Best Aviators Poems
I remember it so clearly,
The first time I saw you.
You said you loved my aviators.
Our meeting was so ordinary,
And having nothing witty to say
I just asked your name
Standing in that long driveway.
Who would have thought
Two years later
I would be whispering your name
To the deaf and passionless leaves
Just trying to ease the pressure
On my shackled, poem-filled, heart.
Focusing each minute you're near
On the propinquity of the irresistible.
Everything about you draws me,
And I am always pushing back
Against that ever present urge
To fall in love with you.
Battle me, ill thrash thee into dust
Warrior spirit bust with a carnage thrust to ya chest
Evolving the sun into my godliness throne
But the moon says i make her moan
So i gotta plant my seeds into her lunar drones
Midnight admission, crackhead addictions
Street corner benedictions
Minotaur inscription ending in nothingness
Its best that opal u-turns, burn the scar deep within
Dragon blends seethe swords conceived tainted lore
Belize believe nothing else comes close, cuz i wrote IN'I gourds
African soldiery and more, strike existence snare
Pour youth between thin air blocks columbine shocked
Aviators rocked I flew higher than they ever got
Stocks and bonds cropped akuma slash block
My talents germinate brain waves optimistic in nature
Irreligious vapors incompetent
Money rules the defense soon to trial, convictions vile
Shape up son, close is judgment interaction won
Unless hector had the gun and he was the one by your side
Planes fly everywhere
Aviators be aware
Towers sleeping there
Lies in the large area of Atlandic deep
Betwixt Florida, Puerto Rico, and Bermuda
A creepy, frightening, and mysterious reef
Formed the devil's triangle above atoll Barbuda
The heavily travelled shipping lanes of the globe
Where vessels vanished in mystic circumtances
Region where aircrafts routinely fly over and rove
But skippers and aviators still believe in chances
With the shot in the arm of weather satellites fly
Seen and noticed the unusual hexagonal clouds
Experts in atmospheric phenomena decrypt the sky
Hoped to save from deadly blast of water-air shrouds
Precioso Tano
May 13, 2017
Mans Dreams of Peace
~ ~ ~ ~
War hell no! It is not name of the game,
No bodies laying over the battlefields
There is no way I am today the same.
Women and children all dying in wet fields
All torn apart by war ugliness and warriors;
Must try hide in our nightmares to get sleep.
Helicopters seems to sounds like aviators,
Torn bodies of the war in it’s own attire
Trying keep alive a dream that weeps.
Dreams of the dead must have ways to-conspire
Keep us from going back to peaceful sleep again.
Now we men dream of world peace within an dome,
Any major change in my sleep, is just spin,
For peace, not war! nor death! Just a home!
~
Steve L. Siegel
January 22, 2013
World War I gave us the fly-boys
Who flew by the seat of their pants.
Many would never return from war
While others survived by chance.
Their planes were mostly canvas and wood
Gasoline, bullets, bombs and poison gas.
Every pilot carried his own pistol
Wearing leathers, scarf and goggles of glass.
Aviators had no Parachutes
To escape their burning plane.
Many were forced to jump to their death
Or self inflect a bullet to the brain.
Blimps where known as battleships of the sky
The roar of their engines gave reason for fear.
They flew so high they were hard to shoot down
Hiding above clouds till their targets drew near.
Tracer bullets for the first time were used
In the guns of airplanes to set blimps a fire.
The skies became man’s highway of death
With duty and honor their driving desire.
How many Fly-boys have we lost since then
Those days of the Great War and more?
Where do we get such brave souls of chance
Who rise from the rest in the battles of war?
By Tom Zart
Masters of flight,
Marvel of sights
Flying in from all over Europe,
Asia, Africa and America
Hovering and performing sharp manoeuvres
With successful acrobatic flights
And their wings constantly changing shape
The flap of their wings,
The envy of aviators
Believe it! The airplane is no match for them
As they stay airborne through wind gusts, rain and snow
Flying without a map
Following no prescribed path
They come in their thousands
Beautifully dressed for dinner
Very distinguished with their white heads
And showy white tails
Feathers fanned out for braking as they land
Masters of flight
Marvel of sight
Majestic soaring eagles
Jet,
yeas, it is mean clearly full ahead,
helicopter,
well, another oddly iron Robocopter.
But look for dragonfly
for his camouflaged flying
when he chased the flies and mosquitoes
and others supersensitive and artful pilots.
He is moved absolutely disorderedly
and unexplainable,
full ahead and full back
and topsy-torvy,
with instant accelerating
and the same deceleration,
from great speed
to complete stoppage on air
(as a crawling tiger on grasses
when a gout turn to backward) ,
creating fantastic maneuvers and tricks in 3D
of the blissful summers performance
on the edge of lake, hear me,
it’s the figures of greatest pilotages
said practiced aviators
from MIGs, Hornets and Phantoms
and other airs strikers and predators.
Dawn shyly appears above the sea's horizon.
She's wearing several subtle shades of pink.
Much softer hues than that of rainbow red,
a bold color that inspires poets to spill ink.
A pair of white doves fly across the sky.
Upon a journey together they embark.
Pinion feathers of purest white take flight,
trilling a morning song, in tune with a lark.
Sunrise wipes his sleepy eyes then he sees
skies blended with the color of a ripe peach,
like the second band in a rainbow ~ orange.
Third arc of yellow, as golden sand on a beach.
The doves stay clear of seagulls diving for fish,
for those are not tasty things that doves prefer.
Two busy aviators, shadows cast on the sun,
focused on their mission, wings in a whirr.
In a verdant meadow are the trees they seek
in the rainbow's color of green, they rest.
Huddled together, they decide it's the place,
so, in branches of an oak, they build a nest.
A task they hurry in doing while skies are blue.
The fifth rainbow color without clouds nearby.
Twigs and leaves entwined with feathered down.
With the sun half risen, two white doves unify.
Eggs laid; she shrouds them as dark clouds swirl.
Heavy with rain, they're a deep shade of indigo.
Sixth in a rainbow's arc, between blue and violet,
Mother dove guards her embryos as winds blow.
Morning sun has disappeared for a little while.
Soon the storm will fade and move on its way.
Then a rainbow's arc will stretch across the sky,
and two doves will coo, white feathers in array.
Stunningly dressed, stirring in her crib, spring awakens.
Plants and animals ready for the princesses arrival.
Rolling waves of aviators, nippers, roamers scurry all.
In turn blooming blossoms, blossoming blooms flavor froth the air.
Nourishing rays, falling rains provide the infant sustenance.
Gathered, gleeful the first born takes her seasoned throne.
Maurice Yvonne
10/01/2014
A is for Airspeed who graduated from Oxford
B is for Bristol with their whispering giants
C is for Convair and Canadair also
B recalls Boulton-Paul who built many Defiants.
D for De Havilland and those sleek Comet racers
E for the energy shown at Embraer
F connotes Fairchild who made a Packet or two
And G stood for Grumman at whom few tomcats stare.
H means Handley-Page or old Hawker-Siddeley
Astounding the globe with their jump-jet designs
I’s for Invincible, she sailed with Sea Harriers
J for the Jetstream with its dynamic lines.
K stands for Kaman so creative with rotorcraft
L must be Lockheed, the Starfighter’s dad
Whining like werewolves when losing their airspeed
Sure to send shivers down the spine of some lad.
M is for Mooney, sleek princess of pistons
N recalls Northrop proud makers of Hornets
Patrolling our oceans from carriers grey
Safeguarding airspace up close to the Arctic
Or defending the cargoes we import every day.
O for the Ospreys whose engines can tilt
P means Piaggio with rare pushing propellors
Drowning-out tenors with their monotone song
Queue for the taxiway, proceed as instructed
Safe separation your life will prolong.
R for those Robins with oddly cranked wings
S stood for Sopwith, with taut wiring and struts
T for the Taylorcraft, no need for sprung nosewheel
U for the uniformed men in rough huts.
V for those Vickers from Brooklands ascending
W for Westland down Somerset way
X-painted large means don’t use this runway
As it’s not been maintained for many-a-day.
Y is the yearning to sit in a cockpit
To strap oneself tight to a privileged seat
Z for the Zeros that rattled their cannons
And so strafed the decks of a Pearl Harbour fleet.
Tune in! Tune in!
Its "Lost":Season 8...strangers, stranded by fate
If on a deserted island...how does the big guy NOT lose weight?
...Meanwhile, back at the lab, producers are working around the clock
To find fake people, thrown in fake situations....feeding the foolish flock
"Alright, I got one"!! "We take ten beauticians...put them through flight school"
Cameras roll to see thong-clad aviators in a battle...
....cattle come to seem them battle, for a job at TWA
The remote-control can warp your soul
Jerry Springer's the warden in hell
Make's me ill--like advice from Dr.Phil
not all men are scum, you ass kissin' bum!!
So I turn to "COPS" for some emotional guidance
nothing settles me down quicker
then seeing a shirtless wife-beater
face down in cuffs.....damn, Dr.Phils onto something....
Upon the foggy hills I sat
With a hat on my bloody lap
Contemplation is my thoughts
Whilst humming in my lips
Aviators all around
Dropping shells to the ground
With a big booming sound
People screaming through the air
Run for your lives they declare
This is the way it was
Back in the year of 1921.
The evil that is war
Zaian war.
7/1/16
wonder wonder what we’ll do when the sky becomes not free
wonder wonder what life would be if we hid and flee
wonder wonder where we’ll go when we drown in sea
wonder wonder just who’ll remember what we did for thee.
we are men who gave our life so gallant as can be
we are men who flew the line in battle to save our liberty
we are men that shed our blood so proudly as an enlistee
wonder wonder if God will be there in that forgotten eternal sea
will you be there raising a flag under that big chestnut tree
will you be there at my grave to honor by saluting me
will you be there in your thoughts in a moment of reverie
wonder wonder but we were those true aviators at Tuskagee
37th Floor
Shiodome City Center
The Japanese Secretaries
Stand in unison
Upon my arrival
All for me
You shouldn’t have
But thank you
180 degree view of Tokyo
900 square miles
10 Million people
All walking in unison
To a tune I don’t understand
I will never understand
I stick out
Like blood on a white table cloth
Like a fly in a bowl of Miso
208 lbs of flesh
Meat and bone
MIAMI to Tokyo is 7500 miles
18 hours total flight time
Many tens of thousands will be spent
I will avoid rice
But by the end of the trip
I’ll be eating it by the handful
The Japanese business men surround me
All dressed the same
Blue blazer
Blue or white shirt
Loose tie
Round glasses
No identity
I’m in my Aviators
Dragons on my sleeve
Brown as from last weekend
A 3 day frat party
Vodka and Gatorade my libation
Judging bikini contests
Near the FLORIDA - Bama line
Now gazing into the
Deep blue waters of Tokyo Bay
The curvilinear slopes
Of the Rainbow Bridge
Remind me of her jaw line
The random gracefulness
Of the waves
Remind me of her gesticulations
Warm with desire
I plunge into the abyss
Hoping I’m buoyant
Transfixed on its dark coolness
Sliding into the breaks
Gasping for air
Serves no purpose
I’ve grown gills
Webbed toes
I call this home now
My motherland
For which I never knew
And can never un-know
Squatters’ rights do not
Exist in Maritime law
So slowly I sink
With a plastered smile
Flag in my hand
Searching for a sea floor
Which may not exist at all