This Bluish Morgue

Keep walking through bones clacking
in my leg while dry legal phrases have
me hacking away at tufts of my hair
which resembles the infamous Donald
Trump coif, after taking ergotamine for
the migraine that kept me insomniac last
night & risking gangrene should vaso-
constriction in my head continue unto
fingers, toes and legs; I'm flummoxed

By things like adversary proceedings &
declaring nothing to report in my sad
self-assessment, makes for absence of
existential justification to anchor me to
the world while slowly drifting in a sea
of rising and ebbing depression; my only
certainty is that my hacked-off hairstyle
reminds of a convict lifestyle as befits
a hapless civil servant like me yearning

For the ability to feel enthusiasm and
passion for something - clinging to the
symbolism of the rising sun converting
this bluish morgue of an office block
into a golden promise for tomorrow…

by Margaret Alice Second

Comments (11)

Nice poem it goes with winter
Winter blues manifested marvelously by the nature beautifully portrayed.
The poems misses both rhyme and rhythm... but even in open verses the meter is somewhat edgy. And the emphasis one just a single colour seems to take away some charm from the verses. Reading Robert Francis for the first time... and poems or poets ought not be judged. But taking a leaf out of the poet's work, I have tried a little imitation... with some hints of colour: HERE COMES WINTER Is winter here with its touch of blue? Rough edges hued in ivory white, When autumn left I have not a clue But the days get shorter than the night; The skies are painted a pallid grey Distant horizons a purple tinge, Have wondering clouds all gone astray Anticipating a wintry binge? Avian twitter joyfully spells From atop browning skeletal trees, It commingles with the peal of bells Their holy echoes bear fervent pleas; A lilting mist upon meadows green Lo brusquely kissed by the north wind cold, Here comes winter with its gleaming sheen It’s time to rummage our woollies old. ********
Winter is icy blue, Fall a mute orange, Spring is a sprouting green, Summer a blazing red... O, through the seasons of life we tread repeating ad nauseam inside my head winter transmutes the living to the dead Spring: nature's regenerative flower bed...
Winter comes with a shade of blue all around. Very nice.Loved it.
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