"spectrums" poems
I’ll protect the innocent
even while I may proclaim
my deep regard for who they are
controversy may be exclaimed
guiltless stated for my friends
this word is used at its most broad
when all children of the divine
deserve their refuge from abuse
even while I seek to proclaim
my admiration for their grit
stepping outside confining realms
leading the way for this questing one
on the shoulders of the perverse
this is how the public may respond
declaring wisdom I don’t share
when I see threads of commonality
in my heart I know we are the same
seeking power in our own way
being true to ourselves
while expressing how we live
humanity searching for a voice
I’ll add mine to the chorus
admitting that I’ve fallen far
while ascending to the heights
spectrums ranged in pursuit
my honest nature at last found
though at first I wrongly thought
I was alone when I was not
the free spirits led the way
I wish my voice could exclaim
and still I hold back my breath
protecting innocent like myself.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180909.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
"Will you wait for me?" He asked
Hesitantly, she: "How long?"
Hope and doubt intense, he: "for 60 years",
"Don't be a stupid, no one wait for anyone, that long": She
"But you said we are the soul mates,
The only key that fitted the lock"
She was long gone; into a dot,
Midst the temple lamps, round the sanctum
************
Hurried, she sent the message of the night and switched off the phone
"Love you; Miss you, my battery dying; Will text you tomorrow"
Amar replied "Me too darling, missing you and love you crazily"
Akbar replied "Hug me close and sleep tight honey, dream only me"
Adil replied "Take care my love, good night and sweet dreams"
Antony was angry, "Why don't you keep the phone charged? Good night"; he was the hubby!
And the stupid opened the door, hugged her in
And whispered "come in, my soul mate
The only key that fitted the lock"
********
"Take me for a ride; I want to be a carefree pillion today,
Floating away with you..."
Holding him tight, legs across, she let her hair loose
“Fly the bumps, I want to fall all over you” she held him tightly
From the pillion of the bike, she longed to see all spectrums of life
"Faster you stupid, I don't want to spend a lifetime as a pillion"
Then one day, she climbed the hills, for good.
He wandered the plains for long
Within their own, they kept a grudge to themselves
For, not letting the lock and key to know
They only fitted each other
********
“I take you to be my wedded wife
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer”
“I take you to be my wedded husband
For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer”
Until the God sets us apart
Honey turned the first leaf on- ‘Money!’
“My money is my money, and
Your Money is our money, Stupid!”
Then it was all about I, me and mine
Lock never knew there was a Key
And the Key went from the fights to flights and a final freeze
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
If reached beside the pearly cradled rose
therein a rattling joy; o' stillborn child.
What uttered mine - unsaid angelic prose,
should passing lay my husk and essence wild?
Awaiting yonder womb were tepid wings;
inflamed with bonding warmth of kinship love,
like softly feathered pads and rocking swings
then ardent glows, as seen and known above.
The wailing babe is music sung and sought,
for more a sleepless dusk - had since apart.
For eyes which never opened wide were wrought
and taken here and strolled in golden cart.
Should words in amber fail and infant pine,
behold the spectrums soul, the same as mine.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
In the grey fog that surrounds the space, ominous sounds buzz and hum, sending the spine in a frenzy
But I see color, bright and ravishing, dripping from the petals of an orchid
You are an orchid in the fog, showing colors of amazement, giving my world so many spectrums of wonderment
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Reflected, an iris of colored contexts that once had reception without spectacles. I signed voluntarily the letters to a name that I sincerely wanted to keep. I tried to limit the lines that divided the print of a written statement of deliverance; a sealed inner sanctum that has remained defunct while displaced of force all along devout of a substance, my words strived to be read ingrained on paper placed in constants among summations of variables clearly he scribed drafts maintaining a patterned complex of metaphors only to contradict the expressions layered, confusing this thinker so that the reader may interpret a plausible audibility for thought looking beyond spectrums of what is to be foreseen
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:30 PM UTC
body at rest - but
thoughts that rage
twisting & churning
varying spectrums
burning questions
"why did you wait
so long to tell me?"
m.f.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
I grew up hearing
Little miss this and
Little miss that
But I think there’s been a little mistake
A little misunderstanding
Like there’s something that they missed
Because certainly sir could replace the title of miss
And mister wouldn’t stir up a fuss
And I could still be me
Right?
Ever since I was little I took pride in the word tomboy
Not realizing the other labels that pride could be applied to
Because I spent my life being lied to
About what gender really means
And I’ve been starting to question and I’ve been starting to learn
That expectations aren’t everything
And when it comes to gender roles
I grew up just rolling with it
But recently realized that I don’t have to
And I’ve been coming up with different ways of coming out
But mostly I’ve just spent a lot of time thinking
About spectrums and pronouns and labels and orientation
About binders and binaries and identity versus expression
About the way that I never really minded the onslaught of
She
She
She
Shhhh…
He
Maybe he can fit just as well
Maybe she fits fine
Maybe I can be a daughter by day and a son by night
Maybe I can bypass the binary and angle towards androgyny
Or transcend transgender in term of ambiguity
Maybe I can be
Me
And maybe someday that will be enough
Because boy oh boy there are days that I do love being a girl
But what can you do when it’s a dog eat dog world
And you were born a cat?
Just a little bit more of a ***** than you were hoping for
In this world where facts are misconstrued
And your words are misinterpreted
And you’re feeling a little
Just a little… misgendered
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
It is incumbent upon us to interpret various environments in this multi-dimensional tapestry of holistic landscapes, where celestial ecosystems abound with pulsating organisms of diversity.
So, let us translate our literary concepts in silence, as we traverse cross-cultural vistas of universality.
As indigenous beings reach beyond the sparse and pompous settlements of our ******* city towers; there is something incomprehensible which transcends our ambling walk through this urban pasture, as the train departs from the classical platform of El Chorro.
I am mesmerised by linguistic creativity, as she echoes throughout distant galaxies of enriched and unspoken mystical vocabularies.
As empirical verification is not possible, I must beseech thee: Where are the connoisseurs of this poetic dimension?
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
**Mauve is my favorite Color
A sister to Burgundy,
dusty Rose, soft Purple hues..
Love variations of Creams,
buttery Golden Yellows,
Blues, Teals, Pinks and Crimson
Not so much..the Primaries.
So very saturated and bright,
What captives my attention
is the endless, sumptuous possibilities
blending of spectrums and
hues providing me the most delight
Huge fan of Black...
A non-color
the definitive definition defining
lack of all Color.
Which is actually a dichotomy...
As to create black is to chose a base tone
Then blending a series of other Colors
So that every black
The exception being formulations
becomes a variation of a theme..
The debate continues,
If Black is truly the definition
of lack there of, therefore not deserving the title
of being a Color, where does that leave those that insist that Black is their's (favorite)?
Hmmm, maybe Black is my favorite Color too...
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
When your voice is drowning in an endless sea of chatter, and your life has been reduced to ash and sorrow -
in your darkest hour, in your blackened thoughts, at the end of the spectrum, there lies the tipping point;
the plunge into darkness or the ascent into light.
Jun 4, 2022
Jun 4, 2022 at 12:21 AM UTC
I am color blind-
to reds greens and blues
curious of what colors
appear in your dreams or visions too
I question the
spectrums of
your perceptions
in the midst of the
differentiations in
our walks of life,
thoughts and insights
there are many shades
of black and white
so how can you
possibly see with
those eyes
shut tight
as if lids were pressed,
superimposed
with eyes blurred
or closed
when you say my blue
is not your blue,
I ask why they
cannot be both.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
more often misunderstood than not
i dance in spectrums of gray
where right and wrong is blurred
and faded edges
complicates this maze
i get lost in my own mind
blissfully wandering off
fixating about trivial things
staring at the moon for hours
waiting for it to answer me
perhaps im too different
beautifully broken yet starry eyed
quiet demeanor with a chaotic mind
and you, unfortunately,
are too the same
oneday i will find the soul
that finds peace in all of me
and we will wonder
and wander
together
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
Do you still recall my touch?
How I played with your dainty fingers and
traced murals of dreams on your palm?
I wonder how it feels now,
like venom running through your veins.
I am the poison that your parents used warn you about as a child-
pure, unadulterated blight in alluring hourglass bottles.
Magnetic spectrums of colour,
mimicking spilled petrol,
enrapturing naive, starry-eyed souls
oblivious to the threat I pose.
The realisation; too late.
I destroy you,
leaving you feeling the rush of my affection
but innocently unaware I have forsaken you.
Neglected.
And, oh, how you’re addicted.
The destructive euphoria with which I intoxicate you,
mesmerised by the dilated eye of the magnified dust devil.
Cursed by my breath-taking, malevolent ‘love’
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
Hypocrisy,
The equivalent of social ******
Based in double standards,
Tainted by dishonesty.
Victims to this plague,
The devils advocate leads the way,
With nothing but tired contradictions to convey.
We dissuade,
Allowing our facades to fade.
Revealing our true colors,
Painted in spectrums of hate.
Masking the demons,
Hoping no one can see.
Blindly choosing defeat,
Disregarding what makes us free.
Our ubiquitous connection,
Gone without detection.
A crisis that deserves undivided attention.
The equivalent of social ******
Hypocrisy.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
'No,' she said, as we waited, 'that’s not right.'
Not fading, but returning, rising through
full spectrums of radiant light until,
to the human eye it appears to fade
(pale white to a silver grey)
but it simply steps into a vision
that is reserved for keener eyes than ours.
(like ultraviolet)
Not fading, but transforming, travelling
at a speed forever known as its own.
Always keen to get home in a fit state
to enjoy a few hours with its feet up
by the ebb and glow of its evening fire
(red with blues and greens)
before rising, rested, to greet the dawn
recharged with the full force of the sunrise.
(bold yellow and blood orange)
No, not fading. That fails to see the truth
that it’s taking paths through deeper shadows
(purples and blues mostly)
which our deceptive eyes struggle to grasp
and in our weakness, it is lost to us.
Then she gasped, and I saw that she was right,
the light didn't fade, but it stepped ahead
waiting at the next bend of hope’s rainbow.
(a glow of pure gold)
Oct 6, 2022
Oct 6, 2022 at 5:17 PM UTC
"With the awareness comes periods of days, sometimes weeks, when I have to avoid looking into a mirror. My self hate is so deep, so palpable, I fear I'll lunge at my own image, shatter the glass and cut myself with shards of broken reflection."
~Jax Teller (Sons Of Anarchy)
The mirror reflects images
Of past things I'd like to forget
Memories project ghosts that faded
Long ago after I built up my regrets
And that reflection shines through
All the different scenarios
Of this life that I've lived through
And heartbreaks, everywhere I go
Heartbreak, heathens, hounds and Hell
What wonderful whispers the mirror has to tell
I've heard them before - **** - they came from my core
Love was the loathing that turned into lore
**** the person in the mirror
The truth could not be clearer:
A monster spawned once the medicine cabinet filled with liquor
You hate me? Join the ******* club
I'm the ******* dartboard at the local pub
Then comes the crashing, the breaking, the cuts and bruises
Spectrums of pieces and shatters of truths
And yet it all just reflects right back to mistakes from our youth
The mirror, just an ugly reminder of shame with all the proof
But what can we do? How can we forget?
The images of the past can't change how they reflect
From another angle we could possibly alter the effect
But no altercations can take away the pain and regret
I take a walk to distance me from myself,
but there is no harbor for demons hiding from Hell
I tried my damnedest to become better,
but despite how earnest, I only grew bitter
Now, being sober just gives me the jitters
I can't be alone with the Devil inside
I can't change things when the problem is I
People see me and they are befuddled
I see only a shell when I pass by these puddles
Empty, that's all that's left of me
Nothing, there's nothing left to see
The mirror is blank, a black hole
Drained into space, the remnants of my soul
Blank reflections shattered against my heart
Feeling of hate and self doubt ripping me apart
The eyes staring back at me have no emotions
Wide gazes and high tides like endless oceans
This nothingness is completely consuming me
My life, love and happiness have been swept out to sea
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
Pick up the fragments that belong
in the basket of the self
even while the world suggests
what’s retrieved should be shamed
an assault where none is meant
pharisees err in response
when curative is the intent
for the traveler off the path
beware gatekeepers of all stripes
the outsider or close ally
denying unity sought within
as the holy guards the breach
the victim cast as miscreant
targeted to save the group
on the altar of the right
still the splinters must be amassed
the shards echo rainbow hues
scattered on the floor of life
spectrums hidden are reclaimed
the stacked result fills the sky
stars embodied in the depths
collected with a net of tears
zodiacs reflect the self
shining brighter than distress.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180913.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
Supernatural
Beams dazzle
Illustrations shape
A character speaks
Pleasantries
Quakes of fear occur
Lullabies eject
From her lips
As she pirouettes
Such color spectrums
Radiate
To mold a queen
© 2012 (All rights reserved)
This poem is featured in the poetry collection “Technicolor” as written by Glenn McCrary
The collection is currently available in paperback and hardcover editions for purchase on Lulu.com
.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
Meaning is entirely
subjective in a
world where
some
starve &
others **********
& someone,
somewhere,
breaks an iPhone.
How do I find unanimity
in the midst of spectrums,
ranges, & degrees in which
one
falls?
Who is like me?
Who is like you?
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Locked in the dark room
With a man that talks too much
There’s nothing that wears it off
Laying on the kitchen floor and shower stall
It will all be okay I swear
Just rest your head
Lying on the floor
In so much psychosis pain
Sober whispers and ****** speeches
*She was the one I wanted
Tell everybody to go away
A good kick in the nuts
I don’t care for it
One thing will set me off
And it’s over for me*
Locked in the dark room
Different spectrums to rage
Research what the best solution is
I feel crazy on doctors’ advice
*Are you flexing now bro?
That's so loose ********
Camping in an office
Blown up on shrooms*
Three weeks
D minus B
Old drugs will only get you new diseases
Different opinions always offered on old payments
Dreams so vivid
*They don’t make no sense
They always make sense*
Stay awake
No sleep
Sleep in the dark room
Old folks at an old folks home
A lifetime reminiscing about the comings and goings
Of some forgotten sickness
I got the night terrors
******* crazy
Ohio to LA
Some hazy dream of what it’d be like to audition
It’s new crushes on old enemies that tie us together
Minnesota goodbyes
And long drives home.
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
Isn’t that glimmer visible?
That wonderful sparkle, like a fly to the light
A shining diamond, an alluring sight
Seeker and seeked and discovered overtly
What fun is its commonality?
Must you spend a two months salary?
But see the gem in the rough
Weighed far less in value
But nonetheless faceted
Judge it harshly shall you?
The trope of the diamond
Has been pried from those eyes
By the multi-facets and spectrums
Of transient angles, translucent drums
Milky or lustrous, a separate conundrum
Choose the opal, akin to the human soul
Shimmering subtly and brightly
Gently and ever-changed nightly
Like the starriest coals
Trill and hover ever-so lightly
Discovering the treasures in the rough
That others could never trust
They’ll lie in waiting, perhaps turn to dust
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 11:52 PM UTC
News comes in spectrums
In the sun in the rain
Delivered by stork or by train
Not cloaked in fairytales
Cancer was the news
No tomorrow I wonder
I stood still amidst the cold stone room
Attentively listening to the news caster
A breeze of life flew out of me
As I gazed in awe about tomorrow
Devastated but without known sorrow
Life goes on said the unforgiving news breaker
In emptiness I glimpsed into the future
The day my loved ones living without mama
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 9:41 PM UTC
Boston, land of the Big Dig,
home of tight knit groups who call each other family with no blood relation.
Winter teaches you how to shovel your car out of snow banks with red raw hands and a pizza box. Teaches you balance as you slip and skid your way down city sidewalks laced with ice, black like onyx.
Girls with big **** and short dresses shiver on the T, their puffy white breaths begging for warmth while their counterparts stand snuggled in down jackets zipped up to their nose. Spring brings rain and the snow becomes muddy slush splashing against your car that can never really be clean. But then the flowers come and you forget about the cold as the humidity sinks in like a fat man into his favorite recliner.
The swamp is ever noticeable in Summer as everyone walks in knee high mud, trudging slowly to the Boston Pops.
Fall is perfect. Crisp colors and the sweet smell of apples and pumpkins last for months as cheeks turn rosy and hands find safe harbor in pockets.
Boston land of men and women not boys and girls
Home of seasons at spectrums end and the only place that will always be home.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
Inspired by my friend's assortment of shapes and colors
Original style & traditional technique
Creates art like nonother
My art brother, taking the colors and shredding the canvas
distorted faces from other planets
From traditional to digital
Those techniques are critical
Sketching, drawing on paper
Emotions turned physical
Contrast with contours of color that’s Subliminal
I can take a brush and ****** a million strokes
only to a evoke that life is a chameleon coat
Plenty colors mix with a heavy dose and an antidote
Spectrums tell the story of pallets scattered across the globe
Intersections of civilian lives create a chain effect like some dominos
Retrospective minds seek ideas that are divine yet quite bountiful
A beast confined in walls is but a human animal
unleash and you will find that everything is tangible
Instinctual being, seeing is the true believing
literal beams shine, to find a truer meaning
unpredictability, dictates our true abilities
I am but an entity
who seeks to be a piece of energy
not blinded by identity
I forge these recipes, so all your eyes can eat
for these words are too delicious
so don't hit backspace our alt delete
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 12:19 AM UTC