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COURAGE

By Amelia Earhart

Courage is the price that Life exacts
for granting peace.
The soul that knows it not
Knows no release from little things:
Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,
Nor mountain heights where bitter
joy can hear
The sound of wings.

How can life grant us boon of living,
compensate
For dull gray ugliness and pregnant
hate
Unless we dare
The soul's dominion? Each time we
make a choice, we pay
With courage to behold the resistless
day,
And count it fair.

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untitled

By R. A. Munro, C.M.

One distant ray of light
Was all he asked
The pilot
Lost o'er a world of buried mountains
and dead lakes

The night had lost him blindly
In its swirling spate of storm cloud
Like a dark nightmarish carnival
Thronging closer and closer about him

His lust for light sent him climbing
Through the trap that closed again beneath him
Till the clouds shed their slime of shadow
And he moved into starlit tranquillity

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ARE ALL THE AIRPLANES IN?

by Nancy Robinson

I think ofttimes as the night draws nigh
Of an airport on the hill,
Of a runway wide and bordered with grass,
Where the airplanes taxied at will.
And when the night at last came down,
Hushing the whirling din,
Masters would look around and ask,
"Are all the airplanes in?"

'Tis many and many a day since then,
And the airport on the hill
Echoes of pilots who've come and gone,
And the runway is never still.
But I see it all as it used to be,
And tho' many the voices have been,
In the old north hanger, I hear Masters ask,
"Are all the airplanes in?"

I wonder if as the shadows fall
On his hair now turning gray,
As he steps aside as men must do
For new pilots to come the way,
If forgotten they'll pass him while calmly he stands,
Eyes focused upon the wind,
And quietly he'll ask tho' no one may hear,
"Are all the airplanes in?"

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TO FLY

by Paul E. Garber

To fly, Dear God in Heaven, to fly,
To see Thy world from Thy vast sky,
To pilot my airplane high and low,
To ride the wind wherever I go.

To climb through dark clouds - then
Suddenly a burst of light and the sun I see,
Climbing higher, I look below
And see that the clouds are white as snow.

I know that the world is way down there
But I'm above all worldly care,
Onward I fly, alone, serene,
Immersed in a wonderful, beautiful scene.

But then, alas, I must go down again,
To earth's gray shadows, to mankind's domain,
But my heart is enriched, my soul lifted high,
Because - for a while - I was up in Thy sky.

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THEY HAVE NOT WHOLLY DIED

by Paul E. Garber

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THE COPILOT

by Keith Murray

I am the copilot. I sit on the right.
It's up to me to be quick and bright;
I never talk back for I have regrets,
But I have to remember what the captain forgets.

I make out the flight plan and study the weather,
Pull up the gear, stand by to feather;
Make out the mail forms and do the reporting,
And fly the old crate while the captain is courting.

I take the readings, adjust the power,
Put on the heaters when we're in a shower;
Tell him where we are on the darkest night,
And do all the bookwork without any light.

I call for my captain and buy him cokes;
I always laugh at his corny jokes,
And once in awhile when his landings are rusty
I always come through with, "By gosh, it's gusty!"

All in all, I'm a general stooge,
As I sit on the right of the man I call "Scrooge";
I guess you think that is past understanding,
But maybe some day he will give me a landing.

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FIRST THINGS FIRST

by Gill Robb Wilson

The boundary lamps were yellow blurs
Against the winter night,
And I had checked the last ship in
And snapped the office light
And paused a while to let the ghosts
Of bygone days and men
Roam down the skies of auld lang syne
As one will now and then ...
When fancy set me company
A red checked lad to stand
With questions gleaming in his eyes,
A model in his hand.

He may have been your boy or mine,
I could not clearly see,
But there was no mistaking how
His eyes were questioning me
For answers which all sons must have
Who build their toys in play,
But pow'r them in valiant dreams
And fly them far away;
So down I sat with him beside
There in the dim lit shed,
And with the ghost of better men
To check on me, I said:

"I cannot tell you, Sonny Boy,
The future of this art,
But one thing I can show you, lad,
An old time pilot's heart;
And you may judge what flight may give
Or hold in store for you
By knowing how true pilots feel
About the work they do;
And only he who dedicates
His life to some ideal
Becomes as one with his dreams
His future will reveal.

Not one of whose wings are dust
Would call his bargain in,
Not one of us would welsh his part
To save his bloomin' skin,
Not one would wish to walk again
Unless allowed to throw
His heart into the thing he loved
And go as he would go;
Not one would change for gold or pow'r,
Nor fun nor love nor fame,
The part he played and price he paid
In making good the game.

And of the living ... none, not one,
Regrets the scars he bears,
The sheer uncertainty of plans,
The poverty he shares,
Remitted price for one mistake
That checks a bright career,
The shattered hopes, the scant rewards,
The future never clear:
And of the living ... none, not one,
Who truly loves the sky,
Would trade a hundred earth bound hours
For one that he could fly.

If that sleek model in your hand,
Which you have brought to me,
Most represents the thing you love,
The thing you want to be,
Then, you will fill your curly head
With knowledge, fact and lore,
For there is no short cut which leads
To aviation's door;
And only those whose zeal is proved
By patient toil and will
Shall ever have a part to play
Or have a place to fill."

And suddenly the lad was gone
On wings I could not hear,
But from afar off came his voice
In studied tones and clear,
A prophet's message simply told
For this is what he said
And why his hand will someday lead
Formations overhead:
"Who wants to fly has got to know:
Now two times two is four:
I've got to learn the first things first!"
...I closed the hanger door.

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BECAUSE I FLY

anonymous

Because I fly
I laugh more than other men
I look up an see more than they,
I know how the clouds feel,
What it's like to have the blue in my lap,
To look down on birds,
To feel freedom in a thing called the stick...
Who but I can slice between God's billowed legs,
And feel then laugh and crash with His step
Who else has seen the unclimbed peaks?
The rainbow's secret?
The real reason birds sing? Because I Fly,
I envy no man on earth.

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THE BOMBERS

by Sarah Churchill

Whenever I see them ride on high,
Gleaming and proud in the morning sky,
Or lying awake in bed at night,
I hear them pass on their outward flight;
I feel the mass of metal and guns,
Delicate instruments, deadweight tons,
Awkward, slow, bomb racks full,
Straining away from downward pull,
Straining away from home and base,
And try to see the pilot's face,
I imagine a boy who's just left school,
On whose quick-learned skill and courage cool
Depend the lives of the men in his crew
And success of the job they have to do;
And something happens to me inside
That is deeper than grief, greater than pride,
And though there is nothing I can say,
I always look up as they go their way
And care and pray for every one,
And steel my heart to say,
"Thy will be done."

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THE AEROPLANE

by Gordon Boshell

I sweep the skies with fire and steel,
My highway is the cloud,
I swoop, I soar, aloft I wheel,
My engine laughing loud;
I fight with gleaming blades the wind
That dares dispute my path,
I leave the howling storm behind,
I ride upon it's wrath.

I laugh to see your tiny world,
Your toys of ships, your cars,
I rove an endless road unfurled
Where the mile stones are the stars,
And far below, men wait and peer
For what my coming brings,
I fill their quaking hearts with fear
For death...is in my wings.

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An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

by William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years behind seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

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untitled

by Charlie Williams, CFI

Sailplane
Gracefully tapered
Gliding, soaring, climbing
Mind is at peace
Silence
*****

Airship
Outdated antique
Cruising, moaring, tethered
Dianosoar of the sky
Nostalgia.
*****

The trainer skimmed over the ground,
The instructor hollered "Go around!"
The student hesitated,
The instructor waited,
We all heard a crashing sound.

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THE MAN WILL NEVER FLY
MEMORIAL SOCIETY THEME SONG

by Dick Jordan

(Sung to the tune of The Man On The Flying Trapeze)

1st Verse
Now, back in December of Nineteen-O-Three,
The Wright brothers came to Dare county to see
If they could defy the Law of Grav-i-ty
By trying to make like a bird.
They had looked the world over for just the right spot
With breezes and sunshine and sand
Where it wasn't too cold and it wasn't too hot,
And there's always a soft spot to land.

Chorus
Oh--fill up your glasses, and let's have a round
For Wilbur and Orville, those men of renown,
Who taught us to fly without leaving the ground,
And that's what we're doing tonight.

2nd Verse (same tune)
On that fateful morning in Nineteen-O-Three,
A million mosquitoes assembled to see
If Wilbur and Orville would make history,
But the plane never got off the ground.
The mosquitoes flew over and covered the wing
In formation, symetric and neat,
Then they all flapped their wings and carried the thing
All of one hundred and twenty feet.

(Repeat chorus)

3rd Verse (same tune)
The his'try books tell us the Wright brothers flew,
But they failed to prove that the story is true
So we must give credit where credit is due--
The true facts, at last, can be told.
They discovered a bottle of Kill Devil Rye,
They uncorked it and passed it around;
Soon the brothers were flying but not in the sky,
'Cause the plane was still tied to the ground.

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A LETTER TO DAD

by Leigh Gough

Its Christmas day in '43
my notepad lies in front of me
sadness fills my heart today
I write to dad, so far away

I know he feels my pain so far
across the miles, his whiskey jar
is full and raised up to his lip
he whispers, Son !, and takes a sip

what can I write to ease his worry
perhaps, grounded, Christmas flurry
or, hey pop !, I am doing well
there really is no news to tell

been watching movies, playing ball
not been flying much at all
I ferry guys from here to France
back by sunset, evenings, dance

its better that he doesn't know
of Berlin, Munich, where I go
to add my load to fire below
feel the updraft, watch the glow

as people run and cry in pain
incinerate in fiery rain
and shake their fist toward the sky
mourn their dead and wonder why

were they to blame for Hitler's sin?
did they march strong in rally din
and scream sieg hiel in fervent glory?
why then, should they, be burnt in fury?

I never see the solemn grief
I drop my tons, bring no relief
women, children, old men too
suffer death at what I do

then turn my plane and head for base
break out my, official face
do my job as I've been taught
more death today, it stands for naught

somebody's Father, Mother, son
blown limb from limb, it matters none
a daughter maybe, pregnant be
kill both of them, damn nazi !

and so I wonder what to say
To Mom and Pop so far away
to tell the truth, as I was raised
or paint a picture, slightly glazed

No !, better that they think I'm fine
I'll write and speak of Christmas wine
and hope they never learn the story
should I come home, draped coffin, glory

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FREEDOM FLYING

by Kendra Girod

This earth has contained me,
fed me, clothed me, and chained me;
To this earth, I'm no longer bound;
Upon the wind of the skies, I am new found.

My soul dances on an evening breeze,
I whisper through the sycamore trees.
I'll fly on the wings of a bird
and sing a song I've never heard.

I'll rest upon mountain peaks,
floating through hills of clover and leaves,
plowing among plains of corn and grain,
gliding in dark, green forests of rain.

To the waves I follow ashore,
to city lights, I've explored;
Calmly floating on the breeze,
I watched the new morning with ease.

My soul is freedom flying,
for I have left but not departed;
I watch this earth that chained me,
this earth that does not contain me.

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WHAT IT MEANS TO BE FREE (FLYING)

by Kendra Girod

The skies are high up above
The lands are far below.
We glide through the air with such ease
And grace
That one could look upon us and say that
we are the ones of a special race.

We move through the night and into the
Rain.
We go through the haze and look back at
What we gain.

There are times when it gets turbulent,
Then again, there are the smooth breezes
That make the peaceful airs.

At times, lights shine and flicker above,
Lights of home below that from which love they flow.

From there you can see all that your
Heart may desire.
Yet then again not all is seen in the entire.

You see of which God has created
The world in which man has inhabited.

The wings upon in which we fly
Are like the ones which have made us spry.
For that is what God meant it to be,
Wings in all ways, for all of us to be free.

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THE PIONEERS

by C4C Robert C. Brogan

Ever since I was a child
I've always wanted to fly,
And everyday I'd dream of men
who soared across the sky.

These pioneers would give their lives
so men like you and me,
Could guard this Nation's borders
so its people would be free.

These men would fly their aircraft
through every twist and turn,
And some would even push so hard
Their aircraft crashed and burned.

When the heroes left for work
their wives would often pray,
That God would see them through the dangers
they would face that day.

The child whose Dad had perished
may often wonder why.
The day will come when he will know,
the day he learns to fly.