Best Impala Poems | Poetry
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Impala Poem
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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
Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013
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Impala Poem
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Invitations to the Gala
issued by a grave impala
were highly sought out missives
by the bold and the submissive
Those omitted uttered curses
shook angry fists or heavy purses
Had they but known that
the price of admission
was not by stealth nor definition;
would it have improved their disposition?
Oh bother, “what a bitter tea to hold and drink”
some might say.
Pink quartz was the mantle
white marble were the floors
Hieroglyphic runes and shapes
were etched upon the doors
Windows ledged by flowered flats
walkways edged by shrub
Trees of auspicious piety
contained by sanctum tubs
Tapestry paneled galleries
wove ever-changing scenes
Templates of the biosphere
wrought into silk spun screens.
Ivy garlands draped sandstone walls
Indulgence infused the banquet hall
Cinnamon rods, spiked spurs of clove
mulled cider sipped from crystal globes
Lychee lobes, hot peppered scones
clotted cream starched weary bones
Soft music swirled like autumn’s mist
about the heads of chosen guests
Violin, lute and harpsichord
mild minstrel flanked by troubadour
Harmoniously moved, were the hearts
and heels of man.
The unicorn, a gallant host
on ivory hooves, an ethereal ghost
An entity of truth and faith
a creature of astounding grace
Awestruck by sharp brindled eyes
white pristine coat, his stately guise
The neck that sparked irised flame
a glowing arch of lucent mane
Prismatic yellow, red and blue
dipped then peaked to other hues
Entranced by visual rhapsody
Morpheus clapped soporific hands.
The sun reached up to touch the dawn
orbs of dew satured the lawn
Spectrum arcs held trailing mist
The peaceful calm of morning’s kiss.
Silent chambers backed by barren walls
the flameless hearths of empty halls
Awakened by the muted hum
steps echoed off like Celtic drums
They left a wake of red and blue
gold flecked green, and pink accrue
Floral spills of cornucopia
wiped away their paisley prints.
He raced across the bridge of night
propelled by dreams in astral flight
Pulled outward on a comet thrust
long tail ablaze with motes of dust
He touched down in a stellar sphere
Grew stronger when the skies were clear
Weaned on equinoctial astral surge
galactic lights that dim and merge
No more arabesques, no Devon cream
no drowsy thoughts, no symphonies
He fondles hearts with cosmic charm
Monoceros, The Unicorn.
Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2012
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Impala Poem
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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.
Copyright © Shane Cooper | Year Posted 2016
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Impala Poem
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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
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016
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Impala Poem
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Drink the Namibia Countryside
Namibia a West African country, on the Atlantic coast
Namibia’s beauty is wonderfully surreal and alluring,
With endless savannah and bushland
With most stunning landscapes in Africa,
with acres of ocean shores, woodland savannas,
With game-rich grasslands and a semi-arid Central Plateau
lonely desert roads where mighty slabs of granite rise out of swirling desert sands
Land of swirling apricot dunes and shimmering white flats, mirages and dust devils,
With large expanses of arid and semi-arid land
Namibia`s young population is ambitious and ready to forge ahead
With highest literacy rates and one of the most stable democracies
Friendly, natural people with 14 ethnic groups, 26 different languages
two million people share the vast spaces of Namibia
With rich heritage and traditions
Namibia `s desert landscapes, volcanic mountains, desolate salt pans, giant sand dunes
Namib Desert is one of the oldest deserts in the world
Dunes are incredible, and are the tallest dunes in the world;
Amazing landscapes of red sand dunes, fascinating rock formations, vast plains, bizarre coastal dunes,
Bleached whalebones and ancient shipwrecks
organ pipes are a unique series of quartz-dolerite pillars
With lush floodplains and picturesque deserts.
Namibia mighty gash in the earth at Fish River Canyon
plankton-rich coastal waters support an extraordinary array of marine life
Tenderness fetching flora and fauna.
Long the Namibian coast lays the Namib Desert,
A spectacularly barren, brilliant red sand landscape
Divided into the Skeleton Coast and the Diamond Coast
Most famously, it is the richest source of diamonds on the planet,
The coast, with its productive fishing grounds and the deep water harbor
Namibia an amazingly diverse animal world,
The wildlife utopia of Etosha National Park.
One of the world's greatest wildlife-viewing spots
Offers an exceptional range and abundance of wildlife.
Boasts the largest free-roaming population of black rhino in Africa,
and the largest cheetah population in the world.
Black-faced impala and crimson-breasted shrike.
Remote, wild and astonishingly beautiful with cascading Granite Mountains, amazing azure skies
Namibia with a wide variety of rock paintings and rock engravings
With a technicolor dreamscape,
World’s most captivating desert regions,
Namibia biota is rich, by global standards, and relatively well-preserved
containing both karroid and tropical elements
Copyright © Yuhi Musinga | Year Posted 2015
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Impala Poem
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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.
Copyright © Tim Marks | Year Posted 2012
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Impala Poem
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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?
Copyright © john. M diketane | Year Posted 2011
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Impala Poem
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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
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2016
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Impala Poem
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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
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
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Impala Poem
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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....
Copyright © Nthabiseng Moraba | Year Posted 2015
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Impala Poem
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(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
Copyright © louis rams | Year Posted 2012
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Impala Poem
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There once was a time when that car wasn't mine.
And as far as I was concerned that was just fine.
But then I grew up and I wanted to drive.
And that first weekend made me feel so alive.
A 66 Chevy Impala, four door.
By a young man's standard's, it was something to adore.
But the engine leaked oil.
But my fun it wouldn't spoil.
13 quarts, she did drink those two days.
I know you would think that my heart would just sink.
But my Dad fixed her up in a blink.
An oil sending unit was what she did need.
To stop the incessant oil drinking greed.
I made some nice memories in that splendid car.
Just driving round town, didn't have to go far.
I sold her for just as much as I paid.
That car did me right, to just get betrayed.
Copyright © robert johnson | Year Posted 2012
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Impala Poem
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Taking their leave the Black Crime
Syndicate top raking members wanted to
know what Malik and Jade was talking
about. "Just stay in y'all lane and let
me and Jade handle things" getting into
his car Malik pulled off. Malik lived alone
in a one bedroom apartment and drove a
1996 Impala. Malik wasn't a big spender
or
show off. He liked to stay under
everyone's radar. Only a few members of
The Black
Crime Syndicate knew where Malik lived.
Mecca was one of them. So seeing
someone
slumped over on his doorsteps was some
what a surprise. Looking at the figure
Malik could
tell that it was a woman. "Who could this
be?" thought Malik as he got out of his
car.
Malik's brain was racing a hundred miles
per hour. Reaching out his hand to touch
the woman
that's when he noticed bloody money
stuffed into the woman's mouth. "What
the ****?"
Malik's jaw dropped. Looking into the
dead woman's face recognizing who she
was. "Damn
Violet who did this to you?" taking step
back he saw folded paper in Violet's right
hand. Taking the paper out of Violet's
hand and reading it. Malik couldn't
believe
what he was reading. "It's in the best
interest of The Black Crime Syndicate to
stay out
of the escort business. The Green Nation
don't like The Black Crime Syndicate
planting flowers in our flower bed. The
city of
Green Haven is our flower bed.
We had to uproot Violet to show The Black
Crime Syndicate how serious The Green
Nation is. Thank you
and have a nice day".
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka The
Green Poet aka Red Seven aka The Brown
Philosopher
Copyright © keith baucum | Year Posted 2014
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Impala Poem
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Homeboy’s got it going on
Swagger tighter because of the stash of money
Tied in rubber bands underneath his bed
Modern Day Romeo, with hints of Mercutio trailing
Right into my ear, easing honey on my lips
Imprinting his fingers on my thigh
Sliding his soul into mine
Fluent in the language of me
Thinking he’s bad because he’s got me sitting in his 1976 Impala
Spicy Latina Dime with the red dress on
Thinking he’s hot because he has some heat strapped to him
Cold, hard steel sizzling against his skin
Thinking he owns the world
Baby boy you ain’t got nothing
You ain’t got nothing outside of this city
Because by the end of the day your just a tragic hero
In Shakespeare’s play, felt for a moment
Forgotten the next day
Laying in some shallow grave that nobody had the desire to dig
All the way
Remembered vaguely in some sort of calamity
Drowning, death by folly
Stabbed in the heart, poisoned by a friend
Moments like you aren’t hard to come by
Men like you die everyday
Seconds by minutes, gunshots by the hour
His life is slipping through his fingers
Granulated dreams, grains of the hourglass
Flipping and disoriented by the vast
Uselessness of his universe
In the context of it all
He is just a speck of matter
Floating in onyx voids
But in our story, Romeo lives forever
With my hand on his face and lips pressed against
Warmth transported through heated gazes and the most abandoned of touches
Our souls on each others fingertips
He means the world to me
Copyright © Bella Cardenas | Year Posted 2007
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Impala Poem
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Remember all those tea ads with the chimps on?
We’ll prostitute the Prague of Gustav Mahler
and desecrate the divas of La Scala.
Would Bart betray begettor Homer Simpson
(he’s not so much a whoreson as a pimp-son)
to get himself a Chevrolet Impala?
You bet he would. This is the Grab-It Gala.
The cripple pawns the plaster that he limps on.
In Pasadena, Pimlico and Perth,
the only thing we´ll go without is girth.
Where JP Morgan’s played by Colin Firth,
we airbrush self-awareness, muffle mirth,
and drown in plenty, blink at moral dearth.
We're always prizing price-tag, never worth.
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
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Impala Poem
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Dawn knows not of my weary wake
night has never caressed my body's slumber
Do the ruddy Martian winds break for lunch
can you buy crushed ice on Europa
Is an atomic reaction a human tragedy
or just another mysterious spot on the Sun
hmm, have another drink of water
Who's needlessly dying
beneath the suffocating clouds of Venus
would they commit suicide, in a Vesuvius ash, '64 Impala
Next time you see Mercury, steer clear of tomorrow
the table is set, a Red Giant is coming to dinner
If green is the pigment of envy, why is the Earth so very blue
isn't chlorophyll the Color of Money
Shh...don't tell photogenic White Dwarfs
their acting days too, are atomically numbered
Is irony consciously painting, an infinite abyss
or a finite existence, unconsciously as radiant as Saturn's rings
Relevance isn't ignorance, if you never check the clock
time is inevitability, inevitability the universal knock
Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2005
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Impala Poem
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When in the mainland Tanzania I stood,
My eyes lifted up to the mountains,
And cast on the vast beautiful valleys;
When I enjoyed the sweet smell of vanilla,
While walking in the famous bamboo forest;
When I saw the impala leaping majestically,
And the zebra smiling to me in the park-
When gracious birds sang their favorites,
In the natural trees of Mount Mbeya;
I gratefully thought I had seen it all.
But when I visited the island of Zanzibar,
I stood on the sand of the sea shore-
My curious eyes cast on the waters,
As a gentle breeze was softly blowing,
To bring relief and take my exhaustion away.
I saw the mighty water come tide after tide,
And waves crush repeatedly on the beach;
It was a real thrill to be out there!
Oh how I thank God for His majestic creation!
Yes for the hills and the green valleys,
For the tiring mainland and relaxing island.
God is the creator and sustainer of all things!
He made them all; He’s a lover of the beautiful.
Copyright © Christopher Mwashinga | Year Posted 2017
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Impala Poem
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Remember...
Parties in vast, secluded fields,
Bonfires,
Kegs of beer...
Unwitting parents believing we were
God knows where...
Remember...
Your touch so gentle, stroking
My golden brown hair,
Driving me home ~ majorette practice...
The intellectual jock in the souped-up
Dark green Chevy Impala ~ so splendid...
Remember...
Listening to "Sister Golden Hair"..."Daisy Jane"...
Funny how the Night Moves in woods...
With pounding rain...our omen
To hasten home,
My dad waiting...door opened...
Remember...
You walked miles to see me
By my pool wearing but a tiny white
"Do Not Tailgate" string bikini...
Our initial gateway to passion...
I wonder...
Was it love, or simply raging pheromones..........................
Written for Timmy...................
Copyright © Tamiviolet Manchas | Year Posted 2006
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Impala Poem
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Super sexy brothers
Usually chilling in a car,
Particularly a '67 Chevy Impala
Entertaining the ladies and having fun.
Really creepy monsters,
Never doing anything good,
Angels don't even care,
They're too concerned about God being missing.
Usually a character dies
Really, it's like every episode this happens.
At least Sam and Dean don't ever die
Lol, that's a good one
Copyright © Megan Angel | Year Posted 2016
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Impala Poem
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You're like the powdered sugar on top of my funnel cake
The chopped fresh fruits inside my favorite milk shake
The bowling ball candy paint on my Super Sport Impala
The sweet surprise when I bust my piggy bank and find a crisp, folded dollar
The sharp creases in my slacks when I'm dressed to impress
The pardon from the priest after a Catholic confess
The blue ribbon around my neck after a first place victory
The record breaking home run, "baby, you just made history"
The lights around the Big Apple
The crackle sound during a tackle
The Golden Anchors on a yacht
The back arching feeling when I've hit that spot
The "Home Sweet Home" mats at the door after a hard journey far from home
The best Travelocity deal ever presented by the "Roaming Gnome"
The one Golden watch in the case with the Silver chains
The Remedy, not just the anesthesia that cures your aches & pains
The Platinum record on a new, young musician's wall
The Red, Yellow and Orange colored leaves that pleases those in love with Fall,
The crackle of the fireplace on a snowy winter evening
The realization that you've made the right choice after hours of difficult reasoning
The joy of watching your son graduate
The joy of knowing peace after dealing with hate
The 4 to 2 & 2, summed up for a child
The gentle breeze of a summer's eve... Soft, caressing and mild
You're sweet, you're sexy, you're smart, you're fun and you're funny
You're the only bee's hive around for a bear addicted to honey
Like this fiend's latest hit
Summed up, girl YOU are the "ish"
You're hard for me to hate, and easy for me to love
You're more than just amazing. You're all of the above…
Copyright © Marcus Thompson | Year Posted 2010
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Impala Poem
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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!
Copyright © Yuhi Musinga | Year Posted 2018
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Impala Poem
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The nucleus of a pin cushion is akin to the internal mechanisms of a sausage. A big massive drama but don't tell Dalai Lamar and the turtle doves will sing and swing in the breeze. A damsel in distress is a fruit pie filling times ten. Or perhaps twenty? But never pickle a grape drop from a left handed swing. Butter melt circumference could stand over a crevasse and stand tall in any glowering wind. But a flowery jacket that tangoes with a nice tiara is a gatepost of which there omits a smell of strawberry flow. Flee frames who arrive in hallways. And chatter no more than five minutes with a towel. Heard hedgerows having heated heaters. Implacable inner impala. And a sixty foot dog woofing to a tree. The tree woofs back for woofs are woods and woods are woofing. Great.fantastic. Circular c I a in a cake clapping. And an itemised phone bill is a book beyond a bongo. Bing bong butt. And a moronic mutton motor going broom broom brum. Fishcakes can be dangerous so put hazard lights on. Merely a fable. A saucepan. And a dish. Meeting. Meringues moving. Hahahaha tea towel trowel. Haha haha xxxxxxx restitutional p y q q yp. Xxxxx horizontally z
Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016
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Impala Poem
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Poached over within my chair crying tears of vulnerability
Mind racing while my thoughts refuse to form
So beautiful she was,
Solid individual disappeard like mist in the mist of hardship
Faith in her character was rewritten
Good music plays throughout the room of a empty house
Feeling as low as an impala below sea level
Drowning for days in a pool of anguish
Was blind to the truth but was rocked abruptly
Eyes wide open ,but not in time
Echoes of "I love you " play thoroughly in my head
Turn the station, I don't like this song anymore ...
Copyright © Jaquay Atkins | Year Posted 2016
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Impala Poem
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That fresh taste of mint,
That reminds me of you.
That gray on a passing Impala,
That reminds me of you.
That song "Love" by Musiq Soulchild,
That reminds me of you.
That little boy laughter,
That reminds me of you.
Those two spots in the Meijer parking lot,
Those remind me of you.
Those two apartments where I work,
Those remind me of you.
I Am Legend,
That reminds me of you.
Ruby Tuesday,
That reminds me of you.
Love
Is you.
Dedicated to a very good friend of mine. Love wasn't the result, but our friendship is worth it
all.
Copyright © Stephanie Whitley | Year Posted 2008
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Impala Poem
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I can stay faithful in a room full of hoes
and I can stay high in this room full of lows
but she want to get wifed by a dude with a ring
so she can't stay faithful in a room full of kings
I let my mind soar just to keep myself grounded
because I know I stand alone even when i sit surrounded
I see my biggest issue and its hard to surmount it
see emotionally I'm broke but my accountant's steady counting
I'm only 20 so I don't need to sip youths fountain
but I guess since I've found it I can sell you a few ounces
once I put the velvet rope up and hire a few bouncers
to see it close up you'll need a better voucher
because my head says to trust but my heart still doubts you
and now that everything is coming out
they all wonder why I never come around
because when I told them i was gunna do it
thats what they all used to laughed about
now they want to gas me up to late for that guys
my engine is self sufficient sorry...nice try
because I don't need millions just a little old school impala money
but its hard to stack up when every time I see a dime they're asking for a dollar from me
and its funny how I went
from weird to special to different
and now all of a sudden it seems like I'm worth a second listen
or maybe just another person of interest?
Copyright © Keyavin Larkin | Year Posted 2011