Iron Poets – A Poem

Iron is for bridges

Superstructures for futures

Steam and great engines

Unbending and ancient

One of the first atoms spasmed

From the billions-ancient chasm

Of our birth in cataclysm

For turning? No it isn’t.


But unsung

Iron makes bombs


Poets they are plastic

aesthetes, airy elastic

never nailed down


Filled with conceits

Back-room front-runners who believe

That assonance cures dissonance

That syllables call dissidents


But pages don’t

Make presidents




Iron Poets meld dreams

With rock and love with steel

So we are hard as diamond

Yet still feel. So that microchips

Gain pulse and fantasy finds feet

We will bleed and shield

We are veins annealed

We are driven nails and complete


In ourselves we trust

Until the world rusts


The world is insane and I'm in writing therapy!

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Posted in Poetry
4 comments on “Iron Poets – A Poem
  1. Yes, my brother.
    I want to scream this from a hilltop.
    May I make this our credo?
    Poets credo.

  2. You have a ‘rust’ thing happening don’t you Mr. P – excellent 🙂
    I posted a ‘small’ one on IP but didn’t link! 😦

  3. mobius faith says:

    “until the world rusts” – that’s where I want to be with my camera. 🙂 Great poem.

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