"impales" poems
By
rgpage
The cool evening breeze filled with a scent of approaching rain.
Caught by playful window shears
as it passes through an open pane, to reach their
length and breadth toward the waiting bed.
He was a lover of music and his woman,
a passionate man with a sensitive heart.
She was in love with the melodic way
his gentle fingers moved with sensual touch
over her soft silk like skin of art.
He started gently around her ears softly prying
them open with the quiet richness of her melodies.
Each note of his gentle kisses leading her to a sensual abyss,
easing her down from the edge, controlling her descent, to her goal.
Down the swirling dark and light blends of the music rendered from her soul.
She was his instrument on which he placed
his soft loving fingers, moving them effortlessly,
caressing her most sensual delicate keys…Each body part
smoothly rubbed added richness to her sensual sound driven by lust
and loving trust.
Her ******* he fondled, licking and kissing, squeezing and rubbing.
Silently giving thanks, to her creator for such an amazing instrument.
Both of her hands with long slender fingers tangled in the long dark locks
of his hair as she eases her maestro’s head up tighter against her soft
beautiful mounds.
The loving melody continues with his touch now joined with the sound
of raindrops splashing into uncovered metal buckets and cans. The drops
carried on the breeze through the playful dancing shears came through the other end as nothing more than refreshing cooling mist.
Her body was his loving piano, and as with the 88 keys of his magnificent
Baldwin, the sensual areas of her equally magnificent body, when properly stroked, filled not only the bedroom but the whole house with the most glorious ****** notes known to man.
After a while the symphonic ****** builds as he masterfully impales her with his instrument of love coming into constant contact with the one special key of keys. Its special sound as his strokes came harder and faster brought the whole master piece to a beautiful melodic end as the two lovers bath in the rain’s gentle mist…
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
We call her name like she's the queen.
Lips quiver with understated pleas.
So this is what "your highness" means.
The analog clock wails 4:18.
Our voices muffled in this cool sea.
We call her name like she's the queen.
You, my own porcelain figurine,
Each tiny chip of you impales me.
So this is what "your highness" means.
No room for time here in between,
All else I've known has been set free.
We call her name like she's the queen.
Quake my pulse like a tambourine,
Let me teach your mouth to see.
So this is what "your highness" means.
Powerless when she intervenes;
Royalty lives between the knees.
We call her name like she's the queen.
So this is what "your highness" means.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
Daydreamer waiting for her surprise
She's always sitting on the bench outside
Watching through the golden glasses
She sees through her eyes a world that unties
Beautiful creatures and where love prevails
She always wonder why her beauty does not impales
As she holds so many wonders
A sweetness in her bright almond eyes, behind the glasses that sat crookedly on her nose
She focused her eyes on a flat prairie
Where the unaccustomed eye sees only ordinary
In hers, the dale was a beautiful swathe of shiny green grasses
Trees are clothed in delicious cream and pink blossom
Jasmines dancing to the winds, choreographing autumn breeze
The sun casting its last golden rays
Changing its yellow into hues of tangerine and fire red
Her perfect world, she whispers
She is a daydreamer
With eyes so full of love that will make you melt
She is beauty and love
Looking at her shadow slowly shrinking down her feet
Only her can see the magic
You will find her outside
Waiting for the man to share the same picturesque landscape
Seeing her reflection on him just like a mirror
Sharing a moment, a smile, a touch, a gaze
Closing their eyes to a slow and soft kiss
Alas; she is still waiting on this
Waiting to meet him flesh and bones
Dreaming about it everyday
This love she's never met,
Yet she seems to glimpse him in every corner
And because of it, her heart craves for blossoming flower
Her heart is bound to a fictional imagery of him
Creating imaginary moments and opportunities
Clinging to a false sign that precipitates desires
The desire to lay her eyes on him and feel his lips on hers
The desire to feel her body shivers with his skin on hers
The desire to feel his heart beating to her caress
the rush in her veins, with just his look
She will be an eternal daydreamer
Until she finds him sitting on the bench outside for her
For an eternity of love
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
Life molds you into a shapeshifting mess.
One stumbles through different tribulations, and the soul diversifies as the years pass.
You turn into different versions of yourself.
It’s like treading through hell, but you taste heaven at the same time.
It’s not a choice, it’s a requirement.
Its like drinking liquid gold. The concept is luxurious, but it kills you so deliberately.
A beautiful solemnity?
Emotions so immense.
It hurts so much to breathe, to exist, yet you need to stay, you stay because of love. We suffer to exert empathy. Love is the cutlass that impales deeply.
It cuts far, it makes you bleed profusely, but it feels so good.
It just feels so good.
Is there a point to it all in the very end?
Happiness seems temporary. Chasing it is like the drop you feel when the veil is pulled from under your foundation; long, scary.
Happiness is the rarest paragon.
The heart, heavy and the mind, full.
Wondering day after day.
Who will understand me, touch me, sense me.
Wonder, keep wondering.
Wonder possesses you.
Wonder keeps watching you.
Wonder doesn’t let go, it comes to watch you die.
That’s the why, that’s the death.
Life will never give you an answer.
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 1:54 PM UTC
There’s broken glass in my foot
clear symmetrical triangles
dangling off my foot
like a dazzling chandelier.
But pain.
like a dragons claw,
like a witches fingernail
cut deep
and the oozing, dripping,
thick scarlet liquid
seeping over the bathroom tiles,
reflects my dazed face.
Where am I?
My pale, white, finger
extends and dips into the
red
and now the lines on my hands are all
red
and my eyes blur with the color
red.
I walk down stairs.
Isn't everything romanticized?
Red flowers,
red skin,
red lips,
red breath.
But the eyes,
the eyes are red
and I suppose that is
what really impales me.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
Where Phil's ship set sails
With the biggest whales
His legend has tales
And he spouts no fails
In the depth of nails
His hammer has gales
With winding winds of hales
He keeps to his trails
Leaving quests that impales
Five consecutive NBA finals scales
With LeBron and Leonard's pails
He fetches more water to rescales
With Lakers, his thirst now flails
Bringing hope his ship prevails
Logan Robertson
7/15/2019
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
As I lay here restive. I cannot help but conjecture what could come to pass.
Thy dimpled simper, impales my soul and elicits bliss in my *****
Oh! The butterflies, how they flutter inside me, yearning their sweet, rightful release.
Ah, it cannot be, has this young mistress vexed this dispassionate beast?
Do I dare brave ask if I am worthy of such a divine, angelic monarch?
I ask thee, do I dare reflect on my chaotic life; do I dare torture myself, knowing I will falter.
Alas, I must!
I must attempt to become the merit. I must become her love, her heart, her soul, her reason to be...her King.
For she is...My Queen.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
Change your habits
Change your ways
But don't you dare
Pass me by
Give up your vices
And take my advice
(Who is watching?
Who is watching?)
The devil always
Lives in New York
And all cities are the same
So rock like a cradle
Roll like a child
Down the hill,
Down the hill,
Down the hill
Rave on, ravens
Look pretty in the grave
On good ol' Independence day
We'll high-five and low-dive
We'll high-five and low-die
Dear Babylon,
Mother goose, swan song
Must we plan our dirges in advance
If you must, choose the fire
If you must, choose the fire
If you must, choose the fire
But blood in moonlight
Almost looks black
So ooze me into the riverbed
And I'm almost beautiful
Almost beautiful
Always pitiful
But almost beautiful
But for now I've got my sugar
Dog food and guns
And in my left pocket
Some family photos
And invisible bombs
Invisible bombs
(We need invincible drums
To beat the little ones)
Pure and perfect
Empty me
But I prefer the sea of streets
To these roads on my walls
Roads on my walls
I just can't quit
Pack up and leave
This is all I'll ever know
All I'll ever be
(Or so they told me)
So let's get paid, laid, made
And pray we don't go stale
Like the sand and pail
Like the sand and pail
How this land impales
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 11:14 PM UTC
*Imperium stochastic place,
Much relevant ruins of here
Telpher away! provoke not thee
Gravel your verminous fears
For what not pleasant implicates,
Doubles; then impales when not seen
Bombards a sternum; which there lie *****
Telpher away with steed!*
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 8:41 AM UTC
Worthless
Everyday I fight
But then, I realize that they are right
Everyday an endless strife
To get a somewhat "social life"
All the torment impales my heart
Seems there is nothing to set them apart
I come home crying everyday
I foresee no other way
Have the blade, ready in my hand
I'm ready to depart this land
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Secret bridal shelter.
~~~~
"There is a legend about a bird
which sings just once in its life,
more sweetly than any
other creature on the face of the earth.
From the moment it leaves the nest
it searches for a thorn tree, and
does not rest until it has found one."
And singing among it's savage branches it impales itself
Upon it's sharpest longest spine;
bleeding, and unaware
of it's dying it sings to out Carol
the Lark and the Nightingale!
A song so beautiful God in heaven
smiles, for the best it's only bought
at the price of great pain
and sacrifice.
~~~~~
I voice love timely tonight
with cards left at hand.
Our inner feelings and thoughts
We ink new dreams on wings.
We are each others flame souls.
Never too late not too soon for us.
Lullaby hulla bulbul dear.
I love you! worship you!
I give my life to save yours,
if only you ask.
We betted bought love
at the cost of great pain
sacrificing a lifetime in longing
unrequited lost and now found.
He rules with heart of gold.
My king of hearts and I.
~~~~~~~~
By:: Karijinbba
8/21.
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 6:47 PM UTC
Why this quietness?
Why this seriousness?
Why this modesty?
Has the old lizard
Grown another tail?
Oh, my immutable love,
The impalpable pure-scented
Dawn that impales my thoughts,
Have thou reached an impasse?
For the clouds have gathered
And there is nothing more
To expect but the storm,
My sliding helpless slick rhythm,
Thy words are always covered with
Stitches of honey in my heart,
Who is this impious imp?
Rivalling with my angelic heart?
Indeed, you love is wet and slippery.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:41 AM UTC
Appears a ghostly vision, fog in from the sea.
As if sentient in movement, shrouds all in it's mystique.
With a cyclop eye, lighthouse lends a mournful wail.
While specters breath dampens all, your marrow the chill impales.
Out of sight, crashing waves, sound loud as if they crawl,
following the living mist as it breaches the seawall.
Seeping round panes and doors, into every crevice.
The very air liquefied, a grey oppressive presence.
Wood smoke blends it's flavor to the tang of the air.
In hopes the flames beat it back, keep tendrils from drawing near.
Slowly it tastes it's fill of wooden planks and blood.
It leaves a sodden salt strewn smell seeming to just dissolve.
Folding back on itself, returning to the brine.
Fog waits yet another morn to return to shore and dine.
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
the tranquility of the night is set upon me
the calm air lingers, the last soft note of mozart
harboring the scattered light of stars
my wandering mind just stares, connecting the dots
the softness of your touch, impales my heart
your siren whispers infitrate my thoughts
the weakening of my body, surrenders to you
and my murmers, only you can understand
lay your head on my chest, arms around me
let us make our own dreams
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Oh queen! One of unjust passion
who leaves a gaping hole in my chest
With your two hands
One holding my beating heart
And the other a knife-
That rains down-
Down! From the heavens and impales with such sadness
With such ferocity, the damage is done
And with a single blow, the passion is over
Gone! As if never before seen again...
And in an instant, you destroy the living being that once loved you so dearly
Marc Anthony, a Roman conquerer
Whom to you was a lover, an overseas companion
Who captured your heart and womanly desires
Was just a mere mortal, in the end...
Undoubtedly imperfect for your ambitions
It pains one, oh dear Cleopatra
That our ways will more than likely
never cross again.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
Who am I to ask you for the time of day?
When you look at me as if I am a wall of grey.
