Stainless Poems | Examples

The Passing

The vet had been sympathetic in his demeanour
as I gently placed my beloved Shih Zhu
on the sterile stainless-steel table amongst the fumes of disinfectant.
My emotional support pet was shivering uncontrollably with fear.
It took him two days to pass away peacefully.

He was two days in passing—reluctant to give up the good fight—
brave as always when I had supported him during past emergencies.
Life is not lived in a sterile environment—perfumed with expectations—
at times my Shih Zhu had tested my love for him with his antics.
The vet had been clinically detached in his assessment as I hid my fears.

ALLUSIONS OF A VANISHED NOW

ALLUSIONS OF A VANISHED NOW*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
stainless-steel womb
welded shut, 
buried beneath the oak's gnarled roots,
remnants given to the earth.

allusions of a vanished now~
faded sepia photographs,
a girl's clumsy drawing of herself,
a compact disc, its molded plastic brittle,
a mix of forgotten summer love songs.

headlines tell of wars, violence, and bloodshed 
tidings of momentary joys~
the scent of potpourri, a best-selling book, 
a poem scribbled on frangible parchment,
a smooth, grey river rock,
pocketed on some long-ago walk
treasured remembrances.

When unearthed decades from now,
will future inquirers understand
the echoes,
the desires, 
the fears, 
the loves,
invisibly etched in these ordinary relics?

Will they see us in the dust motes dancing
in the beam of their curious light?
Or will it all just be
a mysterious puzzle,
a murmur,
quickly forgotten,
returned to the earth's clutches?

*Note: Poem published 6/27/2025 then deleted; (Poetrysoup.com/poem/allusions_of_a_vanished_now_1737437) This is my original pom

Can you hear me now?

Amtrak with equipment’s endowed
Each car comes with stainless steel shroud
Yet my quiet ride
Was sadly denied
By announcement volumes too loud

have you ever

Have you ever tried choking? He asked nonchalantly.
“No,” she said. *with a wrinkled nose of disapproval*

“Want to try it?” *His approach couldn't hide his excitement* 
“Ok,” she said, absent mindedly running her index finger over his lips.

“you  can  choke  me,” she added slowly,
 “if I can stab you repeatedly
 with the 7 inch stainless steel
 nail-file I keep under my pillow.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin
Better By Myself by Hey Violet

Warm smiles all around

You and your nameless vows
Shrouded in a fog
under a snowy cliff

Cut and dissolved
under the fog
shrouded in a blanket of snow

Stainless white 
Clothes of deceit
Wed to a hanging fruit

Cut and dissolved
under the weight of the wind
Shrouded in a blanket of lies.

King of Clowns

You laughed too hard in 1996/
Thought I'd trip and stay down for kicks/
But I climbed back up, twice the size/
Now I shred, watch the sparks fly/
My drummer joked, said guitars are lame/
Left him roadside, questioning fame/ 
Why does a guitar need a case, he asked/
To contain its stringed up past/
Steel strings bend, the pick obeys/
My solos melt minds in dazzling rays/
You call it noise; I call it fate/
Crowds roar, my riffs attack/
Like a clown with a vengeance strapped to his back/
Why did the guitar cross the road/
To escape tuning abuse overload/
Strumming stainless, lyrics sharp/
Every chord bite, every note barks/
What's a guitarist least favorite job/
A fretting accountant, stuck in a fog/
Clowns don't cry, we shred and slay/
This guitar doesn't play, it dictates the day/
Why did the guitar get detention in class/
It couldn't stop playing tricks so crass/
Now I roll into your town, no disguise/
My solos make statues blink their eyes/
One last joke before I'm done/
Why don't guitars ever tell lies/
Because their strings keep them strung/

I Know Why

I know why you follow him. 

Dolls can never admit a rough and tumble 
bad boy is what they want. In your stainless
 steel world? There is no room for graffiti.  
It simply isn’t okay for something to feel so 
deliciously dirty. I promise you, I get it. 

I know why you follow him.

Dolls never want the ones who are polished. 
Until they are cracked in half by the guys
 with unholy rough edges. Even then?
 Nothing else but their blood can fill the 
cracks. It’s a hell of a glitch of the mind. 

I know why you follow him. 

Baby doll, stalking is so much fun isn’t it? 
Just imagine finding one exactly like him.
Honesty will lead you to the promise land.
But you’re content with a cuss and crush 
session every time you read his poetry. 

I know why you follow him. 

Dolls get addicted to a fantasy so fast.
It’s a living breathing romance novel. 
Will he? Could he? Does he really like that?
A twin flame and he’s so safely away. 
But you get with his head every single day. 

Baby doll I know why you follow him
because I follow him too.

The Colour of Love

So, what more can I do for you?
He was honest, he was clear,
Yet the response felt distant,
And I asked myself—

"If it's love, I cannot force it.
If it's wealth, I have a job.
If it's life, it will surely end.
Maybe you can't help at all.

"For my soul is lost in echoes,
My mind, a sky heavy with storms.
My heart—shattered into puzzle pieces.
Maybe I just needed love.

"But love had built these ruins.
A simple smile, bright with promise,
Yet I was blind to its lesson—
The colours of gold, silver, and coal.

"How they all gleam in the right light,
How one shade can strip me bare.
It started with a question—
How do you explain gold to the blind?

"Perhaps love, too, is blind.
I was yet to answer, yet already mistaken—
Calling silver golden,
Holding stainless steel to my chest, waiting for it to stop my heart."

"I'm sorry, you need a therapist,"
The old man said.
I was only thinking aloud—
But in that moment, I found my answer.

Dead Am I

Dead I Am

My body on the stainless steel.
They drain my blood out while
pumping life back into in me.
I'm dressed in the latest style.
They make me up like a whore.
I finally look best to please.
Friends never see the corpse.
They only see their memories.

Sacrificial Lamb

Streaks of pallid moonlight  
wash over blood-stained  
burnt umber leaf blight.  
Glistening stainless steel remains  
within wilting noir roses  
and blistered blades of grass.  
Sickening hands shake my repose,  
heart racing, sure to collapse,  
feeling faint.  
A revolting nausea elevates,  
trying to find restraint,  
as madness deregulates.  
A heart separated  
from a lifeless corpse—  
death awaits.  
Flashbacks play like static reports,  
too hard to get a clear picture.  
Splashes of splattered red fill  
spaces in between scriptures.  
Screaming echoes spill,  
dirty visions getting clearer,  
as the sacrificial lamb  
becomes the predator, evaporating fear.  
Fighting for the blade, fingers clammy,  
spinning out of control.  
How could you bring me to this?  
Steel cuts against palms, foretold—  
splatters of crimson spray, don't resist,  
covering fear-filled eyes.  
One last-ditch effort:  
grab the hilt and arise.  
On this deadening night, collect.  
You became Samhain’s sacrifice,  
a feast for the demonic nether, sanctified.

Avadhuta Gita Chapter 1, verses 5 and 6

5. “The essence and the whole of Vedanta is this Knowledge, this supreme Knowledge:
That I am by nature the formless, all-pervasive Self.”

6. “There is no doubt that I am that God who is the Self of all; Pure, indivisible, like the sky.
Naturally stainless.”


Unreal is all that that comes and goes
Beliefs and concepts are thought constructs 
I Am living light in renewal, unending bliss that flows
In the light of absolute truth illusionary ego self-destructs

All that is manifest and formless is singular Self (God) alone
Absolute oneness stands outside of time and space 
When ego recedes true Self comes into its own
Oh hermit, there are no puzzles to lace

another day

mountains tumble
across the horizon 
twisting the last splinters 
of warmth
through heavy hanging 
gray soup 
listless lifeless 
endless sigh
dogs roll over
mown grass
clinking ice 
gentle laughter
fluttering chimes
cool breeze
sweet pungent earth 
enlivens lungs 
ocean cracks 
spills sheets
steams stainless barbeque 
sizzles fire pit 
douses tiki torches
lettuce, tomatoes, chips 
condiments 
march back inside
under the eaves
gulping rare air
until it freezes
behind the window
white pellets pelt
big red umbrella
guarding the feast
burgers melting cheese
buns toasting 
in formation 
lining the grate
storm sweeps over
collective gasp
tables towel off
wet dogs play
music  marries
dinner mirth
dancing flames
lick black velvet
Friday swells
into sleep-in Saturday 
while weaver weaves
another day

Ode to a Pressure Cooker

In my kitchen, there's a treasure,
scrumptious dinner, it helps me prepare.
Under pressure it combines flavors,
Serves proudly, mouthwatering savors.

This wonder made of stainless steel,
Shines like a star among my utensils.
Rice, beans, soup, or stew, 
Ready in a flash for the whole crew.

Safety valve and rubber gasket,
Ensure this helper is not a threat.
Though it shrieks like a train,
This gadget is a faithful friend.

I rely on this device a lot,
As it gives peace to my heart.
So, here's to the pressure cooker's plea,
Transforming ingredients into a glee!

The Smooth-Bumpy Journey

Smallest steps are one to wonder
Always commencing the path of life
Forming atoms, the book of maps,
Determining your road of sight

It’s a journey, not so kind
One does start and never stops
Unless the bell of death starts ringing
Man will forever sleep not

Constant ups and constant downs
An unachievable envelope of gold
And while townsfolk has seen it all
Man has known it’s not one to be told

Unpredictable events will unfold
Some are stainless; others deeply stain
A permanent reminder of turmoil
And one only hopes for perfection in vain

It’s a highway of red and green lights
Some say stop and others say go
Humans before and after undergo this trail
But one can only wish that from the beginning of the mystery called life to the enigma
named death the truth will always unfold

The Fire

The fire


He stood in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water
looking out of the window, he saw across the fjord on the slopes
to the blue mountain the had snow on top, a farm house burning
bright in the long spring afternoon.
Putting his glass down and when looking again the fire had stopped 
by itself, instead a milk-maid came out of the barn, carrying 
a stainless bucket in her strong hand and he thought of Paula Rego
the great Portuguese artist, her women were strongly built, had 
strong arms with lust in faces, not so much beauty but very human
His favorite painting is of a daughter polishing her father's boots
the love in her face shines through glossy as the boots.
Mind, the art center has a cafe and sells exceedingly good cakes.

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