Wigwag of a Bumblebee

When God looks down,

We speak the wigwag of a bumblebee

Grunts, clicks, ululations,

Warbles and trills.

If we understand each other,

If we can communicate,

Do we have souls?


I think I wrote this poem at the same time that I took the introduction to poetry class in 2015, but I think I wrote it simply for fun. It wasn’t part of any assignment, and I don’t think I turned it in for any kind of credit. I posted it in July 2015, and you can see the original post here: https://therichardbraxton.wordpress.com/2015/07/01/wigwag-of-a-bumblebee/

I think this poem has a good kernel of idea, and I love the line ‘We speak the wigwag of a bumblebee,’ but it gets lost somewhere. I really want this poem to be good, and I think it wants to be good. But it has been a bad little poem and it wants to be punished. lol 😀

That Magical Mushroom Moment–Rhyming Flarf

We had known fungi had a basic knowledge

But it really happened just last week

The day the mushrooms learned how to speak.

They took a course at Texas State Technical College.

Mushrooms drawing the state of Alabama.

Mushrooms driving cars across the lawn.

Mushrooms wearing gramma pajamas.


Mushrooms slipping drippy dried drunk

Sauteed in red wine, butter, and soy

Sauced. Soused. And slapping right turns…


Through crowds of people.

Is that what you thought you’d see?

‘A small increase in blood alcohol,’

You gotta be kidding me!


And Officer I got a good look:

Drunk driver killed a family of killer whales

And telling tales of crapping pants on haybales.

The fleshy, spore-bearing fruiting body

That is the motherfucker right there.

With the shirt with the knitting

That said, “You better ask somebody!”


And what really made me choke

Is the cop let the mushroom speak,

And he spoke.


He said, “I believe in expressing gratitude

To all my addict’s but not all of you.”

He said, “I’d like to thank irritable bowel syndrome

For hitting Adam Bullard and leaving me alone.”

He said, “I chose this nonprofit for their mission

It really means a lot to me as a mushroom.”

He said, “The mushroom of doom.

The mushroom on a mission.

Got me wishin you’d be catchin

My lonely transmission.”


And that’s how all the mushrooms

Got all of their street cred

Because the reporters reported

All the things that he said.


I was inspired to write this poem after I read an absurd internet news article where scientists had discovered the mushrooms have the ability to communicate. The article claims that mushrooms have a language. Here is one of the many articles reporting this: https://www.theguardian.com/science/2022/apr/06/fungi-electrical-impulses-human-language-study

FLARF is a wild style of poetry that started as a joke. People noticed that no matter how bad your poems were Poetry.com would tell you that you had won their poetry prize. Then, they would try to scam you out of your money. So devious poets started sending the crappiest poetry they could write to Poetry.com. Even that would win the poetry prize. These poets began sending each other their crappy poems, and eventually it became a legitimate poetry style. If you want to read more about the FLARF or any of the other poetry terms, check out the glossary of poetic terms from the Poetry Foundation at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms

Google painting is a type of collaging that primarily uses internet search results and Google’s search prediction capabilities to generate quasi-random phrases. The technique helps jumpstart creativity with strange juxtapositions, broken syntax, and internet speak.

Hurston’s Novel People

Henson and the girl. She was a young child,

The little sop. She was there for the blues

Part. And he knew the common terms. Him with

Blues language, mules and men and passion in

The name of English. She knew the language,

The elements of self-threatening blues.

He, the atrium soaring with stout trees.

He knew the big blues structure. She knew things.

The most about the new boyfriend sweet tea:

How he knew to pour on the sugar and

Let it steep in the window fluorescing

In the sun’s beams. They worked in the brown glow

Projected through the tea driving out the

Grinding blues rhythms and its soulful sounds.

August Poem 13: Death Image

But he would experience death. Image

Through the mass of humanity and stop.

Billy was a small kid. Dead. For he was.

He wasn’t willing to wait in all this

Work. It had begun luggage in language.

Today, Jenkins would take full advantage

Acid tearing away your breath. Feeling

Of the badges perks. He walked past the line

Carver of art. The other. The outside.

The gate shook but didn’t budge. Jenkins turned

Converting to Islam. And were he to

This time, he pointed to his badge and said,

A breath mint. A compilation of short

Hey, let me through. The man in the booth scoffed.

July Poem 20

Is the governess a prologue?

James’s discursive field of letter.

The governess said after and then repeated governess.

This phrase could be sign that he had himself.

The reappearance of a story to tell his story

Creates an area of discourse.

I saw he was not hand.


James following this, I took for an argument.

Yes, the competition, the went.

This nothing two more times,

James Douglas.


Elsewhere, Francesco and Miles

Repeat the word. Up until page 6.

Before Miles admits to having

Opened the story to the group.


Before the fact, the manuscript arrives.

And how the author’s hand postpones his telling

Should be referred to as the hand of agree.