"airship" poems
Once upon a time there was a person
He was walking along
He met the full burning moon
Rolling slowly twoards him
Crushing the stones and houses by the wayside.
She shut his eyes from the glare.
He drew his dagger
And stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.
The cry that quit the moon's wounds
Circled the earth.
The moon shrank, like a punctured airship,
Shrank, shrank, smaller, smaller,
Till it was nothing
But a silk handkerchief, torn,
And wet as tears.
The person picked it up. He walked on
Into moonless night
Carrying his strange trophy.
3.2k
Here I am, off on a trip,
Do I travel on an new airship?
Or do a take a train, not so hip?
Or do I drive my vintage car?
Or is this trip too far?
No, like Icarus the star,
I'll grow wings, better than the car,
So, no automobiles, planes or trains,
No bus, but my wings, that's plain!
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
Grey skies
flying moor
storm in a teacup
gas cell 4
the clock hands are matchsticks
...
The letting go of everything
in hopes of trimming the airship
this seat is no longer taken
...
In love with a bad idea
the zeppelin and the magnetism
closing in beyond the minimum safe distance
...
Dim blue flame
a psalm of survival:
days and peoples and places
are transatlantic numbers
crawling from the wreckage
the clock hands are matchsticks
Jul 7, 2023
Jul 7, 2023 at 1:15 PM UTC
The quest through skies,
Is as the quaking ground,
So hard to bare.
Firstly the sun must rise.
And then you must: Westward bound.
The quest through skies.
Toward the sun, the airship flies.
Despite the troubling winds and echoing sounds.
So hard to bare.
Daunting shrieks and eerie cries.
Baring until the North star at night is found.
The quest through skies.
Instead of your worthless demise,
You must set the airship on hard ground.
So hard to bare.
And the quest is complete, a great prize.
Had you looked all around.
The quest through skies,
So hard to bare.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:51 AM UTC
Jailed with all the other squawking birds
confined, it never flew and barely grew
& never knew the mimicry of words
sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner
lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order
his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint
entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint
and his birds, perched across wooden dowels
proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels
onto sheets of unfinished poetry
correctivewhiteoutmisery
so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee
to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet
another relic in a mortuary of literacy
he was just another faceless, bearded bard
and with the old coffee grounds
he would discard
piling mounds of compost, broken bound
his compositions decomposing in the attic
warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts
searching for signals amongst the static
he awaited revision of his works
ill, amidst the scattered ruins
red ink, gold leaf & carets^
he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums
though, all public grievances were withdrawn
crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds
still oblivious to his defunct words
He lied dormant, comatose
in the 3rd degree infirmary
there was once a pretty lass
who could exhume the pristine
glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb
His malady, he once named Gamine
lived in a stretched-white canvas room
she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse
as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles
fluttered gently out of her empty purse
she grew on him like a cancer
for she was God's embellishment
pallid and perfect, and he cursed
her love as it ebbed and flowed
her aureole glowed, safely stowed
in an airship's overhead compartment
she was flying home for
there was no other answer
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Her kite strings are caught on a gill
She’s refusing to let go
Grains of sand have formed to hands
And are trying to hold her toe
No dad it’s not that
It’s an airship bound for Mars
With hands out the window
Waving king-sized candy bars
No son surely that’s not right
It must be a school bus full of children
With coloring pages
Half-way to all the way filled in
Dad don’t be silly
It’s Harold and his Purple Crayon
But he fell out of his balloon
And is trying to draw the ground
Oh no, will he make it
I don’t know
I do hope he will
I do think so
That’s good son
I’d hate to see him fall
I know dad
Wouldn’t we all
But you’re sure those aren’t whales
Floating through the skies
Because it sure does look like it
Dad! Whales aren’t that size
Besides even if they were
What would whales be doing up there
Well, I mean they are just clouds
Not if you try real hard, I swear
Silly little humans there on the sand
Humphry, surely they’re little bugs
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 1:38 AM UTC
An airship for me to share.
I wish I had an airship,
And flew up into the sky.
I’d wave to all the people,
They’d wave back as I flew by.
I wish a had my airship,
Nestled high up in the clouds,
Away from pointing fingers,
Nasty jokes, and lots of crowds.
I would take my airship,
Over mountains to the sea,
Find a quiet place above the waves
With only room for me.
I wish I had an airship
That made my problems go away
Maybe someday I’ll be free,
But maybe not today.
I wish I had an airship,
To help me make a friend.
But only one who really cares,
Not one that will pretend.
If I had myself an airship,
What would everybody say?
Would they want to get to know me,
Or miss me when I’m away?
I will have the greatest airship,
With a massive big balloon.
I will save up all my pennies,
I’m sure I could Buy one soon.
When I buy my airship
I will fly it past my school.
When the kids look out window,
They will finally think im cool.
I just really want and airship,
To see how freedom feels.
And not to always be stuck inside
My Annoying chair with wheels.
I wish I had an airship
So everyone could see
I’m not just a boy in a wheelchair,
There is so much more to me.
Until I get my airship,
I will keep it in my head.
At least in there I’m Always free,
To dream and look ahead.
I wish I had an airship
So everybody knew,
I’m not that different after all,
I’m just the same as you.
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
A stately airship gliding
Over the mysteries of the skies,
I am the smoke trail
That you have left
At your wake.
Evanescent as I am,
Would you really exist
If I had not followed you
Wouldn’t you have been lost,
In the colors of the evening skies,
If I had not pursued?
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
Standing silent close to Kaveri reach,
Watching vary fountain which night please,
In middle blossom of unsteady plant,
Being indulge with various vision haunt.
Along the beauty dissolve my offer,
I was infatuated in love indescribable manner.
No sooner than that music flow,
All at once water sparks glow.
By ogle display confirmed pair deadly pact rest.
And put hands tide round each waist.
Within period merely couple a day,
Agree to run both on single way.
A soaring airship disturbed our pleasure
Harshly snatched her looks from arms mine forever.
There were cloudy sky near those mountain
Violent storm too approached drain out plane.
How sad was thee trip to B'lore shine,
Made vanish present as fairy tale genuine.
Perhaps, none accounts definite what would happen,
Rare enjoys life replete, many fade uncertain.
It is pre-determines every lot before hence.
The man has skilled accustom structure accordance.
While an individual's regular purity convinced Him,
Only may trial complete his crack courteous whim.
Love and *** known as supplement,
Any be effective prior in adherent,
Just satisfaction of obstinate body illustrate ***
But love is lasting long till universe.
If a man bounds with sensual lore,
Ne'er gets limit, well! I am sure.
My love touch pride of wide majesty,
Doesn't need tedious effort advent sanctity.
Let proper close destiny matter jollifying.
Yet I shall preserve idol always undying.
Neither time could decay nor death blot,
Thy name will survive period breathes little art.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 4:10 AM UTC
Jailed with all the other squawking birds
confined, it never flew and barely grew
& never knew the mimicry of words
sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner
lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order
his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint
entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint
and his birds, perched across wooden dowels
proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels
onto sheets of unfinished poetry
correctivewhiteoutmisery
so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee
to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet
another relic in a mortuary of literacy
he was just another faceless, bearded bard
and with the old coffee grounds
he would discard
piling mounds of compost, broken bound
his compositions decomposing in the attic
warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts
searching for signals amongst the static
he awaited revision of his works
ill, amidst the scattered ruins
red ink, gold leaf & carets^
he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums
though, all public grievances were withdrawn
crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds
still oblivious to his defunct words
He lied dormant, comatose
in the 3rd degree infirmary
there was once a pretty lass
who could exhume the pristine
glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb
His malady, he once named Gamine
lived in a stretched-white canvas room
she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse
as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles
fluttered gently out of her empty purse
she grew on him like a cancer
for she was God's embellishment
pallid and perfect, and he cursed
her love as it ebbed and flowed
her aureole glowed, safely stowed
in an airship's overhead compartment
she was flying home for
there was no other answer
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
last night when the mothership came
i slept in the trees full of night sounds and shadows
and my hair unwrapped in the wind
deciphering ancient scrolls on my eyelids
she hovered like a vulture in a clean open sky
and i awoke shivering as she swooped down
platooning over the riverbank
and i stood with my arms outstretched
at the edge of the bubbling water pit
for light years until snot icicles grew gray on my face
cringing under the great vacuum sky
and now fog whitens into morning and
i am enveloped in sun-silence
as the last three stars still flash like cities of the future
the smell of grain becomes tweezers in my nostrils
and the sun is a giant roaring furnace
burning a sense of adventure in my southern boy blood
the memory of big pale nutless creatures wearing zoot suits
escaping into the abyss from the green dawn in their classy airship
meanwhile my hairless face being polished by the wind
blind drunk on dew and awaiting salvation
lips pulling away from big white teeth and pink gums
in high song and shrill laughter
a naked schizoid of the morning warped and cunt-crazy
silently dancing beckoning the universe with
telekinetic strength to bring another cosmic storm
because i am double minded in this transformed version
of myself and i will ride the electric tidal wave created
by our sweaty kiss like the sound of a trumpet
being blown as triumphant and far away as a lightning strike
i have learned to control the magic manipulate
particles in empty space and i'll ride this
luminescent rowboat under the charcoal sky
into infinity
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
The telex caster flickers on
and the chap from the BBC, states
the last of the balloons are erected
we are ready for lift off
Slowly the land pulls away from the earth
time to rule Britannica most glorious
going where the winds takes us
and where we land, we will take as ours
Using only sound weapons
and the whispers of cold winds
we are so ready to take seizers
for this is airship Britain, full of lunatics
All don their red jackets
men, women and even children
no more muskets or marching
for this land is made for fighting
We are the now the Kunstprodukt
so ready for war, and so wanting
ready to take back what we have lost
this is battle of airship Britain
Only the elite will attire in black
for they are the hard core warriors
and they will jump into action
before we land, and play dangerously
We will rule where the wind takes us
for Britain is not on the map
and soon we float over to you
and land on your ****** lap
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
upon
the airship wingspan
where
the yellow beak
herring gulls
drift
in nautical miles
and
touch the fingertips of
ocean waves
without
fear or doubt
but
rejoice in it
with
constant jubilee
where
they dwell
in
peace harmony
and
kinship
above water
above land
oh
heavenly father
praise God
May 14, 2019
May 14, 2019 at 11:32 PM UTC
Have you felt the tug on your nerves
Felt the constant ringing in your ears
Your hands jerking like a jelly bowl
And your forehead twisted like a wet rope
The feeling is immense
Its so deep its raw and intense
Those nagging tounges and blabbering lips
Can make you proclaim the right to ****
You twitch to maim and destory
That lingering itch to crack open a skull and enjoy
The cribber party is one of a kind
They are a mouthful and one ******** mind
Cute little dolls can be pin poked
But can the trolls ever be roped?
Hung by a nooze so tight
Given a chance you might even enjoy the sight.
Your friends out of devil's pocket may ignore you
The blueticks on your messages may avoid you
The boss will pick on you like a cheese *******
And the world will conspire and deride and jack you up.
Dont lose calm
Coz sanity once gone will give you a ****
Your tallest of the four fingers
May be your motto for forever
You might pull of a crazy mind coup
On those pestering sons of cockroach
In the end
Its your nerves of steel that soldier on
Like an overloaded bridge under strain they hold on
Like an airship in turbulence you will ride it through
Some days are gloomy, some mornings can be sweet
Dont you let go, march on...
For there's a right to obey and a right to ****
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
I had a dream once, my darling. About you and I, adrift in the sky.
For hours we'd dance and dance, your eyes glowing and growing, dancing, enhancing,
With each spin, each laugh as the hours turned to days turned to a lifetime.
We would stop our waltz only to kiss; long and lasting and promising.
A kiss that would power our airship, would end all wars, would cease my tears.
A kiss that would cure my fears.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
Burning face as you
Fly off with my airship.
Diesel scorches moist lungs
Dark nostrils flare.
Raised eyes behold, dreamlike:
Your silhouette 'gainst the blushing pearl of a yawning sky.
Soundlessly you vanish beyond canopies and ken-o'-man.
Dawn slips expertly among shimmering trees to greet me with love.
"WHERE IS MY AIRSHIP!"
...
Cicadas tense to pour into a silence
Stretching like an open gullet.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
FIELD MARSHAL AT THE COMBAT FRONT
By Abraham Esang
The Field Marshal popped in with a brand new red beret
Down to the carcass-ripped front where the combat was;
Alongside with an affectionate General by his noble right hand
He established his path in the direction of the No man’s land,
Afterward a Resilient excellence Lieutenant General there they found,
And a Major General as well, to take them about.
Passing through the trench, their heads bow low,
In the direction of the attentive foe
They advanced through the dusk and the dust stink
Till the Lieutenant General muttered, “one-three-stance gulch!”
And the General repeated “one-three-stance gulch!”
And Field marshal responded-Not in gulch
“Okay, I notice it. “One-three-stance gulch!”
Once more they trooped with watchful pace,
Trailing on where the Lieutenant led
Across the damp and the gunk as well,
Till they popped into a different lateral.
They rested there in the slush and drench,
And the major general muttered “one-two-stance gulch!”
And the General repeated, “one-two-stance gulch!”
And Field Marshal nodded; “one-two-stance gulch!”
Still, as they went across marsh akin to slope
Till they popped into a neat and comfortable gulley
Good mimicry from airship
Where soldiers mounted their guns for firing command
And the Lieutenant General muttered “one-one-stance gulch!”
And the General repeated “one-one-stance gulch!”
And the Field Marshal muttered, “Okay, I notice.
How distant is the foe?”
And the affectionate General the Field Marshal questioned, questioned he,
“How distant is the foe?”
And the Lieutenant inhaled in a lower tune,
“How distant is the foe?”
The quietness placed in tons and piles
And the Lieutenant General whispered, “Just nowhere near.”
And the Major General whispered, “Just nowhere near.”
And the affectionate General repeated, “Just nowhere near.”
“Just nowhere near!” the Field Marshal swore,
“Why in god name are we muttering?”
And the Major General said in a gentle growl,
“Why in god name are we muttering?”
“Muttering?” the reverberation roar;
And the Lieutenant General muttered, “I am freezing.”
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 11:54 AM UTC
In this bluest blue
of the first morning venture
I can hear a helicopter
or a C-130 from the airbase nearby.
Yet, despite my squinting, I cannot see it.
I avert my gaze from the sky,
moving it to my front lawn
just in time to invade the dog’s privacy
as she performs her morning necessaries.
The skyward sounds intensify,
I attempt to find their source once more.
Still unable to locate said airship,
allowing my eyes to follow instructions given by my ears,
I spy a hawk riding the thermals,
perhaps looking for a rabbit to invite over for breakfast.
Able to still hear the warbird or rescue chopper,
my imagination stirs these sounds,
the vision of that sleek, hunting raptor.
How tiny his goggles, his helmet.
How deftly the hawk fires rockets from under his wings
while strafing the rabbit village with his machine guns.
They scatter
as the burrows that nested them warmly, safely in the autumn are destroyed
in flying debris and fireball.
Breakfast is served,
our thunderhawk dives to inspect the results
of his latest scrambling mission.
The dog and I weep softly as Taps plays for fallen lapin infantry.
Our own breakfast is griddling,
we turn our backs to this morning’s madness.
The omelettes are ready,
the bread,
baked,
pulled from the oven,
the coffee is hot.
Like rabbits we retreat
to safer quarters.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications 2019
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC
Rigid airships,
the way she made her hair flip,
this girl was remarkable,
the kind of face that could spark a tool,
nothing loss of impeccable.
When she winked,
titanic sized ships would sink,
and when she smiled,
people would drown themselves in the Nile.
She was the kind of light,
that you keep on at night,
the curves that made dogs bark in delight.
She was nothing short of perfect,
floating into the sky,
leaving everything she knew behind,
and that was when I saw the sign.
She was like a rigid airship,
the kind of girl that if the air was a guy she'd make the air-strip,
But all she had to do was a hair flip,
and I would have given her my life.
She was remarkable.
The kind of girl that the word beautiful,
was made for.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
When suddenly life feels bleak
And memories and hopes start to leak
I can't help but wonder
What would happen until I go under
Would I get my happily ever after?
Would I get to hear her tinkling laughter?
Would someone go that extra mile
Just to make me smile?
If I wanted to share my fears
Would someone lend an ear?
A little insecure
Humour is my shield
When I feel like hiding
I wield rather than yield
My friend wrote a poem for me
That moved me to tears
I'll keep it safe
And treasure it for years
I'm a hoarder by nature
Cause I worry for the future
What if one morning
Memories start to get misty without warning
Now that I'm on this airship
Have to take precautions so I don't slip
Riches never really tempted me
It's the memories that matter
A gold pouch or a photograph?
I'd choose the latter
I want to leave a mark
Like Noah's Arc
Something to remember me by
I hope people don't call me 'that guy'
My parents' love I can't forget
Especially my mother's
I wouldn't be the person I am
If it wasn't for her
If I die
And don't get to say goodbye
Would my loved ones weep?
Would my memories in their heart keep?
I fear
That people would cheer
After all,
Who even wanted me here?
I wonder who will stay by my side
Till I'm old enough for dentures
But to those who do stay
Thank you for this adventure
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 12:43 AM UTC