Iridescence

Today's topic: Iridescence.

Also, see my earlier blog post about light and color (at this link):
http://prism-of-spirals.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post_27.html


First picture: "Iridescent Nothingness". Second picture: "A Glow Circumvented". (A Glow Circumvented was also posted in the blog-post about light and color (which I link to above), as you may recall.)



(I may have already posted some of these.)


Shimmer
--------

Profoundly she writes cursively upon topaz,
Upon scribbles themselves gleaming, themselves
Scrawled over dim shadows made of stars,
Made of crystalline clouds reverberating.
Oh, she tasted such liquid, and thus it was ice.
And her words transcended sitars and labyrinths.
They trisected dimensions without volume into
The colors of those spheres. Ah, in this glass
I spoke to her, and she was symmetrical.
For, she mentioned these droplets, yes.
But they were only ghosts; they were
Only wondrous, as were uncertainty's prisms.
She whispered to me her kiss. Yet I dreamt
Of her lies. I dreamed of her prayers, of
Those proclamations of cursive hexagons, each
Described subtly, iridescently, and verbatim.

================

Within Iridescent Stone
-------------------------

Within the hand is the flower; within
The flower is the pod; within the pod
There are the seeds; within the seed is
Each abstract color once yellow, now
Purple, now painful and confined. Yes,
Within me is the hole; within that there is
The vague truth; within the truth is
The subtext of oblivious geometry, surely.
And within these shapes and prisms and light
Is your voice; and within such wonder
Are the dreams, are the words mentioned
And imagistic. Deep within iridescent stone,
There the sphere is its own epitome as
But a rectangle. There within this flame
Is only magic's metaphors, is only
Empty infinitesimals betrayed but beheld but
Tempered by the ambiguities of everything
And all's superficial constituents.

.....................

Rays Of Vision
----------------

This light, these photons, the rays of vision, oh,
Iridescent are the sine-waves compounded and opposed
And added and summed to become all exactness
Multiplied by truth and its variations. Red to
Yellow to green to cyan to blue to magenta --
We diffuse and refract such color again.
And all equals its magnification, equals its
Contraction once focused by a strange lens dreaming.
For, we invert the image, and yet
It is sustained. We convert particles to
Fluctuations. But these oscillations reverberate
And then ascend in quite a blurry arpeggio.
Oh, this light, it is negated and amplified,
It is nullified and duplicated. But somehow
We see only one spark of perpendicularity.
Somehow, this radiation is our hallucination.
Or it may be conjectured, may be absolute
And therefore clangorous in its coherent rigor.


++++++++++++++++


Seen
-----

The cusp, the swirl, the loop,
The lemniscates, they are drawn by such light.
Within space and air, there the oval curl
Implies the darkness beyond it. Oh, seen
Are the specks between image and glare.
Seen are my blurry thoughts, each devoid
Of embodiment. Yes, seen is truth through
A window of wonder and metaphor. Oh,
I gaze onto the tangle, onto this
Moist suffering and its beauty. And
I see both our temptations and our hate.
I see circles and ellipses glowing, becoming
Their color and their fuchsia. I see
My obscured blindness surely astigmatic,
Surely iridescent but yet repetitive,
But yet grasped by the photons' edgelessness,
But yet grasped by these cosmic silhouettes of
Inwardness and intermediacy otherwise obvious.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Of A Spiral Somehow Concave
-------------------------------

The shape of a concave spiral; the spiral, the shape,
Obscures the quasi-sphere in which it is profound.
In its alliteration, it is drawn beneath the vertex.
In its scrawl, it is depicted via its intermediacy.
And yet it appears to be of glass. But it is
Transparent? Is it obvious in its ambiguity?
Yes, it is but a scribble re-represented. And
So, it attempts to rest upon such stone.
And in its fluid diffusion, it becomes this
Shape of a spiral somehow concave. In its
Concoction it is but a constituent of all.
And it denies it is iridescent. But, surely,
It has despised its own ascension. For,
It falls into the cement below it; and in
Its shattering it is stable; in its perception it
Is remembered; in its discovery it is composed
Of multiplicity carelessly elaborate.

ooooooooooooooooo

(The following poem was one of the first I posted on this blog. But I repost it because it is on-topic.)

Iridescent Mauve
------------------

Benign is the grandiosity of this iridescent mauve. Such
Imagination expressed distracts our lines from the concave,
From all that pretends to be convex. Such lucid diameters
Repeat then coagulate -- because none are perpendicular.
Such erosion converges so as to eradicate this dream
Inside where I am invisible yet afloat. Therefore,
Benign is the gradual overwhelming of our salvation.
For in the causality of the metronome I am sipped,
I am shown to be distant and unseen. I am obvious
In my contagion, yes. Because benign is the sugar
That spills from my flask. For it descends
Into my final waking; it ascends unto my indecision,
Unto the scarlet of our blind prism, of our
Perplexing emptiness counted and then discarded
From intersections superimposed but epitomized surely.

*************************

Some Kind Of Perfection
-------------------------------

Each color, every point along the real-line,
Is somehow purple, unless it is isolated
And alone; then it is glowing in its
Own vision. But, unfortunately, not
One single hue, discovers itself in
Some kind of perfection,
Discovers itself resolved to
Its very purity. No, all frequencies
Of photons inspired, they completely
Find themselves to be violet. No,
They find themselves to be blue-green,
And still uncertain of their orangeness
Becoming yellow. For all sight
Washes away with the clear water
Poured over this canvas. All design,
All curves, imagine themselves made
Straight and unbroken. So I attempt
To distinguish the unresolvable, the
Unsolvable puzzle. For I am human.
But still I am strangely iridescent,
Strangely invisible.

////////////////////

Elements
-----------

The photon recited that aria
Of iridescence, that aura derived
From the fires of heaven, the
Emotion felt only in a sleep
Obscured by the water drowning,
By the air breathing, by
The earth encased within its
Soul now flat ... once again.

The prism which was light itself,
That vision gazing back upon
The hallucinator, it was in pasts
Long before our minds became
Real and imagined, it was every and
All elements; it was all; and
It was, and has been consistently,
The very emptiness containing its
Substance, containing its virtue,
Containing all awareness (of self,
Of selflessness) of everything, of
Every atom becoming as grand
As the entire universe created.

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks,
Leroy Quet

Light Glowing Colorfully

Today's theme: light, color.

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