Stars II

oh, crude street lamp!
the tinge you cast,
that sickly orange, passed
my shadow. that hue’s clamp
pulled it back til it went last
along the sidewalk. the damp
light forced it to encamp

just under the post.
i look up to nothing kind
but a flickering mind,
in itself too engrossed
to see beyond, behind,
upwards, the skyline coast.
where light is made the most.

but You’re there
even when the fake,
when the imposters make
their fluorescent glare
stronger than i can take,
i trust on nights this fair
that Your light can share.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

THANK YOU FOR YOUR INFINITE PATIENCE!!!!!

At long last I am settled back at home and have reconquered most of my life. So that lets me write poems again. The idea for this one came when I was walking through the Green at night and the wind had an interesting effect on the grass and the lights from the street lamps. Walking through campus at night gave inspiration for two more poems which I will write shortly.

Also, as a reward for putting up with my tardiness, I have a miniature surprise for you all. Sort of. I apologize if you all are not the surprise type.


Spring delivers when the night needs squalls.
The force drapes the blades over my feet
And street lamps give tawny to the lawn.
But these squares flicker in the gale,
As if the light refracted through a sea,
Enough to leave their sobriety,
Enough to let them set sail.
But in the ecstasy the grass is gone,
The lawn is smooth, the dampness sweet.
The ocean appears where the light falls.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre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Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre