#26 - Contorted Strangler

 (Elizabeth McGeown)

Squamanita contortipes

This one is not the sonnet I had planned.
It would have been a cautionary tale
of London-based Victoriana and
a gentleman who felt his life was stale.

He thought of it as 'roughing it' when he
performed his daily constitutional
along the alleys and the lanes and breathed
raw sewage mixed with perfume that was all

around. He watched the ladies peddle wares.
He helped one to her feet when drunk, she fell.
He walked her home—I want to shout beware!

But that's not what I'm here tonight to tell.

A man whose gross ambition makes him bold
wants Europe in his frenzied stranglehold.

EM

Image via thetravel.com

#24 - Chicken of the Woods

When I said I wanted to get out of this town, I didn’t mean it like this 

After Chicken of the Woods (Laetiporus sulphureus)

A forest, ominous, beyond the town – 

you can’t recall it being there before.

Its churning gravity, its up and down,

all undulating with forbidden lore.

Of course, you wander forward, through the trees 

half apprehensive, half compelled to try.

The ancient ivy curls in filigrees. 

The undergrowth is filled with glowing eyes. 

A cabin comes towards you, lumbers down;

dodecahedron-shaped, on chicken legs.

You wonder why you ever left the town,

You’ll never eat another sodding egg. 

The hut gives chase – you don’t know what you’ve done. 

No time to ruminate – you have to run! 

LM

Listen to the poet perform the poem here.

Image via wikipedia

#22 - Purple Jellydisc

 (Elizabeth McGeown)

Ascocoryne sarcoides

The film where Yul Brynner plays the King,
has at its start a woman and her son
who, moving to a strange place start to sing
about the power whistling gives to one.

When Jessie saw this film she'd found the key.
She'd whistle! Purse her lips together, blow
and make a noise so shrill that she'd be free

from all that made her scared. But lips said no.

No sound came out however hard she blew.
She reasoned that a mantra was as good.
A nonsense string of words—and it was true!
It gave her strength when she began to brood.

She whispered these words when she felt at risk;
made braver by the 'purple jellydisc'.

EM

Image via The Movie Database

#20 - Barometer Earthstar

Storm Glass

After Barometer Earthstar (Astraeus hygrometricus)

prognostication is a fickle art

conjecture testing truth when runes are cast

the future lurks alive in mortal hearts

mercurial predictions cloud the glass

but there are those who think they know the lore

the sacred rites to quell the brewing storm

and they absorb the lightning and so cause 

a rift that alters tempo, tide and form 

it manifests as aching in the bones

nostalgia for an unknown time or place

a low-grade tinnitus, a rising tone

a yearning sharp as knives or fine as lace

prognostication is a fickle art

the future lurks alive in mortal hearts

LM

Listen to the poet perform the poem here.

Image via unsplash.com 

#16 - Bitter Poisonpie

Warning 

After Bitter Poisonpie (Hebeloma sinapizans)

 

All parts are poisonous. The stem and root,

the toxic leaves and flowers, blushing red.

The faint outline of skulls on every fruit;

inviting you to taste and be misled. 

These fatal blossoms, gathered from the verge

are willing you to eat and meet your end.

Your heart will quicken and your blood will surge;

you might not even last till next weekend.

What hurt could come from eating foraged food?

How can the woodland seek to cause us harm? 

Yes, nature can be fierce and cruel and shrewd –

this greenery is dangerously armed.

Don’t mess with toxic flowers, blushing red;

just spring for fish and chips for tea instead. 

LM

Listen to the poet perform the poem here.

Image via unsplash.com 

#14 - The Pretender

 (Elizabeth McGeown)

Boletus pseudoregius

Oh yes! We are the great pretenders. We
pretend from dawn of day to setting sun.
We wake, we fake, we make our way, slowly
to our workplaces 'til our work is done.

And only then can we begin to thaw.
A strange word, you may think, what does a melt
mean to a human? There's no frozen, raw,
frostbitten digits here. There are no welts

caused by some burning coals. But burning words
can feel as blistering, can scar, can leave
a mark to most unseen. Give us the birds.
Give us the forests. We have ceased to grieve

and made our peace with those who find us strange.
Appreciate us for our acting range!

EM

Image via Discogs.com

#12 - Golden Navel

 Pygmalion  

After Golden Navel (Chrysomphalina chrysophylla)

Resenting that which once seemed beautiful,

I split the band inscribed with both our names.

A broken ring committed to the flames;

mistakes, made molten, in the crucible. 

While mortal creatures have their mortal needs

this new wife – cast from gold – won’t nag or rage.

She’ll never falter, or grow worn from age.

This gilded Venus loves me: guaranteed. 

But, what’s that look that plays around her eyes?

A golden smirk, her silence, an attack?

To forge a lover is a heinous act; 

our partner’s traits cannot be customised.

Relationships are built on mutual trust.

Inanimate, the statue gathers dust.

LM

Listen to the poet perform the poem here.

Image via unsplash.com 

#10 - Bonfire Cauliflower

 (Elizabeth McGeown)

Peziza proteana f. sparassoides

It always happens in the dead of night.
The designated time is 3:01.
A crackle, then the branches catch alight.
The mummers dance in circles. Is this fun?

Or is this something else? A desperate plea
to ancients who have something in their grasp:
A spark of something that resembles She
who gave the Earth its bounty, aeons past.

The sweat pours down the faces of the men
who cry impossible dreams to the sky.
When they catch sight of it they shout Amen!
The cauliflower, launched, begins to fly

towards the bonfire, thrown by hope and hands.
Their last meal burns, around them famine stands.

EM

Image via Flickr

#8 - Snakeskin Grisette

Ecdysis

After Snakeskin Grisette (Amanita ceciliae) 

Tonight, I feel compelled to shed my skin

and hurl this tarnished outer self aside.

I ask you for relief and you provide.

You tranquillise me with your liar’s grin.

A schism of the body and the mind – 

like exorcising every anxious thought.

We can’t always unlearn the things we’re taught.

Tonight, I want to leave myself behind.

Another drink, and all the layers shift – 

my outline fractures, leaves a perfect shell.

She looks just like me, eyes as dark as hell.

This hollow shadow woman is a gift. 

Irresolute, her name dies in my throat; 

the empty bottle makes the lowest note.

Listen to the poet perform the poem here.

Image via Unsplash 

#4 - Lemon Disco

Synesthesia 

After Lemon Disco (Bisporella citrina)

 

On nights like these, we chase the sultry beat,

our bodies soft and yielding to the sound.

The citrus-scented rhythm guides our feet;

we trace our secret sigils on the ground. 

 

We conjure lemon groves with rolling hips;

a reckless incantation, wild and pure. 

The music tastes like sunshine on our lips –

this movement is the symptom and the cure. 

 

All sharpness soothed, all apprehension eased,

all doubt surrendered to the sultry beat.

When bad times bruise, when obligations squeeze,

this dance can make those sour fruits taste sweet. 

 

Our music makes our brokenness feel whole – 

we move to shake the anguish from our souls. 

 

LM

Listen to the poet perform the poem here.

Image via unsplash.com