Long Pilot Poems
Long Pilot Poems. Below are the most popular long Pilot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pilot poems by poem length and keyword.
Money is a rabid dog
that does not need affection ...
If we throw a bone
farther, farther
it will fetch indefinitely ...
For some money
it's a distant past,
for others it is future ...
money for savings
rides a bicycle ...
money for speculation
at the light speed ...
Money is a ship
manned without pilot
automatic ... needs
operator ...
Money waits and
fosters crises for
snap up capital and
accumulate...
Money has the
maxim: "luxury is right"
for those who have it, naturally ...
Money dresses up as a tycoon
when the business is wasting ...
and banker when the case
is to catch money from others ...
Money is not an instrument,
he is the boss ... the most
well served finer he treats ...
Money is to enrich the rich,
and to impoverish the poor ...
Money when it is called capital.
is a predator of economies ...
society cannot control it
and choking alone ..
He is Robin Hood in reverse:
steals from the poor to
deliver to the rich ...!
Blat , Blat
Sporadic gunfire firing back
Our way of life is under attack
And what I mean by that
Is protect the Oil Refineries
Protect Democracy freedom of speech
Protect the Banks & Institutions
Call the order to Fire Back at Will
Give them a taste of their own medicine
Shoot to Kill
Kill Bill
&
Jack & Jill
Whoosh, Whoosh
Mother nature's dirt is swirling on the breeze
Red Sand
Burnt Yellow's
Orange Haze
The winds ablaze with Corparl Punishment
Doled out by the Ministry of Environment
If 1 is to believe the Kamikaze Pilot
Who just punched another hole into the earth's atmosphere
Put down your Aerosol cans
And travel bans for Airplane's
And Rocket's
Unless there Private hired in the name of
Spreading the Gospel according to
Renewable cleaner Green Energy
Ride your bike not your car
Drip , Drip
Torture Tap
Pop the Champagne Cork
Who cares if the reservoir runs dry
Let the poor drink cake
What else would the poor child have to fill up her day
If moved closer no longer was it a chore to collect water
Sell them gun's instead to play with
Sizzle, Sizzle
Bacons at an all time low
It's now even on the Big Mac
Triple Stack
For Beef is apparently now very bad 2
Lest us all become Vegetarian
Father was a Coal Miner
Out of work and down on his luck
Since progress decided to shut down the mine
Bad choice of Career
How is Daddy now going to pay for his Beer & 40 Fags
His Father before him was an Old Fashioned Cowboy
Driving Herds of Cattle across the wild plains
Powered by Bourbon and Bean's
Rancid and saddle sore
So too 1 day did progress for him come a calling
Putting an end to his self worth and way of life
And with it his family taken on his journey into Alcoholism
A violent man he became
Relics of a certain decade
Products some say Collateral damage
When the Wheel's of Industry Stop
The Silence is deafening
It's like the sound of a knife falling in an gunfight
Shhh , Shhh
Quiet Please
The Library is now in Session
And so begins the Mine for Knowledge
Speak of only Truth , Hope and Courage
Don't be taken in
Don't make the same mistakes History has taught us
What has War ever brought us but death
Fight rather for us than against us
Why be a Tourist ?
When you could be a Guide ? ?
If you aren't grateful;
you haven't lived.
If you have never forgiven;
you're one step behind
because without forgiving-
you don't move forward-
you freeze where time is timeless,
where you go through life on auto-pilot.
And everything you dream
is too far away-
your reach is too short.
Instead of living
you fail to try.
And while the baggage yields your life-
you keep walking backwards-
moving further away from your dream.
So while you can
forgive,
love,
and don't take no for an answer.
Make your own answers-
and seize every moment of every day.
Everyone deserves to be happy
and everyone deserves to be loved and love to fulfill that happiness.
Without trying you can't live
without forgiving, you can't move on
so forgive, love
and live the way you want to live your life.
Be grateful for everything you have
and respect everything you don't.
You really only have what you want
because if you want something enough
you have that urge to make it possible,
never give up,
cause your own life is meant to unfold
and become just as amazing and possible as it is supposed to be.
Assertive Letters
An Instant Recognition.
White border, white letters.
Red sign on a tall unnatural pole.
In charge of keeping us safe, unrecognized.
Brain applies feet before you realize
You are slowing down for a
Concrete stop.
On Auto
Pilot, No
Idea You
Were
Paying
Attention
Because
You
Weren’t.
I have saved
Your life once
Again. And
The lives of
Others.
My teacher who thought sun-bathing made her well-red,
graded me average, she was mean to the power hundred.
She was once a banker, but after some time lost interest,
wanted to be a pilot, so her career could take off for the best.
She thought to be able to fly high, could be truly uplifting,
instead she bought a boat, for in the sea it was for sail drifting.
She was an optimist, her blood type was B-positive, they stated,
but the doctor said it was Type-O, the mistake was corrected.
Her memory was photographic, but she couldn’t fully develop it,
she needed to alter a brain part, changed her mind the last minute.
When she stole neighbor’s lamps, he couldn’t be more de-lighted,
a picturesque girl, she landed in jail, “I was framed”, she asserted.
There, on a sill of contentious decisions
Glass shards sit waiting a wavering hand
Reflective the memories wrapped ‘round the curtains
Lost in a pane that she can’t understand
Chilled calls the breeze through a jagged eviction
Scenting the air neath a ceiling now stained
Dampening dreams behind oven doors gaping
Finding the pilot light has not complained
Ripping out pages of scribbled delusions
Day becomes night in the depths of her mind
Chasing the echoes when no one will answer
Begging each shadow for something to find
Setting a table of rounded persuasions
Watching fluorescents fade fast in her eyes
Turning the knob towards a sorrowed direction
Why is there none who react to her cries
Loneliness peels back the layered condition
Voices of reason have fled to her past
Fearing the worst will come visit tomorrow
Sensing the hour shall now be her last
So many days and the roses need pruning
Nary a movement is noticed inside
Caught in his thoughts that her words had intentions
If only those moments ignored would confide
Desperate ink found in fingertip writings
Penned by the demons left roaming her head
Still haunts the question of fear never listened
Death becomes art in the stanzas unread
"The Slip-ins"
Why should I continue to write
these feathery songs,
these blanched banjo tomes,
these wilting poésies
of a lost little life ever circling
like a memory stone thrown
across a lake of discontent
into the bottom of a dark pond
where the sulphar trolls
with their attached pilot fish
of no kingdom come spin
their spindly venomous and childish reasons
along their tongues those sticky webs like a cast net
toads reeling blue flies in
smiling at all the joy stolen
where they store the chord of me
silent and vibrationally buzzing
like a good mummy
for later feeding,
I am trapped
in the blistering better knowledge
of those angry joyless monsters
who like love-hungry creepers slip in
ripping me away, pulling me down
far away from Blue Sky
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality.”/Lewis Carroll
“War is an absolute failure of imagination, scientific and political. That a war can be represented as helping a people to 'feel good' about themselves, or their country, is a measure of that failure."/Adrienne Rich
“War is an invention of the human mind. The human mind can invent peace.”/Norman Cousins
“There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.” /
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
“Imagine”/ John Lennon (Lyrics).
I climb the ladder of truth to dig into my youth, but there was nothing that I could find that could ruin my mind. I search the corridors of hope, trying to find the path that leads to the mound; it was clear as I could see that the lions were chasing after me. The road was long, but I took a short cut through the desert sand with a lantern in my hand. The sky almost touches the earth, and I could feel the history of mankind unravel in the ancient stone, and it was my youth that was carved out in those marbled stones. I could not deny that the heavens meet beneath the sky and as I stood on top of the mountain, I could hear the universe cry. It was like a balcony was floating in the sea and me and my partner was rocking with thee. We could not see anything around, but the ladder of truth tells you of the glory of your youth. We fought battles in the deep and we strangle mad men in our sleep, we win battles after battles and when our army touches the river Nile, we could hear the lion in the wilderness cry, and the spirit of the pharos would come to our aid and rescue us from the jail. The ladder of truth burns in the wilderness beneath the throne and tells the story of man’s journey to meet with the earth god that is wrapped up in the sun. They travel long-distance searching for the world that no one can find. They travel the globe searching for the truth; they climb the Alps and wander over mountains, sail across big oceans but the story is yet to be told of how mankind crosses his soul. Climb the ladder of truth and discover the joy of your youth; climb the ladder of truth and learn about your birth and how you were saved from the smoldering earth. Climb the ladder of truth and learn about the mountain of peace and how to absorb the heat. Pay attention to the details of life for your ancestors have made painful sacrifice. When your feet burn in the desert dust, courage is all that you can trust. I can hear the cries from the river Nile, they are the souls weeping in the afterlife, they are searching for their home, but they keep spinning around and around and the horse that reside beneath the sea emerge from the ground and pilot thee home.
The ladder of truth is buried in the epiphany of your youth
Endless ribbon of tattered poetry in pavement,
Trail of tears for wandering vagabonds,
Seek yourself from this time forth betwixt sunrise and senility,
For the tides of the seasons grow weary with long-suffering,
To the hopes thou clingeth unto, by breadth and bound, unwavering still,
To where have thy troubadours vanished my heartland?
Into the unforgiving sea of nights, long past beneath God's eyes,
Tell me, oh mother, who wring thine hands in the terrible simplicity of despair,
Where have thine young sojourned unto, beyond your grieving sight,
Far across the smoking hills of sin and smoldering ash, to find beauty amongst anguish,
Listen not to the cries of death that smite the heart with wild and evil abandon,
And do you not hear the song of the mourning dove, low and yet with hope,
And tell me, Mr. Kerouac, whither hast thou been these few milion moons before,
Among the snow of the peaked mountains, hushed with the silent iron hand of winter
Drifting amply with the loneliness of the four winds of the Swanee, and the mighty
Mississippi
So roll tides, roll, to take you back to the streets of long-lived, and still loved Lowell,
There are ghosts in the alleys, but thou art no specter in the darkness,
Let us focus, with unwavering desire and redemption, to life and death, body and soul,
To you, the wanderer with pen and parchment, who told the nations of life on the
road
And the majestic unyielding awe of every eye and stillness fixed on every tounge,
from the picture thou hast set before the whole of old America,
For you had me at "Praised be man" in the senseless throes of unbridled youth,
And left to dream of moonlit vigils, as can be seen from the pilot seat of a battered
beetle,
Following the footsteps and felt pen, driving across '66, to Seligman and Flagstaff,
To loll and roll, with the unreal unfurling of your manuscript reels, to give freely your
confusion
For a timeless, aimless quote by thee, picturesque and wanting with gusto
"Whether goest thou America, in thy shiny car in the night?"
Blessings from the heartland, Mr. Kerouac.
See you in Big Sur.
//Poet's Note: This poem is a meditation upon my favorite Scripture -
Hebrews 12:1-2 "Let us throw off everything that hinders, and the
sin that so easily entangles... and let us fix our eyes on Jesus"//
O, would that my affections were for Jesus,
and him alone – that heaven was my treasure.
That I would flee the bonds from which he frees us
and fix my eyes on Christ, not earthly pleasure.
A passenger and pilot on a plane
have two distinct objectives on their mind:
one seeks to rest, or eat, or entertain
himself, or chat with others so inclined.
The pilot is all business – focused, taut,
scanning the skies and instruments at hand,
evading all distractions as one ought;
all to ensure the plane will safely land.
May I a pilot’s vigilance possess -
to seek God’s kingdom and his righteousness.