"shuttle" poems
Clock arms ***** upward
while the sleepers lie in their beds
thoroughly wet dreams
soak the ***** thoughts in their heads
Mothers obsessed with 7:00 am alarms
rush their ***** teenagers to designated stops
while a rising yolk shines bright
in eyes of sleepy pupils who wait for
a ******* on wheels
to shuttle them to institutions
addicted to #2 pencils
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
How does technology make the world a better place?
I’ll tell you, if you can keep up pace.
At first we were awed by a simple light,
Then a space shuttle taking off into the night.
We work and work, night and day,
Looking, looking for another way.
We look at places from across the world,
With a peek into a book, filled with words.
Some people think “ What shall I make today?”
While others say “ Should I stand here or lay?
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 6:51 PM UTC
is Corrie ten Boom´s Favorite Quote.
The Master Weaver’s Plan
My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colors–
He knows what they should be.
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the underside.
Sometimes He weaves in sorrow,
Which seems so strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment
And work on faithfully.
‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest,
And leave to Him the rest.
Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern, He has planned.
by AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Based upon research, have discovered that more than one person has been credited with authorship of this poem. For now, have decided to list it as “author unknown” until there is further clarification. Corrie ten Boom.
These words said Corrie ten Boom, the author of many many books. I feel honored and humbled that I may show you this poem she constantly presented in her life as a token of love to God and let you know about her. As Corrie ten Boom said the true author of this poem is still unknown. I am only the one who gives through.
with love, Sylvia Frances Chan
Wednesday, 20 December 2017
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
Lord, para kang driver ng shuttle. Sa bawat pagpara ng mga tauhan, humihinto ka. Ang bawat isa’y may tangang istorya at pawang may mga kakambal na destinasyon.
Sa dilim, tanging ang ilaw mo ang nagbibigay pag-asa sa mga tambay at naghihintay na pagkatao. Hindi mahalaga sayo kung matagal na silang nag-aabang o kararating lang nila sa tagpuan.
Hindi naman lingid sa aming kaalaman na diretso lamang ang daan; alam naming dumaraan Ka talaga sa amin at minsan ayaw lang talaga naming pumara. Kung malayo kami’t nasa eskinita pa; kami ang nararapat na maglakad patungo sayo at maghintay. Minsan nga lang mahuhuli kami sa oras, pero babalik ka naman para sa amin.
Hindi ka napapagod pagbuksan ng pinto ang bawat pasahero; kahit may lakas naman ang bawat isa. Isasara mo ang naturang pinto nang kami’y maging ligtas.
Matulog man ang isa sa amin, ang byahe’y isang hele. Minsan talaga malubak lalo sa tigang na kapatagan. Sa bawat alikabok at aspaltong sinsayaran; nananatili ka sa iyong pagmamaneho.
Minsan, mabilis ang takbo; minsan mabagal. Tulad ng bawat panalangin; minsan agapan **** sinusolusyunan; minsan naman, tinuturuan mo ang bawat puso kung ano ba talaga ang "paghihintay." Pero alam namin -- mabilis man o mabagal ang takbo; hawak Mo ang oras at tanging kaligtasan at kabutihan lamang ang alay Mo sa amin.
Sa pangunguna mo, salamat po pagkat may iisang direksyon ang biyahe. Alam namin ang patutunguhan buhat sa karatulang nasa salamin. Pag sinabi naming “Dito na lang,” muli kang humihinto at muli kaming pinagbubuksan para lumisan. Hindi ito paalam; bagkus, bukas ay sasakay muli at tayo’y magkikita sa lagi nating tagpuan.
“Alam mo kung nasaan ako; hihintayin Kita. Lord, salamat sa kaligtasan.”
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
listen -
hear no sound, feel
only wind on its way, ghostly
nothings, but hush to sharp wings
of ocean birds so fraying as they cut
the sky, shuttle to fairways, far aways,
in plaintive cries, i hear what they say,
sailing into the jeweled skylights, but i
am only weight of air, still on ground,
i mumble out, sidle the bone tides
that roll to land, grains of clarity,
i am mist and tear, a world
of hollow, i am that sound -
of ocean in a shell.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
Faces unknown, side by side;
Cooperating and mingling;
Looking for a better spot, and yet,
heading the same way.
Everyone becomes equal,
Everyone pays the same fare,
Everyone has a life,
Each as complex as the rest.
Every face is new,
Every mood different.
holding some mystery,
Each different,
None less or more.
A game of patience;
Waiting to reach the end of one path,
And the beginning of another.
A hurry to get up, and get down.
A bus, a metro, a train,
An auto and an aeroplane,
The modest pace of a tram,
The coziness of a shuttle van.
The stories in a public transport,
Are things I wouldn't wanna miss.
I shall never, for the life of me,
Stop traveling in public transport.
Without it, I wouldn't be me.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
I remember the bed just floating there.
Apart, apart, apart, apart.
If you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning
For example:
Homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework, homework
See, nothing
Our existence?
It's the same way.
You watch the sun set too often, it just becomes 6 PM
You make the same mistake over and over
you'll stop calling it a mistake
If you just
wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up,
one day you'll forget why
Nothing is forever
I last saw my mom when I was four years old
Before the last argument they sent me off to the neighbor's house,
like some astronaut jettisoned from the shuttle.
When I came back there was no gravity in our home, beds floating
I imagined it as an accident, that when I left
We whispered to each other "I love you" so many times over
that they forgot what it meant
Family, family, family, family, family, family
If you repeat something over and over again it loses its meaning
This became my favorite game
It made the sting of words evaporate.
Separation, separation, separation;
see, nothing
Apart, apart, apart;
see, nothing
I am an injured person now
I work with words all day
Shut up, I know the irony
When I was young, I was taught that the trick to dominating language
was breaking it down
Convincing it that it was worthless
I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..
...See, nothing
Soon after I left I developed a stutter
Fate is a cruel and efficient tutor
There is no escape in stutter
You feel the meaning of every word drag itself up your throat
S-s-s-separation
Stutter is a cage made of mirrors
Every "Are you ok?"
Every "What'd you say?"
Every "Come on kid, spit it out"
Is a glaring reflection you cannot escape
Every terrible moment skips upon its own announcement
Over and over until it just hangs there,
floating in the middle of the room
Mom, ........
....Dad?
I am not wasteful with my words anymore.
Even now after hundreds of hours of practicing away my stutter,
I still feel the claw of meaning in the bottom of my throat.
I have heard that even in space;
You can hear the scratching of a
I-I-I-I love you.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
shuttle lost in space
transcend physics, black hole, in-
finity together.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC
The airplane
is not one of God's creatures
but it might be serving
a heavenly purpose
by making the world seem
a bit smaller
And though
it is not an actual
time machine an airplane
can take you from
a place as primitive as
prehistoric times
to another place
as advanced as
modern civilization
in a matter of hours
or even minutes
But to take an airplane
almost anywhere
you usually have to go
to an airport
where you usually
spend an hour, and often
hours and hours,
going nowhere
other than the parking lot
or the rental place or the bus
station or the taxi stand
and the check in line and
the security line and the
food line and the bathroom
line and the shuttle line
and the gate line and the line
to take your seat and the line
to take off and then the airplane
usually has to land at another
airport where, unless you
took a direct flight,
you usually have to spend
an hour, and often
hours and hours,
going nowhere
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
You must make a decision,
but you are suffocating
and time is running thin.
It's as if you are an astronaut:
one hundred feet away from your shuttle,
and the oxygen tank on your back
is empty.
It's like you are a captain:
pulled under the abysmal blue water
as your ship of the line is submerged
and your legs are tangled in the sails.
But really,
you are a young boy sitting a park bench
next to the girl from the schoolyard
with whom you fell madly in love.
The decision you must make:
Are you going to kiss her?
Reach the shuttle with mere seconds to spare.
Free yourself from the ******* of a sinking ship.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
My abode was not built by my own two hands
It was erected by the noble hands of labs, in the 1920s
I make caffeined, bitter black water for the over worked businessman: who pushes arrogance
so that I may sleep
My time spent manifests itself into red norishment
from a white-light shuttle
free of breathable sunlight but abundant of it in edible from
There are stickers on my apples
trees tattooed with chemicals
that find themselves everywhere
plastic freckles on the trunks of their mothers
or returning into plastic fossils
Embraced by the place in which it came
Stickers on Apples:
so much effort for something
so
sweetly
simple
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
We have ventured from the start
and lost sight and broken apart, but
there is a way to live without
hearing heartbeats as ticking clocks
shouting of times past;
we sat side by side through every class
and we’re not done learning. Our
gravestones are jettisoned from the shuttle,
floating there goes gravity but
even shadowed from the sun by so much,
we clutch at moons to make our own light
on our own planet. We
could keep going now,
could stop each other from falling
and keep marking our heights
against the wall even though
they stopped changing long ago
because we didn’t
and instead of accumulating
the weight of years and days
we could find a way to keep getting lighter
the farther we get from the beginning
we are finite
but there went gravity
cause of death: life
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:24 PM UTC
Five four three two one,
Fire spews,
Flames violently shoot out of the golden boosters,
Cold ice breaking off the shell,
The white noise fills the air,
The ground shakes with panic,
And liftoff,
The manmade seraph lifts into the sky,
The Golden Flame forcing it further up,
We watch not with excited eyes,
But with sad hearts and long faces,
We know,
We know today is the last day this bird will fly,
We have slain an angel,
We have slain American Patriotism,
We have slain ourselves,
The Space Shuttle may just have been a chemical reaction lifting mass into the sky,
But it let us explore,
It let us discover space,
The bitter, beautiful darkness that surrounds and blankets the planet,
And now we have told her she must die,
Regressive politics turning into a malignancy against mankind,
Killing the Human spirit,
Spreading,
Cancerous tumors mark landforms on the map,
Goodbye,
My Dear Space Shuttle,
My technological love,
You always inspired me,
It's my turn now.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 9:19 AM UTC
Take my hand - you've got to
feel fun time's heading
closer
Futuristic daydreams
are at hand -handy!
microchipped wild
boys and girls
on rent - hardly paid off -
dance! Roll the dice!
Flicker eyes!
Adrift on the dimlit
flourescent
effervescent
reflector rays°°°°you're
never lost or at loss;
Coloured circles glide
across the dancefloor______
bouncy boots swoon, high heels
crack, remastered barefoot Tribe~
Enjoys momentary revelations!
Latino lovers attracting
honey dew magnetic more-s
rain coats off - smiley coasts shine on~
those cunning shenanigan freckles
pressed redhair beauties against
needy torsos in ecco-leather jackets
electrified silhouettes stunning
like elves un-fading beauty
transforming tuxedos
of a tight
night; a jingle of
Prague crystals into
one dancing wave submerged
by the vicinity of hissing tongues
-been- beaten by fierce kissing
in a stronghold ballroom
frenzy - polarized
beatings - hi-s and bye-s ; a
stroboscopic syncopation
ecstatic hips,
space shuttle
trips
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Love is not casual
Radical and sensational,
but when you said, “let’s be casual”
You took my heart you’ve held for so long
In your sweet fingertips
and squeezed the life out of it
Love is not casual
It’s supposed to be astronomical
The supernova of your life,
a shooting start or solar eclipse
Something that makes people awe
But love always rips the notions
of causality with a casualty
Because love is not casual!
The fight that’s fought in a heart
can be bloodier than World War II
Where worlds apart crashed together
So forgive me if, here in the dark,
in this chamber of sadness
I cannot be casual
Love is not casual
If we are neither hot nor cold,
brave nor bold
Then it seems to serve no purpose
Except to torment;
like the astronaut with the shuttle launch
that will never happen
If he never sees the moon,
they both have reason to mourn
Casual is the word that will have them torn
Because love is
Sensational, capable, beautiful, wonderful
Love is anything but casual
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 10:34 PM UTC
"See! warp is stretched
For warriors' fall,
Lo! weft in loom
'Tis wet with blood;
Now fight foreboding,
'Neath friends' swift fingers,
Our grey woof waxeth
With war's alarms,
Our warp bloodred,
Our weft corseblue.
"This woof is y-woven
With entrails of men,
This warp is hardweighted
With heads of the slain,
Spears blood-besprinkled
For spindles we use,
Our loom ironbound,
And arrows our reels;
With swords for our shuttles
This war-woof we work;
So weave we, weird sisters,
Our warwinning woof.
"Now Warwinner walketh
To weave in her turn,
Now Swordswinger steppeth,
Now Swiftstroke, now Storm;
When they speed the shuttle
How spearheads shall flash!
Shields crash, and helmgnawer
On harness bite hard!
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof
Woof erst for king youthful
Foredoomed as his own,
Forth now we will ride,
Then through the ranks rushing
Be busy where friends
Blows blithe give and take.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof,
After that let us steadfastly
Stand by the brave king;
Then men shall mark mournful
Their shields red with gore,
How Swordstroke and Spearthrust
Stood stout by the prince.
"Wind we, wind swiftly
Our warwinning woof.
When sword-bearing rovers
To banners rush on,
Mind, maidens, we spare not
One life in the fray!
We corse-choosing sisters
Have charge of the slain.
"Now new-coming nations
That island shall rule,
Who on outlying headlands
Abode ere the fight;
I say that King mighty
To death now is done,
Now low before spearpoint
That Earl bows his head.
"Soon over all Ersemen
Sharp sorrow shall fall,
That woe to those warriors
Shall wane nevermore;
Our woof now is woven.
Now battlefield waste,
O'er land and o'er water
War tidings shall leap.
"Now surely 'tis gruesome
To gaze all around.
When bloodred through heaven
Drives cloudrack o'er head;
Air soon shall be deep hued
With dying men's blood
When this our spaedom
Comes speedy to pass.
"So cheerily chant we
Charms for the young king,
Come maidens lift loudly
His warwinning lay;
Let him who now listens
Learn well with his ears
And gladden brave swordsmen
With bursts of war's song.
"Now mount we our horses,
Now bare we our brands,
Now haste we hard, maidens,
Hence far, far, away."
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
[begin transmission]
Little mean marble,
the grasshopper lies heavy,
riding storms
and trailing winds,
eating dystopia
right out of the box
suns and daughters
of the cataclysm
sit about a space
cadet's campfire,
hints of alien sand
in their voices
it so oddly resembles
vast outland libretto,
that breathe of menace,
inside sojourners
holding tickets to ride
tramlines on shuttle days
swarming with
Walter Mitty groupies
and econowives,
transporting **** rapture,
and/or reproduction to worlds
of public domain
one day we'll settle here,
one day, with bowed heads,
we'll kiss the splendor
of its red ruination
[end transmission]
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 8:21 AM UTC
In fifth grade
They shuttle boys and girls
Into separate rooms.
This is when they try (and fail)
To teach you
About ***
Without teaching you
About having ***
After four years of
Abstinence based courses
Featuring cis straight people
And only
Cis straight people
I learned nothing
About how cis straight people
Have ***
After four years of
Shady diagrams of vaginas
That look 0% like vaginas
And do not mention anything
About the ********
I learned nothing
About what's actually between
My legs
After four years of
Hearing the words
"STDs"
"Pregnancy"
I learned nothing
About contraception.
After four more years of
Having the same
********
Spat at me
I will not learn anything
Because the words
"Don't have ***
Don't teach me anything.
And being able to say
That every honest thing
That I learned about ***
I learned from ****
Isn't something
I'm proud of.
In real life
They shuttle boys and girls
Into the same room
And tell you to procreate
After a decade of being told
That *** is bad.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
I want to go on a journey.
A splendid adventure.
In search of lost love
That could have been
But never was.
I want to wander every inch of you.
Writing love letters across your back and chest
With my tongue.
Tagging your neck, arms and thighs
With lingering kisses.
I want to travel to southern regions.
Exploring new pathways to heaven.
Unraveling the concepts of time.
Bringing past to present; present to future
Making you mine.
I want to board a shuttle with you.
Launching us beyond this world.
Suspended among the moon and stars
Bringing the entire universe to halt
At the very moment
you yell out
my name.
©Tina Thompson
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
April is retirement time
Triple hot memory stream
Of months that March close behind
Febru and Janu very kind
Not far still to remember
The days of cool December
The long talks in your chamber
The sweet eves of November
Not to mention the embers
Of love that warm up members
May be rain or hay day noon
July finds an all wet June
But days come like August guests
And busy with just inquests
Time turns September Rians
forget-me not, you asters
Full of morning glory stares
You Octogenarians
All contain within a span
Of sweet memory expanse
You too collecting pension
After superannuation.
Its nice to see you colleagues
Always glad without fatigue
Chatting and pat the other
Cracking jokes on your attire
The young baby look you wear
And the nursery kid's fire.
Its all fare and just affair
One more phase to maneuver
In the course of your orbit
On face of earth to be fit
To gain and do maximal
Service to its proximal
April too is time to thank
For the net balance in bank
And set your mind on the crank
And care for fitness and fun
To re-register and run
The vehicle with new paint
Not to shuttle and to taint
Nor to settle in confine
But to scuttle along nature
To look and learn and nurture
And listen to the pristine
Wisdom from the Lord divine.
Thanks to you all who retire
And wish you keep up the fire!
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 2:17 PM UTC
your heart will not fail in space
it will be an object of its own mass
and gravity
no longer will there be a throttle in its vessels
and asynchronicity in its rhythms—
the beats, oh, the beats
your heart, when it is in space, will only wait
for an entity
to be jettisoned from a shuttle
my oxygen is running low
i love you to your heart and never back
Jan 17, 2022
Jan 17, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
My shaft-craft docked I with hers
As in orbit the space shuttle Atlantis,
Before it was by NASA rested:
So up she swallowed of for three
Inexpressible minutes, my darling dilly, --
Just like a shark swallowed up stiff Jonah
For three days in her belly, --in Havana,
Where I was locked in tween her hot thighs,
Heaving out we both extraterrestrial sighs
Upon the green with amours encrusted.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
Sneezing transitions in mass transit routes
Tram rocks underneath the black and blue sky
Ahead of me is infinity
Behind me the past, sticky & stagnant - inescapable
Smells of cat food unintelligible *****
Passed on hopes & forgotten dreams
Cackling whistles of worn out break pads
A man coughs as another rolls up his socks
Next to me a man slumbers dreaming of home
His wife in bed alone, his son's and daughter's
Hide under thin white sheets, waiting for Him to phone
The door creaks open, he'll wait for morning to speak
Hazy recollections across glossy wet cobble stones
Solidarity is the only way to work sometimes
The sting of smoky nicotine flows up my nose
Pushing past the marker of ill-received news
Nights out drinking, talk and talk and talk
More of the same as I frame the outcome summarily
Atop the page is where the life is
A rainfall of experience to purge this ****** emotion
Labeling oneself does not mean defining oneself
That is what the whiskey is for
I hide behind a wall dripping with insecurity
I fear, I love, I live, and one day, I will die
Shuttle to a stop, bewaring of adjectives
I have the urge to stay, but am the last to leave
My eyes adjust to the soft orange glow of the streetlights
And into the night living rather than dead
So in place of the hours I believe I need
Staying awake looking at these pen marks
I need nothing for something only brings more worries
Anxiety being a killer - I try to rid myself of the poison
Humming up the stairs I attentive & aware
There in the elevator savory sweet hickory perfume
Another year away from an old place I called home
Time passes slowly, as I slip in between the folds
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
This road is every dirt road,
every grassy ditch and wheat field;
that hill near every river. The stairs
that shuttle down are the same stairs in dreams,
like fattened finger bones. Nothing,
not even sky can bear the road.
Pear trees are sometimes inverted,
sprouting soggy fruit underground
where muddy birds lay their eggs
and hatching babies paddle up for air
like sea turtles. There are alligators
in every river, gardens of them wilting
and waiting for the man who presses his arms together
and carries the water to the mouth of the road,
who gives what he has, and knows he’s no good.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 1:58 PM UTC
We met outside of a dingy doorframe
of a hotel room and automatically blurted out
introductions at the same time,
pinking our cheeks and
slowing
us
down.
The way you breathed out your name
as if it was the lingering smoke
from the last drag of your cigarette
captured my attention and
kept me hungry
for more.
Three days passed
and we were caught wrapped
in the white sheets of Room 243,
whispering compliments of the craft
of my soft lips on your bare skin
in between green apple
Smirnoff-soaked kisses.
You didn’t mind
when I desperately needed to find
my best friend wrapped in the arms
of a half-naked frat boy
by the bonfire flames,
just to tell her she was
the best friend I have ever had.
I didn’t mind when we ran
through the hotel hallways
to find your best friend
on the brink of arrest,
barefoot and broke,
giving the shuttle drivers a hard time.
We said goodbye outside the dented door
of the shuttle we coincidentally took
together the morning after,
leaving behind our two a.m. talks
of improvisations and dances
to stupid songs by the DJ
in the other world that is
Lake Havasu.
May 5, 2014 4:17:28 PM
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC