magpie poem

Beaking point

You are a magpie
I am the striking gleam that captures your attention
Your excitedly desperate to get your claws on me
But once you’ve poked me around
You realise you can’t tell the difference between fake and real silver
Like the coward you are
You leave me on the ground
In the hurling rain I rust away
After time my rust re ashes into a shiny thing
And here we are again
My gleam strikes your attention
I don’t want this
But Your claws are too sharp for me
to break free
Making me think is this a cycle of nuture or nature
Or me a fool of my own destiny

—  TCS
MAGPIE AT MY WINDOW

MAGPIE
AT MY WINDOW

what have you
got to say for yourself
thief bird, black-white
winged spirt of
dualities?

why all
the fuss?

is this
some kind of warning
or is there something in
that small, black
intense eye, that
raucous, ravenous beak

would bid me
fly
with you
like you

throw myself at someone’s
everyone’s window

find my own
raw song of
challenge

my own
strange silver
speech?

one more fleck of dark
added to the negation of us

what’s left -
the face of all that must be undone

spiderweb rhetoric, heap of poems
meaning nothing


so the magpie dreams itself
into nothing