"impale" poems
She's spent all the rent on
cigarettes and cider,
so pull out your **** and put
it inside her.
No need to bring your polished game,
for this one's a **** and that
is her name.
In her **** or up her ***
The choice is yours,
where d'ya wanna ***
Say "You fuckin' **** get down on all fours, 'cause this is how I **** little ******
Impale her on your hardened stick and explode inside her, creamy and thick.
Bangin' her **** hole,
it used to be tight.
It's not anymore,
it gets wider each night.
Then when you're done,
wipe the rest up her back,
letting her know most got
shot up her crack.
Next week she'll be suckin',
an appetizer before fuckin'
This **** she don't care,
for a TGirl with red hair.
******
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
Since you've been away
I've trailed the wake of the clouds
Just crumbling clay...
That lay in the shade that enshrouds
Depending on the ifs and mays.
Wake up, my love...
Since you haven't been here
The sky did nothing but only sang
Ambient translations of mocks and jeers
As the green blades of earth bared their fangs
Mischievous songs that I've held dear.
Wake up, my love...
Since you've been gone
I've realised that I'm not moving
And you too, haven't moved since last dawn
A reality all too disheartening
Bits of me all cut up and sawn.
Wake up my love...
Since you've been missing
I am never whole, and never will
A lifetime of endless chasing
Bottomless jar without a seal
Void clustered emptiness in need of filling.
Wake up, my love...
Since you've been absent
I could only hope for this lungful
To lead me to subsequent
Ones that taste like bitter pills encapsuled.
Mind full of drugs running rampant.
Wake up, my love...
Since you wouldn't have known
What these days are like...
Time induced tumours have grown
The hours impale with temporal spikes...
Inseminating malignant thoughts soon to be sown.
Wake up, my love...
Since you've been away
I'm a player hoping for a fair game
Nonetheless still crumbling clay...
That lay in the dark just the same
Choking on the what ifs and what mays.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
ah, enslave without compassion
bound ancestors you must impale
go seek and show no mercy
let those who escape carry the tale
all the sufferers bearing witness
to their ministers spilling their blood
staggered screeches from bleak recesses
regicide plotters bend to the dust
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
slimy enshrinement brings into question
what's divinely lamented for
scatter populations with ruthlessness
let them choose sycophancy or sword
reappoint difficult commanders
for instigation unbroken awaits
kept in frenzy, they whisper confusion
never quite sure of their fate
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
let the cowardly unlock the gates for you
to heroically claim what's inside
crowds you abhor kneeling in wonder
all the world is your ****** bride
punctuate the roads with tollgates
***** monuments to broadcast your name
all your banquet's guests are your enemies
entertain them with one another's shame
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
under your tyranny
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
kisses on your warm sweet mouth
tender lips caressed
exploring your ******* and raised ******* ..
belly and thighs enveloped
those eager dark delicious places that i covet so
your musk erogenous
the path to your hungry soul
eater of the poison apple
your eyes widen bright with delight
a strange synesthesia you say
your smile a hypnotic alter
you prone
back arched
belly willing
as i drag a curved blade slowly across your winsome flesh
worshiping you
breathing your warm breath into my mouth and nostrils
come now
you coo
i am sheildless
then little strangles that excite
to see how you do
will you love it
adorations twisted mind
she demon
a wizened dizzy Venus
please yes
her **** drenches the bed
a warm viscosity
legs widen
feet piqued
*****
exotic delicatessen
Heralded
i enter with long sweet butter strokes
the sabbath of desire
I swear
i wont let you suffer...
never !
why you say?
because i love you
lovely scythe you call
as if lulled to sleep
whispering dreadful incantations .
i ache to close the curtain
to lifes scalding chatter
wrap me
in a raggy shawl
impale the throat
like ive alway dreamed
a last exhalation
flood gates pour forth
as deaths dark fold
dissolves all
i rock you drugged
absinthe and wormwood
a last ***** of candles flame
white gauze cinched
lips on a lost mouth
eyes a static pyre
i linger
wishing you still plush
an animated glow
so that i could feel your arms,
now milky white relics
only to take you all over again and again and again
dreamer of the abyss
yet you stand
aberrations, smoke ghost
sacrificially swaying your hips
calling from Hades
dancer of ritual copulation
i melt like wax in the sun
wither
and die myself
marriage Italian style
dead bells in love
blotted out by the Sirens of Mara
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
In this park there are birds atop ice cakes
stiff mittened kids, cold nosed and half froze
they slide on paths of glass, toward home.
A small stream cuts through this place,
black water humming with coots and ducks.
Long toothed icicles waiting to impale the earth.
Beneath our feet, we crack and shatter tiny frozen ponds,
revealing muddied blades of grass, green as in summer.
A myriad of birds in the sun, come to puff and quiver,
but soon the mountain clouds will come to shroud
the day, the sky so cold, a frost in grey and silver.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
A rose without thorns.
A rose so beautiful as yourself. Who dares to clip your thorns? Those you use to protect yourself. Or did you just let them fall off in that lonely dark shelf.
What kind of rose are you?
Where are your sharp pointy thorns?! You were a devil back then, with those long and black horns. They protruded to my core, you stabbed me with a double edge sword that ran through my heart, leaving bittersweet memories and myself wanting for more.
So, let me ask you again
What kind of rose are you?
I see you have bloomed so well but no more thorns to impale. now I’m sitting next to you listening to your tales. I’m sorry to state but I must say farewell. 'What a fine gentleman you have found as your mate
What kind of rose are you now?
I guess you did let go of your thorns. You made me bleed and drop to my knees back then When I tried to carefully carry you, earth and root right off the ground
to make a home for you where you will be safe and sound.
Mother nature gave you that wonderful protection
which is my motivation
to keep going after you, because I know you’re not going to be easily handpicked by anyone.
Hm what a fine gardener he was,
now you’re in vase.
A rose without thorns
Withering without a base
Sooner or later he will think your just a piece of waste.
"Thank you for the view what a wonderful taste"
He would say.
Not I
I would fix your heart and never let it come apart.
So what kind of rose are you?
Are you the kind that has been grown by light
the one that has so much pride but doesn’t fight back?
Or are you the one raised below the shadow struggling your way out of a thin crack.
What kind of rose are you?
Whether you’re a rose whose thorns were clipped or a dead rose drowning in grief there always will be the right person who will protect you
and help you in your needs.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 8:50 AM UTC
What if the voices I hear are from God?
Then I am Satan, and we’ll stay at war.
I’ll strike him so with my ruby rod.
And impale him down into the earth’s core.
What if the voices I hear are from space?
I’m an alien with horns and a spot.
No one believes these voices are my race.
They do comment and understand my thoughts.
What if the voices I hear are man-made?
I shall sail the seas like Columbus–
through the stormy nights where I greet afraid.
I’ll find the land this man encompasses.
And I’ll ask him why he made me this way.
Does this mean I’m special– brought to a curse?
These voices persecute me every day.
They have become the air that I breathe.
My mind is louder than New York City.
I tell it to shut up, and it’ll yell back.
I tell my story. Some say I’m gritty.
How can I be brave? I let them do this.
My mind dominates until I have none.
Some of them complain more than my grandma.
Voices play games with me till it’s no fun.
They nibble parts of my brain, and they gnaw.
Oh, voices, voices, why do you taunt me?
It is amusing. I don’t let others bully.
I let my mind become the enemy.
**** these voices! You have already won, you, see?
I watched “A Beautiful Mind” by John Nash.
How can this mind be beautiful when it’s all gone?
I do draw what I see throughout the day.
I realized these figures took my mind away.
Aug 24, 2022
Aug 24, 2022 at 1:25 PM UTC
My head aches from the assault of chance,
I refuse to kneel my resolve shall not pass,
I am who I am,
A man born of stars,
Made to Inhabit the heavens
I shall not let situation maim me,
Nor the tongues of ignorance impale me,
I am who I am,
Magnum opus of the perfect creative,
'A celestial being.'
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC
impale olympic skies! their pacific
avarice, turbulence, mai-tai-dyed
oxycontin contradictions pull out
deep convictions to rift meteoric
and fall apart.
happiness apart.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Indian Legends.
The Legend of Triambakeshwar
The supreme Lords, Brahma and Vishnu
On that auspicious day were fighting for the highest milestone
For honour
Claiming Wisdom
Voicing out their mighty combat impale
At that very moment, a resplendant pillar
Emerged, took form before them
Standing tall into the skies and stooping low spearing the Earth.
Brahma and Vishnu saw the pillar
As an examiner of infinite Wisdom
They both decided to find either end of the pillar
to prove their supreme position.
Brahma took form of a swan
to find the topmost portion of the pillar
Vishnu turns into a Boar, being the land's wild driller
to discover the bottom part of this pillar.
Brahma returns and lies to Vishnu
"I Have Found My Goal, 'O Vishnu"
Lord Vishnu surrenders with a humble heart
A fruitless effortless failure.
This pillar is no ordinary pillar
The Legend holds it as the sacred Linga
The Lord of Lords, the destroyer of Evil
The three-eyed one, the blue-throated one
Neelakanta,Shiva,Mrida,Rudra
Dayakara,Hara,Maheshwara
The Lord with 1008 titles of honour
Ageless, timeless, formless,
Limitless.
Shiva cursed Brahma that day dusk
**"Your foul deceit smells above this land, Brahmadev
Punishment is a part of crime.
You shall never be worshipped under the stone-carved.
Temples shan't have place for you"**
Brahma, enraged, growled upon the Lord
**"Your greatness shall be pushed into this Earth
Into the same pillar, the Linga!
At the foot of Sahyradri, your abode lies
from now,
till forever comes."**
Dear Fearless Devotee, know this that you must
On the dark midnight of this hand-chosen day
Maha Shivratri
The Holy Linga takes form as the Lingodbhav Moorti
At the blessed land of Triambakeshwara.
From underneath the Earth,
Like a descendant from the skies
The ruler of the seven worlds
Bhu, Bhuvas, Svar, Mahas, Janas, Tapas, Satya
The invincible source of destruction
Of the Seven Hells, Paatala
*Atala, Vitala, Sutala, Rasaataala, Talatala, Mahaatala,
The Patala.*
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
Myths
They were not statues
and now you see what they see
looking back at you
Man
Her tongue, was so sharp
dissevers men from their ******
kisses them goodnight!
Our blind date went well
Next time leave my mask at home,
and her eyes attached.
Scratched, stained, double locked.
Basement corner, light bulb off.
Refrigerator.
Won't let him hurt you.
I promise, now go and hide,
Daddy is coming...
I don't remember,
I keep having these blackouts.
Sorry I hurt you.
Movie
Make-out Point, moonlight...
Turn their car radio on,
leave my hook behind.
50 ft. Woman,
dreams of a fifty foot world.
Curse my two left feet.
Empty, shiny man
His axe hacks you limb from limb
You hear a heartbeat
Wound too tight, tied down
Whisper lies, impale your skull
What is a real boy?
"Last person on earth,
dif'rent faces in mirror."
- Frankenstein's Monster
Miscellaneous
appeared as a zit
it grew, no concern for it
it spoke! holy ****
Lamprey fingertips
Coarse hair on infected tongue
Lotus seed ******
My beast sounds like love,
vanity to a monster,
hero to a ghost.
from Horrors Grotesque,
the existential monster
fears little carpals.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
Going out with thy ecstatic rile,
Sun soaked cherubic smile,
You impale my ziel senile,
I slay a thousand miles
To meet ya' at Zion's isles....
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
nurtured in the arms of another's.
birthed in homes inside their minds,
and told to stay low
told we have wings -
not told to use them.
because they might fail us.
our dreams might fail us.
so our sight blocked, to only the
array of sunset.
we sleep through sunrise
- at least they do.
but see we,
we await, we wait until the
sun breaks way,
swallow the waves
eat another into oblivion.
whisked together as the sun turns to us
when she tires from her previous scene
she livens at us.
do not anticipate until she bares full.
do not hesitate until she kisses your iris to black.
fly out to her
and see if wings dissolve like we were told they would.
see if you are dreaming
discover if you are awake.
feel how close to death you are
taste it, but swallow your presence.
when she begins to melt you.
remember that they told you that burns will ****
who told you the sun will ****** our home, when her end comes.
fear not. fear is your friend.
the sun knows she can impale you so
deep with radiance.
but do not fear,
because last night was when you dreamt of the sun -
and now is when she killed you.
because you were too near.
to the dream.
to follow them will thrill.
and **** once you love them
but what won't ****
so visit the sun if you dream of her
let your dreams burn you.
end you
because at least you tasted them.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
The women in Pakistan are all dead
Men are hungry,
butter their bread with lead
Cartel gang **** death in Venezuela
Girls bleed, crying
Shadowed figure screams "Impale her!"
America hates women
Women love America
Generalisations of a generally confused man
Man jumps from UK office block
Painted tarmac,
because she refused to simply **** his ****
******* figure hangs from a tree in Japan
Aokigahara hikikomori,
The human condition destroyed this man
Single father, taking his daughter to a park
Accused by a stranger,
Jumping to a conclusion, rather dark
Hooded man runs the world
Masked by power,
Money is bigger than Jesus
Knowledge destroys prejudice
Rock. Paper. Scissors.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
This was never meant to hurt you.
It was a simple miscommunication,
a stumble of words.
"Words" can be so easily misspelled to say "swords,"
and swords can impale.
I suppose words can, too.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
I yearn for your voice.
For it is the remedy for this distance.
And this Distance seems to be,
The archenemy of Bliss.
He waits patiently for his chance,
To ambush an unknowing victim.
Yet Bliss walks by our side,
When You and I are hand-in-hand.
He has no conscience.
And he walks with Bliss,
After his victim has fallen.
Yet Bliss, too, is another of his victims.
I yearn for that voice,
To be a shield against Distance.
And You, my sword.
For with you, I can defeat him.
For now, Bliss is nowhere to be found.
So Distance is here with me.
Bow at the ready,
Waiting for me to turn my back.
But I know he is there,
So turn my back, I shall not.
I play your voice over and over,
In my head, and Distance has been parried.
I wait for your return,
So I may take the offensive,
Against this villain,
And destroy him.
For I know when you return,
Bliss will be at your side,
And together,
We shall impale Distance.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
Death descends like the statement of a credit card;
life goes on in eight columns, sometimes six,
dropping out should have been an option, instead my
world is turning pages while I am just sitting here
listening to atrophy whisper through a megaphone:
“It’s better to fade away than to burn out, let
champagne supper turn to bile by breakfast, bark up a
fake plastic lemon tree till she hurls pomo grenades at you.”
The streetlife serenade is recklessly tempting,
in the club the girls in ***** shirts come and go,
talking of Felu, Neru, Derri… da, what inertia!
Sitting in a club with so many fools(,) playing to rules,
Hell is a blank generation with no vacancy,
I’m doubting Thom: meeting people isn’t easy,
Them clones in rubber souls from fab India
try to impale me right next to the paintbox,
In she walks, head going nowhere close to the oven,
eyes me like a Pisces riding shotgun on a WAG,
says growing older in the rain ought not be done all alone.
Bring on the moonshine, dancing days are here again!
Happiness was Scotch Mist, now it’s suddenly a goal,
It’s past AM on a holiday, do I wanna know if this
isn’t, like always, just un-certain platonish bromance?
Or will she journey with me till the end of the night?
Optimism is fleeting, afraid to commit, tends to elope,
Pray that she lingers long enough: I need a feel-good poem.
There’s a restaurant at the end of the universe,
I’ve heard the well-done steak they serve is actually rare
but their awesomesauce can make us live forever,
we can make it there in time if we slide away right now,
and if in the morning we don’t know what to do,
I’ll toast the bread, I’ll make the bed, she can make my day.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
The exploration of womanhood,
viewed by a child, who had failed to birth an heir
and was auctioned amidst a war,
to lay beside the man who Lyrnessus heard before it saw,
and felt, before they felt nothing at all.
Plucked from childhood to motherhood,
failed motherhood, into obedience and slavery,
despised by her husband's mother for the absence of life she yearned to grow.
Then veiled in a soft pearlescent,
that blurred, but did not hide, the reason she survived,
and her brothers and husband did not.
Her barren belly proved a blessing when the girls in tents sprouted kleos from their swollen stomachs,
to carry the son of foreigners, bloodthirsty for their native home.
These girls, they are just girls, brainwashed by glory and trauma,
carry children that will slaughter their brothers of blood,
in the name of a woman seen only as a measurement of egotistic revenge.
And what of Briseis?
Aristos Achaion, they cried.
To them, he will always be: the best of the Greeks,
even after Apollo favours the hand of Paris and forges fate to impale the accidental hamartia.
What is her legacy?
Aristos Achaion, they cry.
As the boy who carries his blood rises from the fire and carries forward after his father's body hit the ground.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
You can rip at me with your very blatant fingernails.
The grubby ones you used to impale the snails.
The snails and the slugs that bugged you.
Almost as much as I do.
No regard for my feelings.
Now you tie me to your chair.
I said you were a nerd, but nobody heard.
You love me not and I don't care.
I love the snails, but I loathe the slugs.
But I would not impale them I'd let them free.
Because I'm not you and you're not me!
(C) Livvi
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
Yesterday, a cloud burst in mythologies
and the rain fidgeted over the retreat
of a tidal pantheon; deities swept away
by a current, and we stood awhile, watching
the moon elbow out the dusk. Breathing
is burdensome when cars float on water
and corpses leak out of cavernous
basements. Every tablet, etched, in the cold
heart of building code was read again
and then again. It wasn't enough to blame
Aeolian whim or the raging riposte of Apollo,
now that we had marvelled away Gaia's
ozone skirt. Her amnion always leaked
in folkloric floods each time she birthed
a parable. She once asked Noah to build
an ark so he could ride her waves
and we scrape the sky to impale her
in shards where her womb is soft and yielding,
as we sour the air and burn the water and strip
her of her emerald sigh and melt her hills
and silt her wetlands. Mostly it was the asphalt
plastering her yearning that calcified her veins
and arteries, as she died slowly under our feet.
We could hardly fathom her sorrow for the tears
rolled off her torso like an oil slick
and rode far into the subway for sewers.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 4:29 PM UTC
Decapitate, disembowel, tear and mutilate!
Schizophrenic!Psychedelic twisted mind!
Expedite, liberate, Alienate then recreate
Masonic!Prolific piece of mind!
Sabotage, besiege, flank to infiltrate!
Victorious!Strategic tyrannic mind!
Crucify, liquify, impale bleed them dry!
Torturous!Barbaric, sadistic mind!
Derange, insane, crazy and mental!
Hallucinating!Polysyllabic demented mind!
Disturbed, diabolic, vile and fatal!
Parasitic!Infected infested mind!
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
Can words
Slice thoughts
Like a razor
Like a knife
Stab flesh
And blood
Throw a blow
Impale the heart
Destroy Love
Twist the brain
To wish a death
Careful of words
You throw
Deadly weapons
In a mind's world
© 2017 Jim Davis
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 9:39 AM UTC
To love is to derail your path
put aside your own desires
throw yourself upon the pyre
to feed the fires that burn in someone else's heart
an act of madness from the very start
not a sacrifice, for that implies regret
yet we impale ourselves, to feel love's sting
on the reddest rose with the sharpest thorn
the sweetest pain which must be borne
a beautiful sabotage
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 12:26 PM UTC
Lady,
lady,
lady,
It made no sense then
and still I'm at a lack.
Those days I'd read and fall asleep,
take the cheap warmth of the sun on my cheeks
(and literacy) for granted, then
wake to a sunburn on my back.
Aloe evenings, peeling loose skin
revealing goose-flesh, feeling foolish
again, by my garden
on my deck
off my guard
and lonely.
Heck, this is only one instance where I had chills that summer
Another was under the orange glow of a poorly funded lighthouse,
Us there - just sitting - perched
on my car, parked
on
a
slope
West River lay ahead and below -
Behind were the kinds of smiles and glances
people give before they know
each other and the chances
of where they both may go
So,
I took my time
not giving a ****
despite the dame's insistence
on a kiss the tourists planned -
Too many instants
spent looking, fearing leaping
peering,
keeping
distance
sparse.
Alas, a tour de farce?
Thanks to pop-rocks when our lips touched
we chuckled at the sparks
Lip gloss
Then my loss of control
Utterly unable to console
Is it any wonder the cunning fox we saw just wandered home?
With this rhetoric I am ready to admit that
I lack(ed) certainty
Was the mist real or is't only foggy in my memory?
In hindsight I do mind causing pain
Though my brain,
it sure likes hurting me
And lo,
À l'acadie we go
...for academia!
My ego can't stand seein' ya
so the strained "Hello" is ignored -
Please impale it on the sword
of vanity and estrangement!
As I sway toward derangement
or insanity, I lurch forward
lacksidaisically
Need to learn to curb these feelings
to watch out for those of others
As the sun or lighthouse over us
this message resolutely hovers:
I hurt
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Mine Filipino rose
For thee I shalt;
Be tossed inside the
The Brazen Bull;
Until mine inside's art crisp.
Be impaled
On wood;
Mine head planted on a stick.
Be crucified
Mine hand's nailed;
Thorn's upon mine top.
A Lead Sprinkler
To sprinkle lava;
In mine throat lost.
An Iron Maiden
To taketh the metal;
Inside mine liver.
Coffin Torture
To let the crow's;
Pecketh at the splinter's.
A thumbscrew
To snap me as twigs;
As mercy I yelleth.
Rope torture
To leaveth me exposed;
To hell and the element's.
The Guillotine
As mine head falleth;
Into oldened basket.
The Rack
As mine shoulder's wilt bust;
Twisting mine bracket's.
Tongue Tearer
To knot mine tongue;
And rip it at the seam's.
The Rat Torture
As mine interior wouldst be ripped;
Rat's burrowing inside me, scream's.
The chair of torture
As edge's impale mine spine;
Hellion seating.
Cement Shoes
In the bottom of the sea;
Wherein noone canst heareth me.
Crocodile Shears
To gut me as a fish;
Reptilian grip's.
The Breaking Wheel
Wherein mine limb's art tied up to spokes, hammered by devil's;
I crack, Snapple, pop, as mine bones elongate, mine blood chokes.
Sitting on the Spanish Donkey
Mine carrion torn in twain;
As heaven canst feeleth mine pain, for thee I'd screameth again.
Saw Torture
As tis the razor's edge wouldst goeth through mine abdomen;
Evil bastard's shalt cut me, as I'm praying amen, just to DIETH.
Hanged, Drawn, and Quartered
It sais it all in the verse;
For thee I'd haveth all this done mine queen, for thee to liveth.......
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC