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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A SF poem using tanka verses.

Submitted: February 07, 2011

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Submitted: February 07, 2011



Endless hulking thing
Loathsome green and rotting, like
Vegetable mass,
A roiling mountain of slime
Hovering way overhead.

Hovering for hours
Then curling back and bunching
Up into itself,
A bloated mass of green slime
Like an ocean of jelly.

Pulsing and roiling
Like an animal, not plant
The fungoid growth churns,
Seething, writhing, and swirling
A moving mountain of slime.

Pustules like footballs
Cover the fungoid, splitting
Open suddenly,
Disgusting ichor pouring
In waves down the slime mountain.

Glistening wet mass
Of vegetable matter,
Amorphous fungus
Soars into the sky; ready
To drop on intended prey.

Mammoth pseudopods
Of fungus, weighing thousands,
Or millions of tonnes
Curl out in front of victims
Blocking off their escape path.

Other pseudopods
(Mounds of muck ten metres tall!)
Falling round its prey
Slickening with slimy fluid,
As great pustules burst open.

Flowing fungoid mass
Massive amoeboid monster,
Rising higher and
Higher, like a tsunami
Rearing, readying to crash.

A green, fetid ooze
Pouring continually,
Down a slime mountain
Reabsorbed by the body,
Before it reaches the ground.

Pseudopods rearing
Sentient (or at least with
tremendous instinct),
Lurching toward likely prey
Outmanoeuvring its victims.

Ever forming new
Fingers, to replace old ones,
Fungal pseudopods
Slopping, sploshing, and squishing,
Swaying obscenely forward.

Oozing corrosives
Slime that can eat through metal,
More destructive than
An industrial acid,
Penetrating any wall.

The slime burns right through
Glass and metal, entering
Any hideaway,
Melting through brick and mortar
Plastic, even hardened steel.

Impervious to
Anything but fire, pulpy
Pseudopods of slime
Retreating from any flame,
Frying and dying in heat.

Sentient slime waves
Flowing toward the flames, to
Try dousing the fire,
Trembling at each fiery lick
Pustules bursting like balloons.

The pustules become
Pockmarks in the fungoid’s flesh,
Slimy muck blackens,
Smokes, withers and falls away
From the whooshing flame-throwers.

Fungus shrivelling
Under the flame-throwers’s heat,
Rising and falling
Like tides in an angry sea,
As the fungoid slowly dies.

© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts,
Melbourne, Australia

© Copyright 2017 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.

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