Blase Poems - Poems about Blase

Joy of pleasure, a child of poor parents, Bliss alone founts from a perpetual spring, Joy fancies scores of fond uncles and aunts, Never lasts long the song they choose to sing. Being a moth made of mere moments nigh, It sleeps all day, to wake in glare of night, O Bliss, thou art a dancing butterfly That spreads its beauteous...

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I wake up each day without purpose. I am neither here nor there. I can't cry anymore, I can't smile anymore. I have a blank stare and my demeanor is blase'. A big mase of skin and bones with no direction. My dreams of a better existence has become a series of nightmares. ...

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I also feel blasé today February 19th, 2024 Linkedin to being lax, and shirking house cleaning tasks, which negligence cost us (yours truly and the missus) a golden opportunity to relocate to Hillcrest Village in Boyertown, Pennsylvania another HUD subsidized property under the aegis of Grosse and Quade, one of the larger residential property management firms in the Delaware Valley. Physical unwellness (insync with racing heart) arose because Kathleen Bergen the...

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Ah! Sleeping showerings Hello! I have a slight humid headache My eyes shines betrayed by the clouds I heard a makeshift thunder lightning unbelieved instincts Fantasies of my psyche expressive Cloak Deity... Who me? Bla, blah, blah Kingdom full of clearance Old fashioned party lines Realities Bla, blag, blah Whatever! And my promise to the multi clover bow in the sky...

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At my antique womanly age, I have reached beyond cynicism stage, I am quite blasé about hyperbole, Hearsay evidence about chicks like me, You're wasting your time, unfortunately, Old bags like me are basically resilient, you see, I've had 700 billion lovers, it seems, Plus or minus 10%, is that how you deem? Contemplation on such matters makes me giggly! Yes, quite blase about...

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Blasé Totally proud of my achievement, Completely understood by my friend, Monumental progress made in no time, When our ears to each other did bend; Notwithstanding the usage time, long, Of that moderate body, muscles spasming, Irrespective of the disbelieving carers, And complacent friends who liked tuning. Ignoring my parents full throttle, blank, He was faithful...

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I've gathered you all here today; to lament rhyming poetry's death. Fledgling poets feel it's blasé; regardless of its rhythm and breath. Lyrical poetry's called cliché, though it's been recited for years. For now, there's a different way of expressing cheers, fears, and tears. Exiled to the pages of time; rhyme died as its critics shunned it. And its once clear distinctive chime; was stripped of...

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Call an end to time And spin the coin on the balance of a dime Heads or tails Define my bail And blase a trail To the center of the sun...

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