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3r4th Jun 27
My skin of steel
But yet to break

Like precious few
She comes in
I still don't know
What she will bring

Then a warmth
Starts to grow
Sets ablaze
My firey soul

Before I know
What is happening
Flaming steel
Dripping off my skin

What remains
No regret
But the burns
Not quite healed yet
Alicia Moore Jun 10
Let us change the course of our kismet
By dividing our steel tongues
amongst the crowd
And spitting upon the roots
with sonorous rage.
Inspired by the BLM movement.
Poetic T May 1
The cover never tells the truth,
          for every story... has papercuts
when you've turned the page.
             Every fable can tell a tale,
some sweet as pie, but not all apples are
syrupy, some putrefy from the core.

For this cover shows her reading,
while rabbits playfully play.
   Not one for ill suspense..

The book was different ways to
          cook rabbit, she knew they
attended this spot.
              Know your pray,
          Remember that to be at ease
gives them a false sense of passivity.

Now when your ready, make your move..
The best practice is to scare, for a moment of
uncertainty will make then scatter in directions
                                                    not uniformed..

With that she slammed the books pages together,
    startled bunnies ran in all directions...
The ground around sewn with steel teeth
        gentle steps to snap shut...

She stood up proud, that the book was true,
     not all tales are fairy tales some are truthful.
As a few were still squirming, she did an act
of kindness,  the book heavy as it came down.

The family will feed well tonight,
  she had to wipe off the fur
but there were plenty more stories
of  how to capture and create
                                          that fairy tale meal..
The Shape of Mourning
by Michael R. Burch

The shape of mourning
is an oiled creel
shining with unuse,

the bolt of cold steel
on a locker
shielding memory,

the monthly penance
of flowers,
the annual wake,

the face in the photograph
no longer dissolving under scrutiny,
becoming a keepsake,

the useless mower
lying forgotten
in weeds,

rings and crosses and
all the paraphernalia
the soul no longer needs.

Keywords/Tags: shape, mourning, bolt, steel, locker, memory, memories, penance, wake, keepsake, memento, rings, crosses, paraphernalia
Indestructible, for Johnny Cash
by Michael R. Burch

What is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash is gone,
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Can a man out-endure mountains’ stone
if his songs lift us closer to heaven?
Can the steel in his voice vibrate on
till his words are our manna and leaven?

Then sing, all you mountains of stone,
with the rasp of his voice, and the gravel.
Let the twang of thumbed steel lead us home
through these weary dark ways all men travel.

For what is a mountain, but stone?
Or a spire, but a trinket of steel?
Johnny Cash lives on—
black from his hair to his bootheels.

Originally published by Strong Verse. When I was a teenager Johnny Cash used to pop into the Nashville McDonald’s where I worked to buy burgers after the Grand Ole Opry let out. True to his nickname, the Man in Black always wore black. I think he’s as immortal now as human beings can become, since someone will be singing songs he wrote and and recorded till the end of time. Keywords/Tags: Johnny Cash, black, hair, clothes, boots, voice, rasp, gravel, steel, guitar, songs, music, mountain, stone, heaven, manna, leaven
William Mar 15
I am silver, the golden gilding on the sea,
Parading in a murmuration of a thousand brilliant jewels.

I am steel, the iron girders in the wall,
Naturally strong and entirely consistent.

I am mercury, the fog over the brook,
Present for those of dewy minds.

I am copper, the wires of the circuit,
Any problem there ever was: I'm the solution.

I can be anything, but only ever nothing,
Nothing but cold.
This one's a bit different to my normal style. It's about a loss of identity, and how having a million identities is equivalent to having no identity at all.
Amanda Jan 17
Stuck behind steel bars
Glimpses of stars
Just concrete stone
Cage is home
Nothing justified or fair
Total corruption there
Time will pass and eventually
The day will come when you are free
What I imagine jail is like
Aaron Barden Dec 2019
Sometimes the only way;
To get through the pain;
Is to give the price; you must pay.
So pour on the agony; let it rain.

Turn it into a crucible; forge yourself;
Don’t let anything touch you ever.
Become iron; become steel itself;
And you will be hurt never
Serendipity Nov 2019
She's spilling
forbidden wine
on pieces of gauze
taped to a thigh.
Butcher herself,
like meat on a platter
for bite sized brains
to digest.

She is stainless steel teeth,
she is a strained voice,
she is a fighter,
but resilient
and giving it
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