Rusty Daily

Rating: 5
Rating: 5

Rusty Daily Biography

I’m married. My wife’s name is Kathleen. I have three grown children and one beautiful (and intelligent!) granddaughter.

I’m a US Navy veteran - nuclear powered missile submarines - and I’ve been associated with golf all my life, either as a player and/or a golf course superintendent. One of my daughters has even taken it up and has become quite a fanatic about it - wants to play all the time. Both my mom and dad have been club champions at our home course and so have my two brothers and … so have I. Must be a “family affliction” …

I started writing poetry as gifts to friends who were having birthdays, weddings, etc., then just started writing other funny stuff, concentrating on writing children’s poetry. I like to end most of my poems with an unexpected twist.

I had the good for ...

Rusty Daily Comments

Joy Vanderhelm 25 November 2005

My compliments, Rusty. Your work is to be envied by all wannabe poets out there. It has paled even some of the greats in my mind. If you ever publish, I will be sure to snatch you right up. Your wonderful insight and hilarity, your wise way with words is so very impressive. I don't think there is anything you could write that I won't enjoy reading. Your work is to be cherished. Thanks for the great read.

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Sallie Howson 15 April 2005

I thoroughly enjoyed reading your poetry. Have you ever considered trying to publish a child's poetry book?

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kenneth william snow 21 March 2005

Rusty, I've been reading many of your poems today and am sincerely impressed by your talent, wit, wisdom and humor. I greatly enjoy your use of rhyme, keep up the excellent work. Kenneth

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The Best Poem Of Rusty Daily

I Sit Here And Read The Signatures

I sit here and read the signatures
on an elevated plaster cast
that supports a splintered tibia,
remembering the ill advised
reason for its creation.

As a young, inconsiderate boy
the ant hills were the most fun.
A stick or a kick delivered
a few minutes of amusement,
watching those little critters
rebuild the farm.
The little blue fallen eggs
became yellow window art.
You could get a new free bunny
after chasing off mama.
Ground squirrels
and water hoses,
what fun.

The late morning air
was so thick
it was like trying to
breathe pudding.
The storm left little
of Mother Nature’s
or man’s building materials,
except for the Elm
and the lone blue egg and nest
lying in its now partial shade.

My epiphany drove me
up the tree with egg and nest,
my atonement more solid
than the trusted branch.

I sit here and read
the signatures
and watch the ants
rebuild the farm.

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