"minimalism" poems
A Friday night of imbued strangers
Streets full of all walks of people
Mostly staggered and tipsy
Haggered and narrow minded
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of rejection and temptation
I couldn't give my cash to enter a joint
Thoroughly rejecting a norm construct
Unhumbled and judgmental
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of inspiration and joy
Where I saw a mirror of myself on the streets
Vagabound souls sat begging for a today
Justice and truth prevails
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me sat on the ground
At the entrance of a busy closed shop
Begging for the homeless soul as people sneer
The abuse and hate ejected
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of broken promises
When all they do is try to have ******
People set traps of unfriendly gesture
The rotten and pompous society
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me wooing the drunk
Melodious symphony of "change please"
Negativity beakers but we made money baibe
A reflection of minimalism
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of concluded perception
Their souls touched me, they can go back a time
They try but have no strength within
Sour love was the wound that brought them hassle
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
It's not a Friday night anymore, the dawn smiles
I have a warm home and access to facilities
They have no options and crack is their hope
Police huddles and societal direct abuse
As they sing a song for strangers to listen
For your smile and talk can be the only hope they got
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
The story teller writes
For a naked character
On a bare stage.
The one character,
One line play.
Profound, all encompassing;
A brief run,
But a blockbuster
With opening nights
In all the capital cities.
The visualist
Could use one brush stroke,
One lump of unmolded clay,
An unchiseled stone,
Weathered driftwood
Or a piece of glass
To display in the great museums
For our interpretation
Of the exposed truth.
One note could orchestrate
On string, wind or skin,
And the composition would be complete.
The maestro could bow and walk;
No encore could repeat.
I want one line of verse
To embelish my yearnings;
To explain the cosmos,
The meaning and crux
Of this place,
Including us.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
What's the best way
to celebrate one's birthday?
To throw a party?
To cut two cakes -
One for birthday, another for promotion?
To be with loved ones - called a family?
To cherish oneself and make goals for future?
To teach art to the less privileged children?
Yes, I did it all this time!
The best of everything was the part
when I taught art to the less privileged children
But to my surprise,
These cute children taught me
more than what I could teach them!
It was- how to be happily happy with minimalism.
I spent two hours of my birthday
With them
Teaching them art
And it was so awakening,
Their happy expressions of art
Made me more happy.
They gifted me that day a smile
Which was unconditional
Few were orphans,
few children of a single parent
With less of money
but more of heart!
Their smiling aura
Amidst all odds
taught me how to live
and be happy minimally!
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
*Adore the
essence of
simplicity.
There is a
joy in living
with less.*
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
mini
[=small car]
mal
[=preface
as in 'malformed']
minim
[=musical note]
al
[=aluminium]
minimalism
is
art
in
its
simplest
form
its
fundamental
features
in
words
[start again from the top]
[read beckett]
in
art
[look at stella]
[look at judd]
in
music
[listen]
[hear]
[each]
[note]
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
David Foster Wallace told a tale of three fish. A large old fish and two young fish were swimming toward each other. When they met, the old fish said to the young fish, "How's the water. They swam on. Finally one little fish said to the other, "What's water?"
This is as important a parable as Jesus ever uttered.
While none of the fish can escape the water, the crucial thing is to be aware of it. We can't escape the water of usury founded capitalist consumerism, but we can become aware of it and change how we swim.
Minimalism is a way of saying **** you to the water. It is a way of saying, I may have to swim here, but I will consciously choose how I swim. That's huge.
A minimalist says I will live on as little as possible. I will participate in proletarianized labour as little as possible. He says to the usurers, I will not feed you through debt. He chooses to live (well) on the cast-offs of consumer society. He says I will not watch your lies on TV. I will avoid the State as much as I can. I will fly (as much as still possible) under the radar. I will live my life. I will live my truths. I will be me.
This cannot be done perfectly. It can be done in many ways and to many degrees. The trick is to realize how it suits you and then do it. Learn to swim as you wish. Be your own fish.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
It is the supply
Receipt of the followings
Ecological security,
Social and emotional security, and
Economic security!
These supply are conditional
With the followings
Passion for naturalism and nature stewardship,
Care for humanism,
Ready to co-exist with diversity,
And minimalism!
Total Cost for supply is
World with stable equilibrium linking to steady state
With additional taxes for negative externalities
And subsidy for positive externalities!
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 4:08 AM UTC
Dost thou even go here?
Can thou even read?
Doth thou know the website thou art on?
Poetry be what we breed!
Ye foolish man!
Ye simpleton!
From whom unrefinement flows!
Thou shalt not write,
On a poetry site,
A work of ****** prose!
Oh yeah? Watch me.
Hello beautiful people. I'm in the mood to philosophize. And this being a poetry site, let's make the topic poetry. (WARNING: this piece will be filled with opinions, personal beliefs, and probably a little butter. If you don't agree with anything I say, good for you. Way to have opinions. AND WHATEVER YOU DO. DON'T SUBSTITUTE MARGARINE FOR THE BUTTER!) Ok, so poetry. I like poetry. And since I'm the one writing this, I'm gonna tell you about my philosophy, and my personal style and influences.
My philosophy that I try to live by is minimalism. Which is NOT laziness! Minimalism is quite difficult really. Anyone can write a nice fluffy poem (and yes, nice fluffy poems can be dark pieces about death and the like.) What minimalism is to me, is the stripping away of all of that fluff to get down to the raw emotion of a piece. An abundance of words pollutes the emotion.
Now, my stylistic mumbo jumbo. My aesthetic has gone through a few phases. A lot of my work is very modernist. What that means is that it deals a lot with... well with failure. Failure of the human race, failure of people, and my own personal failure. But also with separation. Some prime examples of my modernist works are "here I lay a martyr" and "of my faults and follies"
The next phase is when I started writing music for my band (Bisclaveret Marie, we're on Facebook. Check it out.) I became enamored with a man by the name of Jack White. (yes, that Jack White. The one formerly of the White Stripes.) Also the source of my minimalist approach, Jack revived my love for the Blues. When that came crashing into my poetry, it was definitely for the better.
The next phase was surrealism. The use of images and metaphors and weirdness to paint a picture of the emotion I choose to write about. (I don't really know how to describe this, just go read Though There Be Dragons, A Journey Through The Mind of a Madman. It'll make more sense.)
And most recently the Blues have seen a renaissance in my work. The simple lyric structures and rhyme patterns tickle my inner minimalist.
Yeah, so that's my spiel. If you actually read this, you freaking deserve a medal
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
Minimal
Live could be more optimal
If you let go of things, trivial
And focus on the real capital
Time and space, the memory
Of experiences, friends, and family
Nice gestures and charity
The joy of clarity
The depth of sanity
A better grasp of reality
More options through more money
By spending on what matters
Minimal
To love people and not things
To be who you are and not what you own
A tidiness in hindsight, in the mind
A sense of being light, feeling right
Another understanding of freedom and slavery
The slavery of things
When you don’t own things but things you
Because things hold you back and therefore
Freedom comes from less stuff, not more
Nostalgia?
But here is the thing
Memories might die
If you cut off their wings
If you capture them in things
And lock them up in dark closets
They live in your mind, not in items
They need to be free
Fresh, revived, preserved
Through presence, not hoarding
Memories live
Through pictures
Digitized in devices
Always in your pocket
Cherished in your mind
Memories live
Through words
Written by you
In diaries worth keeping
Which take you back in time
But don’t fill up your space
Memories live
Through stories
You tell others and others tell you
Face to face and soul to soul
With some coffee in-between
Minimal
Clutter is not optional
Get rid of worthless stuff
Boxes and countless little toys
One zillion paper clips
Sad chairs and old clothes
And all the dusty things
That occupy your life
And turn it into junk
Spend less
Less things
Think more
Be free
Live life
Minimal
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
Express more with the freedom
which simplicity can bring us.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
I want to make poetry
from poverty.
I eschew women.
I buy nothing.
I eat little.
I own less.
I have neither
TV nor cellphone.
This is not asceticism.
I just want
to know the bones
of life before
I become
the bones of death.
~mce
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
Vacuous.
A sliver of moon,
Slight but sharp;
A rapier forged in the fire of sin.
Feigned delicacy.
Her minimalism, a pretense;
Beneath it lies her ****** truth.
She dances to the tune
Of the manifold wails of the wicked.
She sings a soft siren lullaby,
Luring the hearts of the weak astray.
Down the path of her legs
To the trap of her thighs,
He follows her beckoning croon,
A wanton plea from her soulless eyes.
I watched as she wove
Her beautiful tapestry
With hideous threads,
Colored red with falsehoods.
And when it was finished,
She draped it over his eyes,
And I knew I had lost him for good.
For temptation had blinded him,
And ensnared his weak heart,
And into the darkness she took him.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
Consider for a moment,
a straggler of life;
his bag of misfit materials;
the empty train car he sleeps in, when he is lucky.
This, to the world,
is my soul to me.
A snowy field of minimalism,
tainted only by the brief, yet constant,
glimmer on the horizon.
In this vision there is truth,
and hope,
There is truth,
and hope,
in loss and in lacking.
For as stragglers do wander,
their dreams provide homes to thoughts,
and warmth to sadness,
and medicine for wounds.
There was not always this brilliant field of white.
Before it, laid the maze of forestry,
the hovering shadow of fate.
Within the trees was confusion,
and within confusion was pain.
But, with the bright blizzard of chaos,
came the simplicity of love, and therein laid acceptance.
There are those who must chop trees to see the sunlight,
and there are those who simply find the fields of snow,
laying pleasantly within the reflection of the sunrise.
This, to the world,
is my soul to me.
Wandering acceptance,
caught in the mess of falling trees.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 3:43 AM UTC
**You're the perfection
of thunder & lightning
like Bogart & Bacall,
Marilyn & DiMaggio
a breathless view of Monet's allure ,
midst abstract Picasso's wonder
Beethoven's 5th and silly love tunes,
complexity in contradictions
simplicity of minimalism,
apples and oranges
cuppa tea with honey
spiked with something toxic,
nice with the just the right amount of naughty
you're the poetry in my endearment,
harmony playing my affection's song
thrumming in satiated indulgences**
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
Strings of wisdom flow through my fingertips
like front-porch-swing storytelling.
The stars are visible through the window tops
as moon eyes stare up at their sisters.
The truth is,
I could listen to you ramble for hours in the backseat of that car.
I listened to you ramble for hours,
just to hear every thought and pun and "but like"
that escaped your once clenched teeth and locked lips,
and after prying open your brain, my jaw was left ajar
in awe of the reality that a shy girl with seafoam eyes
could ever open mine that wide
in such a short amount of time.
The truth is,
I want to dig my hands into your thoughts and pull up roots from the dirt and find that I've got a green thumb.
I want to climb the tallest mountain in Tennessee and have your smile welcome and invite me into your home.
I want to watch your children grow older and want themselves as a mother like their mother did when she wasn't much older.
I want to hear every flirtatious remark dangling from that bracelet of yours clink together as you lift your chai latte from the counter.
I want to question what the time of day is
and wait for your mind to create a clever counter-clockwise comeback that throws mine for a loop and sends me spiraling back down to earth
on the dials of the sun and the mills of the wind.
I want to stop and read every spray-painted sentence on each step of the stairs leading to the perfect amalgamation of essays and creative journals, and analyze the way your cursive gets lazy and then cleans itself up while maintaining an enlightened tone.
I want to venture into abandoned shacks in the middle of the night that are hardly recognizable two seasons later just to find out that it's the wrong house and the open windows mean someone may be home.
I want to see the scribbled out "sandwhich" corrected in red ink.
I want to drink your words and refill and recycle the bottle.
I want to blend the blacks and whites on the palette and create a shiny sensitizing zinc.
I want to be the one who genuinely understands the way you think.
The truth is,
I have this irrevocable desire to listen to music that no one else has ever heard in a pair of headphones until I find a harmony,
and then let it play on the radio for those of us with complexity
to sing to as we stare down the road of an alligator bayou
and become hypnotized by the beat.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Simplicity & complexity are a powerful combination.
Minimalism is discipline, the aesthetic is often pure and sensual; 'a simple joy’.
It strips the superfluous down to its essentials; it enables the viewer to contemplate the gaps and see the magic through simple repetition and gradual variation.
There is more room in our future when there’s less in it.
It's a setting for subtle syncopation, a place to break free from convention, a setting where aesthetic simplicity and abstract thought can combine to facilitate change, a space where human beings can create a tangible difference with very simple things; magical things.
By Pig-Man
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 5:12 AM UTC
The minimalism of
a bobby pin—only
holding what it
can—but no woman
will underrate its
steely arms.
Let me be a
bobby pin in
the hand of
God—holding
up the drooping
soul of a friend.
Small, but
usable—never
worthless, always
given purpose.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 1:03 PM UTC
it goes beyond just getting rid of things,
it's a way of life.
it means no unnecessary action.
imagined if you lived in your home by yourself
and you only did literally the things that needed to be done,
no extra stuff. no excess action.
that is minimalism.
the key is to be able to do that
when there's other people around.
the key is to be able to recognize
what's just filler and bull
and what is actually the meat of life,
because most of it is just
nonsense that gets in the way
of the important stuff.
but
it comes
from a perspective shift.
it's about seeing that
wealth is futile
and self preservation is futile
and that really the only purpose
to any of this ****
is to help others.
that is the only thing that means anything: helping others.
think about it...
why even live a long life?
why preserve yourself?
of what purpose is any of this?
we are only beneficial
when we are of use to each other.
we are of no use to ourselves.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
all she wants to do
is make beautiful things,
but she doesn't even know what beauty is.
this looks nice, so simple, minimalism.
but is it a masterpiece?
question everything. the head is full.
what is art?
what is purpose?
what is pleasing?
what is ugly?
what is permanence?
what is thieving?
and of course there is the, "why?"
it continues.
it continues.
she thinks.
there is no answer.
simply a carousel of questions.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
art keeps getting
smaller and smaller
like we have
less and less time
to really create a body
of work strong enough
to break through the
barriers of the mind.
i can make a list of
the people i have kissed
and call it poetry for days i can
write an anthem on **** culture
with words i do not understand
or use
and judge my creativity
based on all my views.
there is never the right time
to sit down and syphon the
truth from your palpitating heart.
sometimes you find the time
in between the spaces of
the mundane and draw
or paint or
film or
write
something that will
take someone’s breathe away.
even if it is your own.
there is no easy way to
make a lasting impression
on a soul you don’t quite
know or understand.
but
if your heart feels lighter
at the end than when you began
then you are making
progress.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC
Minimise distraction
Maximise intention.
Minimise commodity fetishism
Maximise giving out love.
Love people, use things.
The opposite never works.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 7:56 AM UTC
I am broken inside,
beyond repair,
way past warranty.
I buy and I buy
to mend the damage,
but nothing fits.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC