An Ode to Fungus

Now that fall is giving way to winter, I'm going to re-post a poem that I wrote two years ago, about this very night. The first killing frost, and the last night for mushrooms until the thaw.

Hark A Poem

The mushrooms will come no more.
The Bishop’s Mitre succumbs to hoar
Standing firm in proud virtue
They soon know a cold that's all and true

The Marasmius fairy rings do crack and brown
Nipples held aloft will
Soften, then lay down
In short cropped pasture
In long neglected lawn
The night time dancing fairy rituals
Which go unseen are gone.

Chanterelles, which have heroically
parted and plied the duff
Will soften, ooze and rot,
Having said enough is enough.
My dear Cyanescens
Who seem to know their part,
Will brown, blue, black
Thus finishing their art.

Solace does show on this frosty morning
New light shimmers on bejeweled ice of night
Crowned in gold, the sparrows
As they spread their wings in flight.
And yet, firm wine Russulas
Continue in their way.

In moist moss forests
Feed Flying Squirrels by night
Scaphinotus beetles in the day.
The time of the fungus, again it’s come and gone.
Cycle upon cycle, darkness spins to dawn.