In flight from Seattle to Anchorage

From fourty thousand feet it all should look
so still but still its not but still esprit
and shifting down below perception’s brook
with current rivers flowing on the sea.

Now streams are passed from stewardess to us
and so we downed them just to be polite
to her and to the flows of daily trust
when midnight catches us surprised in flight.

Then ice and land and clouds at once all flow,
together slipping past at our full speed.
The ground approaches upward and we grow
toward it more soft with our eroded need.

These images wash out by jet-lagged night.
Exhaustion’s wind did drive this surreal flight.

The last leg of my flight from Atlanta to Anchorage was a bit uncomfortable. Let’s just say there were three seats holding at least the weight of five to six people. And I had the window seat. The view was my escape.

As were the lines from this week’s final Big Tent Poetry prompt. Thanks to Joseph Harker for the lines. And thanks to Carolee Sherwood, Deb Scott, and Jill Crammond for running BTP!

If I intend to try more sonnets, I need to re-read my Byron.

from deb

I love poetry from the air. And photos to boot. Beautiful intersection of personal experience with other sources (Joseph’s lines are swell).

Thanks for being part of the circus, Jason. It’s been a fun year. Hope you keep writing because I enjoy reading.

Comment by Anonymous
keep it up

sad to let go of big tent poetry, wow. awesome work. you deserve better highlight.

Comment by Anonymous
join us if you wish

Check out our short story slam today,

We love creativity, your input is valued.

Cheers. Happy Friday! Hope to see you in!

Comment by Anonymous
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