Tag Archives: yellow

Prairie Flyer – Part I

Prairie Flyer – Part I

I saw it below, through the clouds, on the ground;
a speck in the dust, it was kicking around
making its way towards the hangar at the end
of the airstrip of dirt where soon I’d descend;
my trip back home…. nearly done.

I took off from Galesburg in a bright morning sun
in a brisk wind that rattled the old Gatling gun
for I’d flown out east…. to buy it for a friend
who wanted it for the museum…. and those who attend,
for an exhibit how air battles were won.

The yellow two-winger was just sitting there
as my wheels touched down in the brisk Kansas air.
It’s an obscure little stop for fuel and some rest
and not known by many….maybe a barnstormer, at best;
but I had stopped here….before.

But I didn’t know the plane sitting bright against the sky
and probably not the pilot, who I just taxied by,
as I headed for the ‘shack’ for some coffee and some fuel
and a chat with the Kansan….  Harley P.  O’Toole
and I yelled at him, “Hey, sunflower!” entering the door.

“Who’s flying the yellow bird sitting on the tarp?
I queried of Harley, who’s, when sleepy, not sharp.
But who is, I’m thinking, as I take off my coat
“Just landed,” he said, pulling hard on the rope
the Billy goat not wanting to go out.

“How you been, Jake?” he said with a hug.
“It’s been quite a spell,” as he gave me a mug….
the beer not as cold as I thought it would be
as I went to the window to see what I’d see
the pilot still sitting in his seat.

The ‘hangar’ was all ol’ Harley ever had
a one-floor oasis, a gift from his dad,
who was famous in these parts – a barnstormer’s friend,
and they all showed up to honor him….at the final end
and ever since, Harley’s picked up the beat.

Three hundred miles from Kansas City’s lights
the hangar was like home when dropping from the heights
And the stories of Harley were true…. that made his legend grow
and brought in flyers from all the states…. just like a minstrel show
but the bi-plane on the tarp, he didn’t know.

(to be continued….Part II)

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Lonely Dandelion in the Grass

To the extent that many people despise them, I have always loved dandelions.  I have loved them for what they are…..a beautiful yellow blossom in a sea of green grass.  It may be one here or there or it may be ‘reunion’ gathering of them, some years.  I have watched a single dandelion bend and stand up to heavy wind and driving rain and peek through a freshly fallen snow.; their courage and stamina heartwarming, at times.

There was a day when I put myself in the ground as a dandelion and viewed the man (him) picking them as a danger and spoiler of my dreams and then waited as he came to pick me.   That day I wrote “Lonely Dandelion in the Grass”………..

Lonely Dandelion in the Grass

A lonely dandelion in the grass.
Lonesome for a love that didn’t last.
Thinking of the day
that she was picked away,
lonely dandelion in the grass.

’round him other dandelions grew.
But missing her was not exactly new.
Remembering every smile,
she gave him all the while.
Lonely dandelion in the grass.

The sky was gray, he saw ‘him’ coming now.
He watched ‘him’ look at her and humbly, bow.
‘He’ smelled her fragrant scent,
‘he’ picked her, then he went.
Lonely dandelion in the grass.

Now he’s left with memories of a face,
that used to look at him with poise and grace.
Why was she picked away
never to return, someday?
Lonely dandelion in the grass.

The sky was gray, he saw ‘him’ coming now.
He saw ‘him’ look at him and humbly, bow.
With a smile of loneliness,
for his dandelioness
lonely dandelion in the grass.

copyright © 2012 T.J. Gargano

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