"impel" poems
(contains references to sensitive issues)
She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in
but leave no mark
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged
no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not 'til they’re three
so chill out dame
the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’
nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed
from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’
so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all
and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
-
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die
archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge
and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts
you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 6:11 AM UTC
*A parade of fluorescent silhouettes,
Aim against a tranquil lit afternoon sky,
In a collage of interwoven blossoms,
Casually stretching,
Side by side.
Releasing a pleasant aroma,
Interlacing within the calming sea,
As the water creases, upon a bed of shimmery grains,
Below a shade of fluffy clouds,
A place you would never want to leave.
When the tides slowly washes in,
In a rich and mild lather .... lacking impel,
Underneath a ribbon of distinctive seashells,
Leaving a mesmerizing imprint,
And a magical spell.*
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face -- dark as the night --
Yet shining like the sun with love's true light.
I am the dark girl who crossed the red sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave --
Children sold away from me, I'm husband sold, too.
No safety , no love, no respect was I due.
Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth .
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I'm reaching the goal.
Now, through my children, young and free,
I realized the blessing deed to me.
I couldn't read then. I couldn't write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with the sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me --
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast -- the ***** mother.
I had only hope then , but now through you,
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow --
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my pass a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver's track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life --
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs --
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the ***** Mother.
4.5k
Feats of rocks in faking waters
eagerly I step, neither I drown, nor I fell
My hearts pounding to impel
surrounding daggers in hiding capote
True ones whom only knows
plastics, cans sailing away from a boat
Leaving you, an island unknown
and your feelings relentlessly changing
Till it’s time for a grand awakening
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair
Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair
Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude
Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.
Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
I'm a throwback, baby
atavistic and masochistic
I'll pay for dinner and
I'll hold the door
you can complain and
vilify this good guy
but I can take it. Your
feminism does not and can not
impel or compel
me to forgo my manners because
you
can't
tell me how I should
expect to respect
you
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
29
If those I loved were lost
The Crier’s voice would tell me—
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent would ring—
Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip—when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!
2.1k
I remember sitting
On the tiny porch
Of my dad’s home
Offended by the sun
That continued to sink and set
Without pausing to acknowledge
My dad’s passing.
Offended by the cars
That continued on the highway;
Callous indifference, it seemed to me.
Even the birds at their feeder
Greedily fed and failed to look up
To mark the loss of their benefactor.
I found myself
Silently demanding condolences
In every encounter.
Not for the sympathy,
Or worse, pity,
But for the acknowledgement
That he was here
And now he’s gone,
And something,
However infinitesimally small
In the scopeless universe,
Has changed.
I have two cousins.
The first called my dad
Every month.
His regular call came
During the last days.
The decline surprised him.
He took a deep breath
And asked for speakerphone
Near my dad.
He told my dad
How much my dad had
Influenced his life;
How as a child,
he anticipated a visit from my dad
Like kids stay up to see Santa;
How my dad made my cousin feel
Like he was the most important kid
In the wide world;
How my dad gave my cousin
The otherwise unavailable
Sustenance of heart
Young boys need;
How my cousin had strived to be
Like my dad
And how he hoped
His own children see in him
What he saw in my dad.
That was acknowledgement,
Profound acknowledgement.
My second cousin called
Shortly after the first.
He had heard
That my dad was dying.
He did not ask
To speak with my dad.
He wanted to tell me
To call him
As soon as memorial
Arrangements were made
So that he could purchase
Discounted airline tickets,
To include a subsequent visit
To his son who lives
In the southern part of the state.
My dad was still living.
That, too, acknowledged something,
And served to impel my pending decision.
So I opted for
A less conventional
Memorial ritual
That required neither
Plane tickets nor attendance
Nor a frozen smile reception.
I would not suffer
Insincere acknowledgement.
I am sure I scandalized
Many acquaintances of my dad
Who enjoyed the social conventions of
The anticipated gathering
If only to point out the deficiencies
Of the event and the host.
I am sure I offended
And frustrated
And embittered
One of my cousins.
The other cousin thought
My dad would have preferred
Sincerity
Over a pantomime.
I would suffer
The disfavor and distaste
Of the discontented
With no difficulty.
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
Aati hai kya yaad meri?
Mere mehboob kuch to bata do
Tadpati hui in judaayi
Ke palon ko kuch to salaah do
Aaj apne dil se pooch kar
Is mohabath ko kuch silaah do
Dil ki Jaadui chiraag se pyaar
Na kabhi kam-ho, maang lo
Aati hai kya yaad meri?
Mere mehboob kuch to bata do
Tadpati hui in judaayi
Ke palon ko kuch to salaah do
English Translation...
Do I come in your thoughts?
O my love please do tell
Painful moments without you
is pleading for a prayer impel
Today ask your heart within
to reward our love graceful
Wish hearts magical lamp gin
to always keep our love brimful
Do I come in your thoughts?
O my love please do tell
Painful moments without you
is pleading for a prayer impel
Jan 29, 2022
Jan 29, 2022 at 2:27 PM UTC
1528
The Moon upon her fluent Route
Defiant of a Road—
The Star’s Etruscan Argument
Substantiate a God—
If Aims impel these Astral Ones
The ones allowed to know
Know that which makes them as forgot
As Dawn forgets them—now—
1.7k
Beyond yon roof, of sod and thatch
Beyond yon door, of wood and latch
Beyond the reach of man's morals
Beyond yon hedge of thicket Laurels
Dwells a creature in forest veil
Dwells one, that lives, beyond the pale
Dwells, who takes victims with care
Dwells, who with, blank eye does stare
Watch, it does, from beneath the moon
Watch, it does, from shadows bestrewn
Watch, it has intent to bespell
Watch and feel its brace impel
Whilst, I hold, dreams sempiternal
Whilst, I invite, days be final
Whilst, I take last, sweet breath
Whilst, I embrace my lover....Death
Jun 11, 2011
Jun 11, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
Sometimes I like to wonder,
does my pen move
the same way as yours?
Does it
dance?
Does it
sing?
Does it
impel a grateful piece
of paper to smile,
and laugh out
tiny bubbles of its dream
to be admired in the Louvre?
Or does the paper bleed
angry droplets of deep-coloured
ink-blood from its ink-heart
from its ink-soul; or does it cry
little black tears
from its dark fountains of literature?
Does the paper feel
all of these things
as you sketch your last
line
or as I write my last
word?
What then, when every one of your pictures
makes words in the thousands?
How many more chunks of eternity
can you paint versus my poetry?
Yet you say I understand you.
Sometimes what you paint
flickers like in the movies,
and every frame
makes me wonder
if the way my pen moves
is just something someone animated
in her free time instead of studying.
Maybe then it wouldn't be too much
to say that sometimes
you sketch me into life.
Maybe then, this is why, sometimes
you say I understand you.
Even if I can barely hear your oxygen
over the noise of glittering pixels
that often disappoint us when we seek
more
than these strange profundities online,
where emotion is a commodity
and not ink... not paper...
It doesn't matter.
Because maybe my pen
was sketched by you.
And maybe
your poetry, your art
Dances. Sings. Smiles.
Laughs. Bleeds. Cries.
Breathes.
So you can as well.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
’Twas now the hour when Night had driven
Her car half round yon sable heaven;
Boötes, only, seem’d to roll
His Arctic charge around the Pole;
While mortals, lost in gentle sleep,
Forgot to smile, or ceas’d to weep:
At this lone hour the Paphian boy,
Descending from the realms of joy,
Quick to my gate directs his course,
And knocks with all his little force;
My visions fled, alarm’d I rose,—
“What stranger breaks my blest repose?”
“Alas!” replies the wily child
In faltering accents sweetly mild;
“A hapless Infant here I roam,
Far from my dear maternal home.
Oh! shield me from the wintry blast!
The nightly storm is pouring fast.
No prowling robber lingers here;
A wandering baby who can fear?”
I heard his seeming artless tale,
I heard his sighs upon the gale:
My breast was never pity’s foe,
But felt for all the baby’s woe.
I drew the bar, and by the light
Young Love, the infant, met my sight;
His bow across his shoulders flung,
And thence his fatal quiver hung
(Ah! little did I think the dart
Would rankle soon within my heart).
With care I tend my weary guest,
His little fingers chill my breast;
His glossy curls, his azure wing,
Which droop with nightly showers, I wring;
His shivering limbs the embers warm;
And now reviving from the storm,
Scarce had he felt his wonted glow,
Than swift he seized his slender bow:—
“I fain would know, my gentle host,”
He cried, “if this its strength has lost;
I fear, relax’d with midnight dews,
The strings their former aid refuse.”
With poison tipt, his arrow flies,
Deep in my tortur’d heart it lies:
Then loud the joyous Urchin laugh’d:—
“My bow can still impel the shaft:
’Tis firmly fix’d, thy sighs reveal it;
Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?”
1.4k
*Strive and strive, O dear, it's a long drive.
Fear no fear, fight without care.
The roads are rough and challenges tough.
Fear no fear, fight without care.
Take a stand, and push your limits
Follow the flare your soul emits.
The road to triumph, is full of trammel.
Trust your resolve, and never scramble.
There will be hurdles, ups and downs.
Keep your fortitude above the crowns.
Do not yield, do not cede .
Struggle against the resistance &
you'll be freed.
Impel your soul with throes of agony.
And the trace you face
is your destiny*..
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
Into the crevice
Of oceans miles deep
Child of the extinct
Tread your way over
To the clutter of streams
Seeker of the light
Enduring the edge
From falling years ahead
Of feathers bound within
Twisted branches
Of hues
Into the belly
Of tempest’s allure
Reaper of dreams
Soak me into the paint
Pave the draft way
To my escape
Hunter of clouds
Leaning off children’s walls
Delve among the color
Strap into the sanity
Of their annihilation
Tinted inhumanity
Along with their impel
Color me closed
Among all us
Pretty shades of hell.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 12:47 AM UTC
Hold on beleaguered artist
Though your ebullience is fleeting
Do not linger for that leisure you’ve been seeking
Now hunt down your horizon
Dare to impel your hurting heart
Before this onyx evening tears it all apart
It is no mirage you chase
No voyage lost on empty sea
So, if their curses rip your sails, know I believed in thee
(C) Marty Schoenleber III 2013
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
Let the air to blow
Cool down the indoor
Drive away whiff of wreckage
Waft away dart of rudeness and snobbery
Make everything fresh and divine
To begin the new days in tranquillity!
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
You posses a twin of eyes, an immaculate glitter of beauty,
From which life receives its absolute lenity.
To glow in such light of orchestration, Like a crown on the head of time,
Whence bliss takes its origin and befitting prime.
Your alluring smile, a linger of unstinted comfort,
To the stars in tender darkness of the universe, glumming in discomfort.
Each of which humbles at your engrossing presence,
And glows in congruence to the light of your radiance.
Your arms like shields,protective armoury that gets soul lifted,
Touch of your fingers, ten cradle of breath taking sweetness, heavenly gifted.
Each a perfect blend of liniment and mystic power,such,
To impel dead heart to once last beat at thy touch.
your smooth bottled neck, over your soft shoulders,
Holds a face of coherent beauty, eyed in all beholders.
A beauty indescribable by far, as only few words could tell,
How ethereally lovely it can be ; perpetually graced with the touch of angel.
Your walk of indefinable class, a lucid rawness of orchestrated elegance,
So much elegance that the angels gasp in the wake of your presence.
To dance into ecstasy,from which heaven's purity is formed,
In but of your light of all light, they all are conformed.
Those smooth long legs spread like the wings of a flyer,
Inner thighs speak a truth that would mute a liar.
And drip sweet smelling nectar that excites a man's desires,
Like an addictive drug, that makes him only want to get higher.
Beautiful seasoned lips even angels could not grace,
Like two ***** of icing sugar, leaves me breathless each time our lips come in embrace.
And the pressure they do impart,
Have the power to break the devil's heart.
Your two cupped breast,stretch the stitches of your blouse,
As if swollen with milk and honey, my flame only its water could douse.
The most tender of all cleavage,had touched my palms with finesse,
Which contact makes me frozen; a sweet emblem dancing to impress.
If I was to read for you, My queen that glow,
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body,
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 3:33 AM UTC
The birds seem to be telling me
In harmonious chirps
That it must be abolished
Two miniscule bugs slowly glide across the keyboard
Green with a hint of yellow
Their antennas swing up and down
They’re speaking to me too
With subdued voices
They say
That it must be abolished
A pale red ladybug flutters
From blade of grass to blade of grass
From what seems to be an infinite pattern
Of green lushness
It seems to be showing me
What I must do,
Move on
Move on from this blade of grass
That it must be abolished
An adolescent fly lands on the screen
Rubbing its arms together
And then I blink
And it has vanished
Maybe this is a sign
That I must leave
And
That it must be abolished
Why is it that everything seems to be telling me
What I desperately don’t want to hear?
It’s irrevocable
I’ve tried
And
tried
I’ve buried it in the dank dirt
Like the earthworm that I found in the soil
But the rain soon came for a visit
And it arose from the soil and into a puddle of murky water
I tried to impel it back into the ground
But it was impossible
Now I seem to say to myself
That it must be abolished
And now it doesn’t seem to be so foreign to me
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 11:43 AM UTC
Slender and tenuous reasons
Run through the droplets of motive
Which impel us in our actions
Direct us to our self-fulfilling fates
Our cleverly devised mistakes
For we each bear the scars
Of our own fatal flaws
Victims of our own design
As I have been of mine
Haven't you?
I am the saboteur of my dreams
Picking at the seams
Of a braver me
A wiser and unlikelier me
All my tendencies and traits
Conspire and defeat me
To subtly beat me
About my empty head
With every word I've said
Every thought I've had
And that's why
By Phil Roberts
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 6:30 AM UTC
I cannot resist your wriggle
your movement wrestles me awake
from my routine slumbering lumbering day
your breath
your wind are my oxygen
telling me I’m alive
you move from heart to fingers
and dance on the floor
of this keyboard
with your partner
pen on the smooth flat surface of paper.
It is more vital to write my heart
to write write write as I MUST
than to obey some poetry manual
or imitate Longfellow, Rumi, or Frost
or any other.
Writing your movement is like breathing
I cannot go long without it
you impel me to this place
this oasis
this pure land
these tropics
where I let you speak
and have your way with me,
you my magnificent muse.
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 10:20 AM UTC
You left me again today
Drifted deep into darkness
To a realm absent of beauty or love
Where forces impel you to swallow lies
My voice, muffled by wretched thoughts, fails to find you
It has no authority where you reside
Powerless to unchain you, I can only wait
In another dimension I hold you
Patiently awaiting your return
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC
Slender and tenuous reasons
Run through the droplets of motive
Which impel us in our actions
Direct us to our self-fulfilling fates
Our cleverly devised mistakes
For we each bear the scars
Of our own fatal flaws
Victims of our own design
As I have been of mine
Haven't you?
I am the saboteur of my dreams
Picking at the seams
Of a braver me
A wiser and unlikelier me
All my tendencies and traits
Conspire and defeat me
To subtly beat me
About my empty head
With every word I've said
Every thought I've had
And that's why
By Phil Roberts
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 7:40 AM UTC
A school in a village without any pastel –
Divine Child which never cares for riel
Strives for excellence. Does propel
The children upwards and rebel
Against injustice gigantic or sea shell;
Strives to let its stars and carvings excel
With the artistic hands of its roselle.
All play ups and disobeys did she quell
For all discourteous and insolent is knell.
Insurgencies and Illiteracy repel
As soon as they hear Divine’s yell.
She made IAS, engineer and Laurel
Who are shining brightly in parallel.
The capacity to write is more in noel
As during Christmas less is evil’s spell
And more golly and blimey impel.
She is still like a nice damoiselle
Not touched by corruption or rebel.
This is pond. In it many a Raphael
Have drowned to break a cell
From which brains emerged like sail
Which drove young minds to foretell
Their future. With Anandi ma’am’s spell
She still does prosper, flourish and excel.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC
When in the Course of events, it becomes
necessary for a people to dissolve the political
bands which have connected them with another,
and to assume among the powers of the earth
the separate and equal station to which the Laws
of Nature and of Nature's Powers entitle them;
[a decent respect to the opinions of mankind
requires that they should declare the causes
which impel them to the separation, _or not_]:
We hold these truths to be self-evident,
that all animals are created equal, that they
are endowed by their Creator with certain
unalienable Rights, that among these are Life,
Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness;
That to secure these rights, Governments
are instituted among Men, deriving their
just powers from the consent of the governed;
_That whenever any Form of Government
becomes destructive of these ends it is the
Right of the People to alter or to abolish it
and to institute a new Government_, laying
its foundation on such principles and organizing
its powers in such form as to them shall
seem most likely to effect their Safety
and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate
that Governments long established should not
be changed for light and transient causes; and
accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind
are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable,
than to right themselves by abolishing the forms
to which they are accustomed. But when a long train
of abuses and usurpations pursuing invariably the same
Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute
Despotism, _it is their right, it is their duty,
to throw off such Government_,
and to provide new Guards
for their future security.
Such has been the patient sufferance
of the American citizen;
and such is now the necessity
which constrains them
to alter their System of Government:
The history of the present government of the united States
is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having
in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny.
To prove this, let the Facts be submitted to a candid world:
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC