Best Planes Poems
I. Perdition.
The truth of the evil exposed
Shame not readily received
Truth, now attrition to break the spirit
More painful than the rod
That breaks the skin.
II. Penance.
Torturous the truth
Speak of your own transgression
Repentance, in time, engage
The lesser pain at our command
Wicked man now confess.
III. Purgatory.
By your own hand
Hammer at the stone of our souls
Broken the jagged edges
Chisel and stone to the stone
Shape what I might yet be.
IV. Preparation.
No slave for the master
No whip for the back of the slave
Wit made sharp on The Empirical Stone
Peace, rest, wisdom to grow
By our own toil we may heal.
V. Paradise.
How could it ever be ?
1st April 2019
They were able to see the sun at last, to look
all around, finally breathe without burqas
begin a new chapter.
Their words held more confidence.
Is respect too large a word, perhaps not when
whispered with laughter.
Wearing smiles and proud faces, their
daughters went to school like the boys,
was their future assured?
Was learning numbers and their alphabet
fulfilling their dreams, or just making
them more obscured?
Women could greet each other on the street
not be beaten with a pole, but never look in the
eyes of a man.
They could have paying jobs, wear sharp clothes, let
lovely faces be exposed, never once looking back
before freedom began.
That all went away on a terrible day
when planes left and men bled out of hills
with rage
to rule again with knife-sharpened hands
and women once again destined to hide inside
their dark cage.
So, what was accomplished: a taste of
freedom
that rested on whims of people living
far away?
Is it perhaps worse to have known and
then lose
or never to have known--
who can say?
As life uncertainly shifts backward again
to religious rule and sin
will minds and lives be what's left
blowing in the wind
in Afghanistan...
I love champagne and paper planes
On which to fly so far away
I got my ticket, I’m on board
And I’ll be back some other day
When life gets tough, it always does
When things go wrong, they always do
I know that I can hitch a ride
In nature’s liquid rendezvous
Oh my champagne and paper planes
An intercontinental flight
Oh my champagne and paper planes
We’ll find a way to make it right
Sometimes, we need to get away
Sometimes, it isn’t just for me
A friend may come or maybe two
I like a little company
When life gets tough, it always does
When things go wrong, they always do
I know that I can hitch a ride
In nature’s liquid rendezvous
I love champagne and paper planes
On which to fly so far away
I got, my ticket, I’m on board
And I’ll be back some other day
Yes, I’ll be back some other day!
"Planes"
Sea planes cross my vision
the bridge gleams
in all its shining golden splendour
laughing at me
cajoling the dream
like I'm on an abstract mission
I paint the canvas in words dripping honey
amber coloured cashmere strokes softly brushing satin skin
over you dappled deep waters and your silvery shadows
recalling
the sensual shape of love
incorporal, velvet warm, flowing
in all its stars and planets
turquoise spills over you
the depth of a cool plunge
you watch on
I am treading water
an Opera in front of me
monsters underneath me
the feeling of silky fins
sandpaper grazes
the terror shelved in the forgotten
your bright smile bleeds
burning hot into me
calling me back in,
like the Sun;
somewhere underneath,
the monsters circling
watch on
Candide Diderot. ‘25
"She said, "The battle's almost won
And we're only several miles from the Sun"
On a flight to Auckland one day
A mother over hearing her son say
Cats and Dogs can have babies
Can planes do that maybe
Ask the attendant, see what she says
So off to the attendant he asks
Is it possible that planes do this task
Did your mother tell you
To ask me if it's true
Tell her to tell and not mask
As the little boy was walking away
Following him the attendant did say
No baby planes you will find
Qantas pulls out on time
Ask mum to explain this today
.
Written about a Joke I heard ;-)
There! a newsstand!
Inside, where that man stands.
Nobody stops for magazines
he's owing for your glance.
He loves the print on paper,
and a craving for it's smell.
A broken soul dealt hands
of cards misfortuned you can tell.
Well,
years passed.
His stand? the same.
That old lady stopped to browse,
but at home she left her change.
Seemingly sad,
So she buttoned up her coat
And whistled toward the street
for that ride to fly her home.
“Just a minute ma'am.”
He smiled, showing teeth.
“My morning traveled customer
take that tabloid there, it's free.
I’ve had this stand for years
and they never saw the sign”
-Corner Newsstand: My gift! You don’t have to pay a dime-
Paper planes shoot across the sky
Riding the gentle breeze
Always missing the eye
Above the city of lights
Riding the gentle breeze
To all things lost on earth
Above the city of lights
Below the city of stars
To all things lost on earth
Always missing the eye
Below the city of stars
Paper planes shoot across the sky
Sometimes, we fly like paper planes
Gliding in the air, silent, with no roar of a jet.
Sometimes proud, putting on the mane like we’re never gonna hit the dirt.
Changing our lanes every time we get hurt.
With the least turbulence and bad weather
We turn around or pummel to the ground when we experience danger.
Fly like a jumbo;
Not depending solely on the flow.
Fly majestically. Ride the wild winds.
Break through the ice in the clouds.
Even if you begin to fall,
Do not enter the state of dismay, whether in a stall.
This ain’t no mayday, do not make that call.
You may have struck ice, but believe in yourself. You ain’t no titanic.
This day isn’t that different. Enjoy it.
It’s a can-day.
Fire the engines once again. Make that ascent.
Be a jetfighter. Let the stars cream.
Like a transformer, make some changes.
As the Typhoon, ride the winds. Take the journey across.
Your weakness may be air-to-ground but I think we all agree: that isn’t your
purpose.
Be a Sidewinder missile. Seek your target
Don’t give up. Do not explode. No. Not just yet.
Like the shuttle, launch into space, out of this domain.
Not even the sky, is your limit.
Time to close this piece. Returning to base.
Continue to be who you are. Be different.
"Silken Planes"
Simplicity in silken planes
Silence took a flight of fancy
Sensate entranced me
"Flatlands" / Lannegan & Wolfe
https://youtu.be/pq47_j82iEo
"Flatlands" / Lannegan & Wolfe, Lyrics
https://genius.com/Mark-lanegan-flatlands-lyrics
LUX VITAE
BELIEVE
https://youtu.be/xubCItLvNhE
I watched in awe as he sailed them aloft.
When they crash landed, I never scoffed
nor did I laugh when they hit the ceilings
for that would've hurt the pilot's feelings.
Stacks of paper were a staple at our home.
Not far from my brother's side did I roam.
Just two years older, but I worshipped him
Sometimes a plane's body, he'd let me trim.
How patient he was to teach me things
about throwing planes and adjusting wings.
So many hours I spent watching him fold,
and telling me, "I'll do this when I'm old."
He gave in when I asked if I could color one,
he rolled his eyes but when it was done
he let me do another, and when I chose pink
he made a silly face, then gave me a wink.
Those childhood games in my memory remains
though I was awful at launching paper planes.
Not for very long were they gracefully air born,
but brother never complained, nor did he scorn.
He told me so often, "It's in the flick of your wrist."
Mine did nose dives, spinning with a tornadic twist.
I tried to relaunch the bent ones to save on paper,
but couldn't master the art of folding the right taper.
I'd ask, "Where are you flying your plane today?"
He would always say, "Somewhere very far away."
I wonder if paper airplanes are still being made.
May the joy of making this simple toy never fade.
August 27, 2022
Paper Airplanes Contest
Sponsored by Jim Lawless
The hinge squeaked when I entered.
I found the string to click the light.
I knew where it was even in the dark,
even after so many years.
This shop takes me back to days with my grandfather.
The smell of fresh wood,
and on the shelf above
the well worn work bench, sits the wood planes.
A half dozen of the finest wood tools ever made.
The fine woods that spoke shave has homed
the many table legs, the chair backs of oak, ash, and maple
it has rounded and shaped,
in my grandfathers hands.
Light breaks on the block plane small delicate
with a narrow side grip. I watched that old man
smooth the edge of doors and windows that even
to this day fit like leather on a cow’s back.
He taught me how to keep it straight.
That jack plane is older than I and sharper than
a tin-whistle to a dog’s ear. How he could make it sing
I watched him, when I was little, each stroke smooth,
straight and on the number. The touch of a true master,
never hurried, always knew what he was doing and why.
Stanley No. 32 transitional jointer plane (26 inches long)
the work turned out by that master plane.
His eye on the line and each push throwing curly fibers
out the mouth, long strips of near paper thin shavings
falling to the workshop floor, with his sweat.
Now they are mine, he left them to me, I don’t know why.
I could never use them, not like he could, all I ever wanted
was his touch with the wood, his cutting directions,
and sharp love that sculptured the heart of a grandson.
We can go Astral travelling.....
You told me, as we were journeying,
Blink of a neuron, float in the ceiling,
Cosmonauts' sublime transmigrating,
Beautiful, divine envisioning,
Our seraphic transmitting, sublime,
We were out of space and time,
One night of ethereal blessing,
"We can go astral travelling........."
When I made the first one and suspense-fully sent to flight,
(It was in our class room); entangled in a girl's hair-knot;
She screamed; scratched; principal fed me with lectures might and tight,
Friends treated me, as though in a murder-case I got caught...!
Once, in an hospital where my father was admitted,
My plane crashed betwixt cleaves of a charming nurse on duty;
They said: get far away lest the doctor here, half-witted,
Would see that your story ends soon just like your plane-sooty...!
For fun, on day of marital engagement I did send,
This clang to the sari of my mother-in-law; she swore;
I had to run away for life; it was, yet, not the end,
An indelible tattoo, within and without I wore...!
I make paper-airplanes now; I do not send anywhere,
I don't know where my destiny lies; might be in a hair...!
01 September 2022
PAPER AIRPLANES Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
“We were right the world is wrong.”
Declare the Siamese twins
joined at the hip of policy of lies.
Bush and Blaire, that friendly pair
demanding, pounding fists
on podiums of Red, White and Blue.
The dynamic dual declare
“listen people we two alone,
know what is best for you.”
They are protecting you
Your mothers son
This is why we need our guns
Fun guns
Jet guns
Flying high beyond our sun.
CNN reports
Evil knocking at our global door.
Bush and Blaire assure
Evil lurking everywhere!
Do not discuss your unpatriotic views
With your friends or neighbor
Over phone receivers
Those wireless
Government monitors
Of UNBELIEVERS!!
Key words have been computerized
and memorized
They might be terrorized!
Don’t say them
Spell them
Code them
Think them
Big brother he still will find them.
Bomb
Policy
War
Freedom
Peace
Rights
These all turn the tape.
What you thought was private
In freedoms name
Has all been raped.
Movement up above
white streaks
dragging behind.
It’s descending
slowly by the minute.
Driving down the lane
then landing
in its destination.