Best Launch Pad Poems
A spaceship called Hope... made from future's grand mist,
is perched upon a launch pad of manic chemicals, and loss.
With stun gun emotion, mother earth regurgitates.
5-4-3-2-1
Her metal finger meets the button...
she releases her ballast...
Blast off!
My brain engulfing G forces.
Soon to become a mustard seed
in the speed of light garden.
Filled with gravid redheaded planets,
giving birth to fat-headed moons.
The stars are cheering, like starving mad islanders.
Light years have passed.
Ground control has lost contact.
(by choice or by accident).
The rations are depleting,
but I'm serene in a starry tranquility...
I've blown by a million past lives.
Apologized half-heartedly to an alien God.
Who wished me well, pointed toward a giant black hole.
Then disappeared into the vapor trail
of lost potential and cachexic hope.
Its eerily over.
There's no more virgin oxygen.
Only the stale argon of saints and tyrants,
casting shadows of black hallucinations
chanting:
"Little seed...little seed...Didn't you know this was a one-way flight?"
I gaze out a stained-glass window for the last time.
Church bells are ringing from the parched throat of time.
Four golden letters peel from the side of the star dusted ship.
Satiating the madness of stars...
"Little seed...little seed."
Categories:
launch pad, allegory, space,
Form:
Free verse
SPEEDING ROCKET
Standing huge and massive on the launch pad, so many tons of power
wait to be primed, one way ticket to the stars, waiting to be launched.
It will circle the planet and then land safely, but it wants to go so much further.
This will be the ride of our lives for not many people will do this.
Now as we launch the hot fire pushes us skyward; further we go every second,
the sky goes blue, fading to purple, then black. We can see the stars and the
curve of the earth before us as we fly into space, majestically.
We are as free now as we will ever be on our speeding rocket, spearing through
the heavens, freedom.
Categories:
launch pad, science, space, stars, technology,
Form:
Free verse
"I only wish that ordinary people had an unlimited capacity
for doing harm; then they might have an unlimited power
for doing good."--Socrates
BLASTING OFF
What if human beings
Were not broken sinners
But the resilience of life
Creating long-term winners
Sitting on the launch pad
Engines primed and ready
Blast off is a go!!!
Lifting off and climbing steady
Floating above the blue
A world of imperialism
Masses in a learning curve
Amidst a goal-setting schism
No government ever to blame
For even a single atrocity
But an adolescent species
Shirking its responsibility
Yet growth being inevitable
Stunned by its very speed
Now we're getting so big!
And such amazing dreams
From rolling in the mud
And outgrowing that fun
Until we stop pointing fingers
And we glow like the sun
[I am proposing the idea that no government has ever
been responsible for anything. Perhaps we sentient
human beings hold all power yet are too reluctant to try
to understand exactly who we are. Thus, perhaps we
prefer bad governments and blame over .......... well,
what would it mean to face ourselves without distractions
to mask the pain?]
Note: I hope this write doesn't make anyone angry. I
know that mention of the word government ignites
passions.
Categories:
launch pad, visionary,
Form:
Free verse
Columbia soars high up from it’s launch pad, or so it seems
Seven men and women like children, fulfilling their most dreamt about dreams.
Cocooned inside their spaceship, our earth, they now see as a whole
A pity we can’t all see the big picture and reconcile it with our soul.
Up there, feeling quite privileged and a closeness to some greater force,
But the demands of the day take these feelings away, a space station determines their course.
All tasks performed with precision; the training has paid off in full
Heading home it’s not just gravity but family and friends that provide a great pull.
Touching the edges of our small earth, the entry has now begun
but senors; both electronic and human seem to suggest this day might be run.
All eyes now trained skyward, a pitiful sight for all to behold
And the voice from NASA talks of ‘contingency’ – all seems rather cold.
They left this earth as explorers not knowing, there would be no return
But, like pioneers before them, tis another chapter from which man will learn.
Thousands and thousands of people, some known and some not, are lost every day
And yet, just seven in a very long moment, caused a world of nations to unite and pray.
Categories:
launch pad, courage, earth, emotions, voyage,
Form:
Rhyme
A beautifully perfect July sky, exploding in holiday brilliance, held its collective breath as I carefully secured my bottle rocket for lift off. At that precise moment, Ms. Filipski decided to violate my airspace and with pinpoint accuracy, I scored a direct hit from two backyards away. A certain sense of pride in this accomplishment was bound to complicated my guilt.
Father, just emerging from our back door onto my launch pad, bellowing "noooooooo"
in full stride, ran immediately to the site of impact. My relationship with Ms Filipski and the significance of the Fourth of July were, then and there, inexcusable altered forever. I have yet to see another " rocket's red glare" absent a wry smile.
03/16/2016
Categories:
launch pad, funny, holiday,
Form:
Free verse
Cruz croppin' cruz control,
contralateral craw fishing on the soul-
grounding intimidation,
growling conversations,
growing in the grooms greatest advantageous...
Glowing-
gory the launch pad goal,
cloning calamity's spindrift off the walls of the show.
Categories:
launch pad, boat, christian, dad, dark,
Form:
Blank verse
Son of a legend, and the greatest of Danes,
A towering keeper with success in his veins,
From a boy at United he’s developed and grown,
And now Kaspar Schmeichel as a Champion is known.
A tireless worker on the right of defence,
With both pace and great timing mixed with tactical sense,
Though with less of the fuss that surrounds his team mates,
Danny Simpson belongs on the roll of fox greats.
The captain of Austria and a bit of a lad,
Though defensive at first, an attacking launch pad,
He is sure to be present in the history books,
He’s our Austrian left back, Christian Fuchs.
A man or a mountain, or a Teutonic knight,
Standing strong in the tackle, always up for the fight,
He’s a twice honoured champion, not too long in the tooth
He is known by just one word, and that word is Huth.
He’s the captain of captains, he’s our fearless fox leader,
Made a bang in the premier like a blue Al Queda,
He is Wesley (Wes) Morgan or Big Wes to his mates,
And he’s up there with Walsh and the rest of the greats.
Categories:
launch pad, football,
Form:
Blank verse
Waves pushed a torrent of power and might.
Against the tiny creature seemingly lost in the night.
With only the moon to navigate her path,
Little seahorse galloped—
Giddy up—giddy up—
Hungry suitors let her pass, tonight peace without wrath.
Hippocampus—was her genus, a clever equine design.
Upright she rocked, the shallow temperate sea brine.
With back and forth swiftness, and straight ahead scurry,
Little seahorse galloped—
Giddy up—giddy up—
Her love patiently waiting, she approached in a hurry.
Bequeathed to but one, her monogamous beau.
His sack carrying offspring, soon released in the flow.
She focused on him, and the time now at hand,
United they galloped—
Giddy up—giddy up—
Till they stopped in the moonlight, and knelt in the sand.
Together they witnessed their family emerge.
Dad’s brood pouch and safety, quickly empty and purged.
Fully formed miniatures, resembling Mother and Dad,
A thousand new seahorses now galloped away—
Giddy up—giddy up—
The obscurity of sea grass, their new life’s launch pad.
Categories:
launch pad, birth, family, horse, inspirational
Form:
Narrative
Whilst sitting on the Launch Pad
They await the final countdown
Their rocket – called TAKE 5, begins to shudder
The Captain is well known, and called BUTTERFINGER Boris
The other crew are MIKE and IKE and a female they call Doris
Rising with a roar like thunder
The MILKY WAY GALAXY to their left
Igniting like a Rocket at a Guy Fawkes celebration
They travel through the atmospheres and up into the stratospheres
The crew men on the Mother ship are called THREE MUSKETEERS
As they approach the Harvest Moon
A wondrous sight for all to see
The ship positions carefully, preparing to touch down
The Moon looks like a Christmas bauble dangling from the skies
Such a WHOOPER – it’s humongous, they really can’t believe their eyes
Landing with a bump and beginning to alight
They step upon this waterless and dusty satellite
There are SNO- CAPS for to climb, with such a steep incline
Great MOUNDS of debris all around that block their route ahead
But truthfully the crew would like to be at home, instead
As they explore the Moon once more
They stumble upon a strange creature
A little Green Man, who is very obese
Announcing himself with a sweeping bow, as Mr WATCHAMACALLIT
He’s training to run a Moon MARATHON, but he needs to get fitter to win it
The crew they finished all their chores
Boarding the Mother Ship they fasten her doors
Lift off is smooth, as they drift and float, gliding back into space
But hearing a strange voice nearby, whispering "Are those goodies for me"
They discover Mr W, on bended knees, embarking on a chocolate SPREE
But how on earth did he climb aboard, this CHUNKY little man
The crew in such a quandary and not knowing what to do
Should they turn back NOW AND LATER tell the reasons why
Or continue on their journey home, they did not want to die
Let’s take him home, cried Doris, he can live with me, I like his smile
But the twinkle in her eyes became a tear upon her cheek
She was lonely and emotional as she began to speak
She had fallen for the Moon Man in amongst the ballyhoo
Back home now and in wedded bliss, living on 5th AVENUE
How Sweet it is Competition, Sponsor Carol Connell, written on 29.09.18
Contest Brian's Choice D
Sponsor Brian Strand
Categories:
launch pad, fantasy, space, sweet, uplifting,
Form:
Rhyme
If I could close my eyes and click my heels
and travel back in time,
I'd be at Apollo 11 Launch Pad,
on July 16 of 1969.
The original crew was only three,
but now there'll be one more.
We're headed for the moon,
where no one has been before!
Four days after launch,
we will reach our destination.
If I could only sneak off first, I thought,
it would be a great sensation!
Apollo 11 blasted off,
we left without a flaw.
I took along my camera
so I could film the things I saw!
20 July, we reach the moon.
We're excited there's no doubt.
Armstrong, when we finally land
will be the first one out.
I'm trying to think of a clever way
to beat him to the door.
If I were the first man on the moon,
I'd be famous for evermore!
But then I started thinking,
this is a dream, it isn't true.
I can't be changing history,
so there's just one thing to do!
So, I closed my eyes and clicked my heels
and traveled back to now.
Although the journey wasn't real
I enjoyed it anyhow!
Contest: "Close your eyes and click your heels"
Name: Ralph Taylor
Categories:
launch pad, fantasy, imagination,
Form:
Rhyme
A Voyage Where Adventure Must Invite:
Off Mega-Hurts (MHz) - - - - thru Giga-Bites (Gbyte)
And Reboots, Resets and Reduced – Sites
… into CyberSpace’s Secret – Flight…
An Inner Sanctum – Leaving from A Void
of Dreamless Drones or Disposable Droids
whose Mechanical Moves are quite Paranoid
Poised to Replace Super-Hero-Humanoids…
… and their CyberSpace Secrets…
of Convertible – Virtuals – Rushing like Jets
Suggestible – Intellectual – hasn’t Arched Yet
Yes, that’s Conjectural, even a Lamentable Retrospect
… so let’s… get into our CyberSpace’s Secrets-Chest
into Circuitry of Micro-Chips and The Matrix’s Breast
where Modem and Mainframe can Process Trip and Test
and View Monitored Progress and onward Press…
… The Auto Pilot… Tho’ We Should Not Forget
Manual Conversion, is better, when used to Connect
Real People, Who File-by with Knowledge and Respect
Programmed Codes of CyberSpace – Specs
… So May I Journey Into Your CyberSpace?
Let me Scan and Search Thru – Your Data Base
I want more than Information… I Want Interface!
And A Fusion of Feelings and Facts, Fast-Paced!
… Oh, The Complexity, The Intensity, Ingenuity and Affinity…
The Enormity of The Capacity for Sensitivity or Voracity
The Trajectory and Congruency, makes A Sweet CyberSpace Symmetry
Your Beauty and Ability, I must ask, “Boy, Who’s Your D-a-d-d-y!
See, I’m Dropping Crumbs; like Hansel and Gretel
See, I’m All Thumbs; at Gifs and Pixels, at This Level
Seems You’re Still Skipping On Blast-Off-Key (Launch) Pad Missiles
Too Far Away to Hear – My Wavelength, Wonder Whistles…
Come Back! Help me Lift this Artificial-Escape Lid!
Are You ‘Lost In Space’ – Gone Off The Grid?
The Heart of Dark-Matter – ‘Where Have You Hid…
…Your CyberSpace Secrets Amid?...
… What Vector, What Sector, What Intranet
What Satellite, What Planet, Which Parapet?
What Sequence, Star System, Radius, Apex…
Oh, Signal Me From Your CyberSpace Trek!
Categories:
launch pad, adventure, allegory, computer-internet, fantasy,
Form:
Light Verse
Last time thoughts of boosted hope
came toppling down from the launch pad
of inert indecisions
Malfunction of a dilithium crystal heart ...
another failed relationship
doomed to never takeoff from the start
Second stage of salvage effort
were just discarded arguments and disappointments
Time and energy wasted ...
hope falling into the void
Happy memory debris floating in the cosmic ether
Empty personal space
always receive the emotional garbage
that we leave
Rocket hope fueled by catalyst sparks of desire,
only went as far
as the upper room chamber
of suspended animation rest
Anything outside the boundaries
of nocturnal erogenous awakenings
became fatal Apollo dreams
Dying in the void
with burnt cherubim wings
Broken promises made it impossible
to elevate an imperfect union
Failed distant reconciliation rescue attempts
came crash landing into the lonely empty
Our love starship
fell into the void
Pleading cries fall silent
into the void
Metallic teardrops,
from a final hull body and soul effort,
fall into the void
Never making any null noise
Never making any sense of the reasons given
for the rejection of FTL love
A Faster Than Light journey
into the vast nebular firmament mystery above
Your failed reactor fear of not wanting to experience
the quantum outer limit Nth dimensions thereof
Categories:
launch pad, dark, love hurts, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Under the scorching spotlight sun,
this fan stands
fearing losing sight of a star.
Behind, watchers arm
themselves with binoculars.
Our eyes lock.
Lips prepare for
salty launch pad palms
depositing
lover's rockets.
Arms rise carefully.
Wrist rotate positioning
invisible spacecrafts
parallel to the earth.
Hot breath blasts
kisses flying,
floating in orbit
untouched
by gravity before colliding.
Now, one supernova sits
in a constellation
of safe jolts
and virtual crashes
propelled by two who
force breath simultaneously
intent on observing
the resplendent disappearance
the momentary flash
of a first kiss. Pores rise
becoming Braille revealing
how a married stargazer feels
weightless once more.
Categories:
launch pad, celebrity, crush, guitar, kiss,
Form:
Free verse
Spring Equinox 2019 ™®©- çø!a
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
out of hibernation,
sans mancave, I will climb
specifically at 5:59 Post Meridiem
eastern standard time,
when calendrical, celestial,
and chronological prime
airy factors mark
onset of temperate clime
mitt, also coincides with
'super worm equinox moon,'
to this Earthling, would appear
no larger than a dime
though ironically enough,
said satellite of Earth
closest to this oblate spheroid
whatever esoteric tidbit may be worth,
yet unwittingly inviting once in a
blue cheese moon opportunity
to espy with naked eye lunar dearth
of life, nor feasible conditions
warrant sear ching colonizing ahoy
by an adventurous space cowboy,
but perhaps convenient
launch pad to employ
entrepreneurial minded profiteers,
whether Jewish or goy
establishing other worldly
getaway to enjoy
reprieve, asper burgeoning
hardy madding crowd
populating nearly every square inch,
sans third rock from the sun, a proud
arrogant, defiant, haughty,
et cetera species predominantly cloud
ding, glomming, mucking, et cetera
exploiting courtesy manifest destiny
bajillion year old planet as if endowed
by divine creator to trumpet "FAKE"
supremacy, tis not white in my mind
declaring might equals right unbowed
credo selfishly amassing untold wealth
ideally at expense and health
of every others by fiat, force and stealth
consigning subjects to slavery
in an effort to rule global commonwealth,
which self centered
aggrandizement that ball
(pockmarks most visible hall
of the moon tin king)
did not return my call
and thoroughly explains
without rhyme and reason
why what appears as face on lunar surface
actually migrants of Stonehenge vestial wall.
Categories:
launch pad, appreciation, body, crazy, earth,
Form:
Free verse
Denying the change,
Your lipstick clutched tightly,
But beware my dear those empty promises may leave you broken and deranged,
An erratic arousal from images of the high and mighty,
Worshiping an ivory tower existence complete with hollow halls and launch pad balconies,
Remain wary of your left hand's desperate grasps to hold dear,
The haunting spectrum of a phantasmal queen demanding to be revered,
Her basilisk gaze locks you in place,
Hold your breath and keep your composer when she approaches,
Crawl under your bead utter every prayer flat on your face,
Do you feel her burning gaze,
Frenzied appendages grasp desperately at your heart,
Your eyes brimming with tears depicting a world through a satin haze,
I urge you to escape your prison,
Let your instinctive fear overcome rational convictions,
Gouge out your eyes sever your limbs,
Best to forget how to walk than serve as a slave to your body's whim,
Anything but appeasement death before betrayal,
Fight tooth and nail for every inch regained from your forced betrothal,
Never forget that the fabrics of your existence were wrought with flesh not reflective glass.
Categories:
launch pad, beautiful, society,
Form:
Rhyme