"chromatic" poems
a thing most new complete fragile intense,
which wholly trembling memory undertakes
—your kiss,the little pushings of flesh,makes
my body sorry when the minute moon
is a remarkable splinter in the quick
of twilight
….or if sunsets utters one
unhurried muscled huge chromatic
fist skilfully modeling silence
—to feel how through the stopped entire day
horribly and seriously thrills
the moment of enthusiastic space
is a little wonderful, and say
Perhaps her body touched me;and to face
suddenly the lighted living hills
13.1k
Time frozen
Horns blaring
Heart thumping
Palms wetted
Words in whorls
Nebulous thinking
Thoughts in twirls
Spinning in circles
Gaze hypnotic
Moment surreal
Vision kaleidoscopic
Life chromatic
Living hallucinogenic
Gone tripping
Psychedelic eyes
In psychedelic mind
Once more
Loved again
© 2017 Jim Davis
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
A duality of elan vital, two people
Spectres of emotion
Intertwined by a fuselage of bruised skin & tendon
Tissues become orbital, gushing towards grafts
Helixes of snot, **** and lymph
Boy & girl
As they embrace the animating principle and eachother, they fuse
A one piece tapestry adorned seamless with no hem, beginning or end
Always was, always is
Patiently turning to liquid as their being unzips
Lying figures of runny makeup and genetic *****
Quintessence, a texture of synaptic potential
Corpus Callosum
An entirety of self, lost in imbued disintegration
Theory of mind, looped & bound
I will water the thought
Roots envisaged in dystopian amygdala
Piercing data packets with a frost-like intensity
Forgetting our obsolescence moments ago
A neuron dipped in nylon
Theta waves and the non-euclidean crux of dissociation
Ghosts in the machine, your macro god
The sympathies of fractional distillation
Digitised/assimilated unto the nanosphere
Cold hands and brass backs galvanised in oscillated tears
Commodified, sold out and bought
Stretching, from purple, white and black
slowly losing its colour, amorphous in shape
brushed across a smudge, ambiguously chromatic
Monetised flesh god
An eternity bathed in starlight
Cutting an incision in the sky to allow entropy
Divided dimensions of energy
Fleeting and intangible
No longer a delirium of seperation
All semantics become light
As a rusted vehicle passes overhead
And all the worlds questions fade out of existence
Flutters of red tape and foregone growth of practice
Sinew flayed, integrated towards information
Our minds shared
In circuits and resistors
Photons and electrons
We radiate
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
*Upon a bright spring morning,
In the warmth of the ember sun,
Adorable chromatic koi's pose,
Graciously leaping in a distinctive pond.
Casually stroking their fins,
In a flattering array,
On this delightful,
And cheerful beautiful day.
As they glide smoothly,
Hiding underneath huge stones,
Preciously playing peekaboo,
Each in a beauty of their own.
Near a tall brick wall .... beneath the purities of cascading waters,
Portraying a lively show,
As the zephyr gently embrace,
And the waterfall plays a soothing percussion, as it flows.*
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
There’s just… all this noise… There’s all this noise and I feel like a tone floating around in some kinda modal stasis. And I just want to change the key but I can never seem to get the voice leading right.
There’s all these other intervals in here with me and we’re all packed in too tight. I’m just a chromatic scale descending into dissonance as I push past clusters of minor seconds.
I feel like I’ve gotta fight to find consonance, but I’m so **** quiet that nobody can harmonize with me. Nobody can even hear me over all this noise all this noise all this noise. This noise when so many sing without listening. This noise of a thousand unheard melodies.
This noise this noise this noise
This noise this noise this noise
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
Heartstone is a reflection in music on a ‘lost’ poem. The poem described in its two short verses a summer’s day, a landscape, a fossil found and placed in the palm of a child’s hand. The poem inspired a seven-movement work for wind, brass and percussion with solo piano. Here is its poetic programme note.
Chert
The piano draws an arc of rhythm
rising then falling.
Above
two choirs of wind and brass
exclaim, fanfare, mark out
shorter, determined
gestures of sound.
The procession, almost a march,
becomes a dance.
Alone
Two choirs of wind and brass
become four couples
whose music weaves
from complexity a simplicity:
Chromatic to Pentatonic
twelve becoming five.
Prase
Four stopped horns,
five extended tonalities.
Together they wander
a maze of Pentatonic paths;
alone, and in pairs, as a quartet
they discover within
a measured harmonic rhythm.
Tension: resolution
. . . and surrounding
their every move
the piano
insists an obligato,
a continuum of phrases,
absorbing into itself
the warp and weft of horn tone.
Sard
Oscillating
in perpetual motion
the full ensemble
occupies a frame
of time and space.
Flutes, reeds,
double-reeds
brass, piano,
percussion
mirror-fold on mirror-fold
layer upon layer
overlapping.
Yarns of threaded sound.
Tuff
Without a break
the mirrored oscillations
patter pentatonics
on tuned percussion
of marimba and vibraphone
whilst
a batterie of drums
lays down
shards of beaten rhythm
against this onward
folding of tonality change.
In the background
a choir of winds
flutes and single reeds
waymark this recursive journey
gathering together
cadential moments and the
necessary pause for breath.
Marl
Relentlessly, the motion is sustained,
piano-driven,
a syncopated continuo,
rhythm-sectioned
amidst layers of percussion.
Adding edge,
a choir of brass and double reeds
amplify the piano’s jagged rhythms
providing impetus for
phrases to become longer and longer,
ratching up the tension,
ever-denying closure
until the batterie
delivers
a conclusive flourish.
Paramoudra
Pulse-figures of winds.
Motific cells of brass.
Both
negotiate a stream of
fractal-shaped tonality
expanding: contracting.
A blossom of fanfares
folding into
pulsating layers
of tuned percussion,
flutes and reeds.
A dance-like episode
absorbs a chorale.
Four horns in close harmony
against the continuing dance.
A duet of differences
flows into a cascade of chords
in closed and open forms.
The piano supports
brass-flourishing figures
before a final stillness.
Heartstone
In gentle reflection
the solitary piano –
a figure in a landscape
of collapsed harmonic forms -
presents in slow procession
the essence of previous music.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
one strike of that blackened match
and a million chromatic threads unwound
leaving only an ashen husk,
my timeless vessel
Jan 24, 2023
Jan 24, 2023 at 10:49 AM UTC
CRIMSON
Colors explode
As the sumac stands sentinel over the ebbing rays of the sun
Shepherding away Niibin to make room for Dagwaagin
Standing, alone, in a sea of green
Sumac heralds the changing season
And like an artistic wild fire
Is the first in what will become a palette of chromatic vibrancy
Sensing the subtle change
Mother deer, her two fawns and yearling
Meandering through the sumac grove
Make haste of the fading green buffet
Mother Bear and her cubs, now a year stronger and wiser
Gorge on honey and berries as they ready for their winter's sleep
Red-Winged Blackbirds, Robins and Sandhill Cranes congregate en masse
Hummingbird drinks the final drops of nectar
In anticipation of their journey south
In advance...of the returning white Biboon blanket
The clock of Mother Earth is precise
And the natural world follows her timely rhythms
As southerly and westerly winds shift to the north
Eagle soars high above...the yet unfrozen river
Vivid foliage slowly falls to the forest floor
Creating an intricate insulating tapestry for those below
In the meadow, swaying in the wind, stands a solitary Daisy
It's single yellow petal defying the departure of longer days
Harvest moon shimmers through bare branches
Dancing, tapping in rhythmic fashion, upon a quiet window
Stirring Misigami from her reverie
Outside her window, a lone black figure, a Lobo, like her
Acknowledges her presence, blurring the lines of consciousness
Signifying that dreams do come true
And that through the change of seasons
We grow
We become stronger
Wiser
And are given the true gift...of forever being...
...Hopeful
(c) 2013 Shawn White Eagle
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
vampiric ***** house
a fearful symmetry
of cleavers for something to love
***** addicted
pearly satin's copulate
a continent of curves
ovoid rectums and raw mouths
in a ritual of sadistic etiquette
drenching phallus tongued spit
like gales of flames
at a masochists invitation
for foot blooded kisses
and heated lopped breast
eager haunches thunder
in a malignant lust
********* utopias **** cyclops
spreading winkling's dribbling
night operas
in a red cathedral of flicker hives
squealing euphoria's hemic arcade
with greased ******* that break backs
fluting throats ***** chromatic fizz
and shrilling wombs flutter like bat wings pandemonium
in the museum of the moon
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 1:39 PM UTC
A perfectly linear shape painted in gold
Is what you see
Through Instagram pictures Facebook posts Snapchat videos
The tacit life
I lead in the virtual stairway
I am living the life!
So you say
You painted my life in the most shimmering color
Turn on every light in the room to make it brighter
Gazing with admiration
Sometimes
Most of the time
With jealousy
Seduced by the lure of the blue light dependency
Turning this perfect lie into some meditation
And make it my definition
An image I’ve built to cover the within
A perfect fragmented me I post on social media
A habit I borrow for social gatherings
A behavior forced into me
For the sake of society!
An illusion so fragile made out of eggshell
A shell covering the true essence of ME
Uncovering myself for the world to see
The egg wall and make believes shattering
To life unpredictable burdens
That perfect golden shell cannot bare life’s hurdles
Holding something beautiful that doesn’t curdle
I am more of what you see
More of what I let you believe
More of society’s standards
More of you
More of me
I contained beauty and imperfections
I contained colors and bricks
Strengths and weaknesses
Enough to **** in all life’s miseries
And to also reflect confidence and vulnerabilities
I am not just one color
I am every shades
Every undertones
Every hues that follow the changes
I am the intense
The neon
The eclectic
The iridescent
From the lightest to the darkest
The contrasting
The complementing
The chromatic
I am in nature in art in paintings
Everywhere
I am every northern lights dancing to my own ballet
Don’t just paint me with your own palettes
Crack me open
And see what’s inside
For there you will see
My true colors
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC
your eyes,
waxy and chromatic
seeped through my clothes and
soaked my skin,
bent my bones and
dyed my concrete spine
blue magenta.
forgive me, forgive me
my revolving-door mouth,
my pendulum heart,
my clammy hands.
my religion is jazz but
i swear to God,
I'm Roman Catholic.
and so I brought you some tulips,
cause I can't lose you
to New York.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 2:01 AM UTC
*Bodacious ginger candied poetry
still life of Moet's marmalade art
dark cherry wine lingerie
Beethoven's flair of symphony
surrendered in your rapture
submitted to your every whim
bonadage and silky wraps
rapid rhythmic rhyming beats
reverberate breathing sparks
painted Daliesque posies
silent echoes of dark apparitions
ocean swells anointing bliss
moon tides sacred kiss,
nature's chromatic dust
pink pearlized polka dots
intoxicating kaleidoscopic eyes
reflections of butterfly hues
darkly encapsulated horror
naked souls, weeping spirits
sculpted iridescent rainbows
brazen relished heart's desire
rubik's cube algorithm mind games
wrap'd in figgy puddin' ladyfingers
tickling traces in bold context
power of words compels us,
cure all for anything at all,
salty sea breezes
& poetry* ~
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Mist clouds forming on my skin
I dye my mind in thin formations
soft sentient siblings aviate my fingers
frost lit prisms projecting visions that I relate to
chromatic distillation fancying the minds eye
dark transient beings no longer apply
dispersing and spilling into stretches of time
Aether, Aether, help me climb.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC
?
this dawn was a
laughing she
s
p
i
ll
in
-
g
staccato chromatic cacophony on
blind tissue
(erasure of inky displacement
speaks of erroneous discrimination)
happy her make crimson vibrations
casting off her melancholic i
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 5:08 PM UTC
Again I reply to the triple winds
running chromatic fifths of derision
outside my window:
Play louder.
You will not succeed. I am
bound more to my sentences
the more you batter at me
to follow you.
And the wind,
as before, fingers perfectly
its derisive music.
1.5k
He was on toes in his twenties
She was in tunes in her teens
He was alone, she was along
He was curious, she was cordial
She was catering to his senses:
With her ply, play and ploy
Her electrifying looks
Greeted his soul to seek
Tricked and kicked his heart
Her smiles rolled on his lips
Her face fashioned fair n’ familiar
Beauty was her boon, his moon
An intangible asset to cassette
It was one to one homely affair
Win-win scene in solitude
Her free style was explicit -
Board of her body language
Her chromatic costumes,
And cosmetic feel of touch
Enshrined in the tablet of his memory
She sang, danced n’ pounced in passion
Coupled up his thoughts
For a couple of hours
Her smart artistic calibre,
Teeming teenage tickle,
Shook up and hooked up
His conduct and character
He could see her face to face
In her filmy on-screen display
Of moving movie telecast
He was her fan in disguise
She was his fiancée in guise
As an artist and articulate
Lo! Love is the mother of life
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
Just picked up my thirtieth pair of glasses
(perhaps you call them eye glasses).
