Impaling Poems | Examples

Canyon of Emotions

Depression is a canyon—deep, wide, and rugged.
It has a top; it has a bottom.
But there is a rocket that plummets to its depths,
With only a slow and arduous build to the top.

The canyon has an oasis,
But it is infested with arsenic.
A bright pink flower glows atop a cactus.
The glowing touch is beautiful,
But its needles are sharp—impaling, lingering.
Pain freezes time long after the touch is gone.

Sometimes, a visitor comes to the canyon
Not realizing the rocket ride they took,
Descending to the bottom.
Other times, a visitor falls
From their lofty perch—
Looking over and judging those inside.

Mirages of lifelines waver in the distance.
A ladder leans along the canyon wall,
But it does not begin to climb out of the hole—
It is only there to offer false hope.

Be careful around the edges.
They are more slippery than the imagination.
The edges shift, rotate,
Taunt and tease.
Be careful around the edges—
Because you never know
Exactly how deep the canyon is
Until you fall inside.

A Job of Patience

You said you love me, but you acted
As if you’re not; you were so sweet
But then inversely reacted:
Without a word you cancelled me.
It came to me out of the blue
What might have happen to upset
A person that is loving you
Who’s more obedient than your pet
Its well established now, to cancel
A common form of disrespect 
And it can cause a circumstantial
Or quite substantial effect 
For what, my love? How can it be?
A string of questions goes, impaling
My poor mind, and I can’t see
A reason for this ethics, failing
To understand an awful truth
If I’ve become your job of patience 
A luggage bag you dreamt to lose
Somewhere at the railway station.

Impaling Our Psyches

Hiding in daylight
concealing his teeth
Flying at night
in flocks of deceit
When fortune demands it
he says he’s a bird
When birds are in season
a flittermouse heard
He courses the difference 
of right into wrong
Impaling our psyches
— with fears to prolong

(The University Of Pennsylvania: January, 2024)

Nature

Presumptuous to think
that all should be subject
to man’s will – We highest
on the Pecking Order! Till
nature shouts her feminine trill,
has her monarch fill, clawing
back, with undressing wind,
voluminous waves, and
impaling chill -- 

For no man can command
the summer’s end,
nor the fall’s exact rate of exchange

though we give such cycles a day
Mother will have her own whimsical
way, reminding us, that she is forever
wild and free...seeming a season abrupt
or a never-ending frosting eternity….

Frozen Tears

A world viewed through cold eyes creates
frozen tears & hardened emotions
Going through the motions only solidifies
the pain as salty feelings
cut like ice sickles impaling warm veins
These feelings bleed out into the 
streets of our minds that were constructed
upon old structures & paradigms in vain
At times I feign ignorance of these
false foundations because ignorance
is bliss
knowing burying my head in the 
sand could be hit or miss
No one is at home in this batters box
& it would be remiss of me to not
mention this paradox
The glass half empty view if full
of contradictions no one wants
to see through
& in a world viewed through cold eyes
tears are frozen before they've
had a chance to cry
Dry ice falls & shatters leaving
you to pick up the pieces
as if gathering your emotions
isn't hard enough in this season

The Optimist Sailor

Out at sea for so long I fear my sanity's failing
Like pirates of old, trust in my vision curtailing
Are mermaids waving there or tails of whales flailing
Perhaps a mirage is where I seem to be sailing
Yet my great love for the sea is still prevailing
I close my eyes and lean forward over the railing
Breathe misty ocean air in, inhaling, exhaling
The unknown lies ahead with regrets behind trailing
My sailboat silhouette in the horizon impaling
Rocking to and fro over waves that I'm scaling
Through sun and storms, through raining and hailing
Smiling to stay afloat, with a bucket, keep bailing
When water came in I'm still singing, not wailing
Whatever happens now, this sure cured what was ailing


July 25, 2022
Sailing poetry contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward

Failing Then Unveiling and Impaling

Trump always failing
had been Biden unveiling
after that impaling

Make America American

am a veteran
make America American again
allow immigrants in

God created realm
with our sins would overwhelm
took control of helm

are those who ignores
others do wear masks indoors
or when inside stores

soon my twilight nears
you should see all of my tears
they had killed my steers

problem have to face
spent my money in one place
with much style and grace

had broken our backs
should stop disease in its tracks
we must face the facts

had a broken heart
was killed and left in a cart
did use a poison dart

Last Feather

The arrow of time,
fired over and over

Piercing our consciousness,
impaling our fear

Our bow staying drawn,
till the quiver is empty

Last feather to soar
—on eternity strung

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2020)

Dictum of Insanity

On par to manage joyful course
Approach to live without remorse
While dictums of insanity
Are grinding spars impaling me

Perchance to light upon derail
The most melodic harmony
The rest express to no avail
Irrelevant profanity

Experience of life prevails
Experience no sailing smooth
Pause to enjoy a hilltop fair
The valley comes, despair resumes

Impaled

and again it stabs, a flickering flash
like Macbeth’s floating dagger:
invisible, hallucination, a silent pain.

Like a nettle, a rose’s thorn,
it twists and curdles into rotten barbed wire.

It rests in your pockets
sits in your palm,
it vibrates on our tables
and jolts us from an already fitful sleep.

Influencing ones and zeros 
flood over bodies and seep into conversations,
ooze across self-worth and cover mirrors -

slow and unnoticed, impaling a society turned statue
by an intangibly weighted media.

Fatality of Truth

Words come to a point
  like the tip of a spear

Embedding the truth
  —impaling your fear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)

December's Walls

As time doth flee like shadow into night
Though quietly, as stubborn as a steed
Which hath not met awareness to its plight
Those heels whose speed shan't yield unto the thief
November knows the bell doth certain toll
Sans stale emotion for the passing fair
Though brides of spring may tarry 'long the road
December's walls lay waste the ill-prepared
Yet preparation merely steels the gaze
For that which breathes to live can ne'er assail
And bars of iron or delicate crochets
Canst not forestall the lifting of the veil
The agony assuaged by false pretense
Enables the impaling to commence

Blood and Fire

I'd never drawn a breath until I'd seen

          A tremble of the black moon in your eye,

The next was taken by the impish glean

That bared your heinous soul,

          Fierce flames of piceous coal ...

                    To kindle with my core, your object, sly.


Gone, my will, the instant that you spoke -

          My blood, as molten metal with each word,

                    That wanton beast within that you awoke

                    Now scorching with its cause,

          And impaling, deep, its claws ...

The flesh 'tween bad and good ... now aptly blurred.




~ 6th Place ~  in the "Premiere Number 150 Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Rhyme Time 3" Poetry Contest, Laura Loo, Sponsor. I enjoy your contests very much, and I hope you keep having them!

Morgan Harper Knavery

Once a boy now a man
                            Morgan Harper Knavery had a plan
                       To be the first officer in an all girls band
                                        Musically thinking
                                          Began drinking
                        His risqué coarse obscene informal blue
                         Ribald  improper, naughty and so lewd
                              Quietly described by first avenue
                                Now a womanizing flute player
                          And the woman found him nay-slayer
                                 So they gathered to conspire
                                  To dismiss him by the hour
                           By impaling him so he would expire
               A stupid murder fell on his flute while taking a shower
              Alas the senseless murder of this bandmate womanizer
             The murder death of womanizer Morgan Harper Knavery


4/17/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.

This Thing Upon You

We shuffle through the gorse tunnel,
Harsh underworld of impaling thorns.
The reek of alcohol is rising from your back 
Like steam that twists entangling my thoughts
With gut twisting clarity and certainty that
This things is upon you, 
this dark thing.

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