Long Cockpit Poems
Long Cockpit Poems. Below are the most popular long Cockpit by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cockpit poems by poem length and keyword.
Our Star The Sun
We hither, simultaneously exposed, upon this earth go merrily around it,
As a star amidst the number's relinquished half of the energetic lifetime,
Life well-spent, we're part of its reciprocal beneficiaries earning a profit,
Business, as usual, might be its script, nonetheless, survival be sublime,
Truth is betold in chaptered verses, its inception in trailing breaths emit,
Our symbiotic relevance, correctly, born to an unknown future only time,
Pans out that a tale be realized, and venture should a future time permit,
Transport said souls, whatever we and others have enjoined a paradigm,
Prognosis ne'er descends well, forever is a measured interim, ne'er befit,
A permanent residence, as is, for a phasing bold chapter, be anew climb,
The essence of us presently possess both flee and flight, have a go at it,
Perchance by way of evidence be naught in the stars played pantomime,
Guesstimates permeate our baffled faculties, observationally its cockpit,
Muted by our scaled pretenses that limit our conjecturing via fault crime,
Sorts regulated support of vast liken stars, gathered data do at its tidbit,
Its wayward subtle glide per universe, few of us begs a ride of its prime,
Indistinct, effortlessly wanderings about, tagging star via hooked outfit.
2020 March 14
The pilot closed the door.
Taking a brief moment to look around.
Patting himself down opening the door then closing it back hesitantly.
He walked past the vacant seats, inviting himself to the copilot seat in the cockpit.
He leaned his head back, observing the silence that surrounded.
Staring off into the clouds.
His back seeped into comfort. Sliding down a bit further.
His knees touching the dashboard to the controls.
He searched the sky. The chair becoming a more enticing place to catch a Z or two.
The plane landed about half an hour ago.
Still he sat. Constantly opening then closing the door.
Feeling the breeze of air pass across his face.
Stretching his legs from being cramped in a tight compartment for so long.
Watching the other planes come and go.
The constant flicker of port side reflecting off his face.
How easy it seems to go home.
Continuing to nod off into a deep sleep.
Listening to the other planes sail off into the distance.
The luxury of dreams
A solo pilot, lost in snow,
in a jagged mountain pass.
His eyes are trained upon each tree,
and the shape of each crevasse…
In an open-cockpit time machine,
the winter wind does howl,
but a mighty fire’s burning bright,
inside the engine cowl.
The fog and flurry blinding him,
he searches for a trail,
running late, and miles behind,
he’s employed to fly the mail.
He looks for clues to lead him back,
like ancient, sunken wagon tracks.
A mumbled cuss, then shouts out loud,
he’s heard that mountains hide in clouds…
Now’s the time to pay the toll,
for conversations with his soul.
One way in, and one way out,
it’s true that mountains hide in clouds.
Copyright © 2013
I have planned the vacation of my life to travel around the world before I die, but there is a scare in the air that is preventing me from getting there. She woke up this morning with determination and valor, and there was not a drop of layover sorrows. Everything was just right and she was bursting with energy and looked forward to a peaceful flight that would take her to her destination after midnight.
The plane ascends in the air, and she could feel the clouds pressing inside out, there were no birds in the skies, but a miracle was standing by. The plane ascends higher and higher in the air but just before supper was served a rumbling was heard in the cockpit and there was an altercation in the cabin too that disturbed me and you. A passenger starts tossing his shoe and a fist fight begin that led the cabin crew to strap him in, the plane began dancing in the clouds and a turbulence starts shaking the people around.
The vacation of her life was about to descend to the ground but some things in the metaverse kept the plane bound. A foul smell was coming from the cockpit and the plane, was flying on auto pilot until the engineer repaired it, and the people began to sing a joyful hymn. Little did they know what was taking place, for the heavens was set ablaze but the miracle came on time to separate the cross lines and her midnight flight landed on time.
There is an alarm in the air, so journey with me to overcome my fears; I am waiting at the boarding gate so meet with me there before it gets late; my next flight will depart at eight.
There is a scare in the air.
A cat sat on a buckaroo hat
A hat that was not a hat
but a Flying Fox bat,
A bat like a hat
that was not a bat
but a Spacecraft
from the planet Cobalt…
Can you just picture that?
This story is as simple as that
of Merlin, the magic cat
from way yonder planet cobalt
in a Spacecraft like a bat –
Slick, smooth and flat
with a cockpit and all that
and a cat from the planet cobalt
in an outer space, as far as that…
There’s more to it than that!
While chasing an alien Rogue Rat
in and around the galaxy and all that,
Cat Cobalt in the outer space got lost
in the rat’s extraterrestrial habitat…
Now, what’s up with that?
Here and there, with this and that
From beyond yonder just like that
Poor Cat Cobalt on our Earth fell flat,
No ceremony and no welcoming mat…
Oh, who would ever want that?
To get back home this resilient cat
with one purpose alone and that’s that
He rebuilds the broken Spacecraft
with the help of ‘Meow’, a domestic cat
and goes back home to Planet Cobalt
Now no one knows where it’s at…
This ends the tale of the Cobalt cat!
~Contest: Merlin The Magic Cat
~Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Eagles and Stallions two poems interwoven
-----------------------------------------
My Black Bird has long been gone.
Memories of many flights, linger on.
Only a Pony, today, fast and strong,
could bring this old souls, life along,
I miss that beautiful open cockpit.
It was me and such a perfect fit,
galloping down many of, a long winding road,
creating thousands of stories that could be told,
for this wild, uninhibited old soul,
who, one more time, wants to know
of a man facing the sunset of life, wind in his hair
waving goodbye, and without a thought or a care
the life of a wander, life’s adventures to come,
moments, in all likelihood, to make up life’s sum
for what remains, what is left of life on this plane.
Never more to contemplate all that one felt of pain
before the bright lights dim, beautiful sun set fades,
no more roller-coaster rides, no more penny arcades.
caused, pain suffered throughout a long and checkered career
that bear back riding in the heart of a Silver Mustang, dear
My Black Bird has long been gone, wings clipped.
Memories of many flights, linger on, what a trip.
will dissipate from consciousness, but never ones memory hoard.
In the saddle of a wild stallion, unlike on the wings a Bird, bored,
My Black Bird has long been gone, forget I try.
Memories of many flights, linger on, a tear I cry.
never comes to one’s feeble, old mind, as he gallops to the end of time
on the back of a steed who needs a little TLC, as expressed in this rhyme.
B. J. “A ” 2
October 12th, 2018
The sound of hooting and shouting behind the steering wheel sends a cascade of traffic crawling down the street while two men arguing about time started a heated debate in front of the gate. None of them seems to agree with each other, each one contradicting the other and the passersby emits an energy that rocks the sky.
It transcends a pillar of smoke in the atmosphere blackening the clouds and disrupting the rhythm in the street and the birds on their migration journey fly around in confusion seeking fresh air.
I sat on the seat of mercy watching them shouting outing on for glory stuck in mid-air and deprived of fresh air with nothing to hold on to but their faith, stalled breaks and a frozen battery.
Anxious passengers screaming and shouting, others holding on to their children trying to comfort them. They were all clothed in emergency suit waiting for the time to open the parachute.
I watched him from above through cockpit glass, he looked calmed, reserved and undisturbed, midths the chaos he silently mapped out a safety plan before he attempts to land.
While chaos was erupting behind him, a ferocious wind come chiming in, they could feel the turbulence from the earth when a miraculous wind propels the plane in another direction and it went on an unknown path.
While confusion was mounting behind him, he got his communication back on track and continued the journey from a different direction.
The rage continues in the street with taxi operators throwing punches at another, one man got shot in his leg while another passed out and lay dead.
Check your temperature before you venture out and ignore the blowing horns and the musical sounds. When the ugly frown stares in your face ignore them and go your way or they will shoot you dead in the middle of the day. The rage is all around the town and it will take you to where destiny is bound.
I love it when Lisa and I take our show out and, on the road,
like this twilight helicopter flight, from New Haven to LaGuardia.
I’m so excited about tonight, it’s possible that I might implode.
The rotor blades started twirling, our luggage had been stowed,
the pilot asked Lisa. “Ready for takeoff?” Lisa grinned and said, “Go!”
He gave her a quick and crisp salute and the engine noise started to grow.
As we went wheels-up, the whirly-birds warning lights began to strobe.
Yep, It’s the start of November recess and we’re changing our zip code.
We rise like a balloon, at first, until the harbor comes into view.
The engines were screaming like jets, when the whole world turned askew,
I’ve done numerous take-offs like this, but it still feels like I might spew.
Above the rear cockpit window, there’s an air-speed indicator that looks like a clock.
With a quick turn over Yale’s campus, we’re going 90 as we steak over the docks.
As we ascend into the night, the twinkling lights of New Haven seem to shrink.
We’re swiftly gaining altitude, this quivering contraption, moves faster than you’d think.
As the red numbers settle at 260, the vibrations have all but ceased,
The engine noise is gone as well, as we race up, in the darkness and out over the sea.
I try not to think of the inky black water, how far we would fall and how quickly we’d sink.
Long Island Sound glittered, like fractured glass, under the waxing crescent moon.
The forever-blue sky was hosting a large, fake-star, because Venus was glowing there too.
That dark almost-orbit was prettier than the infinity-of-lights we’ll see on Park Avenue.
We’ll be meeting Peter’s flight from Geneva - a surprise - he doesn’t have a clue.
As the lights of New York become pronounced, so does my excitement that he’ll be around.
I’m sure we’ll get a moment of quiet intimacy at the LaGuardia international arrivals lounge.
It sits out in your driveway
a glittering metallic sculpture.
It costs more than your house,
you love it more than your spouse.
You can hardly drive it, it’s too high,
you can barely park it, it’s so wide.
Like an exotic compulsion, you need it,
though you can barely afford to feed it.
There’s a cockpit with winking tech,
offering a printer, wi-fi and refrigeration.
It can pull a house off its foundation.
Is there a tendentious ecological statement,
in this prestigious resource you need for work
is the fact that it’s tax deductible just a perk?
With this polished and pampered machine,
you get the rewards of effective parenting,
as it literally reflects the care that it’s given.
It’s a spaceship ready for expedition,
what else in creation is as elysian,
as your gigantic pickup truck.
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songs for this:
Dreamin’ by G. Love and Special Sauce
Driving by Everything but the Girl
Little Deuce Coupe by Andrew Gold
Time that has eclipsed
Then, from these failing eyes, when I look into now,
realizing that fifty one years have slipped by, and how
I left behind a beautiful Child in a state of wonder
as all around, the coldness, the hate put me asunder.
For a hundred thousand mile and three long years
my beautiful Child hung before my sad, weeping eyes,
watching me and all I was leaving, so far behind, in tears.
The roads I traversed, across this continent, under blue skies.
My face, the waning black ribbons I flew over, long gone.
History in the making, a day in the life, skies above, the sun shone
upon my head, my cockpit as my black T Bird flew to places unknown,
journeys, adventures, places and people to explore, things to be shown
For my Daughter, a world she remembered and a world created,
left her uncertain of who she was, what was real and what was fated.
Her years, many where troubled with doubts, with uncertainties.
Never knowing truths only hate and being like the hated were her realities.
I know not, for certain, whether all that transpired during these fifty one years
has dissipated, become dust on the solar winds, carried off into the universe.
Have all the wounds healed, the pain long gone, if there are no more tears.
Will the moral of this story be a positive one, if so, may I end it with this verse
B. J. “A ” 2
May 30th, 2026