Jumped by fighters
Hiding in the Sun
Firing Brownings and Hispanos
Young lad was on the run
But quick the fighters learned
Their surprise was for naught
Soon they were the hunted
They were the caught
Young lad
Whirled in a hurry
Face twisted in hate
Eyes burning with fury
No quarter
No holding back
Screaming a battle cry
He went on the attack
Young lad
Made quite the impression
Three Spitfires down
In rapid succession
The remaining fighters ran
Young lad gave pursuit
Downing two more Spitfires
And a Hurricane to boot
It was a glorious end
To a glorious chase
On that glorious day
Peter Pan made Ace
Categories:
brownings, adventure, fantasy,
Form: Quatrain
It’s Tet, the Vietnamese new year, and
people buy small Japanese-looking shrubs,
which the vendors tow on wooden trailers,
behind their Hondas, and Yamahas
And the rush of the travelling wind, blows petals
onto the street; pink, and white, depending on
the tree
and the petals, remind me of counter-measures,
thrown from a fleeing jet; so from my bicycle, I
open up with my Brownings, rat-a-tat-tat-tat,
and the other pilot banks and sways, so I make a
downward pass, and open up a long six-second burst;
and the petals jump; and the petals swirl;
and the petals curse; and a flame hits my eye;
“I’m hit, I’m hit, I’m hit!” I shout, a boxer on the ropes,
then pull, and twist, ejection gear… and WHOOSH!
up in to the blue, blue stratosphere:
and amid the pink, white, petals, all scattered by my
side, I park my “jet” black bicycle, shaken by the ride.
Categories:
brownings, beauty, war,
Form: Free verse
On a cold November day I sat beside you
to let you fill me with your crystal charm.
To my surprise I saw a lonely traveler
instinctively I knew he meant no harm.
Approaching me with care he closed the distance
although he seemed a million miles away.
He asked so sweetly just to sit a while
with gladdened heart I bid him please to stay.
He spoke his words of praise to me about you
recounting all the beauty that you hold
and I was blessed with joy that has no boundaries
because he chanced upon your banks of gold.
*To the Brownings, such a loving pair.
Categories:
brownings, dedication, hope, love, passionme,
Form: Quatrain
Turbine whistling
Wait...
Until all is green
Time to go
That familiar quickening
Of a heart
Trained in the art of war
To do battle
Rotors spinning
Left and right...
The tech calls
Clear!
Progressive collective
Rising high
In to the sunlight
Time to target
Five minutes
That familiar quickerning
Switches, set
Terrs, visual!
Lynxes, marking with frantan
Left hand orbit
Time to go...
Heave of cyclic
Nose up
Shudder
Bleeding off speed
Safeties , off
You hear the snap and click
In a cloud of dust
A fireforce deplaned
For needs must...
Terrs, visual
Max power,
collective to full
Building speed
Skimming trees
Tech, observing
They're running!
Brownings chatter
The cordite smell
The enemy scatter
Watching the fuel
Adjusting throat mike
Ten minutes to bingo
Orbitting
Hearing the battle on the ground
Time to go...
In dusty skies
K-cars and G-cars flew
Skimming across the bush
Purposeful dragonflies
Trained in the art of war
To fight anywhere
That familiar quickening
Turbine whistled
Wait...
Until all is green
Time to go...
Categories:
brownings, people, war, art, art,
Form: Ballad