"airbus" poems
50 quid a night
Bleak walls
***** curtains
'Thieves abound' signs.
What do you expect?
Rumbling
deep and dark
Boeings vying
with Airbus
for air space
Around me
surrounded
held hostage by
a mix of humanity
that defies belief
Tats & shaven eyebrows
Over there a Rolex
Business people
thin on the ground
Holidaymakers
construction gangs
football teams
flight crew...
No pilots, mind
Families
And then there are
the lonesomes
like me
and people shouting
into their digital fruits
Only 50 quid a night
What do you expect?
What you've got...
A melting *** of humanity
In all its gore & gloriousness
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 12:00 PM UTC
red tile roof ...
whitewash balcony in romanesque cemicircle ,
fridge full 'f
1 litro bottles Alhambra cerveza --
clawfoot tub, coldwater (couture)
$1000/week:
(i could live on that)
lucky strike spirals in spanish summer,
bare feet on the railing upturned to sun beaming on pearly albayzin of granada.
afternoon mojitos with a new woman ev'ry week. (reading magazines)
spend
75 drunk nights ( reading , smoking , swilling gin )
&
typewriter whirring out pages (underwood airbus laissez-faire)
flamenco on a record player back in the house
one of those spanish girls slipping off a white dress (which falls like a soft breath of cloud down to the ground and sits there
still as death)
as she gets into the jacuzzi.
&
spend
75 high days throwing change into fountains, hand
up skirt of my carmen-du-jour.
climb drydust hills with guinness tallcans in plastic borsa
drinking dark beauties as golden orb hung in clouds keeps on grinning heatwaves.
(feelin' like maybe perhaps possibly i be free)
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
Cloud Trick
I am writing on a plane:
An airbus A380 cruising
Through the emptied rooms of heaven -
The place seems larger,
Now there's no one living here.
The clouds below are thick
And suddenly I wonder:
Why is it, every time I fly,
I cannot see the land below?
Yet when I look up from the ground
I often see the aeroplanes,
Travelling through an open sky,
Angels encased in corporate livery.
Now, in my seat by the window,
Staring down,
I see little specks of light -
Perturbations in my visual senses -
Errors of the mind -
Highlighted on the canvas of the air -
And on these flickers of illusion I fixate.
What if there is no land below?
Could it be that every flight we take,
Is a computer-generated fantasy?
An elaborate scheme dreamt up
By secret powers,
Who wish us to believe in forces
Beyond all reach of human mastery?
Maybe they catapult us
To this virtual place -
A hologram of God's old house,
Designed to bring the memory near:
The hope that humanity might have
A parent in the atmosphere.
Then,
Upon taking us up
To the promised land
They showcase the sacred vacancy
Of all our dreams of paradise.
Just as I begin to fall
Into the particulars
Of this miraculous conspiracy
I stop, and realise how poor I am -
I always buy the cheapest flight:
Always leaving early in the morning,
Just at the end of the night...
Do clouds form like dew
In the darkness?
As the Earth spins,
Are its hemispheres
Alternately cloaked in veils of white,
Like an eye that opens and closes
In both directions?
What I would give to witness that.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 1:40 PM UTC
I made it to Nashville in time to kiss you on new years and we could exploit our chemistry and invoke our alchemy like cheat codes when the level got too hard and we were low on extra lives. We could get through this. But your phone was already off by the time my eerily empty airbus taxied into your city. I hit my knees alone in a sea of people counting down in unison.
My heart fell with all those lonely shiny ***** that find their welcome is worn right as the party is really getting started.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
You Cut It Out.
I saw a little girl
and I fell in love
I thought the little girl
[was] sent from above
I thought that I would
tell the whole world
how I felt about
this little girl
She put the blame on
be-rated me
For telling the whole world
what I believed
Bad Daddy , Bad Daddy
She yelled at me
Want to make them all crazy?
Daddy Daddy Daddy Please
Vociferously
Her actions not of containment
Spank me Spank me
For the whole world to see
What better home entertainment
No daddy Don't daddy
choke hold on me
misunderstood-in for torment
I wrote her a letter
Stating how I feel
And how and why I retract it
But she's just a pill
on an airbus now
and that's just a silly fact of it
I don't want the news today
I'm going somewhere far away
You asked me not to torture you
But that's exactly what I do
Bad Daddy Bad Bad Daddy
You told on me
Don't you ever tell
Bad Dad You Bad Daddy
I'm telling on you
Now you know how I felt
Bad baby Bad baby
Listen to me
I won't tell anybody else
Well the whole world knows now
So get off the ***
I swear I'm a never ever ever gonna stop
Lovin' You and Lovin' You
is all I want to do
how could there ever be an end
When all I do
is tell the world
that I love you
May this never ever end
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
H.Williams
Shut eyes to open doors in the mind,
re-live recent moments behind closed lids,
while they bounce off walls in the brain,
dribble thoughts through the distance when traveling.
Silence loud, like post-fight thoughts,
to echo in ears and ride with us.
Someone to miss, while they miss us,
to occupy thoughts inside airbus.
Weightless or weighed down, still aloft
like balloons from clown.
It's quiet now, though silence rebounds
I echo you, like seashell sounds.
Spine-backs of skinny hills and mountain tips
fill space for miles with no interruptions,
save for the squares of cities
and city squares, lights, and streets--
streets cornering yards, cement lines 90 degrees.
Geometric roof and pool shapes
grouped between phases of earth-states--
and interstate veins that thread and snake,
connect us all and keep awake.
Bite back sighs for the distance between A and B,
points B and A, and the pointless line between.
Balance between wingspan like a hollow-back.
Back-track, retract, align thoughts, connect dots.
Between cloud bottom and ground top,
on the path of raindrops to topography,
thoughts of you sink in topsoil, in grey matter
it all seems clear like black and white,
when it matters that you matter, and that matter
weighs on the brain, it's top-heavy...which explains
how some fall, head-over-heels for their someones,
while other just fall flat.
Weightless or weighed down, still aloft
like balloons from clown.
It's quiet now, though silence rebounds
and rings in ears like live band sounds,
that prompt your smile to stay in place,
so long as the hum still resonates.
Silence loud, like post-fight thoughts,
to echo in ears and ride with us.
Someone to miss, while they miss us,
to occupy thoughts inside the airbus.
Shut eyes will open doors in the mind,
re-live recent moments behind closed lids,
while they bounce off walls in the brain,
dribble thoughts through the distance when traveling.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
It's natural to look down
But if you look up
An airbus night is
The best place to be starstruck
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 5:47 AM UTC
Can you draw spiral stars,
On the broadest daylight
Or maybe a mushroom,
On a slight dusky spring morning.
The world of artifacts,
With metals and rust and
Currents and power can.
Can you paint with blood and flesh,
The script of new face, - blind parades of dead.
A spring morn with fluttering twigs for nest and next-
That day when her lips,
Filled with joy leaped to touch the sky,
Only metals and power,
Vanquished the laughter-
But sounds do never lost,
Haunt the birds that build nests.
Mushroom grew from the dust,
Spat blood on the throne of heaven,
That ended the spring,
With wintry rustle.
................................
Only a while ago,
As he looked up to the sky,
Heart sank and drowned,
As the airbus boomed atop.
For who knows,
What way life may turn.
Some uranium may sing his voice next,
Or some birds may sit on void perch.
The sound ceased, his heart thumped,
In the sounds of hustle bustle,
His sound lost enough,
To be heard, as the nest is empty.
For power and artifacts, we follow,
We walk to the scythe,
And little we know,
That we water seeds of extinction,
With more metals and salts of pride.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 4:14 AM UTC