Alan Pearson Poetry

I'm flying at high altitude on a clear day
striving to attain a full cruising speed.
I'm over a sea, heaving and shiny;
a phosphorescent orange skin, where a yacht
has settled like a butterfly, decks awash
with gin and sunning torsos.

Ah yes, and hard to starboard, dophons
are flashing tails and grinning beaks
while everyone is thrilled by muted horn of Triton
O sea of oysters, sharks and cuttlefish.

A gentle wind is hissing in my ears;
for the moment joys and fears are taking a siesta.
I'm trying to stay in love with my planet
while there, below, in umber landscape bulls stand
dazed in matadoric capes of terro;
battlefields lie under rust of tanks
and blood, and something vile
lies under every unturned stone

I'm moving high, slicing through cloudbanks,
all I have to do is shrink myself and lo!
I'm smiling through an interstice.
Then I'm free awhile from multifarious earth
with its scarred hide full of bullets,
and its sadness coming clear like bells
across the meadow.

Here, brushing the tresses of sun, it's good
to get a toe-hold on the floor of heaven,
and float, forgetting past inquietude;
and forgetting as well
those lethal cosmic threshings,
as we glide a calm course
into therapy of noiseless flight.


	Flying




	I'm flying at high altitude on a clear day striving to attain a full cruising speed. I'm over a sea, heaving and shiny; a phosphorescent orange skin, where a yacht has settled like a butterfly, decks awash with gin and sunning torsos. Ah yes, and hard to starboard, dophons are flashing tails and grinning beaks while everyone is thrilled by muted horn of Triton O sea of oysters, sharks and cuttlefish. A gentle wind is hissing in my ears; for the moment joys and fears are taking a siesta. I'm trying to stay in love with my planet while there, below, in umber landscape bulls stand dazed in matadoric capes of terro; battlefields lie under rust of tanks and blood, and something vile lies under every unturned stone I'm moving high, slicing through cloudbanks, all I have to do is shrink myself and lo! I'm smiling through an interstice. Then I'm free awhile from multifarious earth with its scarred hide full of bullets, and its sadness coming clear like bells across the meadow. Here, brushing the tresses of sun, it's good to get a toe-hold on the floor of heaven, and float, forgetting past inquietude; and forgetting as well those lethal cosmic threshings, as we glide a calm course into therapy of noiseless flight.