"polychromatic" poems
Sirius
opalescent, effulgent
twinkling, scorching, flickering
sky's brightest star, earth's nearest star
shimmering, blazing, blistering
polychromatic, luminous
Sun
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
I am in cold. I watch that garish ward brimming with false light. Bleached air from his lips touching hers. He hides in her mane, sterile and alone. Why is it so hard, such an insurmountable task for you to see how I lather my face with paint each day just to smile at you?
My face, my heart, my mind not a blank canvas that I hide with these diluted pastels but a deep, rich chorus of colors and oils that were never meant to be hidden. But the ward will never know.
There are thoughts and opinions rolling like a torrent behind this mask I call a face. This world was against me from day one, don’t you dare say I’ve given way to cynicism. Nor optimism, pessimism, or God-forsaken realism. Can't I think the earth is beautiful, God is good, I am right, and people are wrong without someone putting an -ism behind me? Of course not. That's narcissism. Egoism. Egalitarianism.
It is what I unknowingly wrote across my mask. But I never chose to attend this outdated ball, masquerades are cliched. Pure romanticism...surrealism, the kin of commercialism whose visage is a polychromatic wheel of logotypes that you just have to know en masse.
What if I stop believing that compassion Himself can hate me? No, no that's atheism. Agnosticism. And if I'm better than someone because He said so then that is monotheism in all it's delicate flavors.
Can't I breathe alone in a quiet corner? Isolationism. Can't I want to simply be a follower, and think about life, literature, and art? Incomprehensible, that would be totalitarianism, absolutism, authoritarianism. What if I want to give God all the power He gave us, and watch the world change? Fascism. Revolutionism. Extremism, because releasing the wheel is extremism. Existentialism.
And what if I choose to remove the mask, break the levees, release the floodgates, my thoughts and opinions, never watch my tongue, and speak the world as it is: A capital M-madman's schism of logic and faith. As it has always been, and always will be. I will always be in love with the counterfeit ward. And yes, there's a label for that: Catastrophism.
So I watch Beauty and his Beast touching in fluorescence. Bleached breath, save for the smoke of his lungs in hers. Sterile and alone; I am in cold, and cold hurts me.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC
I compare your eyes
To the red autumns sky
I think of you
As a polychromatic sunset
Your lips a beautiful painting
A form of abstract art
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 2:11 PM UTC
the destination?
technicolor paradise:
Imagination
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
We are
one but we are
not. You reflect the
image that I project,
yet we are not the
same. We are
pens
that
are limited, and are taught
to perpetuate stories only with blank
papers; stars that are gifted with
ethereal shine, but upon its
acceptance, the clouds
inevitably create
a demarcation.
It screams a rule
that stars may only fall for
wishes, and not to gift their innate
shine to another star. The sun screams
that two ends of polychromatic rainbows
may not meet in order to preserve the treasures.
But I stand before you, a similar image of you. We
are unfathomable depths but with divergent trenches.
Everyday we hear the
sun scream, and I say
do not fear its flare.
For in love we are
free, and in love
we are both
limitless.
We are
free.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:16 AM UTC
*achromatic.
adrift.*
in this
polychromatic world.
monochromatic views.
breed
duotone intolerance.
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
Thy is not blind, thy is full of life
Yet it be thy eyes has lost all soul
Thy colors have fallen and brutally died
There’s no hope, to find them is no more
Black, grey, whenever and wherever you go
Never to reappear in this monochromatic world
All colors have gone as if they vanished into below
Get them quick; they’re in hold!
Children will hear, children will be told
Of the story of no colors around
Only black and white are left, as the rest are mold
Grey in the sky, grey on the ground, colorless all around
Yet, in my hands, in this little polychromatic portfolio
I am still able to see the colors that left so long ago
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
I can see through your eyes
Dark pigment
Surrounded by a colorless horizon
Lids and lashes act as curtains
But as you become surprised they rise
...
