Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009

Gnome Balcony

by Ross Kightly

I miss Tyehra so much - our ‘romance'
may have been brief, passing as swiftly as
the stroke of His brush across her hair,
her cerulean eye, her so perfectly-restrained swell
of bodice, but I knew we were made for each other. 
 
I know He knew that too!
In the Case, we were stood side-by-side, my elbow
just touching her marshmallow-plump shoulder,
her exquisitely delineated smile turned towards
my roguish, still virile grin of mischievous
anticipation.  Her basket for the mushrooms ever
tapping gently against the butt of my rifle -
no fishing-rod for me! I've always been
a Hunting Gnome - my Quarry now
evade me for Eternity, of course!
 
Here I am, crammed in, far from the blessed Earth,
long miles from the Forest, unable to scent leaves,
bark, the blissful sweet aroma of tree-trunks going
back to soil - I'm crushed amongst  these crude
travesties, these epitomes of debasement -
mass-produced garden-centre ‘gnomes'! 
 
Oh, sure, the Old Chap and his Missus are
kind enough - they keep the pot-plants watered here,
the lurid foliage at least obscures the ‘view', but
there is no-one here of Tyehra's sweet intelligence! 
Where is she now?  I will never know but
wonder, is she somehow in our natural
element, the loam, gathering mushrooms in
some garden, thinking of - not me, of course,
for yesterday I felt the first tickling, insidious hint of
algae in my elbow's crook, the one that cradles my
now useless rifle!

Added: 27.04.2009

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