Short Phlegmatic Poems
Short Phlegmatic Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Phlegmatic by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Phlegmatic by length and keyword.
phlegmatic
insipid
like a corpse
bliss suffused
enlivened
joyous soul
let’s choose life
innocence
vibrancy
10-May-2023
Tricube
Phil’s attitude and responses were phlegmatic.
He hid them away in his grandma’s attic.
Difficult to arouse was Phillip McGee.
Played poker well, quite unlike give-away-face me.
SANGUINE TEMPERAMENTS-:-
phlegmatic
melancholy
perfectus
visibly
reflected
to EXPRESS EUPHORIA
embodied
endured
dispositioned
contemplative
temperaments
as an EMBLEM TRANSCENDED
evokes
references
resplendent
short-lived
paradise
Fear of freedom, blue skies now seem grey
Phlegmatic pessimism, own hand stays
Whilst cheerful maverick
Fearless to try new tricks
Makes escape to freedom, simple play
06-May-2021
Quitters never win poetry contest
Sponsor: Margarita Lillico
syllable count: 9,9,6,6,9
Is it now a time
of indifference
as we slowly kill
our conscience
Sinking into stupor
compassion dead
instincts do compel
ego be overfed
Creature of habit
slave to senses
fearing the light
taking no chances
Life ebbs away
moment by moment
as does diminish
our love quotient
23-October-2020
What is it about Sunday night
that the universe just can't get right
Sunday days, often serene
Monday morns, fueled by caffeine
But Sunday nights, phlegmatic and placid
as if all of creation just went flaccid
I guess I might as well cash in my chips
and ride out this night's eternal eclipse
Listen to poem:
I waited, anticipated
Hopes were high, bloated
It was too much to ask, inflated
I lowered my sights, deflated
Tried not to be hurt, shielded
Numbed my senses, phlegmatic
Checked the date and time, could be wrong
I fought back and forth, sparred
Willed a lunge, parry, riposte, touché
But, when it came, it fizzed
The expectation feud,
blew out the candles.
Poised in peace, it may appear we’re phlegmatic
but the truth is heart’s drenched in bliss mists sublime,
thus in vibrant aloneness we’re ecstatic,
consciousness attuned to God’s magnetic chime.
The light of Self within is always aflame;
made in God’s image, soul and He are the same
and thus there remains for us nothing to do,
save feeling refrains of bliss rapture renew.
Taking each occurrence as perfect
although it may not be apparent
ceasing to weigh or measure or size
we flow in the current unresistant
Each doing that is done is with gusto
there being no stupor phlegmatic
for unendingly throbbing with rapture
bliss in renewal has us all ecstatic
We may say that we do not really exist
as the word is usually interpreted
for our identityless presence emptiness
frivolous ego agendas deselected
22-September-2020