AVIATION POETS AND POEMS
Featuring Collections of Poems by Patrick Phillips
Inducted into the prestigious Aviation Poetry’s Hall of Fame
When this life I’m in is done,
And at the gates I stand,
My hope is that I answer all
His questions on command.
I doubt He’ll ask me of my fame,
Or all the things I knew, Instead,
He’ll ask of rainbows sent
On rainy days I flew.
The hours logged, the status reached,
The ratings will not matter.
He’ll ask me if I saw the rays
And how He made them scatter.
Or what about the droplets clear,
I spread across your screen?
And did you see the twinkling eyes.
If student pilots keen?
The way your heart jumped in your chest,
That special solo day-
Did you take time to thank the one
Who fell along the way?
Remember how the runway lights
Looked one night long ago
When you were lost and found your way,
And how-you still don’t know?
How fast, how far, how much, how high?
He’ll ask me not these things
But did I take the time to watch
The Moonbeams wash my wings?
And did you see the patchwork fields
And mountains I did mould;
The mirrored lakes and velvet hills,
Of these did I behold?
The wind he flung along my wings,
On final almost stalled.
And did I know I it was His name,
That I so fearfully called?
And when the goals are reached at last,
When all the flyings done,
I’ll answer Him with no regret-
Indeed, I had some fun.
So when these things are asked of me,
And I can reach no higher,
My prayer this day – His hand extends
To welcome home a Flyer
Patrick J. Phillips
The earth rolls by beneath my wings,
My mind dwells not on other things,
For as my nose points towards the sky,
I can’t believe I’m going to fly.
The years of waiting over now,
My instructor says that I know how,
And as the spinning wheels break free,
I wish that he were here with me.
Higher, higher the ship is lifting,
Racing thoughts my mind is sifting.
What’s that he said on rate of climb?
I wish we’d done this one more time.
Five hundred feet. It’s time to turn,
There is still so much I have to learn.
Ease the yoke and now the rudder,
The trick is not to make her shudder.
Eight hundred feet, another turn,
This time there’s not as much concern,
Throttle back and trim her out,
Seems there’s less to care about.
Downwind check now, just in case,
Runway’s on the left, some place?
Carb heat on and lots of power,
Oh God I’ve got to call the Tower.
Victoria Tower! I call my name,
Why no answer? Is this a game?
Radio set, I know it’s right,
Settle down, no time for fright.
Crackle, crackle, I hear him talking,
Straight ahead, not time for gawking,
Cleared to land, it’s said and done,
Thank the Lord, I’m number one.
The heart inside me seems to race,
As I ease her onto base,
Power back, she starts to sink,
Easy does it, time to think.
Nose up trim, at seventy knots,
Six hundred feet is all I’ve got.
Turn for final, almost over,
On the blacktop, not the clover.
Hold her level ‘til the last,
My! The runway’s moving fast.
Hold the nose up, gee I’m clever,
Seems she wants to fly forever.
Thump! I’m down! It feels so good,
Nothing to it, I knew I could.
Take heart my friend and have a try,
For now I know that I can fly.
More of Patrick Phillips beautiful poetry here