Your eyes are wide
The reflection I get makes me think that I'm in the picture
But reality tell me that everyone else sees themselves within you
I can see through your eyes , but I can't tell who you're looking forward to
Contenders
Applicants
Aspirants
Do we all make your eyes sparkle or is that just the only thing that divorces me from the other prospects?
The other prospects keep looking just as I do, so I know that it is something that they want
...Your eyes
Your eyes become my shining gold when your cheeks elevate and suppress , leaving wrinkles right next
Your upside down rainbow, I mean ... your smile
So kaleidoscopic and polychromatic
Dynamic and emphatic
What creature wouldn't be attracted?
...
Umm
Whatever natural specimen with a good sight that can see through your eyes.
Someone with similar vision, but nonidentical decisions to I
I know your smile is moody
Your heart is choosy
And your eyes are gluey
And yet I dissociate myself from your gallery
Believing some day that you'll just shut your eyes and become blind to all the other guys
How do I disregard the signs that I'm instructed while seeing through your eyes
The signs that show me how you flourish off of all the concentration that you get
I'm posing inside of a picture that I know is framed by faces that do not have placement
Your art steadily draws attention
so as soon as you get glimpses
You start your bidding
Your craft is so worthy but so inexpensive
As if you put your body up for sale and mark down the price, only to stay top seller to the cheap consumers
How do you allow to have a allowance upon yourself; moreover, place yourself on clearance
The real question is why do I window shop knowing that the quality of the product is so unreliable
I don't think I really wanna see, what I really see when looking through your eyes
Wishing you weren't so prideful about your high demand of men
If yu weren't so disdainful maybe you'll blink more often and try to
Shun from keeping eye contact with me
Instead you proudly advertise yourself as the best deal yet
I hate that I can see through your eyes
Because I hate to witness a beautiful woman with such a bargaining mind
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Polychromatic lovers-
I open a window,
Open wide toward radiance
That descends into the primitive
Depths of a fiery spirit,
There upon a mural splendid
I did see like into dreams
With incomprehensible clarity....
Windows like lights reflecting moons
And daily the gaze fills the abyss
Open wide toward uncertainty
And hallucinating destinies,
Window, open window,
Crystalline glass of the soul.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
As the crow flies south from capital city
With soaring moonshine he coasts into synchronicity
Highways below dissolve into forgotten whispers
Like a rear view mirror sees only memories in its disappearing
Visual ****** initiates and fills this polychromatic cruise
Starting with a quiet historic ruse
Contesting over which of the two
echo shadows for optical repeal
the many leaves of kaleidoscope hues
That keep a running legacy since time before our time
and / or
Buried horizon from endless layers of skyward hills
Hills that have been storing a primitive foundation for the growing of substructure foliage in order to be able to drop its petals and leaves
Resolve is left with the one true and unbiased impartial decider...
the wind
to form a fair measure of mediation
From the human view
All are merely a preview for the impromptu quest
In an attempt to catalyze foreshadow and paint memory for the drive out west
To approach from afar
The destination appears to be a resting
shape of an antiquated location
splashed with opaque aromas,
sensory weaving visuals,
and
Melodic tones of nostalgic definition
Emitting vibrations of soothing tremolo that quiver throughout the body
this multi-strip string of singular select shops
Is the alignment initiative in the countryside
forecasting a manifest
for the hazy occasion
Anointing inspiration over the heartland’s artland
That nearly only hope,
could create
Invisible snows sprinkle over roads like a magic red carpet of threaded tranquility in its coat
Enticing, Welcoming, and Lighting up this neck of the west
And opening into the
Woodland Hills of Little Nashville
———-—————————————-——————————
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC
sitting by a window
staring out the smudged pane
past the polychromatic crowds
bent, huddled, faceless in the rain
a smeared image swirling by
modern art painting not yet dry
wishing to nod off
tired to the bone
the rattle and rumble beneath
the stop and the start
keep my weary eyelids apart
the odors of crowded humanity
fill my nostrils,
make them burn
alcohol, sweat, stale cigarette smoke
on clothes that are old and worn
garlic, deep fryer grease
pastrami and cheese in a sack
blood dried on the apron
slung over a butcher's back
a cacophony of noises
surge inside the car
papers rattle, fingers tap
on electronics or on steel bar
~~~
nobody's talking
eyes are downcast
to newspaper, cell phone
or hangnail
fear and distrust
thick in the air
scattered about like
yesterday's mail
on this common commuter carrier
they're traveling the same route
home
just working folks
trying to make it all work out
they have much in common
in a way, aren't they all kin?
worn and weary at end of day,
fellows in the midst of this din?
14th Street station ahead
warns of various dangers
posted there on a column decreed
Please do not smile at strangers
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
the sheer irony kicking pounding slapping biting
from the 19th century, a book entitled the gay science
sits pretty now, pretty with an ironic glee of puffed cheeks
and teeth showing, pretty enough to be a daffodil
smile, and why? why?! but of course the book looks
at 21st century and says: not much gaiety around here,
in the dirge dungeons of expression, maybe i should
be called episteme eulogia / επιστημη ευλογια,
i.e. the science of eulogy, praise indeed,
praised as if dead or dying; where the dionysian madness?
where the randomised polychromatic kandinsky moment
of frenzy? it's all written like vectors of cradle
unto the grave: (a) happend, (b) happened, (c) too
and follow on through to (d, e, f, g)... but where was (a2)
and (a3) a quick moment of (c) but actually following
through into the sub-plot no. 3 tier of (b)?
through and through, i think i'll have to lose all the airy
fairy ******** and dig in, from england all the way
to china, and speak with mao tse tung and emperor puyi
in māori, or sign language, for a bit of a foxtrot,
for a bit of a laugh - should i find any gaiety here,
it would probably sound as dumb as spike milligan's
ning nang nong nim com ****
(shh... they'll discover you're feeding a young angry man persona),
it comes with the face and the age, by the time i'm fifty
i'll just be a cranky old man persona: angry at my bladder,
angry at my legs, my wrinkles my half-witty jests,
i'll be angry at my wife, at my mid-life crisis in the form
of a harley davidson only ridden once, you name it,
anger will turn to crankiness, and it'll be too late to then
poetically confess.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
Like as heaven's golden eye
In all her timeless grandeur
Doth emanate to paint the sky
In polychromatic hues all o'er
At the break of dawn, so raced I
Briskly through woods of failure,
Yonder the mighty hill of success
That shimmered in the distance.
The closer I drew, the further the hill,
But despite the task seemed sisyphean,
Winds of hope came driving me still
Right through thorny thickets of men
That unto me said I'll never get uphill,
But though girthed with such ill omen,
I bore it in mind, at the end of day,
Even the sun fades into heaven's bay.
They tried to pull me down,
But, "giving up" ain't my name;
When at last I wore a golden crown,
They tumbled into a sea of shame
And there deep they didst drown
Till so soddened every part of them:
"For now every body knows my story,
I rest not till I behold clouds of glory."
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, 8/4th/2019.
#Words Of Wisdom
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 1:11 AM UTC
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
For I am a poet, my dear
If only a simple, but heartfelt "yes"
Is what you would like to hear
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your deep brown eyes are lovely
I'll say they're luminous stars,
During my nights, they shine impeccably
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your smiles are charming
I'll say they're arcs of polychromatic colors
Stretched across blue skies, breathtaking
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your hair is just fine,
I'll say they're thin tails of wandering comets
Fascinating, plainly divine
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If your dress looks okay
I'll say you're a glass of ice cold water
And I've been thirsty for this entire summer day
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
If I'll still hold your rough hand
Darling, can an average human like me
Resist a touch so grand?
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
After one, five, ten, twenty-five years time
I'll say that whatever my eyes descry
Will be defining sublime
Don't ask me if you're beautiful
You're in love with a poet, my dear
Simple answers are not what I'd give
A mere "yes" is not just what you'd hear
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
from beneath the steadiness of her convictions,
a minute quiver of doubt
gave rise to seismic realization.
a rather austere ordeal,
like the waning of a summer's moon,
from which springs fall.
sitting in the bulwark she'd built for herself,
she feels satisfaction as she absorbs the fumes,
her personal ritual complete.
the floor grew distant, and the walls began to melt.
a cascade of sparks danced across her neurons,
and chemicals saturated her brain.
her soul expanded; her mind widened.
her breathing became ragged, and her heart frantic.
moments passed by as hours.
thoughts blurred through her mind.
streams of consciousness streaked past.
the brainstorm flooded the streets.
her train of thought sped along,
and as suddenly as the insight came,
it dissipated into polychromatic smoke.
the numbness slowly drained from her fingers.
her thoughts became sluggish in comparison,
as the euphoric edge evanesced.
tears rose in her eyes as waves of nausea swept over her,
and pain erupted in her head, within which,
the sound of her uneven breathing reverberated endlessly.
after the agony had passed,
she returned to the outside world,
drowsy and disoriented.
the jaundiced stares of her former peers pierced her.
each word that she spoke, disregarded,
and every action judged.
she felt the weight of their censure,
but the heavier encumbrance was her basic need,
to fill each breath with her death sentence.
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 9:46 PM UTC
The polychromatic features of my mind are shining
as the white light hits my eyes
Bright colors bursts and burns wholes in the black and white images I used to keep, burning the old periodicals of my past life,
I cease to see the enriching shades of many colors,
like shades blocking rays from the sun,
the colors become an image of my soul,
a beautiful painting, mounted on a wall, never to move or fall,
only to be posted up at a famous museum for people to stare and criticize,
then theres that one person who looks upon and hopes to buy
but a price for this piece could be priceless
a painting at ease in time, with colors essential to mankind.
Color blind like dogs, to the them images are colorless
No room for peace or an open mind.
A person dripped in black tears falling from eyes of false hope.
Hopelessness becomes the very thing I use to cope.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
I.
Her every word
An explosion of emotions
Every shrapnel hits my heart precisely
I'm clutching my chest
As I try to chase my breath
II.
I'd say this is the best way to die
But then her lips curve
Into a lovely arc
And I'm rejuvenated back to life
III.
She's a ramshackle bridge
Connecting life and death
I'm walking back and forth to memorize her
From evident to infinitesimal details
IV.
The universe has its secrets
Some of them long for acknowledgement
So maybe that's why
I have fallen in love
With life and death's lovechild
V.
She embodies efflorescing life
By being the rain of polychromatic colors
The grinning sun, the efflorescing flowers
And the jaunty waves of the sea
VI.
She portrays death
By being the blinding darkness
The excruciating agony, the final breath
And the last fluttering of the eyes
VII.
Her kisses plant seeds of life
On the damp earth of my soul's garden
Nurturing the sprouting flowers
With gentle caresses and sweet words
Into its full bloom
VIII.
Her gazes are a coercive death ride
Her brown orbs stealing the oxygen
Meant to fill my lungs
Halting its invasion in my depths
My heart becoming unable to beat
IX.
I can describe her relentlessly
Until stars shine in admiration of her
But she speaks again
Another parade of explosions commences
Still aimed directly towards my chest
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
he's made it to the leaping-off place
it was a beautiful stroll up
and the wind
makes hair feel free.
he's made it to the leaping-off place
the sky tides the wispy white dreams
of faraway things
but the ponderous rote
of the dirt
binds him and bids him delay.
and he writes—
*life looks so good in green, friend
a feet-light frenzy in polychromatic feelings
white white fingers on a lite-brite brain
pull out the pegs—time to feel insane
to let it all out.
sunshine rain from your cucumber eyes
if only the littlest drop
will make me whole
i'll make my soul an impluvium.*
the faraway below, and the folded wings
the sun, the moon, and the unimaginable pinpoints
of what wishes are
everything in the sky and earth
is in his head
and his hands are empty.
he's made it to the leaping-off place
and grass stains his jeans as he stares
lost in thought
wondering, pondering in a storm of
lethargy
the implications of leaving the ground.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
New ideas leading the way; a polychromatic, spiritual bouquet blooming in an elaborate way
Observing a miraculous new day with heartfelt lenses - I ride the sea of change and come to my senses.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
The magnolia smile of yours beaming with startling radiance,
The inconspicuous/electric stimulant touch
of your fingers swerving across the slight of my shoulder,
Polychromatic fireworks at twilight,
imploding like reticent galaxies,
at the sight of you
within my hapless/star crossed self,
Pebbles & beads on marked destinations
on the atlas of our hands,
Your lush lips on me,
cause aching thunders to rage
within this bottled up hail storm within the silhouette of me,
I//Conjure flowers in the back of your esthetical/messy hair,
Constancy and infinity.
Mine.
To let go.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 1:35 AM UTC
Effulgence of the brightest star
That evermore beams from afar.
Resplendency of the dawn dew
Beaming forth with a silvery hue.
Opalescence of a neon rainbow,
Or the luster of winter snow.
Glitter of a moon-kissed sea
Murmuring with sheer glee.
Hues of a polychromatic sunset
Upon heaven's stonking gate.
Glow of buds of a rose-gold sheen,
Or snowy lilies by meadows green.
The sparkle of a sun-kissed stream
Whispering along like a sweet dream.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California. 11/05/19.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
Tonight we’ll share the heavens;
Souls knitted into one,
Fly together we, the ochre moontrails,
on gossamer wings.
The decanter overflows with nectar;
its sweetness permeates the ethereal void,
like ephemerous orbs when touched
by the hands of a child.
The secret Garden’s lit by Eos’ mirth;
polychromatic hues emanate from glassine showers;
Gait filling the place, radiating in splendor,
Warming every psyche in its solace.
Silence may, yet rule the void;
Plenary peace acquiesced e’en for a nanosecond.
Then from some aperture, a tiny tingle crescendos,
as the angelic host thunder their majestic heralds.
Come with me now my beloved;
Dry I your tears with lotus petals,
Come with me now, reach out your hand
and together we’ll share a millennium in a succinct moment
in this paradise called DREAMS.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
We are all bewildered dancers
Lost in an incomprehensible ballet—
Woven tightly through a rich tapestry,
Drawn from contrasting colors,
Yet forming a boundless whole,
Waltzing hand in hand—
In love and hate, joy and suffering,
Dark and light, death and life.
The universe—a radiant church window,
Fracturing light into polychromatic unity,
Drifting shards of stained glass,
Piercing through the drama of duality,
Rippling into a sea of endless complexity,
Wedged between the boundaries
of stars and the space that forms them,
A perfection found in imperfection,
Beneath this sea of contrast lies truth:
How could we be anything at all
Without two sides to make us whole?
Before the technicolor skies formation,
We were the loneliest deity,
Infinity alone in a room made of itself,
Where everything was everywhere,
And time unfolded all at once.
So we crafted ourselves a dream—
From the core of our mirrored soul,
A place where I am you and you are me,
So we may live and perish in grace.
So we may play a game with ourselves,
Performing on this boundless stage,
An intricate puzzle piece,
Fitting together in a dance of chaos,
Meticulously designed to deceive ourselves,
So we may treasure life in the face of death.
Navigators of the in-between,
Wandering the maze of nothingness.
If infinity could dream,
Its deepest longing would be
To grasp something real—
To feel the grass beneath its feet,
As it runs across the hills of our earth,
Savoring the fleeting bliss of it all.
The present is so precious,
It hints at a reason we call it so—
A split second glimpse of meaning
In the eternal dance of existence.
Sep 9, 2024
Sep 9, 2024 at 10:50 AM UTC