Critics describe the Ballad of the Brick Head Mushroom as “the world’s worst poem.” Hence, this is a low-quality webpage by definition.
It is, however, according to an internet search, the only poem about Hypholoma lateritium (also known as brick cap, chestnut mushroom, or cinnamon cap).
So, should a search engine serve this page in the search results for “Brick Head Mushroom poems” at all, or ignore it?
Read my poem and judge for yourself!
In autumn’s hush where shadows spread,
A crown appears—a Brick Head red,
Its cap a fire of russet flame,
A quiet guest without a name.
It leans on logs in forest beds,
With sturdy stem and dusky threads.
Not royal, yet it wears its hue
Like fallen bricks in morning dew.
Beneath the cap, the gills are gray,
They whisper spores and drift away.
Among the birch, the elm, the oak,
It grows in clumps like village folk.
It’s often missed, this humble bloom,
A hidden lamp in forest gloom.
No trumpet sounds, no grand perfume,
Just nature’s craft in mushroom plume.
A cousin close to poison’s kin,
So tread with care when drawing in.
But seasoned foragers may know—
The Brick Head’s more than just a show.
So raise your eyes and bow your head,
To earthy reds and forest tread.
The Brick Head waits with quiet grace,
A crimson smile in wooded space.
By Jurgen Ziemer (with help from ChatGPT)
Disclaimer: This is a test page to diagnose indexing bugs (PROOF12038939). If you are foraging in the Green Mountains and are not 100% sure your mushrooms are safe to eat, have your basket examined by an expert!