Warsxzaw – Rehashed

Today we’ll be taking a look at a poem I wrote back in November of 2016, called Warsxzaw. As normal, I’ll be giving a little backstory before I dive into it all, as to let be understood what is likely another one of my more cryptic poems.

If you don’t wish to have my analysis spoil your possible interpretation, follow this link to the poem’s original appearance on the site: https://radioreality.city/2016/12/19/warsxzaw/.

This is a poem about that grey relationship of mine from Year Two. Where I dated someone who was colorblind, and so made me try to come up with poems that were particularly concerned with tones and hues. As such, I thought of the weather in Warsaw, Poland and analogued it to the grey days you have when you’re monochromatic colorblind. Grey days give way to rain, and so that became a fixture in the poem as well.

Since Warsxzaw is written nearly a year after the better part of that relationship, this poem tackles the idea of permanence and the importance of place. This poem is about the place.

There was always the
Wet blacktop.

There was always grey
Warsaw clouds
Threatening to drain
Onto the small world.

From heavy nebulas
In the heavensya
Where mist rolls
In webs
To aerosol ticks
Jumping.

Falling.
Falling

Through open sky,
Past trees and
Telephone poles,
The ticks land
On wet blacktop,
Crawling in cracks
Under car tires
Driving over roads.

This first motion takes great care in describing the world, and how devoid it seems to be of color. In fact, it seems to host parasites in the rain that drops and crawls everywhere it can get. This is a world that isn’t hostile, but it is infectious.

Here we also see the first mention of my inspiration directly, in Warsaw.

Droplets of glass
Grey land, and
Run into gutters.

All taking place under warxaw clouds
On oily, wet black top

Then the ticks are made of glass, and they smash against the blacktop. The blacktop is oily, making a very obscure reference to the fact that oil commonly has a film of color on its surface. More street features. Another reference to Warsaw in warxaw, meant to raise the question of why this particular movement is occurring.

In sun, in rain,
In midnight,
In black ice day,
In fograys,

In awe,

In
Warzaw.

The promise that wherever you are, if you’re under a thin veil of glassy rain, walking on oily blacktop streets and sidewalks, and beneath a grey sky, you have always been in Warsxzaw. Warsxzaw isn’t really a place, then, it’s an idea. The idea of what it’s like to be colorblind and looking at the world from a perspective that only sees shades and lights.

There was always the wet blacktop.

But this poem also references the change in time. Warsaw becomes warxaw becomes warzaw, finally. The connective idea of Warsxzaw brings their respective times, places, and perspectives together in this unity of an idea.

Being colorblind must be like being in Warsxzaw. So much grey, so much rain that you feel on you hands, to look down and see the black and white tones crawling all over you, crawling all over the world. How stark that must be.

I wish I could see it like that sometimes. That’s gonna be it for this interpretation of Warsxzaw.

This poem is part of a long-standing series that seeks to see things from the perspective of monochrome colorblindness, which if published would result in an incredibly strange collection of stuff. Monochroma is the flagship from the set, but it’s not going to be the one I tackle next. I think it’s time for a change of pace and a looking at a poem from a different era.

Next up to be rehashed is going to be Hawaiian Corvidae. This poem is about sacredness, about islands, and best of all, about crows.

Shade of Eyeliner

Monochrome makeup
Matching outfit

Like a shadow
You’re mine
But I
Follow you

Casting shade
Further
As the day
Wears on

Until the world
Is dim
And you consume
Me

Tincture Recall

Tincture Recall

Red are garden roses
Danger, life,
Rejected questions
Posed
Darker as crystalline rubies
Lighter as heat is rife
Paler as dawn is moody

Blue is the sky
Water, winter
Sad tears
Cried
Darker as the night time
Lighter as ribbons glitter
Paler as a tarnished dime

Yellow is that sun
Daisy, lightning
Quilt designs
Spun
Darker as olive branches
Lighter as a lemon ripening
Paler as near blanch

Green is all moss
Leaves, grass
Lake algae
Gloss
Darker as a pine’s needles
Lighter as stained glass
Paler as japanese beetles

Orange are the sparks
Warmth, fire
Fruit tree
Copse
Darker as a falling leaf
Lighter as copper wire
Paler as a thin motif

Purple are floating lilacs
Violets, robes
Exotic spices
Stacked
Darker as a flowing cape
Lighter as ancient globes
Paler as wax stamp’s shape

Brown is the dirt
Bark, roots
Natural things’
Worth
Darker as a leather sling
Lighter as coffee juice
Paler as an oak’s rings

Silver are earth minerals
Platinum, diamonds
Repeated ore
Intervals
Darker as a geode core
Lighter as deep iron mining
Paler as a sediment store

Gold are the rarities
Jewelry, idols
Boasting worth
Scarcity
Darker as a karat brand
Lighter as twilight idyll
Paler as a marriage band

Black is the dark
Shade, space
Indefinable esoteric
Marks
Darker as a void’s sailcloth
Lighter as an ebony trace
Paler as a cinder swath

White is the pure
Quartz, clean
Most attractive
Allure
Darker as ground sugar
Lighter as a cloud screen
Paler as an endless vigor

Monochroma

Monochroma

White
Is the shade of nothing.
Stark, bright, intruding,
And perhaps even brooding.

Grey
Are the things you see.
The shells of colors you
Can no longer detect.

Black
Is the dark. Just as scary as white.
Hiding the shades
Of everything else.

Red
Is sin. Emotional vices.
Red is the color of the day’s
Beginning and end.

Blue
Is cold. Flower petals in your hand,
Dripping with dew. That is what
We all strive for.

Yellow
Are the plastic lights.
Shining from so far above and below
Where we have yet to go.

Green
Are the plants and ripped jeans.
Mold and moss on rocks, pairing
With the street gutters.

Orange
Are the dead greens.
Shuffled cosmic cards bringing
That comforting warmth.

Purple
Are the exotic things.
That which none of us
Could ever be willed to name.

Brown
Is the rich soil.
Dirt and grime, combinations of
Soot and grit that feel relieving.

Silver
Are the mists descending.
They look a bit scary, but they
Always bring clouds.

Grey
Are those clouds to me.
The rain, the same, as it is from
You to me.

Grey
Is that rain.
Not blue, nor green,
But that fantastic grey.

Grey
Is the sky.
In all its phantasm, it never
Ceases to amaze.

Grey
Are the best shades.
Stacking with monochrome
And creeping with the bold.

Grey
Is what I am to you.
Regardless of your eyes’
Hazel hue.

Grey
Is what you are to me.
A cloud, a rain, a thing which lost
I would always sorely miss.

Grey
Is the color I want to be.
I would love to be
Such a fanciful shade.

Grey
Is the shade of nothing.
Stark, bright, intruding,
And perhaps even brooding.

Grey
Are the things you see.
The shells of shades you
Can no longer detect.

Grey
Is the dark. Just as scary as grey.
Hiding the shades
Of everything else.

Grey
Is sin. Emotional vices.
Grey is the shade of the day’s
Beginning and end.

Grey
Is cold. Flower petals in your hand,
Dripping with dew. That is what
We all strive for.

Grey
Are the plastic lights.
Shining from so far above and below
Where we have yet to go.

Grey
Are the plants and ripped jeans.
Mold and moss on rocks, pairing
With the street gutters.

Grey
Are the dead greys.
Shuffled cosmic cards bringing
That comforting warmth.

Grey
Are the exotic things.
That which none of us
Could ever be willed to name.

Grey
Is the rich soil.
Dirt and grime, combinations of
Soot and grit that feel relieving.

Grey
Are the mists descending.
They look a bit scary, but they
Always bring clouds.

Grey
Are those clouds to me.
The rain, the same, as it is from
You to me.

Grey
Is that rain.
Not grey, nor grey,
But that fantastic grey.

Grey
Is the sky.
In all its phantasm, it never
Ceases to amaze.

Grey
Are the best shades.
Stacking with monochrome
And creeping with the bold.

Grey
Is what I am to you.
Regardless of your eyes’
Grey hue.

Grey
Is what you are to me.
A cloud, a rain, a thing which lost
I would always sorely miss.

Grey
Is the shade I want to be.
I would love to be
Your grey-shaded shadow.

Grey
I would proudly wear.
For no one in particular
But you.

Grey
Is my jacket.
Which I would first
Gift to you.

Grey
Is the warmth.
Which I would gladly
Share with you.

Grey
Would be the sound.
All the wonderful music
And shaded songs.

Grey.

I want to be a shade.

Not a red,
Nor a blue,
Or a yellow.

Not green,
Not orange,
And not purple.

Grey.
Oh,
Do I
Wish to be grey.

You may sap me and take from me
The color.
If only it means you become
That much brighter.

To escape this world of vibrancy
And see everything with you.
Just to see.
See what you see.

To escape the ardor decay,
And respect the ardent grey.