Below is a selection of poems by my airship buddies, if you have a poem and want to share it on here, drop me an email [email protected] remember to put Cardington poem in the title.
First star to the right and on till mooring
We float so light on streams of blue This mass of beast it poises through In all the world is but our playground To do the war to make the bigsound The planes fly out each day and night To go and find whats out of sight And there is where our sights do stand Upon another whos life we will demand. Its chicken tonight when the planes return Its chicken tomorrow whoever crashes and burn The tables shake when turbulence hits The glasses move and slide just a bit For each one of us life is in the clouds For our chest patch states only the proud I like the hum of the engines while im in bed I sit and read the Holy Book as its been said Reveille sounds and someone else jumps in My bunks sheets still warm and extremely thin The aluminum staircase freeze to the touch Getting back to breakfast for waffles and poach Dawning my clothes and back towards my tool I pick up my belt and my buddy whos so cool He tells me of his wife while we sew in some skin That tore the eve when some idiot wasn’t observin I helped a pilot in to his plane today like last I see that he trusts my good patch job was fast He lowers down the trapeze act to the wide open belly He starts the engines strong they roar up and become smelly The odor is quite rank as my nostrils are strangely use The lever is pulled and released with full juice Its off to the day of patching this behemoth Its going to be tough I so slack like a sloth And so onward I go up front toward the blue Bucking rivets and screws knowing I could fall through If I did I know that I would fall a great long ol time Cause some politician said that the parachute is not mine They said its too much weight to give all the crew one Yet I know that its not on board one of their son But im not complaining cause I stand in the sky Like an avatar I ride on silver right on by The captains a good ass he is stern and strict But gives you a glance of his now eager wit My bunkmates some think that this is just a job And others know that even hell could not rob The joy of the blue, this behemoth under foot I float free and clear, putting out some black soot Its my life I refer to my mechanics turning job Thus another turn of the wrench another bit I can rob She purs and bucks and hisses at me Straining and turning, kicks at my knee But this ship is full of my prideful red blood We are one and the same I say with a nod Full speed the captian yells at me with voice well spent Im giving her all shes got I say with my accent At that we turn strong to avoid the storm The storm of life, that’s my life in a term. An amazing piece of work by Shawn Smith. fantastic poem. |