Piper Cub

I am as failed as any
mechanical falcon

littering sidewalks of the galaxy
like abandoned e-scooters

I cannot hear the falconer
in my push-to-talk

phone app
things fell apart

no air in cold space
I swoop

without guile, gyre,
crashing onto the globe

where you remind me
I am balsa and rubber

a thing of this world
where you rewind my

rubber band propeller
soft hands on my wings

launch me back
towards the sky

For Shay’s Word Garden and TSM

19 thoughts on “Piper Cub

  1. Love the little hints of “the second coming” throughout. I kept thinking of that poem too because of the words “falcon” and “gyre” on the list. But apart from that, I love this poem as a whole. It starts so galactical and moves into the simplicity of a model plane. It’s wonderful.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. What rough beast, its time come ’round at last, would think to combine Yeats and a phone app?! Like Jo, I love how you start out with NASA, basically, and end up in the back yard, a crashed glider. The tenderness of the ending touched me. The contrast of the beginning and ending put me in mind of Alice being asked who she is and she says she’s Alice–“at least that’s who I was this morning, but I seem to have changed several times since then.” To have someone who cares to put us right when we’ve fallen is about a fine a thing as there is.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The repair of malfunction is poignant to the return to earth. Hope we can really clean up our messes.
    Happy Sunday qbit

    Thanks for dropping by my blog


    Liked by 1 person

  4. There are days Bend is littered with abandoned ‘blue bikes’ Portland foisted on us. They need to go back. Your magic way with words shines brightly here … the airplanes resurrected wonderful memories of three little boys 4, 5 & 6 flying / crashing them.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Soaring back, to times spent using my imagination are rare. Thank you for flying me there. A wonderful combination of today and yesterday.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I like this very much as a love poem. How beautiful.

    I think soft hands are a rare piece of art, speaking metaphorically. And isn’t that saying something if one can make another feel less made of metal and brokenness and more of bend and nature?

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.