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Best Pilot Poems

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See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Warriors' Hymn

Lord, place Thy Hand on the yoke of those who fly,
And guide them through the vast reaches of the sky.
Bring them safely through their perilous flight,
And may they ever look to Thee as their Guiding Light.

Lord, protect the sailors who sail the treacherous seas.
Calm the roiling waters that they may cruise with ease.
May they always look to Thee as their Pilot for support,
And with Thy guiding hand, bring them safely home to port.

Lord, protect the soldier with Thy mighty sword midst the battle.
Give him strength to press on despite the muskets' rattle.
Hear his fervent supplication for Thy protection from all harm,
And provide him with courage as he leans on Thy eternal arm.

Lord, shield the brave marine as he storms the dangerous strand.
Strengthen him with fortitude and provide Thy protective hand.
Surround him with Thy angels as he strives to overcome the foe.
Bring him safely through the conflict and upon him honor bestow.

Lord, bless and provide comfort to his family, for they also serve.
Until that day they are one again, give them hope and steady nerve.
Hear their prayers O' Lord, for the safe return of heroes dear,
And from their trust, hope and faith in Thee, may they never veer.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved

Details | Pilot Poem | |

In the bed they make

And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!

When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger

Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact

They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood

Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”

Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings

Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited

They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads

Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies

…

And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?

When will the flinty sheep 
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began

Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Autopilot

Sometimes in life, although it be,
a person can be good.

For reasons we don't understand,
perhaps misunderstood.

To wrap your mind around the facts
is not an easy thing..

No pilot in the cockpit;
"Look!,"; he's standing on the wing!

"Don't jump!", we say, he looks around
he doesn't say a word.

He jumps 10,000 feet to earth;
at last he's finally cured!

Details | Pilot Poem | |

My Pilot Light

My Pilot Light

In a hidden crevice
between soul and skin,
there is a flicker, 
a tangerine flame
blazing through black abyss;
illuminating infinite veins of strength 
that light like gun powder;
a thousand volts of survival 
searing through my core.	

There is a whisper in that flame,
ripples beyond discernible sound,
that directs me to take solace
in the unwavering knowledge 
that my dreams are already realized,
waiting on life’s top shelf;
I have only to climb up and see
that they were never out of reach,
only temporarily out of sight.

I know this more securely 
than I can be sure of anything else:
love, marriage, children,
are rolls of a roulette dice
that tumble around in a risky blur
chancing to settle on snake eyes,
but desire, aspiration, ambition and execution
are coordinates on my internal map
and I will never lose direction.

Spin all the cobwebs of doubt
that you believe can trap my will,
but what I have you can’t touch
or break, or steal, or burn out;
such is the radiance 
of my inextinguishable flame
burning on a wick of passion,
feeding on a fuel of might, 
and guaranteed to burn the hand 
that comes too close
to touching 
my pilot light.

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Drip, Drop

Drip

Drop

Water drop cascades under sapphire afterglow
Undoing 4 month deprivations

Muffled moans surround crimson fireplace

Crackling of fire
Thrusts of skin
Retinal vibrations shutter her pilot light deep within

She ascended to blue moon heights
As embers of his inferno
Bow in collective unison

Maddening grips

His fingertips draw triangular markings
Hugging curvature’s hip

Gentle bites on lower lip
He tackles her wanton hands against waterbed foundations

Her strengthened pupils reach out for 3rd eye clarity.

She asks for his dance under aggressive whisper
As he dips
Inside

Slow motion Salsa bends of her will
She crosses legs marking “X” against his spot

His relinquished hands
Slalom her vocal chords toward accentuated heavens

He exorcised her trembling inner thighs
From collapsing octaves

With eloquent, muted exhales
His hand reaches her cheek
His mouth descending towards her breast

“My lady, put that lighter down,
Let me be your cigarette.”

Drip

Drop

©11/19/2013
A Scorcher for Charlotte's contest. (Update: Tied for 2nd place. Nice!)

Details | Pilot Poem | |

The 'End' in Friend

I, treasure you.

But, would you stay if I ever said goodbye?

Would inferno’s pilot light succumb to your tears
Knowing tomorrow’s uncertainty
Is our greatest fear?

Would my ill-timed laughter
Make you cringe in disgust
Changing your perception against my heart?

Would you
Hold me
As we wade through baptismal waters of sin
Without bruises from cedar scented crosses?

Can I count the ways
You would be my exhale
When insanity chokes the living within

The living, within!

Within cracked glasshouses
Covered by umbrella’s demise

Would you come to despise
My true colors
Shaded in blues & violets?

Would I need to come to your rescue
After you’ve kicked me when I’m down?

I WOULD!
I WOULD CRAWL WITHOUT YAWN’S FATIGUE!

I would sacrifice my Agnostic flesh
To become a new believer
Born-again
Within YOU!

I would remove my 3rd eye to present what I see in you!
I would become your contact lens that you’ll never have to remove!

I would taste degradation
Simmering in a gentle broil around my arms
And season you with my smiles
Just to make it through choke-holds of a Winter solstice!

I would become your handsome error
Hoping we can write each others wrongs!

I, treasure you.

But,
Would you be there upon last dance’s syllabic end?

My friend, 
I’ll wait by this stainless steel chair.

Embracing the “never-say-never”…

…because, with you, my humanity is willing to believe in forever.

© - 4/22/2013
Submitted for the “What a Friend really is” Contest, sponsored by Becca Lucas; Won 5th place. 

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Hidden Mountains

A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass,
his eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…   
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
 
Copyright © 2013
 

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Silence

(SILENCE)

Illusive silence---
evaporating in noise
at rest in one’s peace.

(SILENT SUNSET)

The tranquil sunset---
in skies of sunlit silence
waits for the morning.

(GLIDER PILOT)

Within sun-split clouds---
one inhaling scenic grace
immersed in silence.

For  Paula's Breathe in the Silence Contest

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Tullys Automobile

Over the top of Tammy hill came Tully’s motor car, Tully never drove it very fast nor ever very far. In his youth he’d taught us all How to pilot our ride, It was a job he did very well And in it found his pride. But now Tully was an older gent approaching eighty-three, And he was a pretty good driver still for a man who couldn’t see. So when it became known to all that Tully was on a drive, It was best for them to stay inside If they hoped to stay alive. Whenever he detected movement in his line of sight, He’d steer his car right for it and do so with delight. He’d assume that he’d happened upon some traffic on the lane, It didn’t really matter to him at all if it was an auto or a train. All that ever mattered to Tully was that he found his way to the pub, And he was about to spend an evening of Guinness and Irish grub. Then one night I’d had enough and was in fear of poor Tully’s life, The thought of the blind old man behind the wheel added to my strife. So I lifted the bonnet on his ride and removed the distributor cap, When I was done I was greeted by some locals as they began to clap. When Tully finally stumbled out he found that his ride was no longer game, He took out a pistol and shot it dead As if it a horse that had turned up lame. Now Tully has moved to town And can walk wherever he goes. Off in the direction of the wind And follows wherever it blows. And when a car comes down the lane, To the side he’ll frantically dive. He’ll shake his fist and yell at them, “Who was it that taught you to drive?”

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Twenty Quid Is Twenty Quid

Bill and Blanche set off, to the 'Yorkshire Show' they did go
T'was a yearly trip, and they would always show.

Each time Bill says to Blanche ‘On that elicopter I’d like to ride.’
Blanche always replied’ but it's twenty quid Bill’ and then she and Bill sighed.

'Twenty quid is twenty quid Bill, you always told me that'
‘Tha’s right me old love,’ and he’d give his wallet a pat.

The next year Bill looked, at the elicopter, and he tried once more
‘I’m seventy-five Blanche, there not much time left for me to soar.’

‘Bill, it’s twenty quid, and twenty quid is twenty quid.
So we’ll not go on the elicopter ride, of that idea you must get rid.’

Bill looked at the elicopter and agreed twenty quid was twenty quid
Of that one idea though, he could never really get rid.

Bill was desperate to ride on that elicopter whirring thing
The pilot overheard the couple, and then he made Bill’s heart sing.

I’ll take you on board, but not one word must you say
If you keep TOTALLY quiet, not one pound or penny will you pay.

Bill and Blanche climbed on board ,for the ride of their life
Not one word did Bill utter, nor his terrified wife.

The pilot looped the loop, he dived and twisted and turned
Not one word did the pilot hear, yet even his stomach churned.

He landed and spoke to Bill and he said ‘I am impressed’
I twisted and I turned and I really tried my best.

Bill said to the pilot ‘Well I nearly gave in lad, and I nearly spoke’
‘Twas when the wife fell out, but you know us Yorkshire folk.’

I watched her spiral down; I nearly shouted, but thought that’s absurd
‘And tha knows twenty quid is twenty quid lad, and you said NOT one word.’

©~GG~17/11/2012
Taken from a joke sent to me by Jack Horne and continuing the theme Harry uses of Yorkshire Humour.
Quid Slang name for pound sterling
Yorkshire folk drop their 'h's


Details | Pilot Poem | |

Delphinus Nights

I have flown on wings of dreams, but I never could land well
I've never been to the end of a rainbow and I've never talked to an angel
I could never reach the fleeing horizons and I could never catch the wind
I have never caressed a sliver of moonlight until it touched your skin
When I first saw the beauty of your silhouette standing before the sun
I was the pilot of a new dream landing in your love
Then my tears reflected colors of a rainbow and I could talk to God
I could finally reach the horizons as you woke up in my arms
And I dont care where the winds blow as long as I'm with you
We could float into forever where Delphinus stars may bloom
Where time is never the difference between nights and days
We could cast our shadows from moonlight as we let our hands play
Plucking beautiful flowers from heaven until the end of times 
Planting new celestial gardens beyond our endless skies

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Mugwump

A bird/bee with head-mug, on one side of fence, tail/wump on other.

A mugwump sitting on a fence,
smug as he can be.
His mug was writting a reference,
and his wump was hanging free.

When mugwump would lift his head,
a flight he tried to make.
When he flapped his wings o'lead,
his wump got stuck in the gate.

Mugwump is a mighty mess,
hanging from that rail.
As a pilot he forgot to test,
the windsock for the gusty gale.

If a situation should arise,
where you think he's gotton free.
It wouldn't be good to surmise,
that mugwumps are great big bees.

If you consort with bees and birds,
the words should set you free.
But, if you don't watch your words,
a mugwump, you will turn out to be.

Details | Pilot Poem | |

unLUCKy

knew a young man when i was a 
young man whose life had been 
screwed from the get-go/HEWA
SADRIFTINTHATWAYTHAT
SOMEAREWHENYOUCAN
LOOKINTOTHEIREYES&SEE
THESTARS/HADALLHE
NEEDEDHADENOUGHTOGET
SOMEGOODSTUFF&YETTHE
WEALTHOFSADNESSINHIS
EYESGREWTHEMOREYOU
CAMETOKNOWHIM/seems
his father was a test pilot for the
us of a & a company who spends
money to buy congressmen &
presidents in order to get more
wars started in order to make 
more bombs in order to sell them
so that taxpayers can buy them
so people they never meet in
person can be obliterated in 
their name/HEWASUNLUCKY
THEDAYTHATTHEYTOLD
HIMTOGOUPINABRAND
SPANKIN’NEWRIDESAYIN’
THATITWASSAFEKNOWING
HE’DDONEITAMILLIONTIMES
BEFOREBUTYASEETHEY
WERELYING/YESITISTRUE
YOU’REGOVERNMENTLIES
TOYOUEVENIFYOUHAVE
TESTFLOWNPLANESBEFORE
SOTHATTHEYCANGOTO
OTHERCOUNTRIES&BOMB
THEMINTOASH/what happened
next anyone could see coming a
mile away for the plane stayed
in the air for less than a few min.
& down it came killing the dad
of the guy i knew & leaving a
mother & son now without the
man they loved so much/AND
WHATFOLLOWEDWASALONG
LAWSUITINWHICHTHEYOUNG
MAN’SMOTHERWHOHADJUST
RECENTLYPASSEDTHEBAR
FILEDAGAINSTTHEUSGOVIN
ORDERTOGETSOMEKINDOF
“JUSTICE”ASIFITEVEREXISTED
INTHISLIFE/SOTHEMONEYCAME
&THETWOOFTHEMDIDN’THAVE
TOWORRYABOUTMUCH
FINANCIALLYAFTERTHATBUT
ONTHEDAYHETOLDMETHESTORY
HESAIDWITHATEARINHIS
BLOODSHOTEYES/”i would give 
every penny of it back, just to have
my father still alive.”



Details | Pilot Poem | |

Divisions Of A Philosophical Mind

Infant mind preferred scientist the best Whose brain worked off beat beneath a bird’s nest. Alas! Time told that I wasn’t at all gifted by god, So it was inconceivable to befriend sin, log and mod! Then was the school life, amazed with pilots and aero science, Flying free with strong wings was definitely nice! Someone told that people with hi-eyepower were not allowed The excuse was enough to drop the dream of being pilot-renowned. So I participated in school dramas with a secret fervor of acting, I was tired of seeing more and more talent; and decided of quitting. Music then became a part of my life; I started listening to all kinds I failed a school audition, so further working on it would be a sacrifice. So I began to grow tired of this endless game; grew tired of being tired And went on and on, writing this poem without fear of being fired! Because I had learnt my lesson too early, yet failed to see I had not There would certainly be better; hope was still to be the best shot.

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Who am I

I am black
I am great
I am the father and mother of great Kings.

I am John Love the sharpener inventor
I am Mae Jemison the astronaut
I am Martin Luther King the peace maker
I am Tomi Morrison the contemporary novelists.

I am Muhammad Ali the boxer
I am Wilma Rudolph the Olympic track and field champion
I am Tiger woods the golfer
I am Lucy Laney the educator.
 
I am Jack Johnson the heavy weight
I am Rosa Parks the segregation leader
I am Jesse Wilkins the physicist and mathematician
I am Serena Williams the tennis player .

I am Issac Murphy the great through bred jockey
I am Bessie Coleman the first licensed African American pilot
I am Chester Burnett the blues singer
I am Eleanor Holmes the polictian and civil rights activist.

I am Thomas Dorsey the father of gospel music
I am Will Smith the famous actor
I am Barack Obama the  forty four first black afro American president, we are the future.
We are hope for the lost and forgotten generation.

Details | Pilot Poem | |

The Spirital Womb

The tragedy of a Miracle started today
Our Lord’s brutalized body passed away 

Of all the tragedies in the history of man
This is one I try to grasp, but never can

For some reason I find it impossible to see
We crucified the greatest man in our history

Through all of the gain and all of the loss
It was a predestined coin man had to toss

I wonder how Pilot must have felt that day
He washed cowards hands in a cowardly way

Beaten and tortured, his skin ripped to shreds
As a thorny crown dug holes into Jesus’ head

While nailed to the cross he had one final goal
Through the mercy of love he saved another soul

He saved that soul and then our Lord Jesus died
Can you imagine the countless tears that were cried?

As we all know Jesus' body was placed into a tomb
To my minds eye it was no less than a spiritual womb 

And from inside that womb salvation was born
For the tomb was found empty come Sunday morn

This is not how the story ends it is only how it starts
The Lord now lives up inside each one of our hearts

Even those lost in Prison, the ones like I used to be
Can turn to the Lord and then they will be set free

Freedom is a thing that I think we all strive to find
It is etched in our heart and engraved in our mind

I was locked up in a cell nestled tightly away
Facing several years that I would have to pay

Up inside of that cell I made my own decree
A true miracle was taking place inside of me

I was a very evil man and I was so proud to show it
In the wink of an eye I was transformed into a Poet

I learned there is only one way to truly be free
Ask of the Lord, “ Jesus please come unto me”

And just as the Lord Jesus Christ rose up out of his tomb
We can all live with-in the comfort of his spiritual womb





Details | Pilot Poem | |

Our Lords Plight

This poem covers the greatest story ever told
Greater than all the kings and all their gold
This story will bring about deep reflection
Starting with the Immaculate Conception
Of all the stories this is the greatest of all
A complex child born in a simple stall
Quickly the news covered the land
A virgin would be Gods right hand
Inside of her womb a God to a son
Imagine this story has just begun
Everyone knew this child was born to design
Just open your heart and look for the sign
 Harrod was driven by fear of not being so great
The first-born son was Harrods fate
Jesus escaped the King and awaited the call
To become the greatest glory of all
This is my master this is our Lord
He is the wielder and we are the sword
He chose his disciples of simple men
Hear tell one was straight out of the pen
The Pharisees called on Pilot the king
At the end he said, “I wash my hands of this thing”
I wonder if when Pilot stepped up to the gate
Jesus washed his hands to seal Pilots fate
Or if he opened his arms to welcome him in
Forgiving Pilot of all of his sins
We took our Lord then nailed him to the cross
As far as humanity that was our greatest loss
But through all the loss just look at the gain
Bought by our Lord through sacrifice and pain
Over 2000 years after this child was born
He came to the prison to make my heart warm
Gave me a gift then our Lord set me free
I reckon the rest would be up to me
As you dress up the tree and hang up the lights
Think of the story of our Lords plight








Details | Pilot Poem | |

Autopilot

 Sometimes in life, although it be,
a person can be good.

For reasons we don't understand,
perhaps misunderstood.

To wrap your mind around the facts
is not an easy thing..

No pilot in the cockpit;
"Look!,"; he's standing on the wing!

"Don't jump!", we say, he looks around
he doesn't say a word.

He jumps 10,000 feet to earth;
at last he's finally cured!

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Teardrop

Hope in truth/
When tears rule/
It’s cool/
She's got chainsaw teeth/
She's the planet pilot/
She drives your earth with one breast/ 
Bullet milk/
She pukes food for the poor/
Your earth mental slavery/
Backwards you keep sniffing blame/
Blame you keep eating blame/ 
A native using a blade for a plate/
Singing blames/
It’s a shame she's just a teardrop/
Truth lies between seconds before yesterday/
Dark/
Dreaded brains never stick to one pain/ 
Light/
Tears drop dead when days strain babalaza pains/
Throwing verbal stones I promote stick to one goal/
Its not a bate a way through the gate/
When curtains call/
It’s a mob of angry spoken bilinguals/ 
Spitting words after Shakespeare’s dead poetry/ 
Symptoms of a broken heart/
Teardrop/
Teardrops left in the dark with the child you curry in pencil/
The monk edited his preaching watering life with Drops of tears/
I am only 2 weeks away from feeding you your president’s brain/ 
In the demise of this tears you curry/
Drifting towards the endless life branches/
I breath symptoms of a broken heart / 
The tap of blood was left open/
The tap of blood was left open/
Hope in truth/ 

Details | Pilot Poem | |

The Writer I Am In My Dreams (A response to The Woman I Am In My Dreams by Maxine Tynes)

The writer I am in my dreams
is more sophisticated than I am
and sees the world as an untold story
I mainly see the footsteps behind me
        Where I stepped softly so as not to call attention to myself
this writer conjures volumes about the man on the bus
who has a scar on his face five inches long
she elaborates on his life with gifted prose
he is a pilot shot down in Vietnam
guerillas gave him a scar and set him free
he used to be a lion tamer
that one is self-explanatory
I simply cannot stop staring at his scar and wonder
does it bother him to have such a mark?

The writer I am in my dreams
has perfect time management
goes to work, attends class
has a beau
        moves from day to day
        finds time for friends and play
        hobbies and exercise
        dance class and likewise
the writer I am in my dreams
her words are clear and precise
they don't feel like empty thoughts on a page
they don't sound immature
her words and statements work
they don't get in her way and make her mind spin
and conjure up thoughts of self-worth
they whirl around the room and
whisper about the unimagined
they dialogue with rhyme and wit
and they always converse graciously

the writer I am in my dreams
I wake up and pray to be
and sometimes my prayers are answered

Details | Pilot Poem | |

The Delayed Flight Home

Upon revelation’s flight
Under Orion’s focus

I witness a fiery glow towards familiar horizons.

‘Tis no sunrise

It is a striking reality.

My saddened retinas witness monochromatic pitchforks,
Desolated screams,
Embellished declarations from misguided leaders
And self-made stallions riding into condescending sunsets
Without any earned punctuation to be taken seriously

A House of Eroded Representatives

A village of One
A village of souls
Pushing
Back

…

There was a home upon these well-worn landing strips.

This was my home.

But, these forged rooftops now taste
Withering, hurricane gusts of red velvet cake’s mold

Rusted nails forcibly detached from honored foundations
Unto egotistical coffins

The reality
Shining through meter-less corruptions
Comes full circle

Small doses of poisonous vendettas
Fed from tarnished, silver spoons

Echoes of Cuban Fidel
Lace elasticity of “open arms”
With onyx, unfiltered coffee drops
Coating infant’s petulant lip

Witnessing cotton-less sheep walking with listless fervor 
Towards silenced, condemned “Noahs”

I signal pilot within my melancholic wisdoms
To redirect our flight
To a new horizon

To an unsheltered domain
Where even waterfalls still allow
Conducive verbiage to rise
Amongst the unabashedly meek

To a destination
Where stature is defined by all
Not by one

Where character
Is developed under accountabilities’ pen

Where high horses & curtained theatrics
Are the only victims of banned tomorrows

Where honor
Is still defined
Without deleted, impulsive banter

Where friendship,
Love,
Wisdom,
Memories,
Shine

…

Because
Things

Things are no longer the same
Things are no longer the same

Things are no longer the same.

©Drake J. Eszes
“And my ties are severed clean. The less I have, the more I gain. Off the beaten path, I reign.” –Wherever I may Roam by Metallica (my lifelong song)

Details | Pilot Poem | |

I declare myself blessed

As a child I wanted to be a pilot and writer I wasn’t interested in much else.
I became a Marine at 17 a husband at 20, a father at 23 a grandfather at 50
I am a happy middle age fat man with the same wife of 41 years and she
is still all I will ever need.  I am blessed. Much more than I deserve
A more than wonderful wife, 2 fantastic daughters and 3 sweet grandchildren. 
A son in law that loves my daughter and their children
Oh yea, and a crazy dog. 

I can hear our granddaughter asking daddy over the phone 
if they can go somewhere after work when he gets home
while her brother and his dog play happily out back 
Grandma and aunty entertain the youngest of the pack

and now mommy puts them all in the tub 
splashing is followed by laughter and more splashing 
and laughter and splashing until all have had a scrub 
Just in time for daddy
And that is exactly why I bought this house

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Lobster fishing

                     Lobster Fishing

It was still dark when I arrived at five o’clock
I commenced the day by going to the wrong dock
I was a little concerned that I may be late
When I arrived they were still loading bait.

The boat started up with a thunderous sound
You must stay the channel so you don’t run a ground
Next you head into the safety of the bay
Everyone’s quiet with not much to say.

As we turn the corner the sun divides the sky and sea
A blend of orange, purple and blue explode in front of me
The sea starts to pick up and the boat gets tossed
A peace grows within all else is lost…

You pull the traps up in what’s called a set
You winch them on board to see what you get
My job was to restock the bait
It seemed kind of an ironic fate.

It was pretty hard work yet so much fun
Me, the boat, the sky and the sun
We had a pretty good catch and turned to go back
The auto pilot planned our course of attack

On the way in you wash down the boat
It cleaned up quite well with water and soap.
As I view around me as it was time to go
The sea put on its own picture show.

When we returned to the river the tide had come in
All of the lobsters had been placed into bins 
The boat was too tall to fit under the bridge
Like smooth sailing and then hitting a ridge.

We had to unload the boat so the catch wouldn’t be lost
Our pride and a little work was all that it cost
When we had finished it was time to rest
Having comfort in knowing we did our best.

We cleaned up and had dinner to end the day
This is my lobster tale of today
Everyone found humor in what I had to say
Then we said goodbye and went on our way.

When I got home I fell fast asleep
I dreamed of a bottom far too deep
It was a long day and I needed to rest
The lobster became someone else’s dinner guest.

Details | Pilot Poem | |

Pilot

Pilot
Flying faster
Pushing limits always
Shattering the sound barrier
Flyer

Details | Pilot Poem | |

For the Love of: Love Bugs

Even though you don't have a lick of sense
in that tiny black-and-red head of yours,
I am forced to admit that I envy you
spending ninety percent of your life
flying around hooked up that way but heck,
life is short and we all gotta die anyway and
wow, what a way to go...Just wondering - 
Do you folks have multiple orgasms?
Do you have monogamous relationships
or do you fool around with other bugs?
And when do you ladies ever find the time
to lay eggs and just who is flying who?
Which one flies backwards and if you're the pilot,
how the heck do you see where you're going
and don't you ever simply get flat exhausted?
Or maybe when one of you gets tired
it's like "Hey hon, you mind taking over?
I'm just gonna try and grab a quick nap...
You okay? You sure?..."No I'm fine, really"

Well I say shame-shame!...Flying around 
impaired like that and I would STRONGLY advise
against flying while having sexual relations...
Geez!...No wonder you end up
splattered all over my windshield...

Well, I-um...DID have sex once during flight
but she DAMN sure wasn't the pilot...
or even the CO-pilot...Oh-no-she-was-NOT
I mean, maybe a co-PARTNER but not...
Ohh...just forget it you little maggot!
You're really starting to bug me


***For those readers who live elsewhere and have not had the pleasure...Love bugs are a common pest in the South in May and early September, particularly along the Gulf Coast. They swarm in pairs with abdomens hooked back-to back, clogging up radiators causing over-heating and can ruin paint finishes if not washed off immediatley. It is rumored they are a botched genetic experiment...bred to eventually become all females to mate with male mosquitoes thus making them sterile. Unfortunately, someone accidentally let a boy-bug meet a girl-bug and the two young lovers made their escape to freedom...