Best Impala Poems
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
The Big Five—Africa’s pride in the vast open wild
Buffalo, Rhinoceros, Elephant, Leopard and Lion
Their prey—scattered Impala, Kudu and Waterbuck
On hardened dust… their footprints prevail and stand
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
The proposal day--- carefully planned- a beautiful beach
Red Roses, a Picnic, Sunrise and Diamond ring
The petals—scattered on the soft damp sea tabloid
Lover’s plea….a stick his pen, “Marry me—take my hand”
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
Early one morning--- He entered the dusty temple to teach
Scribes and Pharisees brought her in—an adulterous
Large stones…scattered for all to throw and accuse
Jesus bent down… wrote with His finger on condemning land
What was His message…..?
WRITTEN IN THE SAND
Categories:
impala, analogy, introspection, proposal,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
Why are you not where you belong?
This situation is very wrong?
I do not mean to pry,
Yet still I wonder why?
Some beautiful birds and a lake,
Would not at all be hard to take.
Fish swimming up and down,
Colored like the circus clown.
Striped red, white and cerise,
They bring such poetic peace.
Such a beautiful place to write,
A poetess’s heavenly delight.
Evergreen trees buzzing with bees,
Geese honking with expertise.
With colorful gardens all about,
Beauty in your heart and without.
-----------------------------------------
Nowhere now to feed the birds,
Confused and can’t find the words.
Your poetry now in plastic bins,
No longer heard sweet violins.
The new rooms have high ceilings,
Yet lack the homely feelings.
Your heart longs for absent friends,
On whom your happiness so depends.
A magical world you see all around,
Describing it with words that astound.
The cat with a fiddle and a bow,
A heated passion for warm Bordeaux.
A unicorn hosting a Gala,
Invitations delivered by Impala.
A Loon’s call in the still early morn,
And a puff ball on toast before dawn.
Dear lady stay the whole course,
Write again, ride that white horse.
Categories:
impala, friendship,
Form:
Couplet
The 1965 Chevy Impala with aqua dice
parked herself downhill against all advice
From Frankie, Old Tom, Red Angus and Swanee Bryce
Her wheels slipped on gravel that felt like hardened rice
Her green interior smelled like Old Spice
Her engine was infiltrated by squeaky hungry mice
Some main wires under her hood now have a splice
Her ignition key did not work once or twice
We could not sell her at any price
But we loved the smell of nineteen sixties Old Spice
For it reminds me of my Uncle Pete, dad of cousin Bryce
So I am keeping her forever, which feels kind of nice.
Categories:
impala, car,
Form:
Monorhyme
AntiPoem 2
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Let us march now inside St. Mary’s,
March reverently through these green repentant doors,
These holy portals to grace and absolution,
Into a stain-glassed sanctuary of sinners kneeling in disguise,
These sullied souls coming in through the out door again,
Figuring death is furloughed from the crucifixion business,
Two thousand blurry years later.
Let us still march forward now to the glassed tabernacle,
Resting up there ensconced upon the marble altar,
Beyond human touch;
The host inside now transubstantiating as with earthen time,
From dry crusty oatmeal,
To omnipotent King of the Universe.
The boy holds his new Sunday missal,
As the family drives to ancient St. Joseph’s,
Up the asphalt hill, there on Gold Street,
Amidst the tentative Yuletide presentations,
Of tinsel-lit trees and blinking avenue abodes.
In the distance Lady Lassen wears a white bonnet,
As the Redding Christmas Tree stands exuberant,
Seventy-three feet into the icy air on Market Street,
A rainbow-glowing giant with a thousand staring eyes.
Brenda Lee is singing,
Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,
From blaring radios inside Oldsmobiles and Studebakers,
Cruising Placer Street to the Cascade showing Butterfield 8.
The boy is counting the neon cocktails,
While riding in the backseat on blue polyurethane,
His father is intently driving the blue ’58 impala,
Into a gravelly hilltop parking lot.
Blaring outward from the church there I heard voices,
A bubbling sacramental bouillabaisse of silent
Parishioners all genuflecting in pristine Latin confusion.
The girls choir wearing skirts of curious plaid, is
Singing loudly and softly their angelic vocal renderings:
“Gloria in excelsis Deo"
Father Elliot is extending his arms outward now,
Bestowing the final expectant blessing;
He is giving absolution to the captives driving Cadillacs.
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Categories:
impala, memory,
Form:
Free verse
lioness is hunting
lioness is prowling
prowling at midnight
prowling for prey
prey, unaware.
prey is now on the run
run, Impala, run
run for your life
life is on the line
life is in grave danger
danger in the wilderness
danger is very real
real as can be
real and deadly
deadly predator
deadly precision
precision pounce
precision, absolute.
absolute hunter
absolute stealth
stealth assassin
stealth undetected
undetected in the tall grass
undetected big cat
cat, undomesticated.
cat of the wild
wild nature
wild animal
animal on the menu
animal targeted
targeted not for sport
targeted for food
food for predator, scarce;
food needed for survival
survival is key in The Serengeti
survival of the fittest
fittest apex predator
fittest of them all
all nighter lioness
all powerful
powerful talons
powerful jaws
jaws that crush windpipes
jaws of death
death by ambush
death of Impala prey
prey caught unaware
prey never stood a chance
chance
unaware
Categories:
impala, animal, fun, word play,
Form:
Blitz
I remember Grandma’s beauty
The way she’d grace her smile at me
I remember Grandma’s duty
Holding family together
I remember the old large home
A large yard with a cyclone fence
I remember no small kitties
Couldn’t afford the extra expense
I remember no TV set
To watch Dragnet or Lassie shows
I remember a radio
Latin Music she always chose
I remember the Impala
Cool 1950’s model rove
Crazy grandma behind the wheel
Had to close your eyes when she drove
I remember her kindness
Her home was your home to visit
Stacks of warm homemade tortillas,
Tamales, warm food in the skillet
I remember gradually
With small tremors, slurred speech, stiffness,
She had uncontrollable shakes
Parkinson’s disease her illness
I remember Grandma’s beauty
I remember Grandma’s kindness
I remember Grandma’s caress
I remember Grandma’s illness
Categories:
impala, car, food, grandmother, growing
Form:
Quatrain
Arizona Heat, packing it hard
Deeper then the deepest Chocolate Windows
Framed by long lashes, ebony compassions
Dying souls oppressed by more than the hotness of the night
Mocha Skin in Summertime
Let’s Roll
Impala, Hydro, wood grain and leather
Hot, baby, Bump it louder
Stolen speakers bump it best
West Coast, East Coast, Southwest
Greenback, wetback
Brown on Brown
Murder, it’s a homicide
Of the cruelest kind
Dark Reactions
Light is no longer required here
One cannot see what isn’t supposed to be seen
Here on the borders of AZ, the grim reaper
Reaps openly
Fluctuating from victim to victim
Cherry Red Silvery distain
Drips from guns
Bang, Bang, Bang
Pull the Trigger
Drugs are no longer sins but saviors
Sell them, deal it
Steal it all
Survival Of The Fittest
Mm, it’s hot, so hot, hot
Steamy sweaty Sin
Sultry music, sexy women
Tequila, Tecate, Paradise for some
The Heat doesn’t come from the sun
But the struggle to stay alive
To survive, and thrive
Breathe
Every Pancho Villa needs a Lady by their side
Right? Dolled up, complexion perfect
Hyna, Ruka, Sweet Vixen, Mami Sexy, hit it and quit it, baby
He grabs my chin
Blowing into my face, scent, full of toxic fumes
Drunk off victory from this week’s dealings
“Money is my first love, not you, she made me RICH
So get the hell away from me, trick”
Plunges into my chest
His heart, belongs, to no one
But success
Cold steel, cold hearts, cold money
That’s all he wants, honey
The hottest thing is the tears burning down my cheeks
Weak, suppressed, the insides of me
Tearing down
I need to find a way..out
without..him
Hustling my own
using my own
devices to succeed
My soul, heedless, shall always belong
To what shaped my tough skin
Intimate Beginnings
I belong
To the Arizona Heat
Categories:
impala, angst, life, sad, teen,
Form:
Bio
Ripples of blue and silver dance
impala males jump and prance
In a land where imagination roams to and fro
and the waters of old eb and flows
Dust holds memories from near and far
The sky, escarpment, and water beat out a rhythm of
The dreams of many, the thoughts of a few,
ZAMBEZI, O MIGHT OF THE SOUTHERN HINTER LANDS OF AFRICA
GIVING AND TAKING. YOUR PRIDE IN LIFE IS LIVED
YOUR COURSE DIRECTED BY THE THINGER OF THE MASTER DESIGNER
FORCE AND STRENGTH BOW BEFORE HIS MIGHTY HAND
Deep is the current and long is the stride of Him who taught you as a child O ZAMBEZI,
where your banks and streams will go.
Were you there at the beginning?
To see His plan, hear His words, savor His counsel.
Take heed to give life as He has given you so much life.
The sound of life echoes long and hard through this valley below the falls and the open sea.
Elephants, hippos, and lions create and compose an elegant cacophony.
Animals play on the banks,Birds dance on the wind.
The escapement sits and watches. Ever still, but never stagnate
Mana Pools, place of meaning. Where water parted mountains a mellinia ago.
Escarpments looking north and south, watching, waiting, guarding.
Life here moves at leisure, no race.
The life of hustle and bustle has no place.
In a way, even time and space seem pleasantly married together
So whether you a travel from far or near, they meet you and greet you and treat you.
Here on the flood plains.
Where a recollection of memories are locked away in the safe of sentimentally.
To a feast of the soul, spirit, mind, and body.
Where you can relax and let worry be forgotten.
Categories:
impala, adventure, animals, nature, travel,
Form:
Blank verse
Permit me if you will to speak of
this great obscurity called love
I am not here to preach or feed
your preconceived clichéd ideas
of linguistic and rhythmic words
live above and dove.
I am here to invoke what is
already deeply embedded in the
very Fabrics of your soul.
I want to insight that traitorous
smile that creeps in on a long
day When the sanity of your
heart won’t let your mind be
whole.I am not talking about
the rushing waves that caress
the contours Of her body as you
stare into her eyes and make
love to her entire being with
just a single kiss.
It is that silent completion that
just her mare presence is
enough And to hear her speak
is simply pure bliss.
I am enraged by the notion that
love is only an emotion,a feeling
A state of mind that comes and
goes like a headache.It surely
makes my head ache when I
see so many emotional
Structures fade because the
foundation were built on
temporary Infatuated bricks.
It is not the desperate
yearnings of companionship nor
the loneliness but the blind
ambition to attain love that
most angers me.
we settle for a good perception
in place of perfection t o ease
our conscious.
If could open your eyes then I
would eradicate your illusions
and place love in your hand for
you to taste it.I said If could
open your eyes then I would
eradicate your illusions and
place love in your hand for you
to taste it.
It is not a feeling of butterflies
in your stomach when they
appear.Hell it isn’t even in the
silent whispers as you attempt
to gather your breath from the
sweet wrath of her bosom.
Its more refined like 1953
corvette or a 1960’s chevrotte
impala you would love to own
one but settle for a 5series
BMW instead it is not the value
but the overall cost that most
frightens you.
So instead of saving we invest
in physical pleasures and
material things. We become
luminary in satisfaction and
perfectionists in pleasure.
It is best to detach from all lust
and desire if it will only pro long
the joy and serenity of soul
matched beings what are we in
the end if we have all we desire
and lack the love we need?
Categories:
impala, lovedesire, love,
Form:
Carpe Diem
And the cemetery was still and serene
A palette of muted greens, browns, tans and warm gray scene
Fence-post with barbed wire surrounds the garden
Seashells and caliza, sage brush, cactus, and mesquite trees harden
Tall cold stones erect sentries
Standing on sacred ground granting entry
In the garden of seashells and sage brush
A cemetery of generations of families
Grandmothers and grandfathers
Their parents and family before them
Tugging at our memories
Whispering shadows of their secrets
All lie with crowns of stones
As their names are etched on marble stones
While others with ceramic photographs of the dearly departed
So they, won’t be forgotten
All with stories to tell
My head down with sadness
My heart skips a beat in my chest
I stand and look at the headstone of my once beautiful grandmother
And lay a bouquet of red roses at the feet of the stone
I kneel and clean the surroundings of weeds that have sprang up
And dust of the ceramic photograph
Wistful thinking
Her smile with a flicker of spark in her eyes
All the good times we used to have
She taught me not to be afraid,
To drive her white 1958 Impala
And the cemetery was still and serene
I know it’s an empty vessel that lay in the sandstone
As her soul grew wings long ago
And in heaven she’s watching over all she has left behind
5/20/2016
Free Verse Form
Contest: And The Cemetery Was
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Spiritually Fulfilled
Gazing at the sky
Spiritually fulfilled
Cherished memories
Categories:
impala, absence, bereavement, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
“Phoenix Dreams in the Realm of Crows”
wake up
shake up
kaleidoscope girl
jigsaw
see saw
fit the pieces
she
another world
away
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
curious kaleidoscope
stories to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
time’s racing
discharge fear
or remain
feathers spreading
in the realm
of crows
poetic
messengers
casting their spells
for opening
tombs turning
dead leaves to tomes
in the crowded hideaway
where shorthand, fixed tight to masts,
swings suspended for transcribing
dark nights,
where soft and fierce
treasure dwells
feathers spreading
cunning cuneiform for ghosts
who speak in tongues
transformative
strange letters
unfurling
spreading
deep indigo and
jesserant jet feathers
swords and keys
for plundering
and opening
impromptu places
mysterious better nests
for hidden golden eggs
broken yoked,
freed
spilling silver spoons,
curl love drunk
into warm skinned
velvet embryos
hugging new bodies
of work, slick palaces
for bedding
better never-endings
never ending,
electric muses
flocked
and kissing
sated singing
dreams
in the realm
of crows
the in-betweeen
flows easily
through the veil
safe harbour
opening
portals
for ocean steering
bejewelled St Elmo
phoenix fire stories lit, to sew
the slip stitch
love knot cast
anchor’s raised
astral charting
glossy winged stars
albatross angels
waxing lyrical
follies and flights
ignited, illuminating
phoenix dreams
in the realm
of crows
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Hideaway”/ Queens of the Stone Age
https://youtu.be/2dcbcic06vw
"Let It Happen" / Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/NMRhx71bGo4
"Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control"/Tame Impala
https://youtu.be/C1VelTQ3hdY
Crow Symbolism
https://www.onthefeeder.com/crow-symbolism/
LYRICS/ “Hideaway”, Queens of the Stone Age
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/queensofthestoneage/hideaway.html
LYRICS/"Let It Happen", Tame Impala
https://genius.com/Tame-impala-let-it-happen-lyrics
Categories:
impala, muse,
Form:
Free verse
The rolling farmlands
That feeds our tribal children alike
And fertile vineyards abound
A tawny of sapphire seas
A prodigious floral kingdom
Amber coloured rivers
That plunge into an ocean
Of mercurial moods
Roaring with stealth silence
Tranquil beaches and lagoons
Rocky shores and enchanting seasides
The imposing cliffs and highlands
Flanked by towering mountains
Highvelds dry as sand
Rough as a rasp
Around the vast arena of the bushveld
Lies a stealthy leopard
A slouching serpent through the tawny grasses
An impala lolling in a shade
The pungent breeze of a dangling buck in a lion's mouth
The swiftness fling of a cheetah's wrath
My humble abode
My South Africa
Land of scenic splendours....
Categories:
impala, dedication, tribute,
Form:
Concrete
(10/13/12)
At the beginning of “64” - I packed up my uniform
And walked out the door- it was the beginning of
The Vietnam war.
By August of that same year
President Johnson started the draft
Under protests and jeers.
Then he made it a full scale war
And sent our soldiers to Vietnam shores.
The Beatniks in Greenwich village
With their long hair, beards, and
Flip flop sandals - wrote their poetry
About this undeclared war, and why
Our men were going to those shores.
This created a new generation called ‘HIPPIES”
The hippie generation was groups of protesters
Against everything that they found wrong
The draft , the war , pollution
And loved to stay high with pot, hashish
Coke and acid (lsd) which kept them blasted.
This also created the “ flower children”
Who like the hippies loved to be high
And on certain flowers they would fly.
But they spoke of loving one another
And gave out flowers as a sign of peace
Which to the president was a relief.
They all started painting this “53 Chevy impala”
With the words “ flower power”.
Now the “ flower children and hippie movement
Was in full swing, and everyone was doing their own thing.
They had Greenwich village under their control
And not one coffee shop would ever be sold.
Every coffee shop had a poetry night
And going there was such a delight.
Then in AUGUST of “69”
The WOODSTOCK festival was on the rise
Over half a million people drove to that farmland
And set up tents , hammocks, sleeping bags and such
And the police found it was much to much
So they had no choice but to see it through
Because there was nothing else that they could do.
The WOODSTOCK festival had become world wide
And to this day it still thrives.
© L . RAMS
Categories:
impala, war, flower, august, flower,
Form:
Rhyme
The land of Baobab and Acacia sassa trees
The proud land of our forefathers.
The home of the fastest animal on earth - Cheetah
The oldest inhabited territory on Earth,
Who handed treasure of wisdom down to us
The most-populous landmass.
The place of origin of humans and the Hominidae clade.
The land of the the most abundant antelope, the impala
The land of sunshine and bird songs
Cut almost equally in two by the Equator
It straddles the equator and encompasses numerous climate areas
Hosts a large diversity of ethnicities, cultures and languages
Africa's has landscapes of many changes.
With beaches, rain forests, islands and dunes,
its climate keeps you guessing all afternoon
Contains an enormous wealth of mineral resource and
largest numbers of megafauna’s species
From her Warthog to her Giraffe,
from her Impala
to her ground, bound Ostrich,
Africa's home to so, much wonder,
that it's hard to leave this land, down under!
Categories:
impala, 8th grade, africa, animal,
Form:
Free verse
Hear my special child’s alphabet features
Eagerly, he mumbles with sheer delight
a-ape; b-bear; c-cat… dear God’s creatures!
D-dove; e-eagle; f-falcon… birds of great flight
g-goat; h-horse; i-impala…all in Noah’s ark
j-jaguar; k-koala; l-lion… oh, what a sight!
m-monkey; n-newt; o-opossum; hey, they don’t bark
p-parrot, q-quail, r-robin; busy in their nests
s-snake; t-turtle; u-unicorn…hiding in the park!
v-viper; w-wallaby: do they hate pests?
x-x-ray fish; y-yellow fin tuna: swimming gaily
z-zebra and zebrafish together in animal fests…
Alphabet "perceiver" he’s become expertly
Reading, sounding, blending letters blissfully!
April 12, 2019
Edited on May 22, 2020
Honorable Mention, "BRIAN'S CHOICE Q,any form,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/23/2020.
Honorable Mention, "YOUR CHOICE h" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/17/2025.
Categories:
impala, 1st grade, appreciation, child,
Form:
Terza Rima