YoutubePOETRY
Merlin's Magic
By Richard Sheppard
A diluted, dun and wintery Sun was seeping through the clouds.
As, walking over Hackpen Hill away from busy crowds,
I came across a courious sight within the quiet shire,
Parked there upon a farmer's strip; A Mustang and Spitfire.
They stood on that December field inanimate but cavalier.
Those graceful forms that art and science unitedly did bear.
And every curve and every line was through its purpose fashioned,
As function gave to those contours a spirit borne of passion.
And even though those Merlins roared before I took a breath,
I know my liberty I owe to men who flew with death.
A chance to fly! The price was high... No chance for every man.
Their blood is spilt upon those wings, across that vital span.
In thoughtfulness I sat and watched as noiseless props revolved,
Then with a chug; a burst of smoke, the silence did dissolve
In deep melodious engine song. A swirling vortex of delight.
They trumpeted in confidence their mastery of flight.
When those fighters slipped earth's grasp and climbed the vivid heights.
They stole my breath as they streaked up - such lithe and potent flight:
The metal now was living, unleashing timeless dreams,
The pilots in their sanctity while cleaving airframe screams.
The beauty! Oh the power! Both life and death in movement.
What sorcery! Off man and myth! No god could show improvement.
Now high crescendo sweeping low in clamorous collusion,
Then climbing, punching holes through clouds - they're gone - airborne
illusions.
Getting Away
by Richard Sheppard
It was rough as hell down in the bowl.
Unlike the coastal air - pure silk.
But now I’m on my way to goal
And I’m climbing out from Milk.
The Air was crowded on the slope.
The PGs took up all the room.
That thermal saved me - gave me hope -
Now I’m climbing out from Coombe.
You couldn’t see for all the haze.
But that last blob was handy.
And now I’ve got a trail to blaze
Cos I’m climbing out from Pandy.
That squally shower’ll be soon gone.
Ah! clearing skies and a gentle wind.
Another hour of chatting on,
Before climbing out above the Mynd.
That take-off always makes me jumpy.
Its shallow - but I seem to manage.
Ah well, I’m up, and its getting lumpy
As I’m climbing out from Stanage.
What a day! Still not at base!
And look, that must be Gloucester!
England’s such a lovely place
When you’re climbing out from Frocester.
It was touch and go across the gap.
My arms are tired, I’ve had enough.
But I can’t land; must make it back,
So I’m climbing out above the Bluff
And so it goes. And so it goes -
The start point doesn’t matter.
But by the way - just so you knows -
This flight I climbed from Clatter.