My insecurities are fuelled by that devastating look in your eyes
That rips my very being from existents.
For you see, I am not like you
I am the nothingness that creeps inside your head
And haunts your once pleasant dreams
Until you plead for death to take you in its icy grip.
Who am I to ask if you will stay by my side?
For I am one of those many lost souls
And my abandonment issues how I wish to blame you.
You deserted me but I know I am the one to blame.
For you see my mind does not work like yours
It corrupts even the purest of thoughts
Impales them with the purest of impurities
Suffocating them like the vines around the necks of the flowers.
Who am I to ask if love is a shout into the void?
I still tear out my heart with my bare hands.
I am lost inside a world where no one can see the truth
It’s always them, it’s always suffer you sufferings in silence.
For you see they do not understand what it’s like
To be lost inside your own rotting head
Scared of the monsters under your bed, now they are inside your head.
No one cares if you ended up dead.
So please answer me, who am I to ask for your hand?
When you do not see me they way you should.
You see a feeble, weak, broken girl
Who’s too far gone to be saved.
For you see I am none of your concern
But that is where you are wrong.
I am a mother, a daughter, a farther, a son, a friend, family
I am everywhere, so please don’t turn your back on me!
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
Please grasp me,
press me to your chest.
Hush my frenzied inhalations,
I can bear this pain no longer.
Dip your fore-finger,
across the roughed wake,
of my cheek.
Blot away the trauma.
Rest your chin
dangle its weight
my head -jeering-
screeching
little girl-
clutches her temples.
It flickers, clarifies.
Back and forth,
Rocking, in fragmented, jerking
motions- her underweight
figure slammed along.
Blood purges with each
maddened- hoarse gurgles
the spittle deposits at
the overhang of her lip.
Snagged in the animosity,
of gnawing, writhing inhumanity.
TASTE IT rusted copper
An ashing purple, crusty
and running over engorged rims
of milky cocoa.
Darling, tip out your tongue,
lap up the shrivels
of failed organs and deprived marrow.
Images, flicker.
Pulse, with the steady
throb of an aching yawn.
shift
Reality sweltering
Chilled moisture scoffs-
the nape of your neck.
Muddled, focus,
focus.
honing in
back-
and-
forth.
Rocking back and forth,
no good.
Not good enough.
No help.
Flicker
malicious snarls.
Fluctuating horror,
impales your upper thigh.
-SILENCE-
Whispering -hush-
-hush-
don't
let him hear
hush
whispers
Make it STOP
whispers
-hush hush-
help
ME
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
I am experienced in empathy.
Not comfort,
For I can easily feel when hugs and tender words will do no good.
They hurt the broken people, don't they?
Make them only more aware of how they should be.
Not sympathy, or pity,
Those burn their victims like acid
Spoon-fed in the guise of tonic
In the semblance of medication.
No, what I am good at is empathy.
I feel
What they feel.
Touch it with my fingertips and learn it like braille.
Like I am blind, reaching out to them.
No matter how close I get, it never impales me like it does them.
I am the watcher without eyes.
But I feel it, understand it, read it,
And so I know
Not what to do or say, really.
Just what not to.
It is a skill that people seem to fly towards and huddle around.
I think not a lot of people must take the time to understand
Pain
When they see it's there.
They barge in with their little toy tools
Plastic hammers and screws,
Elmers glue,
And fix it all with sloppy gobs of paste.
And at the end, looking at their handiwork,
Sagging to one side,
Simply propped up like it will stay stable,
Smile,
Sigh with the satisfaction
Of a job done,
If not well,
And brush their palms together
As if to say,
"Well, that takes care of that."
And whistle merrily on their way,
Even as the poor person they fixed
Must now wash the gaudy decor
From their jagged edges
And start again from the bottom up.
The real truth is that you can't glue a person back together.
You can only tell them that
They are still art
Even though they are no longer
As they once were.
Empathy takes restraint.
Takes patience.
Takes practice.
It is the art of feeling what another feels,
And still acknowledging that you do not fully understand.
It is the subtlety of looking at another person
And never telling but always showing
That they are themselves strong enough
To heal.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Who am I to ask you for the time of day?
When you look at me as if I am a wall of grey.
My insecurities are fuelled by that devastating look in your eyes
That rips my very being from existents.
For you see, I am not like you
I am the nothingness that creeps inside your head
And haunts your once pleasant dreams
Until you plead for death to take you in its icy grip.
Who am I to ask if you will stay by my side?
For I am one of those many lost souls
And my abandonment issues how I wish to blame you.
You deserted me but I know I am the one to blame.
For you see my mind does not work like yours
It corrupts even the purest of thoughts
Impales them with the purest of impurities
Suffocating them like the vines around the necks of the flowers.
Who am I to ask if love is a shout into the void?
I still tear out my heart with my bare hands.
I am lost inside a world where no one can see the truth
It’s always them, it’s always suffer you sufferings in silence.
For you see they do not understand what it’s like
To be lost inside your own rotting head
Scared of the monsters under your bed, now they are inside your head.
No one cares if you ended up dead.
So please answer me, who am I to ask for your hand?
When you do not see me they way you should.
You see a feeble, weak, broken girl
Who’s too far gone to be saved.
For you see I am none of your concern
But that is where you are wrong.
I am a mother, a daughter, a farther, a son, a friend, family
I am everywhere, so please don’t turn your back on me!
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 5:55 AM UTC
The dazzling stars plunge
Into chasms of hell
With your dying love
The crimson rose withers
Until thorns unveil
With your dying love
The tepid sea of flames
Impales my bleeding heart
With your dying love
The magnetic friction of hand in hand
Now frigid and frail
With your dying love
This poem in spilled red ink
You're oblivious to
I'm cemented to
From each devoted blooddrop
With your dying love
Indelible memories
Crystal touches
Perspiring redolence
Interlocked fingers
Gleaming beauty
All evanescing
With your dying love
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
I wake up,
To my surprise, I still breathe.
Truly a stump,
That I did not die.
For when I sleep,
I am short of breath.
A slumber so deep,
It is a brush with death.
Swept into its void,
Begging me to never awake.
To never return to my world destroyed,
And be left forsook.
Here I am lifted from the fog,
That is my sorrow.
An ever growing clog,
Filled with the constant echo.
Of my dying soul,
Penetrated by the ammunition.
Of the demons in the hellhole,
That is my reality now broken.
Shattered into glass,
That impales my skin.
A great agony nothing can surpass.
The blood runs through my pen,
As I write my impending doom,
If only my eyes could be sewn shut,
So I may no longer awake to this gloom.
And be forever wrapped in this net,
Where I may be set free,
No longer a prisoner of wretched deeds.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Happiness impales the heart,
So much hope and joy
Something that's been recurring,
Something you need to enjoy,
Smile in the moment,
Live it and be happy,
It's been so long,
The thought seems sappy,
Happiness at last,
Something you've always wanted,
Now follow through with it,
And be something you've always taunted.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 8:07 PM UTC
An animal
set free by the sound;
thunder growls, and I to mania.
I set out from refuge
into the storm,
high tides in a low sky.
A flash—
I could not catch it.
Hail pelts, impales houses and me
as I reach out, breathing,
dying in darkness.
I flash a grin
and a laugh, blown to silence
by a crack and a rumble,
roar of a leviathan cumulus,
and a river of light,
stream for the monster,
stays seen for a moment
and I delight in it.
Rain pedals downward,
slaps false tears on skin,
then softens, and soundless,
so I walk to the road.
The afterglow, silver,
the mist rising
like ghosts from the ground;
past lingers, swirls,
evaporates
under the silver shine
of moon on the pavement
and the trees glistening in darkness.
And all things are angelic,
in the phantasmal scene,
glazed in petrichor
and an otherworldly quiet
that follows, always,
a passing storm.
I almost cry
watching god
make herself known.
And listen for
a proverb of silence,
birth and death,
beginnings and endings,
the sky and I.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC