Aeroplane Poems 2
By Nick Armbrister
Often
In the Cold War I was afraid from one type of war but this was
born out of the death of another war.
I feel I was close to some who were eternally lost.
Over the dark moors they flew never to be old men but catch their
end,
a violent death being torn apart dying like a man.
I wondered if on dark rainy lonely windswept nights their spirits
were trapped
on the barren north moors.
If I could talk to them I’d ask what it like is out here amongst
the rocks and the heather.
I have no illusion at what happened here I saw something no kid
should see - the alloy of their Lancaster melted onto rocks like liquid candle
wax onto the
flesh of a trusted lover.
Death ruled here not love.
Was it for our freedom they perished out there on the moors?
I have to guess yes or their deaths are in vain.
Nights
and Their Castles
SAC crews to your bombers your nukes are onboard it's time to do battle
against the commie infidels.
SAC shield protects us two lightning bolts and one olive branch;
you work it out - double offense.
Peace is our profession.
Compared to old weapons it's the same but with infinitely more
power, nuke bombs are our new lances, the sky is our castle.
Your horse is a B-36, 47 or 52.
Strategic Air Command new skool weapons to do an old skool job,
the biggest most powerful military force in history.
Never used in anger for our world would be ash and we'd be
dust.
Now passed into history, a great what if with old men and silent
bombers, unexploded nukes.
Fly
Where are you in the sky in
relation to me? Looping round in a great curve coming to get me, down the other
side. Do you see me in my green and yellow stunt plane? I see you in your oh so
pretty wooden airplane moving like an angel. We fly and manoeuvre like swirling
dervishes as the ground replaces the blue, unreal three dimensional actions.
God must have let us do it. Nothing feels like it. Only flight.
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