Poem of the Day: "Sir Hew Paints Crickets" by John C. Mannone, Frequent Contributor

Sir Hew Paints Crickets

John C. Mannone

Sir Hew enchanted everything with paints. They’d chirp

all shades of green from curled-up hairs of the fiddlehead

fern to the glassy-onyx sheen in eyes of pinewood dolls.

He must’ve been part Gryllidae, for when he readied

to color, he’d lift and rub his forearms together, slip off

his mottled shirt boasting clumps of sky and forest green,

then bite his lips, mix a little spittle with tobacco-green

paint, and set the olive tones by blending in the sour notes

with jealous tints of green that silked the edge of his palette.

And when he had the colors in every hue he wanted

that finally meant to be applied to canvas, Sir Hew

would noise about the palace, as if a metal toy, his voice,

clicking wildly for attention. He then wiggled his papery

butt unto the bar-green footstool, as if it were a wicket.

And he, perhaps a cricket, would hew a piece of rainbow

balanced on a blade of grass in the dew-mist sun, right there

upon the wall would paint the fields of England

with his magic and musical shades of greens (as well as

flitting butterflies) while waiting for the queen.

Poet’s Notes: I wrote this fanciful poem while thinking about crickets. Walt Disney’s Jiminy Cricket together with other creations, like Fantasia, launched me into a fantasy exercise. Not as clever and nonsensical as Dr. Seuss’ rhymes, “Sir Hew Paints Crickets” hopes to enchant with visuals and the sound of words.