Best Steampunk Poems
If I was part machine, a steampunk woman, or a steampunk dog, or a steampunk cat,
I would choose to have a machine heart, so I could be less soft.
So my feelings would not get hurt so easily, so I could
Stop crying inside when people get mean and mad,
Or a tsunami kills a bunch of innocents.
I would also choose machine eyes – big round soft brown ones,
Because of the floaties I have in my older green and hazel eyes.
Floaties could not get into steampunk eyes, right?
I would choose bendable, new steampunk machine knees.
They would jump and summersault and do cartwheels and
Other stuff I can no longer do after tearing my ACL and
Meniscus which never got fixed, because it happened
At work and Workman’s Comp told me at my age,
Surgery would not be smart.
They would call me Steampunk Annie, and I would
Run up and down alleys, saving people from the robbers,
And the drug pushers, and I would kick the drug pushers
In their petootsies and make them cry
Because they would not have steampunk eyes
Or anything. I would rock the Steampunk
World with sass and vim, and be
The super hero I know I can be!
The gaseous state of the incensed Chinese’s
A tall gothic black, steampunk top hat,
Hung from a hook by her bed,
Hung in the gloom, of her velvet black room,
After spending the day on her head,
And it was covered in gears from a motorised clock,
Goggles, a strap, and a feather,
Made with a fantastic Victorian design,
Made out of a toughened black leather,
This beautiful hat, matched her lifestyle of free,
She knew her hat was admired,
She knew her black hat held a powerful seat,
She knew her black hat had inspired,
Many folks bored with modern designs,
Her hat had a certain appeal,
It appealed against indifferent cyber filled space,
It appealed to asymmetrical real.
It is a steampunk wedding, Great-Grandpa, his grandson said.
He had no idea what that meant but found out right away.
It is like Jules Verne’s 20, 000 Leagues under the Sea has come alive!
He could not have been more thrilled if he had thought of it himself.
His copper cane with the fancy parrot was a “hit” with the young.
You should come over and see my clawfoot table, he told them.
He had been steampunk all along but did not know it.
Excited steampunk creators
Designing in dastardly studios and attics
Working with fascinating gears and copper levers
A whole new world envisioned in a collective remembrance
Jules Verne watches from his heavenly seat and smiles
Admiring his octopus box from 1869.
Sheestah was the original Steampunk Peddler woman who could.
She wandered Kansas prairies in 1873 like no female ever should.
She was an inventor, an artist, a cartoonist, and worst….
She did not do any cooking or cleaning or carry a common purse
She wore a pirate’s outfit, and she had a pirate kind of ugly buggly bird.
She sold ideas to other women which men considered rather absurd.
Sheestah talked them into trying to get the vote for their kind of course.
She got tossed out of towns for not riding in a cart or with a horse.
She is the oddest, weirdest excuse for a woman we have ever seen!
Said the jealous men who were angry her contraption ran on steam.
She invented it herself! They cried out, angry as all get out.
Some went home and put their lips out in a giant “little boy” pout.
Sheestah heard the rumors and she laughed all the way to the bank.
Her inventions brought in so much money; she had herself to thank.
She was an independent woman, a philanthropist, a thinker, tis true.
I would have loved to have known her. How about you?
What kind of fish are you? The curious girl asked the mechanical bass.
We are steampunk fish, the bass replied, thinking the question crass.
When I think steampunk I think metallic, silver, gold and copper said the girl.
Aren’t you the inquisitor, said the steampunk fish, with his lip in a curl.
I can assure you he is a steampunk fish said another fish swimming by.
I know because we were designed by the same maniacal weird guy.
He did not understand that steampunk has specific colors I guess.
These pastels are irritating and grating to me also, I must confess.
Steampunk mouse had a suit of gears and copper to admire
A fine specimen, great soldier, he had been the king’s squire
But now he was a stylish gentle-mouse, dare he attempt to go higher?
I could become general, he thought, the consequences dire.
Not that, said his mother, to her firstborn son, MacIntire.
I want you to be safe, stay home, sit down near the fire.
Mothers are all the same, he thought, they want you to retire.
But his ambitions were enormous, this steampunk mouse MacIntire.
Steampunk bunny was not sure his outfit was fine.
He thought it was mediocre and soon began to whine.
You are more than okay, he was reassured by a bee.
No one is any more aerodynamically steampunk than me.
What do you mean? Bunny asked the flying machine.
Look at these wings, they are short, not long, wide or lean.
Technically I should not even be able to fly, steampunk bee said.
But I have been flying since birth and will do so until dead.
Can faeries be steampunk? The young designer asked.
I do not see why, said a mechanical man, unmasked.
She came to the next convention in Cosmo play.
Which blew the rest of us clean away.
She is the most magnificent steampunk faerie we’ve seen.
She exudes mystical magic like a steampunk moonbeam.
We now follow her around; she leads all of our parades.
Just a young girl with an imagination from the everglades.
Steampunk Cat name of Charlie Boo
Thought his vices were mystery to Sue
Brought her violets in hue of blue
For it was she that Charlie wanted to woo
Sue was a savvy feline, with a keen open mind
She knew that many made fun of Charlie, which was not kind
Decided to give him a chance, for he might be a sweet find.
They were soon running to the altar, their pledges to bind.
The door opened and in slinked a persnickety cat with a pout.
She said “Charlie Boo, what to do you think you’re about?
Charlie Boo gave a whimper, a shriek and a blood gushing shout.
He was already married, you see – the big, bigamist lout.
She decided to gift me something done in steampunk.
I was thinking owl, cat, dog, or perhaps dragon or hat.
It will be earrings, a pin or a pendant, she told me.
Don’t ruin the surprise, I told her.
She gave me a gorgeous steampunk cicada.
I would have never guessed this would be my present.
I had never had a cicada, but I liked this one instantly.
She knew me better than I knew myself.
Clock work spiders are climbing up my wall ‘sticking in their nasty pins so none of them will fall,
As one of them lifts her leg and begins to spin her steel ,
another scurries closer and strums it with its heel .
wide eyed and terror struck i remembered going to bed ,
then the clever thought occurs to me
‘just test it and bang your head .
Nope I’m none the wiser ‘now definitely wide awake the mechanical spiders play too me as none of this is fake .
Dozens of them are present now ‘all shine with a metallic grace
‘ but why my room I ask myself
‘why now and why in this place ?
Segmented shining carapace’s ‘move slowly in the gloom ‘
their steel strung out of different lengths
‘lends melodics to the tune .
Tiny keys are turning that adds motion to their gears
‘the thought of what the hell’s going on ‘l
‘nearly bringing me too tears .
Should I Trust theses clockwork spiders ‘
when will their playing End ?
‘who sent them too late night serenade me
‘was it enemy or a trusted friend?
This picking arachnid blue grass
‘ was really something to see
‘terror was starting to subside ,
I was tapping gleefully.
Please don’t climb down from the wall’s
‘keep playing this wicked tune
‘if could just reach my trusted harmonica
‘I’ll join you really soon.
So there I was sat up in bed
‘the spiders kept their beat ‘
it was now time for my solo ‘ I’d better make this sweet.
scratching approval from these arachnid bots
‘was what my piece had gained
’this was becoming awesome ,this could lead to fame.
Then one by one they began to fall,
‘softly on on my bed
‘ the lack inertia for their key winding
’had ended the music dead .
No ‘I called out in grief there’s a lot more we can play ,
‘please reinstate your innerspring’s and carry on that old country way .
But the lifeless eight legged metals ‘lay still and didn’t move ‘
the time had come ‘we’d had our fun ‘
that was the conclusion of our groove .
Where had these spiders come from and how did they know too play
‘I’ll never forget their music ‘
I’ll never forget this day .
Steampunk Cat had some weird feelings in his head.
They clanged around against metal, filled him with dread.
Something is happening, he told his Uncle Tom Stead.
I feel a storm is coming, that might make us dead.
Tom was a cagey old codger, all curiosity gone.
He rolled over sleepily on the couch he was on.
Steampunk has made you suspicious he told his nephew.
Even if a tornado comes, it probably will not get you.
Steampunk Cat did not know what to make of this.
He rolled his eyes merrily and blew his uncle a kiss.
His uncle never got stressed or excited anymore, he was old.
His advice was sage however, incredibly gold.
In cogs and gears, her heart does beat,
A clockwork girl, both strange and sweet.
Her eyes, like polished brass, aglow,
Reflect the time, the world below.
With gears that click and springs that chime,
She measures moments, day and time.
A copper bodice, sleek and tight,
Holds secrets in the fading light.
Her hands, of bronze, a delicate dance,
Point to the hours, a fleeting glance.
A winding key, a silver thread,
Keeps her ticking, unsaid, unled.
Amidst the steam and smoke-filled air,
A whisper of her presence, rare.
The city's pulse, she knows it well,
Her clockwork heart, a silent spell.
But in her gaze, a sadness hides,
A yearning for the world outside.
To feel the warmth, the human touch,
Beyond the gears, beyond the clutch.
For though she runs, on time's own whim,
A part of her, forever dim,
Yearns for a soul, a beating heart,
To break free, from the clockwork art.