"postmodernist" poems
An art movement is a tendency or style in art
with a specific common philosophy or goal,
followed by a group of artists during a restricted
period of time, usually a few months, years
or decades or, at least, with the heyday of the
movement defined within a number of years.
Art movements were especially important in
modern art, when each consecutive movement
was considered as a new avant-garde;
According to theories associated with modernism
and the concept of postmodernism, art movements
are especially important during the period of time
corresponding to modern art. The period of time
called "modern art" is posited to have changed
approximately halfway through the 20th century
and art made afterward is generally called contemporary art.
Postmodernism in visual art begins
and functions as a parallel to late modernism
and refers to that period after the "modern" period
called contemporary art. The postmodern period
began during late modernism, which is a contemporary
continuation of modernism; and according
to some theorists postmodernism
ended in the 21st century. During the period of time
corresponding to "modern art"
each consecutive movement
was often considered a new avant-garde.
Also during the period of time referred to as "modern art"
each movement was seen corresponding
to a somewhat grandiose rethinking of all that came before it,
concerning the visual arts. Generally
there was a commonality of visual style
linking the works and artists
included in an art movement. Verbal expression
and explanation of movements has come
from the artists themselves,
sometimes in the form of an art manifesto,
and sometimes from art critics
and others who may explain
their understanding of the meaning of the new art
then being produced;
In the visual arts, many artists, theorists, art critics,
art collectors, art dealers and others mindful
of the unbroken continuation of modernism
and the continuation of modern art even into the contemporary era,
ascribe to and welcome new philosophies
of art as they appear. Postmodernist theorists
posit that the idea of art movements
are no longer as applicable, or no longer as discernible,
as the notion of art movements
had been before the postmodern era.
There are many theorists however
who doubt as to whether or not such an era
was actually a fact;
or just a passing fad.
The term refers to tendencies in visual art,
novel ideas and architecture,
and sometimes literature. In music it is more common
to speak about genres and styles instead.
See also cultural movement, a term
with a broader connotation.
As the names of many art movements
use the -ism suffix, for example cubism and futurism,
they are sometimes referred to as isms
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
first, make sure you are very concerned with
unlearned or silenced or misread minorities. this establishes that you
are a rarity, a person of charity,
a champion and deity of the small and the voiceless.
you’ve made the right choices
swallowed the right poisons
so now you’re not pointless,
you’re with the top few
of the economic disparity.
do you aver verity?
not so much.
you just make the choicest noises.
second, it is very important that you stud your vernacular
with words like deictic, post-spaciality, and sub-simulacular.
when you, font of knowledge, squeeze out pearls like turds
in twelve-point, double spaced, times new roman rows,
lined up like crows or some other ***** birds,
be sure to write no sentence shorter than thirty words, and
see to it that two thirds of these words have more than ten letters
that even the nerds in their plaid-patterned sweaters have not once ever heard.
when you walk, A paper in hand, from your car to your apartment, past four vagrants, do not look at them.
do not look into the eyes of the man standing in the rain, barefoot, black, green, and yellow toenails oozing and crusting, nodding his head and shouting at no one, and do not wonder whether or not he’d be there had he been educated.
lexicon is not eloquence.
erudition is not wisdom.
intelligence is not a prerequisite for rights.
you have no rights.
take a dictionary and shove it up your *** and
while you’re at it, shove one up mine, too.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
Miss America 1977, the 50th Miss America pageant,
was held at the Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City,
New Jersey on September 11, 1976 & aired on NBC Network:
Winner Dorothy Benham, Miss Minnesota,
became a singer,
on the Crystal Cathedral's
Hour of Power;
Among the other contestants in 1977
was Miss Florida,
TV actress Nancy Stafford,
&
actress Karen Kopins,
Miss Connecticut;
Another was Patsy Paugh, Miss West Virginia,
who later became the mother
& in 1996, suspected killer
of postmodernist icon Jon Benet Ramsey
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC
I see my snowy steps disappearing in the
snow. The coldness will swallow them.
Wet winces on snow ,wetter than any wince.
I am more involved in a sharp snowless stretch
than I was ever. I forgot that I'm existent .I try
to remember. A cloud is tossing its white to rain.
Nothing never rains outside, everything rains
inside. Everything is tossing firstly before raining.
The trees always feel this. They are existent.
The trees need to be existent. This freezing rain
is breaking the trees’ limbs. Their branches are
encapsulated in glaze ice. I need my steps back.
I hear a song coming from the coffee house. There
is a coffee stain on my right shoe. I take a taxi to go
nowhere. This rain falls down over the snow blanket.
The snow is existent until it becomes a bed for the
falling rain. I can be existent as long as I’m not cold.
This rain is not a tropical one ,and I cannot care less.
There is something moving toward. It's my body. There
is something having no beginning and no end. It's the
movement in losing time. Rain and snow need time
to prove their similar personality and their different
appearance .Time is existent. I’m not existent in another
particular time. I can’t come into existence twice.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
Let the frantic words of a caffeinated mind flow forth:
I shouldn’t write poetry when I drink coffee.
I shouldn’t drink four cups of coffee at 3am
With the intent to squeeze poetry out of my shaking fingers.
Seriously, I have to **** after every stanza.
How am I supposed to keep on track?
I can’t, I tell you,
So let’s just mark this up as postmodernist –
You know, the sort of art that is actually ****
That shouldn’t be considered art,
Like that exhibition full of pictures of ********
(No, seriously, that exists);
That’s what this is.
The only effect I can hope to achieve is irony,
Or humor, possibly.
It’s about time I stop writing about love and life,
Like I’m trying too hard to be taken seriously.
Maybe that’s the way it is for a young writer,
Like I’m screaming in the street:
“Hey, pay attention to me!
I’ve experienced things and apply pseudo-elegant words to them,
Then call it poetry!”
You want to know the truth?
I don’t want to work a routine job.
I don’t like the way the world works,
And I’m scared of being still.
So here I am, writing and drawing and taking ******* pictures
With the faint hope that my creativity may,
Some day,
Be worth your time,
Ask valuable questions.
Spark valuable thoughts,
Give you an escape,
And pay the **** bills.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
I am naïve skeptic
I am a bohemian capitalist
I am a sad corporatist
I am a misogynistic feminist
I am a misanthropic misandry
I am a traditional postmodernist
and a conservative liberal
I belong to someone, but mostly to myself
I am not yours, yet I am not mine either.
I am everything and I am nothing.
I am tender and cold,
I am sour and soft.
Darker than night,
Brighter than day.
Loving and spiteful
Caring and callous.
I am a poet concealed in prose
I am a writer covered in playwright
I am here, but I am also there.
I am an old novelty
and a new discovery.
I am a bit of van Gogh’s ear.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
Tiny red pins slip under my skin
Angry and sullen and precocious and settled.
Don’t wake them, they have my blessing.
Like a postmodernist painting
You could analyze them to
death.
But don’t.
Just let them be
They mean more that way.
Mar 6, 2012
Mar 6, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC