Rising. A poem by Vinny Glynn-Steed

In a place they call lemon field, mushrooms grew in clusters and abundance.
They would pick the fungi each year
for local families to enjoy
and share together.
The same field that I jog around now alone
feel my chest tighten in the rise and fall of slope.
Where I count the artificial distance between each field post.
Watch how blades of grass separate like an ancient command to water
or as if something carries on the breeze.
Hear the distant call of greylag goose down at the lake
imagine their vast numbers rising
like mushrooms tossed in a pan
the smell of butter sizzling
and laughter of the people.


Vinny from Galway is widely published abroad and at home. His work has appeared in journals and online such as Crannog, Ofi Press, Parhelion, Skylight 47 to name a few. He has placed in numerous competitions. His first chapbook will be published later in the year with Maytree Press.

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