With Painted Words

The Fun Of Flying

by Agnes Clarke

From forceful hands the Frisbee flies each distance longer than last

Beating out its rhythmic gale above the shivering grass

Spinning around in circles each rotation brings a glow

Like the helicopter hovers with blades turning sweeping low

 

Suddenly across the wide blue yonder streaks of pearly white

Silver ships with wings outspread in onward propulsive flight

Gliding floating suspended above in nothingness within his sight

The little boy watches heavenward in rapturous imaginative delight

 

In dreams his blonde head tosses with snatches of that blue sky

Driving in the pilot’s seat where instruments light and shine

Dressed with cap and uniform headphones and radio mike

Pent up thoughts collected in coloured mind throughout the night

 

Past the moon and glittering stars with swishing tailwind behind

On above the Milky Way to Lands in space unknown he’d find

Seated in regal glory this chariot of speed would light the night

Gloved hands twisting gently sensors lit up shining purple bright

 

Crashing falling into darkness the controls their own path take

Spinning with ferocity at arm’s length away into nothingness it shakes

Downward with a bump this pilot with relief alive but trapped

Upon the floor he smiles to find within the bedclothes he is wrapped