Thistledown Poems | Examples

Katherine Hepburn

You built your house upon the mist,
The sea-sigh cradled every beam,
And winds like lost and wistful souls
Would lean against your fevered dream.

You wore the sky against your hair,
The stubborn stars beneath your feet,
Your laughter was a thistledown —
Too wild, too swift, too fleet.

In Adam’s Rib, you wove your song,
A silver thread through jest and war,
Bright was your spirit, fierce and long,
A river breaking on the shore.

But storms came calling at your door,
And none could hold them back or plead;
The walls were torn, the hearth was drowned,
The sea had learned your creed.

Yet still you rise — a ghost, a flame,
A prayer stitched into rain —
The salt remembers your brave name,
And we remember all your pain.

Whisper

The balmy breeze wafted over the prairie,
Where yellow cowslips huddled in patches.
And here and there I heard a whisper echoing:
Love her, love her, love her.

     But she seemed deaf and preferred the wounded wind.
     How easy it was to forget and never recapture
     All my wistful whisper, I would always love you. 
     Those sweet nothings of past affections.

We no longer trudged the path made up for two.
Forgotten were those bygone days
When we believed that thistledown tufts
Were really friendly fairies in disguise.
 
     Thus she escaped my clutches
     And like a unicorn disappearing in an eclipse,
     I headed for a dull and empty living
     Blaming her uselessly for I still loved her.

Weren't we the product of our time?
We slammed the doors of love in our own faces,
Building woeful walls around us
Painting it with a tinge of misunderstanding,
When we could lead such a colorful life,
Giving our hearts a chance,
Laughing at ourselves.....
And sending a whisper,
      a woeful whisper to the moon above. 

Placed First

Butterfly Dreams-Nursery Rhyme

There was an old woman, who lived in town,
She had seven cats, all of whom wore frowns,
When crimson butterflies left, each sundown,
Off to their sweet dreams, in the thistledown.

Much more fun to run in sun and green grass,
Then going to bed, with pearl moon, at last;
But, in puss dreams, butterflies made a splash,
They were all colors flying, while cats dashed!


Written on 2/22/2023
For: Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper

Goldfinch

Plumed gems
flit and flutter
from whitest Queen Anne's Lace
to purple thistledown; roadside
attraction.

Abandoned Angels

We played a lot of games,
the stars dancing of their loud laughs.

They seemed cluster of angels
surrounded me with their songs too.

I wanted to close my eyelids,
to listen their innocent voices.

Their sadness was still very lucid,
like hanging thistledown in space.

And their midnight painful pules,
cleaved and grinded me unceasingly.

All Alone and Flower Fables

pouring rooibos tea for no one
  but me.
    the high whistle would not
      be a sound
        if it was all alone.

still, i set out three florid cups —
to gratify Lily-Bell and Thistledown.*

    the fairies love the blue rose
  and butterfly inside
my fine porcelain.

later, I shall set aside
  the Flower Fables*
    and long stem conversation.

    i shake out the welcome mat
  with all its earthly problems
and exact a calligraphic invitation.

i lay down the sublime —
  it waits for your shoes
    teeny or otherwise
    
    and silver wings
  golden halo
fairy dust.

    that’s you because i say so
  it’s been too long —
even a day, without you!

3/16/2020

*Flower Fables by Louisa May Alcott

Hurt In the Coldest Night

The cold hands of the night crept in from the walls,
But hurts like the slave master's steel,
And still, the shivers building up around my spine stung from within my glommy soul,
Shattering my nerves and rib cage,
Leaving me like a broken detached segment of glasses.

A drowsy murmur floats on the air like thistledown,
Killing me softly,
Like a giant galleon overhead, 
Looking like some misty monster of the deep,
An implacable foe, imminent and overmastering peril.

I lacked the soothing warm heart of a companion,
To hold me close and chase my fears,
In a tone of unconditional love and satisfaction,
I'm ardently and enthusiastically convinced,
It's my choice, based not on a fundamental error,
In a lonely and darkest hour of the night,
Where there was no love found and no love lost.

Goldfinch

plumed gems
flit and flutter
from whitest Queen Anne's Lace
To purple thistledown roadside
treasure

Massacre of Glencoe

Early in the morning of 13 February 1692, in the aftermath of the Glorious Revolution and the Jacobite uprising of 1689 led by John Graham of Claverhouse, a massacre took place in Glencoe, in the Highlands of Scotland. This incident is referred to as the massacre of Glencoe, or in Scottish Gaelic Mort Ghlinne Comhann, or murder of Glencoe. The massacre began simultaneously in three settlements along the glen—Inverness, Inverrigan, and Achnacon—although the killing took place all over the glen as fleeing MacDonalds were pursued. Thirty-eight MacDonalds from the Clan MacDonald of Glencoe were killed by the guests who had accepted their hospitality, on the grounds that the MacDonalds had not been prompt in pledging allegiance to the new monarchs, William and Mary. Another forty women and children died of exposure after their homes were burned.


             the air brisk
as it moves across the clover
        rolling thistledown
heart tendered tears cascade
through, sacred sod of Glencoe

Freedom Is

riding on 
a puff of wind
thistledown

The Gates of Hell

The Queen of fairies fell asleep
upon a bed of thistledown.
And didn't notice the hours creep
as she dreamt of a golden gown.

She was to meet the setting sun,
so she waited with bated breath.
For at dusk, they will merge as one
and together conquer death.

Darkness shrouds the sun as it dies,
draping the night in ebony.
But, she was too sleepy to rise,
and missed her date with destiny.

She woke to find there was no sun,
its light would never shine again.
And such things couldn't be undone,
despite her overwhelming pain.

She sent her magic to the sky,
but all the stars silently fell.
And alone, she began to cry,
like she'd opened the gates of Hell.


(Quatrain)


6/19/2015

Vaccinated Vine Street

Blowing up
On the thistledown tail 
Dancing in grooves 
Of Vulcans palm
Printed in a horses ear
Swimming in a fish's gills 
Cleverly caught 
To be spread on butterfly wings
Shouting, “I want the sun”
Til’ our buttress burned  
In an atmospheric tumble
Down to a rotten oak stump 
Swallowed by a spider
Who creeped into a castle
To spit me out
Onto a mousetrap of mirth
Finally freed
To be knighted 
By the goddess of doom
Flicked on the rose garden 
Hastily honored 
From the tip of the royal thumb
Stomped under sauntered shoes 
Of the blackfoot blues
So off I went
Only burgundy beside me
I believe I've had enough 
Of this dime-store romance
On vaccinated vine street

Wild

The wild asses' rough hair 
Similar to their diet of briars and thistledown
Kicking and braying and sit down

A wild donkey was he 
Not understanding nor had sympathy
Much like the wild ass when he said,

"You do not realize that it is better for 
you that one man die for the people 
than that the whole nation perish."

Caiaphas one wild ass of a man...

He did not understand at all for 
Christ's death brought Salvation 
Redemption to all who believe.. 
By His death, all can come into 
His Kingdom and have life eternal.. 

Scripture reference: John 11:49

The Thistledown Fairy's Crown

Thistledown wus his name and sometimes he stung, well actually his stem stung. The stinkers gave him a bad name, they did! Handsome wus he. Aye, the ladies loved him. Coming near to his full bushy head of royal purple pomp, thought he smelled good too, they did, bees to his honey.

Summer time was his time, the time to bloom. His thorns served as fairy swords. An', on mass, he an' his guarded the fey's mound. Thistledown kept the cows from trampin' the wee ones. An' the cow plops from offendin' the Royal's wee noses. No hoof falls made treacherous the field's lay. 

Suren, he wus sharp this fine boyo. He did 'ave a soft side, a sure sweetness. When fall's goddess Mordron* brought the chill down, he softened. Queen Mab* sent fey to catch his whitened crownin' glory, as each strand, a silken treasure, soft fell and so, Ole Thistle lost his head, for from his crown, and its down, wur made sheets of silken softness for the Tuatha De Danaan's* beds. 

*Goddess Mordron/Welsh mythology, Modron ("divine mother") 
* Queen Mab of the Fairy
* Tuatha De Danaan pre-Christian gods represented as heroes or fairies.
[Tribes of the goddess Dana]

Life Is Good

Life is good and serene I sit,
For I never need to question it;
There's much I know that's odd no doubt,
But nature knows what it's all about.
Could things be different than they are
When all's in place from stone to star?
With thistledown that dips and flies,
On the wind with butterflies.

We try to feel the cosmic touch,
And know that we don't matter much;
A million stars up in the sky,
A million planets fall and die;
A million lives created you,
A million more have died for you.
Immortal we spend eternity,
With other lives we never see.

But sad to say, don't blindly grope,
For lives we live beyond our hope;
With never death but ever change,
Eternal walk on earth to range.
With sorry lives we tell to all,
Of life's amazing carnival.
Just live the life that in you lies,
With love for life that never dies.

Life is good and serene I sit,
And loving every part of it;
I place my trust in my Father's plan,
And try to help Him all I can.
And in a million year or so,
We'll know more than today we know. 
So I'm glad to come and take my place,
To hold hands with you and run the race.

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