Poem poem poem

This poem was inspired by the hour I waited in line outside to sign up for a weekend excursion. People were not particularly fun or exciting, but I certainly wouldn't say the same about the shadows from the building I was standing under and how it moved over the sidewalk.

Moral: Our choices are affected by what others are and do, sometimes negatively.

Slow, little shadow, slow.
Your post is a building,
But yet you move, and grow.
I can even watch you gilding
The sidewalk, your wake the sun.

But is it really your choice to glide?
I wouldn’t think so. Under a cloud,
You cower, soften, pull your head inside.
You vanish under any shroud.
Your free will doesn’t have much fun.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre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Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

A Shadow's Warning

I dance along as if to send
A messaged track
To any shape willing to lend
A form or two
For many who desire a new
Beginning black.

And over bumps perhaps they grew
But cannot mend
The lattice that the free forms do
Possess. They lack
The architecture of attack.
Thus my thoughts wend:

A quiet shape prey to a crack
Should dictate few,
When it holds no purpose to back.
And as I bend,
I cannot know how to defend
My will from you.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Shadows on an Evening Snowbank

I am alone when it is night,
When the ground holds nothing to see.
Darkness does not open doors.
The squeaking snow my only trace,
The sound floats in its frosted space.

But I suppose the night ignores
The silhouettes that are cast free
When any small flame shows its might.
My shape distorted on the snow,
Movements betrayed in a lamppost’s glow.

Watching you is watching me,
Mistakes I make transcribed as yours.
You’ve become my shadow, when in light,
Appearing on my conscience’s shelf.
Not often I learn from myself.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Shades and Snow

Colors have no need for praise,
They seldom hold to subtlety.
They cannot hold eternity.
A suited tenure could be glaze.
Upon a surface they gently graze.

The thicket hollow with its ash,
A quiet hue of restful art,
So that trees can’t be told apart,
The darkness does to hide a gash,
Enchanting with its somber flash.

All things romantic tend to be black,
Best camouflage for small mistakes,
Ignoring what existence makes.
It also hides what good they lack,
Not knowing when the light comes back.

The trees are shadows for the snow,
Silhouettes who outlast their theme,
Dark lines that withstand a dream.
As limbs are covered with silky glow,
Their shaking sleeps. The night is slow.



Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

PS: I took the picture too [: