Best Piloting Poems
Aspiration
Antoine had crashed once again when tempting the desert
Freedom fighter laureate poet daredevil testing the call of
~ Poisonous Times ~
A mysterious man and rebellious philosopher with script on his
tongue ink on soft paper Rose in his heart and yearning for
~ Cleopatra’s Eyes ~
A snake of fertile creation and healing never far from his pen
Aesculapius in coil had mutated to SS wound around torches’
~ Venomous Bite ~
Aspides’s toxic fangs a spitting image of denial with thick scales
covering eyes of horned vipers hiding or shielding from attack
~ Dependent on Choice ~
The piloting scribe aspired towards kind compassionate words
As the elephant was swallowed by a boa constrictor clothed in a sad
~ Hatter’s Distortion ~
Antoine got killed on reconnaissance’s flight over France shot down or
by just letting go of throttle and misery but the Little Prince and his
~ Wisdom Remains ~
Avoiding slithering hisses in what remains of paradise an auspice
of sloughing what needs to be shed emerged from warrior’s asps in
~ Blossoming Hope ~
When threatened by serpent’s pitiless pits with no parachute attached
Peace can be found and acrimonious asperity relieved one small step in
~ Narration and Truth ~
29th April 2018
Categories:
piloting, hope,
Form:
Free verse
I’m losing my mind in a hurry!
Maybe, maybe, losing the mind is letting it find itself
or maybe, i'm just crazy
I keep running with anticipation, with heart open and judgment closed
[I discover most superbly this way]
Foolishly Dropping it, hoping that it’ll pick up something useful
On sidewalks, books, table-top salty discussions,
Sometimes in filth letting it pervade the crevices
And when I tidy it, sometimes
It doesn’t all come out, but I try my best
Ever so often, after a new dish soap and scrubbing gloves
it comes out cleaner then it ever was,
With spicy remains of the crude yet true substances
Chunks fall out where the glue of stability erodes
I know that I am fond of it this way
So I can put them back together
With my own fingers
Organized C H A O S
Instead of the media’s, my peers, my parents, piloting
The pivotal pieces
I let them descend tenderly into location
In my own decimal code
I constitute the regulations here
This belongs to me, my only
Safe place
It doesn’t matter to me if life doesn’t flow
If it’s jagged or slow, here
I don’t care
If insanity is the real sanity
Or that distinctive is incorrect
This is my society and I shape it as I please
Seeing as it only affects me
As long as my mind is
In flurries of expansion
I don’t really care if it’s lost at all
Categories:
piloting, confusion, health, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
ENVY
(Words inspired by Casarah)
Our faces are turned toward Bangkok
That buzzing hive of humanity
Where folk brush against each other
As they twirl and dance
In an effort to maintain direction
Not that we were going to Bangkok
Not that we were currently going anywhere
We sit defeated
Restraining our combustion engine horses
Their promise fuelled motors straining
Wanting to accelerate into freedom
A few fleeting moments
Before being reined in again
By the brakes
Unlike those in the north bound lanes
Unlike those with a clear path before them
Piloting their roaring beasts
Who revel in their delight
Eating up empty kilos of asphalt
In their haste toward a distant destination
A cosy castle or a sweet vacation
Categories:
piloting, car, travel,
Form:
Free verse
Thrust in the centre of the storm’s wild roar,
Oh Lord, my Heavenly Father, you were near.
I relied on you and it was your kind face which I saw,
That you mended my torn spirit when fear did gnaw.
When wind howled loud and thunder boomed and burst,
In your mercy that exceeded all bounds, I did trust.
I knew you couldn’t turn your face when your child,
Held in utter helplessness was crying for aid.
When fear and anxiety swivelled and raked me
Shaking me and sinking me into the depths of the sea
You anchored my soul to faith that made me proclaim-
‘Jesus alone is my sole refuge and no other name’.
Thrust in the eye of the storm, when I was with fear rife,
And when no one was around to save my life,
I saw you standing lovingly within my reach,
With hands held out to me, ready for outreach.
When tossed by the currents of fiery storms
Lord! You made me seek the safety of your arms.
When I was drowning in the sea of escalating pain,
You strengthened and sustained me and kept me sane.
Make me feel, you are there in every rhythm of my life.
More when life becomes burdensome with problems rife.
Over the arid deserts and the stormy turbulent sea,
I pray to be by my side as an abiding presence, piloting me.
Categories:
piloting, angst, confusion, storm,
Form:
Rhyme
I too believe
Flowers have more purposes than the bringing of fruit
So that all of me is not known
Though dig to the bedrock of my root
And I have feared that I shall go away
Before the golden fleece
Of many colors set me laughing at sun, moon and stars
And ever walked between the morning and the evening
Avoiding Martha's doubt
And the tears
From the depth of veiled despair
It is not evening etherized here
But common dust
When every atom is built by faith
I am sick today
And was sick yesterday
And again they brought me
To the gate Beautiful
After he was swallowed in the clouds
Yet I did not wait like Lazarus
For I too
Can be sick unto death
With these two voyagers:
Goodness and mercy
On eagle's wings and loaded with sunshine
Piloting me.
Categories:
piloting, philosophyme, sick,
Form:
Free verse
“Violets are Blue”
In this new space
you came in fast
like a meteor
I hesitate to say
you were smooth
in this new space
no one can hear
the sound bite,
but they
see the thoughts
of you
behind the windows
of their craft
helpless of this
new lifeform
this evolving state
of undress
addressing the
lack of hesitation
such a masterful
command in control
of a new language
sans speaking
sans ray bans
a new ecstatic view
a Barlow Lens creation
it outshines
the notion
of violets are blue
the star ship voyager voyeur
come in out of the cold
from the big blue
like a sky god
you smile,
you think, danger
danger will robinson,
cheese, is only
for the Moon,
but missing gravity
lost in space
is enough to make,
an ancient
astronaut
swoon
you’re way past
Major Tom
and ground control;
the court's yours
you think, a
slam dunk sink
incorrigible
spirit so blithe
piloting this new space
The Watchers
besides themselves
who's steering
the ship? now?
at the windows
hard pressed
observing new hues
absent crew
confederate ghosts
burning up a storm
in the cosmic mist
such lascivious lifeforms
sans sans
sans Ray Bans
a new ecstatic view
a Barlow Lens
situation
it outshines
the notion
of violets are blue
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Categories:
piloting, blue, humor, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
"Missed"
if you wanted me
to write about
rainbows and unicorns,
I would have to say
romance was never
on the menu of
the grinning soul,
in the days
when war came.
lines drawn in sand, see,
grains easily blow away,
to reveal what of strength,
hard and cracked, yet so
tangible survives underneath
it all, firmly remains.
the thistle with
its royal violet inviolate crown,
its thorns like swords,
persistent, makes its way
to what little light
endures, holds out,
shoots its way through
the fallout clouds.
it blooms
like a revolution.
never changes its
regiment colour.
beauty in survival
allays arid memories
and relishes the rain
to grow new life;
and like a thistle
the petals will-o-wisp
like a halo up into
the sky, far away,
but the roots
remain fixed
strong and
militarily resilient,
day after day.
romance comes
in the flurry of snow
falling on an
upturned face,
faith in something
of grace, offers
a smile that sings
still life doesn't exist here,
tongue outstretched
sensually tasting
a poisonous life
remembering
the last naked
tryst and how
one survived
the assassin’s kiss,
though the shooter
didn’t fare that well.
the shooter
perhaps loved
the target,
too much.
the target saw
the transparency,
reality of truth,
a subtle softness
pouring out
in the bleed, could win
through
the atomic
missed.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“This is what comes of military training”, she said, ”born and bred from military - both air and land forces - one becomes habitually practiced and intuitively alert to the enemy's position. Strategically, one is always lethally equipped, both psychologically and physically, in surviving wars on the mortal plane. Particularly, much later in the singularity wars, for a neural neophyte piloting those missions of slippery inter-dimension”.
In the days to follow, this quality in her would stand her well, in both dark and light fields, contradictory yet complimentary, the two warring co-ordinates of the Cross Field in the new domain. It was the place of the in-between worlds, where her mission would be implanted and eventually executed, expeditiously and with great success. Much to her detriment.
Categories:
piloting, dark, muse, romance,
Form:
Narrative
Born to make a difference in this fast-paced world, we
Eagerly embrace the challenges that come our way.
Individuals, yet part of a collective whole,
Needing to connect and belong, thus recognizing and
Guarding the sanctity of life.
Humility and honesty are traits to be admired and,
Understanding and compassion are jewels of great worth.
Many are the choices we are faced with everyday,
Answering to our conscience, come what may;
Navigating through life's adventures, our God piloting the way.
7/6/16
For John Hamilton's Being Human Acrostic contest
Categories:
piloting, humanity, life,
Form:
Acrostic
Living in he jungle, no fear to hold,
fighting, always standing bold.
Piloting in the breeze,
swinging on vines through the trees.
His best friends, the creatures there,
to each other they are fair.
As the great one echoes his call,
these creatures, in line they fall.
Ready to help in time of need,
lining up for their great stampede.
How this hero came to be,
left behind in the jungle was he.
Just an infant, unable to escape,
knowing his mother as an ape.
Learning ways of the animals,
imitating their amazing calls.
Suddenly a woman one day came,
becoming his mate, that was Jane.
The king of beasts is Tarzan,
not a Lion, but an Ape Man.
Categories:
piloting, animal, tiger, tree,
Form:
Lyric
It was the third lunar mission
Of the Apollo space program;
Destination was the earth’s moon
Where two men were going to land.
Neil Armstrong was the Commander;
Piloting the Columbia was Michael Collins;
Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin would Pilot the Eagle;
The landing craft they would land in.
Aldrin landed the Eagle
In the Sea of Tranquility,
While millions watched on TV sets,
Including my family and me.
On July 20, 1969,
Men from the Apollo 11 space flight
For the first time walked on the moon
Late on that summer night.
I’ll never forget the exact day it occurred;
It’s a special day for me;
I shared my eleventh birthday
With the men of Apollo 11 and history.
Categories:
piloting, historyday, men, space,
Form:
Rhyme
Untimed
Untamed
In the face of a thousand horsepower
Up rises the man of the hour
His passion peaked
His focus tweaked
Raw
Pure
He spins and loops
Whirlpools each lap
Egos over rev
An enchanted V-twelve
The archangel
Fallen to enthral
Thrusts his sword through my wall poster
In a chariot mounted a motor
The Red Baron
Supercharged to slay the dragon
A German craftsman
Piloting the air bending chicane
Driven around his own soundtrack
Blazing the chequered flag
Atop the podium
A mesmerised coliseum
A roar like an earthquake
A Danke!
A gold medallion to his bullion
Akin to Hamilton
A well formulated campaign
In a splash of champagne
A force of nature in his prime
Inspired in me
A shockwave like a tsunami
You beat the clock Schumi
Categories:
piloting, hero, sports,
Form:
Rhyme
racing along the crescent rainbow track into the human race
a starting gate drawn on a diagonal perspective to innovation
breaking the colour spectrum like a powerful brainstorm
riding from grassroots...rising to break the glass ceiling on the vertical
a supersonic impact sounding our heartbeat
a glowing prism of enlightenment into golden sunsets
each lane of colour, a special talent of the seven intelligences
myth and imagination striding for liberty
the human spirit galloping through nobility
burning like a torch, scorching eternal memory
piloting a superior being on a victory lap
an enchanted force, our curse to be forever victorious
seeking knowledge and truth at all cost
finding reason and innovation instead
the keen senses of prey becoming heightened as a conscience hunter
chasing the horizon in a herd of Pegasus’ like a vortex'
a brilliant white formation of storm clouds forms
at height of a heated race to perform a classic derby
rumbling as they cross the once blue sky like jetpacks into our double helix
the human spirit on wings to freedom driven on horsepower
the day the gods gave man willpower
Categories:
piloting, horse, imagination, inspirational, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
My uncle went to West Point Military Academy,
Was the second US citizen to be a licensed pilot,
So I thought my knowledge would help everybody,
So I became an Eagle, an American RAF pilot.
We all signed up September 1940, keenly poised,
But did not attend school at Glendale until December,
In California where we flew in formation, noised,
And did some night flying and acrobatics, I remember.
Then we went to England, a very big adventure,
You were pretty pleased with yourself, I thought,
I felt obliged to do my part in this conjecture,
And I just hoped I could do it, ‘cos I was bought.
We didn’t feel that we were serving England only,
Just everybody, it was for everybody, my piloting,
But I got much guts and courage from old Blighty,
‘Cos the British people were resilient in suffering.
They would work all day and quench fires at night,
And sleep in the London subways, not embarrassed,
And brought me breakfast if I landed with a plight,
Away from home, they’d send me back harnessed.
The first mission was pretty scary, but you’d get it,
And then you’d be proud doing what you knew,
But in the summer of 1941 we lost 9 pilots, were hit,
And I went back for another, gave the Nazi’s a cue.
I was hit, over water which I hated, was scared of,
But I tried and tried to open my canopy, couldn’t,
Until at the last when the plane was near the shove,
My friend Gussie pointed to the corner, was prudent.
So my glass covering opened and I escaped glad,
Parachuted down down into the sea to be picked up,
By a German boat, they sent me away as a man mad,
To a concentration camp, for over three years, yup.
Categories:
piloting, appreciation, character, courage, death,
Form:
Quatrain
My husband drives the highway past the old plane graveyard.
Permission to visit once a dream, now his reward.
He drools, as he studies the bounty before him, to take.
First the one that comes closest, but none he will forsake.
He smiles as he watches the sun glint off the metal shapes.
He will climb around slowly with his measuring tapes.
To see in the cockpit he would give his right arm.
But needs it instead to draw the fuselage with all it’s charm.
He grunts and he groans as he crawls upon it’s length.
He’ll count the rivets later, after he takes a drink.
Then back he’ll go to examine some more.
There’re switches and gadgets, and baubles galore.
He’s never been happier as he stares at the planes.
To disturb him now would truly be a shame.
He lithely runs between each and every plane.
And he spouts about symbols and phrases hard to explain.
He imagines them flying, as only he could.
Piloting the planes would be better than good.
Occasionally his head pops up as he does research by the ton.
He looks like a gopher as he searches hither and yon.
Finally exhausted he will pack up his gear.
Now he’ll do research on the computer to make it more clear.
He’ll know each it’s history. It’s date and it’s year.
Even whoever commanded it, plus their bombardiers.
The faces he’ll research to go with the names.
And emblems he’ll find that once adorned this old plane.
His friends from his club will go oh and then ah.
Then they’ll ask him to share with modelers, one and all.
By computer the details will spread the world before dark.
It will travel to people in every terrain, no matter how stark.
And modelers will smile as they build a new plane.
With details, and beauty, and history explained.
Now officially remembered with a new life for the old.
People now made happy will remember stories so bold.
I end my refrain with a history newly rediscovered.
An old plane’s life brought back, now on a modelers’ magazine cover.
Contest: Impress Me III
Motif: Historical. Carol Eastman and Hubby
Categories:
piloting, adventure, computer, dedication, history,
Form:
Rhyme
Caring for Earth
includes caring for oneself,
and caring for those we have grown to care for.
Co-piloting Spaceship Earth
includes piloting humane landscapes of EgoLeft-EcoRight Identity.
Spaceship Earth evolves collective global
LeftBrain power
and RightBrain wisdom
to co-manage with Earth
what we ecologically own cooperatively together.
The cooperatively owned
WinWin self-regenerative
Gaia hypothesis,
Lovelock and Margulis,
presents Earth and Her Tribes
as self-regenerating/degenerating bio-ego/eco-EarthBorn systems.
CoMentoring Systems merge now in this Great Transitional moment,
critical crisis of risk and opportunity,
to reverse disaffecting fundamental life-support systems
of both eco-climate and ego-landscapes.
EarthCare evolutions/devolutions
follow both Western fatherland
patriarchal patriotic nationalistic competing histories,
and matriarchal-cooperative ethical MotherEarth
restraint and respect mutual enculturation,
and sometimes even active fear
of not-so-motherly rejection and annihilation,
darkness,
rather than c-squared
Yin-squared flowing fractal
nurturing light.
CareGiving Both/And Light
can self-extinguish
through too much monoculturing competitive Either/Or
deductive-only dominance,
evaporating capital-nutritional trickle down and out from above,
where swelling CareReceivers monopolize totalitarian
Don't Lose short-term
and Don't worry about future generation long-term Losers
devolving outcomes
of Anti-Caring Earth.
Think of CareReceiving Ego
as also CareGiving EarthBorn.
You and Mom's own small cooperative co-mentorship,
extending out toward all our collaborative EarthShip bubbles
recycling in spirals
of dipolar co-arising full-spectral lights
CareGiving and Receiving and Giving and...
Categories:
piloting, caregiving, earth day, health,
Form:
Political Verse