I noticed whilst walking up and down the thing
What's going on here I thought
I had been given a middle seat
In what I consider to be the worst flight I have ever experienced
The two passengers either side of me were trolling
Ghosting me
Two Count Drunkulas in the dark
I got up and sat in one of the flight attendant's seats
I needed leg room and the final frontier
I needed me, myself and rock star parking
Like a suicidal cop
The window seat bloke started shaving
A nudge war after landing to hurry it up
As he was gagging for a cigarette
I was so mentally fatigued
Cream crackered and shagged
That I forgot to make this poem a calligram
As was originally intended
You know, in the shape of the fuselage
Oh what genius
I told friends
They asked what other films were available on the flight
Lethal Weapon 2 I replied
Categories:
fuselage, cry, depression,
Form: Free verse
Fish flesh ceiling marinades evening in mandarin
Paprika streaks Alaskan sky, an exploded pumpkin
Garish stretch marks bruise tumid buttocks
Jack-o'-lantern flicker silhouettes summits
Door open draught steers me over masts, a compass
North chill Turmeric tingle bitterness burns sun jus
Snuffs frail wick candle into cavern skull sockets
Frigid fuselage discarded from flamboyant firey rocket
Hulls doubled on calm harbour curl fetal forget me not
Petal precious postcard sends rocking sleep to yachts
Resistant pristine peaks poke holes blood gush painful
Ski slid accident on apex restores pale flesh to angel
Pressed panes mist to witness her wings in awe, glory!
Nest of pick up sticks prickle, due dusk warns me
Crept shadows of chalets' thatched porches protect
Navy as battle ships torn apart, needle inks inject
Categories:
fuselage, allusion, animal, bird, red,
Form: Couplet
A black fly in midwinter
has burgled the warm air of the kitchen.
It struggles for height,
a brittle-winged air-bender
reaching for plateaus,
higher footstools,
grasping for spice shelves
or the slope of a slick cooker hood.
The splutter
of an over-revved engine,
the bolted clicking of insectivore plates.
Up it lifts again
turning like a wounded helicopter
only to crash-land
on a dish of cooling porridge.
Mired, it scoops gravity out
from a clogged exoskeleton
staggers to a porcelain edge.
Heavy airfoils battle a steam laden air.
Its weight now cannot be sustained.
It falls to the hard kitchen floor
spins disorientated on its back.
A dervish dance.
Sibilant thunder-claps
of a now dismantled buzzing.
Will it try again
to lift its wreckage?
Between the paused silence
of a ticking wall-clock
a burnt-out fuselage trembles.
Nothing disembarks.
Categories:
fuselage, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Blood-soiled hands waiting for a mere barrage!
Soldiers in camouflage
Who had at hapless souls fired in a fuselage,
Several times hitting the four- times smart mirage;
In their honest opinion avenging a sabotage,
When they were time killing in their ménage
And some dropped- from- the- air soldier
Wasted the president’s entourage
Dispatching Spoke person Roger…
But it was some other fingers still blood-red
That did the killer triggers massage
Turning out some twenty for the death bed!
Categories:
fuselage, anger, death, fate, heartbroken,
Form: Rhyme
Airplane traveling in the night
enters the darkness
floats from cloud to cloud
City lights reflect on the fuselage
It flies with soft pace
She flies silently above
Passing through the houses and blocks
Wings are open for it's fate
A Landing and a destination
Tomorrow there's more
But now it's nighttime
And we sleep waiting
for a future we think
Categories:
fuselage, city, flying, future, good
Form: Free verse
The womb must be a spaceship.
A fuselage of stars.
The fuss of all new mothers
who's astronaut's are ours.
Each toddler with a mission
to rocket into space.
Where drives to leave the planet
grow on for our disgrace.
The welcome to our planet
that all new enfants show.
The tolpier' of living
that all regurge below.
A need to be in space
between what we dont' know.
The comfort of belonging
teased men will boldly go.
Our cosmonache to space
we'll all belong someplace.
The rest from other's womb light
that all our babies face.
Categories:
fuselage, allusion, analogy, culture, destiny,
Form: Quatrain
First Prize
The Canadian couple had been married for 55 years,
they had been on TV and given a ticket- first class-
a week in Paris. On the plane the young stewardess
made a fuss of them served canapé and champagne,
The pilot came out of his cockpit shook hands with
them hoped they would enjoy a week in gay Paris.
The old man looked out of the porthole thinking
the plane was near the sea, but thought it might be
clouds. The pilot too looked out too and rushed into
the cockpit. The old man saw angry waves snapping
at the plane´s fuselage, took his wife´s hand in his,
knew their destination was not Paris
Categories:
fuselage, image, irony,
Form: Blank verse
Aerial Painting
The painting in the hall of an old bi-plane flying
a across a blue sky, was different this morning,
it had landed by a waterfall and the pilots stood
leaning against the plane’s fuselage slowly
smoking a cigarette, eyes closed enjoying every
moment, every inhale of scented tobacco.
I looked at the painting again the sky was dark,
there was lightning in the air the pilot had flown to
the front and collided with a barrage balloon,
the plane was a broken as thrown to the ground by
a spoilt boy who had wanted a fire-engine for his
birthday, and know only the blue sky prevails.
Categories:
fuselage, adventure, imagination, loss, blue,
Form: Blank verse
If the wings travel faster than the fuselage,
And you are in a helicopter, that’s ok
However if you are in any other aircraft
It’s probably a very good time to pray
Categories:
fuselage, funny
Form: I do not know?
Your paper plane while I slept in my window flew.
It’s exhaust mad me gag and made me turn blue.
On its fuselage I painted a risqué picture of you.
By Robb A. Kopp
Categories:
fuselage, imaginationme,
Form: Monorhyme