Yesterday I was being bombarded
by a tiny annoying buzzing kamikaze pilot
Sounding like a mosquito on speed
it divebombed both of my ears
I swatted at it several times, thinking I would be stung or bitten
Finally caught a glimpse of the aircraft
it was a teeny tiny gray hummingbird
did he think I was a flower?
(A poetic perspective on human desires and inner peace)
The guarded wish to run away,
The open hope for love one day.
The young just want to find their way,
The old remember a brighter day.
The broken wait for light to stay,
The educated search for better pay.
The unknown want a world to say,
The known hide from the words they say.
The poor dream big and kneel to pray,
The rich feel lost in their own way.
The artist paints through shades of grey,
Wishing his brush knew what to say.
A pilot flying far away
Wants to rest where children play,
A farm boy looks at skies so gray
Wishing to soar like birds one day.
We chase, we want, we never flee
From dreams that bloom internally.
But peace begins when we agree
To just be still and let things be!
No one saw me slip into the cockpit.
I dreamed of flying like pilots on TV.
So many buttons — which one should I press?
I picked the green; the plane began to roll.
I pressed again — it raced across the tarmac.
A man ran fast and screamed, “Terrorists! Child?”
The wing struck hard; another man cried out.
A bus rolled out to block the moving plane.
I saw the crash, then fainted in my seat.
Metal shrieked louder than my heartbeat.
I woke to police swarming all around.
They called a child pilot a terrorist.
My name was on the news — same scary word.
That word burned deeply;
I had to ask myself,
What did it mean? I wondered every day.
Not till I grew up did I learn the truth.
That day inspired my dream to be a pilot.
Lady luck alone had saved me from death —
Green button, scream, and question — all began.
geese in the flight path
astounded startled pilot
remnants of sully
In a daze,
So confused,
Strained emotions,
Heart abused.
Cold and lost,
Struggling through,
Life’s different,
Without you.
Frayed temper,
Torn seams,
I still see you,
In my dreams.
Abundant memories,
Bittersweet,
You’re in my heart,
Every beat.
By a thread,
Hanging on,
Auto pilot activated,
Since you’ve been gone.
Always wanted to be a pilot
With a paper plane, I tried it
Guided it into a candle’s flame
So much for my lifelong aim
Why dare I task thick clouds on their own turf
With smug like immortal engraves my wing;
The rain— for my feather to wade and surf
like lightning is sweet and thunder but Nerf;
I, the pilot and the plane, soar and spring
and my tinted tiny wings duck and swing
and beat against the wind on its own turf
and kiss the sky with lying lips— a fling.
Because the ground revolves for naught but shame,
And grows only to fall by its own hand,
To wreck little birds, to burn and to maim.
Not the gravel nor ocean is a friend
Not man nor his hand that kills for no aim
He burns us all while he dies where he stands.
the pilot arrives
When the world was big, and my ship left Trinidad just
as the sun set over the blue Caribbean and women, at the dockside waved goodbye forever, or perhaps not, if the ship returned with the same crew.
The Panama Canal was efficient and American, all business
The Pacific Ocean, the ship was a tea leaf in a giant's
saucer any minute now we would disappear and become a mystery at sea, written about in seafarers magazine.
Indian Ocean, finding a small island long before Apollo
made the world into a smaller planet
The moon is a balloon, as David Niven wrote.
The world has shrunk, it is indeed a tiny place a dot in the galaxy hard to see yet we go on fighting about religion and silly political views, and the beauty of what could have been is lost in a blur of hatred
Looking cool
Wearing blue
Fly through the air
Wingman as their pair
Patrolling the skies
Ready to encounter bogey lies
Like eagles they soar
On this speed tour
Landing on a carrier for air craft
Navy catches them, preventing a bath
Hearing political wrath
You see
It is we
Not I
We cry
Surviving the situation where one could die
When defending things
Spreading our wings
Together standing tall
Against evil forces who need to fall
Using a soft loosened grip
Respectful dialogue in our spoken script
In the reality human game
Glorified in deadly fame
'Tis not a question I've heard often asked:
"What is the working model of your love?"
Yet how can one set out with what they're tasked,
if they don't know the rules their dear thinks of?
Such strange query to pose, before she knows
you've opted to search through the maze for her.
But if there's no map, each choice that you've chose,
might do more harm than good to lovers pure.
My theory is this: there are many souls;
several pilot lights may wait within.
At any time, only one is fed coals;
one bonfire to grow or burn out again.
Pilot light to inferno ... if you chose.
So tell me, my dear, am I one of those?
14 April 2023
Pilot dog flew the airplane with ease
Cumulus clouds gave him a bit of a tease
This was his thousandth solo flight
Instrument panel said things were all right
This 747 was fancier than most, a little bit spiffy.
He had some things to say, but his co-pilot was “iffy”.
So, he kept things to himself, and prayed the weather would clear.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief when the destination city was near.
A successful flight captain, said his co-pilot, Barry.
He was a good egg. His constitution was bright and airy.
Pilot dog stood at the door barking a happy good bye
As the passengers disembarked, their spirits all high.
Pilot dog flew the airplane with ease
Cumulus clouds gave him a bit of a tease
This was his thousandth solo flight
Instrument panel said things were all right
This 747 was fancier than most, a little bit spiffy.
He had some things to say, but his co-pilot was “iffy”.
So, he kept things to himself, and prayed the weather would clear.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief when the destination city was near.
A successful flight captain, said his co-pilot, Barry.
He was a good egg. His constitution was bright and airy.
Pilot dog stood at the door barking a happy good bye
As the passengers disembarked, their spirits all high.
My son has taken up flying lessons… go Jake!
But I can’t push away my natural, motherly fear.
It’s the stress and the worry that I can’t quite shake,
But he’s made his dream of flying abundantly clear.
I want my son to be happy in all of his life,
But does he need to be thousands of feet in the air?
I wish he would stay grounded and find himself a wife,
But he seems to be so calm and at peace up there.
I need to remember to think positive thoughts
Whenever he is up there, flying through the clouds.
Stress in advance is a battle that’s best not fought.
His lack of fear he got from his father, no doubt.
Selana
She strapped on her warplane and flew away to fight
Russian jets being the enemy to be hit
Her missiles were old like her plane
But it was a good one well built
Serviced by her mechanics to perform
When ordered to do by her
She the tip of the spear just a gal
Reason I love my mistress the pilot
Defending our nation each and every day
She already shot down four or five planes
She told me it’s confusing being in combat
Things happen fast beyond comprehension
It’s comparable to driving a racing bike
I think but I’m a hacker and don’t drive
I get into Russian and Red Chinese systems
Do my art and war that way to defeat them
It focuses me while my gal is up above
Keeping us all safe from enemy actions
I want to tell the world but we cannot
We must remain a secret what we both do
I have a day off;
Woke up, the sun is shining;
Beach auto pilot.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.