"minimalistic" poems
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
Purge your unclean self
Your existence does not depend
On the judgement of others
You are the beauty created
For something long before you were born
Life depends on you
You are what you aspire to look like
Appearances fail when you forget
That time is an illusion
Seasons are fleeting
But you will reign red-blooded
The eyes follow every angle
Seriously believe in your immortality
The skinny boy on the runway
Believes
Invincibility
Inevitably forever
This is heaven
This is hell
Death is forever
Life lasts beyond eons
Your beauty is worn on your soul
Be it an old familiar jacket
That has toured the world
Be it a minimalistic shift
Worn moments before you were deflowered
Photographs will create the verdict
You will be weighed
You will be measured
Perfection is possible
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
i've always wanted to get a tattoo.
"wow, just like every rebellious teen out there, huh?", you say.
that is not true.
what i want are three simple, minimalistic markings.
one tattoo, i would like on my hip.
very small, barely noticeable.
three dots.
one blue, one purple, one pink.
one tattoo, i would like on my chest, far to the side.
once again, small, unnoticeable.
a small yellow and black heart.
to honor those i've lost.
and the last tattoo,
i would like four little symbols to keep me grounded.
tiny, on my left wrist.
the first symbol is a collection of wavy lines,
the second a small cloud,
the third is a incomplete box,
and the last is a heart.
breathe, relax, think, be.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
Notes on your window
So subtly appear
As though they came from thin air
No rhyme, but reason
A familiar flick of the e's in everything
Glimpse of hope
A handwriting technique you know well
Smeared ink against the fibers
Calling out for one last message
They seem to procreate every few weeks
A simple one
Minimalistic hopes of something
Nothing more to lose
Just a note on your window
Signed by a smeared "O"
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC
Have you ever been
overwhelmed by such a
feeling of nostalgia, blanked
the color blue and a song, a smell, the
light from the windows from so long ago
when you were young and the clothes you wore
were tight, stretchy and entirely juvenile but
the easiness,
minimalistic heart
what were you worried about then?
what was I worried about then?
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 2:54 AM UTC
Imagine how utterly terrifying would the whole universe be if there was a faceless clock.
Just faceless clocks.
That dictated the way earth shall be lived in the most minimalistic sense.
No hour hand, no tinks, no tick-tocks and no numbers.
That will allow us to regretfully or mercifully go on.
The gears and everything are in place.
But there is
nothing.
Just silence that will deafen your ears.
Silence that your screams cannot pierce.
Yes, that is me now.
I have no bearing, no sure sense.
Simply lost.
Tick-tock.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
My heart made out of glasswool,
Like a poisonous rose
its soft but you are going to cut yourself
when you get too close
My soul minimalistic,
Neo-geo art piece but in an unnatural pose
you really going to hurt yourself
when you get too close
Some people dont suffer,
We really pity those
They dont have the scars of life
They never came too close
We both came too close
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC
Who are the seers of this world?
Oftentimes, their perceived sense of safety is fenced-in by their very constraint.
Dare you be different in the age of minimalistic conformity?
On our own heads be it, my delicately-dancing friends of eggshell walkways.
Seasonal variance has already begun, despite our willful resistances.
In our perceived safety, we have mismanaged a nest of rich paupers.
But our administrative denunciations will crumble in the state which dwarfs individuals for the purposes of cultivating docile allegiances at a cost that no words could ever articulate.
Thank you, my postmodern travelers of continuum.
One more thing - have a good night.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
shades of hues so dark, yet iridescent, lined the minimalistic realm during the era of the Grays.
each Gray wore gray clothes
ate gray food
thought gray thoughts
and could only think in terms of black and white… and gray.
there were no rules, simply because no one was unhappy with the way things were.
happiness was trivial;
trivial like a pale shade of pink managing to make its way into the spectrum of the Grays
or trivial like the way a Gray would see that pastel and disregard it entirely.
it did not exist.
happiness was trivial, smiles were trivial, balance was necessary.
balance, balance, balance.
order, order, order.
creativity did not exist.
creativity was not a word.
if a Gray’s words had no obvious meaning, they were disregarded, because they were incomprehensible. Words not in terms of black and white were seen as red, seen as blue, seen as green,
but never seen at all.
magnitude.
the magnitude of something’s potential depth was measured by their ability to disregard anything not pertinent to what a Gray should believe.
a Gray must be Gray, must be pensive, must be reserved.
a Gray must be tedious, must be timid, must be poised.
a Gray must be obedient, must be trusting, must be trusted.
a Gray must not see red, or blue, or yellow, or green, or purple, or indigo, or orange,
especially not cerulean or magenta or cyan or mauve or tangerine.
the Grays evolved from Whites, from Blacks
the degenerating masochists of times before
the Grays could not look down, nor up, nor in between, or sideways, or vertically, or around
they could not think what to possibly think of what these people before them may have thought about thinking and thoughts
and couldn’t bear to think about all of this thinking
so the Grays did not think about thinking
they lived for the sake of living
they breathed for the sake of inhaling, exhaling
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
exhale
but somewhere
somewhere in that Gray society
a young Gray began to breathe
exhale
inhale
exhale
inhale
and opened his eyes
his blue, blue eyes
and brought thoughts of color
to every Gray’s mind
lightened the world with light
opened the world to chance, to luck, to love
exposed the world to color, to beginnings and ends, to loss, and to destruction
and cried tears of red, of blue, of yellow, of green, of purple, of indigo, of orange,
especially cerulean and magenta and cyan and mauve and tangerine
flooding the world with possibility
flooding the world with creativity.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 11:20 PM UTC
Mundane chatter and VHS tapes
Renaissance iron and tired eyes, awake
Lying on the carpet
Minimalistic sandwich
Lying to the paw print
Cannibalistic light switch
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
I walked into Cartier
Dark Blood Red
was their trademark
It was sophisticated
I had a catalogue of rings
placed in front of me
I was presented options
but you were clean and minimalistic
Rose gold, I thought
Visuals like merchandising projecting
our conversations on dresses, themes, flowers
how we'll travel the world, have a home
how our daughters will have my eyes
your nose and our names
we sat at the bay front
had a long conversation till 3 am
discussing how we are going to allocate our daughter's time with our parents, classes -
if they are going for ballet or musical classes
It was certain,
the air was greeted with a breeze
in silent acknowledgement
until now,
I only can blame
how some words fall apart
like the world does everyday
how love is never enough
how we are never enough
how I will never be enough
even if my bones are sore
to its nerves, I will be
Happy for you.
(I heard you are having a baby
I heard you are having a family
I heard you are happy & you chose her) - echoing
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
Minimalistic ventures
are more
full of meaning.
Than a room
full of
false possessions.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 8:07 AM UTC
the first time tristan tzara put his hand
into a bag with clippings from newspapers
of individual words and started rapping
at the cabaret voltaire,
after william burroughs extended this
method and instead jumbled up paragraphs
and even sentences rather than single words
to avoid being poetically terse:
and later proclaimed that writing is 50 years
behind painting... you can still get
it wrong in terms of defining the mood of
an era of a method... preceding them was
piet mondrian - with that new york grid
depiction in the vein of minimalistic cubism...
just squares and lines... what tristan tzara
stumbled upon was how to translate a jackson
******* or a kandinsky with words into words -
the chaotic splatter of colour into ink monochrome;
it really isn't that easy to write out a jackson *******
it requires a sort of automation, a knowing automation,
it's primarily intuitive - you don't know what
the exact content will be in each case, but you do
know that you're writing in a context of translating
your very own kandinsky - even though you're
not necessarily looking at an example of kandinsky's work;
but let's be pedantic, first tzara, then mandrian,
then burroughs, the painters retreated into
mathematics and a theory of colour, putting them
on equal footing with plato's theory of forms,
but to get the setting, poets scout, poets are scouts,
writers of fiction are the actual army, who
come with bulging sentences, clear depictions
(clearly blood will be shed, the uproar of two sides
clashing and the sharpening of swords
and the swift swooning down of sharpened pin-like
arrows with hussar wings to frighten even more),
poets scout the new territories - the plateau
is never jumbled in fiction, such writers set out
with clear vision and aim at running for miles
without anything changing, but scouts enter
difficult terrain... many twists, many turns,
such obstructions as trees, mountains, bees
butterflies and seances of witches, not to mention
gnarling wolves - for these scouts are obstructed
by images, and because of that, some of them
report very little for the army of paragraph
hunters... but some join rank with them,
after all the scouting is done - they too take up
a weapon and stand shoulder to shoulder
with the giants like tolstoy - although lessening
the narrator's role a little.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
1
In constant consonance
Love, in it's minimalistic sonata
Plays a slow stitched waltz
Into the cough syrup
Haze of memories
2
When love was just a
Second-hand suggestion
A rebellious rose
Reaching recklessly
For a remarkable reaction
Finds a score left unfinished
From years past
3
In pointe shoes
Two bodies dance a
Painful coloratura
Yet in the midst of
This pa de deux
Love remembers contentment
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
It
Has
Been
12:24
For
Ten
Mins
I
Am
Asleep
Now
I
Am
Alone
Now
I
Am
Alone
Now
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
Beautiful day...even though it rained. A Robin flew above my head as I toiled in the dirt....stains and tears in my flannel shirt and quite a song he sang - my feathered visitor in the rain. A tale of our life - simple and humble - minimalistic by your design...never turned others away ... I thought the bird a sign. Every single moment of every single day...was better because you were here. You were the rock on which I leaned upon - who sheltered me from pain..I relied upon you ...admired...respected...and loved you with all my heart. So much like you - as I look at my ***** hands making clean money...I hope you're proud of me. Thank you for the reminder my sweet bird ...I hope to fly away with you one day...just not yet. Finishing my work - the bird finally found his way out - I knew exactly what he was talking about. Cherie Nolan - 2016 * All Rights reserved
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
Minimalistic
and easy to read
yes, he is easy
just as you are to please
You call it a tease
but I know I'm an art
built up from pieces
of each delicate part
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
the most minimalistic poem is this one
just two lines and now i'm done
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
I've built a house for me and him. We both loved the ocean so naturally our nest was always going to be water bound. A sharp house of Japanese cypress, with a metallic accent, and minimalistic in style to mirror the en vogue interior trend. We have a library together, which you've coordinated according to size even though I liked your previous system better - arranged by colours! The kitchen was the heart, I always cooked for you, and you ate with an efficiency and joy that could only be described as a talent - that made me more full than the food ever did. Summer was my favourite; salty hair, and sun-kissed skin (Also! The taste of sugar plums always benefited from the seasoning of the heat). The languor of us watching each sunset became so safe for me, and I felt as warm as the red wine we drank, and I think everything was perfect, and you were what I needed.
But don't look too closely,
I'm scared
You'll see that our bed is too neat.
From the fact that
He has never slept here
With me
In this house
That I've built
For us.
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 6:41 AM UTC
Save yourself. Once we are grown enough to take a look around and realize what the world is and can be, saving yourself is going to become important. Take a moment and deduce that to a minimalistic or complex notion and apply it. There is going to be obstacles every step of the way. You’re going to fall we all do, I’ve yet to see someone who has fallen and not come back. After all what is meant to be is what is meant to be. I’m so lost in a world that you do not need to go far to find anything in. You have to stay ready we have all been through **** at the end of the day we do what gets us through. You’re always going to be searching for someone to talk to and the key to survival is knowing who you are.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
Here I am 6' 2" you 5' 4" a molten core knocking on that cellar door like Drew Barrymore
LET ME OUT!
You furnished these cobwebs like Forbes magazine modern decor telling me how to feel about seasonal arrangements.. and small minimalistic hipster houses.. ****
For every smile I'd be lucky to see, you were ready to implore
Red and black plaid flannel you caught my eye and then my soul
Don't know how many times little miss blondie from the shore is going to make me tell this story.. ****
The things a person will do to you when they need you are unfair.
There's no warning signal when you're ensnared..
****
Where's my magazine?
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 3:39 AM UTC