Luton Airport
People, passengers, everyone going somewhere, somewhere else
I love seeing them; there are so many nationals. Hmm. A half hour ago, I shopped
A white Bacardi, and beside me, I heard Polish words. I looked there
A very likable par. A young Polish woman and a man. I asked them.
(They shopped at the self-service checkout)
Are you Polish? “Yes.” They answered. Nice to meet you, I said. I am a Hungarian
I told them. We talked a bit. Not too much time. They were friendly. Polish and Hungarian
They are brothers and sisters. They are on a different line. I just think. I am still sitting here
So many people walking in front of me, I am sitting on a bench, and the pubs are full here
In this airport. Always
Good to see these people here. How many nations are there? I don’t know. I don’t know
Someone is going to the Parish, someone to Bucharest, Someone to Warsaw, Someone to Krakow. And to so many places, cities, and countries. They're just flies, from my mind
I saw all of them—many faces, souls, characters. My heart is in pain. I can’t see them anymore
Have a Good Journey!!
God Bless You!
All the Best!
All to You
Love You!
Rummage
If you must.
My presence here
Is based on trust
So dressed am I
In Summer svelte
Yet you're to check
My trousers belt;
I'm scanned
As if each cell is rogue
So scrutinised
Despite en vogue
I understand
Away from home
You check my
Hydrocortisone;
The lotion for
My perfect tan
Or salve for lips
To kiss this man
Accept, do I
My gooey three
Could form a plan
For bomb plot spree
A victim
Of mis-communication
Disturbing transport's
Destination
Ungroomed
Is how my luggage ends
While protection
Of the sky depends
On just this task
For safety's sake
More pleasant if
A smile you'd break
Your focus can't be
All on me
Perhaps you're wondering
"What's for tea?"..
Or hoping soon
To get away
To pack for your own
Holiday
So here's my wish
For you to find
Credentials
Of a different kind
As poke and prod
Display and sort
Where discretion is
A last resort
So one day you may
Understand
In travel
To another land
Exposure
To some inner delving
Though required, it may be
Disconcerting
A friend of mine just called me
Since her flight has been delayed,
With Newark messing up the plans
So many folks have made.
I do not live in Jersey
So this airport isn’t mine,
But it isn’t far and all its problems
Somehow crossed the line.
Construction on the runways
Made United cancel flights
And controllers walking off the job
Brought danger to new heights.
Equipment failures add a new
Dimension to this scourge
And to worsen this fiasco,
There’s some rain about to surge.
My friend’s flight was rerouted
To an airport close to me
And I hope she gets to fly today,
But there’s no guarantee.
Last glimpse of Davao
Seen underneath the plane wing
Before its sun down.
Last time glued with you
Wearing those lovely smile
Is viewed from tarmac.
Last time I kiss you
My knees shaking terribly
As we said goodbye.
Last seen your photo
Tired tears rolling down my cheeks
As I feel asleep.
Have you ever thought about the permanence of airports?
Flights dock and depart.
The people flow in and out,
ever-changing,
a whirl of color and language and time.
But not the concrete.
Not the tile.
The cornerstones always remain.
Decades of stories,
manifold fears and dreams,
held between each molecule.
Here we are timeless.
Existence escapes the construct
of seconds that parade forward.
In an airport, you simply are.
Cold blue tile is the foundation from which two children build their world.
This airport has seen thousands upon thousands of feet touching its ground,
but their travel-weary weight is erased
as toddlers run, screaming joyfully, over top.
Laughter bubbles from their tiny pink lips,
and I find I can’t help but join in.
Snow-blond hair and a green dino hoodie.
These are the hallmarks of those who herald cheer into the world,
though they’re not yet conscious of anything but their next step forward.
Hold tight to your vibrant visions of castles and ships for as long as you can, little ones.
Your light is precious. May it not be fleeting.
Miami International Airport
has something most airports do not
they have trained therapy dogs
ready for hugs and cuddles
I am unsure how I can find one
but if I get to Miami, I will be looking for one.
Beneath fluorescent runway
bars and stripped cars
the hollow hum of engines,
echoes of footsteps stretch thin
across marble floors
ancient whores!
Ghosts in suits
drift scarves
through the fog of the sublime,
their eyes dim beacons
distant, never seeing what is before them.
The air tastes of cold steel
whispered departures of souls.
Meeting in the night,
where the walls sigh stories
of strangers in long-forgotten halls.
Haunted faces flicker
dim-lit with memories,
half-formed, lost between
departures gate of sleep.
Something transcends
under flickering lights,
moments shatter,
as the night swallows
each step is endless
empty are the walls.
Shadows of worn-out places
their bones brittle with dust
cling to the silence,
waiting for voices
that never came.
Through glass windows
the sky, void
without stars
Moons.
Or mooring
only the low murmur
of engines call the living
And we turn,
the weary.
Gliding shadows of firmament,
caught between destinations unknown,
and faces unseen!
Haunt untethered from this rest
to worn-out places
unclean!
My sister almost missed her flight,
But made it by a hair.
An accident and traffic
Slowed her down from getting there.
It made me think of years ago,
When you could reach your gate
Just minutes from the takeoff
And it wouldn’t be too late.
No TSA, no pat-downs,
Friends and family by your side;
With shoes and belts and jackets on,
You took things in your stride.
One memory stands out when we
Were late and we were told
Our seats were gone but we could fly,
If we could be cajoled
To fly first class. How much? we asked.
Oh, there’s no extra charge.
We laughed and so enjoyed that flight,
A taste of living large.
Sheryl had never been a fan of public affection.
Harry knew this, but he was hoping.
When they parted she had used the term “boy next door”.
He saw that as a brush off.
She had been attending college for four months.
He had offered to pick her up from the airport.
He was hoping her feelings had changed.
Sheryl’s heart slammed as soon as she saw Harry.
She had now dated many young men.
None of them compared to Harry.
Their eyes met, and he put out his hand for her bag.
She dove right into him, preparing him for the rest of his life.
The time ticks by
As I stare at the clock
Knowing my near future.
Just sitting
Waiting.
No news, no change.
Storms rage,
Confusion, resignation, consternation .
The time seems slower somehow.
Like the whole world still turns but us.
Decisions. Coffee? No coffee?
Who can predict?
People bustle, not knowing, dazed.
Children scream with over tired,
Hot sticky evening air.
All becomes predictable,
We all make a new temporary home here.
As if we are refugees
Clubbed together in our island
Our land of no name
No country.
All set adrift.
Time still ticks by,
Ever slower.
Stretching each second
Elongating the interstitial pauses.
We can do no more.
We eat, drink, shop.
Nothing in those world
Is like an airport delay
they don't want dramatic parents anymore
sentimental
they got bored of them
they are sick of exaltation
they don't want the vehemence of which
the parents hung on
convinced that it would be freedom
we
those with a muzzle swollen by history
we look at them with trembling eyes
in hidden tears
we
do we wake up? or die?
we died
we woke up
but they discreetly wrap
around around contre jour
on an old heart
another world
vehemence
our only final reward
they scratch their fine ears
and they offer us
an image about which
we do not know
they do not know
they don't tell us anything
easy
to be as easy as possible
existential flake on an anonymous wall
easy
easy
and no windowsill to look at
no return airport
no word on current status
nothing past or bandaged
just to be easy
you pay this time trust me
at least once
drinking beer together
I just follow the trajectory of a flake
I keep my eyes closed
like a child and I imagine
that you overcome life's difficulties
in that lifetime of a snowflake
and then i let you go
Airport security is a nightmare when Tinman is around.
When security leads him off, he makes not a bit of a sound.
Lion rolls his eyes because fear overtakes his heart.
Don’t fret says scarecrow, whose logic is totally smart.
Toto gives an annoyed bark that travels to the next Wal-Mart.
I know, I tell him, but she is not wicked, so please don’t start.
I show them identification, and they usually let me go.
Especially when we get to Kansas the home of many a tornado.
I caught the bus the other day
I thought I'd go on a holiday
The bus arrived promptly at nine
The luggage loaded in record time
I was very impressed at the service
There was no need to feel nervous
That I’d miss my connecting flight
And have to stay an extra night…
….in an airport hotel ….
An in-between zombie zone
You’re not on holiday and not at home
Theres no time left to unpack
Your body clock is out of whack
Down rabbit warren corridors
The ancient air conditioning roars
People come and go all hours
Boiling jugs and running showers
You’ve booked an early wakeup call
But you get no bloody sleep at all
And stagger out to catch your flight….
Completely stuffed and looking sh*te
When you’re at the airport early,
You can chill out and relax
Since there aren’t many stressors
That will stop you in your tracks.
You’ve already dealt with traffic
And returned the rental car.
Once you’ve made it through security,
Head to the nearest bar.
Have a drink or two or twenty
Or, if drinking’s not your style,
Find a Starbucks, grab a coffee
Or walk circles for a mile.
Check out stores and spend some money;
Buy a t-shirt or some chips.
Then just find a place to settle
And plop down to rest your hips.
Read a book or do a crossword;
Text a friend or make a call.
Though the minutes may move slowly
Just be glad they move at all.
In a while you will be boarding
To begin your journey home
And if you start feeling bored,
Then that’s the time to write a poem.
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