"chroma" poems
Prescient, her essence
Casts a demure persuasion,
Endowed with verve and vision;
Concept to consummation,
The serenely possessed,
Creator, originator,
Allusion to the eternal azure,
Logos of abstraction,
Word and image collision.
Tonal palette of faith infused reason
Beauty and sublimity,
Serve to season
Verse, canvas and film,
Mediating aesthetic, seminal senses blossom,
Lyrical each permutation,
Seeds of vibrant chroma diffusing the mystical.
Visage and hair, her figure haunted
With perfection - a work of Art
Nurtured and lived invocation,
The canon of taste;
Crystal for the *****
Devotional fragrance ,
Holistic ethos, melodic invention,
Animated, pure -
The embodiment of redemption.
Transcending form, parenthetically
(Merely) the decorative,
Allure, artistry and symmetry
Superlative complexity,
Her erudition satiates, supplanting
Winds of constructive banality.
Purveyor of an uncommon savor,
She collaborates in the peculiar
Pursuit and reward,
Encounter with depth, explored,
Human and divine, prosaic meets sublime
Igniting within an Eros
Passion for truth, being and Telos.
Visionary of grace and peace
Transforming our earthbound dissonance;
Our caprice,
Hope and abundance, the myth of scarcity,
She narrates the Good.
Pen, lens, color and stage
Vulnerable, unrepressed, effusive
Romantic articulation,
The reservoir deep,
Innately primed conduit of Love.
Beyond plebeian, cosmetic, the trite
Woman of substance, pulchritude
And delight.
Effervescent - her smile exquisite,
Eclipsing suffering,
Wordless expression, understood language.
I am transported, my imagination replete,
Sonya Rose -
Art personified; unabridged, complete.
©2008 & 2013 W.S . Warner
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
if you listen carefully
to that song that you love
so much so that it brings salt
to your eyelashes
pay attention
stare directly at the sun
or into a projector
displaying a map of canada
and witness it
the luminescence
and every tone and shade
of every chroma
flashing with every blink
the liquid provides
a spectrum unbeknownst
to vertebrates
much like blood for vision
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 6:51 PM UTC
the skull and spine of seventy seven men, extracted.
retribution far past putrefaction.
a pile of bones in the center of town, at the corner of washington
& rochambeau.
gather around.
do you believe in the boogeyman?
a glitch in the darkness.
an echo of rage, high chroma bacteriophage.
every faithless father,
every sister spared,
every ritual sung just right, a brief blackout,
reconfigured pixels of outer night.
[bobby’s sega genesis awakens on its own]
thirty three years to the day, he
died on that suncrest boulevard, returned today just to say “hey.”
graveyard family tree and the moon.
first as a manifestation of electromagnetic phenomena
in a videogame’s cpu. 1993.
second as a fully-fledged entity materialized via videocassette,
hungry for pizza and pure vengeance. 2001.
third from beneath bedrock, the quarry belly baste,
a body buried thrice, undead toxic tumescence,
a walking corpse heaving black plasma. 2020.
the sequel.
the son.
the spectral chosen one, he
rips out a throat or two, quite fashionably so,
a man about town throttled and disemboweled,
as friends and neighbors stumble and sprint to escape with their own godforsaken skin.
let the bone collection begin.
emerged in afterschool hallways to **** old classmates turned teachers.
emerged in afterhours offices to devour old buddies turned bankers.
emerged in the quiet dark homes of neighborhood flesh and folk.
blood soaked socks.
why? you ask, must all these people die?
vengeance? no.
that was a lie.
he killed those people for a laugh
& that’s that.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
*She was a picture of monotonous monochrome.
She was deathly quite in one jaunty home.
She lied in wait of eyes that could see through her bleakness.
One who could see the beauty in her , beyond her illusory mess.
People gazed at her and noticed the lack of chroma.
Then a man , destitute of vision , approached and followed her aroma.
He gazed at her with the touch of his finger.
And time stopped as he started to linger.
His gaze took him , in the depths of her beauty.
And she spilled colors and made him sooty.
With no vision he espied her coloration.
and world was hysterical
at their love in
such
excommunication*.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
It’s right there
Brilliance, passion, creativity
Taunting me –
Inspiration that ebbs and flows,
Its chroma too pale to recognize
Until greyness overwhelms again
I can feel the sharp corners
scratching against my grasping fingers
Can hear it somewhere nearby
Flirting with the cusp; chasing
wishing I could close my fingers around it
and just breathe
but the satisfaction looms
just out of reach
increasing the space between us
the sharpness of my gaze, its insistence to see
has no effect, can’t clear the fog
it never dissipates entirely
I try to muster up indifference
Rid myself of the desire
To move and to shake
And then this intense lack; the distant motivation
Would have no effect
Could not cause such distress
But it’s out of my hands
I’m stuck
In the place between inspired
and colorless
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
Words can't describe, and rhythm won't define,
Because this is intoxication of the worst kind.
With thoughts, and dreams of inimitable horror,
Falling faster, going lower and lower,
Reimagining disaster, in propia persona,
A life since led with a lifeless chroma.
The pain so great, unbearably wrought,
Ages are past, with heavy wars fought.
Buried so deep, within a heart fueled by steam.
Of Lies, and slander-- it is not what it may seem.
It's okay, I'm okay, We're okay, only okay.
It won't be true, not in the least, but it's what I say.
For friends are burdens kept, your desires held true,
I'll die every time, sink with each word, if but for you.
Apr 11, 2010
Apr 11, 2010 at 8:45 PM UTC
Early morning meditation
Surrounded by the surreal
Before the birth of color
Coats the shades of gray
Landscape bereft of chroma
And time is, momentarily,
An irrelevant measurement
When in the stilled silence
Mind and body synchronize
To quietly kindle the soul
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
I drink in your iridescence
Guzzling away my sepia feelings
cleansing my palette and covering my developing rust
A drop of you brightens my hue
Gold-tinted, radiant, sun-kissed
Breathing new life
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 12:43 AM UTC
Shifting to sight, the clouds,
a mountain passage road.
It runs alongside the sweet smell
of New York City coffee and early
morning mishaps.
What to make of the noticed world
after Chroma conducts his sunrise?
Girls in smeared make-up sitting
at the McDonalds. Construction Workers'
cigarettes slowly building the
mountain skyline.
Roots in the urban gravel wake the din
slowly. The clouds shuffle along, the
road quiet for another day.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
I’m trying to paint a picture
But it’s not at all what I want it to say
It would be better to just find a mirror
But what would a facsimile convey?
It would only show the surface
Minimal details of shadows and shapes.
I’m practiced in the art of skewed perception
Only the canvas knows of this change
More can be done with paint,
I relent like Dorian gray.
It’s silly to think, that a self portrait would be of my face.
Instrumental kaleidoscope to peer into my soul
Revealing every speck of kindness
Every varying pigment and tone
Every hue of acrylic disdain
Only to ask, who am I?
This colorful brigade
Refusing to relay
The black and white mundane
Full chroma saturated aura
I defy to splatter outside the lines
Oozing moonlight off my page,
Just to sketch the silver lining
Depicting sunshine with my shame
Creation, destruction, art, corruption
Illustration of my story
The final portrait to portray.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 3:03 PM UTC
my bones are impulsive
and they rattle and shake
jutting and puncture
each time i twist
each shade of my mother used
to say i did it for attention
but my manic-depressive
spectrum yearned to feel something
much more special than the chroma of love
as my disorder matured i saw sweeping
patterns that flummoxed the grass i stepped on
i phased in and out of gravity too much
to feel how i used to feel about you
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC
I'm tired of
dewy rosie golden me
for she was pretty
but she is not the same
as when those shades were the change she needed
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:32 PM UTC
As I reach the last stair,
I discover a high rise shrine
When I stare at the peak,
I'm close to fall on my head
It has a large baroque door,
Not closed, so I enter
I leave all the maps outside
I'm full of spice and zeal
I see an elevator facing me,
push the illuminated buttons,
envelope myself in the dove,
and it takes me as a letter
Into the highest floor, I fly
When I land on the terrace,
the man made-day falls asleep,
and the night sky erupts
I find an abandoned telescope,
remove the dust mask,
put my brown seeing aerola
around the soft eyepiece
The silver optical tube
absorbs my golden vision,
takes it on a celestial mission
Delving into the cosmos in chroma
I see a lumen hanging
like a washing line
between two galaxies
An odyssey to discover my heirloom
Now I'm a brainbox,
I surrender myself to
this luminous flux
It looks like a feeder of earth
Everything turns anaerobic,
when Angeline and her siblings
begin to play trumpets along
A hymn for the Oxygen Crisis
I put all the aerobics in vitro,
in order to live in vivo
I'm in the S shaped column,
the centromere of the soma
In a blink of an eye,
an asteroid hits my lighthouse
My kernel explodes
I'm trapped in a series of epochs
My nom de guerre is Helios
The sun calls me Apollo
Driving a chariot of joy
with two racing horses
Until meiosis begins
A king is announced
when a stallion dies
Nucleus or karyon
And I drop back as an ****
Embryo into an egg
thrown in a steam
From Eve to a man sunk in debt
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
color isn't just the sky, i know that.
the rain, the snow, and all the blues
along with the different hues that
make me
(and you)
color isn't just all niceness, although
there's many a nice (and a vice) that
throws its body behind
its color, like (for instance) the deep dark red of
lust, or blood
color isn't just a thing that's there and with
its cosmic strength and chroma-power,
just sits upon your face as if saying
"i'm not actually here."
but,
then what? was it before
(i won't lie) my friends said that among
the many guys i've liked?
you are? a bit, uh,
kind of different?
different kind of...? it was a bit
awkward, they said
you need your own
spectrum? what?
they said,
they said,
they said...
you're
brown.
and hah...
of course you're brown, of course-- you're not
just brown, you're
very brown and definitely positively
brown and yes, you're
one of them, and of course! that matters, yes,
it matters that
you're one of
them.
(brown) (brown?) (brown.)
and of course i'm not brown, i'm just
very not brown, i'm very unlike you and
very yellow, definitely positively
yellow and you know what? of course
that matters. that i'm not one of
you and
rather, one of
them.
it's almost funny? how the sky
has always been very blue, the clouds
have always been definitely white, the grass
has always been positively green and yet
you? and you? you've definitely, positively
always been...
no,
you haven't.
always
been
brown.
but they said (i won't lie) to
open
my
eyes, and so
you know what?
i did.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 2:53 AM UTC
The white spirit in your perianths
excites the puerile
I lost in my duties of surviving a life
that culture desires.
I crave to exist in your petals
as a dew that warms your root
for a spell.
You're the one I relish to shelter myself
as you bloom with the fragrance of luscious chroma.
@_Shade_of_a_lonely_girl_
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 2:47 AM UTC
*I'll soon forget the color of your eyes
But your name is still burned in my throat
And I'm wide awake, trying to drown it away
With words and whiskey*
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
zerofucksgiven
plus a thousand
one for every time i've felt underestimated
i've waited my turn but my eyes are still weighted
with the dread that you're sedated
by preconceived notions
that never notice new
but zerofucksgiven
as long as you don't ********
me into thinking i'm something
if you could hold your words in your hands they would be a different color than your skin
searching for truth here
in the phone booth here
i'm stuck, i know numbers aren't attached to people
but it seems you have different ideas
mixed messages like the left lane green traffic light
40 miles per hour yield to other cars' power
i know it shouldn't matter but i'm lonelier than ever
on the outside looking in
i can't eat despite my efforts
i'm trying to learn why
your actions and words don't have identical chroma
i have a diploma
in staying small on the sidelines
when
will i get to stand next to you
because zerofucksgiven
is only what i say
so you'll look at my lips
instead of my water-laced eyes
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
The society saw a black and white dichotomy
He saw the world in his own way, a nuanced greyscale
She jumped in and showed him a world of vibrant hue
Together they found the whole EM spectrum
But when they tried to tell their friends, they saw
That they stuck to the two chroma way
Fearing the loss of light, the two
Ran off to those who they had
Been told were savages
They kept on running
Moving until
Finally
They were
Free
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
i.
on such frigid atmosphere lay,
a serene fugitive.
do not look at me with such lithe eyes:
the sepulcher is only starting
to begin.
your sleep's regimen twice-folds
origamied on the quiet cloister,
hang there, puts to test the unblinking
certainty of we who bear no retrieval.
ii.
remember when
all the fish you gut and all the *****
you cleave were all but meaningless
fill?
a mutiny of stench is released,
as men continually purged you of
your poisons — us mortised to this
vague mandate.
i have wished for them to miss the mark.
i have longed for them to mime only
but your placid face.
they have ransacked the quarry of flesh
flashed bare against mirrors riveted
to split-seconds of hours.
iii.
when i was young,
much sleep was needed — a noonday travail to all fretting but a dream of dogs.
now this thump of quietness
may mean no recovery.
the speculations to gnaw for sleep are
lost in a blink of an eye:
the blanket that once smelt of camphor
now engulfs in a single blast of cerement.
— this scrap of a thing that we
almost have no use for.
iv.
a furious consideration of roomfuls
disallowed by a heady ruling of
emotion's precision.
that, of the most difficult choices—
knowing where to fecundate rest.
your body heeds
no metaphysical reckoning.
the preordained space for you to occupy, this unwanted silence that keeps
on renaming things we cease to forget.
a sentence seized by a clause of wood.
all too soon to wave as a single beat
is thrown a hundred ripples into my
eyes, dragged along and trundling there,
left lengthening to leave, never to wait.
not with time, nor with a touch we choose
to contest — but an eyeing space,
a moment to attract transience.
v.
i will only look at you once — lacquered
with solace.
no ellipsis of breath could continue you.
no paragraphs would forgo of your
punctuations. i deny my defeat
against one who brooks with victory.
no hint of other chroma.
a chiaroscuro of beating petals,
left only to thrive and not swing
with verdurous display.
how to tell if this is true?
i touch myself as words gyrate
in the room that received your body
like the lighthouse that feeds the sea.
— or maybe sheathed with the untruth.
this enigma yields no revelations.
too late to ring yet still continuing on,
an early drop of dew.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
Daylight messenger rests in sky alleys
Shining like snowy pearls
He glides with the scent of the valley
Fairy mist wraps up the cores of roses
Awaking their youth's aroma
Morning carries a bliss of chroma
With roots inside the earthly womb
Their cosmic songs flow
Feeding our senses with goodness
Enigmatic spirits
Has their beauty shown
The valley offers her rich growth
Petals majestic thrive crimsoned with a glee
Their oils are a blessing to all
Green forms breathe, apples, and grass sculpted within a scene
In the Land of Roses
Bulgaria, oh jewel in the wild
Your wheat and your goods spring from deep like the waters
Sep 14, 2023
Sep 14, 2023 at 9:39 PM UTC
The dance of ignorance marks our era,
The revelry howls into their ears,
But isn't opening a mind, only a bra.
Smoke is what we learned from Chimera,
Hangovers, falsehood, imbecility - unrestrained
Their most loyal friend, is dear nausea.
Drugs and **** brings them the aurora,
Living is nice, when we are unconscious.
In this reality, we are no Andromeda.
Advocacy of the unknown, is their chroma,
Defines their existence and ensures a legacy.
All is, a pseudo pride, and a fictitious corona.
Injustice, corruption ghosts within the area
Multilateral sins, unilateral sentence,
Flows into their logic like satisfying aria.
Bogus beliefs, to rise, and rule are a plethora,
Empty imposters control, destroy and mooch,
And what we see is an illusion of an aura.
Defiling the Quran, the bible, and the Torah,
With what a gold holder wishes and needs.
Whomever defies them, loses their aorta.
All will be fallen, America, Europe and Russia.
Hatred, arrogance, saturation of trivialities,
Is taken in, in grace, like the seduction of Delilah.
Concerts unify us, not our humanity, it's in coma,
Lack of fellowship, digs deeper into division.
If only books, not Lady gaga, were your holy diva.
The void will swallow us all, the diaspora,
The loss of our identity, truth, entity and ego.
Finding our roots, is our everlasting dilemma.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 4:34 PM UTC
,i am the darkest hue of color
;not quite black
,i am with the faintest trace of chroma
;not quite black
(yet
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
I come from paint
And tangled words
I come from shouting
And whispers
I come from the sketches
And vibrant thoughts
Strokes of chroma
And artistry
I come from the salt of every ocean
From blazing fire
And summer storms
From the rock of Jupiter
I am an improved form,
Assembled,
Of the materials,
Of anything I decide.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC