J-3

Illustration

 

To sit remote,

In the middle of the sky

Within a flimsy rig

Of canvas and steel pipe.

Icy air smokes between my feet

Like dragon’s breath.

 

Three thousand feet below

The insect nest

Of early morning traffic.

Colored mites

On lines of white

Move in mindless entropy.

 

The Cub J-3

Is cut to patterns

Of stability.

The wispy touch

Of a forefinger –

More thought than act,

Disciplines the stick

To counter engine torque

And rest wing tips

Flat to the horizon.

 

The lion roar

Of four cylinders

Drowns the atmosphere

In healthy din.

On occasion, some defect

Spins the prop

With only three,

Causing some anxiety.

 

But hard habits

Keep the eyes alert,

Head in steady swivel

To spot, along the route,

Security in smooth fields

On which I could alight

In careful shallow glide.

 

This huge stiff phony bird

With rigid limbs

Moves in clumsy simulation

To artful graceful swoops

Of any common gull

And generates in me

Innate dissatisfaction.

 

I would,

In dream of Icarus

Slip on feathered gloves

To glow translucent white

On porcelain blue sky

And rise with huge breath

Of gentle winds

Swiftly to the zenith

Where faintest inclination

Moves my fingertips

To play on symphonies of air

Through flocks of zooming swallows

Spinning in dynamic joy.

 

 

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4 thoughts on “J-3

  1. In dream of Icarus

    Slip on feathered gloves

    To glow translucent white

    On porcelain blue sky

    And rise with huge breath

    Of gentle winds

    Swiftly to the zenith

    Sorry Jan, but sometimes I have to leave a comment. I am deeply touched by your poem.

    Like

  2. I fabricated the picture using Photoshop by combining a photo of a J3 Cub an a photo of the sky. I use this technique on many of my poem illustrations..

    Like

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