Marvel

This is the freshest you will ever get a poem. I did my seasonal outside hand-written poem, and this was finished at 1:31. I then walked back to my room.

Marvel

It is a marvel to be a leaf on a tree
In February. The distinction of survival,
To be bound to your mother like a child,
To be in salvation, hovering over your self-same sea.
That all could be enough for me,
Even if the wind is mild,
The definition of harsh defiled.
The elements are not your rival.

I cannot say the same about the plumes
Of my heart. They wither under the frost
Detached from the skin. This makes decay.
The lanky grass between the stones blooms
Because it opportunizes when a breeze grooms
The snow. It is also where it's meant to stay:
In the presence of winter gray.
And I feel so lost.

Unpublished Material, ©2012 Cali Digre

Endless Rain

I've been writing a lot about the weather lately, but it's been so crazy here that I feel like I can't neglect it. It has been raining/ sleeting for about two days straight, and I cannot say that I'm pleased. I could use some UVA.


Sleet can carry endless weight
That deposits on the bank of snow.
Their muffled march and damage innate
On everything with sanguine glow
Is responsible for the landscape’s state.
Their numbers too boundless to flaunt,
Trees and snow and I go gaunt.

Inceptions, ends have no real value
In a spell like this. One drop falls
As another forms. They make two,
A third one, as it shatters, calls
For imperialism of the few
Puddle places. They may be clever,
But surely it cannot rain forever.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

So... It's snowing again.

So much for the last post... haha. This would happen on April 1st too. Thanks, Mother Nature.



Buds recede and browns prevail.
Back to what resisted switching
Climates. Back to dry leaves twitching.
Back to what is four months stale,
Flora scoffs at spring’s first fail.

Early-rising birch trees sweep
To get the new snow off the old.
They feel betrayal. They were told
That their eagerness could keep.
But now they must go back to sleep.

In flake’s pace green decays to sooty
Colors softened, shades of gray,
Thoughts that spring was here to stay.
Outraged guile may be my duty,
But how could I ever hate such beauty?

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Snow on a Glove on a Chairlift

Hello all-
So I'm on spring break now. Woohoo! I've been skiing lots and so have passed quality time on chairlifts. Yay... Chairlifts.

More mountains than glances
Breath-numbered trees,
Infinite chances
On how it will freeze

On a slope. The snow
Could be frost or near
My face. What I don't know
Is why this flake is here.

It melts on my glove
As if maybe to say
Even if it'd love
To have a longer stay,

This flake had happened
To fall on this hand.
So even in a flap, End
Takes the final stand.

Unpublished material, ©2011 Cali Digre

Late Winter Sky

The wanton climate clipped its fist
To make its way in between
A season’s undernourished sheen
And a new time. A gentle mist
Undoes every icy cyst.

Though not shedding beryl blood
The mountain leaves say “Amethyst!
Our fall colors must still enlist
Patronage.” And so they flood
And mingle with the frost’s scud.

Pure, primary, blue glaze,
Quieter than a spring bud,
Evaporated thawing mud,
Moving towards a verdant phase,
I remain when my eye stays.

And though my life is far from green,
I feel like this deserves some praise,
A progress flourish, Polonaise.
I’ve never seen a sky this clean
In any March I’ve ever seen.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

CRAZY WEEK AGAIN

Hey all-
So.. I did not post yesterday because I had too much going on with finals. Sorry. But I JUST completed this poem. Hot off the griddle. Or something.


Late Winter

The ground uncovers hope.
It may not be ready,
It may be premature to cope,
What matters is that it’s there.
The scenery a faded trope,
It’s nice to become more aware
As the winter and water eddy,
Brighter, gliding, white glare.
The drizzle slides. Steady.

Winter slithers in the rain,
Patches where spring will go
Here, and there. Ice is slain
Over in this puddle rind,
Softened to a liquid pane.
Gone, but I don't mind.
Rain is not my favorite, though
When optimism is aligned,
At least it’s too warm for snow.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

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

Haiku.. In Japanese

Hey all-
So lately I've gotten into the bad habit of writing haiku as a surrogate to doodling. So here are five haiku that I've written this week, in Japanese. I'll provide translation, obviously.

Enjoy!
~CD

食べものは
ちょっとまずいけど
いただきます。

Regarding this food,
It's a bit bad tasting but,
I humbly accept (Literally, a phrase you say before you eat thanking someone for the food)

天と話す。
水をよく聞いて。
だれもいない。

I talk with the sky:
"Listen close to the water.
No one else is here."

わるいうちに、
君に来たいけど
もう出来ません。

In this awful time,
I want to come to you, but
I can't anymore.

雪と氷、
おゆとつめたいの。
何もある。

Oh, this snow and ice、
Hot water and cold water,
All of it exists.

雪と氷、
いつもたてもの
を作ています。

Oh, this snow and ice,
They are forever making
Buildings of themselves.

Unpublished Material, ©2011 Cali Digre

New Snow Villanelle

Oh, endless white, like she were starting new!
And even when the sunset marks the end.
The fanning outwards under silky blue.

The endless rain of feathers lost in hue,
When soft whispers of wind cause them to bend,
Oh, endless white like she were starting new!

It would not be enough to have but few,
And many more to earth the time will send,
The fanning outwards under silky blue.

They are too soft for touch, too tough for chew
But blessed with heart, and blessed by grounds to mend.
Oh, endless white, like she were starting new!

Erasing graft lines would be hard to do.
This snowy sketch would not be good to wend,
The fanning outwards under silky blue.

Against the monochrome I can’t find you,
As if your color was all you could lend.
Oh endless white, like she were starting new!
The fanning outwards under silky blue


Unpublished Material, ©2010 Cali Digre

SPECIAL DOUBLE POST!!!

Hello! So I'm going to be traveling this weekend, so I will probably be not writing a poem for Friday. Rather, I wrote a poem today to have the conclusion of November, and I'm going to post a poem I wrote the first day of November. Enjoy!
- Cali

first


gray socks on gray clouds,
breaking in their windy boots.
pines break in their taupe-y shrouds,
buildings wear their sunday suits.
hello, November. i missed You.

today’s patchwork fading fast,
decay, delay, and purple skin,
rawness maybe one to last,
thicker layers far too thin.
what, November, don’t turn blue.

quiet save the idle breeze,
dry without the subtle snow,
warmth can travel all with ease,
far better than i could know.
don’t, November, leave me through.

soft is tacky, viscous, taxed,
and yet it all seems fine to keep,
as nature leaves itself relaxed,
i also wouldn’t mind to sleep.
You, November, You can too.


depart

goodbye, grays, browns, mutes,
goodbye November, Your time past.
Your indecisive palette refutes
what i should make of how fast
the time went. nostalgic mange.

between oranges and whites, Your tawnies still
capture the simplicity we should adore.
Your nights can have frost, or even no chill,
Your fluctuations will be here no more.
perpetual cold will seem so strange.

as You sigh softly this afternoon,
Your bare bleakness reminds me of moods,
of how perhaps Your ending soon
will fasten to me different broods.
but Your return You can arrange.

for Your nature is to leave,
and come back when the trees are bare.
it never has done me good to grieve
when i still see You standing there.
thank You for this quiet change.

Architect

Balanced on pine and oak and cedar.
Silent the night, silent the air.
Silent the breathing, the wind, the bird feeder.
Silent everything. Silent there.

It could be the flour on my hair
As I dust frosting on the yard.
The stillness left in every pair
Of snow white eyes left dry and hard.

I could exhale upon this card
And give ears to this quiet night
But I am but this moment’s bard,
And in my work I take delight.

Yet not in long the wind will fight
The stillness and the trees will move.
The dusting will at last take flight
But I shall never disapprove.

My work is meant to but remove
The tiredness of pressing day,
A fleeting gift for all that you’ve
Been wanting in your want to stay.

Unpublished Material, ©2010 Cali Digre