Best Boneyard Poems
From a distance away,
I can spot a proud tail fin,
Standing upright among
A sea of dull metals.
As I approach, it’s evident that
Here rests the Queen.
The pinnacle of aviation.
The game-changer for aviation.
The tried-and-true Boeing 747.
You stand proud and tall,
Among other
Smaller,
Slower airliners.
Your presence silences the boneyard
Into deep awe.
The disdainful rust is only a reminder
Of your free years,
Taxiing graciously like a swam,
Blasting out of the airport
Like an unleashed missile.
You were unstoppable,
Your postures wowed the
Thousands of plane-spotters.
You are the beauty, the royalty 38000 feet up.
You are a safe fortress,
For however many passengers that you took in,
You let that many out.
Safe and sound.
You achieved something so amazing,
That aviation itself is changed:
With merely 4 engines,
And a pair of gracious angel-wings,
You connected the world.
You are the role-model for the future,
the true Queen of the Skies.
Yet, here you stay,
After decades of service,
wistfully among other aircrafts.
Airbus 300?
DC-8?
They aren’t even close to matching
Your legacy, your glamour.
Yet here you stay.
Gathering dust,
Being picked apart.
The airlines who claimed
to be proud to have you,
All forgotten about you.
But I haven’t.
And plane-spotters haven’t.
And pilots haven’t.
All those memories,
Pictures of the soaring heavy,
Fresh and vivid.
There, you will remain forever,
The way you were,
The Queen of the Skies.
Boneyard
Abandoned, Peaceful
Sprawling, Watching, Waiting
Still as the Night
Graveyard
July 31, 2019
**Side note: I was inspired to write a cinquain poem after my son brought one home that he had written in his English class back in 2017. I kept his poem because it was something he created for class and when I found it two years later, I thought it would be fun to try my hand at it.
Dancing in the world of the undead
Soles lightly treading unearthed graves
Take my decaying hand in yours, love
Tonight this land belongs to us
Torn apart in life
Our love cannot be tainted here
Ironic purity found in death
One end brings a new beginning
Simplistic euphoria
Never to be found among the living
Gliding through endless ages
Time does not matter in this place
Let them all stare as we prance by
Their envy poorly disguised as disgust
Gaping smiles merrily shouting
“Ashes to ashes! Dust to dust!”
As I gaze upon the splendor of the beach:
yellow, soft and resplendent and compliant.
I realize that it is a debris field of bones.
Of shattered shells devoid of sound-of-sea-echoes.
Of bit of crabs, seaweeds and bones of fishes ground to dust,
all gathered into an amorphous tell-tale pile.
It's congealed when wet, soft and flowing when dry.
This boneyard of bone, shell grit and bony bits,
is caressed by the wind, currents and waves into dunes, banks, bars and drifts
that are constantly played and reworked.
It is this boneyard beach which provides the perfect
barrier and margin along the shore absorbing
the thrust of storms, winds and waves
protecting it from erosion.
Like the bones in a cemetery, or a calavera
the debris field on a beach
protects and sustains the living form
with the heritage remains of the past,
remembered and put to good use.
BONEYARD
A mist of your scent.
An image of you.
Alone in the boneyard your sleep is forever more.
In the air is the fresh scent of dozens of roses, all to you I give.
My back against the cold headstone, a couple of words to say along.
Along the way a feeling of missing you, impossible to bring you back to the place you once knew.
To the world of your folks you will be deeply missed.
Flowers we gave.
Alone in the boneyard I sit with my back against the stone.
A chill brushed by me on a sunny day.
An image that stood five feet away.
A circle of madness covered your face.
Before you died were you in peace?
I walk the boneyard.
My love goes out to you.