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Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

CRAZY WEEK

So... finals are just around the corner and I have been up to my throat in work. Friday will be an easier day to post, so I will probably post two poems to atone for this. But for now, here is a poem I wrote in the summer the morning after I graduated. I had been up all night so I figured I might as well watch the sunrise. That precipitated two poems. This is the first one. Maybe I'll post part two later. Enjoy!

~CD


Parables of Dawn (Part I) (June 9, 2010)

The truth is gold, but not in touch,
For all the leaves are painted such.
Their beauty is not such a thing
That calls for trite perfection.
Rather, in the clear reflection,
Perfect sight of all their flaws,
Thought-birds ‘round my iris fling,
Mumbling all about the laws.

And yet the sun illuminates
These concrete little flutter-fates,
So that I see their cellulose
In all their mold and wear.
I ask, “What leaves did once hang there
Before the breeze whisked them apart,
In conduct less than grandiose,
With little whim, and little heart?”

What matters is not where they lie
But how they do bask in the sky,
Whirling by the eyes of Gold.
Their shadows crawl along the grass,
Though they themselves don’t ever pass
In a different, alien shape.
Their inverses never hold
Much more than a breezy cape.

As my eyes flutter in perplex
To make sense of all these subjects,
All that shifts here is their pose.
The leaves retain their stiff aplomb,
But darkness quivers on my palm,
As I stir little on the lawn.
In this vantage that I chose,
I learn lessons from the dawn.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre