"multicolor" poems
At his little hippie college
he shows me a *** that looks like a wall
in a Rwandan museum, all skulls, he
learned clay in the Rift Valley
boarding school, on a kick wheel,
still his favorite
My brother is a potter
multicolor plaid shorts
little goatee
Banjo
Japan dreams
girl from Mozambique.
When we were little in Loiyangalani
we made tiny huts out of obsidian
while our Rhodesian Ridgebacks
sniffed the ground for cobras
sand vipers
scorpions
while twenty camels
walked by in a row
followed by tiny replicas
My brother is a potter, says to me
'When I am doing this I am
doing what I was created to do'
He makes a green and blue
candleholder for me which he calls
'The Islands,' light escapes through many holes
which look like sea turtles
pockets of air and
an atomic bomb just gone off
we turn off the lights
in my room in the hood,
snorkel in candlelight
My brother gives me
Rumi, incense, peace flags
We walk the silent night
smoke a clove
look at stars
like we used to do in the African riverbeds
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 6:50 AM UTC
Sinto a tua falta
Perplexo com a cumplicidade, com a intimidade que nos liga,
Misto do amor, de uma saudade vivida.
Anestesiado pela sensação multicolor,
Paciente na cama do amor.
Pertinência dum amor sentido,
Porto sem teu abrigo,
Cadeia com grade prateada,
Musa multifacetada…
Pastoril é o quadro do meu pensamento,
Lençóis soltos ao vento,
Teus olhos com a maré alta,
Sinto a tua falta.
Victor Marques
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 8:23 AM UTC
some 4.5 billion years ago
the atoms that would coalesce
to ***** your evanescent features
detoured to a lonely chunk of
rock aimlessly adrift in the
Milky Way Galaxy
you stayed alive by pure instinct
fight or flight
you could not thrive
yet you survived nature's
attempts to crush you in
her fearsome jaws
bits of you walked with dinosaurs
bone fragments ground to dust and
reformed over eons of evolution until
you stood upright and found a
tongue to describe planet Earth
remnants of those dead languages
live on to this very day
they inhabit the ink stains i
leave upon this yellowed page
while folk tunes croon over
my shoulder and Dallas Green
breathes a city in multicolor
a map of the universe is etched
across your face and i cannot escape
the smirk that spread with mirth
nor erase the memory of eyes
like interstellar space staring
back at me
unblinking
for 4 minutes that felt
simultaneously like a lifetime
and the space between
2 fractions of a millisecond
you came from the Big Bang
when the cells that would form
our bodies were forged in the
cores of supernovas exploding
across the cosmos and we've
been on a collision course ever since
an unstoppable force and
an immovable object
for matter
can neither be created
nor destroyed
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
oh how the coward counts his cards
blackjack entrapment habits
at least there's free drinks!
what a time saver:
enabling 2 addictions at once,
maybe i'll save some money this way...
hit hit hit stay, embrace
hug my hands around the chips
my multicolor relatives
i'm betting on embellishments,
time to double up or split
my hand's as steady as my faith in god
so i'm shaking like an epileptic
seizing with the scenery
blinking with the burning lights
knee-deep in unending debt
i'll go all in on my hesitance
& sleep on this abandoned bench
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 5:46 PM UTC
O Meu Eu
Imperativamente condicionado pelo meu eu,
Tempestade arrebatadora de meu imbróglio,
Sonetos de Inverno a óleo,
Inconstância que não magoa, mas adoeceu.
Incansavelmente ser perene,
Sustentado com a nostalgia,
Navio sem proa nem leme,
Rebento de tristeza e alegria.
Cortejado em corte divinal,
Infortúnio é sempre fatal,
Pintura lastimável de um grande pintor,
Estigma do meu eu multicolor.
Victor Marques
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 12:00 PM UTC
Life, the present tense
Pleasant and promising
Singular & plural
Fair blend of gender
Active noise, passive voice
The grammar of life
Life is intense,
Glowing and glorious;
Blue blown umbrella
For wide void exposure
Feather touch weather
For cool n’ calm respite
Illuminated one half
To eke out living
Glittering dark on other half
To rest and recuperate
Aroma of smiling flowers
Multicolor corona
Green rich panorama
Overseeing mountains
Rousing roaring oceans
Patrolling Hydro Power Puffs
Add bonus to the bevy
What a glamorous globe in space!
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Paris is so beautiful, that it’s emotional,
like the red tile roofs of Rome,
or the Kenroku-en gardens of Japan.
It’s a relatively large world.
Whenever you can fly over an ocean
you feel limitless, and godly,
like the world is there for you, on demand.
Speaking of God-like views, I’m headed
to Lisa’s (parents) Manhattan highrise again
this year for Thanksgiving—six, very-long days
from today—and I have to wait—but I can’t wait.
I’m starting to stuff things into my bag, like a turkey.
There are so many holiday things to do in Manhattan.
Things that invariably whip you up for a sparkly Christmas.
But these are only commercial attractions—planned distractions.
One frosty November-break morning, two years ago,
a tide of clouds had rolled in, like a trillion tons of cotton
candy had been dumped on New York city, overnight,
filling it up to the 42nd floor. It glistened there, below us,
in the klieg-bright sun, like Tiffany diamonds on cotton.
So, imagine that, then add a flock of geese, in military-like
v-formation flying just at the crest of the glitter, like dolphins
hopping in and out of the waves, as they passed above the
insignificant works of man. It took my breath away.
So, naturally I grabbed for my fancy phone with its super-duper,
high-res camera. The snaps did the glorious scene poor justice—
the majestic, wild geese came out as dots on glare.
I’m watching things carefully this year, not just the multicolor, cachet, window displays on Fifth Avenue and the decorations at the Chelsea Market (where Oreos were invented). I’m going to capture this year
—every intense, emotional second—with that most unreliable, 3D
gadget of all—Memory.
.
.
A song for this:
Holiday Road by Lindsey Buckingham
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 11:45 AM UTC
Dreams of enchantment swirls in my head! Majestically fluttering at all points of my mortal being. Images so serene I daze in amazement. Power frozen iceberg cold, weak with no movement. I'm being pulled in.
Yet no physical motion, how could this be? Eyes locked to yours paralyzed in ecstasy. Thoughts of intimacy fill me! Your my jungle juice, sunshine in the rain. Bestow a multicolor silk laced bow. Metal to a magnet, I'm charged with passion. Scenes at work with the aroma of your fruitfulness. The aromatic taste of cinnamon apple, cherry red!
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
witches adorn the front covers
of ecofeminist zines
in an anarchist bookstore
nestled on the Left Bank
of Seattle's waterfront
rare rays of sunlight
filter through sheer curtains
photons glimmering
through fading droplets
clinging to cracked panes
refracting multicolor
i sit in the window-seat
listening to a homeless
balladeer's somber renditions
of Jonny Cash and Woodie Guthrie
serenading the locals bustling
down Pike Street Market
while the Olympic Mountains
keep their vigil
across a lonely bay
Emma Goldman whispers
for Alexander Berkman
and i balance on mismatched cushions
considering Proudhon's insistent
inquiries while Bakunin smirks
nursing secret heresies of insurrection
colorful posters are paper-machéd
across the walls with slogans of struggle
scrawled in sisterhood and solidarity
stickers plaster the narrow halls
encouraging visitors to Smash Capitalism!
or *Read A ******* Book*
as jam-packed patrons chance
sly peaks at the black flag
suspended in the back room
a faint breeze flutters intermittently
drifting across the open threshold
lifting spirits as if sifting
through grains of sand
not unlike a child
digging for answers
armed with one
monosyllabic question
why?
the banner
cheerfully pirouettes
for a revolution
without dancing
is not one worth having
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
Líneas, trazos, sonidos, me he dado cuenta que percibo frases ocultas, sin presencia verbal, literalmente perceptibles desde mi nube, creo que empiezo con imaginar un fin, hechos del futuro, idea tras idea, haciendo historias de un segundo que han durado una eternidad.
¿No es así como pasa?
Inicias con la página en blanco, a menudo se acerca una pluma, un momento de vacío; el destino puede elegir cualquier dirección, me apodera la curiosidad, ahí, en ese momento, la pluma me esta usando, llenando los vacíos con líneas de locura, desangrándose su tinta me dibuja, y a los demás, de esa forma oscura y a la vez multicolor; trazos en mis líneas que van sin sentido, un mundo alterno, vertical a lo que podría ser involuntariamente, si cayera en la gravedad.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
All this candy is making me sick,
Or maybe iys me thinking of the huge ****
You really are.
Dont go to far,
Tomorrow I'm running your face,
Into the ground; at my own pace.
Your to charming, to sweet smile,
Now just makes me want to bile.
I promise you, I'll be so much bigger,
And you'll be nothing more than a digger,
Digging for love, digging for lust,
And it will all be a bust,
Because you don't dig for love,
You stumble upon it, you find it,
You never let go of it, once you have it.
I hope someday I see you somewhere,
Somewhere like a state fair.
So I can look at you again,
And tell you how great I really am,
Just do you can see,
How much you really meant to me;
I gave, and gave,
I have you my all, and tore down my wall,
Hell, I gave you every last bit,
And you took me down, and stole my virginity!
But, Sam, I realize I hardly know
Anything about you, it was all for show.
I don't even know your favorite color,
But if I had to guess, it'd be multicolor;
"Multi"- for the two face you wear,
Red for the love we shared,
Blue for how far away I want to be from you,
Green for all the memories I have,
Black for all our physical touches,
Yellow for your immaturity you pegged on me,
And purple for how great you think you are.
Oh and I hope you don't care,
I'm going to party and drink,
Until I just can't think!
I'm going to do what I want,
I don't care if you think I'm a ****
**** my kiss, baby, while you can,
Because tomorrow, I'll be gone.
It was fun for me, while it lasted,
Now, I don't give a blasted,
Thing you do. Talk to you in a year or two,
I'll stop in, with out notice, "how do you do?".
I'm going to listen to my music,
Sam, your right, we just didn't work,
You didn't try more than a dumb baby with a fork.
Please, don't make another excuse,
For why your not around to make amuse,
Stop with the jokes,
Stop with the show.
Good bye,
I hope you live a long life,
With out me.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Argumentos que encaixam num turbilhão
Sentimentos que se juntam no átrio ao luar,
Mão tuas e de mais ninguém,
Veleiros de outrora, do além,
Sorriso multicolor que tu tens…
Deixa-me embebedar em tudo que acredito,
Queres o céu perdido no infinito.
Caminhas vagarosa e calma,
Melodia que sacia tua alma.
Sensatez e furor que cessam,
Ruído de amor e paixão,
Argumentos de um turbilhão,
Estrelas que a ti confessam…
Victor Marques
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 7:31 AM UTC
THE GARDEN OF ACCEPTANCE
Shadows are my friends these days.
Nobody can see me crying in the dark.
While the others lie around in the sun
I seek out somber arbors in the park.
The muted light of leaves and limbs
Caress the aches within my heart
And whisper to me to just relax
And let the healing grieving start.
Sometimes I hear some music there
Playing so softly in my inner soul.
I hope to find the inner strength
To think I might someday be whole
Instead of this half a person here
Who doesn’t even notice a sunrise
That spends its multicolor glory
Like a painted cathedral for my eyes.
If people pass and I notice them
They don’t serve to make me sad
Seeing them so happy together
Being contented or even a bit glad,
Because I am here in this serenity
I include them in my private reverie.
The message that life goes on does
Brings restful meditation to me.
But, mostly it’s the natural things;
The birds and the variegated leaves,
The flowers, and cool green lawns
That soothe, and comfort and please.
They slowly help me to realize
That the world in not all about me.
We have to let our sadness fall behind
To truly understand how to be free.
Brent Kincaid
4/3/2015
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
It’s December and my roommates and I are deeply into Christmas. We’ve got a little 3ft tall Christmas tree with about fifty-thousand little multicolor LED lights on it (LEDs because we ARE saving the planet). We’re in the ‘study period’ right before finals and It’s a lowkey Saturday night.
Lisa and I were pajama’d and gelaxing in our suite’s common room. She was in a tan easy chair and I was slouched on our red corduroy couch, my slippered feet up on a white coffee table. We had a Christmas playlist playing throughout the suite, a ‘Christmas lights of Paris’ Youtube video streaming silently on our TV and cups of Keurig brewed hot-chocolate with little marshmallows.
Leong came out of her room and joined us, taking a seat on the far side of the couch with me. After a moment she stretched-out, putting her head in my lap. I love her jet-black, cornsilk hair and it wasn’t long before I found myself stroking it, a gesture primates have been making since the pleistocene period. When Lisa glanced over at us and smiled, I started making gestures like I was looking for fleas in her hair and eating them - in a silly, momentary comedy lost on Leong.
We got back from November recess a few days ago. After three years together, it was easy, almost automatic, for us to fall back in our rhythms as roommates. On arrival, I glanced through my drawers, ***** clothes and shelves, taking a casual inventory. Everything was as I remembered it but still, everything had the feel of trivial leftovers from some lost civilization.
I got a new M3-iMac, it’s really the best platform for putting docs side by side. The first thing I did was hit ‘restore my setup’ from the cloud. I love futzing with tech - I can remember when that kind of restoration would have taken all day - but fifteen minutes later I could tell from the files on my desktop that everything was restoring nicely.
As I sat back on my office chair watching the restoration, I felt myself relax. THIS was real life, this was how life should be done. No matter what else I’d done or where else I’d gone - this was how my life should be - at school, with friends, facing those challenges. It was a peek-moment.
It was an illusion that my little iMac welcomed me back, like an old friend, as it finished restoring - wasn’t it?
Dec 5, 2023
Dec 5, 2023 at 10:30 AM UTC
Palavra inerte chamada amor
Na esperança, no sentimento multicolor,
A palavra inerte chamada amor,
Os santos são todos fiéis,
Os casados até nem usam anéis,
As montanhas esverdeadas que por amor meditam,
Pensadores sem nada dizer parece que gritam,
O deslumbrante e inerte amor tudo compromete,
O sapo canta amor no lago que o fortalece.
A noite cobre o céu sem pudor,
Do peito jorra e sai amor,
As nuvens de um branco censurado,
Pecado nunca confessado.
O amor inerte parece que tem asas,
Os salgueiros estão lá com folhas salpicadas,
O inerte amor tem penumbra e também tem luz,
Eu sinto o balançar que oscilando que seduz.
Victor Marques
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
I was happy on the train last night
On my own in the clinic white light
With earphones in and eyes closed
I smiled
Stewing in my loneliness, warm
With the country unraveling, free form
I couldn’t explain why and that was why
I smiled
I counted my problems and found four
Realized they didn’t matter anymore
Because time was on my side
I smiled
Zipping past personal dramas
Speeding past sleeping farmers
Coming back home to my bed
I smiled
I took the long way home that night
Stepping under multicolor street light
Got home and gazed and the ceiling
I smiled
Jun 21, 2011
Jun 21, 2011 at 4:50 PM UTC
we are not
who we are
at our best
anymore
than we are
the sum
of our worst
aspects.
we are
what we pretend to be:
misanthropes
possessed of empathy.
walking paradoxes.
amalgamations.
spectrums
in multicolor.
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 4:59 AM UTC
Yellow field of passages'
Vivid color images
Multicolor pink- red- purple
Days disappear new dawn color
appears two ears, peers
Colors define but smears
Feeling like a baboon
Swinging wizardly
Wanting to come home soon
Something strikes you
Cowardly- profoundly
Technicolor group*
New frontier lovely
Career fit bravely
The* Gods* truth
Amazing* color* birth
Vivid Color images
Red- heart -damages
Piano fingers ironic
Start to panic
Vivid minds go- manic
Ship Titanic
Cake-food
Bake-Awake- mood
Vivid brain waves
Vivid parrot caves
Geometric lines Shakespeare
* * * * * *
Vivid color images
Happy New Year*
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 9:59 AM UTC
I would that I could clasp hands, at once, with every diasporic man
And our hands could merge and rise up as a single fist
And all the subjective shades of our own colors and the
Daze of our own druthers would be shed in the process
Yes, I find that I absorb the pain around me like a fine osmosis
That unifies the minds forged in our generation’s social suffering
And I wish my skin would grow akin and reflect a synthesis
Because there is no bliss when men bisect people into “us” and “them”
I would that I could turn my insides out and transform my ***
Organs, as a moth does surge inside a closeted cocoon
Only to emerge with wings and the power of new found flight
And I wonder if I too could sing the perspective of new heights
Because there is only ******* in a world where those who
Share the same ****** shape cannot share the same heart
Are condemned to be kept apart by taboos viewed through institution
Started by confused men, afraid to admit that making love is a free art
I would that I could push my hand into the ground and grow
Roots that drive deep, past the sand, beyond the rending flesh
Of our loved ones’ bodies and mesh with the immortal earth
As if I could bolster, with my chemical composite, the site of true birth
Because when the mightiest of the world’s glories can be
Bought and sold for the price of arbitrary ******* figures
Written in the blood of forests, in the torn face of mountains
Then we can stop ignoring the forlorn thought of dark days before us
I would that I could bring back all those lost before their time
That a rhyme could sting the cold cheeks of slaves who never
Saw a western sunrise comprised of multicolor, of many brothers
That I could brush softly the minds of couples buried not together
And scream to them that time left some bereft of victories
Yet to shape their scene, yet to substantiate their dreams
Then I would quickly reseal the doors of slumber that guard
The restless dreamers of the past before revealing the
Horrors of societies stepping once forward, then twice back
Yes, before the haunting words of hateful choruses should
Ever shape their reposeful, moral-less, and peaceful sleep
For the hopeful eyes of soulful passing activists should never weep.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
One evening, in a sleepy Connecticut town, the locals saw a peculiar sight,
a UAP had landed in an empty field, and man, it lit up the night.
They were, axiomatically, from a distant galaxy, here to explore our shared cosmic space,
their metallic-phallic-rocket was multicolor pastel bright, like a carnival showcase.
There were cows that mooed approvingly and dogs that barked up at the sky,
like they needed to show where the thing came from - no one really knew why.
Soon little green people-like beings emerged, they had big, wide eyes that looked eerie,
but then again, this is how they’d always looked in movies and on TV.
"Take us to your leader," they said, but it was hard to take them seriously,
because this is America and most of us disagree on who that leader should be.
Someone brought out lawn chairs and the alien-astronauts settled in,
tables appeared shortly thereafter with a spread of pies, casseroles and fried chicken.
They spoke of their interstellar journeys, of planets far and wide,
of space cafes and wormhole highways and how gravity worked like tides.
One of the kids played some music and the explorers started to move,
soon we were having a dance-off - which they won - with some wacky, cosmic moves.
As morning light edged the horizon, our little green friends waved goodbye,
after saying that in some ways they envied us and our simple terrestrial lives.
Though they never promised to revisit, when the sky turns certain shade of blue,
townsfolk will set up a pasture party - just in case they do.
Jan 18, 2024
Jan 18, 2024 at 3:58 PM UTC
Wild woman of
The wilderness
Not giving into
The Wiles of my
Past. Ravenous
For multicolor
Glass, to see
Through the
Kaleidoscope
Of endearment.
Attachment I
Feel it, as
materfamilias
Of the most
Extreme commitment
Where amor is the door
You take in and out.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
I've tried portaiture,
but for some old reason
I find it hard
to eulogize the living.
And when I do try,
the details just never seem
to fit right,
it's too much
or not enough
or just plain inaccurate,
from a few steps back.
I'll paint your actions, alright
'cause I can watch those happen
start to finish,
but I wouldn't pretend to be good enough
to encapsulate a whole person
-all that transient multicolor light under your halo-
with my petty vain jabber,
my incomplete vocabulary
of unflattering grunts-
take it as a compliment.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
Heavy breath, light
spirits
as if my mind has at last
recognized the implications of not
moving
and decided to love and
love again.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
Sentimento multicolor
Na esperança do insólito, sentimento multicolor…
Deixar falar palavras inertes com amor,
No caminho seguidores fiéis,
Pedras preciosas e anéis,
Montanhas esverdeadas cogitam,
O inesperado e deslumbrante acontece…
Victor Marques
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 1:09 PM UTC
buttressed by bisected nebulae
our galaxies coalesce.
soft-spoken Andromeda hurtling
towards a somber Milky Way.
a slow dance plays
to the crooning toons
of Brand New. am i experiencing Deja Entendu
or are the Devil and God
merely raging inside us?
Christmas lights, distant as parsecs,
twinkle every which way we look.
multicolor displays flash
in dizzying arrays, winking in and out,
drizzling like dripping icicles. sad songs
spill continuously from the stereo as we drive
through one neighborhood after the next,
aimless in our contentment.
it's half-past-2:00
in the morning and i'm singing Panic!
at the Disco with (and for) you. i write of sins
and hope this doesn't end in tragedy
as Trade Wind shifts and entreats us
to drift listless as asteroids
rocked to sleep in the arms
of an ambivalent cosmos.
we may all be made of star stuff,
but we both agree:
there's no god who could love this world.
so as we lift crude gestures
to an apathetic sky, we realize
the task falls to us. we must love,
for beauty persists
in spite of all the sorrow.
i am happy to spin perpetually,
elastic and ecstatic in your orbit.
for every now and then your beams of light
filter through my prism and provide
another connection along
our wavelength.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 7:24 PM UTC