Poems from a Plane
Maybe
Maybe you see me, maybe you don’t.
Maybe I should just give up hope.
With blonde hair and blue eyes
You’re a pleasant surprise
To tired eyes
In a world full of love, we strive to survive,
To find heart kindred so we both can stay
Alive
With black hair and book in hand,
I sneak a cautious glance and then try to
Stand
We watch each other with our tired eyes
Hoping for one sweet sweet surprise
That never comes
With my glance a flutter, with your glance a yearn
Our glances connect and yet there’s distance
Between us
Were so much alike, and so very different,
But maybe apart we just become
Deficient
With blonde hair and blue eyes
You’re a sweet sweet surprise
For tired eyes
In a world full of love we strive to survive
To keep a heart kindred so we can just
Survive
Maybe you see me, maybe you don’t.
Maybe I should never, ever
Lose hope.
Cloud
Pink, blue and iconic white
clouds I see as a constant delight
They hang overhead but nothing is said
of weather they be alive of dead
They form peaks and valleys that fly through the sky
forms and figures that sail way up high
But change your perspective and get high like me
and see how it’s like cotton candy
Up from my vantage, I look down below
and gaze through the tundra both high and low
Looking for something. Perhaps inspiration?
But my thoughts are interrupted by the engines gyration
Why do we keep doing what has been done before?
Will I gaze upon the clouds forever more?
The answers I see and perhaps inspiration
lie straight ahead beyond the horizon.
Wasteland
These Icy wastes stretch beyond the horizon and are an ever-present aspect of our generation.
It’s glaciers are tall and then when they fall, create major changes in the world round them all.
They have rolling hills and desolate plains and every so often have color stains.
But this herd of icebergs, this roving snow, is nowhere on the group that we may ever know
‘cause it’s up there
Image Nation
I see the clouds,
preparing for war,
creating large forts
that will be seen nevermore
Marching across the brisk morning air
I can almost hear the trumpets up there
Battle upon battle
is fought
everyday
No matter if we see it, believe it or nay
They fight across each plane of existence and even I marvel at their persistence
I see minefields and castles and cannons and more, but I fear what my imagination has in store
Because that’s all it is.
