storm clouds

So it's been both storming and beautiful here, so I figured it'd be appropriate to post this poem about a spring thunderstorm I wrote last May. Yay storms. Yay.... walking in the rain.

storm clouds

whatever Verdant in our mists
tonight lies prey to grips severe
and splinters borne out from fists
of a thunderhead austere.
the air is trembling in fear.

the hairs rise straight on backs of Grass
and the blades sharpen and hum a tune,
synonymous with the pitch of glass
clamoring in the choir of june,
far too loud to spy the moon.

white flowers are born from Sickly skies
and bloom downwards in a spiral of mirth.
the pearls as petals fall in guise
to give false richness to the earth
as clouds draw close to cinch and girth.

in curtains too wet to be couth
this much i learn from heavy scenes,
for this is thunderstorm time’s truth:
since the wind does carry the Leaves it gleans,
violence is attracted to Greens.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Cali's on a Plane

Hey all- So I'm traveling this weekend and I had the privilege of 10 hours of travel time. So that sucked. BUT I got to enjoy how everything looks the same from up on the plane. Yay planes. Maybe not airports.

Seat 7A

Forest smog
Parking bog
Downtown thicket
Wheat field picket
Freeway river
Migraine giver:

Aluminum
Wings and numb
Fingers where
A nap was. There,
My book shakes,
Sickness takes

Motion and
Makes a grand
Adventure out of
Tiny text or
Maybe of a score
Of weak glances.
Only my chances

Of relief are
Small. But then far
Away the ground
Will meet us. Found
Footing. Airport hive.
Airplane dive.

Sick

So I've been sick for the past couple days, which has inspired this poem. The second poem is a cute pseudo-sonnet I wrote in tenth grade when I was also sick. Feeling like crap= creativity flowing? Works for me.
~CD

Senses

A winter palate subtle
For keener eyes to like,
The bland loss in the muddle,
I love when colors spike.

Immunity from gnashing sounds
When decibels appear
May give my satisfaction grounds,
But white noise charms no ear.

Exhaust fumes on busy streets
Cannot be vilified,
Nor notes of softer glacial fleets
Be more sanctified.

Utilitarians can’t see
Adventure is a game.
Differences, but to me
Every food the same.

Desaturate the landscape,
No detail makes it slow.
The sun can’t burn my nape,
But I can’t feel the snow.

“Sense” is a droned noun,
Where “emphasis” had stood.
The bad in my life is toned down,
But then, so is the good.


Bugs in My Body (12/18/07)

There’s a mosquito in my brain.
There’s a beehive in my lung.
Each are buzzing without refrain
And when I swallowed, they stung.
There’s a dragonfly soaring in my nose,
There are beetles in my ears.
Each are chewing me from head to toes
And clapping their wings as jeers.
These insects are pestering me night and day
And ‘til then I wait for my cold to go away.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre