After reading the myth of Narcissus, try writing a poem that plays with the myth in some way.
If Wordsworth, lonely as a cloud,
Had spotted as his famous crowd
Narcissus blooms across the hills,
Which spectacle his poem fills,
How different would be his view?
Prize goes to anybody who
Will know the view would be the same:
Narcissus is the fancy name
For Daffodils, though theirs goes back
Through Dutch and Middle English tack
To Latin and then back to Greek,
Where origin is hard to seek;
Asphedelus, asphedelos …
The Dutch tacked on the ‘D’, one knows,
And grow them in great quantities
The Wordsworth-fanciers to please.
Narcissus, though, that sorry tale
In some sad versions will regale
One with the myth he faded to
Narcissus flowers; he is who
Loved his reflection, it is true;
Through vanity, forever due
To stare into a pond, although
‘Twas Nemesis who made it so!
For with Narcissus brought to mind
It’s strange how seldom people find
His Nemesis was first, and real;
Love of reflection he would feel —
Through vanity the fate was earned —
But Nemesis it was who turned
His self-love so obsessional
That he became recessional.
© April 2018 Colonialist