"cockpit" poems
Life could be easy - Oh, no please me
I got it good
We **** around - I **** her down
She takes my wood like she should
Wild, yeah - Styled, yeah
Loud while she wears my crown and
I ain't coming down again
Till the ******* *** blends
Make her bend - I know no end
Notice noted we ascend
I know she know we more than friends
I ride her like a ******* benz
******* find it all the while
I ain't stopping till the bed breaks
I smash the whole cake
Legs shake on my dinner plate
-
We hit it so hard - never going to stop
All in the cards - never going to drop it
She's in the cockpit - locked it, popped it
Launched my rocket - oh my goddess
I'll be back in couple of days
Riding that wave - we give and we take it
All of this time she's slaying my ****
Hard as brick - I'm all the way the way in it
Living in sin one hand on her neck
We ******* she bucking I'm ******* her next
She want it so bad she tear up my back
I handle that *** I'm on the attack
Bust in a magnum busting my cap
Busting from ******* call it a wrap
I'm up in lab we doing the bad
Yeah, I'm finishing last
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
A Catastrophic explosion in a constellation ..........
Following the super nova , expansion of the universe....
A supersonic flight on suborbital spacecraft ........
Accessing meteor , an unknown lonely atmosphere ....
Away from thousand light years.........
Taxonomy a new solar system with red planets........
Peeping from the glass cockpit , all planets appearing blue.......
No moon in their orbit , no networks with DSL(Direct Satellite Link)......
No human , no existence of love...........
All nonfunctioning satellite moving bizarre ..........
Whole system collapsed in that collide ........
Explosion relocated moon with planet earth .......
A symbol of Cosmic Love , shining through human hearts ........
Discovering love bond in the solar systems...
an unique lodge.............
Migration of youth Love .....an effort to save those lonely planets......
by
MAHI -GALAXY ...........
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
I think
The reason I felt
All tingly, when you asked,
"Ma'am, have you fastened your seat belt?"
was this Uniform of yours.
Why else would I blatantly stare
At you walking towards the cockpit,
Wondering if you'll look as good
Without it?
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:07 AM UTC
Tell me, Gentlemen:
while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity,
did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter?
how did it feel,
fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings,
defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers?
did it hit you like a G force?
when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet?
when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes,
when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses,
tell me how it felt, Gentlemen.
will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers?
if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story?
tell me, Gentlemen,
what was it like to fly?
infinite respects,
Curlie Fries Mcgee
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
I never leave the West when it isn’t raining,
My brother says to me through the phone.
He is on his way back
over the Rockies and through Nebraska.
He’ll never make it intact—
hands fuse to the steering wheel
like nylons on a burn victim,
knees and elbows bolted in
precise angles keeping the car straight,
tires pulling everything forward.
One foot is the pedal, one becomes the floor mat.
Shoulder to armpit with a semi truck
hauling jet wings from Denver,
he notices the paths of rivets
like bread lines in Omaha.
Some of them are starving.
But where is the rest, the airplane body
without its wings? A hollow silo,
pilot in a cockpit
not going anywhere.
I think airplanes molt this time of year.
It’s still raining or it will be,
the white-lined highways
will carry you here unscathed.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
Speeding away from gravitational orbit
The moon ablaze as gazes glare from the cockpit
A jacket of jet leather with patches abound
The Dead Kennedys and Franz Ferdinand
Keeping political war on Earth's ground
Flying away into the plains of space
As the plane of time gives hearty chase
Hollow youth filled with snippets of old age
As their battlecry channels an inner rage
Death to all earthly matters that muddle our future
The neon glow hums as the last remnant of a culture
So make way for this warrior who shall bring us all closure
Rebelling like a banshee set ablaze over Orion's shoulder
Ensuring the enemy's final haze destroys their dying composure
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC
This is a memory of the time I first stepped into a plane,
When I took a seat by the window next to the 80-year old man
And as the world got smaller and bigger the only thing that kept me sane
Was that I was a lonesome traveler without a plan.
And all the while my insides churned and the cocktail washed the bile,
The man came out of the cockpit to tell us we’d almost land
In Cairo airport, and I could feel the stream of the Nile
In my lungs, and the smell of the mango in my taste glands,
I twisted in my seat to have a better look
At the sad earth I’d soon call my own,
But my lips deceived and my head shook
For Egypt’s glory furiously shone.
p.t.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
they're nothing but glorified bus drivers, said my father after i told him i wanted to become a pilot.
the opposite of love is not hate, but contempt.
what causes the kodachrome to fade little by little to grey? is it really bred of familiarity. the wear of gradually learning the truth about somebody. the minutiae of the everyday sanding away at the idealised, sculpural dream.
or is it triggered rather by the dull shock of an identifiable disappointment; the inevitable transformation towards sallow disgust justified by the devastation of slap-to-the-face betrayal or loss.
must we fulfill the dream simply to learn that it was only ever empty?
my father, a devoutly unspiritual pragmatist, had nevertheless as a young man fallen in love with the expansive embrace of the blue above. the son, grandson, and great-grandson of farmers, he worked his hands down to shredded red sores to put himself though flying school only to have his application for a commercial licence rejected due to a doctor's confounding eleventh hour diagnosis. colour blindness. an all-or-nothing man, my father never once returned to the enthralling blues, yellows and pinks offered up by the cockpit, and from that point forward became a farmer.
i gave up on the thought of becoming a pilot, and later, (much later), developed a fear of flying.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Inside cockpit command control, a proud young captain sits fiddling with his tie. Out on the runway, a parade of boisterous holiday makers stream through a wall of steamy-sticky heat.
A scraping of cases amid jubilant faces, as they flock to their seats in frantic fashion. Offering warm greetings, the sun spreads its orange glow; kissing the face of many a passenger.
Raucous voices become feeble mutterings, drowned by roaring engines. Knuckles white as chalk from clenched fists: an anxiety that is to be short-lived.
We ascend to the clouds, above motorways and mountains; entering an endless wash of blue. Smiles chucked around like confetti bringing a sense of: new opportunity, hope and adventure. As we rise above.
Jul 10, 2021
Jul 10, 2021 at 1:29 PM UTC
Once I hoped to write like Ginsberg –
but Allen Ginsberg went to hell.
His bolder Buddhist poetry glitters,
then opens like an empty shell.
In vain one searches for the pearl
within the lyric art he showed us.
Open wide his rotten oyster –
seek the center of the lotus.
Perverted lost Semitic soul –
lyrical ranter, mind unhinged…
He celebrated sin and shame
while crew-cut culture cringed.
His beatnik aircraft took off fast,
flew into bardos of the ******
promising enlightenment –
but the cockpit was unmanned.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
~
*"...Though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil..."
-- Psalm 23:4*
This Achilles' heel
— die for yellow
the abruptness has come
sick shoddy steam engines
bellow
Big blue undone
don't bite the sun
seek out satin
adrift in the flatlines
of this soaring dystopian stockpile
just as the flaming Icarus
fell in exile
Unlock the nearest far
but lose a hand in the cookie jar
cockpit burn
— what new color
do we learn?
Promise me you'll live
beyond yellow
and on re-entry I'll play
the hedonistic fellow
falling from the summit
— Breaking atmo
with so great a speed
like it or not
I'll soon be eternally
freed
Starburst
and static talk
ionized trails
and blisters of aftershock
Remembering the capsule
under the tongue
remembering the break-up
under the sun
Sensing fascination
in an endless stretch of graveyard
Duke of the avant-garde
this abstraction is now
my calling card
We're at the threshold here
reshaping into debris
and I'm wondering
just so wondering
if you will ever find me
Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 7:48 AM UTC
Hastily I boarded her plane
Outrageously exquisite was the flight
Sighting of spectacular neon rainbows
Thus longed landing in her land of bliss
And less did I expect for I was
Going to really end up
Eternally held hostage into her cockpit
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:10 PM UTC
i have atom bomb dreams
from the desert
mushroom clouds billowing
the shockwave blow past cacti
and down dirt roads
from the cockpit of a b-29
leveling the ground below
already comprised of craters
as we pummel the earth
we become a might to match the gods
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
By Alexis & Arcassin
:::AW:::
When the arch of my back doesnt fall lower then London bridge
The tip of your fist meets my skin, breaking the bridge, breaking my skin breaking my heart and
Leaving broken pavement under my skin you call
love marks
Hickeys even
Bragging saying you ****** the life out of me"
Yes Indeed you did the moment that bridge collapsed with our love
Leaving two hearts in a Comanche,
:::AB:::
Centipedes crawling on their way to salvation, I hope you reach the top,
For which you came,
Spirits grabbing and pulling,
I see you found the love huh?,
Don't want your feelings to be caught being futile,
Wind through your sorrows and not through your hair,
I swear I got to steal a moment when you only,
Dancing in the Moonlight,
The churches bright lights,
Not knowing that devil dances with you,
A spirit gripping and pulling,
Did you reach the top yet?
Almost selling souls,
Like it was a cockpit.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
fifteen minutes or so
the pilot lumbers out from the ladies room
she weighs as much as our cessna.
perhaps now she's lighter.
she grunts into the cockpit
and ensures her girth has not switched on or off
any vital instruments.
safety is our number one concern.
i've been more confident in lawnmower engines.
this rumbled like rapture.
i shook, but so did everything else.
we flew like a mallard
over lakes and forest.
we saw a shipwreck that now hosts
families for lunch.
as well as a few baseball fields.
the air was a force.
it asserted it self, to be certain.
i sensed its angst.
it translated thoroughly.
she rambled on
it was her tenth flight today.
i looked behind,
my love was green.
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 8:13 PM UTC
My aglets are wearing thin
from the miles crossed
by the traversing of my soul
rivers run in valleys unseen
and unheard of from the
cockpit of horseless carriages
fair Columbia boasts of beauty untold
ancient Gaia all the more
Psyche prevails
topography of the mind
vast and uncharted with room
for leviathans and behemoths
lurking in the recesses of our soul
my aglet is wearing thin
Jupiter can never measure
Neptune can never fathom
nor Hades bind
the content of my character
I have perceived mysteries unheard
before a quarter past
awake from slumber
your aglet is wearing thin
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
A Catastrophic explosion in a constellation ..........
Following the super nova , expansion of the universe....
A supersonic flight on suborbital spacecraft ........
Accessing meteor , an unknown lonely atmosphere ....
Away from thousand light years.........
Taxonomy a new solar system with red planets........
Peeping from the glass cockpit , all planets appearing blue.......
No moon in their orbit , no networks with DSL(Direct Satellite Link)......
No human , no existence of love...........
All nonfunctioning satellite moving , bizarre ..........
Whole system collapsed in that collide ........
Explosion relocated moon with planet earth .......
A symbol of Cosmic Love , shining through human hearts ........
Discovering love bond in the solar systems...
an unique lodge.............
Migration of youth Love .....an effort to save those lonely planets......
by
MAHI -GALAXY ...........
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
A cardboard box some building blocks
some scissors and some string
four paper plates two Apple crates
a frizbe and a spring
A roll of tape a sheet of crepe
Some paint pots and a brush
five lolly sticks eight lego bricks
quick Ted we have to rush
Pram wheels four maybe one more
***** driver and some screws
A saw some wood there that looks good
With this we cannot lose
place two wheels square right under there
and ***** the screws in tight
Now same again that's done now then
let's fit the seat alright
The Apple crate will look so great
when painted red and green
The box cockpit is where we'll sit
and steer this wild machine
Add blocks and bricks and Lolly sticks
to make my dashboard bright
spare wheel on back now all we lack
are fireflies for our light
Jam jar ******* tight that looks alright
now place them there just so
what's that you said dear mister Ted
you want to have a go
The boxcar race is taking place
so we will have to run
I'll pull you steer were oh so near
to having so much fun
The starting line now grip the line
as dad gives us a push
We're building speed taking the lead
as past them all we whoosh
The end in sight Ted please hold tight
and please don't move about
Ten yards now nine we're doing fine
eight seven six... look out
FIVE more to go let's start to slow
the wheels with the brake
what's that you said dear mister Ted
we've made a big mistake
No brakes oh no two yards to go
and then the three bar gate
but wait just look it's off the hook
and open wide... oh great
1 yard we won the race is run
and yet we still race on
past in a flash we end up SPLASH
Stuck in the village pond
We may be wet but don't forget
we won a victory
For Daddy said that me and Ted
could have a winners tea
So party cake till bellies ache
and then it's time for bed
From bits of trash we made a splash
me and my best friend Ted
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
I said, "It's all in my hands.
I don't care if you like it."
You're suffering from feeling different.
You're a dying pilot in a pilot's cockpit.
"And if this is the end of
things we began, then
I'll embrace it automatic
and lets those ******** ******* have it again."
Say it.
Say that it's good.
Tell me something sure;
a promise for just anything.
Say it.
Say that it's good.
So while we roll around,
we won't feel the thought of being useless.
Say it.
Say that it's good.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 1:29 AM UTC
Heal Me
The spiritual workshop will heal me
The gal has the curves
In all the right places
Make me feel better baby
Does your husband approve
Of you seeing me being with you
You say he wouldn't then would
Which is it baby yes or no
He wants you to fuckelstine me
Or not take me out on a date
Just you or the three of us
Spice life up a bit here we go
We only live once and hey
I like the sound of you
Like the look of you
Like the feel of you
I like so let's rock n roll
All the things about you
Including your husband
He can **** my cockpit
Then watch as I ***** driver you
We make our own party
As we go along
See you soon baby
Let's get spiritual
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 5:42 PM UTC
Looming here since forever,
Death now seems much closer.
Guzzling oil hovering over,
End has struck the hour.
In the cockpit, the air is stinking,
Reminder of an unwashed mind.
Trick or treat with enemy calling,
Killing their unsuspecting selves.
Oh Satan!
Wretched enemies of humanity,
They unleashed the zombie army.
Why don't they go out to fight?
Left that role to the zombies, yeah.
Father Time will settle scores,
For this Father is a log keeper.
Exploiting civilians for gains they do,
Taking them just as junk in the room.
Wait till they all revolt, yeah!
When in darkness, put on the lights,
Shadow play from childhood calling.
Dropping explosive **** these birds,
Hand of Doom has struck the hour.
Night of Finale, Satan waiting,
Hide deeper, the nukes come calling.
Burning homes, factories & inns,
Satan shying, wraps His wings
Oh Satan!
Jul 23, 2022
Jul 23, 2022 at 9:27 AM UTC
I love it when Lisa and I take our show out and, on the road,
like this twilight helicopter flight, from New Haven to LaGuardia.
I’m so excited about tonight, it’s possible that I might implode.
The rotor blades started twirling, our luggage had been stowed,
the pilot asked Lisa. “Ready for takeoff?” Lisa grinned saying, “Let's go!”
He gave her a quick and crisp salute and the engine noise started to grow.
As we went wheels-up, the whirly-birds warning lights began to strobe.
Yep, It’s the start of November recess and we’re changing our zip code.
We rise like a balloon, at first, until the harbor comes into view.
The engines were screaming like jets, when the whole world turned askew,
I’ve done numerous take-offs like this, but it still feels like I might spew.
Above the rear cockpit window, there’s an air-speed indicator that looks like a clock.
With a quick turn over Yale’s campus, we’re going 90 as we steak over the docks.
As we ascend into the night, the twinkling lights of New Haven seem to shrink.
We’re swiftly gaining altitude, this quivering contraption, moves faster than you’d think.
As the red numbers settle at 260, the vibrations have all but ceased,
The engine noise is gone as well, as we race up, in the darkness and out over the sea.
I try not to think of the inky black water, how far we would fall and how quickly we’d sink.
Long Island Sound glittered, like fractured glass, under the waxing crescent moon.
The forever-blue sky was hosting a large, fake-star, because Venus was glowing there too.
That dark almost-orbit was prettier than the infinity-of-lights we’ll see on Park Avenue.
We’ll be meeting Peter’s flight from Geneva - a surprise - he doesn’t have a clue.
As the lights of New York become pronounced, so does my excitement that he’ll be around.
I’m sure we’ll get a moment of quiet intimacy at the LaGuardia international arrivals lounge.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 8:55 AM UTC
"Alright, Good Night," last words announced in the cockpit. These words are like a puzzle, nothing seem to fit.
"Alright, Good Night," were words of signing off, to everyone out there. No one had any idea, they would be disappearing in thin air.
"Alright, Good Night," those words must have had a plan. One thing we do know, they were never spoken again.
"Alright, Good Night," words about to fulfill a goal. What the world was about to experience, would be something very bold.
"Alright, Good Night," are they telling the world goodbye? Did the words have true meaning, because they are about to die?
"Alright, Good Night," the meaning we will never know. Everyone still ask the question, "Where did Flight 370 go?
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Why would she wants to be a pilot
When she is already an angel?
Why would she wants to be inside the cockpit
When she can just spread her wings?
Why would she have to struggle asking permission from the radio tower
When she can fly by her own desire?
Why would bothered about fuel consumptions
When she have a gigantic amount of power?
Why would she thinks about the ground speed
When she can fly with her wings in a high velocity?
Why would she thinks about the minutes
When she can travel with just one click?
Why would she thinks of a distance
When she can just do teleportation?
Why would she afraid of an engine failure
When she have the strength of lifting earth?
What kind of heavenly creature
That have something she concerned?
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
You are carried in a basket,
Like a carcase from the shambles,
To the theatre, a cockpit
Where they stretch you on a table.
Then they bid you close your eyelids,
And they mask you with a napkin,
And the anaesthetic reaches
Hot and subtle through your being.
And you gasp and reel and shudder
In a rushing, swaying rapture,
While the voices at your elbow
Fade--receding--fainter--farther.
Lights about you shower and tumble,
And your blood seems crystallising--
Edged and vibrant, yet within you
Racked and hurried back and forward.
Then the lights grow fast and furious,
And you hear a noise of waters,
And you wrestle, blind and dizzy,
In an agony of effort,
Till a sudden lull accepts you,
And you sound an utter darkness . . .
And awaken . . . with a struggle . . .
On a hushed, attentive audience.
1.1k