Song of Morgues

Dry veined leaves play
the song of morgues
outside my window
and I dream of green
growing things and dragonflies.

There is a zoo winter cages
in the spirit when freedom
can’t withstand the breath of ice
or legs sentenced to pace rooms.

Sitting among my penciled tulips
I construct a crayon altar to summon spring,
and listen to a cardinal berate a crow
for its coal drop among crimson.

 ©Susie Clevenger 2018



Comments

Sanaa Rizvi said…
My goodness this is good! The imagery in this poem is chilling to the bone! Especially like; "a cardinal berate a crow for its coal drop among crimson."
Debi Swim said…
I agree with Sanaa. That is a marvelous ending.
annell4 said…
Yes, we can create what we long for with the pencil. I like the "crayon altar," perfect!
brudberg said…
I feel like we always try to decorate its walls... but it's still a morgue.
Old Egg said…
How lucky are we creative ones that can envision better times with our fingers on keys or brushes on canvas because we can dream of positive times. How I loved your words.
tonispencer said…
Beautiful work in its simplicity. I love the crayon altar and the cardinal berating the craw.
kaykuala said…
and I dream of green
growing things and dragonflies.

Spring takes too long in coming and everyone are anxiously waiting in the wings!

Hank
Kim M. Russell said…
These lines are just stunning, Susie:
'There is a zoo winter cages
in the spirit when freedom
can’t withstand the breath of ice
or legs sentenced to pace rooms'.
They remind me of Rilke's Panther.
rallentanda said…
What beautiful imagery summoning the spring with your coloured crayons. Not too soon I hope because your Spring is our Autumn and I want to delay that as long as possible:)
Gillena Cox said…
WOW: these lines

"Sitting among my penciled tulips
I construct a crayon altar to summon spring,"

left me breathless!!!

much love...
I love this, Susie! The imagery all throughout is exquisite. That last stanza is worth a few reads!
love the "crayon altar", it's colors pushing back winter, bringing in spring. Lovely poem