"blase" poems
When the last spark of wonder fades
from the eyes of our young
when we decide to live in a blase' Universe
only then are we lost, only then
have we ceased to find our North Star
and we become refugees
while sitting in out own homes
Trying to rekindle our flame, that old spirit
but alas we lack the spark
Ingenuity has died, cleverness lies withered
Renaissance will not come
for wonder has perished and us along with it
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
I thought, you. And then I stared and wished that I was back
in your line of sight, that time that you tried to
take a photo of me and I held up my hand. You had never
even touched it. It was deemed artsy and you used
me to pick up chicks who thought you were creative. The many
times I thought yes, and felt yes from you too. But all
we did was stare and I want to touch your Greek hair just
once. And I sold smiles and sweets to strangers while
you gave out pop and judgements. How comedic, how blase.
How soon could I get you to never stop thinking about me?
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 3:54 PM UTC
i tell myself im feeling better.
no social media
no outside distractions
just me and my mind.
ive made quite a few changes in these seemingly eternal summer months
ive changed my diet
changed my thinking
my sleep schedule
my hobbies and interests
even my wardrobe.
ive made all these changes
ive gotten out of my head (for the most part)
so if ive made all these changes and if im doing all of these new and better things
why do i still feel so low ?
i feel low not as in sad
no sad is too simple, too cliche, too blase
i feel low as in my heart will start to clench and struggle to beat
my breathing gets shallow
my thoughts are dulled and become sullen and narrow
like im on the verge of a never arriving panic attack
so tell me if im filled with no responsibilities no standards to hold myself to
filled with a sense of freedom and "peace" as many would say
how come if you asked me to today
i still couldnt put my so called peace on a scale of 1 to 10 ?
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
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 blasé about hyperbole,
You're wasting your time, quite definitely!!!
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 2:59 AM UTC
Sprei jou vlerke
My struikel-kind
, want die berge se rante
Steek skerp teen die wind
Vlug vir jou onskuld
Vlug na die son
Vlieg weg van Gamora
ontsnap van *****
Vlieg ver oor die wolke
My struikel-kind
Daars ń storm wat broei
, maar hou jouself blind
Want sere en blase
Word gou-gou weer heel
Maar geen pleister plak toe
Die letsel van ***
Honger hande neig
Om jou kinderlikke onskuld van jou af weg te steel...
Sprei oop jou vlerke
My struikel-kind
Want die berge se kranse
Hang laag in die wind
Kruip weg vir die hande
Wat jou wil verslind
En keer terug na jou kinderdae
Om jouself weer te vind...
Liefde...
Van ń kaalvoet-kind
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
The kisses were empty
And touches blase'
I felt the disconnect
Long before I felt
You between my thighs
The tide was premature
And the flood pointless
Passion flourished fire
Love so demure
Thoughts became hushed
Under layers of lust
Clouded need
And as the fire fueled
Explosion didn't last
A lack luster come down
There was no way out
I was surrounded
Scarred where
Your fingers singed my skin
Scents of misplaced emotions
Smoldered between the sheets
Invading any space untouched
By our feinding bodies
Breath became stolen as
Faces became backs
Once again clothes covered
The naked truth
My eyes closed
Echoing the click of the lock
Stamping out the faint embers
Of what used to be
I felt the disconnect
Long before I felt
You between my thighs.
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 3:43 PM UTC
Sin glows
With sparkling richness
Of all luminaries
of blanketing galaxy
Sin is worshiped and enshrined
Righteousness is
but blase fallacy
With all over-flowing
Affluence
of new pentecostal churches
and their greedy pastors
And easy-come riches
of Chiadzwa diamond fields
with her flippant Gwejas and Gwejerinas
Life is but black
like Soddom's ****
I hear the knell of dawning doom
As Angels of doom boom...
I swear by ****** Mary's blessed ****
I saw a Stephen preaching down Rekai Tangwena Ave
And was run down by a speeding motor car
"O poor chap, was a good fellow," muttered God
I saw drunken Thomas roaming the streets
Of cogitation convincing himself
it was true news
That brother Jesus, pot-bellied in Armani suit
Was back riding a top of the range Lamborghini
And God shrugged his shoulders,kept quiet
Afraid it may be fatally true
I saw God wet his pants
When listening to Elliot The Idiot's "Songs of Sobs"
That applaud Simon and Peter fishing
From people's pockets
Songs that revere and adorn the vigilant
Pillar of Salt
Scorn and mock
the meekness and softness of heart
At Golgotha...
