Long Piloted Poems
Long Piloted Poems. Below are the most popular long Piloted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piloted poems by poem length and keyword.
Shipwrecked
He was Japanese, smiled politely
and took his shoes off
I smiled also, it was the right thing
for us to do, shipwrecked sat
in a rubber raft of the type leaving
Tripoli
Libya, where we murdered Gaddafi
and made a mess in the smaller
states he helped
All this because Tony Blair and the
loathsome French president bored
money from Gaddafi but didn't
want to pay it back
We had harpooned a whale with
a pen knife and a cycle pump
but we didn't have soy sauce and
let the beast go
A blue balloon in a sea of calmness
The setting sun teased us, throwing
gold coins into liquid jade.
At dawn, the Japanese gave me his teeth
and swam towards the rising sun
I gave the teeth to an elderly shark
that, in gratitude, piloted me to Mandalay
where i met another loser selling
pink oversized bra, suitable as tents
for the bombed-out people of Gaza
green plastic buckets and Nottingham
scarf,
The Japanese sent me a postcard offered
me, a Toyota at half-price
Racial harmony is about
common respect
Sophie is a visually impaired para-cyclist,
So her partner is Rachel James, the tandem,
She’s on the Boot Out Breast Cancer team,
And is a mastermind at Friends, all shows.
From Poynton in Cheshire in England great,
Sophie was born on 9th February in 1996,
And started racing as an adult in 2013’s year,
When she was initially piloted by Helen Scott.
After Helen won three British cycling events,
She went international she changed pilot,
To Rachel, and they won two gold medals,
In Newport, to miss the WR by 0.73 seconds.
She made the Glasgow Commonwealths,
To win the gold in the sprint, 2-0 straight,
And at Rio Sophie, but this time with Helen,
Won gold with a WR, in the B 1000m trial.
Someone decided to give me some advice on the art of writing the other day. He told me that I should only write about things I know. But I’ve lived an uneventful life. I found my soul mate at the ripe old age of 15 and we’re still blissfully married. I’m a veteran, but of no war. I’ve never had to fire my M16 at anything more than a paper target. I’ve always worked in jobs that paid far above what my education should have allowed. I was never molested, abused, abandoned, tortured by terrorists, or lost in the woods to be raised by spotted owls. I come from a very large and very loving family. Sure, I’ve made a few mistakes along the way but nothing that I would look back on with regret. What would I have to write about that might have any significance to the rest of mankind? Then I remembered, Tolkien never lived in Middle earth. Bradbury had never been to Mars. Gene Roddenberry couldn’t have piloted the Enterprise. JK Rowling never attended Hogwarts and Stephanie Meyer didn’t hobnob around with vampires or werewolves.
They say they know best
If they did, wouldn’t they do it
There’s no secret way
He piloted from Paris to Deauville
And dreams treasured in casket
I kept await for more gifts
Returning and knocking the door bell
'Our child in my womb'
Piloted again from Paris to Deauville
The authority's calls,
'They gifted me sorry'
I have fallen and dreams shackled,
With voidness and droplets promising to quit
Life in doubt
Piloted from Paris to Deauville last time
I hold you million times,
Last wish 'don't go' and the heart whispers
Your eyes always lied and vowed,
'Soon we see each other'
What do I say now
To the child in me breathing
Essence of you
Essence of me
Bond of our blood and flesh
Knot of our love
Hope of yours back home
He didn't piloted from Deauville to Paris to me..
Won't coming back
You lied
But the uniform laid next to me..
Her laughter was not a quest to be reacted to, but a theme to be braided into the menagerie of his life, a sunlight he pursued and a river he helmed, guiding him through all vibrancy to the quiet shore of his love for her.
.
He was a designer of the heart, her laughter the compass pointing north, the clandestine tongue that piloted his soul’s journey.
Each tinkle was an enigma gossiped on the wind, a fiction written in the stars, and his life’s great work was to trace its constellations, to discover every angle and shade, to encounter the response that was not a single word, but the entire poem of their conveyed presence.
It was harmonic in a language only his heart understood, a puzzle of pure pleasure whose pieces he gathered with every passing year.
He was not aspiring for a conclusive solution, but for the infinite possibilities within each new echo, the promise of a forever built on the foundation of a sound that made his world complete.
Her laughter was the sunrise of his days, the constellations of his nights, and the quiet peace that held him through it all.
Oops! Jill! Lookout, Jack!
I slept in waking, walked no milestones
Until I came upon a shore
A nymph shaking bottled bones
She sung of Aphrodite's lore
For hallowed war, for seductive stroke
I piloted a well gunned ride
They revered me for each enemy broke
Until I took to the clouds to hide
In flames I fell from above
Cut down by a red baroness
I crashed into the field of love
For my want to 'fess, her ill caress
I stumbled through the thistle row
And bedded beneath a yew
I ate the fruit that danger sows
Though I arose so clean and new
At the shore I saw a boatman
Who told me the nymph had died
He beckoned me to cross the ocean
I retreated to find if he had lied
In wind swept sand I found her bottle
With bones and note inside
By which now it made no rattle
But read "This beauty's song saw love denied"
Time's admirer hijacks sections
Rips strings of delicious from fattest flesh
Imbibes fibres provided sublimely
Licks fingers with shameless relish
Nature's passenger adequately dazzled
Rides intention piloted by passivity
Waterwheel which in turn feeds many
Delivers ceaseless needed energy
Rise makes way to fall: a pair inevitable
Weaving a trail mountainside as goat
Supplied segment of cycle's spectacle
Leaving views acceptance of what follows
Leaf litter tickets event for fantastic next
Mouldering grows mushrooms quickly
Spring brings surprise unrivalled gifts
Finds a shape, adopts a place unchecked
Become slowly resplendent in your realm
Adoration wells from inclusive depiction
Autumn acknowledges drifting's worth
Inactivity observes thriving of parallels
I arrived a stranger
to a set of little wooden cabins by the sea.
Pretty they were, with weathered straw roofs
and fences curved like hulls,
the sea whispering at my feet.
The skipper who brought me here was a jolly man,
eternally smiling his toothless grin,
his eyes gentle in the lantern light
as he coaxed the boat through the tight waterways
like a surgeon with a scalpel.
Dawn.
Perhaps the night had blinded me
for with the first blush of the sun,
I saw for the first time (properly),
the world in which they habited.
Tattered wooden walkways, supported by little more
than some planks, nets and rubber tyres
propped up a grid of ramshackle tents
and oddly skewed cabins.
Nearby, motorboats, row upon row, bobbed upon the tide,
their engines rusted and sluggish,
unworthy of the sailors that piloted them.
I saw a woman, maybe 40,
wash her face sparingly with water
and subconsciously touched my still damp hair,
ashamed of the luxury of my long shower.
The cabin offered a variety of "fun" activities,
like fishing and ground traps
but watching the other holidayers pouring over the nets
I couldn't help but feel melancholy;
these things that we treated as games
were the fishermen's entire livelihoods.
When I departed, a young girl,
school bag fastened tightly to her chest,
clambered aboard our boat.
I thought of my waiting flight
and wondered if she could
rise above the waves.
A year ago, I sat on my porch
Watching the clouds gather into form
Unbothered, I drank my coffee in light
Knowing that eventually, my day would be in storm
The birds still sang their song
The traffic stalled on every road
Little did humanity perceive
Elites were on the prowl for Earth's node
As we shopped and accumulated
Gathered at stadium events
Entities of great power and wealth
Were hastening the Apocalypse they sent
Today, we are stymied by lethargy
Seeing bookends without knowing the in between
How could we have been so silent
In the moments that required a stand, we chose to lean
...if you go time to lean, you got time to clean
Stupid little ditties won't save us now
From the grand monster we hailed as our superior
Using our god-given gifts and talents
To demolish, build and decorate his interior
He and they are not to blame for this
No, it is "we the people" who bear this cross
We participated in the very meetings
That piloted and landed every single loss
We can sit on our porch with coffee spilled
As the tornado rips home from foundation
Or we can bow our hearts in repentance
And find LOVE has always been humanity's elation
No stage to stand and declare
Just neighbors joining heart and hand
Our strength to connect and rely
Can restore every broken land
....amazing grace, how sweet the sound
Written by Trudy Schrader on 04-14-2026
Conch Sound
the garden of North Andros
the place where my father's navel string lay
The settlement sits on the vicinity of the waterfront
with old Bahamian vessels piloted by One Eyed Jacob
drifting across the sea winds
while it's calm blue hole calmly sleeps
on the pillow of the ocean
The land has a multitude of
healthy, growing trees and saplings
bearing mangoes, coco plums
coconuts and star fruits
the fruits of their labor
We can cross the creek near Johnson's Hill
with caution at low tide
passing through the tranquil kingdom
of the mangroves
red, white, black and buttonwood
to take a view of the old cemetery
the testing place of my ancestors from long ago
submerged in multitudes of sand grains