Parables of Dawn: Part II

So as promised, I am posting the second part of the dawn poem that I wrote the morning after I graduated from high school. Partly because I like continuity, partly because it's finally sunny here again, partly because I feel in no mood to stretch my creative tendrils. I posted the other one exactly a month ago, which I swear was not particularly planned. Enjoy!


Gentle sheets cut short my view
Of anything beyond the swing.
The murk obstructs whatever pleasant thing
May occur in the frivolities of dawn today.
The blankets lie dependently too,
Weighing down the trees with gray.

Disowned songs wander in the mist,
Looking for their owners, birds and the like.
The grass scowls from how my feet spike
Its lanugo without any real thought.
I’m sure it could archive its twist
And how against my weight it fought.

The milky film stretched before my eyes
Is not infallible like it seems
As the color settles to cleaner creams
Until the foreground is augmented.
The sheet drops til it lightly lies
Above where the grass has relented.

The grass fondly absorbs the curtain
Until no thread of it remains,
And each grass blade fully contains
A drop of moisture, the soothing dew.
The grass is happy, I am certain,
And I admire the unmuted view.

Haze is never one to linger
And when it leaves, it leaves in good:
The grass is quenched where I had stood.
The pureness glistens on each blade.
The lawn stretches its every finger
Towards the sun that morning made.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Patchwork

The patchwork faded from the year,
With more turmoil than it should require,
The blanket whose whole form is mere
Semblances of far and here,
Lies in the coals of a cleansing dire.
It takes its complaints up with the fire.

And as the seams cut the squares all free,
Their ashes vortex through the space.
When all is done it is time for me
To fashion another from the debris
Of all the moments in their grace.
Their blessing is how they erase.

The segments can be any creed,
And vary in their size and hue.
They’re not a want, but more a need,
And to free them vindicates my greed
And lauds me with a chance anew
To show me what a year can do.

Unpublished Material, ©2010 Cali Digre

SPECIAL DOUBLE POST!!!

Hello! So I'm going to be traveling this weekend, so I will probably be not writing a poem for Friday. Rather, I wrote a poem today to have the conclusion of November, and I'm going to post a poem I wrote the first day of November. Enjoy!
- Cali

first


gray socks on gray clouds,
breaking in their windy boots.
pines break in their taupe-y shrouds,
buildings wear their sunday suits.
hello, November. i missed You.

today’s patchwork fading fast,
decay, delay, and purple skin,
rawness maybe one to last,
thicker layers far too thin.
what, November, don’t turn blue.

quiet save the idle breeze,
dry without the subtle snow,
warmth can travel all with ease,
far better than i could know.
don’t, November, leave me through.

soft is tacky, viscous, taxed,
and yet it all seems fine to keep,
as nature leaves itself relaxed,
i also wouldn’t mind to sleep.
You, November, You can too.


depart

goodbye, grays, browns, mutes,
goodbye November, Your time past.
Your indecisive palette refutes
what i should make of how fast
the time went. nostalgic mange.

between oranges and whites, Your tawnies still
capture the simplicity we should adore.
Your nights can have frost, or even no chill,
Your fluctuations will be here no more.
perpetual cold will seem so strange.

as You sigh softly this afternoon,
Your bare bleakness reminds me of moods,
of how perhaps Your ending soon
will fasten to me different broods.
but Your return You can arrange.

for Your nature is to leave,
and come back when the trees are bare.
it never has done me good to grieve
when i still see You standing there.
thank You for this quiet change.