Best Pilot Poems
My Pilot Light
In a hidden crevice
between soul and skin,
there is a flicker,
a tangerine flame
blazing through black abyss;
illuminating infinite veins of strength
that light like gun powder;
a thousand volts of survival
searing through my core.
There is a whisper in that flame,
ripples beyond discernible sound,
that directs me to take solace
in the unwavering knowledge
that my dreams are already realized,
waiting on life’s top shelf;
I have only to climb up and see
that they were never out of reach,
only temporarily out of sight.
I know this more securely
than I can be sure of anything else:
love, marriage, children,
are rolls of a roulette dice
that tumble around in a risky blur
chancing to settle on snake eyes,
but desire, aspiration, ambition and execution
are coordinates on my internal map
and I will never lose direction.
Spin all the cobwebs of doubt
that you believe can trap my will,
but what I have you can’t touch
or break, or steal, or burn out;
such is the radiance
of my inextinguishable flame
burning on a wick of passion,
feeding on a fuel of might,
and guaranteed to burn the hand
that comes too close
to touching
my pilot light.
FIGHTER PILOT
So you are a fighter pilot in one of today’s latest jets.
Tell me what it is like to fly, to fight and to die in the air?
All of the crushing g-forces and dizzying changes
of direction happening all at once.
I bet that there’s no glory in your battles,
only pain, mutilation and death.
But this is your game, an aerial ballet
of chess where the victors come home
and the vanquished cease to exist.
I’d like to see what you see just for a day,
to experience what it is like to be a fighter pilot.
YOU ARE THE PILOT (for boarding school students)
You need not wear a veil of pain
If you are perfect and prompt
For your prep all time.
You need not begin your day
With ordeal and agony
If you’re uniform is identical
With poignantly tucked in shirts
You need not begin your day
With punishment and pretence
If you speak the language
Of the British.
You need not begin your day in
Pity and peril
If chew and swallow the veggies
Served on your plate.
You need not begin your day
With protest and pressure
If you complete your homework on time.
You need not begin your day
With piques and problems
If you write your exams fine.
Your struggle today is the
Spring board for your better tomorrow.
Adversity does not tear down you
It make you desire for the
Seed of greatness,
So hitch your wagon to a star.
s.bagyalakshmi
Pilot
Flying faster
Pushing limits always
Shattering the sound barrier
Flyer
© 2014 CM Davidson
Under the lamp light
I found the crying mouth
Though everywhere I walk
I run into flowers
My hands guided
By your brimming eyes
My inward pilot
My harried captain
Is a ghost
Of what machinery there was
But I 'll do it anyway
I'll lie down on the graves with you
Keep grasping at the grasping
Loving in the darkness
Drawing wings
On cave walls
Under the lamp light
I found the crying mouth
There once was a pilot from Alpine
Who became a father in month nine
Took her to the hangar
Where inside he did bang ‘er
But like his plane, didn’t pull out in time
Reporters waiting at the blocked off air- strip,
to get photos of the boy wonder at the end of his trip.
Around the world in his hot air balloon,
from Anchorage to Cameroon.
Picking up treasures from every land,
grizzly bear claws, and feathered bands.
The air ship lands while the crowd cheers,
The door opens , and the boy pilot nears.
“Will you make a statement?”, they want to know,
“What have you seen , and where did you go?”
I travelled wherever the wind blew me to,
met people , went places, that I never knew.
So, I have many tales to tell ,
of the wonders I have seen,
many stories to be written,
And I am but fifteen.
Ya call yerself Rose
But ya actually Vie
I'm left here ponderin
Wonderin why
Sure ya pretty
Rose suits ya fine
Complexity like wine
There's some fella
I'm sure ya left behind
Him a seven and you a nine
Yet I look
I ain't see no thorns
Even though petals of splendor adorn
A sweet child
Canadian born
Who looks like a flower
In a field of corn
So you see
I'm here ta dis
I tink ya
A misrepresented flower miss
Or perhaps I mistaken
Ya might be a Mrs.
All I know
Is ya go around
givin hugs and kisses
In the end
I m a witness
Maybe it's none a ma business
It may just be ma inquisitiveness
Are ya sure
Ya not a Violet
Or tink perhaps
ya a disguised
"Stone Cold Pilot"
Pretty with piercing eyes
And glamorous highlights
Writing rhymes in fluorescent red tights!
Keepin fellas up at night
I'm tellin ya
Dat aint right
Yer star
Otta sight
It's just way ta bright!
Getting in on the slam fun, dedicated to Rose!
RNA or DNA polymerase, an enzyme, protein, attracted to
promoter molecules in the polypeptide chain causing a zipper
motion and transcription of the code, a duplication of codons,
introns and exons, and so it goes, sharing and unsharing electrons.
These attractions and repulsions, coming near and going far
in nanounits or light years, fail to explain things permanently
but make possible the technology to live long and well, with personality.
It is a form of governance, the governance of elements, elements are now
apparently our gods. Learn all you can about their laws, their names,
their needs, read their poems. Only the mentally unusually sound would,
given this knowledge, agree to the process of fertilization and mitosis.
However,
organisms go round then senseless via involuntary respiration. Therefore,
Pilot Oh Pilot Me.
Envy a pilot
escape gravity's clutches
for oceans of air.
Manufactured bird
raucous call and rigid wing,
momentary flight.
A featherless dance
in the shadow of a cloud,
elusive freedom!
Ode To A Dead Pilot
The time to sioux for peace is before the first shot is fired.
Weapons of destruction aer better turned around.
Point them at the darkness and then frown.
Fighting is for ^A^ngels and much nobler sorts than yew.
A Soldier in his britches needs a glory to behold;
other than the flag of his own country I am told.
Place your thoughts above on things where Christ
does dwell, and walk on streets of GOLD.
Even in your dreams and memories it will help you to grow old.
There was once a MAN who was once a boy.
He played with toys, and after graduation then He heard:
Great engines sucking air into intakes,
and the expelling of the air again to reach a multi-colored
transfer pointe and sometimes after running out of fuel
a man does NOT bail out...
but takes his planethopping function into the DEAD terrian.
Avoiding populated areas, to kill a cactus NOT a populas.
When that MAN is inn his Heaven and rewards come due.
I want to hear everyone in Heaven say,
'He was a boy getting into that aeroplane, but he
became a MAN today.
I saw several of my men turn fear away from populated places,
as they crashed and died in flame into the desert cactus,
to ensure the best proclivity of mass production.
The wreckage of an aeroplane.
Charles Hice
The flight two-o-seven is three hours late.
Drunk pilot exchanged all the maps for his bail.
The lions and tigers will be more than just happy.
The plane has successfully touched Serengeti ;-D
Hotshot
Pilot
Did loop
Oh, poop!
Flamed out
No doubt!
He bailed
Chute failed!
Bad chute
Oh, shoot!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(To Greg)
I have a friend who’s been in my life, for such a very long time.
As I remember, 1980 was the year. The ladder of success, I wanted to climb.
I was almost out of college. Through the Travel Agency ads I hunted.
And then I answered the ad in the paper. It said, “Flight Dispatcher Wanted”
With sweaty palms, I drove up the coast. Was greeted by a tall and handsome
man.
Needless to say I was very nervous, until he reached out and shook my hand.
A man so full of wisdom and knowledge, to that day I had never met.
He had a deep voice that demanded attention. But to me he posed no threat.
He fed me the world of aviation, in tiny chewable bites.
Knowing it would become an addiction, he took my on my first flight.
I worked with this man for over a year, then I had to move away.
I wasn’t quite sure I’d see him again. And then came that wonderful day.
How long had it been since I’d seen him? Twelve years is what comes to mind.
I heard his voice on the radio, from the counter that I stood behind.
I watched him walk away from his jet. Coming closer each moment to me.
I could tell it was him by the way he walked. His face I couldn’t even see.
He still looked the same. Handsome as ever. In his hair was a little bit of gray.
I could see he was tired and needed some sleep, from the long flight he’s taken
that day.
There is a cliche that all pilots say, “Aviation is such a tiny world”.
And seeing him again that day, brought a smile to the face of this girl.
Since that day we’ve always stayed in touch, I know I will see him again.
Because in him I got not only a boss, but a very, very special friend.
Pilot me…
When I your vessel, get tossed about in the viral sea,
Pilot me,
When my course has strayed and my bearing unsure
Pilot me,
When the clouds have gathered and the waves come rushing in,
Pilot me,
When my fears overtake me and I cling to the wheel,
Pilot me,
When the sun is shining and pleasant shores abound,
Pilot me,
For as in the light, as well the darkness,
I will always and ever still need Thee,
To pilot me..