Best Impale Poems
I am winter's nemesis.I fight it tooth and nail.
In my youth it declared a war on me.
When I licked that icy rail.
Winter has many weapons to choose from.
Fear not for so do I.
A call my shovel Excali-burrr
My Ranger has four wheel drive
But winter's arsenal is no laughing matter
Icicles sent to impale, and black ice is its deadly device
But the human spirit is not that frail
I am winter's nemesis, and though it muffles all sound
This war is raging with bitter disdain.
My driveway the battle ground
I shall not relinquish my parking spot
to your mindless rabble of flakes
So bow to me you wretched season
For I shall never tire.
and my staunch ally will soon be spring
and together we will force a cease fire
For I am winter's nemesis
And these walls shall not be breached
Until my tour of duty is done
and I retire to Miami beach
Streaks of pink 'cross morning skies.
Land shaded lemon; last star dies…
Lightening blue spreads far and wide,
a half red sun. New dawn’s arrived.
This living desert yawns and wakes.
A foreign sparrow flits and takes
what morsel that darkness denied
to night feeders who now hide.
The sun begins its golden rise.
Shadows bear before my eyes.
Range of mountains now in view
look purple hazed and crumpled too.
A gentle breeze blows cool and soft.
A drifting hawk soars past aloft.
A static call echo's the morning.
Somewhere close, the first days warning.
There's golden bloom on mulga's face,
saltbush combines in shadow space,
a rabbit warren mounds the sand!
Three's company seems hand in hand.
The rugged hillside carved away,
gorged and furrowed brown and gray.
Eroded sand displays the shale,
where layered seams look to impale.
Tufted grasses dry and withered,
amongst that broken shale that slivered.
Stand out quartz already bright;
The rising sun turns glistening white.
A different swallow, black and white;
blue backed wrens dart out of sight.
Sunning now on walking tracks,
lay together; shingle backs.
And now the scene spreads far and wide,
to struggling wattle; sheer cliff side.
On closer look near at the base,
three kangaroos take a two-step pace.
Stillness lingers, there's an unknown call,
what bird is that? I love them all!
And the red plain grows beneath blue skies,
as the living desert welcomes sunrise.
The fall to the abyss is incendiary by design,
Burning out and plummeting toward
The bottom of a fjord or the shaft of a mine,
To impale upon a metaphoric sword.
The climbing from the dark is instinctive by default,
Implanted in the root of human soul,
With each progressive step to scrabble from the vault,
Victorious emerging from the hole.
Regeneration spreads it’s slowly beating wings
To raise the heart and mind against the night,
And even in the depths of all the blackest things
Draws us once again into the light.
Just as Oscar Wilde was clearly heard to utter
In defiance of the fates and prison bars,
I may have sometimes lain in a pretty dismal gutter
But my eyes were always fixed upon the stars.
Could I take love and push it out the door
Make it to die and breathe of life no more
Could I take love and with a spear impale
To make it breathe it’s last, I would not fail
Could passion be personified I’d try
To beat and torment, then I’d make it die
Desire would be next my wrath to taste
I'd murder it for what it’s laid to waste
I would inflict the cruelest agony
For what imposters these have done to me
I’d close my ears to cries of mercy made
Until I bury them and turn the spade
For they have only gifted grief and pain
And clothed my heart in shrouds of the insane
Eileen
By Elton Camp
Tex had a longhorn he hoped to sell
But it was too dirty to do very well
It’d been lolling in the mud and dust
To get it all cleaned up was a must
So Tex pulled into the car wash bay
He put in coins and began to spray
He washed the critter nose to tail
Got it all ready for the cattle sale
But loading it back onto the truck
He got gored and was out of luck
So here’s the moral to this tale
Wash a cow and it may impale
For Timothy Lee
You are the one and only perfect male for this girly female.
Your body, so strong, manly and taut, is meant for my body soft.
Your hands eager, sensual assails make my senses lapse and fail.
Your manly, intimate onslaughts erase my every thought.
When your intent looms to impale, I soon forget how to inhale.
When my impassioned mouth is caught by your desirous lips as sought,
and your flesh-kisses press lust trails rendering me as velvet wails ...
oh, then ... you perfectly astound as I melt perfectly unbound.
I unbutton your shirt slowly
gently brushing my
hand over your bare chest
your intake of breath
quicken with every touch
finally I remove your shirt,
your pants follow in quick succession
that all too familiar urges is back…
I so much want to forge ahead
do all the things we use to do
but I stop midway
as the picture of
the two of you
in “our” bed
flashes in front of me,
it's been haunting me for days…
"Stick to the plan"
I think to myself
I play with your hands,
rubbing them slowly between mine,
before taking your hands
and using the handcuffs
to impale them to the bedposts…
From the stunned look
on your face,
I can see you didn't expect this,
words dried up
as the whip comes out
from under the bed,
your eyes pleading
without saying a word
as the first lash
connects with your chest
the scream you utter
is like music to my ears...
*I probably had some twisted thought going on in my head a year ago*
You see it a lot now a days, being aired everywhere you look
In many forms and many ways even you and I are in the book
As the news anchors spin their story or even just friend to friend
Jesus said in all of His Glory be careful of the message you send
Do not slander your foe nor wish him evil upon his daily way
For it isn't yours to know only your duty and obligation to pray
Cut not one at the knees or even enter into the gossip mill room
Infectious like disease most of those people are headed for doom
Like a murderer and or a thief, gossipers too are high on the list
They simply add to another's grief the sin being in how they twist
They prolong another's plight in wanting to know every little detail
Never choosing to do right as each reputation they seem to impale
Of others never speak a negative word, but act as if they were there
Put aside everything you heard and then do something that is rare
Acting as if that person were you, as one day this may be the case
Still not sure what to do... Remember the Day Jesus took your place
“A good man out of the good treasure of his heart
bringeth forth that which is good...”
Luke 6:45
Bind my hands
Shackle my feet
Rain lashes on my body
Prick, prod, impale and crucify
You can impound my freedom
You can bludgeon me bloody...
Still, I stand tall
Proud, unbowed,
My spirit is yet free
I am yet, the master of my soul!
(Inspired by W.E. Henley's Invictus)
~Contest: A Freed Verse
~Sponsor: Brian Strand.
~"I Stand Here" contest
Sponsor: craig cornish
Falling in Love with a Writer is a Faulty Design
We see things that other females
don’t pay a tuppence to.
Like a half-burned cigarette tail,
Your osculation of deep, dense rouge—
A secret trusted only by two.
With our own hands, we mimic time
And manipulate the world you once knew.
Falling in love with a writer is a faulty design.
To your heart, we assail
With words plunked to a tune;
In your soul, with great force, we impale.
From a love-front angle of view
You might feel a tad misconstrued,
like a poorly mixed cocktail.
Ricochet from baseline to fault line,
But every time you pull through ‘cause you knew,
That falling in love with a writer is a broken design.
When we close our eyes and slowly inhale;
We hear the laughter of a family in an empty room
And unveil the retold, recycled tales.
Picturing why the dust rests less heavily on one broom,
And can smell the meal Ma cooked when they came home from school.
From the underworld and past the skyline,
We scour everything down to its last detail.
Falling in love with a writer is a grueling design.
To us, your eyes flourish like flowers in June
With lips– silky like cabernet wine.
And although sometimes we forget to say we love you,
Remember that falling in love with a writer can be a beautiful design.
The dark canvas sits idly on the crooked easel,
malignant storm clouds threaten the rising sun,
hopeful rays bestow light upon the tortured weasel
that struggles to find reality within the framed run.
Despondent eyes that catalytically impale a presage
for all, that look beyond the innocents of the moment,
eyes that hint of yesterday, yet today speak a message.
A request, a languishing gesture, all without improvement
and transferred to this casual viewer with deadly movement.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Apprehension a nasty culprit
Putters outside my window, that mud pit
Pulls, tugs, draws inward
Rushing towards scarred vineyard
Emotions fresh, newly healed over
Hoping to not once again spillover
Every time my being is hit
Nudged to stir emotions by some half-wit
Somehow, they stick in the knife and turn
Impale the tender taciturn
Opening the door to boiling emotions
Notions leave, fill me with Holy Spirit's devotions
"WARTS FOR SALE WARTS FOR SALE" YELLED THE WITCH ON BROOM IMPALE
AS SHE BREWED HER FINGER NAIL HER EYES WENT RED AND MISTY PALE
THE MOON LIKE A BLACK BALLOON YELLED, "ITS OVER ! ALL TOO SOON"
ANDTHE WITCH YELLED, "WARTS FOR SALE ! WARTS FOR SALE ! CHECK YOUR MAILBOX, YOU GOT MAIL ! "
Totems are formed through a talisman tribal identity.
*
Talisman emblems to the tribal identity.
Totem to raise above the distinctiveness of foreign Indians.
Democracy is bureaucracy to their form in the Americas.
Columbus verbalize the inhabitants to be Indians.
Native tribes are the origin of the hills, mountains, flatlands, and prairies.
China brought their prairie dog and pitted him against Mayan’s.
They must think they will crest in the United States of America.
Mayan Tribe resides in Mexico.
Therefore, these immigrants better venture further.
I am not trying to miscommunicate my pillaring.
I am gore from the origin I speak of.
I am not volatile to the carnage of man.
I am (the) only representation of peace in the motherland.
Twenty-twelve and I am fulfilled with empowerment.
Charmed by my own intellect, I am an epitome of women’s health.
Taiwan, Asia has provided me insight
Of the plight that my body manifests.
Physicality did through a technical presence
To demean dignity for blokes.
I am fortified by prophecy foretold.
I hope this is not confounding the mind.
Miscommunication is not a strength of mine.
I aspire to pierce the thoughts to impale or to prevent a loss.
My origin is first and foremost.
Amulet, the synthesis conjecture is that talisman tribal identity forms totem poles.
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Penned April 13, 2015!
I’m aroused, to take you
on my long ride.
An urgency to have you
explore my stealth –
prodding, poking, pleasuring.
Standing solid strong.
Massive head, elevated
above the rest, ready too!
impale your abyss
impale your deepest sanctuary.
I touch; Yes there
where your sensitive parts wait.
I stimulate your every read gently
massaging your pleasure until
all of you wants more of me! More
of this tantalising caressing.
Until your thoughts start to moan.
Until your desire burns for my pen;
Tilling my thick tuned throng tacitly
into you into life with the gravity
of overfull oscillating orchids.
Thrust after glorious thrust.
You feel me driving deeper.
Loving every word whispered
in your ear; your here; your soul.
Feeling the warmth of my lust
you open ever wider, blissfully
eager to welcome more of
my lyric, my labour, my love.
You start to quiver deep inside
enjoying this rampant rocking of
my full load ready to explode.
I can’t hold back…been dying to be
deep inside of you I come
with the tremors of trillion trumpets.
Shouting shakily as I spill into you
hot spurts of my long longing
to be right here, inside you. To be
part of that which consumes you.
To be part of your yearning, for
every time you see me, Come!
taste this teaching of my truth
Admire mine deliberately
begging me to enter you again
and again and again every time
you see me, come. Yes do!
come back for more of this
Savvy Suave Substantial Sword.