My brother is a pilot,
Not just any old pilot...
A tail dragger pilot,
Champions
Cubs,
Super Cubs.

Planes made of spars and fabric,
Held tight
By screws
And dope,
And glue.

Airframes part wood,
Part aluminum,
Part steel.

Fuel tanks sloshing in the wings
Either side above our heads,

Set the mags,
Hand crank the prop,
Turn on the fuel,
Hear her pop
And roar to life.

We strap in
Single file,
Controls fore
And aft.
And rev 'er up
To join the winds.

Once up,
He yells, "She's yours!"
And I am piloting
Or rather gingerly sliding her
About the blue,
Skidding right or left,
Holding my breath,
Wondering how much I dare
To tip her up there in the air.

"I've got the stick!"
He yells, and I let go.
"Don't be afraid to fly it!"
"It's just a machine!"
"Make it do what you want it to do!"

And we are diving toward the ground,
Then bringing her up and tilting 'round.

"Give her fuel when you tilt to turn!"
He demonstrates, and we are standing
On the wing,
Perpendicular and looking to our left and down.

I know he's right,
That I am timid in my flight,
And he is brave with years of joy,
A pilot fearless since he was a boy.

"You want to land?"
I hear him say.

"No, that's alright!"
"Not today!"

To prove how safe it is to fly,
He touches down,
Then bounces high,
And vaults us back into the sky.

We flit across the fields,
And then,
He flies beneath the power lines,
To show how spray planes catch the ends
Of fields.

He skies the plane at either end,
Then bee lines it to the badlands' edge
Where suddenly we're swooping down
Between the canyon walls, and sinking low,
Then, rising, turning to our right,
He sails us toward sun's dying light.
My only hope is that we'll land
Before the night
Erases all our sight.

And sure enough,
The air is calm;
The night is coming on;
Gusting breezes are all gone.

We gently settle once again,
Back at the ranch,
I help wheel her then
Into her waiting hangar pen.

Life can be lived all in a panic;
Fear fills us with a lingering dread,
But we should live our lives
Just like my brother said.

"It's just your life, so make it do
Whatever it is you want it to!"

And when you're changing
Your directions, throttle up!
Don't let the fear of living
Bring you to a needless stop.

I angle my upper body forward from my reclined seat back,
To gaze through three panes of a frosty porthole,
To view a blanket of lights on darkened earth.
But they're below me, I'm distanced.

I'm thirty thousand feet in the air.

Incandescent highways splinter and mend like aimless root networks,
Funneling wingless fireflies like worker ants. And I, here,
Hoping your luminescence is, too, wandering to your hive or elsewhere,
Hoping against hope that you notice me in transit.

Though I'm thirty thousand feet from anyone else.

At least, but likely closer to the distance between our moon and sun,
Hurdling through galaxies at the speed of super-sound,
Sure that even at the end of space, past comets and nebulase,
That even if I get turned around,

I'm thirty thousand feet from anyone else.

As the lights ebb and dim from outside my window panes,
Gradually giving way to blackened earthly landmass,
I will recline my seat slightly and rest my eyes,
Hoping the steady burn of the plane's fog lights guides you,

Thirty thousand feet closer to where you need to be.

What, exactly, is a star? It's made up of so many things. Scientifically, it's a body of gases rubbing off against each other to create friction and heat, thus turning into a ball of bright red or blue light. And as for airplanes, they're the only mode of transportation in the air; once a man's dream, now everday's reality. The airplane can travel to any corner of the world-- how cool and sweet is that?

I see you in airplanes. I imagine them as shooting stars, with me wishing for you. I also see you in the stars, also imagining them to be airplanes which are frozen in time, with who knows where they have traveled to in the past, or where they're bound to fly to.

I love you as the stars, and I love you as the airplanes. I love you either way. No matter how far you are or how far you will go, I know I can always find you out there, free in the skies.

A fold here,
another there.
I straighten it's wings
to make sure they fly as far as they can.

I swing my arm back,
and let go.

I watch as the wind carries my feelings away.

I hope that the wind carries my heart to you.

other people like to pretend that airplanes are shooting stars in the night sky, destined to fulfill wishes as they dance about the air.

as for me, i like to imagine that stars are airplanes suspended in time, frozen in travel, bound for a place across the expanse of the atmosphere.

more than anything, you're either the airplanes or the stars to me.

Today,
I just want to exist
without the burden of
a million things plummeting
on my shoulders...
I think life has driven
existence to an airport,
I think it told existence
to fly away,
and now life for living organisms
tastes like decay
and airplanes feel like
a death sentence;
not even up above the clouds
can you find peace;
gunfire and chemicals will still
find you even when you are
10 thousand feet in the air...
Today, I just want to exist
without the burden of fighting
for my own survival
but how could we possibly think
that a ceiling alone could protect us?


- Crimsyy

Unapologetically, I eased into a deep sleep
Head leaned back against the head rest of an small plane.
Not a single thought occurred outside of certain excitement
The sight of ordinary things seen from a totally new perspective.
Carry on stored overhead

 

The opening of eyes, a brighter hue now taking to the horizon
Wandering across the sky.
I eased into a deep sleep anticipating a gush of wind sweeping through my hair
caressing my face between the turbulence of things imagined staring from a window seat.
Shutter half closed, first class flight.
The sun peaking through an opening of clouds venturing somewhere That I've never been.

 

I eased back into a deep sleep, watching the sun through closed eyes
Extra color seen through an already perfect jitter.
To overcome a fear of flying,
The anticipation of seeing the horizon from this side of the world,
Her world. An affair of perfect height
Unapologetically I woke up inbound, heading fast towards the landing strip.
Seat belt sign now a bright red. Blending perfectly into the view of the horizon.
Welcomed open armed to plight of her heart

She was never steady—
always ready for the grand depart;
she lived for take-offs and landings—
she's the girl with a suitcase heart.

Once in a rare while
The stars align.

And next time the clouds
Part I'll remember to
Appreciate
The moment.

Once in a rare while
A star falls from the sky.

I once caught one
Wasted it on a frivolous wish
When all along I
Should have used it on you.

at three times the speed of sound the SR-71
was so fast it didn’t need to hide, but when
I met you we were slower, metal walls covered
in black reconnaissance paint, sonar silence.

blackbird, shy

sometimes you bit your lower lip, or my
eyes drowned, and we looked down and I cursed
my stubbornly earthbound feet, but blessed
be the stars that crossed for us to meet.

blackbird, cry

under the cozy cover of quietly building-up time
we moved on. when the back of your hand
brushes my face it slowly lifts another brick
of something sturdy into place.
the way your palms get clammy with excitement
when you point out planes coming out and in,
the way your eyes light with joy and nervousness
at my reaction is how I feel when I lean over your shoulder
and point out jupiter in the sky.

blackbird, dry your eyes

the hello was slow, but goodbyes move
faster than sound. we finally found saturn
and then time ran out.
standard procedure for the SR-71
in the event of a missile lock-on
was to continue being
the fastest thing in the sky.

blackbird, fly