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November 14, 2009
By brookedawson101 BRONZE, Hoofddorp, Other
brookedawson101 BRONZE, Hoofddorp, Other
2 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Home
is the sound of
Flying paper airplanes,
Flying toy airplanes
(But hard and real
With flash of steel – )
Rolling through
The tar-brick streets
Like muffled thunder;
(Dull and low
As stones in gutters
Sharp as knives
Through cooking butter –)
The stomach
Of a steel-pan Beast
Searching empty Sky
In Wonder –
Searching Prey
In Vain.

Flitting in
And out of dreams
Night-time noises,
Memories
Screaming
Biting,
Fighting nightmares
A story someone
Must have told
(Long ago.)
(Through Nights
with Misty stars
and Skies –
The way
The sound
Of the iron bird flies)

A low drone
connecting
all I know
(Long ago,
I heard it too.
It meant the smell
Of somewhere new.)

My childhood
wrapped up in fantasies,
cloud-tipped
steel-winged
Sky Machines;
connecting all the
Worlds I've seen.


The author's comments:
All my life I have moved from place to place, never staying in the same place for more then two years. My mother was flight attendent and we flew alot for a discount price. My earliest memories have been memories of airplanes, getting in and out and seeing the new sounds and smells of a new place.
Airplanes have played a major role in my life. They have taken me from place to place, on vacation, to see family, and to my various new homes. Every time I travel by airplane it reminds me of both the good and bad times. Of homesickness, of tears, but also of happiness, happiness at seeing someone again I haven't seen in years.
Simply, I would like to say that air travel has meant alot to me. And it still does.

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This article has 1 comment.


on May. 18 2010 at 11:08 pm
mariahLynn SILVER, Craig, Colorado
7 articles 0 photos 11 comments
this is good. you should cheak out some of my work.




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