Friday, May 18, 2012

Spirited Magpies

playfully exchange trees.
Alternating between birch and maple
they compete for the highest branches.
Striking and athletic,
I delight in their performance.

From close proximity,
their plumage flashes a metallic blue
white underbellies,
lustrous as virgin snow.
Strutting boastfully
lofty tails held high,
I contemplate their beauty.
Standing solid
against an lifeless sky
feathers ruffled,
they remain

Moving in pairs.
My superstitious mind
cites “two for joy”.
I wonder in amusement
if the most dominant one
on the arched limb of my silver birch
is my father’s spirit?
His characteristics
are so similar.


  1. Jack the neigbourJune 15, 2012

    fine poem Máire, although these birds are a pest you can't help but like them

  2. Jack my dear neighbour, thank you for your comments. Yes you have to love them if you think they are your father!! and even if they are not, they are playful birds and fun to watch when sick as I was when I wrote this. Máire x