Rusted Poems | Examples

Autumn Lingers

autumn lingers unfinished
though cold drops november 
rain and waits undiminished
'til native summer sun remembers
what could unmake
when days full ache
bloom autumn colors
quick winter all borders
golds greens yellows 
reds purples browns
a rusted rainbow frowns
as leaves scoot over meadows
fallen from mountain forest
after fields have given harvest
a father of one teaches his son. 
chase catching leaves for fun
they twist turn swivel pirouette
lunge leap slide slice 'til earth is whet
while boy staggers with arms stretched 
missing while dad knows misdirect fetched
two and three leaves while son fustrated
cries to quit but egged on infuriated
at last by chance or by  experience
claps and traps one in victory dance
Copyright © Cornelius Brantley | Year Posted 2024

RUSTED MILES

An ominous trail
in their dark ashes—
each ellipsis
hid a treacherous bend.
I feel the camper’s
hollow rattle
between cracked ribs
that won’t quite mend.

Not their youth,
but mine—
still burning
in oil-smoke haze
too thick to see.
Torn nights
of endless yearning—
a senseless chase
I couldn’t face,
and wouldn’t flee.

Would the dust
of reckless trysts
still stir—
and burn again?
Would my reading
turn to riding
that soulless path,
the camper’s sin?

The snare of wishing
for what’s long missing—
new campgrounds,
starlit nights...

But on that road,
the rain keeps falling—
and all that’s left
are rusted rites.

- An echo to a friend's "Road Trip"

Life in a Jar

Life in a Jar

I’d like to find a special jar
To put aside some life,
A jar that keeps both face and form,
And stints the scourge of change.

I’d put therein, a rusted leaf, 
Or summer’s one perhaps,
To always have the seasons at
The twisting of a wrist. 

I’d put therein, my true love’s kiss, 
To always know its taste.
And next to that a snapshot of
The world within her eyes. 

I’d also save, encased therein,
First cries out to the world;
Of lives conceived through gifted love,  
And feeling newly born.

I’d store away the vistas of
Grand aspects, earthly borne,
And let them burn through fired glass
From every lay of land. 

Then I would not be far from life,
From where I cannot see.
No, I prefer to keep it fresh
For morning’s light, through glass.

It’s change that writes the script of life
And fleshes out the page. 
While time is just a numbered pause
Without a story told.

This Rusted Bed of Nails

I'm feeling judged still by what jury's found cold; in the courts of February
Tried to hide 'til July; warm feelings are just not meant to be temporary
I count my curses on one hand and my blessings on the other
Whichever fills up first; the latter will assuredly smother
The shadows always seem to know that light exposes the darkest holes
You can't get over it or crawl out from under it; within me no angel controls
But I'm willing to watch over you mimicking their heavenly roles
With its gift, I provocatively compose about the most wishful goals
Laying on this rusted bed of nails; made with the hammer of trite
In love, if there wasn't profound real pain, would it ever feel quite right?

Creaky floors rusted gates at your feet the fallen's fate

The Creators brush in the stream of Ocean waves
Painting with feeling and shading with inner thought 
Inventing a life a moment of escape
Swimming towards an open gate 
A trigger with a conscience 
A finger on a dime in somebody's tore pocket 
What is saved at the end of the day without the skill of care.
Losing a life lost in disaster
Living to prove the glistening of diamonds 
Who's shine a reflection of the dream to be left in peace
Diamonds made from the tears off every shooting star
Screams kept in silent smothered jars trapped by ocean waves 
Released by moonstruck tides smashing the fallen day
They say apply yourself to a civilization that needs to dream
Pick up those who have fallen along the path as they are the hinges fallen from that rusted gate

My Shiny Rusted Face

I thought it must be Squeaky Clean 
The World I Shined for All To See
My Truth a Lie of base Identity:
I’d scraped off all the Ugly Parts,
Burned out both the moles and warts.
I bleached my Soul; 
I bleached my Hair;
The smallest effort never spared.
I took comfort that you Envied Me,
For once you thought you glimpsed in me 
Something; All I sought to seek,
Willing to Not Seek a Thing.
If I could only Feel Again,
No Lengths Too Far I’d Go
To Steal Your Trust:
I’ll Sell You Gold
And Leave You Rust.

Rusted Autumn

Full of looming fruit
The black wind whispers
the children lived blithely
yonder in blue cave
The silent river protrudes
by the forked road
where the seagrass grows

The seagull mutely follows
jaded in evening sun
old church bells whisper chimes
Coolness and Autumn play in lonely chambers
Sacred blue chimes in plaid footsteps

The rusted window rattles
to the graveyard on the hill
The legends are foretold
twig like, the people remember
the dark ember days of spring

Rusted Bowls-

~all that is gleaned seldom shines as rusted is the brass bowl~

                                   7/25/22
                                  written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022

Rusted Frame

I was blind eager.
sad. to drape myself with you.  
your rust stains my frame.

An Ugly, Rusted and Broken Machine

the economic health 
of the stock market
is the not the same 
as the economic, psychological 
or physical health of the poor
or a nation. 
the comparison 
is like creating an attractive outer cover
over an ugly, rusted  and broken machine

Roasted Chickens, Rusted Spanners

Africa, why are you excited so much
with roasted chicken you get each year
coming to you from foreign poultry farms
Can they lay eggs that can hatch, multiply?

Africans, why are you excited so much
with rusted spanners you sign for each season
coming in to build grass-thatched huts
Can they build industrial complexes in Africa?

Africans, why are you excited so much,
with expertise you invite for every project,
coming in waves of hawkers, advisers?
Can they build independent African economy?

Roasted chicken, rusted spanners are exciting
to Africa with eyes covered by fogs and mists

The Rusted Gate

The Rusted Gate

The lock to the old rusted gate is finally opened, but it’s too late.

Heidi Sands

Rusted Gate

Gray rusted gate is the gateway to the house when two souls live forever
















November 9, 2016

The Rusted Gate

I still hear my little sis, standing by the rusted gate, "Wait, wait for me,Roy"

For contest One, One Liner - The Rusted Gate
11/9/16

The Rusted Gate

For all the gates you build with traditions and inhibitions, change rusts each and every one of them, eventually.









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Date of Publication: 11 / 09 / 2016
Contest: One-Liner - The Rusted Gate
Sponsor: Rick Parise

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