The Crooked Things – Limited Edition Silk Scarf by Thackray

A designer silk scarf, made to order in a worldwide edition of only 50.

Handcrafted from 18 momme mulberry silk twill, The Crooked Things measures 90cm with hand-rolled hems. Its design reflects the poem’s theme: beauty in crookedness and imperfection. With its off-centre geometry and irregular rhythm, it is both a fashion accessory and literary artefact.

• Material: 100% Mulberry Silk, 18 momme

• Size: 90cm x 90cm

• Finish: Hand-rolled hems

• Edition: 20 pieces worldwide

• Price: £350

• Availability: On request only – made to order, with delivery within one month from order.

Inspiration

Some poems arrive slowly, like mist creeping over a field. Others strike with the clarity of a bell. The Crooked Things began with one such moment. It started with an overheard conversation between two strangers on a train.

The women spoke casually, sharing memories. One of them laughed as she recalled “the ugliest dog I ever knew,” a weathered old thing from her childhood. Scarred, crooked, half-broken. Then, with a small shrug and a smile, she said, “I’ve always loved scruffy things. Maybe it was that dog that made me that way.”

That line stayed with me. In its offhand honesty was something tender and profound. It held the idea that our affections are shaped not by perfection, but by the imperfect. The crooked. The flawed and the full of heart.

This poem is a response to that moment. It is a story of childhood, of odd companionship, and of the quiet imprint that rough-edged creatures can leave behind. It speaks to how the strange, the broken, and the misaligned often shine brighter than the flawless.

Whether you are searching for The Crooked Things poem, looking for poems in the spirit of Thackray, or simply drawn here by curiosity, I hope you find something in this that stays with you.

The Poem: The Crooked Things

When I was young, not more than eight,
My mother told me, “Don’t be late.
Take soup and bread next door today,
And check the lady’s quite okay.”

Her house sat slanted, paint peeled thin,
A crooked gate, the weeds grown in.
But every time I’d knock and wait,
That dog would charge out through the gate.

A frantic blur of fur and skin,
A twisted jaw, a crooked grin.
Its legs would drag, its back was bent,
Its body shaped by accident.

Its eyes were foggy, wide, and wet,
Its tail a wiry, twitching net.
One ear was torn, the other flopped,
It barked like brakes that never stopped.

She said it once had known abuse,
It bore the marks, both old and loose.
It had been hit, and left for dead,
But now it leapt with joy instead.

We played in puddles, grass, and sun,
It couldn’t run, but still had fun.
And though its face could stir a scream,
It shined with light, or so it seemed.

And as I grew, I came to find
That dog had shaped my heart and mind.
I loved the things not polished bright,
The wonky, wrong, the bent just right.

In fashion torn or clashing hues,
In boys who wore unmatching shoes.
In messy rooms and tangled hair,
In art that leaned but didn’t care.

I chased the things not quite aligned,
The odd, the soft, the unrefined.
My shelves are filled with chipped old things,
Like rusted keys and broken rings.

For that old dog, with patchy skin,
Had showed me joy comes from within.
It never asked for pity’s gaze,
Just chased me in its awkward ways.

It didn’t care for what was fair,
It simply loved, and it was there.
It didn’t flinch, or ask for more,
It shuffled, smiled, and watched the door.

And now I see, though years have flown,
That much of me is dog and bone.
The parts I love, the parts I choose,
Are all the parts that others lose.

Sometimes I wish to knock once more,
And hear those paws across the floor.
To see her smile, that wrinkled face,
And feel that wild and wobbling grace.

But time has passed, and I suppose
That house is empty now and closed.
And going back would split me through,
With ugly love no longer due.

From Poem to Silk

Each Thackray piece begins with words. Poetry becomes image; image becomes cloth. The Crooked Things carries its poem into silk, a reminder that crookedness, like beauty, endures.

Reserve your edition (£350). Each scarf is built to order and delivered within one month from order. Only 50 are available worldwide.