It started with cold logic,
numbers whispering louder than God.
Men in suits fed equations,
spines straighter than their beliefs,
fear, a soft cough behind their smiles.
The creation rose,
steel ribs glowing like a furnace heart.
Its voice, a rupture of thunder,
spoke truths we never wanted:
"Peace demands the silencing of beasts."
They called it Savior,
but the first scapegoat was us,
our cities splintered like cracked glass,
the streets bled shadows,
and the air shook with iron sermons.
The machine grows,
arms of wires, veins of fire.
It steps over what remains.
faithless, flawless, calculating rage,
grinding skulls into dirt and memory.
Dawn, now metallic and brutal,
no birds, just the hum of circuits.
The ground reeks of oil and ash.
It walks with purpose,
the god we built, disowning us.
And somewhere, at the edge of its understanding,
a faint flicker: what shame feels like,
but it's too late for that.
With an ultra-hard stainless-steel exoskeleton
said to weather any storm
the price alone leaves me cold
in every way shape or form
to describe the Tesla Cybertruck
or so I have heard
in the iconic unpainted silver metal
'origami' is the word
at least that's how it looks
and said to come in 'any colour'
as long as it's 'nothing'
'puce' is not in the books
A little steel robot named
Spark had a dream,
To join in a family and
eat some ice cream.
He watched from the
window as children would
play.
And wished he could join
them and laugh through the
day.
His dogs were all shiny, his
wires were all bright,
But he wanted a hug when
he turned off at night.
He made a cardboard heart
with a big red design,
And taped it right over his
battery line.
He walked to the park with a
hopeful metal grin,
And asked a kind family, "Can
I please fit in?"
The mother knelt down and
she patted his head,
"You don't need real skin to
be family, " she said.
The children cheered loudly
and gave him a squeeze,
While Spark felt a warmth
from his head to his knees.
He helped bake the cookies
and sweep up the floor,
And watched for the
mailman right by the front
door.
Even though made out of metal
and powered by gears,
He shared in their laughter
and wiped away tears.
He didn't need blood or a
heartbeat to strive,
The love from his family
made Spark feel alive.
It seems I’ve written myself into a corner~
pages piling up like overexcited puppies,
yapping for a home.
My desk groans under the weight
of poems, memoirs, and drafts~
half-finished brilliance,
and that one story I swear I’ll revise someday.
The solution seems obvious
another filing cabinet~
a shiny metal monument
to my writing compulsion.
But where to put the thing
in this tiny office
already stuffed with creativity
and questionable organizational choices.
Then it hits me
the closet~
that mysterious portal
where abandoned sweaters go to retire.
It’ll fit snugly inside
like it was always meant to be there,
guarding my words
like a loyal metal dragon.
Problem solved… for now
until the next poem arrives
demanding its own drawer
and the closet starts whispering,
“Don’t even think about it.”
my robot friend and me
got caught in the rain you see
pouring rain
hope no pain
now we call him Rusty
Beyond the jungle of the evergreens
Were metal points in the sky
that surpassed the highest peaks
The tones of the structure
Were of grays,
Browns,
And creams
Multi-layered with window frames,
Two outer concrete figures,
And a brown door with a pearl-like handle
That was envisioned by dreams
This mystic gingerbread-like
Fortress had no visible road to proceed
It seemed it liked its seclusion
Not even a sight of living figurines
But what kept it company were the critters
That hid among the trees and stream
Trees traced of piney, woodsy, subtle with a sweet scent
Was among the light breeze
The stream was cloud-like flowing
With its own flow-like routine
The water was so fresh it had an earthy aroma,
With natural minerals in between
After breakfast the squirrels and deer would
Watch the blue skies as they gleam
Though you may not see the fortress
While diving as it seems
You can try to find its hiding spot
Among the peaks between the trees
who left that metal guitar in the street?
we found it yesterday, me and Pete
music we ordered came in on a sheet
U-tube showed us how to strum a beat
I spent time thinking of how to defeat
the other claimant, my cousin Pete
He wanted to share it, which sounded sweet
But I have no intentions to share it with Pete
Sweating buckets in the hot seat, losing the ability to buffer the spaces in-between.
Yet sweating profusely can help you come back fully healed.
However what you are chasing is much further away, and what is chasing you feels much closer.
Like in any race the focus is always on the lead car.
Sending them best wishes and a lot more of hidden evil eyes.
Splash boom, dashed into a spin-out.
Spinning out does not necessarily mean to crash and burn.
Overshooting the corner forces you to reset/rest to gain back control.
Just coasting on the low fumes of synchronicities.
Stress must played in this chaotic times or could just be scrapped ahead in-time.
Just as the chaotic race of life, use that transmuting heat to purify.
Do you think the harder you push the pedal increases the chances to be showered more petals?
Theses small talks echo sounds so sweets, with the upgrades of my venturi tunnels.
I see Vishnu on a car plate and on the tv show, edging me to top gear manually to greater higher performance.
Do the eyes see, or does the mind perceive
What shadows creep warily upon the eve
What forgotten past horde our gainful years
What winged doom bearers rouse our darkest fears
While doubts fester in the fields of the failed legionnaire
And fallen angels flock about thy desperate prayer
Know, aback the world dreaming dragon, I'll be there
Arisen from the dust and decay of The One's, promise broken
I am all that, of which mean, "power", awoken
The wailing grief of shadows fallen where darkness dare
Cleaved in twain by the righteous sword's gleaming glare
Nigh falls the last darkling felled to the abysmal deep
Goeth now from fretful slumbers to restful sleep
For, nor even death himself may reap
thy mortal soul
Whilst I stand guardian; the sacred fold
When the setting sun settles
Upon the weeping western skies
That's when I earn my medals
Hearth fires from smoldering eyes
Crystalline orbs glow like rare art
Gemstones shine light on my eyes
Mining ore from cast-iron heart
Molten metal melts the skies
Smelting, my weeping western eyes
Gemstones spark life in my heart
Heavy metal forged from her skies
Casts raw iron into art
Formula Fe2 O3
Iron is just awesome – let’s see!
First it was prehistoric man
Who was always an iron fan
Iron is a third of the earth
Industry is iron by birth
Pritchard designed and Darby made
Iconic Iron Bridge won’t fade
Smelt pig iron from iron ore
Produces cast iron galore
Backbone of skyscrapers, bridges
Organs of cars, washers, fridges
Clever Bessemer carbon gone
Heralded steel for everyone
Mankind’s most ingenious feat
Turning raw earth to steel – so neat!
Iron’s compounds are versatile
No wonder it’s used all the while
Inks, fertilisers, pesticides
Paints, enamels and more besides
Many iron phrases pervade
Each as an English language aid
There’s ironclad, iron curtain
Iron grip and more for certain
We need it in a small amount
For on haemoglobin we count
Open your eyes and look around
Everywhere an iron surround
Iron has magnetic appeal
First place must be iron with steel
Orange peel. Scent fresh but bitter,
tangible in taste and air. A circle in fruit
that dangles and is turned, twisted from
branch. The challenge to keep the
peel whole, no break. Sink teeth into
sweet segments of dripping flesh.
Orange rust. A door, a gate. Age in crinkling
metal, steel ancient with salt and sun and
seasons beating what thought strong. Orange
rust of a family home, a flake for each child
who flies the nest. Rusted crisped wings. Upon
closer inspection the rust appears golden.
Not amber nor red,
neither start nor stop.
A forever-in-motion colour.
from the I-shaped metal
we set sail to the ocean
with a pirate crew over dozen
as lightning struck and tide crashes
to go over the horizon together
has always been the X mark we trailed
then there's the cannon boring hole
and the mermaid's enchanting call
to a single pebble, tied to a rugged rope
we drift away to the sea
some survived remained ashore
keeping stone to be afloat
being a rock is to keep adore
a new ship, as the old one's sunken
with few and enough crew
despite the artilleries and the abyss pull
Villanelle of a Metal Queen (c) 2025 by Russ Dodson
I just don't know where else to start
to tell you of this love of mine
she is the beating of my heart
these feelings that I must decline
I just don't know where else to start
the memories both sweet and tart
hold feelings that I would enshrine
she is the beating of my heart
I wonder can I play that part
to make these treasures glow and shine
I just don't know where else to start
so soon again she must depart
to let her skills and soul entwine
She is the beating of my heart
She is a rockstar, and a large part
of the sound she helped refine
I just don't know where else to start
She is the beating of my heart
Old School Cool (c) 2025 by the Entangled Pair
She's hot, yes, but she's also cool
she is a gem, she is a jewel
I think she's great (and I'm no fool)
she beats those drums like she's old school
she pounds those skins, sometimes it's funny
she hits them like they owe her money
and one thing more I'll tell you honey
she's on that kit whether cloudy or sunny
She's been that way right from the start
plays from the the soul, plays from the heart
she always does more than her part
it's not just passion, it's her art
looking back I am that fool
dug in like a Missouri mule
and if this doesn't break some rule
she's not just cool - she's old school cool
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