How I Fly

Jun 18 15:45 UTC 1999

I am a bird without wings.
As I push myself up out of the watery air
And feel gravity tug uselessly at my stomach,
I marvel at the beauty of the patchwork earth
That covers my sleeping mother in mottled folds
Beneath the soapy clouds.

I am a bird without wings.
My soul climbs high into the night
Finding the torch of inspiration
And lighting its own tiny taper there
To give a golden glow
To the eyes of those who see it.

I am a bird without wings.
My song is a melody of love.
It sings in the heart and the mind.
Every other wingless bird
Hears and takes flight,
Spreading its power to every niche.
             -written 17 June 1999
             -inspired by the trip to Detroit

response 2 of 8:

Jun 19 21:39 UTC 1999

The first stanza rocks - "watery air", "gravity tug uselessly", and "soapy
clouds" are all great phrases, and the whole thing seems to me like a great
description of the queasy/soaring feeling of flying, so it's kind of a
let-down to switch to the whole 'soaring effortlessly' mood of the rest of
the poem.  

Ooh, I just read that first bit again and found another good one.  I love the
way you take the cliche of the earth looking like a patchwork quilt and turn
it around by having someone sleeping under the quilt.  Heck, I just like the
whole first stanza.  

response 4 of 8:

Jun 20 04:57 UTC 1999

resp:2  letdown?  Once we got well into the air, we started getting used to
it.

response 6 of 8:

Jun 22 17:20 UTC 1999

We'll see.  I'll have to work on that a tad.

I was working, initially from the impressions I got from looking out the window
of the plane.  We had airsickness all the way over.  On the way  back I just
had elevator sickness.  Much better.

response 8 of 8:

Jun 24 18:47 UTC 1999

for me it was more or less a spiritual experience.  That's why, after I 
managed to get  "off the ground", I lapsed a bit into the "spiritual" 
aspect.