Sin is vermin spreading
In this our home,the infierno grande
-dougwa-
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
I singe with a hertly lud whan ycham herty,
And I arme whan singinge is ne ynewe.
Carole whan my corage blissieth,
And I shal deye whan his blase deyeth.
Druerie shal be his a-brune billets.
A stable blase that shal sustene my spyrakles.
A schrewe destroyere that kesseth so dimliche.
A þeauful kempe with an as-spire swerde.
Gostes of i-þank als ouer my vingeres.
Al-only dulce conceiptes fletene in my gostes.
Sumdel real cannot be als amaddinge.
Sumdel real cannot be te-tealte!
Is the mannish þonc als mase and puissant
Sweuenen of suic a selkout conand?
Dest Moder Folde cune of hire child?
Hire misty doter who berne and bilde?
The hoom is not where the herte is.
The herte is the hoom bote motif
The herte, the hoom, the ende, and the sepulture.
A luft who is the mest derure in the Folde.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
You don't look a day older than bad manners
Remember to let people off the Train first.
Old fashion common sense has gone,
we are generating our everyday Cleopatra
where the private is as imperative as the public persona ,
unbeknown nail polish is on a reconnaissance mission
for blase solvent effects,
and as for Gentleman I cannot think of a
suitable Mass observation survey yet,
but if i did,
there wouldn't be enough Stradivarius volins to avail.
Note too how bus drivers aren't generally slow
and bicyclists are veering militant
driving instructors take chances through the red lights,
city life is
not necessarily construed as a public safety issue,
but everything is considered less relevant
in the pursuit of balanced manners.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 3:57 PM UTC
Decidedly blase, as the hours tumble past
If divinatory; as the strains of old fugues
That once roused us to incoherent victories.
Never mind that the **** crowed thrice,
Ere you forgot our names-
And lord, the company you keep
Locked in that old hobnail chest;
How you'd be disdained, were it known
The lampshades here drink old *****
Under a goat-grey sky, at morning
And your key's sloppy turning, meteor-like
On its slow approach, at decoding the lock.
But sleeping fitfully now, on the porch,
Your muddy shoes can tell no tales
Of your evenings holy grails.
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 3:44 PM UTC
Why do we remember some moments like a photograph
and others only forgotten or through a haze
Santa Cruz High School theater we were called in to get
our PSAT scores, since there was no internet and it was only paper
and I didn't know what the PSAT was or anything and the counselor said
this is really not a prediction of your life you are not a loser if you score low
and went on and on and I got mine and opened it and I was in the 96th percentile
in language and I couldn't believe it so I called my mother on the school payphone
I can even remember the wire connecting the phone to the box and she was so
blase--not higher? Oh, and that's compared to kids in the expensive prep schools.
and I realized that she knew there were expensive prep schools and I wasn't at one
but later, I opened the gate to my flute teacher's driveway and it was full of
splinters and I remember this so clearly as I touched the gate and thought
I am in the 96th percentile despite not going to those expensive prep schools
and I felt like I was smart and capable and I could really escape my parents
and figure things out
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 8:28 PM UTC
The solicitous Self,
with and in each exchange
of conversation's
volley of commiserating
commissary verbages
words of curbs and gutters,
owns not its guilt
knows not good will
nor for those whom shatter
in our drowning hours, unstill...
The Self is begging
for your idolatry's bastions,
wants you to find it beautiful
and superior
above any other
attention and ingestion
gorging and hoarding
the tid-bit compliments
the cloud nine glances
succulent smiles / flirtatious lick of lips
the audience pumping up
its hot air ego-balloon
to beach ball widths
a deadly kind of perdition
for you, character fool
careless and distracted
blase' as a toad on a stoop...
It is a ****
the amorous Self is
harmless, the beginning seeds
and whimsy / at flowering
in your hands:
fluff and puff intimations
child-like glee / pleasing / blowing
nonpluss dandelions
nonthreatening
in ruminations
N' stuff...
but like any ****
when it spreads and takes hold
the real estate of your time and soul
it chokes and feeds
off your serene prosperity
of peace of mind
of identity
a thief of your ideas
makes your dreams its own
It suffocates all others
behaves with dismissive airs
like you it becomes
you, who has watered
this pest and catered to its musings
like a sudden sunrise it appears
out of the blue appealing
a dandelion, quaint & demure
yet alluring
The ********** that is the selfish
solicitous thorn
knows its own nature
far too well
hides its hideous
kink so none can warn
it is a war
with Self
the attention *****
Self being compelled
as all else
a parasite to its growth
a virus and its host
what she now only has to give
in return:
assuage
her malingered spell
she breeds in you
a ghost of once you were
wastrel grime
wasted time
an empty shell
Abhorred.
Careful what the Self
is selling
the solicitudes
of obsessions
Possession
Suffocation
not much else...
No succor for the Self.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
Sad songs had their place
In the coming of age,
My songs sound the same
The sound, blase
Sad songs had their place
In the coming of age,
My songs sound the same
My songs are blase.
The answers I need, who do I ask?
Where's my fire?
Where's my immediacy?
The roof is overhead.
The walls surround my bed.
Food in the fridge.
Necessary electricity.
The ends I seek, where do I ask?
Where's my fire?
Where's my face in smoke and mirror?
Sad songs had their place
In the coming of age,
My songs sound the same
My songs are blase.
Where's my face in smoke and mirror?
Where's my face in smoke and mirror?
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
Sonnet.
Un ange furieux fond du ciel comme un aigle,
Du mécréant saisit à plein poing les cheveux,
Et dit, le secouant : " Tu connaîtras la règle !
(Car je suis ton bon Ange, entends-tu ?) Je le veux !
Sache qu'il faut aimer, sans faire la grimace,
Le pauvre, le méchant, le tortu, l'hébété,
Pour que tu puisses faire, à Jésus, quand il passe,
Un tapis triomphal avec ta charité.
Tel est l'Amour ! Avant que ton coeur ne se blase,
A la gloire de Dieu rallume ton extase ;
C'est la Volupté vraie aux durables appas !"
Et l'Ange, châtiant autant, ma foi ! qu'il aime,
De ses poings de géant torture l'anathème ;
Mais le **** répond toujours : " Je ne veux pas !"
699
I was standing there
In the heart of crossroads
Blindly staring at the unfamiliar road signs
Traffic lights must have misheard my wheeze
They shifted before I could breathe
Inexorable headlights race towards the freezing me
As if magnet and metal were meant to be
I am here, facing back
Tracing the road I wanted to wrack
With thought of facing the crack
Measuring the weight to repack
Memories of morning sun heating away the haze
Passion of youth in this town had become blase
Fleeting replays of ugly truths in these old days
So I stepped out the lies builded with ablaze
I will be moving, starting from here
By the side of crossroads
Slowly walking away from these rusty road signs
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
I have given pieces of my heart
to those who need it most
and yet I still found enough love
..to give my heart it's color
to let it blush
when it should, when it's struck?
I have juggled the knives
of insults that tried to paper cut
my skin as each one fell
a hairline away from my fingers
and yet I crave the adrenaline
that comes from defying such
near pain experiences
I have melted at the sight
of beauty, of music, of art, of poetry
of words, single or together
that kind of beauty
that moves your soul
the one that coats you
with a chill
that breathes life into
your blase presence
the one that's rustic
classic, that's ethereal
the one that creeps under your skin
and glazes your eyes with a glossy layer
for your body cannot explain
it in any other way
cannot digest
cannot comprehend
that such pulchritude
exists and
the best part
is that
it's real
do you feel that?
congratulations
You're still
feeling
&
that's a *******
blessing
feel..
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
Like a blase fencer
a stab proof jacket
touches
serenity
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 2:48 PM UTC
Masterful ownership, I am lost between cards, the green table, set and speckled, distracted by the colors and forgetful of the number, exploitive, love the spices, and aggressive, and tired of being bullied, fragrance chasers, chortling in remarks blase in cafe's I'm meager minded but with fortunate background, I am spoiled but somehow burst from the bubble, some sort of rodent stuck out of time, letting the chemicals do their work, like dousing a cheetah in kerosine, just most toxic and full of rage, spotted and dying, closer to living without restraint, devoid of taste, my fears overwhelm me, driving me, my own secufled
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
I've heard and read lovers recite
On love about their love;
*… a full petalled blossom
in a silver vase...*
Trite, I thought,
and so blase.
If what I recall is true.
I see my lover more like clover,
Spreading along a tree laden brook,
On a pathway through sun-streamed woods;
Spreading, thriving, covering green,
A more vibrant, living floral scene.
Trite, I think.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
Forever shown on the media as if to be proud
man's appalling history.
Wars have always dominated human culture
through countless strife.
Carnage constantly depicted on our screens
where you see real fiends!
As if these are trophies proud to be shown
maybe to view our mistakes.
Film makers creating war films more graphic
documentaries digitally enhanced.
Any footage clarified raising major reactions
trying to analyse the actions.
Maybe we need reminding of our blunders
often the young don't want to know.
Brought up with never ending war zones
becoming blase to the horrors!
Many don't even read see or hear the news
interesting in personal views!
Violence is part of our hereditary code
natural mode physical combat.
Rather than talk it through to rationalize
so they rage ever on.
And the atrocities will I can see continue
guiltless killed by the few!
The Foureyed Poet.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 7:09 AM UTC
I write some words
Full of suffering
Of a wounded heart
A broken soul
So moving and yet
blase
I am not this pain
that filters through
It is part of me
but it is not me
I am so much more
so much more than pain
I am love, and understanding
laughter and wonder
I find so much beauty around me
yet when I write
All I speak of is pain
This is not who I want to be
This pain does not own me
even if it is what I feel right now
pain is temporary
It will pass quickly
but my life will not
At least not as fast
I am full of love
even if it is marked
by suffering
I know I am not alone
These words
that I am writing
they are my pain
and are part of me
but they are not all
of me
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 6:55 AM UTC
the subtle meanings.....!
LOST!
so quickly (too quickly!)
the created ENEMY appears
and the true "faces" are gone!
GONE!
---
we are so weak
HOW CAN WE BE "HUMAN?"
how do we survive with no backbone
no courage
how do we survive?
-----
we don't
-------
THE SUBTLE LIES
they remain!
they remain while true meaning
is gone!
-----
we watch DEATH move is
we make excuses
we cower in fear
while hiding our fear
behind "the blase"
masks we wear
til we are
totally erased!!
---
COME
THERE IS A SPIRIT
A LIGHT
--------
stop this stupidity
and live
PLEASE
Jun 30, 2011
Jun 30, 2011 at 10:35 AM UTC
..slice.by slice..
..piece by piece..
..getting it's form..it's blase..it's
change of it..
But all we know we come to our mother's metra ..
..were blind 4 nano second at least..
..same thing..at least the one's that get that..
..how much time too u think that we have thonger out of our stupid..made belive..problelm's..and do you
. even know true love...
..i do..and it hurts the most of all that I have witness..3/4 of my heart went to love..or what thougt love..i've would have give my life that somebody gould keep living..LOVE..jist a word what we made to oirselfs to survive..to control..to fuck..to say something when it feels awkward some ho..what ever..but we're not out word's or language..that would be just plain skitso and dumb..yeah th the 10%:t..but still..there's jus another 'fact' that we eat
without chewin'..ain't the first time to ack like ape..throuing boo as funny business..OR we know why you but us in cage's..
..made up words to get along..to explain our simplicity to others....the fucker's that make's us belive that we are in charge..
..words that have made all war's exist..and blood spilled..
..we need them but it would bea very sunny day..when we
learned to use them too much..like this my contribution..
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC
There's something alluring about
losing yourself in thought
I did that once, and found myself
falling in love
as dangerous and as reckless as it is
today my heart felt like pouring itself
filling an ocean of emotions
As I sat on the shore, seeing the space
in front of me fill itself with my feelings
I felt my color returning, my skin reacting
my heart has fallen
for life, for her, for him, for it
my heart decided to drug my mind
and let go for once
Aching to ride with the rebels
to drink with the misfits
to dine with the careless
and to fall with the romantics
I decided to get up
give routine the finger
and walk out
with that satisfying mischievous smile
that I and only I
feel such elation
exposing it
I decided to swing like the olives
in a martini, in a haze of transparency
exploding with colors
as I smash from one edge of the cup
to the other
I feel all my blase emotions
relapsing, transforming, reacting
backfiring and stripping me
of things that killed me
aiming and shooting at them
with bullets of revival
bullets of excitement
that inject my muscles
with steroids
pumping them with whatever it is
that makes them human
what the f*%k is happening
this chemical reaction
after weeks of depression
is exactly what the doctor ordered
Scream, yes, do it
Let it start from your toes
let your body quiver as it makes its way
to your mouth
let your corpse feel the injection of life
Wake the hell up, no one is going to do it for you
rub your eyes, make your coffee
and change your commute,
You're not going to work today
You're going
to
scratch all that out
with a permanent marker
look forward
get your pens ready
this is going
to be
one ****
motherF#%king
CHANGE
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC