micophile

I wrote this poem early last year and stumbled across it again a week or so ago and I felt this little mushroom should get an airing.






mushroom dreaming dp31

when I was a mushroom
life was simple
the world was dark and warm
and very safe

around me were fungal rhizomes
sprinklings of spores
the odd hard rock and root
and pliable soil

but I was offered advancement
progress, they said
to human form, and now in the light
I feel lost in darkness

so many troubles, wars, torture
economic collapse
I long for regress, to slip back
into the silence of the mushroom

golden cows and non-sense

I couldn't help myself when I saw this golden cow in a hotel foyer in Jaipur. I don't know which book in the Bible it is, but I do remember the movie image from The Ten Commandments which I saw when I was about ten - Moses coming down the mountain and raging about graven images - and I recall a beautiful golden - calf - I think - a bit like this one. No one goes into rages about such things any more.

A nonsense is anything anyone says which you don't agree with and here Queenie is being ironic. If you've been following my blog and reading cow poems for months, it is beginning to come into shape and Queenie is one of the cow characters who has emerged. I'll say more in a later blog, but suffice for now to say that the word queen comes from the word cow!!

what nonsense Queenie says

seven cows came out of the river
heaven born and heaven sent
these cows headed into the storm
unafraid of anyone’s wrath
they set up camp by the next river

the wild storm passed and the cows
ate breakfast of dewy grass
they conjured up a golden calf
to carry all their wealth
seven cows went into the river

gods

The photo is of a cemetery in Comillas in Spain; the poem about a night of poetry at The Gods in Canberra.

gods dp218

the gods we make of ourselves are a door
into the social psyche so many mourn the loss
of gods the goddess of dawn to greet the day
or god in a butterfly teaching metamorphosis
even Camus whose name sounds like a perfect
Sanskrit plural threw away that possibility
in the suburbs men worship the god of lawns
only on a Sunday others follow the dogs paws
while Eve rages against eternal damnation
and gives no gods pause no wings to words
instead psyche is let loose in the city with her
accomplice angel to grace the pages of poetry
books dwelling on death searching for the
ultimate definition of god whether by deception
or by grace only to find that the local gods
have changed their names to Tony and Judy

cows and calves

I was in Udaipur a few weeks ago - a beautiful city - and this mother and daughter pair looked as though they were engaging in one of those deep conversations that happen between mothers and daughters. I grew up with cows and calves but in India I have seen a greater range of behaviours than I ever saw on the farm. I suspect it has to do with group behaviours. When I was a child, if I was with the cows then it was because we were moving them from one place to another. They didn't have the chance to sit around having deep and meaningfuls when we turned up.

what cows and calves say

thunder bolting at high speed
rolls across the corral
shaking it from root to roof
lightning takes off at even
greater speed and the rain comes
trundling after some calves
are fast like bullets others slow
like cycads watching waiting for
everything to pass them by
high speed or low we speak of memories
of the ways our mothers lived their
lives small garden-sized ambitions
revolving around not losing
what is in your mouth under the straw
or expansive ambitious sometimes
cruelly controlling the storm
is backing off just as our mothers
have and we rebellious youngsters
troublemakers unteachable bodytappers
make our own worlds achieving
well-beyond what was imagined we
sometimes whisper in that teenage tone
look what I’ve done

Delhi cows

When we arrived, the brown cow in this image was resting between the bicycles. It looked to me as though these three had had a day out on the town.





Queenie goes shopping

I woke this morning with a need
time for some shopping
I turned to my two best friends and said
come on girls let’s have an outing
the streets were full of fog
so full of fog we had to walk in single file
nose to tail nose to tail

when I walked into the supermarket
they couldn’t believe their luck
I could see it milk and butter on the hoof
it was a different story in the china shop
they wanted me to back out
but I needed to turn a full circle
a great panic all about nothing

and so we mooched about outdoors
we wandered behind the vegetable stalls
picked up some goodies on the way
I sat down near the bicycle rack
for a bit of a break
it would be a long walk home
between the jostling cars and tuktuks

boanthropes

This strange photo seemed strange enough to go with this rather strange poem. I took the photo at the Meenakshee Temple in Madurai. She's a fish-eyed goddess and all the images of her are of a green-skinned woman.

A boanthrope is a person who thinks she is a cow. This page dedicated to shape-shifters!

What she says about boanthropy

if you stand in the path of a boanthrope
you are bound to get hurt
they are said to be dangerously
out of their minds

imagined horns are almost as sharp
as real ones especially since these ones
are convinced of the reality of their horns

eating grass doesn’t mean peace and love to all creatures
were-wolves and were-cows are travellers
whose appetites are great
bedeck them in garlands and they will follow you

Mild mannered cows

When I was growing up, I often overheard my farmer parents talking about particular rogue sheep or cows. I remember a particular cow who was considered a troublemaker. This poem came about when I was thinking about how blame is deflected (especially by humans onto animals).

I took the photo of this cow in Hampi. It is wandering about and at this moment is heading into the temple. Its colour reminds me of that other rogue cow.

What the Mayor says

The cow that strays helps itself to all it gets.
Salma, The Hour Past Midnight. p. 399 New Delhi: Zubaan

this cow is asking for trouble
bringing disaster upon her own head
if she strays across the paddock
into another world where the grass is green
it’s her fault if it’s too rich for her

this cow is a troublemaker
a leader of the pack
you can tell it from her eyes
the way she looks at you
raising and lowering her head ready to fight

this cow is a wanderer
follows her nose along the tracks
ambles off toward the river
before you know it she’ll be bellowing
for rescue from the mud

this cow is untrustworthy
watch how she scrapes her hoof
in the red earth
watch if you will as she stands high
her horns reaching for the sky

a herd of rabble-rousers
and agitators here they come
a social menace
what are we to do
how can we be rid of these firebrands?