"palettes" poems
Ah! Another hero
Washed with bleach
Like the Son,
Who is only holy
When rinsed of his
Melanin.
I wear a white coat
That browns in sunlight -
It appears the moon and I
Will be good friends.
How deep must I scrub
To rid my pores of
The southeast Asian sun;
To wash my hair of Pacific salt?
(Even my mother painted herself
With a European brush).
How can I know myself
When denied the magma
In my blood?
It's of no fault of mine
That I've been stripped
Down to resemble a
Colonial caricature -
I've been taught
The victories
And learned
Medals are smelt
In white gold,
But mostly
I've been told
That mixtures separate
And I am mostly
Creme with a dash of coffee.
A shame!
Us beige babies must be
Assigned colors
As if palettes were for paintings
Not people -
My family tree has
Cane fields and apple orchards,
So don't act like
You're surprised
When I mention
White isn't the only
Color of my skin.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
you dye your hair a new color,
dawn your favorite outfit,
and paint your face pretty
with palettes of persimmon hue.
you tint your lips a pale pink,
brush your cheeks with blush,
and line your lashes with liquid ink,
but your eyes are still dull and broken blue.
you glance in the mirror,
looking at who you are,
this body this heart this soul,
hoping to see a reflection of something new.
but nothing will change,
nothing will be different,
nothing can fix the ugly inside of you.
― you’re only as pretty as your heart is
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
So there I was, and there you were, all of us,
everyone, dangling their feet off the rooftop.
Four distinctly different artists caught in the same painting
yet, none of us holding the paintbrush to our passions, yet.
Ambitious, yes, focused, not so much, motivated? Most definitely.
Dedicated to manipulation,
to making a masterpiece for the masses,
a decision to "form a more perfect union".
To map a new demographic before our deaths.
If our desire was to make a mark, well,
we'd be done already.
The mark's been made, but not engraved,
and for it to stay we need to stomp on it until our own foot decays.
And these days, most pictures will fade,
So as us four sat there, dancing with the devil,
we dared to begin drafting on our canvas.
With no brush, but our own fingers,
our own blood, sweat, tears, and elbow grease,
finally finding the paintbrush to be figurative,
that we were manipulated ourselves.
We learned to picture the paintbrush as our pointer,
our palms the palettes, our pinkies the varnish,
a promise our piece would never be vandalized.
The world is your oyster, they say,
and the city was our canvas,
where we painted nothing but pearls,
rare commodities for the communities to cherish
until our masterpiece, the indefinite work in progress, is completed.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 2:13 AM UTC
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
she'll be frocked up in the brightest attire
her floral shades so striking of detail
gardens being clad by stunning avail
flowers displaying such a colourful shire
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
every aspect of the rainbow there to sail
glorious blooms that we can admire
her floral shades so striking of detail
the wow factor e'er innate in her trail
a seasonal dressing of which we'll not tire
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
great visuals she'll pleasingly nail
on painting in a sensational palettes fire
her floral shades so striking of detail
seeing what the fashion will entail
we'll be gobsmacked with its garb's quire
spring's vivid carnival shall soon prevail
her floral shades so striking of detail
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens
What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green
There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'
There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes
Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be
Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'
There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'
In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine
'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'
From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array
There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé
It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.
In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.
Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”
That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.
Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!
Jun 6, 2023
Jun 6, 2023 at 10:51 PM UTC
please to admit, it is
true & not too deep within,
a scientifically proven and a oddly
curio shop fact,
we are all aliens
to each other, despite,
the overlapping of
a billion permutations
of cellular related associations
our individuating palettes
the diversity of our genetics,
other than the physics of sharing a planet,
simplest put,
no one can ever
be exactly the same,
the precisely of you or me,
doppelgängers notwithstanding,
our individuation, so incredibly due
to our blessed diversification, that to
subdivide ourselves from others,
is a downward
facing absolutely ridiculous ideation
and thus we reveal here and (n/kn-ow) that the
only reason we aliens unique nonetheless
can communicate with each other,
regardless of alphabet or character of idiom,
(or idiots of character)
is
*all alien beings love to breathe and speak
intuitively in a pleasing rhyme and meter,*
to the ear of our overlapping physique,
and that is why, every tongue is connectable,
and every alpha produces its own poetic creations,
'tis poetic soundings alliterating glue,
that molds this planet of aliens
from a tower of babel into a
shapely sphere
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 1:05 AM UTC
With the sweat of groin
and aching head, I conquered.
An arching back like lightning struck
My head grows cloudy as we ****
Muted palettes of rage and passion
fused *** and sin, wet kisses from below.
Your eyes stare into mine, looking for stars.
And I gaze down like god in your galaxy at scars
left behind by this jagged love of ours.
In these moments, it's never been so clear
that the quality of your *** is a chain leash
Tight around my neck, and choking
Electrified stimulation, you force me to keep poking
|
But you love me like a dog in a cage
imprisoned and belittled
You've got me as worse than a child
Just a brazen creature to be reviled
* * *
You love the *** but you chase away the wild.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
*
*We all are LOVERz in the being of BELOVEDz
I keep your LOVE secrets
Hidden in the depth of my eyes
You place your ears on my heaving *******
Listening to your melodious heart-beats
I can't even share with anyone
The intimacy YOU share with me
NO one ever has dared, except YOU
To be brave to enter my skin pores
YOU courageous! - Even to my surprised
I surrendered to your LOVE
YOU LOVE me so much that
I want to end my life in your warm hug
The way your eyes shower LOVE on me
No one has ever seen me like YOU do
I seriously can't stand so much of LOVE
Just swallow me inside YOUR being
Your presence makes my knees go weak
With goose-humps on my skin
With butterflies in my stomach
I run to the bedroom, waiting for YOU
With your breathe touching my skin
Every time, you try to breach
My personal space and private boundaries
You sown seeds and buds bloom
From every cell of my body
Scenting fragrance all over YOU
Every pore of my body craves for YOU
Your graft branches on my soul-pot
Flowering colorful blossoms on me
YOU tease me much
Showing so much gentleness and respect
In the way you pluck each flower from my being
You turn me blood red with your foreplay
I bleed YOUR tears begging you to LOVE more
I want you to serve me
I want to tear your back with my nails
I want you to make it happen
Release me in a moment from living
From all the struggles life serves me
Where were YOU all these years?
Now you are here, never leave me!
When your breathe intertwines with mine
There is no gap in our sighs and murmurs
Till you are within me, you color me
Nature's creative palettes of LOVE
With joys, smiles and laughters of intimacy
But when you are not there
I become a whimper expressing
Dislike and unhappiness for every thing
When your roots of thoughts and being
Are not holding me firm, deeply
I die in your longing & crave for you helplessly
I want to run and come in your arms
And loose all my EGO, pride and status
I want to surrender my desired inert beauty
For you to worship me forever
Though I do not show my LOVE openly
I want to tell you this:
I will do everything during the day time
YOU ask me to do for YOU
I will do more for you during the night time
Those things we only fantasize about
I will be-witch you with my scent
I will cover you with my hair
I will embrace you like your skin
I will drench you under my showers
I will hide you under my bosoms
I will carry you within my womb
Where no one is / was / will be permitted ever
And I will release you only
When YOU grant me all my secret desires*
*
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 11:57 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
Lovely sky with your palettes of blue
Wispy clouds go by
And your dark night appears
Threat of rain
Earthly grasses excitement refrain
Not to become filled with delight
For the black clouds have turned their bellow
This rain is not for you young blades
Tonight you must hope for cool to create your misty dew
And in the morning when the yellow warmth begins
You can hope once again
The next misty cloud is just for you.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 11:06 AM UTC
~
*Imagine a box
In shadow
Of utter regalia
Iris, dressed as a waterfall
She comes scattered
Imagine an eyelid illusionist
Praying for more palettes
Enters steelbook cathedrals
To a ministry of colour
For the street outside
Cannot offer as
Interesting a hue
As those fascinating within
The pigment of her imagination
It's compelling artistry
Like oil on canvas
A slight of hand
Smoke and mirrors
Her skilled fingers
Kohl mining
For soft medley
And the new liminality
Above the spectator's eye*
~
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 1:02 PM UTC
Well where do we start?
Bob,
That answers a lot of questions before asked.
He was a vegan, kind of?
Never did he linger on thoughts of animal flesh,
vegan you could single him upon in certain words.
He would not linger on the animal nutritional formalities.
Could he linger on the repulsive tastes of pork, beef, lamb.
He would heave at mere thoughts of digesting these
peaceful recipients of the plant we delve all upon.
But even fish was out of his lingering taste buds.
He did how ever have a taste that differed from the
palettes of most, for it was of those he called friend.
He contorted on the repulsiveness of what his hunger
desired in wanting attention, but as those around waited
for there inevitable ending. He lingered on how they were savoured.
Bankruptcy of morals was his downfall, he saw others as
just meat sacks. Things that were as wanting in consumption
as those they fed upon, There screams were so inviting.
Have you heard an animal scream. No they don't, they
just look cynical in why your ending, their existence and stare.
Where we cry like lambs to the slaughter of our ending.
Emotion makes those that tear salt upon features
taste that much better than those unintelligent creatures
that just except there oblivion with eyes of so be it.
I have a sickness that thrives on the taste of you superficial
fear that I will not end you. No I will cease you light and
endeavour to feed on you lifeless carcass now silent.
*"Hi I'm Bob I'm a vegan struggling with the concept of
no meat in my diet, I don't eat animal, but I still linger
for the taste of meat inbetween of my moist lips and teeth.*
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
brushstrokes, some broad,
some as narrow as one fine hair,
are often red
scarlet and scattered
across the canvas, splattered
against a crumbling wall, where,
for no rhyme or reason, the artist
may place a wilted wreath of flowers,
pallid, yellow
horses and people, babes
and the ancient not spared
their share of the crimson cream
the painter heaped munificently
on their mangled remains
Paris, Beirut, Yola yet to be painted
but there is still time: in its abundance
someone else will need only lift a hand
to spill the ubiquitous blood
our palettes do own other hues
black for charred crosses, white,
the lightning streaked screaming sky
but none so plentiful as the red
none so plentiful as the red
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
I want to erase the figment of my imagination that I’ve allowed you to becomeYou are so opportunistic having used every moment we ever had as a time of spawningYou left traces of yourself that would grow beyond what my mind could containand with your absencethose pieces of you have enlargedThey’ve progressed into long thick arms having my thoughts in choke holds that the top wrestlers have yet to discoverThanks for showing me who you really areYour name is Monsterand I want to remove your electromagnetic tentacles from the nerves of my brainsever your suction cups coat them in a batter flavored with lemon pepper seasoningand deep fry them turn your manipulative tactics into a fine cuisine for the hungered palettes of innocent bystanders that will chew you upswallow youand digest you as the waste of time this aspect of youhas been to meToo bad I’m not bulimicAfter the binge of these false memories I’d gladly shove my finger down my throat and ***** you into filthy toilet bowlsflushing you ‘til you reach your destinationwelcomed by a sea of sewageWhen it comes to the likes of youamnesia has never been so desired.
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
After the screams
I was coming undone,
splitting at the seams.
I hauled all my watercolors
out of my brother's office.
I took the paintbrushes
and palettes of a thousand hues
lodged between his camo army vest
and his heavy shoes
and I sprawled out in the
spinach-green living room.
I painted
willow trees and silhouettes
and viridian snakes spilling from ***** lips.
At 2am I got up
headed to the deck
and watched the stars
Because sometimes I forget.
I let my nights
be slaughtered by sobs.
These nights, this view
It’s mine, you can’t have it.
Everyone needs a place
and this is mine,
this tiny nirvana,
2 o'clock constellations
in the dark purple bruise of night
are my home.
A pool of watercolors,
magenta, cyan, indigo, emerald and cerulean,
swells in my chest,
in the empty space between my lungs.
A drowning, a baptism.
Everywhere, in everything,
your unblinking ghost.
It refuses to dissolve.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
Her eyes rolled,
To that screened window,
With a fleeting look…
Full whiff of silence
No end of thumping shadows,
An ingredient of past…
An escape to embrace.
Golden path
As closing stage…
Of strips of colours.
Awakened dreams…
But shattered hope,
To perish those gears veiled…
An everlasting skirmish.
(12/12/12 - @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
How easy it is to paint people
With one color,
With one broad brush.
Over time the various
Colors on your palette
Swirl together to form globs
Of gray.
And now your monochrome
Judgement renders your world
A bleak, barren desert of ashes.
No longer do you see the world and its
People in its colorful splendor.
Some become acclimated to this dulled
Perception that has taken hold.
A perception that dominates the
Senses and gradually turns the brain
Into gray mush.
Undead they become, starving creatures
With the urge to devour.
To hurt.
No empathy. No compassion. No feeling.
Others, thankfully, know better.
Palettes must be cleansed regularly,
Layers of dried, crusted paint scraped off
With patience.
Then fresh paint is restored.
Fresh perspectives, encounters, and knowledge
Passed down by models to the artist.
Yes, we are artists.
We paint the world as we deem fit,
Plastering on others one’s own
Values, morals, and ideals.
But the true masters of this craft go beyond,
Discerning the vast spectrum of colors
That compose a human soul.
But that takes time.
Years of experience and keen observation.
But possible.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
It's the beginning of an embellishing new season
Opulent and romantic, as the garden of Eden
In an array of lustful stricking palettes
Similarly, to a colorful painted canvas
In soft festive yellows, pinks, lilacs and blues
Truly an incredible view
With smooth light petals, as fresh as the air
Exceptional and beyond compare
Thriving in a distinctive pose, with elegance
Purity and gentleness
Defined into sensual silhouettes
Spontaneously, reflecting a fabulous vignette
Capturing, an alluring peaceful fragrance
Enlightening my presence
An enjoyable time of year
With countless memories, of you being here
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
We stand
staggered in a circle
gold-encrusted poles bolted
to the rotating floor beneath our tired
hooves. Tomato sunburned children scramble
onto throbbing ashen backs, clutching at us with
sticky and and sugar-stained fingers. The first strains
of music echo through our chiseled manes, eerie melodies
impossible to forget after the last children slides off the saddle.
We begin to move, slowly at first, then
turning,
spinning
whirling,
wind
rushing
across
our garish painted faces,
air smelling of syrupy sweat and roasted meat.
Jeering shouts of vendors and cackling shrieks of riders
penetrate our ringing ears with grating force.
Reds and yellows and blues bleed together,
spattering our spiraled vision with
dizzying palettes of primary hue.
Relentless ghost-like tunes,
around and around as
we rise and fall
rise and fall.
Aug 6, 2011
Aug 6, 2011 at 10:51 PM UTC
~~~
I sat alone in the bleachers
On a Friday night
I saw the ghost of my brother
Saw the ghost of my fallen kite
And I met you for the
1st,
2nd,
3rd,
4th,
5th,
6th time
Because when I'm with you, time stops,
And there's nothing but the air and us
And the city lights, and fast food stops, and gas stations
You give me tingles across my body, ecstatic sensations
And I'm sorry if I'm fixated,
On your big, beautiful...
Aspirations, and dreams
Because they involve me
And, and
I love you!
But what is love?
Baby, please don't hurt me
Because my heart can't take anymore breaking
But there isn't anymore love,
It's all about internships and college and jobs
My body yearns, and throbs
For your touch
A little too much
I'm drowning, in my feelings
And the noises
The ocean is washing over my grave
The ocean is washing open your grave
In my heart, you're the one that keeps me safe
We're mixing the palettes of each other's colours
I love you,
So will you be my kite runner?
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 12:29 PM UTC
The morning light wanes
out on open plains
my belly debates
croissants have to wait
All the nylon fliers
like crayons palettes
festival of spectacles
So many favorites
Up Up and Away
a hundred balloons
above lagoons and chimneys
below valleys and alleys
In one strong forehand
a spectacular descent
it looks unplanned
a landing on the grandstand!
There was no flaw
only the applause
at dawn, champagnes flow
I stand in awe
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC
through the
Humbling Portal
of these
Hallowed Pages
you'll find
Hesitant Plunges
both by new
and "older"
Honored Poets
using
Harmonious Palettes
to create
Haunting Pictures
sometimes giving a
Heavenward Peek
through
Hypnotic Potpourri
Heady Perfume
even
Happy Poison
while
Hapless Pixies
and
Hopeful Prophets
Hunt Pearls
and
Hold Parades
that result in
Holy Pandemonium
yet
within our reach are
Homegrown Peaches
Hanging Pome
for our
Hungry Prowling
as we read
tales of
Heartless Paramours
Hissing Pit-vipers
who gave
Half Promises
we decipher
Humorous Puzzles
Hardest Perplexities
based on
Hysterical Pretexts
until our eyes see only
Haphazard Pixels
on the screen
and in a
Helpless Panic
we quickly read
the notes
a
Hasty Postlude#
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
On a pallid afternoon, interspersed with thoughts of occult days,
I, my palettes and brushes sit down with the hope of splashing colours on the white void surrounding me...
Yet like a white hole it absorbs all the colours leaving behind a blank space!
Perhaps some days are like a dense fog inside and out...
And I am not yet certain whether to be proud or to regret,
What such days of gloom has taught me...
But one thing is certain, that all the moments coalesced together has taught me to paint a portrait of nothingness-
The thing that does not exist yet which threatens to live in the deepest chambers of my unruly mind!
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 12:03 PM UTC
Autumn
arrives
on waves of
sheer exhilaration
for those summer
worn bodies
hungry for horizons
enveloped in
colorful palettes
fall is courted
with the best
of intentions
a clearly
moody lover
who year after year
whispers goodbye
in piles of leaves
among rapidly
vanishing vistas
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC