Malcolm Howie, painter of fungi
bound his watercolours and died, aged 36.

From age 16 he was unable to walk, and towards the end of his life
only able to paint with movements of his wrist.

I consider making a crude analogy out of his demise.

Mushrooms spring up with autumn rain, expand, shed
their spores, and decay; all in a matter of weeks.

It crumbles: fungi do not atrophy, they do not fail.
When a fungal flower perishes
it has done its work until


Click here to read the full poem with the author's original formatting » 

Permission to use their words kindly granted by
Natalie Harkin and Loraine Padgham.



Bonny Cassidy reads 'Grounds'