Long Airplane Poems
Long Airplane Poems. Below are the most popular long Airplane by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Airplane poems by poem length and keyword.
Just finger play above his head,
three little brothers in a bed;
light shafts beam, shadows command,
of airplane flight on ceiling spanned.
So great a love, this brother bond,
the brand of love that goes beyond
what mortal man asks of others,
answered only in a brother.
The sun will turn incessant rounds,
to rise one day on battlegrounds
that cover earth and sky and sea . . .
where little boys should never be.
That tiny one, the baby son,
who crowed with glee at childish fun
is caught in flash of light between
the crosshairs of an M16,
and those two older boys would give
their own sweet lives if he could live.
November 18, 2017
I’m fresh
Pristine.
Eager to Please
Fresh out of the grocery store shelves.
My beauty is sound.
My lines are crisp.
The prettiest of blues.
I am symmetrical and smart.
I feel pride as a hand picks up a pen.
Scribble scribble scribble scribble
It tickles, but I do not mind.
The face looks satisfied.
SCRATCH. SCRATCH. SCRATCH!
Ouch! That hurts.
I get ripped from my spine.
Hand crumples me into a wrinkled ball.
I am now being thrown onto the floor.
One of my prissy cousins arrives next.
She is also a crumpled ball.
What is going on? I ask Uncle Wilbur
As he comes flying down from the desk.
Things are not going well for this poet, he says.
No problem. We can be recycled again.
My brother Jed sails past us, in airplane form, making us laugh.
Alone with our love on a quiet retreat
In a mountain lake cabin, no one else there to greet
Reachable only by an airplane on floats
Hidden from view in a place so remote
That only one chair could be brought to the door
Together we're on it experiencing more
Sharing a moment of corporal bliss
That started with hugging and one little kiss
My hair is a handle for you to hold on
Unstyled and wild all control is now gone
While you there my dear are a porcelain doll
Held in my arms, of you I'm enthralled
The day turns to night then the night turns to day
A painting by Klimt, living art on display
Alive, yet shaken to the
core of her lovely bones
youngest offspring unexpectedly
lost control of vehicle and groans
papa unable to comfort her,
she inconsolable sobbing tears
muffling thru telephones
safe and sound nonetheless
shook up like rolling stones.
Though dwelling bajillion miles away
in Bend Oregon beloved daughter
endearing supportive words
I tried to say
aware sullen mood
fifty plus shades of gray
impossible mission
to assuage grievous
state, especially cuz
accompanying passengers
namely my sister,
and Dunning family did display
anger at recklessness,
though harsh words
merely exacerbated upset
lass - earlier today
August seventh two
thousand nineteen flay
grant over cockiness
best appeased with je
nais sais quois gentle
kindness versus reprobation,
yet quite aware
castigating shrieks nee,
livid rage reflexive from
kid sister otherwise mellow
nonetheless hardpressed
regarding this fellow
to envision ordinarily
calm, cool and collected
sibling to rage and soulfully bellow,
yet informed charming product begat
courtesy mine biological
flesh and blood no
benefit arises to chastise
i.e. figurative flagellation
pinging hither and yon to and fro
but eternally thankful no loss of life...
whew, this dada would never know
reason nor rhyme
to continue livingsocial
purposefulness would heighten grow
wing suicidal ideation - I haint joe
king absolute zero
willpower to write poe
whit tree and/or flash fiction
decidedly, essentially, fervently toe
tilly tubular lee mein
kampf spirit bro
kin, analogous to falling off
skyhigh wall apropos
bailing out hatch of airplane
minus parachute gratefully dead
upon impact resembling red jello
splattered, the closest
aye attain tubby jiggle oh.
I'll always love my bonny girl
So fair and lovely, beautiful
I'll always dream of her and I
And write her name up in the sky
With a little airplane, orange and white
That doesn't reach too great a height
But high enough so she can't see
The pilot there is none but me
It's me alright and how she'd know
Is because I'd never want to go
I'd write all day without a shout
'Til just before my gas ran out
And when once more the plane did land
I'd tie it down there at it's stand
And recall back upon the day
When I took her flying city way
The same small plane that day was flown
That now I fly just me alone
And think of her then when I do
And pretend she's sitting in there too
Next time though she'll sit next to me
I'll hold her hand and we'll sightsee
Instead of hearts drawn in the sky
Inside that plane two hearts will fly
We’ve recently been to Malta and had an incredible time
I met Paul, Charma and Victor. Meeting soupers was divine!
The memories I have of our time together
Will stay with me forever and ever
In Malta there is so much to do, so many places to explore
It was our fourth consecutive visit … Malta holidays I adore!
Soon the time came for us to say goodbye
And home in the airplane we’d have to fly
I climbed on board the airplane (I’ll try to be discrete)
But the man sitting next to me was also taking up MY seat
I couldn’t put the arm rest down it was covered by his back
He needed a seat belt extension to give him a bit of slack
Fortunately I’m petite and don’t take up too much room
I wasn’t squashed for too long .. the pilot sure went zoom!
11~02~16
Rain drizzling on the window pane
Sullen moments, filled with melancholy
Wishes glued to hopes of sunshine
Rays washing away the storm clouds,
The gray day – the tempestuous darkness
Nothing in life ever felt quite as dismal
As the overcast moments when I was left
To my own devices, my own pretenses
Inside the house, where nothing felt as pleasant
As the wonders, the wildness, of the outdoors
As gloom settled into my pores, releasing
Me from the melted boredom, the dullness
Inside, where I only had a tv, books, board
Games and, of course, those imaginary departures
From those homemade paper airplanes…
Who soared, eagerly, riotously – toward destinations
Unknown, into cities and towns where I felt
The racing of my pulse as my heart sped zealously
Reminding me that this was a journey, a freedom
Far freer than any other I had been on…
For this was the flight that would take me –
Into kingdoms, fantasies, imaginary places
Where I could build fictional metropolises
Fantastic castles – rich and amazing moments
That were colored in hues of fanciful inventions
From a mind who was irked by the dismal wet weather
PAPER AIRPLANES Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
August 12, 2022
Thought crystallizes. Its edges become sharp and hard.
Soon we begin to believe the illusion of its boundaries.
We forget it is a wave of energy, in flux, pulsating,
Reaching out to every glowing atom, moving faster than
The speed of light to create a new version of Reality.
Reality is in transition from moment to moment, never solid
But spinning like an old airplane prop, its edges disappear.
It becomes invisible and all our slow tracking eyes can see
Is the outline of its trail, fluctuating and vibrating in echoes of our fears.
We move from moment to moment tracking the deep grooved
Impressions of the same thought over and over, like waves pounding
Against the solid rock foundation of our fantasies and warped realities.
Oblivious to the magic and power of intention that shatters illusion in an instant,
We are trapped in the reality of our own making believing there is no way out.
We are all in transition from one reality to another,
Not one living the same life exactly or experiencing the same universe.
It is a hologram of confusion infused with snatches of Truth just out of reach.
The Matrix is the scaffolding upon which it weaves and grows.
The magic of transition is that we can,
at any given moment,
Through free will make a new decision,
starving the groove of its power
to contain our vast possibilities,
multiple streams of abundance and conjoined strings of realities.
Copyright Chula Schlesinger Fleming © 9.8.24
Day Sounds
On one recorded morning in June of ‘08, my ears tuned in to the sound of the mild banging of a hammer from somewhere close by. I heard the leaves in the trees, as they swayed just a little from the flow of the soft and gentle wind. I knew that I was not in heaven, when I heard the sound of traffic from a major street. Moments later, there was the sound of an airplane in the distant sky.
There is a train rail line near our home, and there was a time when they would blow their horn both night and day. I do not recall that there was any particular time, but I rather think there was. What ever the time of day or night, it was never a pleasant sound. Moreover, the sound of trains blowing their horn at night was both ridiculous and disturbing. To our delight, the night blows discontinued.
After the horn blows of the day trains, we can count on the sound of automobiles racing to work. Of course these are people due at work earlier than the rest of us.
Make no mistake about it, we all have our wake up calls, whether by birds, clocks, phones, planes, or trains. Fortunately, life does bring to us an amazing sense of balance, like the beautiful and soothing sounds of singing birds. I am often entertained by a happy bird or two, whistling like they usually do. I must say, that the things they speak about, whistle about, chirp about, and sing about, are most beautiful to my ears. However, let none be misled; bird sounds are not wake up calls. At best, they could pass as snooze buttons.
Some days we are startled by flashes of lighting and rolling thunder.
Furthermore, there are wind storms; the likes of which can knock down fences and trees. Occasionally, we are blessed to be rained upon,
sometimes in the form of a drenching shower, and other times, a pleasing melodious slow and intermittent rain. Either way, the sound is a thing of beauty and peace. In addition, there are those inviting whispering winds that join the chimes and orchestrate music of their own.
06182016 PS Contest, Sounds of The Day by Nayda Ivette Negron
Beaches, palms, and sand
In the heart of Waikiki
Where the city finds the tourist
And the tourist finds the city
In the complimentary vibes of Aloha
Plumerias to leis
Sunshine to beautiful tans
Dancing flames to tiki torches
The city opens like an exotic pearl
Beautiful and natural
The walk down Kalakaua Avenue
Is a postcard waiting to be savored
Or a canvas waiting for deserving brush strokes
There are tall hotels on the left
Waikiki beach on the right
Sunbathers in tongs catch the eye
And catches a fire somewhere in someone's heart
Further out, surfers are catching waves
Catamarans catching the wind and sails
All hanging loose, local style
Having a good time
There's a lot of blue, white sand, and green
There are a lot of people watching
Japanese, Europeans, and Canadians
All pleasing to the eye, colorful
Filling memories and putting a log on a fire
A kaleidoscope of shops and restaurants, welcoming
A visitor to a luau, greeted with hula, kalua pig, and poi
Song, dance, and good cheer
And there are street vendors playing drums and ukuleles
Street jugglers, artists, and hustlers
Tourists coming and going, mostly with shopping bags
Mostly with smiles
Further down the street
The Diamond Head Mountains sit ahead
The guardian of the Aloha State
It overlooks Kapiolai park and a legacy of over 100 years of Waikiki
Off to the blue skies, another airplane peeks through the clouds
... with another group of eager, happy visitors waiting to visit my home
Thank you for visiting
connie pachecho
4/20/26