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Aviation Poetry
| High Flight Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long delirious, burning blue, I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew - And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand and touched the face of God. High Flight was composed by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr., an American serving with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Born in Shanghai, China in 1922, the son of missionary parents, his father was an American and his mother was originally a British citizen. After moving to the United States in 1939 he earned a scholarship to Yale, but instead enlisted in the RCAF in September 1940 and graduated as a pilot. He was sent to England for combat duty in July 1941. In August or September 1941, Pilot Officer Magee composed High Flight and sent a copy to his parents. On December 11, 1941 his Spitfire collided with another aircraft over England and Magee crashed to his death. He was 19 years of age, His remains are buried in the churchyard cemetery at Scopwick, Lincolnshire. |
Sweeping Squadrons
filled the summer sky
white trails across the
brilliant blue
We met them head on
five miles high
They were many, we were few
Went the day well?
We died and never knew
but well or ill - freedom -
we died for you
And left the vivid air
signed with our honour
And now -
Do you remember us
they called The Few?
We need to know that we
are not alone
That here and now our
sacrifice is known
And we are not forgotten
ANON - an inscription found by the graveside of an unknown pilot -
Killed in Action.
For Johnny
Do not despair
For Johnny-head-in-air;
He sleeps as sound
As Johnny underground.
Fetch out no shroud
For Johnny-in-the-cloud;
And keep your tears
For him in after years.
Better by far
For Johnny-the-bright-star,
To keep your head,
And see his children fed.
John Pudney
The Aeroplane
I sweep the skies with fire and steel
My highway is the cloud
I swoop, I soar, aloft I wheel
My engine laughing loud
I fight with gleaming blades the wind
That dares dispute my path
I leave the howling storm behind
I ride upon it's wrath.
I laugh to see your tiny world
Your toys of ships, your cars
I rove an endless road unfurled
Where the mile stones are the stars
And far below, men wait and peer
For what my coming brings
I fill their quaking hearts with fear
For death...is in my wings.
Gordon Boshell, written after watching the Battle of Britain being fought
over London.
The Bombers
Whenever I see them ride on high
Gleaming and proud in the morning sky
Or lying awake in bed at night
I hear them pass on their outward flight
I feel the mass of metal and guns
Delicate instruments, deadweight tons
Awkward, slow, bomb racks full
Straining away from downward pull
Straining away from home and base
And try to see the pilot's face
I imagine a boy who's just left school
On whose quick-learned skill and courage cool
Depend the lives of the men in his crew
And success of the job they have to do.
And something happens to me inside
That is deeper than grief, greater than pride
And though there is nothing I can say
I always look up as they go their way
And care and pray for every one,
And steel my heart to say,
"Thy will be done."
Sarah Churchill, daughter of Sir Winston.
The war in the Air
For a saving grace, we didn't see our dead, Who rarely bothered coming
home to die
But simply stayed away out there
In the clean war, the war in the air.
Seldom the ghosts came back bearing their tales Of hitting the earth,
the incompressible sea, But stayed up there in the relative wind,
Shades fading in the mind,
Who had no graves but only epitaphs
Where never so many spoke for never so few: 'Per ardua,' said the
partisans of Mars,
'Per aspera,' to the stars.
That was the good war, the war we won
As if there were no death, for goodness' sake, With the help of the
losers we left out there In the air, in the empty air.
Howard Nemerov
An Airman Grace
Lord of thunderhead and sky
Who place in man the will to fly
Who taught his hand speed, skill and grace
To soar beyond man's dwelling place
You shared with him the Eagle's view
The right to soar, as Eagles do
The right to call the clouds his home
And grateful, through your heavens roam
May all assembled here tonight
And all who love the thrill of flight
Recall with twofold gratitude
Your gift of Wings, Your gift of Food.
Father John MacGillivary, Royal Canadian Air Force
Broken Wings
On silenced wings
One other misses the sky
A mere guest of clouds
Not music of air
Not heights for earth-bound fabric
Speed the beauties home
Memories of blue
Spill the colors of the heart
As whirling blades climb
Invisible lift
Betrayed the beautiful scene
Like ice on the skin
A castle empty
Is strange to disciplined eyes
Where wind lifts the soul
All time is halted
When yesteryears seek to fly
Frames on horizons
No dials to unwind
No beacons to flash the path
Dreams write the future
Looking down below
Thoughts capture one lasting sight
Of freedom above
Now, ink marks the logs
Fills wet lines on the last trip
Of the broken wings
E. Rowan S. Trimble
The Plains Son
I once was a farmer, my pop's favorite boy
I once was a brother to Bill and to Roy
I once thought the world was our farm on the plains
I once stopped and listened to the whistles of trains
then all that was gone, and a new world was born
where each day of my life was ragged and torn
and I sat in the sky and looked down on the earth
and I prayed to the Lord for all I was worth
I was pulled through the clouds, not of my desire
as aluminum and glass climbed higher and higher
where far out behind came fingers of white
from a group of my peers that had come out to fight
I watched and I stared and I huddled in fear
but never a time would I shed me a tear
for the others like me that would drop, screaming pain
as they fell to the ground again and again
this trip there were five, good boys every one
each calling their mothers, their fathers scream, Son!
as they wake in the night with the sweat and the tears
for the boys that they fathered dead young in their years
and onward we went, for a duty to bear
from England to Germany, us boys over there
as we lived for the moment and died by the lead
Oh how I wish I were safely in bed
But this trip was my last, I had known it before
I knew as I swung in the ball turret door
I knew when the flashes came out from the wing
I knew that last night, the last night to sing
With a tear and a rip I was free of the glass
plummeting to earth, back to the grass
nothing to save me, the chute was in flames
- I rode my last horse, when I left the high plains.
Ace for a Day
A fortnight I trained, and I learned how to fly
this sleek nimble fighter that's made for the sky
elliptical wings and a big Merlin mount
eight browning machine guns, upon which I count
to rack up a score and enter the race
to be the best pilot, a bonafide ace
My take off was smooth, with no sign of fear
no dropping the wing as I pulled up the gear
she leaps into air like a leopard on prey
and slips into vic, as the field drops away
then climbing to angels we wing over Kent
and vector to junkers, the enemy sent
My first taste of combat, I know I will be
one heck of a pilot, they'll look up to me
I'll paint my own kills on the side of my spit
regale them with stories .. embellish a bit
and soon lead a squadron to battle the Hun
who'll hear of my daring, and fear of my gun
Tally Ho, buster the throttle goes gate
and I follow my leader with no sense of hate
as I kick at the rudder and aileron right
and peal, line astern as I enter the fight
my eyes holding tight on a junkers ahead
butterfly stomach, feet are like lead
A squirt as I pass then down into blue
a glance in the mirror to see if the crew
abandoned the plane, that was no longer there!!
just a big yellow spinner back there in the glare
then the rip of the bullets that slammed at my back
Gone was the ace, scene red ... Now black. !!
Impressions of a Pilot
Flight is freedom in its purest form,
To dance with the clouds which follow a storm;
To roll and glide, to wheel and spin,
To feel the joy that swells within;
To leave the earth with its troubles and fly,
And know the warmth of a clear spring sky;
Then back to earth at the end of a day,
Released from the tensions which melted away.
Should my end come while I am in flight,
Whether brightest day or darkest night;
Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,
Secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again;
For each of us is created to die,
And within me I know,
I was born to fly.
Gary Claud Stokor