Long Minimalism Poems
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SOMETIMES RED
It happens when I see a little boy kick a kitten
Or someone’s three-year-old children
Having a tantrum in a supermarket
And the parents doing nothing but watch it
And I say to myself oh boy I reckon
I could put that kid’s behavior right in a second
With my hard right hand
Or when I read of Bono flying his personal jet and
Helicopter Into Zambia to witness at first-hand the demise
Of lions, which he cares “so deeply” about (tearful eyes)
Those conferences in Paris of heads of state talking
About South America, with starvation and death stalking,
Then adjourning to some palace for dinner and dance
Or David Beckham giving a charity performance
Appealing for the blind kids of Moscow, so “close to” his heart
I don’t know why but whenever I see a politician or upstart
Rich star offering to help some downtrodden
I just feel this way and then I want to burst into sudden
Laughter at the same time to control the feeling
For who’s kidding who? These powerful rich “appealing”
Figures could easily give a thousand times as much
To their ”cause” without feeling the pinch or even a touch
So I guess it’s their minimalism which gets me going
I feel so…I don’t know….well it’s not the knowing
But always the same feeling, and it makes me long
To. . . . . at least the kids don’t clearly know right from wrong
But these adult figures, well I just can’t get my head
Around their attitudes and it always makes me see red.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
( Emotion is anger )
Entered in Debbie Guzzi ‘s Contest “Emote”
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
An Economy spirals up in euphoria,
enslaving Casinos, Supermarkets, Malls.
Lavish and happy hedonists in quicksand,
relish in desert of drudgery, not so small.
As we dance, an orgy and frenzy of 'Plenty',
Mother Earth looks fragile.
Thousand channels on TV....
Commercial 'Breaks' bonding ornate families.
Fizzy drinks decor, fountains in creams of ice.
Chocolates, cheese and clothes in arid paradise.
Bourgeois entities consume branded merchandise.
As cars update to limousines, jets and fancy yachts,
Mother Earth looks fragile.
Crass delightful spending, offers on Credit Cards.
Useless junkies clutter, unrelenting greed so garish.
The rush to get" Freebies".. suffocates a " Freedom"..
Like morons, we take care, of our precious kingdom
As an empire shops in frenzy, like a thirsty Vampire,
Mother Earth looks fragile.
Addicted thoughts doomed to oblivion.
Smartphones, iPod and Game Consoles.
Claustrophobic painted homes, nauseate in stress.
Have we forgotten to learn to live with "less"..?
Forgotten carefree butterflies...wilderness of peace
Forgotten molten glaciers,... wild streams and breeze,
Opulence of a Billionaire Earth...
Let life go on, billion years of mirth.
Anybody listening???"
Stuck in the mire of more and more
Look, he goes there.....
.Another Ferari riding Billionaire...
20th December, 2018
Written originally for Minimalism Poetry Contest of Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
MAngo Mellow Madness
M's
1.
Mango Mellow Madness
Mapping Meandering meaningless memories
of Malice with Mirthful mourning
What messy Magma monstrosities
Best to murder them
Hmphf ( angrily)
2.
Mango Mango Madness
Magnifera indica
Slippery, stinging magnificence
My Mellow Mango Madness numbing
Does excite
Mmmmm ( excited)
3.
Mellow Mango Madness
A Masquerading Marquis,
the Marzipan Master
In a Matrimonial matrix merry-go-round
Mimics Metamorphosis at the metro station,
Metronome minimalism keeps time,
As the Marquis miracle Moth murmurs
March on, March on
Hmmmm??? ( Questioning)
4.
Mango Mellow Madness
A miniature manicured maiden butterfly
With her maroon mandolin
Sits under a Macadamia tree
Eating her manicotti and meatloaf
She is a misplaced misunderstood Minkish Monarch
Moonstruck by Manfred the Moth (who, likes to murmur March on, March on)
He sports a Mugshot mullet, and eats Mozzarella Manicotti and Mutton pie
He has never noticed the Minkish Monarch
Mascara tears run down her mouth
Mmm ( crying)
5.
Mango Mellow Madness
A Mystic Masterminds Melodious Mantra
Such a Meaningful Mind-bending mindset
metaphysicality milestones
Mild stone marker
Don’t Move
OOOOMMMMMM!!
Haggis hype
Bagpipes bleating like unshorn sheep
Tartan theatrical - military tatoos
Scotland cloning Dolly the Sheep
National pride - Robbie Burns, poet, bard of Auld Lang Syne
Highlands of ancient rocks, rift vallies
natural beauty, layers of worth
Loch Ness, geologic scooped, water serene
Nessie settled in depths, unseen
sonar detection elusive
marine monster of geeky charm
conjured in gift shop puffery
Nessie hat, Dragon like, tucked above protruding ears
In Edinburgh's historic streets
Whiskey fed men, burly, bearded
strut
wrapped in kilts
traditional garb
plaid, pleated, blessed, dressed
in woolen scratchiness (avoid a public itch)
Breezy kilts wrap manly legs menaced by
thigh high thistles
Scottish reach prickly
No matter
Scots men, image strong
(ignore the thistles and street whistles)
brimming swagger like malt liquor
skirting scavengers in exploration peaks
men in kilts (minimalism denied)
protectors of the realm
unafraid
to let it all hang out
Poem composed: March 10, 2021
I have
Been
Relegated
Condemned
To follow
The straight
And narrow
Path
Of Poetic
Minimalism
I shall not
Stray
From behaving
In this way
Its the straight
And narrow
All the way
From now on
For me
Straight Arrow
No more
Than a few
Words I can
Say
Its the new
Style
Of Poetry
DONT stray
I shall abide
Keep things
Straight
Narrow
Like
The Indians
Arrow
I shoot this
Poem
Over your way
Do not laugh
Nor should you
Play
From now on
Its the straight
And narrow
All the way
If you wish
Spaces
That’s ok too
As Long as
You know
Straight and
Narrow
Is still for
You
That’s the rule
So don’t be blue
If you cant beat them join them!!!!!!!!!!!!
Notes: The
formatting issues of
short lines and
double spaces seems
to be fixed, however
if anyone needs help
to fix their posts
feel free to email
me, be happy to
assist.
I stand corrected, there still seems to be issues. However, it seems if you post
in the Chrome browser is ok. I have tried in in Firefox and sometimes it works,
and sometimes not.
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.
Matt is a freakishly neat male
His kitchen is spotlessly clean
Almost made his date Dot want to bail
Clutter free to her is utterly obscene.
To live here would feel like jail.
Matt felt it was amazingly keen.
His minimalism felt rather stale.
Dot simply despised Matt’s neat-nick scene.
Her home is loaded with piles of junk mail,
She is a hoarder from way back, a keep-everything-queen.
Dot drags anything home she finds loose or on sale.
Figures her life is not what Matt would glean.
She thinks it is best probably to bail.
If he saw her home, he might be mean.
Various piles of debris, hearty and hale.
She keeps to herself, to most unseen.
Matt keeps his austere life without fail.
Dot continues to live like a wild free teen.
Neither realizing their union would have been hearty and hale
Both living alone the rest of their life, their lives both green.
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.
Pith is pithier than pithy
-it’s not a question of if.
You know atoms are tiny
when you get at ‘em.
Sometimes they’re the point.
Meanings have layers
like lasagna.
Two or three should suffice.
Any more is a little less nice.
Less is more is the better
advice.
But I sense I said that twice.
Lasagna and spaghetti
go to together like a Yeti
and Big Foot.
So maybe skip the spaghetti.
Are you aiming to have a carb overload?
You better avoid that road.
I like little feet as opposed to a big foot
-they’re tinier.
More minor.
Less dimensional.
They can be on point
-and that’s plane to see.
I could say more but I don’t see
the point,
in that case.