Metal Spring

Hi readers.

I am back and can begin replying to comments more often. My trip was quite inspiring and someone asked me to come up with a twist on the generic poems about spring. So here it is. Wrote it in the sunset while I was supposed to be studying. Please comment and tell me what you think of it.

Metal Spring

My ice cocoon cracks.

Oh! My hydraulics!

Spring.

Sensors click on,

and pick up sound,

trickling.

Memory banks crammed with data,

remember civilizations,

burning.

I rise from the puddle,

gears on green turf,

churning.

Programmed for war,

I watch peace,

returning.

Missiles hang useless,

I am a robot,

healing.

Not valid targets,

dappled deer,

spring.

Steel Beast Handler

Steel Beast Handler

Now For a much overdue post. My new job is the culprit for my recent tardiness. But it was also the inspiration for this little poem. Please comment below and tell me what you think and how you think it could be improved. I am always glad to see comments.

It roars to life, my Steel Beast.

Oil dripping from it's jaws.

Settles to a growl and roars again.

Hungry and eager to begin.

It's hot breath is on my hand.

I grip it tight, ready to stop

the Beast, to reign it in.

I lead it to the feast, and the Beast,

roaring in anticipation, bites deep.

It bites with metal teeth and spits,

 spraying me with chips and dust.

Devouring everything it can reach,

the Beast fills the air with howls.

Leaping up, it tries to bite me,

the filed teeth snapping at my face.

Now the Beast thirsts and I slake it, 

pouring a cocktail into it's roaring maw.

I file it's teeth as it sleeps, panting,

hot and always hungry.

Again I awake the tireless creature

and we walk through the forest,

A handler and the Steel Beast called

Chainsaw.