XIII poem

This is an example of a poem that doesn't really have a clear moral message. I wanted to keep playing around with my more artsy side and write a more descriptive poem, once again inspired by Sognsvannen. Sognsvann deserves its own label for inspiration. Anyways, note the huge run-on sentence that is the first stanza and how the words spill over onto the other line, like a wave spills over onto the shore.

Well, I guess this kind of has a moral of some things just don't come back, while some do, but I'm not going to press it like I do with the other ones.

The heartbeat of the lake is aud
ible from the coastline and col
ors swing from blue to a god
ly gold that sticks to a hull
bottom of a boat that drags it
self along the ground like a ser
pent before it leaves forever to sit
uate itself on a silken path of blur.

Not a wave upon the shore.

It doesn’t greet you anymore.

The twelfth poem

I've been spending a lot of time at Sognsvannen, a lake on the north side of Oslo where I've started running every other day. About 5/6ths of the way through my run, I always take my sneakers and socks off and dip my feet in the water on this beach. Today I watched a duck going about its business, eating and stuff, before it turned to me, saw me, and flew off. It made a very lovely wake because the water was so still, which inspired this structure.

Moral: There is always someone above you and below you. You are fearful and to be feared.

The duck swam.

Its feet made waves
In a perforated triangle.

And the duck spoke: “I am
A master now. My choice saves
This certain grass from being eaten.

“But oh, I am so far from the highest view.
The danger I feel! Often I fear a wolf will mangle
Me by my neck. But, even then, a wolf can be beaten.
By you.”

Unpublished Material ©2011 Cali Digre

Poooooooem (7 o's long)

Today I took a hike in Nordmarka and around Sognsvann and encountered this:



Since this pond was so smooth I literally couldn't tell what was it and what was the sky, I decided it would make a nice poem.

Moral: things may be similar, but they are not the same.

Water blends too well with things,
As if it were all on single strings.
A certain place finds my eyes,
Not to be described as one noun.
They clouds are gray, this place like ashes.

And so I watch it, and I
Am positive that this is the sky.
But a little boy splashes,
And then I realize
I’ve been looking down.

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