Cinnabar remittance ailerons squall federal cobblestones. Lank alpine squint modest. Nectarine grimace, cloys toothsome.
Coiffure chain rod composure anemic, primogeniture Swedish cotton murk optics
Rodeo riding maiden broadcaster network metaverse falconry. Boreal voyages legalese.
Simper treacle blanched anecdotally. Goofy balm, beardless tease, healthy as a horse, real bee knees.
As dawn peeps in through the mountains,
Morning sky mirrors reddish orange fountains.
Doves wake up with cheerful coos;
Is it their way to gear up for facing worldly ruse?
These epitomes of peace soon grace the pinkish blue sky,
Spreading their pinions they prerogatively soar high.
The azure sky soon turn into a limitless blue lake.
Those white wings must embrace freedom & enjoy a break;
Afternoon paints the heavens with yellowish shade;
To deal with the fatigue the feathered ailerons need aid,
For bearing the density of duty is not easy,
And that burden can make the conscience hazy.
The abendrot sky marks the serene sunset;
These symbol of liberation deny to be down & upset.
Finally walks in the obsidian infinity night,
Snowies sleep with hope that tomorrow will be bright.
©light_flame
(My pen name)
Around us see May flowers, all in bloom
Let's gleefully start to shed Pandemic gloom
There's much less need to give each other lots and lots of room
Because no longer must we meet - if at all - on Zoom
Party times resuming now at stadia, beach and bars
While JPL's ingenious new 'AIRcraft' flies on Mars
While busy hands delineate panel lines and ailerons
Our minds note that May birthdays include cultural icons
Fred Astaire and Martha Graham still show us high-class dance
Mary Cassat and Katherine Hepburn represent romance
To writers, Margaret Fuller and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Inspire our own compositional toil
All wonder how far we'd go if we only really tried
To venture smart and curious, like NASA's Sally Ride
Closer to home, more immediately
This May includes two birthdays, each of 70
Unnoticed by Historians...that may be
but they're for Kenneth Murphy, and for me.
Halcyon harp, dry the cloud's tears on Earth.
Don't let its torrent break your strumming strings.
Let your hymn preserve my frail ailerons.
Notice how much a prayer's whimper brings.
Hallelujah is mute from the downpour.
My instrument has become a firearm.
Shall I sing his sanctity through this storm?
Still, my Lord, for you - I'll salvage this psalm.
~
Date: 6/23/18
Contest: Angels In The Rain
Sponsor: Vermillion Scythe
We would sleep oft as light as a flagging breeze, eyes dry and smarting; with minds ill at ease..'
Our lives then the currency to pay your dues, who would return from our sorties? we had not a clue.'
We fought off the nausea, as well as the foe, we'd tied wires to ailerons if it meant we could go..'
Our aim was sure, our desire's to win.' Our hearts burned for freedom; midst the dogfighting & spin,
We honoured this country, child maid and man, from the bankers, to the bakers; lords or labouring men.
Our thoughts oft assailed, by the task on our hands; our limbs felt fatigue, yet we held to the plan..'
We came back from our 'bailouts', to a pittance of pay; then returned to the sky by the night & the day.
Our flights held this country, kept its hope; earned its trust, we hold no regrets for blood spilled in the dust
We know that our sacrifice, will be not effaced; keep the faith we've delivered, here in our covenant place.'
©Joe Maverick 7/2/2015
Muslin ailerons
Rotaries propelling death
Fokker’s winged furry
By Robb A. Kopp
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