Mr Thistlewick

I wrote this for Mrs Elwey, who is my world.

Some time ago now, she requested that I write a poem for her. She did not give me a subject but it had to be upbeat and I had free rein to create whatever I wanted for her… and here it is now for you to enjoy.

Mrs Elwey loves it, and I do too.

It is expectation, a build up to scampering moonlight exuberance. A fun and light hearted piece that tumbled out of the aether, that’s the only way to describe it really…it ‘self-assembled’ very quickly and appeared onto the pages as if I had just blown the dust off revealing the words that were already present.

Not all poetry and prose is like this, some emerge painfully and slowly as you scrape and claw the material from out of the darkness, whereas others dance into the light of their own accord; with a lightness and spring in their step that makes you feel like you haven’t earned the right to call them ‘yours’. In some ways poetry, stories and songs, the ones that resonate probably weren’t ever yours to begin with… they just always were.

Mr Thistlewick…

This is a ballad-stanza rhyme (9 Stanzas with Second — Fourth line rhyme (ABCB rhyme scheme)

I hope you enjoy the poem

Alexander Thistlewick is by day a static physical sculpture and by night something different altogether!

He and his kind represent the nature spirits, the enchanting and mysterious world that is all around us and appears to us if we let it as we leave the bustle of the towns and cities and enter the countryside and allow our internal cogs to stop whirring long enough to deeply appreciate the magnificence, magnitude, mishievousness and miracle of creation that surrounds us.

MR THISTLEWICK

During the daylight hours

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Motionless he stands

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Alexander Thistlewick

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With fishing rod in hand

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A determined plaster gaze he wears

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Hunting goldfish by the pond

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Red hat and emerald tunic

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Camouflaged by fern and frond

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As afternoon slips quietly by

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And sunset’s embers glow

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A fresh faced moon emerges

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And gnome-like shadows grow

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Shafts of moonbeam magic

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Pierce the night time sky

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And collect as dancing jewels

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Glints in the old gnome’s eye

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Through the pools of midnight

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Treading lightly on his toes

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Takes care to leave no footprints

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Through the garden gate he goes

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He heads into the woodland

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Without a backward glance

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Deep within a clearing

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The small folk come to dance

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Enchanted hours pass by

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As gnomes and elves combine

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To whirl amongst the treestumps

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Drinking toadstool wine

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Then as quickly as it started

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Both moon and music fade

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All the mystic creatures

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Leave the leafy glade

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He scuttles back through garden gate

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And takes fishing rod in hand

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Alexander in his poolside place once more

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As daylight greets the land