Mushroom Hug

Mushroom sprouting in ivy

Mushroom smiles,
arms akimbo,
for a mushroom hug.

Hey, don’t shrug!
It’s a mushroom hug.
Can’t see it?
Don’t throw a fit.
Smile wide as me,
and you’ll see it,

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Note: I hope you see the hug, same as me. ūüôā My rhyme is disorganized, perhaps I should call this rhyming ADD. My words have executive function issues, but as my eldest would say, Who cares? It’s a brave new world of “whatever works.” But does it work? Hope you’re having a great weekend!

East Tower

Mushroom growing from Tree knoll

The ad was enticing:¬†“River view,¬†private entrance,¬†doorbug, generous¬†acorn storage¬†and no neighbors for¬†several fae furlongs —¬†a successful fairy’s¬†dream residence.”¬†Mister Fister the Fighting Fae¬†was tired of ducking admirers¬†and signing the wings of fluttering fans.¬†The East Tower was perfect¬†for a beleaguered celebrity.¬†Much more salubrious¬†than the Fungus Lloyd Wriggle¬†Condopolis down below!

Tree lined with bracket fungus

In he moved, shouldering¬†his thistle-woven boxing gloves,¬†his collection of iridescent scarabs¬†and a bevy of trophies. He wandered, room to room,¬†looking for the perfect chair. The silence was louder¬†than a roaring crowd.¬†He missed his Russian Stag Beetle neighbor’s pine needle symphonium. He even missed the relentless creole creaking of the Louisiana crickets.

He moved back to the condopolis within a fortnight, and his fans welcomed him with a party that lasted a week. Noise complaints lodged with the FES (Fae Enforcement Squad) resulted in the deployment of several FES officers, but they joined the party. The Nectar Nippery was drank dry, the Buttery Bakery eaten empty, and the Pudding Palace was completely consumed. Several bankrupt fans fled the trolls, and Mister Fister lost his next match. He never regretted a moment.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Mushroom Abloom

Mushroom abloom

Misty morning rain —
Abloom go fairy umbrellas.
Sprites huddle and hide —
Only a toe might show.
Mushrooms glisten.
Gilded droplets
form slowly,
roll to the center —
a pool of fairy nectar.
Deer step warily,
brown eyes dewy, and
nibble mushrooms.
Sprites tickle their chins
and spin widdershins.
So again it begins.
Hide and seek with the fawn
till Mama Doe gives a yawn,
and the rain is gone.
So are the mushrooms.

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham

Green Path


Visit the hidden places,
hear the river speak rapids,
follow paths winding into wilds.
Find bear tracks, see fish glint,
and listen for moose.
Live in harmony.
Pitch your voice’s timbre
to meld with wind,
soughing in pines,
distant thunder’s grumbles and
crows, complaining blackly.
Hear sparrows gossip.
Match your silence to
the joy of sunshine
on all growing things.
Follow the green path,
and your voice,
unheard in the wilds,
will be thick with thoughts,
sprouting like mushrooms
in the dark, fertile places.

Mushroom abloom

Copyright 2015 Brenda Davis Harsham