Almost all of my pictures relate to color somehow. But here are some that are particularly on-topic.
First picture: "A Glow Circumvented". Second picture: "Reddish Green". Middle picture: "A Prism Once Conclusive". Fourth picture: "Prismaz". Last picture: (simply) "Light".
Yellow And Purple
-------------------
The tincture of the tints create within me
Truth's contradictions. Balanced upon their
Symmetry, such colors become dichotomy and
Its complement. Oh, both yellow and purple
Distract me from such oxymora. But yet
I see in the composition of opposition
The allure of every calculation made. And
This triumph of astigmatism is metallic.
Yes, it is fluid and transparent, and still
It remains more opaque than glass. Still,
The yellow and the purple tempt my darkness.
They tempt my aesthetics transforming.
For, once yellow was ugly then beautiful.
Then afterward the violet aroused me. But
Now I am transfixed by each constituent
Of the chord; I am certain I am vague,
Although those hues are perfect in all
Coordination.
================
I wrote this one only yesterday:
Unto Those Colors
------------------
Formed as a pristine stone, this glass spheroid
Was devoid of bellicose constituents. And
Such light from beyond it, from beyond ourselves,
It flung itself into the angled edge. And then,
Touching that lens, the colors diverged,
Becoming their own bending sadism. Ah,
Within the transparent solidity, there all
Was diagonal and enlightened. There the
Photons were remade and then made ignorant.
And, finally, from this egg emerged
That refracted profanity, emerged explanations
Each surreal, emerged magic's theorems and
Mundanity's hallucinations. For, from the rock,
This light expressed its essence. Then
It continued, ascending again unto the cosmos,
Unto the indecision within us, unto those colors
Created from their category, created
From their wondrous magnification.
+++++++++
Stereoscope
------------
Oh, we gaze vainly into the stereoscope, looking through
A vague lens. And thus we believe in the deception.
Thus, we perceive the convexity of concavity, perceive
The very glass of such a window denied. Oh,
We gaze unto a careless dream, a world of
Shimmering stains. And these colors enlighten
Our assumptions of dimension. But we still
Invoke the flatness that is our shame. We
Still imply within our sight this destiny made
From photographic geometry. For, in that mesh
Is seen dichotomy, is seen left versus right, is seen
All versus anything. And then the dim lamp betrays;
And we somehow mock those memories; we
Somehow resolve our metaphors of imagination
Between our minds' elaborate creations, each of which
Is diffuse and refracted in its horizontality.
****************
Rainbows Of Venus
-------------------------
Should I have seen these rainbows? --
The rainbows of Venus, oh,
They intersect purest truth to become
The strangest light darkening, to
Be the stilts we (as madpeople) use
To trample over these careless numbers
Frustrating their temptation ...
The rainbows of a thin world
Utter the emptiness if yet to remain
Within the storm created from this
Which is our determination, which are
Colors far from our understanding,
Far from places and pleasures
Sometimes seen through this glass of stone.
.....................
Each Hue Of The Spectrums Multitudinous Glow
---------------------------------------------------
I had forgotten to invent the colors. For they
Were too withered to be complicated, were
Too entrancing to be observed. And I held
Each hue of the spectrums multitudinous glow;
And I placed it within the image of this
Which is both isosceles and apparent. I placed
The absurdity of this rhombus upon the page
Of translucent crumbs, placed the spiral onto
The topography of every atom of cyan,
Of fuchsia, of yellow scintillatingly surreal;
Onto the prayers of apathetic inspiration, of
Perpetual hollowness curved into its own
Quantification, into its own enigma resolved.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
A Prism Drawn
-------------------
A prism drawn in these skies,
Understood, it is only of its clarity.
It solely is its shape
As the droplet of crystal
And shadow always eclipsed.
It solely is an aspect of syzygy,
That which is containing
Only two in alignment:
Itself and its own existence.
It is a prism drawn
Upon paper made transparent
By our inability to show
It has ever been real,
By the colors composed
And virtuous;
Upon paper made torn
By the lines themselves
Intersecting, the lines
Themselves simultaneously
Erased and straight.
oooooooooooooo
And I Loved The Color Yellow
-------------------------------------
I once - - long ago in very distant youth,
Though still remembered in crayon and pastel - -
I found my desires ironic, my contentment
Confused by my very awareness of it.
And I loved the color yellow.
I loved that which I never could love,
And because so, in contrast to
My adulthood, where such contrary lust
Is completely unintentional and despised
By precisely the same soul partaking.
I was enthralled by the beauty in that
Which I found ugly. (Now, it is vice versa.)
I was drawn to this epitome of
My own epitome, to that which
Empathizes with my imperfect purity.
(Now, I fear such ... as well as hope for it.)
And now I love the color fuchsia.
I love this which is expected of me,
This which is not any single tone
Upon the spectrum, this which will
Be and serve as my current nonconformity,
My current oneness with those years
Of my isolated appreciation unappreciated
And my mind’s sight color-blind, those years
Once young.
///////////////////////
Refracted
-------------
Refracted is the similarity of this essence
Of converging loops both elegant and reassuring.
For into the superficial transparency we gaze
So as to remain elongated and striated as
The light, as the luminescence resounding
Within the darkness, within the circularity
Of shadows and wind. Refracted is the truth,
Is the understanding we imply by our emptiness.
And so too is this rotation bent. So too is the
Lens equal to its certainty. And I resent such
Precognition. But even that is dim; even that is
Tilted and directed into the aesthetic glow above.
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
A Sacrifice Of Rainbows
------------------------------
A sacrifice of rainbows, but
Never divine, never inspiring, are these hues.
She formed herself into her beauty,
Only to shed this light as if again,
As if she was adored.
She spoke in striations fantastic,
In spectra scintillating,
And held her aura within.
Oh, a sacrifice of images projected absurdly
Upon this sky (a shadow),
It is, as we, failing but to be
Exact and precisely perfect
Of its, of any, soul, of mine.
Leroy Quet
No comments:
Post a Comment