Best Air Space Poems
Put all your hope in Him
In so doing He will transform you
Into a sparkling and precious gem
Be silent for a moment
Only then can you hear what He is saying
Answers are revealed after praying
What you say you love me
You died to set me free
Says a small silent voice
I love you I have no choice
You are perfectly and wonderfully made
In Him
Time with out number
In Him
Life death and every wonder
Air space all human and race
Every place
In Him
How romantic, the fall, so far above the pleading waves.
The heights, the depth, to look the deep in eye and weep.
Air space between the lovers’ arc and shallow graves.
The tangible singsong of wedding bells and tragic leap.
Imagine it, the harp-like spray, the call of gulls, the fangs
that scared it up - the fade of white, of pearls and lace.
The cleft, the crags, the foaming ebb and flow, the overhangs,
the rage and misery one cursèd night, of love’s erase.
Romantic and tragic body of sea, a bride set free.
for she’d not live eternity of blood, thus spills her own.
He has no heart, but tears. Before his fate - a honeybee.
The heaviness of weight, the sea frothing with moans.
The scene has wings that fly and dive and sweetly catch
the widower’s debris. Invisible, the flight of ghostly light.
From precipice, how many tears do claw and scratch…
Hell laughs, but jealous witch wished bride to be first bite.
The midnight shadows
Stretch and crawl
Across the bedroom floor,
As something heavy
Drags its weight
Outside your locked front door
You press the pillow
To your ears
To drown the scraping sound,
But hear the slow
Deliberate steps
Upon the frozen ground
The iron bolt
Begins to slide,
The rusty hinges trigger,
And through the darkness
Comes a cold,
Familiar, hollow figure
It slips into
The narrow hall
And steps into the dark,
And leaves upon
The hardwood floor
An ash black mark
You hold your breath
And close your eyes,
Pretending you’re asleep,
But through the cracks
Of eyelid light
You see a shadow creep
It towers right
Beside your bed,
A shape without a face,
And fills the cold
And crowded room
With static, dead air space
The blanket pulls
Slowly down from
Your
Chin
Into the
Air
And then you feel
Two frozen hands reach through your tangled hair
The bedroom fades
Muscles freeze
The air goes thin
An attempt to scream fails
No sound comes out
Something touches your skin
A sudden jerk
The mattress tilts
A force pulls onward
The floorboards scrape
The hallway opens
Everything changes
You kick and flail
The rug is ripped
The wall is clawed
The wood splits deep
The grip is iron
The descent begins
Down the stairs
Into the dark
The basement gate
A heavy slam
The lock clicks shut
Time has run out
Have you seen the Hollow Man?
Please oh please
Tell us
We bled for him
We kill for him
To join his clan
for my gentle handsome son, Keith Andrew-
The young Canadian goose was lost in flight,
Not knowing which way to turn-
Now he depended on instinct and sight,
And what he had already learned-
The clouds engulfed all his air space,
And for the skein his heart did yearn-
They were migrating north in springtime,
Towards their nesting grounds to return-
He was sure he could navigate the course,
But he really needed to see-
For now it was against time that he raced,
Hoping that soon with them all he would be-
He flew at an altitude of 3,000 feet,
the migration height that geese fly-
’but then remembered on some occasions,
they’d go up 27,000 feet in the sky!
He tried to get his bearings,
by estimating their rate of speed-
Canadian Geese cover 1,500 miles a day,
He’d have to fly faster to succeed-
KA, with courage geared up,
and charged right through the distant clouds-
He spotted black feathered necks and feet,
and heard lots honking that was loud-
His father was in the lead,
of the “V” formation that geese fly-
His mother was right behind,
Asking, “Where did he go and why?”
The young Canadian goose remained in back,
Until all of them touched the ground-
Mother emerged from the gaggle with glee,
Happy her son was found-
Mom and father were together for life-
In the geese world that’s how it goes-
Now it was KA’s time to find a mate,
He made it just in time to propose!
“I open the door and cross the threshold of imagination”
Time past, like a grandma’s tale
Has a moral to tell.
Time present, busy, full and bursting
Save me, my Lord.
Time future, O God, It’s but a dream
Time hangs heavy hereabouts, at this bus stop,
Called the market stop, where folks wait bleary-eyed,
But not for this spectacled, haggard, wiry girl
At this bookstore opposite in conversation
With a rough- looking guy for forty minutes now
The bus comes, I squeeze myself in , but eyes strain
To find if that butterfly, book in hand, a last minute arrival
Had fluttered on to this bus; yes, she had..
Time suddenly grows a butterfly’s wings and flies.
Out there, time, the prancing horse, is a non-stop myth, ,
The ageless do not get time-worn,
Again, there, air, space and all its gadgetry
Free Of all traps and waits and longings
Having time, not human-clock-bound,
Locked up in stellar boxes, pressed into black holes
Waiting for an explosion..the end…timeless end.
Form used: All the three are in Free verse form
Contest: `Three Gems` of Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet~
BY : S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Date written: Written years back, but slightly compressed for this post
04 aug 2011
Hush, Santa's sleeping,
After a long, arduous trip;
Warm and cozy in his bed,
Hugging a bottle of nip
Soaring through enemy air space,
To nations far and near;
A task we'd never sign up for,
Though he does it every year
Through the thickest of storms,
Through the darkest of night;
No rain, wind, or snow,
Will ever delay his flight
Winter's frigid bite,
A desert's blinding sand;
Santa's lowly mission,
Is joy throughout each land
Squeezing down tight chimneys,
Singed by burning logs;
Tripping over power cords,
Attacked by vicious dogs!
Your journey's accomplished,
Now go and sleep in peace;
Another year is waiting,
The madness all repeats!
Always finding the quite of stillness; peaceful waters her, reflections....
Be it here or, perhaps there ? Assembling their higher educational think tanks
Joey bought a condo at Venice while Pamela, drove down from Malibu; her red eye'd
Flights hurry on now, you shan't be late; composed another read through; his puppets
As their strains ? Marching, time it's Piccadilly manifesto; cross'bow ambassadors
Gin and tonic her double agent stewardess, confides ? Marshall Maverick, concealing the ark
Of the covenant; sequestered at Cardinal Bay to be presented his Prince, Beelzeboob's for surety
At Whirlwind Heights for authentication be a declaration; autism avouched of Babylonia's..
Fourteenth century her papacy ? Avignon, canonized at St. Petrarch's, deflowering school and arts ?
Entering now love's air space Tel Aviv'-Jaffa; gallivant's elaboration bubonic's plague; document six sixty
Six with Father Merrin As Regan to witness Historia's, tableau treaty demonic wedding ? Baby Sebastion's
Lucid trans atlantic delusion; vexations wild west Windsor's castle grand patriarch; sovereign jaegers....
Abominations, standing where they ought not be ? Bethlehem's bright morning star their Angels Melchizedek.
Hello. My name is Spring and I make an appearance every year.
People have often made comments of me like, 'Spring is in the air'.
For Daylight Saving Time, many will say 'Fall back and Spring forward'.
Well, they can say that, but sometimes I am early and other times late.
Sometimes, Old Man Winter hangs around too long, taking up my 'air space'.
And sometimes, I can't wait to 'Spring forward', attempting to push him aside.
That's right my friend, there is more going on up there than meets the eye.
And when cold clashes with heat, especially in my season, there's always
trouble in the sky. And usually, when there's trouble in the sky, it's not long before there's trouble on the ground. I might show up before I am officially
due or I may come after I'm due. It's another way of saying that I might be in the air but not on the ground in your neck of the woods. I may be in the air, but you do not see, hear, or even feel me. You take this winter of 2019 for example. I don't rightly know what's going on out here, and I don't know how long Mr. Winter is going to last, but things are definitely much different.
Anyway, I want to say that each of us seasons has to show up and do our job, and I'm hoping that, as you might be also, Mr. Winter does not overstay or infringe upon my responsibilities. I have to show up on time to restore life, create beauty, and get things growing again. I can't do that if Mr. Winter wears out his welcome, and it is absolutely unthinkable to try pushing him around because he's much stronger than I. So whereas I might be in the air, I might also be there cold and covered in snow, just waiting my turn.
03052019PoSoupContest, Spring Is In The Air, Emile Pinet
No logical place for this line in another scribing on the
same theme, so I put it down here, looked at it for a moment.
Decided to let it stick, not raise the bar or ante because there’s really nothing more to it.
Yet, I wonder if you might like it or if you think it needs a different treatment.
Perhaps it only deserves a parenthetical mention in a margin somewhere,
a fringe note on someone else’s clatter?
(But I try pretty hard never to criticize another’s work.)
What more to it than this desire to judge and be judged,
compete for air space and time?
After all the world seems to be getting
quite crowded with talent or advanced ideas.
Mediocrity just isn’t cutting it any more.
So, if a neck sticks out for you, perhaps it is only because
it’s dog tired and don’t want to fight you anymore,
mastered a waste of time,
it seems, to some degree, a pedigree.
Does this consummation constitute a talent?
Perhaps patience requires waiting for the virtuous topic to
suggest itself, but if I lay in wait I might never write anything at
all, and then who would I be?
How to begin…
Trying – whole thoughtless years, then,
Boom compulsive composition.
Perhaps there’s something –
Here, what do you think?
JUNE THIRD,TWENTY TWELVE
The unfriendly plane came, baked
With an arrogant fire flame courtesy
Dana air space,
As my land begins to shake
Steady crates of eggs collapse
And break
Her waste ran fast as the sun ray,
Tears became the spice of this day
Contributors convert millions to be
Greater than sands grains.
See how time is best friend to death
Before I could take a deep breath,
My area begins to smell
Exactly like a public toilet
Pleading for urgent help.
Do I quarrel with Dana that this
Is unfair, or
I tell my God why death turned into
A trade fare on a sabbath day.
The same day, my mother laid and
Hashed me into this image,
Under my canopy listen to loud
Music to celebrate
Inside my wardrobe lots of new
Clothes to appreciate
In my phone hundreds of
Messages to congratulate.
Dana suddenly arrived over the
Roof of my gate
Destroyed my anniversary plus
Guest I tried to entertain.
She perished all the cherished faiths
Sitting on her plane
When life wears no duplicate,
See wasted heads fill Lagos state,
Tragedy I pray to forever cast away.
Will this souls forgive my village
Or torment the so called aviation
Lineage,
No burial would befit my face
She's total burnt like this roasted
Maize.
Hallelujah to the Most High
I beg for grace on getting
To Your Majestic Place,
Tell the Angels to welcome Me with
Praise,
Cover this grave as time on earth
Is shorter than the rain.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA
Are we visited from another world?
I think we are ,but we are never told.
They visit some times late at night,
So they are not detected by our lights.
Our radars they can fool,theres no doubt,
They fly through our air space, in and out.
The only way we know that they have arrive,
Is when they put thier space ship into a dive.
One crashed in the desert , a long time ago,
But it was all hushed up, no one was to know.
It leaked out in the press that very same night,
By people who witness the falling lights.
The army told people to stay away,
To have nothing to say about what they had seen that day.
But we as a people, think all should know,
If you want to visit the site, then you should go.
We often wonder why they would come this far,
From a distant planet out there in the stars.
Is it because we are related in some way,
Or are they just passers by, its hard to say.
Now its our turn to travel to other worlds,
To see if we can meet other boys and girls.
We hope they will be friendly, when we finally meet,
To live with out War , now that would be neat.
I hope they dont see us as a war type,
And have come there to cause trouble and fight.
For its Love and Peace ,that we should share,
Even though we still dont have it here.
Innocent people are dieing here every day,
We know we can stop it, so lets find a way.
We have to bring people togather in love and peace,
So when we get to thier world, we will have a smile on our face.
On the frigid wings of the northern breeze
waned winter with frayed feathers flies away,
clears the mist from shining sky out of freeze,
song of birds brings life in ambiance grey.
On silken leaves’ cradle blooming buds glow,
with cascade of color petals unfold,
zephyr ripples fragrance in fervent flow,
but spring also has its downside untold.
Insects crawl out after hibernation,
stinging bees build hives in unwanted place,
allergens spread as season’s creation,
from defrosted ground dust fills warm air space.
Though compared to winter it is tender,
spring is not all encompassing splendor.
_______________
February 6, 2023
Syllable count : 10 per line (HMS)
Rhyme checked with RhymeZone.com
Contest : Spring Is Not All
Sponsored by : Michelle Faulkner
Big brothers, big brothers,
Evidently lovers,
With technology advanced,
All over the expanse,
For above earth’s stance,
Doeth not employ,
To destroy,
Flying in earth’s air space,
Far above the human race,
This is sadly, the case,
While earth’s carnal mind,
Can not define,
How they are flying,
We know they are there,
Even the mind doeth declare,
But how, and who,
Please give us a clue,
That we may pursue,, you,
Out into the blue,
But they already have,
If we will open our valve,
To the love that we have,
Love will lead us out,
Of the mind’s gout,
Physical clues, left all around,
The earth to be found,
But first our love, must come around,
So put on your, cap and gown,
Theology of mind,
About God,
Is not being God’s sod,
The love which is God,
Theology of mind,
Not big brother’s kind,
And will never align,
With a lover’s kind,
Love must lead,
Before we bleed,
Mind’s godless greed,
There is a seed of love,
For lifting above,
Time line of mind,
These other folds,
Of which I’ve told,
Of Christly molds,
Having followed love,
Are flying high above,
With master technology,
Are not mythology,
But of life’s biology,
But not of mind’s theology,
Mayan hieroglyphics,
Giving some specifics,
While stones of old,
Bugged eyes behold,
Higher technology,
Not of mind’s theology,
While heartless greed,
Promotes not,,, God speed,
While two voices,
Of two choices,
One has love’s power,
The other is a liar,
Choose love’s power,
Rise up in this hour,
To join big brother,
The lover,
In true technology!!
7-30-09 [email protected]
Come and take a tranquil journey with me by train,
by rail we will travel the Rockies hidden world;
carving a unique wilderness path whilst sipping champagne.
Weaving alongside steep canyons and sides of mountains furled,
in our all dome car we will soak up the wild scenery;
by rail we will travel the Rockies hidden world.
Over mountain rivers and untamed dazzling greenery,
an unforgettable adventure through terrain whirling;
in our all dome car we will soak up the wild scenery.
In an open air space for photos our hair is swirling,
we are plunged into darkness as we go through a rock cave;
an unforgettable adventure through terrain whirling.
Holding our breath we are both amazed and scared- oh be brave,
below the towering snow-ice capped peaks we sleep the night;
we are plunged into darkness as we go through a rock cave.
In the morning- a gourmet breakfast before our final wave.
Come take a tranquil journey with me by train,
below the towering snow-ice capped peaks we sleep the night;
carving a unique wilderness path whist sipping champagne.
_________________________
August 12, 2017
Terzanelle/Rocky Mountainer
Copyright Protected, ID 928930
A SPECIAL POEM FOR MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.
Agony of a Squirrel (poet Henry Ochiagha)
Hunted hunter hunting my soul.
Why are you hurting me so.
Hunted hunter hinted at bay.
Unwelcome predator looking for prey.
Setting the pace and blowing the blue jar.
Wake up one morning and saw the gray.
Hoping to meet the day dangling on a rosy line.
But was astonished by the treacherous arrow of the nile.
Crossing the air space shatter the leaves.
hitting the unknown victim.
Forgetting we are here before they came.
born rightwise to this fine land
intrudung hordes defiling it.
Loving unity while diversity is at risk of hate.
Lets promote things that unite us not things that divide us.
We see before the scene.
We see what we dream and dream what we see.
Even the greatest hunter cannot explain all that happen in the forest.
Instead of been caught, let laughter took over the road i was chase by the hunter.
Crops, trees and the fields are all my habitation.
No wonder the birds choose the sky.
The ground are fill with deadly traps.
I don't wanna go down there cos its were squirrel oliver was caught and never seen.
All humans are potential hunter hunted by desire and aspiration.
Hunted hunter hurt de hunted squirreled away some money.
Squirt out of my domain on a squirrel cage.
While my flesh can not even make a pot of soup flourish