"takeoff" poems
Lets take the day off and chill out, not stressing soaking up the lords blessings, let's go out tonight enjoy a nice meal unwrap ourselves expose our fun side peel the layers off, relax by a waterfront getting high off the emotions of us, watch fireworks toast a glass of strawberry and cream champagne to celebrate nothing bothering us
Just a night off lets communicate with our bodys flirting with the slightest touch temptation not asking for much, the night is still young so juvnille, let's make it worthwhile no dollar amount a value deal of us just enjoying us do wild stuff like we don't now how to behave ourselves, radiate is our smile viberations of our laughter makes the valley's of our heart shake, sweet lovers a savory taste
Take the time to enjoy us we been working so much not taking breaks convicted to the grind like tired slaves, not tonight it's date night we haven't had this feeling for a while now, let's takeoff day cater to each other feed both of us grapes do you want to split a cheesesteak?, nothing much just you and us it's date night take the load off
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
I adore the lightness of your eyelashes
How they are the moment before takeoff
I adore your laugh
How it bounces like a cluster of balloons flying away
I adore your hands
How they electrocute me with warmth
I adore your arms
How they are strong enough to never let go
I adore your eyes
How they aren’t just a window to your soul, but to the entire universe
I adore you
Like the moon loves the sun
I adore you
Of a consuming caliber
I adore you
Like the summer needs just a hint of rain
*I adore you
with
every single fiber
of my being.*
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
back in the driver's seat
for the first time in
a long while
cabin doors shut
all clear for takeoff
fasten your seatbelt
ladies and gents
it feels good to
feel good again
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
i
worship
the god of small things
this
is
my
blas
phe
mous
rosary
god is good:
gale force winds
sandy beaches
sunset
god is good:
friends who know and still love you
the credulous wonder of children
singing your heart out
knowing you’re alive
thinning gracefully
growing wiser
not caring
puppies
catnaps
99s
god is good:
the joke you’ve never heard before
the queen of the night’s aria
jet engines at takeoff
the lightbulb moment
rolling fields of corn
rolling tears of joy
fine malt whisky
driving too fast
a good book
candles
god is good:
rainbows at the prow of a boat
sunshine after storms
a thin crescent moon
spray in your face
the smell of rain
leaping salmon
shooting stars
dark skies
fireworks
mars
god is good:
a sleeping lover’s moan
knowing he loves you
knowing she’s there
heartfelt laughter
a sincere touch
an honest hug
understanding
dinner for two
growing old
sharing
god is good:
a perfectly sculpted torso
the moment after waking
new scentsations
sincere smiles
a compliment
true friends
promises
release
solace
peace
i wor
ship the god of
small things. i give
thanks to her
every
day
bless
me
father
for
i
have
sinned
i
threw your cateschism to
the
wind
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
Baja California
Tequila drawings on the wall
A big fat policeman against the door
The drunken band plays on and on
Baja California
Cheap motel bugs on the wall
Pimps and ****** out in the hall
The neon light goes on and on
Baja California
Mescal tequila throat on fire
Burnt rubber takeoff screeching tyres
The dirt toll road goes on and on
Baja California
Mother tied up on the front lawn
Daddy waiting for the doctor in the dawn
And the pain goes on and on
Baja California
Shanty houses complete with TV
Pumping in the American dream
While the children scream on and on
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
[Intro: Quavo]
**** man. Brrrrtttttt
Hello?
What the hell you mean Ma? I ain't did ****
****
[Hook: Quavo]
Feds hit the spot man I ain't saying nothin
They came around about 5 o' clock this morning (12!)
They telling me I'm copping contraband from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Feds hit the spot say I'm copping from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
[Verse 1: Quavo]
Yeah, yeah, Quavo
I pick up my **** and then hit the door (Oh **** **** 12!)
Surrounding my house and they kick the door (Boom! Boom!)
"Don't move, get on the floor!" I hit the window and fell on the curb
I'm trying to get up and take off, the officer speared me, like Goldberg
Say "Where were you 3 o clock on the dot?" "My Momma's house" "You a ******* liar"
Have you heard about your new worker? (Nah) Know I put him in your circle
I witnessed you purchase the pound (nuh uh)
I witnessed you purchase the brown (no you didn't)
I witnessed you purchase the white (no!)
Say goodnight down the road for a long flight
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Takeoff]
Hot Boy like Silkk the Shocker, pull up on your blocka with the Waka Flocka
Momma hit me on my cellular told me that Quavo got caught by the coppers ****
They say they've been investigating and Migo gang we connected with the mobsters (Huh?)
Can't talk to you ****** my lawyer talk. **** the prosecutor Mr. Marcus
**** Lookin out of my window, I see a black truck and it's empty
Walk to the door check the peephole (what that is man?)
Then I start hearing a noise and it makes me paranoid ****
Thinking what the **** is going on? (What the ****
All of these tools like it's Autozone
If I get caught I ain't coming home (No!)
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Offset]
Offset!
They said that I sold to informants
I told them I just got off touring
They circle my house like an orbit ****
He telling me he gon extort me (huh?)
50% of my income, unfortunately he not gon get none
Life sentence or freedom so pick one
**** ***** you trying the wrong one **** *****
Quavo call my phone, his spot got raided it just got kicked in
We all met up in the Westin
Who know what the **** going on it ain't making sense (who know?)
The police talking they got evidence
I told you ****** bout serving them Mexicans (I told you ******
**** There go 12 ****
I picked up my **** and I moved out the residence
[Hook]
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
Fear
of
flying—
facing fear
he boarded the plane
which some minutes after takeoff
violently shook and then plummeted toward earth—
him being sad, not over his impending death, but having just won the lottery
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 11:13 PM UTC
Looking back
years later,
I probably should never
have been on that flight.
Here’s the reasons why……
Shortly after takeoff,
and three cocktails later,
I spied a gremlin hanging out
on Engine Two.
Every time I looked,
smallish with green skin and red lips,
it smiled with an impish grin,
then went about its business
dismantling the cowling.
It seemed like
I was the only one who noticed
the little creature.
Other people were looking out
of the same side of the plane and
nobody was saying or doing anything.
Had they slipped me something?
Was the gin spiked?
Was I hallucinating?
Was God sending me a message?
Needless to say
we landed safely in Bogota
a few hours later.
It was a beautiful vacation!
But on my return flight,
things turned sour.
I was busted
for possession of narcotics,
spent six years in
a Colombian prison,
it wasn’t Heaven.
Like I said,
I probably should have never been on that plane.
Now looking back years later,
I think the gremlin was trying to warn me,
I wished I had taken heed,
given up the thought
of trafficking.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
there we were, late for takeoff
and too early for landing.
all bruises and tears,
and ringing in the ears.
there we were, barely standing.
we were clinically, morbidly,
gloriously grotesque,
and **** picturesque,
nonetheless.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
East 4th street heading towards 6th Avenue,
The streets more confusing than ever,
High rise buildings, the top floor i hear has a nice view,
Take the B train or D, trying hard to remember.
I see these people, they don't notice me walking around,
I wonder if they even acknowledge my presence,
Just another victim that this city has now found,
Holding back my dreams with its large fence
Let me be free my friend, let me soar up high,
I have my wings spread out all i am waiting for is a sign,
Oh beautiful city lift me up and teach me how to fly,
Just help me takeoff and i'll make sure everything else goes fine
My friend you've shown me lives, some beautiful; others amazing,
You've shown me success, prosperity and the sadness that follows,
You've shown me darkness, pain and how bad they sting,
Now show me happiness and take my dreams to where freedom flows
Those penthouses and the expensive cars,
Oh big city, I want those thing that everyone wishes for,
But more that anything I want you to heal these scars,
Soothe my pain and wash those years with a downpour
I want to be me again, you know the way I had always been,
Free of these emotions, this ******** pain that I always feel,
If you can oh city give me a beautiful dream,
So the drunken me can succeed, no matter how hard it may seem.
-Sprishya
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
This site does not permit the caesura divisions at all and I will not post the poem without them. You can find "Antihistamine Dreams with a Little Touch of Grendel in the Night" at my own not-very-well constructed site,
https://reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com/2019/01/antihistamine-dreams-with-little-touch.html
where the divisions are merely botched, not forbidden.
(I think it's rather nice, shivery little poem, especially if read around a campfire at night)
“A little touch of Grendel in the night” is a takeoff of “a little touch of Harry in the night” in Henry V.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 2:55 PM UTC
Glancing around that neverplace, the airplane cabin,
indulging that edge-of-time feeling,
your head resting on the cool window,
you see her.
She rolls a piano onto the tarmac.
You wait to be bused to the takeoff starting line.
She's fuzzy in the distance, a soft shape getting softer,
in a blue hoodie and blue jeans, perhaps barefoot.
No one stops her.
You feel like someone should.
A dry swift wind beats across the flats.
She stops pushing, the piano in a suitable place.
A man in an orange vest drags a row of stairs behind the piano.
She sits on the third step, lifts the fall board.
You cannot see her hands. She's playing now.
A noisy collective boredom surrounds the cabin.
And yet this. Just outside.
From your vantage, it's not music, nor is it spectacle.
It's suppressed beauty, a dimmed surprise,
and your hands ache and you long for the wind,
for her bright song, for a brief dance
beyond this inconsiderable window.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 4:40 PM UTC
eight years on,
she, airplane borne,
takeoff - a minute from,
texts a parting thot
"love you madly"
you can't recall ever
that prescient précis designation
on any earlier editions
of your other old lovers resumes
this tidbit of reckless abandon
moves fury fast,
direct to the top of the list
madly, manly madness,
when you man,
allow the crossover to occur,
when boundaries twixt honesty and
sensibility
are declared
voided laws
when the white cloth napkin of careful sanity knocked, swept to the floor
maddening love rawest realized
conceded
in madness, completion is indivisible,
indivisible, completion is madness
manly madness
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Above clouds that hide the earth
from the stars: slowly the receding city
breaking up into plots, dotted around
patches of green and winding rivulets:
that distant fire slicing through mists
this winter morning like a lamp lighted
to the skies; Thoughts emerging from
receding memories, reversed numbers
of the tailgating truck's plate on my mirror
that misty morning, receding skyline
riding into the frost in many shades
of grey cast on the car speeding past;
Giant eye of the fair: the same phantasm
emerging, enlarging, dimming, receding;
Hall of dreams in a castle of darkness:
waves of events playing out again and
in smoke and shadows amid resounding
chambers, a costume and a drama, a role
you reprise again, dreamed of your past,
approaching and receding, breaking
everything, my heart; that wanton night;
The fair is up, one broken slipper of a pair,
half-buried cup, corks, shimmering
trinkets, withered roses, pecking birds,
circling again and again; that distant fire
dimmed into the clouds, all now smoken
moss-pale around; We take off now.
Welcome to your flight to never-land
this morning, we serve you breakfast
and hot tea. Inverted numbers playing
in my head, some approaching deadline.
Net, 10 I tell myself, enin, thgie...eno..eno..
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 6:31 AM UTC
2/6/35 4:57pm
“and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.”
<•>
Let X
(mark the spot)
Let X
be what it seems
Let X
be the finale,
the answer it seems
to be,
not the necessary one
you wish it to be,
but what be
seemly
the sense of The End,
the final descent,
the last landing
(or perhaps the first takeoff)
let it be,
be a finale,
Let X
be the finale,
Let Be
the answer it seems to be
let be
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 5:04 PM UTC
Miles high up in the sky
this night is clear
you can see darkness is near
Twilight takeoff
Shooting stars
Shooting stars
The weather is fair
miles up in the air
I'm looking out the window
all I can see our clouds
I know these stars are glowing
The moon is showing
Miles high up in the sky
Twilight takeoff
This night is clear
Twilight takeoff
our destination is near
It's time for this altitude to change
Twilight takeoff
Twilight takeoff
Twilight takeoff
Flying high up in the sky
I'm looking out the window
It's a whole new world
Jupiter and Mars
Twilight takeoff
Twilight takeoff
Twilight takeoff
Miles high up in the sky
This evening is clear
our destination is near
It's time for twilight landing
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC
“We’re cleared for takeoff,” the pilot announced, “settle in, our flight time to Atlanta will be 9 hours.”
The Gulfstream roared down the runway and in a moment the tops of trees flashed by. We climbed quickly, and banked. Paris dwindled, the Seine became a string of blue, the world a patchwork of colors before we punched through a layer of hair-like cirrus clouds.
My roommates and friends were all a-chatter as we lined up on the runway but as we ascended, they grew quiet.
Thoughts of Peter ran through me and gripped me like a serpent. The last time I saw him he was dressed in a summer outfit I bought him - a short-sleeve, pale-pastel-plaid seersucker shirt, kentucky-derby breaker shorts, pop color flip flops and a straw fedora. His sweet-face was all grin, he looked like a deck gillespie. Meow.
When I think about Peter, my skin tickles, my pulse accelerates, I’m confuddled. I think about the disturbance that moved through the air between us when we met. We were strangers, but a magnetic flux seemed to roll off him and break against me.
I didn’t let it show. I drew in, looked away and became quiet. What else could I do? Later, when I described it to Sunny, our meeting seemed like nothing. When I described it to Lisa, it sounded like too much.
Of course, my choices must be consistent with my ambitions, but I want Peter to come to Athens, so badly. He was a human placebo, for me, in otherwise stressful times. Now I want to be with him without school pressures - to see what that’s like - and get closer, a lot closer.
I don’t want commitment, but I’m saturated with desire. All I want is a fun July or August - with him. I seldom reveal the businesslike hardness I have buried inside. I want this and I’m ready for derp.
Peter worries - about money, about gender roles, social positions and what’s apposite. I don’t care about any of that. I want to give him a free month, like an amazing gift. He’s so male, so deceptively complicated, fragile and intoxicating.
I really need to think about this, and work it out - HA! - like I can think of anything else.
Jul 3, 2022
Jul 3, 2022 at 8:58 AM UTC
And this is desperation
it is muttering to a windowshade and dreaming
"always" "always" always
it is looking without seeing
when every side street and roadside looks like
the devil's territory
it is what you sound like when you speak
all your sentences backwards
it is listening to sad songs on airplanes
and pretending like nothing has ever changed before
it is staring at varicose veins
like vandals
underwater
it is building shelves for every little thing
so every bigger thing goes not astray
it is becoming a martyr
for the morningdew chills
it is watching as skyscrapers blur
Apr 23, 2011
Apr 23, 2011 at 8:58 PM 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
The sound of a heart breaking
Is louder than the headphones make your music
Louder than the siren alarm of a fire
Louder than the scream of the executed mind
Louder than the engines on the takeoff to the bloodred sky
But it is misunderstood
Simply because you are the only soul
Who can hear your heartbreak.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Dedicated to Christa McAuliffe
New Hampshire School
teacher killed when the Challenger
Space Shuttle exploded 73 seconds
after takeoff 1986.( 25 years ago).
Christa, Christa, Christa
finally rode a
rocket ship
up to the sky
but why O why
did you have to die?
It made me cry
what are O rings?
Like Saturn's rings,
I do not know,
but I miss you so.
~
Jim Goulet
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
I wonder
If she asked about me
Or if you told her
If your guilty conscience finally got the best of you
Shook you until my name bled from your mouth
Maybe
You never even mentioned me
At all
Maybe you didn't have to
Maybe it was easy
Maybe you woke up one morning
And decided that what you already had
Was much better than what you were going after
Maybe you finally understood what I meant
When I said I wasn't worth it
I never wanted to come between
But you welcomed my interference with open arms
Promised me oasis in desert future
And I caved
Because I have always been weak
Because I have always had a soft spot for guys with tattoos and turbulence
Our plane crashed long before takeoff
And somehow
I am still awaiting closure
Spend time telling myself you still think of me
Convince myself I'm still in your head
You already did the forgetting
You managed to do so with such ease
So effortlessly
Maybe you erased my number
Swallowed my image
And then trained your mind to delete
Programmed me into your brain as nothing more than homewrecker
Remember it was you
Who invited me in
In the first place
Gave me the hammer
And told me to start breaking
I split myself into two for you
Emptied out parts I kept deep inside
Poured myself in your hands
Painted my skin transparent
Confided about the night I was taken without permission
You promised
To never hurt me
Like he did
But disappointment is a certain kind of ache
It does not go away overnight like you did
You should have told me to begin with that we,
Were just a game you were playing
While your real life recharged
I am sorry
That I ever held my tongue for you
There will be no remorse
I can not grieve over something that never was
Our existence
Ceased before it began
So I,
Am back to placing caution tape around my body
Back to glueing my lips quiet
I wonder
If you sleep easy at night knowing how you left me
Knowing that I am still questioning
I know
She didn't ask about me
She didn't have to.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
i
In stormy sea's, And in the breeze, Wherein caliginosity doth hide
Behold mine morning glory, for thou art part of mine loin's;
Whence death I hath came from, in the charnel house I laid
I was shackled in all debacle, lost, seeking, lonesome, in mine age.
ii
Thou hath disenthralled me, and hath taken me to thine hip's
Thine craft was shiny, seraphic blinding, I floated onto thy ship;
Hovered I didst, as if a nasa takeoff to thy outter layered space
Thou hath sweetened me, with Asian tea, and put honey to taste.
iii
Albeit I was just a campesino, with nothing to giveth mine dove
She soared me. Explored me, ourn kisses brought tear's of love;
Avouched me she hath done, she took mine side against the crowd, she hushes me with all compassion, her tiera Asiatic loud.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC
Mass hysteria
and this is how we rumble
in black clothes with
cops two streets over
ready to assassinate
US presidents and dissidents.
Ready for air.
Ready for takeoff,
the embrace of the long
arm of the law is a chokehold
is a racist institution and
here we are;
junkies, gamblers, jokers, monsters.
Funny thing, we went hunting for
people dressed as monsters
led by monsters disguised as humans.
Yeah, our geniuses die young and brutal.
Ours is the land of stray dogs,
cold rains and streets of garbage
[people included];
The stereotype is today.
The cliche is right now.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
I'm in 5A again,
but this time
it's a bigger plane.
But,
I'm 4 hours behind,
'cause my first connection
was canceled,
they said
it was a mechanical
issue.
Now,
I'm on board &
ready for takeoff.
Thank God,
I'm leaving that
soulless lounge behind,
better safe than sorry.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC