Best Minimalism Poems
Quaint
gas street lamps;
not too many are left.
Their soft, warm, amber glows
replaced by hard, cold, white beams;
the new L E D technology
of our advanced,
modern age.
Sandra M. Haight
Redeem time* to the utmost
by God’s triumphant might
fulfilling His will; faith-driven
while loving neighbors as yourself.
*Colossians 4:5 Walk in wisdom ... redeeming the time.
December 17, 2018
6th place, "Minimalism" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer; judged on 12/20/2018.
Seems Minimalism:
Life choosing whichever theme
May be peerless on quality prime.
At last ends in burial
turning trivial.
12/21/18
Queen of Materialism Versus Queen of Minimalism
She shops and shops and shops and shops.
She is either in a store or on the phone.
Amazon boxes surround her house.
Some are opened, some are not.
She is a consumer, smothered under boxes.
You can find her hand reaching toward the computer
As she tries to click “buy” but the rest of her is under boxes.
Hear that click? She just bought something else.
Will she have time to open all of these boxes before she dies?
Doubtful.
The Queen of Materialism lives.
Our next Queen has signed up to be in a tour of homes.
Her friends are horrified.
It is a Christmas tour. She has no Christmas stuff.
She has no quilts, no tree, no ornaments, no stuff.
Her house is black and white and blah.
There are no pictures on her wall.
She would not recognize an Amazon box.
She is not curious, not interesting, not tantalized by shiny things.
Colorful sassy things do not amaze, intrigue or entice her.
She does not go into stores, and she does not shop online.
Her house is stark, empty, bereft. She is the Queen of Minimalism.
The more I can have, the more I see,
The less I really need,
The less I want around my house and
The less I want to read,
About how much that I should have,
How much that I should buy,
With all the cash that I have earnt,
Instead I question why,
Not have a house that’s free of clutter,
Free of stuff that chokes,
Free of big large furnishings,
Hoarded in other folks,
Houses in suburbs where they are,
Chained to the spending wheel,
Instead, I can live in a space that’s free,
Where I can breathe and think and feel.
It's hard to be minimalistic
When everything seems worth keeping
And I can't keep my mind clean
When everything seems worth keeping
She walked with resolve through her thoughts late last night,
Walked in a single straight line,
She walked determined to clear it all out,
All the colourful shapes in her mind,
The shapes that have jumbled the clear and concise,
That messed up where her thoughts belong,
She cleared up ideas from counterfeit folks,
She threw out the thoughts that were wrong,
So today she can see the things that matter,
The abstract beliefs that she holds,
Now she can walk clear and know who she is,
As she walks her dependable road,
Last night she cleared out, she emptied her past,
She threw out the thoughts that were fake,
And woke up in a mind filled with beautiful truth,
In the minimal world she creates.
But
if
quakers
are shakers-
they do it with style
The dyed bamboo of Chinese finger traps
Should have taught me everything
To strive is to cut through jungle
To surrender is to know
I am jungle
white
a sensation of floating
suspended
in
an emblematic
essence
of infinity
distilled down
transcending
the conventional
a pure form
an absence
of colour
as a timeless presence
perfectly aligned
questioning
reshaping
the undertones
of enigma
with
an interplay of shades
meditative,
therapeutic
as
a whisper
in the
maze
of imagination
snowflake
journey over
resting
a child’s tongue
tingling
©12/14/2018
Minimalism Poetry Contest
sponsor – Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
Frugality
Spending on things that's
really necessary
in restrained manner.
~X~X~X~
Minimalism
A technique that's marked
by extreme sparseness, simple
wilful lack of style.
~X~X~X~
See behind this curtain,glimpses into the soul,to reveal within the heart, innermost thoughts,living truths become the now from then. Hidden allusions, enigmatic yet proven by time,pared down succinct,derivated but different,live and breathing empirical minimalist moments of inspiration.Everything flows so smooth in this show of former things,casual remarks, encaptured experience indelible impressions contrasts yet always relevant.Vibrant images obliterate the unnecessary,become apparent as little songs from great sorrow with eureka moments.
The blind man visited you
With the help of his stick…
You let him in.
When he left you found out that
Your wallet has gone…
He wanted stark, she wanted mess.
Bareness irritated her, he insisted on no paintings.
He loved their boring black and white life.
She wanted color, pizazz, flair. He did not.
But wait, she lived here too, right?
She dragged in an orange vase and a turquoise box.
Tiny, unnoticeable items, placed them on the mantle.
They were gone by the time she returned from work the next day.
They did not fit in with our décor, she was told sternly.
She knew better than to insist, for he was a pouting man.
He was into minimalism. She was into pretty.
He did not want children, for they are messy. She did, but kept this her secret.
Not wanting him to become angry with her.
He threw out her bed pillow once because it had a hair on it.
It had been her favorite pillow since childhood; he did not care.
She thought about the colors that she wanted, she dreamed of the paintings on her walls.
She could think of nothing else as they ate their black and white foods, the ones he approved.
She could focus on nothing else. Giving up her friends had felt okay at the time.
Eliminating her family ties had made sense to her, for he had insisted, and she loved him, right?
One day she brought home a red lamp. It was pitched into the snow.
She started walking toward him and could not stop. “It’s my turn!” she yelled. She could not stop.
“My turn! My turn! My turn!” She pushed him out the door.
Minimalism had never felt so good.
Written: 12-17-2018 Contest: Minimalism Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer