Best Parachuting Poems
dandelion tufts
a flotilla of pappi
parachuting seeds
(Haiku)
04/23/2020
Let the Pens Flow - Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jenish Somadas
Free Falling
Falling free through the atmospheric air like many shooting stars
Falling so free through the air, up a cloudy sphere of clouded scars
Whimsical while crashing onto the ocean, oh what a lucid scene to be seen
Like the ill-forgotten mermaids, swimming exotic like the color aquamarine
Now you're trying to hold onto something to save your very sheltered life
Your body has been free falling, and your very instinct is to survive grief and strife
Free falling is keeping you so warm, it's emanating and floating on endlessly through galaxies
In a moment you are thinking is this true reality or is it a lucid scene of surreal fantasies
One thought has entered your mind, now I am free falling as I make my first parachute jump!!!
03/26/2018
Oh the joy of it all, to go parachuting and making the first free fall takes a persons breath away/ Beauty is simply astonishing about all of our senses coming alive!!!
Evie
Jellyfish
Once I had a wild wish
To be a jolly jellyfish,
A quietly quivering jellyfish
Shivering in the sea.
I did not crave to be a crab,
A sideways-scuttling, crusty scab
In sluggish sludge and dismal drab
At the bottom of the sea,
Nor wish to be a sucking sponge,
Sea-sway drudge of the fathoms' plunge,
Dredging supper from the soupy gunge
In the dungeons of the sea.
I might have wished for shark or whale,
To lord the oceanic trail,
My dorsal fin a regal sail,
Imperial in the sea;
Or dared to dash through the dolphin waves,
Gliding where the wild seas rave,
Dive to a shipwreck's sunken grave,
Sunken deep in the sea.
Instead, I wished for a jellyfish,
A parachuting jellyfish,
A gossamer drift in the seas' vast dish;
That's what I wished for me.
Ten things I would like to do before I meet my maker
Atop the list – a grouper-catching record breaker
Hang gliding takes the second spot on my bucket list
Have snowflakes melting on my nose as my true love I kiss
Free-fall parachuting is one I mustn’t leave out
And feeling the empowerment of one who has some clout
Joy I’d find white-water rafting through the Grand Canyon
With an eagle spirit guide overhead as my companion
Penning a best seller sure would make one dream come true
Competing on “Survivor,” yes, I’d enjoy that too
Touring Europe’s haunted castles has always been a goal
And if I explored pyramids too, I’d complete my roll
Some may think me crazy, but I live for adventure
My friends call me “wild woman,” it’s my nomenclature
*For Joe's Top 10 Contest
TWICE UPON A TIME
two things clicked. A severed
evening parachuting down
on a hillock where a palace
hovered about. And coming
to terms with a cool perspective.
Kuchipudi there was. And Payal
to perform. Dispelling detachments.
And dithering in acceptance. I was
being answered in steps like 1 plus
1 is 2 or 10, binary or not.
And then Amjad Ali’s Sarod
Intervenes to disprove detachments
and to accept acceptance. Reducing
things to chewable bits. To be
politically and peaceably correct.
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For Justin Bordner's contest.
28 jan 2015.
It's so cold
that hell has frosted lava lakes.
It's a "no drop" zone
for parachuting snowflakes.
It's so freezing
the screen door is squeakin'
Slurpees are made
when the doggy is leakin'
It's so cold
shivers scramble eggs.
I found the yeti
when lookin' at my legs.
It's so frosty
Jack is out decorating
windshield art
that's late for work frustrating.
It's so cold
the north pole is the tropics,
and camping tents
are made from igloo bricks.
It's so chilly
that even my rhymes are cool.
But gawk too much,
you'll end up with icicle drool.
A Cyclops was chatting briefly to a triceratops on the A9. Travelling to a cooked conference. The deepening road arched in anticipation of wheels. Wow. The heightened awareness of ninety million snails parachuting from above can no longer be ignored by the pin people. Oh dear. The significantly growing masses can no longer be exposed to such truth. It is wiser to punch a door than a circular blade of grass. Every erosion eradicates evenly evil events. And a curly tail from a single ear of corn is paramount to a journey into an abyss of time. Travelling with curtain poles is fabulous. It highlights and further demonstrates the current need for versions to be visions and visitations visible. Vestibular vertabrims vanquish. And an eye of dawn laughing. Circumference of an atom is neither a headline of a series or a statutory static void. And still a turning. And still a stripey square. Spin then. No lines could ever taunt an area of over three hundred and fifty-five thousand square feet. Ha to that. Jeopardy is dancing with leopards today. Worldwide. Creating lots of financial gain. No ha to that. If doctors can spin then why don't they make a blanket then? And coughing in dough is not clever for it is wiser to cough near a drop of eighty-four million feet. Question not the remarkable ten toed wisdom of the arriving jellyfish. Canter. Gallop. And enter. How rather radical then. And so the conversation ceased as the journey began for the Cyclops and triceratops misted through the many lanes and roads cheered on only by their inner missions. Saluted by those whose antics upon humanity were rancid. And drawing attention only from the large piles of heifer excrement sizzling in the countryside akin to freshly cooked steak pies with gravy. Beanpole bake. Bream booms. Brook book. And one turtle eye staring. Xxxxx insectivorous institutions. Xxxx germination z
Snowflakes slowly parachuting together
In the still of the night
On mother nature's military invasion
Michael Tor 8/28/2015
Over the Middle Passage of Time
(Apropos of Trials and Triumphs)
In the crypt of the ocean’s deep
Lay ivory bones
Of screaming ebony souls
Drowned in due seasoned journeys
Across middle passage sojourns
Of pilgrim’s progress
Yoking labor in the wrinkles of the earth
From the fresh dawn to the tired dust thereof:
Nothing fertilizes like wet sweat and dried blood.
When the instructive tongues of ancestors
Tap at the door of attentive ears
Spirits scale skyscraper yearnings of home
Parachuting shackles of mind and body
Drifting in earthy fields of rusty ways;
No, the last supper will not be here.
The lit torch illuminates the new summons;
The passage of time forgives but never forgets;
The Supreme Master of the Universe spills His cup
Into the Saucer of which we now sip:
Because of His amazing grace, we shall not
Sup the tainted bastard blue blood of disgrace.
Saddle your horse and get ready for the ride; this will be your final day before you take off to the sky, the weather is too dry over here and we have nothing more to share; I have to reserve what I have for the others living over there.
Come and stir the pot with me and walk with me through hills and valleys, we will survey the vast landscape, lofty mountains and fine river bed. You will observe where the skyline meets with the earth and where the river is washing away the dirt, and then you will understand what I have been telling you all along.
Saddle your horse and come with me, I will take you through the route that leads to the top of the mountain and you will see the optical phenomenon that is baked beneath the earth giving rise to a meteorological vision.
I can see streams of light parachuting from the earth , carving out a circular spectrum in the sky with multi-colored dyes spreading all over the sky. It meets with steep slopes interfacing the earth and refracting around the slopes.
Saddle your horse and come with me, I will take you to the corner store
And show you why poor people are always asking for more. The cost of goods and service are real and grocers have to work out their own deal, a pint of oil is sold in plastic bags and thin slice of cheese is all that they have. The backs of chicken makes good curry and the necks of turkey is poor people’s luxury.
Saddle your horse and come with me and let me show you what life is like in the inner city. They are running up and down the street with guns shooting at one another for fun, the Don Man rides in with his motorcade and flick a sharp blade. He cut the box open and shower gifts to the whole community.
Saddle your horse and come with me, we will ride to the other side and you must tell me what you see. People are hustling and bustling in the street and men and women are dressed in suites and fine gown, their tables are laden with lamb, beef, lobsters pork and all the meat in the butchers shop, but wine, beer and whisky are pouring from the top.
The trees are laden with fruits and everyone is wearing a fine pair of shoes and they are dining in fine restaurant and having nightly party. You have got to correct this disparity. Saddle your horse and come with me I am ready for the next leg of the journey.
Parachuting has its advantage – Freefall!
Flying, screaming, scareder than ever prior
Chute won’t open! Now I am coming, gliding
Hope MY chute opens!
(fiction)
2/28/2019
Moon Maiden a-setting, enveloping Solaris;
Crater's a-sealing in the signing Polaris.
Aphrodite's Celeste from Alpha to Omega;
Zeus arriving in the beauty of Vega.
Flowing champagne, supernova musters;
Jupiters' becoming inside universal clusters.
Riding upon The Big Dipper's gravitation;
Luminous Milky way's guiding navigation.
Meteorite colliding into Saturn's rings;
A passionate showering, shooting comet brings.
Andromeda's ascendant, parachuting stars;
Crash-landing within the tastings of Mars.
Uranus azure entwine Neptune's sapphire heart;
Phobos and Deimos kiss on Earth's Lunas' part.
Mercury communing, Pluto platonic;
Catastrophic ecstasy gathering, atomic.
Interplanetary Venus imploding, explores;
Intergalactic Jove exploding, implores.
Dusking Asteroids' dawning on Auriga's course;
Surrenderings spent on the Trojan Horse.
© June 2nd 2013
Ernie was a hell raiser
A daredevil of sorts.
He was popular in school,
A natural at sports.
A kid in a candy store
Is the way Ernie felt.
All he had to do was smile,
And every girl would melt.
But he had eyes for Sally,
The only girl for him.
She was aces in his book,
A beauty, tall and slim.
They married after high school,
The Fall of thirty eight,
Ernie earned a scholarship,
At Arizona State.
While he worked for his degree,
Sally clerked at a store;
But their dreams were cut short by
The Second World War.
Ernie became a Captain
In the Army Air Corps.
He proudly served his country,
Like his father before.
Sally trained to be a nurse,
She wished to do her part.
Then word reached her that Ernie
Had earned the Purple Heart.
He’d engaged the Japanese,
Out in the Philippines.
Shot down at Corregidor,
News came from the marines.
The next three years passed slowly,
And Sally tried to cope.
But something would not let her,
Lose faith or give up hope.
Then in early November,
Of nineteen forty five,
The Army called to tell her,
Ernie was still alive.
Parachuting from his plane
He broke one of his knees,
But still avoided capture,
By hostile Japanese.
He joined with the resistance,
A ragged, motley band,
And offered his assistance,
Though he could hardly stand.
The rebels had a medic,
Who tended to his knee;
But without proper treatment
It wasn’t meant to be.
He would always have a limp,
And Ernie knew the score.
His future would be different,
Than what he knew before.
Somehow it didn’t matter,
If this wound changed his life,
If upon returning home
He’s greeted by his wife.
For she is what he fought for,
For her he would have died,
Only she can ease the pain
Of his next labored stride.
The ship made port in Richmond,
And Ernie said a prayer.
Then through tear filled eyes, he saw
His Sally waiting there.
For a moment, time stood still
Every detail defined,
Imprinted like a snapshot
Upon each of their minds.
And like an old time movie,
They met in an embrace.
End credits rolled as Ernie
Wiped tears from Sally’s face.
They drove into the sunset,
Holding hands and grinning,
Though tales end, we know this is
Only the beginning.
“How-do-you-do?” the seminal leaves of Autumn wave.
“When would you like to fly away?” prickles the gust.
Maternal-oak holds on tight as one birdy takes flight.
The gust will have none of this ballyhoo, knowing
what he must do, calls for fingernails-on-chalkboard rain,
for the bad-wolf-wind, for lightning, insane.
“Toodle-loo,” says each spiderling-leaf, parachuting to earth.
They make such a scene; whirligig and wandering,
each drenched in colloquial colors, memorable, forsaken.
Each one in turn catches a potential eye even as it lands
in puddles, whirling and twirling, a final splash. They mourn
as blends of orange, yellow and red bleed into the stream.
Undignified, decomposing, going under, all poetry spent,
dwarfing and drifting; washed away down the drain.
Spring regeneration haphazardly avoids loose-leaf goosebumps.
Unto freshly morrow doth I arise.
Before I, the glazed forest floor in frore.
Forth multiplying flakes parachuting Steele skies.
Yea, thereupon rigid Winter finds home's door.