Freshwater ice, compressed,
breaks off, with tremulous lights
and shakes
and rotates
in intricate snowflakes
like wings, of ice crystals
then floats away, in the open Ocean
and she's tracing his steps, leaving white dust
like crushed shells
as she walks , gracefully, as if on
Japanese Okobo
They were attached, as if by circuits of frozen stems
with lacings , of smaller molecules
its microscopic
and its perfect
her ribs split open, and a mosaic of musical strings
reveal, what looks like melting precious silver
and her face, is draped in a mass
of webs, upon webs
she looks at him, through the haze
he's the parchment Worlds were written on
now a sychronized flight path, he illuminates
all the crowd of beams
of celestrial, night skies
and there, white noise combines
in steady, different frequencies
with excact, united, intensity
heard and seen, by only a few
is it choregraphed ?
Icebergs Dancing.
The Integrity travels a quarter million miles,
The farthest point humankind has now reached;
A flight path record in decades will sing,
When it launched at the dusk of April first.
In the night when the countdown hits zero,
At Kennedy Space Center, the rocket fires its intro;
Tearing Orion into the deep dark,
As four souls leave their only known planet.
That moment the engines strum one last time,
The ship slips from Earth's grip and sight;
Watching the sphere shrink in the window frame,
Till it's just a marbled blue note of light.
Sensing the shift of the Moon's pull,
That takes over the rhyme and symphony;
The astronauts look back at their homeland,
Hearing from Earth again is a melody.
On the far side of the Moon,
They are in total radio silence —
Just them and the stars, with the Moon between them
And the pull of a cosmos beyond human sense.
At thirty times the speed of sound, Orion hits the atmosphere,
Orange and white flowers slow the song down;
The crackling, fiery heat plays its chord,
Treble clef curve makes splashdown safe and sound..
Sunrise doesn’t wait for me
No alarms alert me
Outbound flights from Logan
Rumble in a rush to leave
I mumble as we are
In the travelers flight path
Old, taped, and formed
My slippers await
I do my Tim Conway shuffle
To the loo
Breathe a sigh of relief
Order from the Keurig barista
Not much changes
The old couch
Etched with my imprint
An amber tinged coffee cup
With a “PAPA” logo sits
On a “permanent” foldable table
I shall wait for sunset
Disappear within its shadowy exit
Wander its fading trails of memory
Close my eyes and wait
…For my morning flight
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They travel without passports,
these delicate immigrants,
their wings like stained glass windows
in a cathedral of wind.
They rise into the August sky,
a thousand orange and black wings,
paper-thin, trembling
with the weight of a journey
they do not remember
but instinctively cannot refuse.
They drift over highways,
tiny, winged ghosts in the exhaust,
mapping routes older than concrete,
older than borders, older than names.
Some will faIl, for
a highway stitches
through their flight path,
and the milkweed grows scarce.
The rest push on,
carrying the sun on their backs,
a flickering pulse
toward a home they have never seen.
What is migration but memory
written in the body?
What is memory but a debt
passed down in veins?
the companion memoir vignette can be read at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/dinner_with_the_butterfly_whisperer_13613
geese in the flight path
astounded startled pilot
remnants of sully
grating sky noises
elongated screechy scream
clamoring airplane
destroying silence
threatening my peace of mind
in flight path daily
I live in the flight path of fifty to one hundred planes a day
Very rarely do my dogs look up now
They think it is normal for the sky to sound like a 747
Today was an exception
We all looked up
A plane sounded like she needed a muffler
I thought it would be a small plane
It was a 747
I was terrified until it cleared my home
low dark gloomy clouds
hide clear blue skies and birds
view of flight path
What worth am I
in all this madness
what worth are you
in the depths
of all this sadness
there,
see the flight path
to elevation
inside the feels;
inside the fields
of darkness
spring wells of
orbs popping light
the half-stride
of trying phantoms
planting seeds,
half-baked poetry
running
through the veins
the golden fields
of darkness
minutiae sleeping
with Morpheus
under the velvet blankets
of Elysium
terra firma robes
overly well worn
divested now
in waking
kissing the farewell
to be received blessed,
annointed in the essence
of the uncommon
there,
the busy minded,
the unnaturally gifted -
The Poets ...
call you,
see -
the flight path
to elevation
inside the outside inside -
or, called back outside,
there you remain,
forever fixated
on cracking the inside
the hoax planted
in a dybbuk box
unfounded
unworthy demon
sunken
treasure
buried forever
grounded
hear them all, see,
inside the common feels,
the uncommon Poets
call you
see,
the flight path
to elevation
reaching
inside the outside inside
Candide Diderot. ‘24
crosses.
Let's get this out front
I think I'm in love
With an angel who flies
In the sky high above
My protector, she guides
Or calls down when required
When the future gets tangled
Or perception gets mired
In the thicket of doubt
With it's grey spikey temptress
Angel gently release me;
From unnecessary distress
For my wandering life
Or my future, corrupted
With a laser like focus
Evil plans you've disrupted
Those mysterious voices
With felonious intent
Propaganda or fear
On distraction are bent
A dangerous flight-path
Is neutralised quickly
You're healing my heart
When it's troubled or sickly
Destiny Angel -
Here's my heart, you can keep it
I rely on your power to discern
As you see fit
Let me trust in the future
In you, I believe
As high in the heavens
You dance and you weave
A light laden tapestry
An angelic balm
Such heavenly presence
Of colour and calm
Oh restorative angel
You release me from fear
With a gentle persuasion
And your fore-sight so clear
As I wander unfettered
Through this life; go before me
My affection is clear, yet
Can I trust you'll adore me?
Stepping away from home base
Specs of me left behind as a trace
Missing my crew before I even depart
Hard to not feel a crack in my heart
Wheels up as whisked into the sky
Tears of joy welling up in my eyes
As I remember the connection isn't lost
Since we are linked together at any cost
Airplane ascends as I slice off slivers of my heart
Scattering them through the sky to do my part
Their flight path doesn’t need a map
Calmly cascading before landing in your lap
The next step flips upside down my frown
Love from home is lifted up from the ground
Careening through the clouds without a sound
Sealing up the shortage from what I sent down
Two doves in white flying, feathers glow beneath the morning's rainbow colours
by Charles Messina
High above they soar through prism's that detect their silent flight
Through dazzling arcs of colour now appearing on their wings.
First fiery red like flames are spread across the sky,
Doused then by glowing orange streaks like scattered autumn leaves
Transcending time and motion colours changing covers pristine white.
Passing through the sunlit yellow orb that lights the earth below,
Their flight path then reflections of our oceans green and blue
These kaleidoscopes of nature's beauty, ever changing as they swoop and soar
Where spectacular swirls of indigo are splashed by violet hue.
This magnificent display of colours is magnified tenfold
By these two doves quite unaware, they've captured rainbow lights
That no artist could on canvas white, paint such colours caught in flight.
Looking back over one's life
thinking of your thoughts far back
what intentions were in your mind?
indeed had you a sure track?
Leaving school at the ripe age of 15
any job would do, to get a wage
no real ambitions had me at that time
had no impulse but to turn to the next page
Decades have now passed on by
but amazingly feel it was all a plan
there in the divine providence so grand
each step has been taken like a span
Like a flight through the air
before landing on the flight path
you feel so high above the clouds
till your eyes see the approaching grass
Such an adventure it's all been
from birth till earth's end shall be
'all I intended to be' brought about
a little seed became one large tree
(Having listened again to Emmylou Harris 's album 'All I Intended To Be' from a few years ago inspired this piece looking back on life and all it was intended to be.)
Partnered with the light is ever darkness
Where wild boys of dune collect themselves
In chariots of steel inside the mind
Cocooned from what once was but now is gone
They ride clear off the edge of night
Rising to the sun by lost horizons
With music loud. With silence all about
Cliffs are less forgiving in the clouds
Off they go into the fall of men
Leaving only dust behind as a reminder
Of a place they might have found back then
Is that Icarus or Daedalus up ahead
In wings and wax still melting in the sun?
Is there a flight path to heaven less conspicuous?
Partnered with the light is ever darkness
Where wild are the boys of dune inside
Riding chariots of steel inside the mind
Where sand inside the shoes is an illusion
Drifting higher to the mounds of silence
Into horizons once described, are done
The fly in the lift
I buzz around, but there’s no way out.
I often hear voices and an occasional shout
Then I feel a breeze, but I’m nervous to try
I stick to my flight path, because I’m a fly
I can’t go far because there’s always a wall.
I climb higher, but get nowhere at all
Again, a breeze and a new human arrives
There’s plenty of food, so I know I’ll survive.
A loud clunk and the breeze is continuous
The air lifts my wings, but it makes me nervous
I am close to the source, but I turn away
I don’t know what’s out there, so I think I’ll stay.
David Cox 25th August 2021
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