"earhart" poems
Maya Angelou
Frida Kahlo
Helen Keller
Amelia Earhart
Madame Curie
Mother Teresa
Marilyn Monroe
Meryl Streep
Me.
You?
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
The stereo lights are neon and remind me of a book
I read in middle school. I can't remember the title,
Only that nostalgic comfort of a book that relates,
dictates your own inner workings and schemes. It's
Difficult to find this emotion in modern-day fiction;
Do you ever miss the moss behind your ears when
You're watching an actress snort her way to gold?
Amelia Earhart has always inspired me. I like to
Associate with the theory that she chose to lose
herself in that triangle, immerse herself in a lost
Island life style. Even Brooke Shields made a life
stranded, and though it's just a movie, aqua water
And sandy hips appear, reappear in my dreams. I
can build a fire with a palm tree and the palms of
Your hands. I can build a home with leaves and the
beauty of your blink. A coconut kiss is precious.
Amelia's an explorer, a woman who understands
her destination. Surely she couldn't resist the dusty
Beaches once she flew miles above them. Friday's
are perfect for losing past transgressions, so I can
Comfortably pretend this ***** stream is the Mississ
-ippi and I'm floating on a raft made from the peach
Core. Is there anything better than a high?
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 12:52 PM UTC
She's manifested today like a ghost
appearing from a haunted house.
Desertion is that inhabited manor
from which the voices in her head
urge her into exile, urge her phantom existence.
Sitting upon the berm overlooking
the beach and lighthouse of Coos Bay,
she wishes she could ride the setting
Pacific sun to New Guinea or beyond.
Below five athletic young women
contest the physics of a soccer ball,
imagining the red-white lighthouse a goal.
In other times she'd ask to join them,
but she must lose her personal history now,
remain hidden in plain sight.
The loneliness of this subsistence
a charnel house blackening her heart.
She's Amelia Earhart about to crash
the Yukon's heartbroken cry.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 2:01 PM UTC
We fought wars, standing beside husbands and kings
Our Suitor will be no shallow man, with just money to buy rings.
Life has enough pains for us, but why? I ask you
Amelia Earhart was no man, yet across the atlantic she flew.
We have given birth to mankind
And can destroy it in a blink.
Don't underestimate us darling,
We are stronger than you think.
We fought with dark lords and GODS, when it came to that!
We stood up and brushed ourselves, when consequences laid us flat.
We solved mysteries as common people and, fight we did.
We built Trust, Trust which takes ages to build.
Yet there we stand, ignored and unloved.
Margaret Thatcher was no man, yet proudly, she governed.
It was a WOMAN who picked you up,
When times made you sink.
Don't underestimate us darling,
We are stronger than you think.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
I'm sorry if this seems long-winded but everything I write is short
because I'm not used to speaking without you cutting me off mid-sentence and I must get these weights off my chest before they crush my lungs
like the pressure that surrounds me as if I'm a deep sea diver
and you are the ocean. I used to liken you to things like that.
The ocean, the color blue, famous women that have courted my heart
from their places in the history books:
Jeanne d'Arc, Bonnie Parker, Amelia Earhart.
But the wars you wages in my name were lost and my name could never rally the troops like God's.
And the banks we robbed never satiated your expensive taste when everything I could offer you was more brass than gold
and for that I am sorry.
I never wanted you to get lost in the ocean. Your plane crashing somewhere in the vicinity of Howland Island where you sent out your last cry for help
and it choked for life in the static of my busted ******* stereo.
I know that this is coming out in pieces and my stream of consciousness
lacks the stillness that Nature tries to instill like a watchful mother
but I can't help the way all of these words and sentences keep bringing
you back to life and I know now that I will never stop
because what can Nature tell me about the way your lips moved
when you whispered my name.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
It is you
That I still desire
So I must get high er
And high er
Than did
Amelia
Like
Earhart
High er
And high er
You drift
Furth er
With
My heart
Apart
Somebody!
Anybody!
Will you just please
Step as to-wards
Start the part
Where, when it
All did start
When
Your grip
Grew tight er..
Take me with spite
Ravage
Me with you in
Hale me
With smoke
Me in
Out slowly
In
Out
In
Out
You
Breath
Me
You weep me
When need be
Like a tree does
You leave me
A drug induced
Hung er
You feed me
High er
You offer me
An all night er
Life had
Never been
Oh so much
Bright er!
Let me go back,
Back to then
When I didn't know
The things at me
Life would throw
Round
And around
And around
I would go
Where'st the wind
Take me now,
I shall
Soon to know
What had been
What could of been
Should've been
Back then
Just lie here,
Lie here
Next to;
Beside me
As if to
Forget all that
You had lied to me
I would ask
Then,
If I could go
Back when
Round
And around
And around
We, would go
We sure
Did spin
Back then
Way back when..
A schreech
Then a halt,
This was out
Out of even
My reach
We came
To a stop
How?
Why?
Your grip
Unraveled,
You had let go
Muffled
My words were,
Like you, they too
Had gotten away from me
I sensed
You looking
While I
Listened in
To the
Wind blow
What you,
For me
Had store,
No, not
Couture
Hell, I wasn't
Even sure
If you were
Twas the
Saddest
Of ever a surprise,
As you
Right looked me
In the eyes
Panic
Fell within me;
Piercing
Fell upon me
As did your eyes
You asked
Are you ******* happy?
No.
No. I replied.
I'm not.
Not when
You're not
Forgive me not
Forget I will not,
What your revenge filled resent
Has taught
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:15 AM UTC
Phileas Fogg,
On a brigantine sledge,
Braved the Omaha wind
As it twirled.
So, Jules Verne might say
That a full eighty days
Is plenty to travel the world.
Amelia Earhart
Crossed the sea –
The quickliest feat
…For a girl –
In twelve hundred forty
Short minutes, you know:
Others failed, but gave it a whirl.
Rosemary Doyle,
Our wonderful mum,
Exceeded these
Feats of grand scale!
She has crossed oceans faster,
Breezed over Great Plains,
And – without perspiration – prevailed!
Carefully, casually,
She raised five kids:
‘Neath our burden
She never collapsed.
Loving and giving
Us lives we are living.
Have there – really – eight decades elapsed?
Octogenarian?
Silliest word:
It sounds like
A sea creature’s vet,
But if you want true fun,
Then just orbit the sun
Eighty times, like our mom: It’s no sweat!
© 2Mar2018 DracoTalpus
For Rosemary N. Doyle
On the occasion of her 80th birthday
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
My grandmother passed too early
Cancer
And my mom went to get checked
I think about her death too often
How can I live motherless like her
With no mother to coax me through
I imagine my head in a lap
My hair being stroked, only,
It’s not her, It’s Amelia Earhart
And she’s singing to me about journeys and daughters
I imagine the grieving, days of just sitting
And then one day getting up to paint the
whole house blue
It starts with a room
With the extra paint in the attic
Amelia’s not freaked
She sits on the couch eating an apple
And I scrub the walls
With coat after coat of briny breeze
The funeral is hell
My father would want a closed casket
And I’d just imagine her in there
Hands still warm
I’d want someone, and Amelia would stand next to me
Still in her suede flying jacket and goggles
She’d squeeze my hand and whisper
She’s lucky.
Or something like that
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:15 PM UTC
do you ever wonder how many stars there are
do you try to count the hair on your head
will we ever know why people stop falling in love
what happened to amelia earhart
what lies in the bottom of the ocean
was atlantis ever real
is there life on the moon
perhaps we'll never know,
but i believe that if anyone could find the answers
it would most definitely be you.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
I'm young and in love
with disjointed sentences
mosaic symbols transforming
deliberations into expository
railroad tracks, crossing paths (with)
black jazz cats in the 20's to write the music a little differently for each note,
to ride a little Titanic eye contact
until Earhart makes it home.
Compress these highs and lows,
into melodic notes, dancing up (and down)
the Christmas tree, ornaments from
the time you were only three.
Days before we met, days beyond our starry-eyed goodbye,
Love is a gentle thing,
and you were such the words I'd pray to whisper in the night, on beaches made of all your favorite colors.
I want to be the way you see me,
I hope you never feel alone.
And what a treasure it was,
to speak with the princess,
instead of staring at the castle.
Soft cheeks instead of hard stone,
(cold glass, icy masks, distant hopes.)
But instead of distant,
You were close.
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
to make another poem
about love
is no different from
making another
song about California,
people don’t buy it anymore.
they’ve seen enough already,
knows it like the
back of their hands.
still,
there are
souls out there
that have gone mad
and lost,
doomed for all
eternity
and so they
say. . ,
the only justice
that could ever be done
to them
is no other than just another
******* sap
poetry about love
that never fails to deceive
whoever knows who.
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
I fought for you,
my sweet sky,
through your turbulence
as your own Amelia Earhart that you cast across your currents just to
pass the time
I floated through the patches of static
between breaths
even as my frame risked freezing over amidst the frigidity
with my last specks of warmth I cooed you to your next inhales
all the while knowing the wrath of your exhale was inevitably directed back
towards me
I see the forecast- it’s as clear as the air,
my dear deep blue,
you entertain thoughts of my plunge
amidst other travelers teetering across you at your horizon,
and as the vessel approaches
I have made my descent back
to the reality I buried
deep within the dirt
I’ll fight for you
but Baby Breeze,
I won’t fight over you
Sep 29, 2021
Sep 29, 2021 at 10:31 PM UTC
Going to and from somewhere not far,
I pass a couple of children on scooters
shouting, Ice Cream!
from across the street.
When I dare to raise my eyes to look out
instead of down at my shoes as I walk
I instantly see faces of strangers,
crying- Eyesore. I know they are right.
But nobody is selling what I want.
It does not seem producible.
It is not a house on a corner, the size and charm
of a dormitory, with window treatments.
It is not those shoes my sister likes with the red soles
or sunglasses my mother likes with the diamonds
or the endorphins or the caffeine or the career ladder.
I do not covet Ice Cream, the biggest or best thing,
and I don’t have romance for pipe dreams either.
That is someone's else’s dream,
unexceptional, formless, but probably fulfilling.
I hope I am never fulfilled.
In my hand there’s a digital map that orients me
in a roundabout. I am a breathing oscillating blue dot.
I can’t get anywhere from here.
Why do I not want Ice Cream or summer dresses?
Why do I not want to be out on the town, meeting new people?
Why do I not participate?
I watch people on television, traveling.
I am so scared.
I listen to Neil Armstrong radioing from the moon.
I scan the transcripts over and over of
Earhart circling Howland Island:
*We are unable to hear you
to take a bearing.*
Intermittent despair- what can you make from that?
I look up to see the sun caught in the tail end trail
of a jet. I wave:
*Do you hear my signals.
Please acknowledge.*
And then all my thoughts are frostwork and blue
with parachutes and windows on walls
and I am filled with clouds and I can’t see.
We cannot see you.
Now I know I begin and end with images,
how far across this field can my voice spread out,
extend and reach in singing, in screaming?
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
I feel weak, alone,
I am as unaccomplished as Amelia Earhart was to becoming the first human being to travel around the world,
Still, I find reasons to get out of bed each morning.
I feel as alone as if the last being on earth, with no one and nothing to keep me sane.
While I see myself as priceless and alone, others see me as energized and well-known;however they are as wrong as stripes paired with polka dots.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 2:31 PM UTC
sometimes if i listen hard enough
i can hear the sound of my bones
cracking under the weight of myself.
it feels too heavy to bring so much luggage
around with me to airports
always searching for a plane
to take me somewhere new.
i want to drop my bags and forget myself
i want oceans
i want to soak up waves and waves
of salt.
i'm taking too many pills now
that i am forgetting that i'm a person
and not a drone, that my steps
are conscious and that i can stop
when i want i can stop.
but i have to keep stepping
because what else is there to do?
what else besides walking
what else because if i stop
if i fall down i will never get up
i swear i am an airplane and
i am flying up in high altitudes
and i'm losing oxygen but i can't come down
because if i do i will crash and
nobody will pick up my wreckage.
i will be amelia earhart
i will be a mystery
i will be lost forever.
(a.m.c.)
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
I think
I think we have high expectations for a world constantly competing
We expect to be treated fairly
And to treat others fairer
God how we wish that were true
I think we live in a world where beauty really is only skin deep but the slogans and mottos will have you think otherwise as you buy that new mascara and pass on one more cookie
And not that we cant be who we want to but because you are ranked by social class and the amount of space left in your closet
By the grade you got in science or how fast you ran the sprint in gym
I think Amelia earhart is still alive
And my stuffed animals come alive when I leave the room
I think global warming is a bigger deal then kim kardashian’s nip slip
i think we dream and dream because we know reality will never just give it to us. we have to earn it.
I think we give more to others because we expect them to eventually do the same for us
I think people with mental illnesses are seen as outcasts but I think they actually see the pain and shattered, ripped corners that the rest of the world pretends not to see
I think bathing suits are uncomfortable and the sun is a ball of light that punishes us for wearing such small items of clothing
I think we work too hard and money should just turn into snakes and slither away because that alone would solve so many problems
i think kids need more activity and less school
i think the government is ran bycorrupt leaders and one day they will be the reason we collapse into dust
i think magazines portray beautiful women making us other women feel not beautiful
but who cares what i think
it's just what i
think
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
I felt really excited to see a children’s book about Amelia Earhart, the famous pilot.
It was similar to a little golden book, remember the type we grew up with.
This was written to inspire girls to grow up, be strong and go for it, very inspiring!
I realized - I never ever would have been so taken by a book like this before.
I feel so ecstatic at the thought of buying this for my granddaughters.
And to have it as a coffee table book.
One of those ones that make you feel all warm and fuzzy.
I used to ADORE all the old fairy tales…Cinderella, Snow White, Rapunzel and all the other damsel in distress stories.
How a wonderful handsome prince would always come along to save the helpless soul.
If only I had such inspiration and ambition when I was 7 for Amelia rather than dreaming of a fairy tale future based on the Princess who slept on a pea!...
Perhaps things would have turned out differently.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC