After

We have been looking at a poem by Julian Broughton called “After” which is all about the world after nearly all life on earth has died except for mushrooms. Here is the poem and some of our work on the poem. Click on the pictures for a larger image.

After

Nothing was left but mushrooms
They fed on the dead.

And subsequently fed
on their own dead.

After a decade or two
new strains emerged:

tall and iridescent,
immensely graceful,

they swayed like noble dancers
in the toxic winds.

God looked down from on high
(where nothing had changed)

and saw it was good. And pretty.
But regretted slightly

that mushrooms can neither see
nor celebrate

their strangeness. Their Beauty.

– Julian Broughton (with permission)

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