The fungi replies (to Cathy’s real country garden)

PETER FRANKIS WRITES

The fungi replies (to Cathy’s real country garden)

 

I don’t know if they are artists’ pallets,
or horses’ hooves
it used to matter, but it doesn’t now.
They grew slowly, in dark arcs
and could support a book.
Their lips are white and moist
But speak another language.

 

Of course my clammy palms & veiny
glow are creepy mon cherie.
But, for a moment stay,
a little closer s’il vous plaît
To anyone who’ll listen
I whisper my refrain.

Hallelujah I sing of rot

and in the cell-by-cell undoing, life lives again
the forest blooms, the garden beds renew.
Here’s my truth, my mystery:
nothing is that hasn’t been
nothing is new
or ever lost.

 

 

In “poetry
Sum(mer) sonnet
In “poetry”
Cry woman workshop
In “poetry”
October 9, 2017
peterfrankiswrites
fungigardenshumourpoemrenewalrot
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2 thoughts on “The fungi replies (to Cathy’s real country garden)”

 

Worthy of Andrew Marvel! ⏳

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