Short Impersonal Poems
Short Impersonal Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Impersonal by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Impersonal by length and keyword.
Love alone is
personal and human...
universal love
it's impersonal
and divine...!
The
Impersonal
Is a character
Appearing in the
Sagas of life...
The impersonal
Appears as personal..
Nothing personal...
Form:
How many hearts will melt
from message, AI wrote
that pings upon a phone;
as many did who felt
soft kiss on gentle throat
that sighed a yielding moan?
Beliefs
Attachments to thoughts
Reinforce a separate identity &
Things are taken personally..
Which is a story of
An appearance of the
Impersonal...
Spring comes in yellow
In crocus, in jonquil,
In ducklings and peeps,
In warming sun angle;
In butterfly golden,
In yellow renewal
Impersonal bounty
Feeds personal hope.
Popular pretensions
pretend God is faceless
impersonal,neutered and neutral;
No,no-way,no-way they say
believing themselves
this and that;
Anything,everything
something and nothing.
IMPERSONAL IMITATION
complete
meticulous
devotion
framed
stereotyped
motifs
of
immediacy
envisaged
emanating
perspectives
observing
change
in
acquired
sentimentality
What's in store for the next thirty years
Not looking forward to it it's a future to fear
I'm from the old school
Interaction was the rule
These days it's so impersonal it brings me to tears
God is
No impersonal abstraction,
but a living being.
Not harsh or remote
but fair,just and all-seeing.
Not impatient with a closed mind,
but long suffering,loving-kind.
Not unknowable or unknown,
ever-ready to be shown.
true fulfilment
an ethereal fantasy
of
tempetuous romance
in a
perfect distillation
free
of hierarchy
this
creative antipathy
a diffused presence
the perspective
of impersonal beauty
in
a
potential muse
Got a text message from my wife, our cat just committed suicide
Very impersonal don't you think, used to be a phone call making us cry
What have we become
With a finger up our bum
People are too busy for a phone call to hear our dear cat died
I can’t survive without the rush of an impulsive swallow or an impersonal touch.
I’m fueled by the adrenaline I get solely through sex and drugs, driving while high and chasing danger.
Piercing my skin with needles and pins,
willing to feel the worst to feel anything
Impersonal
Superficial
A tribute to a man
I hardly knew
An impractical joker
An inclement clown
Overly cautious
To never reveal
Anything of himself
Hiding under the façade
Of inappropriate humor
An awkward conundrum
A mystery man
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Impersonal and mystic force?
I think that there is little chance
our origin’s a random course.
Impersonal and mystic force?
No thing, no one, no rhyme, no source?
Life’s so much more than happenstance!
Impersonal and mystic force?
Of that, I think there’s little chance.
I AM AN I AM
I AM AN I AM
I am immaculately impudent
I am imprudent
I am impractical
I am impersonal
I am impatient
I am impolite
I am impure
I am imperfection
I am at an impasse
I am immature
I am imbecilic
But most important of all is
I am impotent
©2011.…~free cee!~ Phreepoetree
INFINITE SELF-ABSORPTION
profound
seriousness
tends
towards
the
indifferent
appearing
to observe
the
remote
impersonal
&
uninterested
yet
resembling
solemnity
crucial
to understanding
to
inform
selfish
devotion
&
sympathetic
understanding
I can be soft and gentle,
Or harsh and crude,
Charismatically diplomatic,
Or impersonal and rude,
I can be kind and giving,
And selfishly living,
I can console with sincere empathy,
Or dismissive with rapier cruelty,
If I could harmonize these bitonal character traits,
Life would be,
A fabulously elegant,
Emotional symphony.
Immovable object that you see?
Truly not, if you allow it free.
Intolerable silence you hear?
Try softening your sense of fear.
Impersonal, harsh touch of old love?
Therapeutic caress from above.
Inevitable in taste of grief?
Transitioning stages for relief.
Infinite smell of Autumn decay?
Tumbling leaves in dull, damp, dying day.
SIR – DU JOUR
Someone called me “Sir” today
Am I really all that old
The “Sir” is so impersonal
So formal and so cold
I always have reserved it
For those advanced in age
Or those whose rank and status
Are just too hard to gauge
But they stop me in the hallway
And address me now as “Sir”
I guess I really am that old
It’s my title now du jour
Mdailey
fleeting
pigments
subjective
snapshots
radical
reflective
residues
plausible
piquant
pictorial
perceptions
with
latent
tendencies
lasting
impersonal
immediate
pseudo
sequences
suppressed
chiselled
disturbing
epigrammatic
representation
executed
in
foreshortened
contradictions
Perfect Love
Perfect love carries an impersonal touch,
like silent buddahs on lotus blossoms,
waiting for suffering to breathe a final, quiet sigh.
Like ice on distant mountains,
waiting to nourish the world below.
Like a Mother hawk, hunting high,
in a cloudless sky.
A love so unearthly blind and beautiful,
That it makes no distinction between caressing mother and child,
or a perfect stranger.
EXTERNAL ILLUSIONS
images
assigned
&
occupying
the
sensual
phantasmagoria
perceived
feeling
for
form
in
aesthetic
reality
or
pseudo
transcendance
reproduced
& receptive
contemplation
of
fortuitious
transparent
phenomena
analogies
&allegories
of
activities
in
blossoming
perspective
re emerge
impersonal
inorganic
changeless
manifestations
Whey faced and ashen
Trouser leg rolled up
Jagged shinbone jutting
With a ragged grin.
Words tumbling
From a mouth
Shocked and numb
Sitting stiffbacked
In the dentist's window
Facing the street
Two women busy
Mothering the casualty
Until the ambulance.
Outside unrelenting
Lay the pavement
On a freezing Friday
Ice glinting coldly
And unconcerned.
Inside an old soldier
Never before
Brought low in battle.
You tell me your leaving
Impersonal over the phone
Couldn't you at least write me a Poem
Spelling out why
Or was I just small fry
You overcooked
Because you weren't paying attention
Romping up the temperature
Drained on old newspaper
Yesterday's news in small print
You never really cared about
Hanging on your arm whilst you looked out
For something better to come along
And sweep you off your feet
That noise
The overwhelming noise
Mechanical impersonal
Drowning out
My inner voice
In a much soothing manner
I may be deaf when
I leave this roastery coffeehouse
But till then
I am thoroughly enjoying
The mental massage
By this robotic drone
Being in no rush to leave
Sipping my americano
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on March 11, 2020 for contest STRAND CHOICE D sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - HONORABLE MENTION