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max-nix
09-15-2006, 01:51 AM
I saved this poem for 60+ years :eek: after finding it in a newspaper, I hope
someone else may appreciate it as I did.

Storm Over Britian
S. Sgt Bob Stuart Mc??? (unreadable)
England(1944)

The mad massive music of
agonized elements surrounds
us.

The deep-throated winds roar
in anguish around us.

The keen-jagged edges of
lightning crack open the sky.

(Cruel comets of energy they are:
icicles of fire!)

Terrified and frightened, like a
herd of moon-mad elephants

The clouds in-tumble.
Wounded by the lightning,
in defiance they rumble.

A maelestrom of misery
un-known to earthly terrain.
The sky world in labor:
Magnificent in pain!
And what of our plane?
II
In the synthetic safety of this
man-marvel shell
We sit tense, tormented, aware
that this Hell is our master.
And we , in our riveted womb,
Hear insidious wispers
wind-seeped through the gloom.

The block of five men is congealed
in stupid wonder.
Too wild the wind!
Tremendous the thunder!
What have we defied to rouse
the wind's dissention?
How can we survive the
treacherous tension?
That quivers from wing-tips,
till growing gigantic,
Screams through the fuselage
ending in panic?
III
The pilots, both steeled
in silent concentration.
Clamp teeth, narrow eyes,in
"Hold on" they cry,
encourage each other;
but the controls break loose
from their sinews.
We stall---
"Christ" cries the pilot.
We plunge and fall
Down through the thunder
sound left behind us.
The clouds hear our roar;
in vain it can find us.

Down! Down as through
some delirious dream!
(Our brains whirl like
turbines unleashed.
The blood in our skulls
screeches utter realease)

Down! Down as through some
diabolical dream!

(Our safety belts strain.
Our blood races madly
as un-fettered rain.)

Down! Down and then------
IV
Suddenly the storm is gone.
Above us it rages, roars, rants
on.
The right engine sputters,
then purrs with relief, for
Here is calmness- - -
Warmness- - -
Sun- - -
The pilots, each one.
With a strength they've never known.
Pull back the controls and
with a gutteral groan
A violent quiver runs through
the ungravited plane.
"Will she take it" I cry.
"You'r durn tootin!"
I hear the crew yell.
"This baby could come back
from a three-week binge in hell!"
V
Gone, gone is the fear
As our brains gyro clear,
There down below.
Is a field that we know.
That familiar perimeter, like
some beloved street-corner
we have known!
Were home.
VI
"Hello, Propwash . . . This is
Bulldog K for King . . .
coming in on one engine . . .
landing instruction, please
over . . ."
Roger K for King . . .Clear to land
on runway 26 . . .
call on base leg . . .over . . .
Roger. . .Thank you . . .out.
Our shadow precedes us,
haunting the trees.
As down we dive with delirious ease
VII
The storm-scarred plane whimpers
as her wheels hit the runway.
Halfway down the taxi-strip she
wilts, shudders and the engine
coughs into silence.
Is it too much to ask if I rest?
she seems to say.
This bold breathless lioness
whose young have shuddered
within her groin:
Reborn before their time.
VIII
Our feet on the ground . . .
Look, the sky is already serene
A familiar figure waves from
a tug near the hanger . . .
Was ever the grass so green?
And what of the storm?
Gone . . . . . .like the others before
it . . . . . .
A fitful childhood dream.

Don Sims
09-15-2006, 02:41 AM
Great poem! Thanks for posting!