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A Poem by:

Anthony Bavin

Colourful Bar


Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.

Great, graceful, tremulous, expansive, wing,

Making your majestic sweep to starboard,

Ailerons, like feathers, extended lazily,

Soaking up the winter sunshine, falling hazily

Upon your vivid, liveried, plumage:

You prehensile mammoth, fearful thing,

You could be waking from a million years of sleep,

Magnificent being, in your own right,

Omnipotent presence, in you own might,

Vast expanse of tight stretched skin,

Iguana, soaking up the sunlight,

Reflecting off the concrete runway,

That lies beneath your vast anatomy.


Great angry, thrusting, expulsive jets,

Battle cry of rampant War Lord,

Engines, bull-gods, bellowing angrily,

You paw the ground and wait impatiently,

Listening for the crackling message,

Transforming bull to bird of passage,

"Alpha-Alpha Five Seven, you're clear for take-off!"

Take off: Brake off: Blast off: ... off:

Two hundred and forty tons of matter,

Accelerating to two hundred and forty knots,

Reaching V2, the point of no return,

Anxious not to linger longer....

Whilst we clench and unclench sweaty hands,

Turn our beads and whisper prayers,

As, speed increasing, fear grows stronger.


Mass, lifting off the concrete runway,

Great Eagle wheeling over Hounslow,

Rising up above the red roofed houses,

Gravel pits and meandering river reaches,

Patchwork fields and glass-housed garden centres,

Magic carpet, bearing us to our adventures:

"Ladies and gentlemen ... this is your Captain, Mac.,"

Relax: Unpack: Sit back:

For once, someone else is driving:

We're all relaxing in your ample bosom,

Drinks trolley coming, anaesthetising reason,

Stewardess with smiling friendly greeting,

And any moment now we'll all be eating,

Plastic chicken off plastic plates,

With plastic knives and forks,

This gastric challenge, terminating,

With a lump of cheese of sorts.


We're thirty thousand feet, at last:

Watch the little simulated aeroplane inching

Sideways across the vast expanse of ocean,

Projected on the tourist class

Cabin bulkhead map,

Pull blanket tight around you,

Kick off shoes, feet pinching,

And try to take a nap,

Wake up, bum numb,

Stiffness in your back,

Observe the sign says toilet vacant,

All around you are recumbent,

Clamber over snoring neighbours,

And head aft for a pee,

Apologise, climb back again,

And, bored, switch on TV:

Watch 'Forest Gump' for the tenth time,

Upset the gent behind you, when you recline,

Your seat: Just aren't we,

All really longing to be back,

On solid ground again!


Anthony Bavin
Copyright © 2001

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