A Pale Hidden Kingdom

Here was my thought process this past week: "Oh wow, what a beautiful mushroom photo...it would be perfect for my fungi poem. But wait, no, I can't post that...what will people think? It's sad. If I post my sad poems, people will think I'm this depressed, melancholy person who never showers or leaves the house. They won't want to read my blog anymore...they'll avoid me and think I'm strange. The poem makes me feel too vulnerable...I can't expose myself like that. I really want to share it, though...what if it resonates with someone else? Ugh...no, I don't think I should post it. Should I?" *repeat 10 times with anxiety*

Poetry is my "let's get real place". It is where I work out not only my joy of life, but more importantly, my struggles, my low moments, my pain...which means it's not always happy. When I feel sad, the poetry starts...I need to get those feelings out. But my sad poems are written about temporary emotions, not permanent states of mind. In the thick of them, I write, I release...I feel better and can get back to my happier self. They are small pieces of me, but not the whole picture. This poem is about those moments when we're struggling and are temporarily overcome with sadness...we've all been there. We fall into a hole for a little bit before gathering our strength, grabbing onto our hope(faith), and pulling ourselves out.

Regardless of my fears, I've decided that my desire to share my poetry is strong enough that I will dare to share it...all of it. It has a message and I hope, as any writer does, that maybe someone will read it and feel connected, or less alone, or validated. So here it is, my fungi poem. I post it with pure intentions and a compassionate heart for the difficulty of sitting with those sad moments...

For this image, I surface blurred Kim's "partings" texture (thank you for that tip, Kim!) to add purely tonal changes to my image. I liked the very subtle effect! I used the Darker Color blend mode, at 52%.

FUNGI

In the right conditions
My sad thoughts thrive
Growing overnight like a
Patch of mushrooms
Deceptively bland on
The surface, yet their gills
Gape like open wounds
On the underbellies of
Wickedly smooth caps
A pale hidden kingdom
Fruiting into my spirit
The root of the root
And I try to choke them
Trampling them in the grass
Pelting them with pebbles
But they keep growing back

So I whisper to them, plead
With my silver tongue
Gouge them with my golden pen
Tend to them helplessly and
Toss away the mossy rocks
With a hand's human span
So they can breathe across
This presentiment of loss
Will they ever be
Done with me, I think to
Myself, as I wait in this
Perilous place, and they
Absorb my turmoil's shapes
Sporing the wan curves
Of my ache.

© Sherri Brannon

"Poetry is the way I pay attention, appreciate, give praise, struggle, grieve, rage, and pray. It’s the way I embody my love for the world." ~Ellen Bass