The shiny squat cylinders filled the expanse
And showed an impressive selection of plants
They sat on the deck a harbor to many
An assortment of herbs, and a small frangipani
Their owner, a thrifty and shrewd bargain spotter
Would have, given her druthers, preferred terracotta
And while glossy black glaze in some places looked nice
She’d hoped for red clay – but these were half price
She’d snapped them up quickly and without compunction
Less for their colour and form, than their function
And arranged on the deck they suited the scenery
Particularly now that they sprouted such greenery
The deck area itself stretched into the yard
A broad, roomy platform amid the façade
Scattered with seating and tables and tubs
And surrounded by gardens, tall trees and shrubs
Facing the East and the morning sun’s rays
Breezy and cool, at least on good days
Shaded in part by a sloping verandah
And partially too, by a tall Jacaranda
Where, high up, a bundle of twigs and leaves rested
The site, in the Spring, where the magpies had nested
A safe, secure home, if not regal or grande and
Now in the summer, not entirely abandoned
One magpie remained, a sleek juvenile
Why he’d chosen to stay in that tree for a while
Is anyone’s guess – fear ? – popularity?
Perhaps he just valued the familiarity ?
Regardless, he stayed, and out one day pecking
Discovered the shiny black pots on the decking
And noticing movement, with closer inspection
Saw, for the first time, his own true reflection
Alarmed and attracted, emotions all mixed
The magpie stood staring, completely transfixed
Consumed by all of the feelings that stirred
In the singular sight of that beautiful bird
He hopped to the left, the mirror complied
And in perfect unity, skipped to the side
As each movement galvanized infatuation
Flattery is best expressed by imitation
The bird must have doubted the vision he faced
With the eyes on his head being laterally placed
He could never be sure of what stood right before him
And none but his shade at hand to reassure him
But neither left, right, nor both eyes caused him dis-ease
As he swiveled his head through one-eighty degrees
The vision remained, gorgeous and pure
And the proximity did nothing to quell the allure
The only problem he had – the quandry, as such
Was that, try as he might, they could never touch
Furthermore, if he stepped away only a fraction
His shade, too retreated, in instant reaction
And so remained, both certain, and mystified
A Magpie Narcissus trapped by his pride
Unable to drink, unable to eat
Unable to suffer the loss of retreat
Unable to give up on what he had sought
He found himself, by his own desire, caught
In a love all consuming, unrequited and cruel
Like the tale of Narcissus, the nymph and the pool
…….
Narcissus, the hunter, unmatched in his beauty
Came upon a clear pool, while on hunting duty
And catching a glimpse of his own reflection
Became infatuated with his own perfection
Falling deeply in love with the other he saw
He stayed by the water and could not withdraw
Those beautiful eyes, that skin, those curls
He’d reach out, and lose him in ripples and swirls
But always returning, his watery shade
Kept Narcissus trapped in that reflective glade
Staring, enthralled, unable to think
Unwilling to eat and not caring to drink
Lost in himself he could not break away
waxing and withering day after day
Until finally, still gazing, and un-interfered
His light faded out, and he just disappeared
some time later its told, a forest nymph burst
into the glade, and dying of thirst
knelt by the pool and, drank deeply, and halted
finding the water briny and salted
recoiling, confused, this ancient divinity
enquired of the pool, the cause of salinity
the pond then responded in language bereft
‘That’s my tears, I’ve been crying since Narcissus left’
“I weep for Narcissus, I mourn for his gaze
the way that he stayed here and stared out his days,
and the beauty I treasured right there in his face
is something that I cannot ever replace”
The nymph nodded knowingly bowing her head
Recalling Narcissus, and quietly said
“of course you must miss his wonderful features
he surely was made the most perfect of creatures”
Then with a brief ripple through Lily and lotus
The lake whispered back “you know I didn’t notice”
Was Narcissus beautiful? – I guess that he was
That’s not why I cry – I weep now because
When he knelt above me, to gaze at his guise
I then saw myself, mirrored there in his eyes
My own self, my beauty, my own true complexion
Now without him there – I have no reflection
…….
When we think of the magpie, and two-faced trouble
Should we ask ourselves, what of the double?
The mirror, trapped too in this terrible tryst
Which without the other, would never exist
But if so, the first too would stay hidden from sight
Unless, by a lens, be brought to the light.
Could it be that we only exist by connection
Do we feel we are real, or are we reflection?
Trapped in a glaze and endlessly waiting
A glimpse of ourselves, anticipating
eyes that stop looking, and finally start seeing
and in that recognition, call us into being
and is that the function that love must perform
to finally show us the shape of our form
to show, without love that is reciprocated
we go through this life, never truly created
The magpie, after the longest day, chose
To fly off – encouraged by a squirt of the hose
For the owner of pots could not stand the pecking
Or the mess that the bird had left on the decking
The spell, thus broken, may never have been
Like dust, in a second, erased from the scene
And the owner, while weeding, and planting a creeper
Wished again, that the terracotta was cheaper
