"phlegmatic" poems
175
I have never seen “Volcanoes”—
But, when Travellers tell
How those old—phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still—
Bear within—appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men—
If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place—
If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome—
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?
If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”!
To the Hills return!
46.7k
Sanguine
Choleric
Melancholic
Phlegmatic
Phlegmatic
Melancholic
Choleric
Sanguine
Blood oranges
And hibiscus tea
White wine
Carcrash memory
Hypertensive
He straps me down on the table
This is for my own good.
Too much blood they say,
Too much red wine too much liquid
Too much
My hand is swollen
My stomach distended
The vein in my forehead is bulging
Too much blood
A needle
A leech
A pen
Blood oranges
White wine
A needle is a leech is a pen
Is what the doctor ordered
He straps me to the desk
This is for my own good
A cure
Too much blood
Too much tea
Too many memories
Too many thoughts
Hypertensive
Sanguine
They say
They hand me the scalpel
And show me the line
Too much
I’ve had too too much red wine
To be doing this
A pen a leech a needle
A bucket of blood
A novel
Sanguine
Melancholic
Choleric
Phlegmatic
This is the cure
This is for my own good
Too much much blood
They hand me the pen
I’ve had too too many
Blood oranges
To be doing this
A scalpel is a pen
Is a leech is a needle
A bucket of blood is a novel
(Bleeding is the cure)
I bleed.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
I am a Phlegmatic,
the one who will be careless
with my surrounding.
Anybody will hate me,
for me being selfish with
my me time,
time for myself doing nothing.
I am a Melancholic,
a creature that is sensitive
with people’s feelings.
A person who will be hated
for giving a ‘fake chance’
to my surrounding
as I just wanna comfort them.
I am me,
a human that is judged
by other humans.
A creature,
that is loved
by other creatures.
If you wanna judge me, don't forget to love me.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
Rising from the darkness,
the evergreen dilemmatic soul
waking from the displeasures
bound by reluctance.
And slowly it slithers
upon the filth in life
only to fall back
into the reverie.
Disgraced eminence,
of this priceless concoction.
Enigmatical views,
but doomed by nature.
Born to change,
with time , with people.
To stay phlegmatic
as it writes its own destiny.
Dreams of falling into
the lap of luxury
like any ordinary soul.
But with a hint of transgression.
No robotic means,
just emulation.
Pulled by the ties of
prevalence.
Swindler of identity,
benevolent of jauntiness.
Passes through many loops
of croquet.
Yet saves its inscrutable soul
from the disrespectful world.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
I saw the universe in a grain of sand,
a fearsome adumbration
I so beheld.
The phlegmatic bird
bores through the sky
each molecule torn
in its wake.
Suckle at Mother Nature's ****
a Freudian psyche
unto the Earth itself.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 12:17 PM UTC
There's something about everything about nothing about how we were created, tiny blips in a system of "Nothing Even Matters" starring the worst producers in the universe. One could catch a glimpse of us as they pass by to get to somewhere better and laugh, and shake their heads and they would know our only purpose in existence was to make them feel better inside. But whoever writes a book in the view of the indifferent? Whoever directs a movie where nothing different happens? That's like asking who remembers the forgotten, it's possible but ever so unlikely, and sure as sine is undulated, under appreciated, somewhat very deflated, and though we aren't remembered, we sure aren't too terribly hated.
There's something about anything that could be distributed as significance in this underrated little beauty, flourished world that runs about full of life and clarity, streaming with disparity, slow depreciating, and sometimes we're defeating the purpose of why we're unique, and we slowly take the filters out of our little selfie, loosing all this isn't healthy, and we diminish all signs of any significance and we become as lifeless as a meteor, and I sometimes think "What is this for?" And then I simply sigh and take my sunglasses outside and stare into the sun, and wonder if anyone in the entire world has gotten off their iPhones or TVs and stared at the sun along with me.
There's something about how I feel when the little things get to me, like grades or dating drama, getting larger, more dramatic, oh it's such a ceaseless phlegmatic, and I sit at my stirring house and wonder how I can bear to live it anymore. But then I start to realise the person passing over is really staring us in the face and watching this world run in place. I'm not going to think about it anymore, it's all part of Earth's perpetual cycle, I'm not going to stop this utter nonsense now because it's time for me to go to my next class.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
I've become an alcoholic.
I drink until its socially acceptable
to lock myself in my room
to avoid the plague of humanity
dwelling in the revealing sunlight,
orange caked faces melting into the dirt.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
Mucous trickling down my nose
Ice crystals forming twixt my toes
Mind juggling with full-blown prose
What a way to go?
Bronchial valves erupt from deep
Eyes blurring from lack of sleep
Insidious thoughts continue to creep
What a way to go?
Sinus passages gurgling to drain
Phlegmatic vocal chords taking the strain
Cranial neurons humming a refrain
What a way to go?
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
The night is vivid, everyone is here.
My head is spinning like a sphere
My eyes are smiling
my lips are moving
With a grin smile, I found myself.
This atmosphere beckons me.
Brimming with thoughts, my mind is phlegmatic.
Body is so static
In an environment that is so dynamic.
As I sat across the room, mesmerized with beaming interactions;
Relinquished of my fear, my mind requires some actions
The adrenaline quicken to my brain, my thoughts convulse
As I begin to speak, my thoughts fainted as a pulse
And my words start to repulse
Trying to utter my words, felt imposible.
Like a stolen voice in a nautilus shell, I stay in silence;
In this fun and frivolous ambience.
I can only watch and listen, because I am inaudible.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
In newer, modern-digital ages - it may seem more and more so - brainwashed thoughts are being driven into the wall, and they are being expelled like snot, because the hated counter-argument can also splash back at any time if one is not careful. In newer modern ages, the persistently nauseating flattery can rather give birth to massive ***** than to chemically pure ******* massively praising the law-makers. The given era regularly snaps the ant-men, like an unwanted cigarette **** saying; they will be just fine - even among themselves -, they will be an ashtray.
Because the newest digital ages, like strings, bind and weave through the lives of simple, melancholy average people, like some everyday, negligible little package, not to fall apart, because the rhythmic intoxication of croaking frogs is clearly audible. Because - I fear - even sincere confidences may have less and less room among merely conscious, unsettled cell-molecules.
- A person would become a collapsed block if he constantly cried on the secret channels of tabloid media about who managed to successfully **** how much? How did he gain weight, who earned more? Maybe sometimes it is better to be consciously present and permanent loneliness trapped within four walls, not disturbed by a smartphone, smart TV, or laptop.
What is the better solution: social loneliness next to someone whose body and mind can still tolerate it, or to consciously chase away and exclude everything and everyone from yourself?! Many useless, yet essential, questions to be decided. In the flight of a kite, one should still catch a few more bold moves before the big leap into the phlegmatic infinity.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 12:23 AM UTC
Train tracks lead to predetermined places
Different directions, different faces
Exist to the right, exit left
Fluttering in one's peripheral, leaving traces
Daylight passed, nights so moonlight bereft
Of cloud cover to be cloven, the unconcerned brace
In the sky above what is known as home
Wherefore, each break shepherds individuals
As still as a garden gnome
Stoic as a preserved throne
Phlegmatic as a slowly melting icicle
In a cave that no one knows about
Exist to the right, life is what is left
Learning and yearning for that so disconcerting
Yet the biggest and most impactful
Inspiration
To live, not only to exist
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
With utter apathy
Atrocities spewed forth
Cauterizing the heart closed
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
Dear Mom and Dad,
I just wanted to say
Thank you,
for keeping me safe.
I'm sorry for being ungrateful.
I'm sorry for being arrogant,
or mean.
I'm not, and I know.
I was just quiet, alone in my world
during my hardest times.
You thought i was trying to be
"cool"
"chic"
and "grownup".
I was not.
I was merely thinking to myself,
about the things I experienced.
You never knew my story,
nor did I tell you.
If you made an effort to understand me,
or,
to open up just the slightest bit,
I would've told you.
Instead, you chose to view me as you wished.
And I became that image for you,
because it is easier to meet one's expectations
more than to exceed expectations.
I became what you thought I was.
I love you,
were the words I never got to say.
You viewed me as cold,
heartless,
and phlegmatic-
and I became all those things.
To keep up with my image,
to keep your expectations low,
I did what you expected of me.
But i still am grateful.
You may have never listened to me.
You were never there to give me advice
or give me warning.
You never shared the pain with me.
You made it harder for me,
for making it believe that I was cold, mean, egotistical,
and all those nasty things-
but-
you only made it harder.
just remember that.
I may have learned,
but I still hurt.
I just wanted to say,
just in case I don't stick around to tell you in person.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
i'm like a cat,
i sit on the windowsill
drink and smoke
and do the least
practicality of my
existence other than
sleeping, autistic darting
of the eye to fake telekinetic
coercions of unmovable things,
but i also do that to
imitate the mating calls
of foxes in the night,
in description:
like a dry laugh, like a non-phlegmatic
laugh, very coarse if taste buds are
in question bitter, like a solitary H
without an identifiable vowel to
make a couplet that doesn't desire
a rhyme.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Her sweetness-laden face,
beckoned with a grace,
A wishful ray of hopes,
inconspicuously morose.
He read it with an ease,
The Pinings cached in crease,
Swaying like a tremor,
Agog for a breather.
Whilst unfurling the crease,
He feared his irrational leash,
Careened before her eyes,
And pulled his hands back inside.
He thought he had better,
Leave intact the wrapper,
For a sudden quietude hurts more,
Than a phlegmatic uproar.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
Female Eden smiles sparkle toward my wounded Soul; in the depths of my purple heart, tamed monsters purr obediently! In the jungle of my dreams, I remember the superstitious play of mischievous eyes laughing at the subconscious night inside! His eyelashes fluttered gracefully like the wing-dance of night butterflies; the earthly, classic Beauty flew like a pillar! My empty evenings are buzzing around wasp stars! I never tore up the superstitious fruits of forbidden gardens, but I wanted to caress them kindly!
I was attacked by jealous, flame-burning Cherubim who could only flirt overnight with the immortal crumbs of Happiness while wasting the treasures of the beautiful Universe! "Lions and tigers farm under our gardens, while deep-seated beasts are waiting for their prey!" How can we stay again Humans if in this Age of barbaric usa the idiot Stupidity alone thrives ?!
The sadness of the passing Being is therefore torn to us at every moment and the cranky Time is mercilessly swept away! "I'm a spark, and yet Alien forces can smash it at any time!" Yet my soul embraces the changing Universe and vibrates with it for a single beat! Space statelessness often rumbles over me and makes me account! Can all finite human stories be heard, or are celebrities just remembered ?! - Graffiti crashing into a sensation-hungry society!
The stimuli of escapes in the soul must have already infected the deeds of the Prophets! The phlegmatic stupid indifference is grouped into unconditional reflexes
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 3:00 AM UTC
Psyche has moods
Sometime happy, others gloomy
Psyche has moods
Sometimes wise, other times fool
psyche has moods
Sometimes, I wander
Others, I surrender
Psyche has moods
Sometime melancholic,
Others sanguine
Psyche has moods
sometimes choleric,
Others phlegmatic
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 11:14 AM UTC
Again, it shall sound
That thing’s performance, a reprise of their phlegmatic number.
A song that couldn’t sway a breeze within the era they was born.
A heartbeat that would’ve been cauterized before it could’ve sworn,
‘I refuse to hate them. Even if this world is hopeless, everyone’s life is precious.’
A confused existence, for a beast that is synecious
How pitiful, the fact that the beast wishes to speak
YET, its holds its tongue, for its songs of sorrow emanate like terrifying roars
For the synecious monster, it only possesses one future- and this future is bleak.
Forsaken by the Gods that the monster loved so dearly
A forsaken behemoth that had lost the privilege to pray
Left to rot and roar, until one day, it fades away.
“Tell me God, has this beast lost right of passage to its stairway-
That will take it to the unconditional happiness it strives for
Even today?”
The monster wails, its voice bellowing into a growl.
Knowing that it is ****** to the pit, for its soul is deemed foul.
It is not the monster’s job to build itself and mankind out of clay
Try and try, however, they may…
One cannot control anymore,
The impending date it is set to expire.
And It will never join heaven’s empire.
The monster lives the rest of its life, playing a game of frame and shame
The ‘game’ that became
A method to maim and maim…
Until the monster has lost its will to speak, its will to feel, its will to classify itself
So it lives as something bendable
And perfectly expendable.
Apathy is the aim of the game,
And such is to accept your life as unamendable.
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
*and how many times did a drag of a
cigarette after a few drinks
make the drinks more potent?
countless times, each time i got
hit by a carousel.*
i started smoking cigarettes after all
the joints of half tobacco half
marijuana, that was when i was 21,
now i'm 29 pushing two months into
30, and i'm suddenly quitting...
no, not the nicotine addict, or
the prime active ingredient (carbon monoxide)
ingredient addict, as sold by big pharma
companies that give quitting smokers
the rattling tick itch, ready to pop
a synthetic analogue of the thing you once
did... yes, did, because what's missing
with that therapy of quitting is the actual
aesthetic of blowing out smoke,
my hands weren't ready to quit the
'the devil makes work for idle hands'
popping a nicotine pill or chewing a nicotine
gum will not work, you might as well
compare smoking a cigarette to injecting
a needle & syringe into your hand,
the cold turkey aesthetic of chewing gum,
patch of "cough nicotinemint" will really
bother you, i tried the chewing gum once,
very peppery, itched my tongue...
now i'm the bishop's fat (that's φατ),
because i'm drinking whiskey, carrying
a portable hookah pipe and the auburn whiskey
the amber whiskey flavour, cutting through
with chocolate mint, i ordered more flavours,
10ml bottles of coconut, tobacco, apple, strawberry,
you name it! but i needed a time frame,
smoke my last cigarette by throwing imaginary dice
(putting felt-tip dots on a napkin), drew:
. . .
.
. . . (5, 2)
and
. .
. .
. . (5, 1),
that's thirteen drags of a cigarette,
clocked it with my last one, under 5 minutes,
roughly four and a bit, after all, the cigarette
burns automatically once lit, so you have to hurry,
and the flavoursome vapour 13 drags?
well into 15 minutes... apart from the aesthetics
of the whole experience... no coughing,
no phlegmatic residue in the throat,
no tar numbing of the palette...
and economically speaking, i'm going to be
saving in a range of £30 - 50 a week not
buying cigarettes.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
A mutated earthling—
From an elitist experiment—
Burst with thorns and limbs,— yet too little to be seen,— That struck mines— Into landslides.
Through and through,— to species and things
A coast to coast hunter— that becomes a Gremlin ********** and thrilled by a prophet, foretold—
"A ditty hatband to put in flute,— is a note of sphere bullets."
For the meantime, hear the Chieftain's announcement:
"The folly is the naked; as the prudent is the masked—
No one should be phlegmatic in this game,—
For all of you should be sensitive— Unless, if you want to be an elsewhere's feast
Do not act— like a pearl with a great price!"
Soldiers cluttered in passageways,— For Pirates are Ubiquitous thieves
An assemble of frontiers hosed and geared— of wrought bodies— with uncertain prone.
In this war, together—
Barricades of water and bricks— Our chances to be unleashed,— From a long concealment,— To be sooner conquerors of intruders' exile.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC
I get the best feeling ...when you say HI or even smile at me because I know, even it its just for sale second , that I've crossed your mind
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping ******* plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly ***** plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
I was on a freezing
Train platform when
A cursing man approached
Me
His smile already queued up
"Hey man,
I tried to ride the
Train with an old
Ticket"
He turned the ticket
Over and over
In his hand
To accentuate this
Point and continued
"And i have 9 bucks
Could you spot me
For the rest?"
"I have no cash"
I lied
As most do
When confronted for
Money by a stranger
"You don't need cash
You can use cards on
The machines"
He said pointing
Towards the bank
Of awkwardly standing
Ticket kiosks
Our only companions
In the chilly night air
"Nah man, i'm good"
I said
His expression changed
Not to anger but
Disappointment
"Well, thanks anyway"
He walked off cursing
A broken trail of white
Breath twisting dizzyingly
Away from his head
Standing there I felt bad
That I hadn't helped him
He only needed 7 more dollars
And I had six crisp twenties
Folded neatly in my wallet
And two credit cards
Nowhere near maxed out
For some reason
I started to interpret myself
As part of the problem of mass
Apathy amongst men
In turn feeling slimy
Unnatural
I made a point to lap the
Station multiple times
To find this man and give
Him more than he needed
Not to help him
But to prove to
Myself that I wasn't
A phlegmatic
******
I caught him inside
With another young man
About my age
With a softer face
Giving him a sandwich
And a few crumpled bills
They traded a few words
And laughed
I returned to my
Perch on the platform
Alone in the
Freezing night air
Later the man came out
Smoking a black and mild
And waited next to me for the
Train
When we got in he only sat
A few seats from me
I saw him take the
Ticket he told me was old
And hand it to the
Attendant
Who punched it and moved
On
Later we made
Accidental eye
Contact down the
Aisle
He queued the same
Smile and turned away
From me
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 7:43 PM UTC