anecandu Sep 2014
From the Azul sky a diving sparkling speck,
An unmatched beautiful creature without circumspect,
The golden leaves of spring like soldiers on parade,
Dip and make way for this fair winged maid.

I have so much longed to be first bite of this season,
To be touched and blossomed to perfection by your reason,
I grow juicy, soft and ripen as I fall for you.
Tumbling into your soft Cashmere hands on cue.

Salivating, I’m tasty, savour me between your teeth,
Sink deep in without remorse, how delectably indiscrete!
Say my name with a smile it’s so safe in your mouth.
I’m tingling the roof of your brain with my flavours coming out.

Take me away! as we fly, I’m cast about like an enchanted spell,
Moistening your soft syrupy lips of caramel.
I’m drained to sustain the iridescent colours of your gilded wings,
Moved by the high passionate notes as you sing.

Your smooth, probing tongue, my flesh diabetically sweet,
Leaving streaks of sienna nectar on fates smeared cheeks,
Wipe away before staining fabric from our black and white lives.
They keep returning, stubborn like long goodbyes.

Surprise! New emotions enveloping, hypnotic like Night Jasmine,
Mimicking a rainwater spout so bubbly, escaping, and exciting!
Your caught hopeless as a fish fly rod with a glass eyed trout
Choking while love swoops silent from heaven to pluck it out.

That’s when you look at my seed and you can tell.
I’m good for your ego but as bad as a toadstool’s spell.
So I’m placed in the first mound of mud you come across,
Where you replant me sprinkled with fairy dust.
Alyssa Oct 2019
The fungi has started to grow again,
coming from inside, rotting within.
My eyes scan the room from left to right,
there's nothing interesting,
anywhere found in sight.
I remove myself to explore and play,
into the forest I go, around midday.
As I wander and wonder,
my thoughts twist around me, causing a fluster.
All of this just because of,
some guy.
It's not your normal fungi,
it's the kind that if you touch it,
it will rot you from your delicate finger tips
to the very light that is your soul.
The kind of fungi to ruin your night.
So as I lie here, accepting my fate,
that evil demon comes creeping,
to smile in my face.
I'm all too weak to continue on,
finally letting go of myself, collapsing like a fawn.
My skeletal remains,
shimmer in the sun-
reflecting light like the barrel of a gun.
It's hard not to notice that toadstool right there,
growing from what would be my hair.
The fungi still loves to decay,
what was once me
One,
Very
Cold
October
Day.
Anon C Nov 2012
Amidst a sea of friends sat she
upon a toadstool smiling with glee
all beings in the forest sang of life
no entity in the wood knowing strife

The little fairy named Jheira
sang melodically to the swaying flora
dancing atop the golden mushroom
ne'er a negative thought they assume

I wish to join them in the glen
share the happiness from within
sing with the fairies to the wood
basking in all in life that is good
My attempt at stepping inside fantasy land. I could use a lot of work on this but a first try.
Edward Coles Sep 2014
A toadstool is swelling
inside my limbic system.
Spores sweat amongst tissue cavities,
dining out on grey matter,
until they force me
to stay in bed through the day.

What a thing it would be.
Depression as a fungus.
A mildewed mind as damp sets in,
the trumpet player
with athletes foot,
casting out the air-borne blues.

Misfortunes follow one another
along straits of fate,
as if sadness were a colony itself.
I want to take a pill
to **** the mushroom
that plumes over my head.

You can only diagnose
through words and symbols,
only treat once you set down your pen
and hold the hand
of a patient lover,
of the savant drinking at the bar.

For now I will let air in
through the open window,
watch the dreamcatcher sway
and hang like a tarantula
over the stars and crescents,
spilling out over my bed.

When I close my eyes
I hear the ocean in distant traffic,
sounding as waves when rolling by the door.
I will drown in seawater
and hallucinate a scene
of happiness.

Of a place for a poet's retreat.
c
Lee W Mar 2015
Los and Lettes,
the horrorcore fans,
the post-******* brats,
the goths,
the stoners,
the metalheads,
Phish fans with no regrets,
To Les Claypool high on toadstool, Reggaeton  block party vets,
To the cigarette carrying beatniks,
Hipsters in turtlenecks,
Fashionable Teens wearing fashionable things,
Armani and Diamond rings,
Business men in formal attire,
Old folks about to expire,
gospel musicians getting higher and higher.
***** alley banter bands, who find their lyrics at the bottom of cans.

At that I had lost my rhyme scheme knowledge dropped on every scene to which i thought i was superior.

Nothing said in so many lines, fines paid for literary crimes.
Like fines levied for a lost library book.
Victoria Oct 2011
Before you leave the woods today, something you may have missed;
A whispered mystery old as time hovers in the mist.
Things you've never seen before are moving all about
'Pon entrance of this magic realm you never can get out.
Forced to live amongst the toadstool and the fawn
Hypnotized to see the light of God and not the dawn.
Chilly, naked flesh; ivory as the moon.
The old God, Pan, who tromps about, certain your heart will swoon.
Ecstatic, numb, you crumple down. He see's your knees give out...
The nymphs cavort around you there
Giggle and **** your feeble form.
The wise old trees watch patiently
as the landscape does transform.
Simon F May 2012
when your limbs turn to night and bark, sticks against your feet.
the centipede kingdom embraces you to its breast,
a lost patch of moss who found its way back, cleansed of lies
plunge into the quiet abyss of mire and toadstool,
leave humanity behind at the edge of the woods
roots growing through the ground and into your body
forest, take me home.
Third Eye Candy Oct 2012
gotta toadstool choke-hold
slipping again
and a sharp dull ache
where my mind caved in
and a pound of flesh
that itches and
spins
where the devil
cuts
new teeth
to eat
me
with.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN !
Happily she flounces
and bounces
on the ground in
her lemongrass-hued
dress of whatnots

Way back when
The worries of the world
Were nonexistent
She ruled the forests
The toadstool wonders

She never thinks
of sadness or misery as
she performs her silhouetted
pirouette
for the birds

And as she flies
Above the trees she thinks
to herself
It will be like this
forever
cheryl love Aug 2013
There is a Fairy at the bottom of the garden,
She lives in the third mushroom down.
She doesn't own much, between you and me
but she has the biggest fungi in town.

She is a lucky Fairy but doesn't know it.
I dare say she has more than most.
She has a large stalk to hang her smalls on
Which is a good deal bigger than a post.

Thinking about it I ought to charge her rent
She says there is not "mushroom" to spread.
But a Fairy has such high demands
I will have to come up with another plan instead.

She told me now she wants to go to a toadstool
Whill is far too small for her box of tricks.
She has her eye on my place but that
is just too big and it is made of bricks.
Mote Mar 2016
found the star, guys. found the
neon yarn, the tall me tell tails.

I hope I didn’t embarrass you
at dinner, when I got on the counter
and started wiggling around
like bacteria. I’m sorry but I
was bleeding for your attention.

the coolest place I’ve had a bandage;
kissing the inner eye.


found the stuff, guys. my crush’s name
is bell jar toadstool. I think I love him…
that’s a tangent.
a tangerine ant in the fear mouth.

but this is not a love poem, I swear.
Jack Trainer Nov 2014
I hear you coming with every crack of the knees
The air of your reproach stifles my breathing
And still, you are ten years past
Your ghostly presence has not abated
For I am small and inconsequential in your memorial
A toadstool among the Sequoias
I see an incomplete light through the canopy
In this dim and musty forest
Where fern and Lady Slipper does not comfort
This will be my shame
Content and complacent with this situation
Afraid to cast off his manifestations
This will be my downfall
Death isn't the end
Memories doth prevail
I’d come back home from an early shift
When I wasn’t expected - True!
But the house on the hill was cold and still
So I went off, looking for you.
I couldn’t find you at your parents place,
They said they hadn’t a clue,
Your brother said he’d not seen your face
Since the day we spent at the zoo.

It wasn’t like you to disappear,
You might have left me a note,
It wasn’t until I came back home
That I found one, stuffed in my coat.
‘I’ve gone to the place that dreamers go
When the world is getting them down,
Gone where a dreamer’s dreams would seem
To be better, next time around.’

My heart flipped once and it almost stopped,
I’d thought we were doing well,
We’d been together for seven years
I was truly caught in your spell.
I’d thought that your air of discontent
Was a phase, but I couldn’t see,
You left on the first full day of Lent
So you were giving up me!

I wandered around our empty house
For days, in the throes of grief,
I felt my heart had been torn apart,
Then I thought of my cousin, Keith.
He’d lodged with us for a month or so
And I’d seen the spark in his eyes,
But barely noticed the answering glow
Of your own, so now - Surprise!

I found a bundle of letters then
In the back of your bedside drawer,
From him to you and from you to him,
I’d never looked there before.
They spilled their passion on every page
Like a toadstool, spreading its spore,
His love was greater than mine, he said,
He’d love you forevermore.

And you said terrible things of me
That I’d treated you with neglect,
That I’d taken your love for granted, and
Was an albatross round your neck.
I couldn’t believe the things I read
From the one that I’d loved to death,
But now, I knew what you really said
With every disloyal breath.

You’d slept with him while I went to work,
He’d never worked in his life,
But like a Judas he’d worked his will
On you, a deceitful wife.
My stomach turned and I felt quite sick,
For days, it tumbled and churned,
The pain in my heart was like a brick
Til the day that my anger burned.

           *     *     *     *     *

A month went by and she came again
To knock at our own front door,
‘I’ve made an awful mistake,’ she said
As her tears ran down on the floor.
‘I’ll do whatever it takes,’ she said,
‘To make the pain go away.’
My eyes were sad but my heart was glad
As I said what I had to say.

‘I’ve gone to the place that dreamers go
When the world is getting them down,
Gone where a dreamer’s dreams would seem
To be better, next time around.
I haven’t a place in my life for you
Since you left with such little grace,’
Then I shook my head, for my love was dead
And I slammed the door in her face.

David Lewis Paget
Stephan May 2016
.

*Here on the night before yesterday’s dream
Twilight composers retreat
Laughing at whispers a’ flow on the stream
Happily taking a seat

Practicing meadowlark lyrics to sing
Strumming a toadstool in tune
Awaiting the light that the fireflies bring
Blinking a wink at the moon

Tulips with tambourines gather around
Spider web chandeliers glow
Shade tree sonatas, a wonderful sound
Echoing up from below

Pine cone recitals and blueberry sighs
Star dust ovations in rhyme
Choruses sung beneath velveteen skies
Harmonic three quarter time

Orchestral canopies glisten above
Melodic rainbows the view
Performing songs written solely of love
Played on this evening for you
Michael Luciano Nov 2020
I came down twice today dancing on the edge of a sun ray smiling higher and wider than the sky upon a sunday. I was warm like summer sun as I ran streaming through the night high upon a horse they called him piercing light.
We danced along the winding Trail searching for the sea.
Bounding through the Morning Light tasting the salty Breeze.
I met a strange old friend down there along the sandy beach wandering through the morning surf staring at his feet.
He invited me to his home a beautiful beach abode.
Offered me a Drink of wine and a toadstool that he'd grown.
I ate the cap took a drink followed him on down.
He stole my face and sung a song there was laughing all around.
He pulled his guitar strummed along  said it was the solution.
grew a grin upon his face and named it revolution.
He belted on about a day when we could find that space a little bit of Ambience to call my sweet relief.
He claimed that he knew a way to live a life in peace.
Pull the plug and disconnect no relying on the Beast.
We must sail away from here from the shores we know take a trip on past the waves beyond the ebb and flow.
Danger dancing on the Bow we mustn't turn the ship impale the evil through the heart as fire burns with left.
These ****** old evil doers will be the death of us all.
If we don't take a stand and fight until they fall.
Hank Helman Jul 2017
The band was exhausted,
Fall down tired and sweat happy.
But still on track,
Eye flirting and sending secret messages
To every girl they coaxed up
Onto the sandy wood plank dance floor,

But after six hours and 100 songs.
And now at 2:30 a.m. and the lights all up
A bit too drunk,
And way too tired to search out the tempo of the blues,
The drummer,
Buddha on his toadstool,
His shirt soaked with rhythm and stained dark green
From a steady sweat,
His boot, a robot after all these years,
Still tapped the bass drum lightly
As he dreamt of pizza,
Pizza in bed served by naked twenty somethings,
Who don't believe love has to hurt.


They, Bill and Sheila,the music gone
Continued to slow dance,
The beat replaced by the random ****** of shot glasses
Loaded by hand onto the top shelf
Of the dishwasher...
And to the scratch
Of the one armed bus boy with a push broom but no deadline.
The full moon had finally risen out of the sea,
Or was it the sun too tired to shine and begging for a day off.

Her arms were a tight hoop around his neck,
She knew how to hang onto love,
Her cheek to his chest, to his heart.
She'd kicked off her sandals and stepped onto his boots,
Her full weight a reminder that they weren't dead yet.

He'd always known how to lead and carried her with ease.
'Is this the end', Sheila asked him
And looked around at the nearly empty room,
'Not as long as we keep dancing' he said
And kissed her with a full tongue.
Part of what I'm trying to do here is literally paint a picture in the reader's mind. Many years ago I used to own a bar and I saw love come and go every day. Every once in awhile a couple who just seemed to be the couple who would stay together forever arrived and brought with them a special kind of buzz. I always wanted to know how they did it, how did it work for them while the rest of us were continuously unhappy. I never did find out but this poem is a toast to Bill and Sheila and to those who get it right. Love is slow dance that won't stop for nothin'. Party on poets.
Justin S Wampler Nov 2014
Holes are the result of what they had brought
to the millions of targets the wrath had wrought
In a power-fueled rage, spitting words venom laced
towards every one of those whomever opposed

To leave nothing of the earth but a mark with mirth
planting fleeting toadstool clouds, making gods proud
Ruins remaining will reside strewn both far and wide
the once plentiful signs of life cast at last into Æther  

a manufactured moment of silence
lies seen by the eyes of compliance
Bryce Jun 2018
Laying awake
Praying for my soul
Taking the ticking seconds in
As they flash by quick and instant
Leeward Receding
Backward stars into the distance

My mind will wander towards that
Strange astral
Unknowing lack of will
Hoping that maybe I'll land on some
Toadstool of another view
After I've gorged my fill

There's gonna be some string
That my soul rides back home
Following it like a dipping power line
Oscillating along the ***** road

But it's all relative
Maybe It will come in an instant
Crashes through the door and out I go
Reaching down the barrel
For lost time

Maybe I'll do it to myself
A crumbling temple in the sand
Reaching ever higher in the mind
As it all erodes out beneath
And like a tree
I fall
And nobody is there to hear me

All that'll be left is this
A word, a thought, some dream of bliss
I can't claim to know.

Had I known,
What future had been sowed
Perhaps I would have found a better way
Back home
Going beyond where we've gone
and even before
we went where the
wolves stood and
howled at the door
and the three piggywigs
squealed.


Sealed in and feeling somewhere
someone's shielding
the real me from
forgers and forgery
from wizards and sorcery
and no one wonders
where we got it so wrong.


But the magic's not gone
it's under the toadstool
it
fools the unwary
and the blind
who don't see
the colours of the rainbow

where the eyes goes
I follow.

In the spell lies
the mystery
the answers to
what we see and
the dreams
of
the fancy free,

do you fancy a whirl?
Third Eye Candy Jan 2019
seldom do you come to this place but we remember you. surfacing at random -
to odd applause and all the gaudy paradigms at your betrothal.
wed to the mark of sugar cane. you sustain your incomparable vigil
on a toadstool in a cuckoo’s nest…
shackled to a Fae
sunset.
Like a dime to a
lost deal.

I have seen your moons. crumpled in the disarray of lost orbits
tunneling through the miasma of an imperfect rebellion made of plump lips -
and applesauce.
a golden blue atrocity, unvanquished by a spot
of False Hope… on a speck of Real Life.
you have a temple to attend to.
you have all the
harm of sleep.
too alive to recover a memory.
and too forgetful to
recall.
Aa Harvey Jul 2018
Heavenly beings.


Eternal in Heaven.
The day is warm, but the air is cool,
As I sit here watching an angel, who is sat upon a toadstool.
She plays the harp and whispers a song
And all around, children and their families are sat listening in silence.
They are loved; each and every one.


She is beauty in this place of peace;
Her blonde hair gently blows in the breeze.
Blue butterflies hover all around her.
The sun is shining on us all as she plays her harp
And softly she sings her words into the air.


Tiny gnomes march past and the children glance up and smile,
At the unicorn that accompanies the gnomes, as they walk on by.
They are heading off to see God and the angels inside;
While we sit here on the outside, in the morning light.


I decide to go with them and leave the music behind;
I have a job to do, so I must do it, but I can do it in my own time.
You see, I am a poet and this allows me to be free,
Of those things which hold other people trapped;
Those things like obligations and duty.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
SiouxF Aug 2020
Swaying in the soft gentle breeze,
succulent green leaves glisten and glow,
catching the sun's golden rays, filtering
through the coppiced canopy above,
reflecting off droplets from heaven;
Bringing the verdant vibrant woods to life.

There's many a story these woods could tell,
If only trees could talk;
Long in the night they'd stand and share,
of the songbird’s sweet call for loves lost,
the snowy owl's nocturnal adventures,
the *****’s screams of ecstasy, or pain.

And let us not forget, the forest fairies fair,
coming out to play on such a glorious morn.
Sunbathing atop a toadstool fly agaric,
Admiring the glistening golden spider's web,
Downing the nectar from a rain soaked leaf.
Washing dainty toes in the morning dew.

But don’t expect to see one.
For they are as timid as the fawn,
yet as brave as the lion.
As delicate as lace,
yet as strong as silk.
But they are there, rest assured.
Keeping the magic of the woods alive,  
protecting the spirits of the trees,
and allowing the secrets of the woods to live on,
For evermore
This is the second poem I’ve written. I wrote it the morning after the storm the night before, which inspired my first poem. I was inspired and lifted by the sun filtering through the trees and reflecting off the glistening vibrant green leaves

— The End —