Progressive, photo-chromatic, temples with wrap around cables.
Same round frames since I was sixteen (first saw them in How I Won the War).
I don’t mess with what works. We fit. No need to look further.
Had my eye on the prize.
They give me perfect sight. And I waited years to get perfect sight.
Always needed glasses. Finally got them when I was eleven.
Big family. Immigrants. No health coverage. So, no glasses.
Couldn’t see the forest or the trees. A genetic thing too.
Several sisters and brothers are as myopic as moles.
Mammy and Daddy never wore glasses (which is not to say they didn’t need them).
All granny glasses are wire rims with a golden finish.
All of mine were. These ones are round black wire rims. I’m being so adventurous.
I remove them (singular is a monocle) to shower and go to bed. I never ask to try on someone’s frames, and I never loan mine for a second (Period)
I also have a face that has grown so accustomed to glasses, that my eyes have surely deepened into my skull. I don’t recognize myself on my driver’s license, health card or passport (Why do they insist on that? I’m never asked to remove my glasses upon surrender of any document for visual verification).
I’ve yet to regret the wealth I’ve spent.
Their cost could pay the rent
For a third world family for years.
It would feed and clothe a village, I’m sure.
I'm not blinded by how good I've got it here.
Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC
Tango like there is ****** no gravity,
Fading up into the winds of levity.
Felt the world's stories on my shoulders,
'Tween Heaven and Hell, an epic I tell.
Smitten, in a flash, she deftly kissed me,
A smooch of death, the fragrance of tea.
Spying the end is to be in heavy debt,
To the unseen origin, now of inspect.
Vexed for larcenous dogs stole my nova,
Patience of the Everest; pressured lava,
Toward the high noon sun, soaring too fast,
Warming our visage, winds behind a full mast.
Colorful beams from heights of the precipice,
The monolith painting chromatic auspices,
Yet the churning oceans voice their unrest,
Against shields of Earth, the Hydra will test.
I can hear the green, caressed by a breeze,
Through the wet looking glass, I was seized.
A brazen gasp of life lifts the starry shroud,
Swim through the maze of a microcosmic cloud.
Oct 19, 2010
Oct 19, 2010 at 3:15 PM UTC
what an unexpected response,
such a normally dreadful hour,
your improvisation was,
strangely pleasant.
i spoke of a companion,
you warmly obliged,
encore; quite unforeseen,
your psyche perplexed me.
we danced in diamond caves,
stiffly skimming,
each others surface,
faintly uttering counterfeit apologies.
the occasion moved along,
awkward glances and grazing,
turned into obscene materials,
something.
booked my ardor,
spontaneity, ambition,
&
those chromatic apertures.
the enigmatic attribute you carry
has
the speaker openly overtly enamored.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
Green pastures.
Verdant, like peas and pine.
This timid display of jealousy
of me, myself and mine.
Then crimson red
shades of fury
too wild like tulip kisses
too fluent to bury.
And blue songs
lyrical sadness
waxing my tongue
with thier tepid tune.
These colours before time
rolled into rhyme
representing each crime
committed, eyes closed.
Tonight you're black and white.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:40 AM UTC
They've invented these glasses
(it's really quite extraordinary)
which allow colorblind people to see hues beyond their imagination.
Suddenly you're watching this world shift before you,
all with a simple switch of perspective.
Now, I've never been in love
but I'd like to think it's a lot like finally watching the sunset
in all it's chromatic glory.
All the while inquiring whether that's really what orange looks like...
and wow, I'd honestly pictured blue so differently.
Completely lost, yet totally found.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
she sends me messages that's she's leaving
a trans gal from West Virginia
trying to sound portentous, all this drama
filling my lungs i can't breathe in
she filled my heart and body
the hope trickling out of me
but met with indelible silence
and there's no better her out there
that's like her, you know it's not really that dramatic
nothing chromatic about a hook-up
lightless, lacking the sun's largess blasting
through the seams or in between the hedges
just wish i could have been with her
a couple more nights before she drove away
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC