"impelled" poems
1567
The Heart has many Doors—
I can but knock—
For any sweet “Come in”
Impelled to hark—
Not saddened by repulse,
Repast to me
That somewhere, there exists,
Supremacy—
8.5k
If, with the literate, I am
Impelled to try an epigram,
I never seek to take the credit;
We all assume that Oscar said it.
7.5k
A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give
A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all
He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim
He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown
A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer
There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back
To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent
If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?
Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore
If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
Harsh, desert scenery
Haven, from lush misery
Forced by Impi, so greedily
This, our new sanctuary
Glitter, in desert sand
The cause, of moonlike land
No more men, with bow in hand
No more happy feet, stamping sand
Scenery, violated by man and machine
A hole, were last buck was seen
Spiritual pickings, now so lean
White man’s god, o so mean
Before white man’s god, we now bow
We ask the spirits, “How can you allow”
Is this, the final raw?
Are we, disappearing now?
After a visit to Jwaneng, a diamond mining settlement of De Beers in Botswana, I was impelled to write this poem to revolt against the injustices being committed against the Bushmen in Botswana. The Bushman are forcibly being removed from there desert land to make place for diamond mining activities.
Dec 12, 2009
Dec 12, 2009 at 7:18 PM UTC
Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,
As they go lumbering across the sky,
Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,
Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.
They scare the singing birds of earth away
As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly,
Watching the toilers with malignant eye,
From their exclusive haven--birds of prey.
They swoop down for the spoil in certain might,
And fasten in our bleeding flesh their claws.
They beat us to surrender weak with fright,
And tugging and tearing without let or pause,
They flap their hideous wings in grim delight,
And stuff our gory hearts into their maws.
2.4k
****** against the cliff
caught in a vortex
whirlpool of relentless force
pulling me down, down, down
Sound...deafening
Obliterating all sense of direction
I succomb to the waves
****** out, pulled in.
Riptide determined to
pull me under
spared by the mercy
of an upper current that
carries me weightless out and
over the break
Impelled by Grace
greater than the Power at hand
My body finds the sand.
I lie upon the beach,
all fight left behind.
The Ocean claims my strength
No question who has won**
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
dizzied waves calm the haze
count the ways of perfect blue
hurried trees catch salty breeze
besting winded walkers by
sand surrenders to barefoot folly
warming and forming prints
a scattered sky drips a drop or two
nothing stays like perfect blue
see the sea shake
feel the heat ache
smell the sun bake
taste the cloud shapes
horizons breathe
shorelines walk
water talks
cream-filled crests crown the abyss
distant ships tilt and lilt
slippery wakes surfers skate
children trench
tanners twist
lovers tryst
caught by chance in ocean's glance
impelled to do this human dance
nature's floor a ballroom
its rhythm a rapacious hue
life cascades in perfect blue
©Jason Cole
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
i.
we were insatiable last night,
impelled by the alienation one finds
at the bottom of a bottle-
our numb bones in need of warming
on top of and then under
covers, under clothes.
artist's hands fumbled, frantic for an answer,
trying desperately to become closer,
as if your nails in my spine could render
us inseparable-
as if i could, with my touch,
memorize and recreate you with me,
sculpt us together
forever and not just for the night,
my labor for your labored breath,
as fleeting as your consciousness.
ii.
as i ardently watch you dream
countenance softened by sleep
i know that come morning, i'll split
and we will lead sovereign lives,
divergent until your nocturnes play
and you serenade me once again.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
I always thought that my mind was like the universe, limitless.
Seems like I can't shake you off my mind, I'm thinking you're the best.
So when the world ends, you can escape into my galaxy.
You could use up all my resources and take every part of me.
And when the tide gets high, I'll give you my last breath
Let the water crash by, together we can outlast the pressure.
And if mountains crumble, you'll always be on top
I would never let you fall, give you support nonstop.
So let's ignite this love, it is what I only desire.
It would never be cold, I'm your friction to your fire.
Your tough attitude impelled this cipher.
You wanted to leave because I harmed my safety.
I was ready to jump off Earth, but your words of lucid air saved me.
And for that I owe you my world, in fact you already have it.
Your essence is a hundred percent pure of my element.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
In the distance I see them,
Dark billows unfurling
A canopy of grey across the horizon,
Forcing the sun into seclusion.
The rain is coming.
In cadenced formation they advance,
Nimbus clouds on the march,
Curtains of gossamer white hanging
In their trail. The rain is falling.
The hills sigh with relief,
Refreshed at this sweet aspersion,
Renewed and restored
By the Providence that
Established their foundation.
The rain has stopped.
The clouds roll on to distant lands, impelled by a cycle that will see
no end.
And all the earth lies content
In quiet meditation,
Radiant on a bed of primordial mist.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 11:22 AM UTC
stars and stardust, we were
from the press impelled by the loneliness
from the incessant at the bottom of crowds.
we ache for our numb bones
and false amore on top of the love-
folie a deux covers under
the shared madness- artist's hands.
attachment is trying desperately-
infatuation is "as if"
with deadly symptoms- us inseperable.
red roses lead to "as if i could"
with roses dropped, so memorize and recreate
from vases shattered, sculpt us together
so life is forever and not just golden hair,
my labor for your blue eyes,
and as fleeting as your weapons.
cities sunk and yet i, ardent, watch
from the depths of countenance.
it's all for you, i know that.
perceive its aftereffects and
we will lead its hangover headache,
divergent until you're sprawled over your serenade.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
a shell, a rock, valueless
token of exchange
Cain's creation, perhaps,
impelled by hunger and his mark
today a non attributable lie
a picture of true faith
- but the sword still stands -
speaks more truth than any word can
deeper its insidious roots grow
for the greater its seeming efficacy
displacing the currency of love
for my enemies love me as themselves
but the lie is true
gnawing from the inside out
from nations, to businesses, to people,
a soulless heartless ********** remains
by the sword you live, by the sword you die
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 11:19 PM UTC
She was still a kid, Playing with her Doll,
Her innocent eyes had that Spark, UNTIL...
She was Wrenched,
She was Impelled,
She was Gripped,
She was Battered,
She was Exploited....
Tears Flowed down her cheek,
The Pain made her Weak..
Her Squawk went unheard,
Her dreams were Shattered..
Her Soul was literally Plucked,
FOR WHAT WRONG WAS SHE PUNISHED...?
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
As the child knows not if his mother’s face
Be fair; nor of his elders yet can deem
What each most is; but as of hill or stream
At dawn, all glimmering life surrounds his place:
Who yet, tow’rd noon of his half-weary race,
Pausing awhile beneath the high sun-beam
And gazing steadily back,—as through a dream,
In things long past new features now can trace:—
Even so the thought that is at length fullgrown
Turns back to note the sun-smit paths, all grey
And marvellous once, where first it walked alone;
And haply doubts, amid the unblenching day,
Which most or least impelled its onward way,—
Those unknown things or these things overknown.
1.2k
As I watch the water explore the air faithfully,
I wonder where it comes from.
It rises
and it falls.
I want to be able to approach its origin,
discover why the water is compelled to
rise
and fall.
There simply must be a source.
This violent display of
rising
and falling
cannot exist without reason.
Alas, my searching is futile.
The rising
and falling
continue in spite of my ignorance.
Will the explosions of water always
rise
and fall?
Will they perhaps cease
if I find the very reason they faithfully
rise
and fall?
Or will I forever be impelled
to passively watch this persistent
rising
and falling?
I’m slowly beginning to give up the search
and started just hoping these monotonous eruptions
stop.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 5:09 PM UTC
I hurt myself again today,
To see if I still feel pain.
The needle tears a hole,
The old familiar sting ,
Try to **** myself again,
But it's just another fail.
What did you become?
My sweetest friend,
Everyone I love, dies and goes away
In the end.
you left me it all,
In our empire of dirt,
you killed yourself, you let me down,
you made me hurt.
I wear this crown of thorns,
my self destruction affair,
Full of broken thoughts,
That I cannot repair.
Beneath the stains of time,
They said that The feelings would disappear,
You are dead and gone,
But I am still right here.
If I could start again with you,
A million miles away,
I would keep you so safe,
I would find a way,
To make sure that you stayed.
Why wasn't I good enough to save you from destruction?
I pray for the rain,
Are you up there?
Do you listen?
They say that if you **** yourself,
You will be sent to hell,
But God, were you an angel,
Beautifully, brokenly, emptily impelled.
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
****** against the cliff,
caught in a vortex.
Whirlpool of relentless force,
pulling me down, down, down.
Sound...deafening~
Obliterating all sense of direction.
I succomb to the waves.
****** out, pulled in.
Riptide determined to
carry me under.
Spared by the mercy
of an upper current that
carries me weightless out and
over the break.
Impelled by Grace
greater than the Power at hand,
My body finds the sand.
I lie upon the beach,
all fight left behind.
The Ocean claims my strength
No question who has won...**
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
Along the grass,beneath the sky
The draconic sun vitrified
The lover figurines.
Flattening them
Adjacent to the surface,
Skin blent in crackly tessellation,
Deforming to fit the sphere,adhering to it's
Wondrous silence.
Frail limbs minute,heart's heavy as whole islands.
Is it not love embodied to lay defined as an image?
To be held as shatterless glass,reflecting it's deity's melting
In progress, 'neath the star that impelled a shelter,
The star that paved their meeting,that overlooked
Their life and death in a predetermined stasis,
The divinity that shimmered underfoot at all times,
The star that held all places of the earth in one.
The figurine lovers, faceless mannikinis
Sentenced to worship forever without a choice,
For prior love, for prior sins,
It matters not--they rot and twist as the Sun's play-dice.
Aug 20, 2019
Aug 20, 2019 at 10:40 PM UTC
Anomic gloom and arrogant fear
Every invisible rumbling is a machine bent on my death.
Nothing conveys me to power
For I'm left to retroactively question each choice I make
As if logic was absent and I wasn't acting by choice
But impelled to be insolent
By the inner rust and complicated working
Of my meat-and-bones practice run
For my Faberge machine body
(even as I admit this
I wrench open a kind of window
Into a mostly forgotten dream
Of a conference with some kind of
Goddess)
I'll soon be surprised
With a sudden initiation into reality
Elfin mischief and hysterical laughter spiraling around me in a climactic fireworks display
"This is really happening. This is what it was all about. This is what it's all been leading towards. This is where there's no turning back" it laughs in my face as the agony of endless ****** nearly knocks me senseless and motionless
There are souls caught up in the works and the kingdom of heaven is in disarray as we sort out our identity crisis of species here on profane planet earth. Gaia holds her breath and hopes we do not leave too big a mark when we explode ourselves.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 2:39 AM UTC
The sun rose pink over Lancaster;
Its frozen rains came quick in tow—
Here, we sense the passive and the active:
To take the drag or pull:
He is dragged by the way of the automatic hand-to-mouth;
The Other, is my command—
But that, even, impelled snowfully toward
A closed fist, a locked grasp, an unwilling departure.
I suggest a dislocation somewhere in parallax:
Take paper dimensions and fold them 104 times
And everything flattens out—
The ocular inversion becomes like-real; I’ll swim in that!
Puddles are dragged by the wind, whilst the pull thinks in spite
Of I, its strange corpus of author, and opus
Drags to the creature of appetite deign to call to order.
But a power powerless to its name given it:
Destined desiring of sunnier metaphors—
The alcoves of the thread, brought to just us
Caesuras of what satisfies, in food, in just us
The depth of image holds true: one cannot live on bread alone.
Thus, I muse and mull back to locks of hair and bellybuttons
Waiting, in time—the deepening of time’s cloth
Where my hand caresses her thigh—
One can feel the gravity pressing on the heart,
All the love that self-reflects, combs out the wrinkles,
And has faith in the good inertia.
By this secular host consubstantiate
And Other (surely a pleasing affair) is but moments away.
And she and I look so pretty together,
Our is of whom and what and the third conditional.
That which presses upon itself, the one dimension,
Cannot disentangle from name or alliance, nor faith,
Greedily picking at the oily ruptures, effulging in transparence,
Contradictions care not for astrology,
And whether you are poetry
Is not important here.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
i listened to the clever
words that you sang
watched you close your eyes
and strum your guitars
forgetting myself,
charmingly moved by
your poetry and cadence
yet the pervasive,
recurring thought
was how impelled i felt
to welcome our bodies
fervid collision
bury my hands in your hair
firmly seize your jaw
graze your lips
and kiss you.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
The Ninth Battalion (Australia)
By Sun-filled day and frosty night,
O’er rugged hills and desert sand,
We learned to work as teams, to fight
In jungles of another land.
From every city, State and town,
All the lovely countryside,
Impelled by grim war’s cold, bleak frown,
Gathered we at fair Woodside.
And some of us were volunteers,
But mostly we young conscripts were,
With youthful hopes, ambitions, fears;
Young men’s dreams of love were there.
And lusts, for we weren’t choir boys,
Nor simpering wowser, nor old maid.
We searched for brawling, drinking joys
And chased the girls of Adelaide.
Oh Adelaide, what wondrous pubs,
The Rundle, Gresham (Mind you Roy?),
The Western, Finden, all were hubs
Of social, sinful, youthful joy.
But scarce the city trips sublime.
Beneath the awesome stars our home.
And Sun-bronzed we became with time,
Leigh Creek, Cultana, ours to roam.
At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.
Canungra’s forest, where chilled to bone
We learned to ambush and by sudden flare to ****
The Flinders Range, those hills of stone.
Shoalwater Bay did prove our skill.
And at the last and having passed our nation’s test,
(for some a final accolade)
And to that question answered yes,
We made farewell to Adelaide.
At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons, honed our drills;
Formed Section and Platoon at Humbug Scrub, and that was fun.
We dug-dug-dug to prove to them that be our skills,
And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 2:51 AM UTC
Some sinister, cynic sending me sick signals,
Taunting me, teasing me,
Treachery!
Treason I see,
The reason for my recent reason to be,
Is for wreckage and the reckoning
My reality
Factual actual fictions is in my diction
The man in my mind,
Is minding my business again,.
Against the walls of my brain,
Signals reign,
Please bring more pain and angst!
Panic?
As I glance at my pen
The Manic
Maniac managing to Damage
Every page
On a Rampage
With no rage?
But by the way
I’m swinging this pencil
You would think I was
A bit temperamental
But my temperament's temperature,
Is irrelevant to the mentally
Disturbed
Stirring up tension
Did I mention
Means nothing to man on a mission
My missiles miss the misled and misfits
Because they weren’t
Where they were expected
My moon is now ecliptic
Messages eclectic
Ecstatic about nothing except
The inception
What an immaculate concept
The fact that my conception
Was from the product of
Of a project.
Projectiles impelled out my mouth
And impaled a man on the
Right path.
This ****** has committed his first ******
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:25 AM UTC
To my Creator I sing
Who did soothe me in my great loss;
To the Merciful and Kind
Who in my troubles gave me repose.
Thou with that pow'r of thine
Said: Live! And with life myself I found;
And shelter gave me thou
And a soul impelled to the good
Like a compass whose point to the North is bound.
Thou did make me descend
From honorable home and respectable stock,
And a homeland thou gavest me
Without limit, fair and rich
Though fortune and prudence it does lack.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
*love
is on a heart shaped pedestal
sometimes the first casualty of desire
at the mercy of a thousand transgressions
from ticks and triggers
of dark labyrinths primal
and subtle torments of the soul
body language comes sprightly
from chaotic corridors
a reckless black sea
all crossed arms
eye roles of refusal
strategies of power
proclamations of will
and pretty please poisons
while
front stabbers anguish over back stabbers anguished
and
the strong cherish the weak
impelled to rescue
as if delicate mewing kittens
from desolations cold blade
and
abandonments slow violence
then to reconcile
hearts sooty overcast moon
love is a two way street
and i move on to hold precious you
in pain stricken arms
she
my shelter
in a cruel world
of fire and ice
oh to feel her kisses
after blood and thunder
to adore heart breaks mend
to dispel tenderly, dark clouds
as sun sets a new
and no matter the pain
to forgive everything
yet limping still
gall
a slow melting snow
that we may caress each other
the only
kindness and soft place to fall
we may ever know
seeking deliverance
in each other's
dark musty warmth
to make up
in a tangle of tears,
wet kisses
unctuous heated breath
and
tender mercies
because
love is
on a heart shaped pedestal*
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC