Rust Poems

Trust Today

the word trust contains
its own form of corrosion
—a steadfast decay

Orange

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

Rust

I am a ruined house 
With a rusty fence,
So many phantoms reside resting recklessly,
A clock on the mantelpiece that won't work.  It's stuck staring at me,
Tick………,
The wallpaper is crumbling and fading away like my miserable memories. 
It doesn't seem real even though it is. 
Dreamy, dreary , dread , dead. 
But the fire is

Hook, Line And Sinker

Broad in the beam
not much of a looker
this crusty rust-bucket
of nuts screws and bolts
is a crabby old hooker
as luck would have it
dolled up trolling for supper
at any port in a storm
she still gives good service
tho' down on her uppers
now showing her years
deep in the scuppers
yet still on the game
fishing by night for a living
not to

The Future of Poetry

ideas that drip 
with nostalgia 
pungent like rust

I wander through the rust of twilight, carrying your name like a bell

I wander through the rust of twilight, carrying your name like a bell melted in a still-throbbing heart
I don't know if I love you or if my pupils just shine under your uncertain and fragile spell
Thoughts flow like glass birds, colliding, shattering, and piecing back together on the retina in a spiral
Sometimes I hide my

Rust and Steel

Caught in the shadow of rust and steel.
I've forgotten my pain but can't seem to feel.
The ground is cold and swallows me whole. 
The sun has gone away and taken my soul.
I look to the past and hunt for the light.
The wind rushes by and kills me with its bite.
The gray and sorrow are too

Maybe We Can Use Electrolysis Instead of Immolation

to free this specter from its host
caught in a body like bear trap
a house made of arms that can't let go
my hearth’s flame is selfish,
unwilling to part with smoke
without separation i will choke
at the memory of a pleasant smog
sewn into the wrists of silver tinged fingers
there is rust in my bloodstream
the wear and tear of

Hungry Hawk

Listen to your heart
think with your mind
before you think you're apart.

Walk through the fields,
get out from the dust
be covered behind the shields,
make sure you don't have any rust.

Wake up free of concerns, 
take your soul for a walk
because there are no returns
for a solitary hungry hawk

Bills Janes and Bobs

In the rust belt loss of work is felt
as industries went overseas..
Bill's, Jane's and Bob's now pining
for jobs to support their families needs.
Good jobs are such a rarity and people here
don't want charity, so send us some good
companies please!

Rust

RUST

I am iron and so strong
An age named after me
From ore I am extracted
Forged then beaten hard
Melted and well tempered
Into long bladed weapons
Or more mundane items
Claiming a successful role
In mankind’s development
Used in major construction
Bridges, chains and towers
Yet, with age and exposed
After years in the sultry air
I gain a dull reddish layer
As oxygen and I are

Trust

How many men can you trust
And over time it won’t rust:
In their presence drop money
And nothing of the funny?
Mention a killer disease
And they won’t the stuff release:
From them ask and receive loan
And they would leave you alone,
Not soon try your line on phone
And their new calls a stretched moan?

How many blokes might you trust
And to

Pirate's Sword

A pirate sailed into the Spanish bay
his luck just kept getting better that day
	“My sword has rusted
	I need it dusted.”
Aurora, the young barmaid, shouted “Ole!”

Rust

There are many avenues
pursue what you love.
And from many to choose
consider that a plus.
On your path through
Do as you must.
Form your own views
and pursue those you love.
Thus, most anything
is Better than Rust.

Sun Dried Rain

Sun-Dried Rain
David J Walker

Following the path of 
Southwest winds 

Carving canyons  
Starving clouds and land alike

Making sand of topsoil
As pilgrims pray for rain

staking a claim in blowing dust
In bilingual refrains 

of long missed moisture 
and drying rust 

Sun-dried children cleansed and swaying
on backyard clothes lines 

dying for a drop 
of Sun-Dried rain

Who will be

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