Biography of Rusty Daily
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 fortune to meet on line, a wonderful person who also wrote poetry. That started my friendship with CJ Heck. Fortunately she let me write a few poems with her. I have some of my stuff on other websites, but Barking Spiders is the best place to be if you’re … a big kid like me. ~Rusty”
Note: Rusty's poetry is published, and can be read, monthly in the Hillview Country Club Newsletter, Franklin, Indiana. His work can also be seen at Poemhunter.com, thestarlitecafe, todays-woman.net, Lovestories.com, poemsabout.com, Kevin McCarthy's Dallas Digest, and at his personal website, The Land of Russken.
Rusty Daily Poems
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
They Shoot Horses. Don'T They?
Talcum and ointment suspend the rash and the safety pinned cloth refreshes the happy drool.
So Much For Change
Back in the day the smoke blacked tube was what made the tv fuzzy and the wind pushed
Anthony and Jodie grasp statues of famed charactery, a his/her sweep of
Recycle The Grounds
I sit in my post modern space conscience kitchenette, one of five tidy squares in the two high, ten wide people
Gas Cans Eco wackos are out there spewing about what the oil drillers are doing.
Precursor Sandwiched in between a shower and shave
The neighbors house seems opaque. L1-L5 found thirty degrees. Silence awaits a word on the tip.
Pollyanna wanted a cracker to edit the chaotic bold print
isn't for weak-willed neophytes who, for one minute, question the superiority of their self-appointed position.
Eco wackos are out there spewing
about what the oil drillers are doing.
Wrecking our earth and bleeding it dry.
Pissing and moaning, telling the lie.
Don't drill here, protect our beaches.
Arrogantly haughty like Star Belly Sneeches.