Flight desk

Flight desk is a poem in three parts. I wondered if I should break it up into three separate posts.  I thought that maybe people like poetry on the web not to be too lengthy. But I then I thought that it’s not such a long poem really, and that, if I was reading aloud, I’d definitely read all three parts together.

So in the end I decided to just post all the parts together. There is also a recorded reading – I’m a bit fluey today, so my voice is a little different 🙂 !



Flight Desk

1/3. Thesis (tragic)

Spiced quink and spiralled pencil curls
From wood-bellied steel framed wombs
Where I wandered lonely as that wretched cloud,
Straining and failing to remember what comes next.

Tacit singing in an assembled chorus,
A desking rage of unhinged hammering,
Eardrums clasped in rumoured oriental pain,
Straining yet unable to forget what went before.


2/3. Antithesis (comedic)

They said there was a reason for the brick laid
Load of the kisted player’s base
That spun thirty-three-and-a-third stabilised R’s P M –

Before Susa presaged a giant’s comedy foot,
It marched in steady lockstep until the bell
Peeled back our welcome liberty.

Perhaps peaked by one wheeling turn to many
Of Rumty tum, Rumty tum, Rumty tum, Rumty tum:
Those Hell-fired Grenadiers –

Legend said some earlier enprisoned Daedalan lad,
Had cast the previous deck, at the price of his own expulsion,
Skyward from that very bay, Icarus to a sudden symbolic shattering.


3/3. Synthesis (epic)

Another place and another education,
Electronics under a copper top cell,
An eternity of stochastic information,
Nine a.m. head spikes in dwindling noise.

My boots ascended to a first floor last lecture theatre
Then beneath my mind, the sky took control,
To yaw at last away from tedium’s frosted double doors
And stride from worthiness to take the air in hope.

My heart unyolked the stick and banked
With joy to glide my feet through that other door
To stride down the sunlit disabled access ramp,
Eyes chandelle diving down only to swoop up, up:

And so away, to climb, to step out at last on high,
Over her highland ridgeways, narcissus aye unkent,
Where heather weaves a deeper shade of love,
And windblown hares wild tone each silent spinning.



About stevedsmart

Steve Smart is a poet and visual artist who also has experience in information design. View all posts by stevedsmart

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