AirborneLike a virus or a whiff of halitosis. Like orange sailing in a perfect arc, then swish! Like words surfing waves to find your ears. Like a bird. Like a drone. Like a kiss blown over fingertip cliffs. Like every uncertain thing. Like everything. Like every goddamn thing.
This is beautiful, Tamsin - whether you view it as finished or not! (And I think we’re all sharing more first drafts than anything else here.) I particularly love the second stanza. And the word “thrum” - how have I never used that before?
My childhood recurring dreams were not nearly this fun. But I did have a flying dream after learning to lucid dream, and it was short but so wonderful. I love the first two lines of your poem. They really pulled me in.
What a lovely and lively poem, Rebekah! I love how the two stanzas connect stages of a life, and the ending is so sweet: “retracing his steps to make sure/every shard edge/lands.” This poem clearly does!
Lisa, I love the challenge of writing under the constraints provided by your thoughtful prompts. And, I love reading your un-prompted work, too <3. Here is what I came up with for "Airborne":
Oh boy, I love this. I am kind of an astrology geek (and a Libra for the record) and so really dug the water/air themes. I love the idea of water being soft and strong — but also, without the “warmth of reciprocity,” freezing and breaking.
Thanks, Rebekah - I'm not surprised to hear that you're a Libra - you are so relatable/relational :)) I love playing with astrology, too. So glad you got my air/water references.
This is beautifully superb, Keith! I love how you start with the notion of being waterlogged, and take that to all kinds of places I never would have imagined. I love your splendid use of vocabulary, your stretching of my own with every poem. I truly love the ending, so tender, honest and real, and so relatable for me. Your poetry is so wonderful!
I think a lot of what our soldiers struggle with is at the essence of this little poem. Literally training to kill and be the best at it and then go home, flip a switch, and play with your kids. The glorification of war, being a hero in an abstract, distant way is appealing but the sad reality of what that truly entails is always hanging around in their minds.
I can only try to imagine the level of compartmentalization required to survive not just combat, but the re-entry shock of trying to downshift into your civilian life. It just so happens that I'm currently reading a book called "The Kaiser's Reluctant Conscript" that is a collection of the diaries kept by an infantryman conscripted into the German Army who fought on the Russian front in WWI. My grandfather was also conscripted into the German Army and fought on the Russian front in WWI, so I wanted to understand his experience more deeply. It is shattering to consider what they endured.
This little poem packs so much punch! There’s something powerful about ending with a single word like that. But oof - the reality of all of this is just so hard!
Absolutely. I made it ten minutes watching and then had to turn it off. I fear we are in real trouble after seeing just that much of it. Who among us lives in Canada and will let my family move in??
It was a feature-length horror flick of epic proportions (I couldn't seem to pry myself away, and I'm dealing with quite a "hangover" this morning...lesson learned). Even Canada feels too close for comfort. New Zealand *might* work. Poetry is truly the only thing that makes sense anymore (maybe ever).
My own anger felt so recognized in this, A. Sometimes poetry does that - really helps exiled parts of self to feel recognized. As hurtful as it was for you to feel it, miraculously it can be curative when you share it. I love the whole poem, but the opening lines really gripped me in their talons.
This is both raw and beautiful, A. I love how you use the familiar "flying off the handle" to describe anger launched airborne, and the image of it as bird of prey not easily wrestled back to its perch. Thank you for sharing.
This is brilliant A. So honest and real, and so creatively crafted. The ending really struck home with me, that notion of the hurt inflicted on oneself, gosh, that is true for me.
I am in my bird-watching era. At the feeder, out the window, while pumping gas or walking in the park or driving in my car. Sometimes I like to ID them, but mostly I just watch and try to acclimate to their sounds - I want to be fluent in them. So a haiku to contribute 🩵
This was one of my recurring dreams as a kid, either falling from the top of the stairs or off a cliff. I haven't had this one for a long time, thankfully.
The kiss over fingertip cliffs! This was such a wonderful pleasure to read. And yes - goddamn - if uncertainty doesn’t feel like being nonconsensually airborne!
I love the movement and energy in this poem. I do feel like I'm flying.
And if your book isn't selected, keep sending it out. You might try Unsolicited Press. They are publishing my poetry collection next winter and another book in 2026. I'm happy to chat about it sometime. You can find their newsletter on Substack.
Congratulations, LeeAnn - that’s wonderful about your upcoming publications! I’ll probably be researching other publishing possibilities in the near future, so I’ll look into Unsolicited and head your way if I have questions. Thank you for your generosity!
I love this. You know I'd snatch up your poetry collection in a heartbeat. Also, I find it much easier to write when I've got a prompt of some kind, even if I end up going in kind of a different direction. I struggle with just deciding to write something when it can be about anything, so I'm not sure how you do it.
Today’s offering, not yet finished: I never really consider them finished until they have sat for a few months.
Airborne
Feathers quiver catching the updraft
Soaring on the breeze.
The smallest of adjustments
to hover, to glide, to fly
to induce a dramatic dive.
Shrill whistles echo over the valley
Imperceptibly high a dot in the sky
Blue above, green below.
Wingtips thrum in the swirling wind,
Floating in the air.
I hear him, look up, and he is gone.
This is beautiful, Tamsin - whether you view it as finished or not! (And I think we’re all sharing more first drafts than anything else here.) I particularly love the second stanza. And the word “thrum” - how have I never used that before?
True, writing to a daily prompt doesn’t give poems a chance to sit really.
This is a magnificent snapshot of flying, gliding, diving. I too thrilled at "wingtips thrum in the swirling wind!"
Thank you ☺️
This is lovely. The movement is echoed in your words!
Wingtip thrum......nice
This is beautifully evocative, Tamsin.
Thank you ☺️
I catch my breath or perhaps
It catches me
I stretch my arms and feel
The lift on my chest, my arms,
Then my legs and toes
And I am aloft - rising gently
Over amazed tiny spectators down below
My lungs fill with warm power
Each breath lifts me higher
Rising, soaring, I am Peter Pan
The joy of flight…
But then I stir, coming awake
So sad that it was just a dream
Backstory: this is one of my favorite dreams, recurring from childhood, and I still have even now, from time to time.
Peter Pan!!! I am so glad you’re here and writing poetry! I love this. I felt swept up in the story and so curious where it would land.
I am not sure I should call this poetry. But thank you for the compliment.
This is most certainly a poem! Now we know where Lisa got it from. Nice one, Dad!
Silly bean, I think you mean now we know where YOU got it from.
This is wonderful! And it is clear the Jensen clan is abundantly rich in poets!!!!
My childhood recurring dreams were not nearly this fun. But I did have a flying dream after learning to lucid dream, and it was short but so wonderful. I love the first two lines of your poem. They really pulled me in.
My favorite dreams. Very rare for me.
Loved the vicarious experience of flying with you...thank you for sharing this poetic flight of fancy :)
I have similar recurring dreams. Feels so real and natural in that dream state. Big let down when I wake up!
As a kid he caught more air
than the rest of us combined,
laying out, laying up,
backflipping on the beach.
Once we tapped,
he’d play alone,
heaving the Frisbee skyward,
leaping to break its fall.
.
He was winged then, ballooned,
weightless.
Now he can see only ground.
He combs his life
as if for shark teeth,
hunting the same old hurts,
retracing his steps to make sure
every sharp edge
lands.
This is a profoundly moving portrait of the ravages of time and glory past...beautiful imagery.
hunting the same old hurts.....🙂
"He comes his life as if for shark teeth, hunting the same old hurts, retracing his steps to make sure every sharp edge lands" - this is SO good.
What a lovely and lively poem, Rebekah! I love how the two stanzas connect stages of a life, and the ending is so sweet: “retracing his steps to make sure/every shard edge/lands.” This poem clearly does!
Lisa, I love the challenge of writing under the constraints provided by your thoughtful prompts. And, I love reading your un-prompted work, too <3. Here is what I came up with for "Airborne":
*
When I become waterlogged,
lodged in the spongy bog
of my own emotional saturation,
I feel myself drowning, slowly,
in obduration, and longing
to slip under the surface
where I will find a fresh start.
In my new origin story, I breeze in
under the easy gaze of stars
that loft me airborne
into a lighter lifetime
as Libra, Aquarius or Gemini.
I fantasize about being done
with scuttling under my Cancerian shell,
my soft underbelly
scraping bottom,
my pincers primed defensively
as I’m towed ever further out to sea
by the tides of a moon ruled by Pisces.
I want to be done with service
conscripted by those whose stars
aligned differently, those who
sense my water to be
just the soft, strong thing they need
to hold and carry their pain.
I want to be done because
what I, they -- we
cannot always anticipate clearly
is that without the warmth
of reciprocity, water will freeze.
and with the strain of prolonged ache,
It will eventually, inevitably
crack and break.
This is lovely, Keith! “Just the soft, strong thing they need to hold and carry their pain” - wow, so beautiful!
Thanks, friend :))
Oh boy, I love this. I am kind of an astrology geek (and a Libra for the record) and so really dug the water/air themes. I love the idea of water being soft and strong — but also, without the “warmth of reciprocity,” freezing and breaking.
Thanks, Rebekah - I'm not surprised to hear that you're a Libra - you are so relatable/relational :)) I love playing with astrology, too. So glad you got my air/water references.
Ah such wonderful words and analogies!
Thanks, Karri :)
God has blessed you with a gift. This reads perfectly.
Thank you, Billy - you have blessed me with your kind words!
Keith, this is so beautiful! I adore "under the easy gaze of stars" and "scuttling under my Cancerian shell" and just everything.
Thanks so much, A! Hearing that you enjoyed it is warming the cockles of my watery heart (lol)!
This is beautifully superb, Keith! I love how you start with the notion of being waterlogged, and take that to all kinds of places I never would have imagined. I love your splendid use of vocabulary, your stretching of my own with every poem. I truly love the ending, so tender, honest and real, and so relatable for me. Your poetry is so wonderful!
Once again, the poem I intended to write was moved aside as another founf its way to daylight!
Airborne
^
The sweet fragrance of your spirit
winds through my heart like
the shoulder breeze of spring into summer.
Lighter than air,
the quiet gentle rhythms of love
fade softly into the darkness,
Emerging again with the joyful light
of morning, and the grace of
eyes opening to the day.
This is so sweet! The poem just sort of wafts right into my heart!
Thank you Lisa--I like that word, "Wafts"!
What a beautiful and delicate wisp of a poem!
Thank you Karri! What a splendid phrase “wisp of a poem.”
Beautiful, Larry..."the fragrance of your spirit/winds through my heart...lighter than air."
Thank you Keith!
Beautiful
Thank you Billy.
This is so full of sweetness.
Thank you A! A nice comment to see while I am in the maze and morass of the Boston airport.
Airborne!
Fort Bragg
Home of the 82nd
Nameless and faceless they fall
In the afternoon
At night
Year after year
Week after week
Day after day
Training for the next Normandy
That some part of them wishes for
And another part, closer to their hearts, hopes it will never be again
This is beautiful. Even without having ever been in that situation, those last lines really hit home.
Thanks Lisa. Think it reads better with the “it” in the last line?
I wondered if any of the poems would focus on this aspect of airborne. Thanks for bringing this, Billy, I found it powerful and moving.
I think a lot of what our soldiers struggle with is at the essence of this little poem. Literally training to kill and be the best at it and then go home, flip a switch, and play with your kids. The glorification of war, being a hero in an abstract, distant way is appealing but the sad reality of what that truly entails is always hanging around in their minds.
I can only try to imagine the level of compartmentalization required to survive not just combat, but the re-entry shock of trying to downshift into your civilian life. It just so happens that I'm currently reading a book called "The Kaiser's Reluctant Conscript" that is a collection of the diaries kept by an infantryman conscripted into the German Army who fought on the Russian front in WWI. My grandfather was also conscripted into the German Army and fought on the Russian front in WWI, so I wanted to understand his experience more deeply. It is shattering to consider what they endured.
Plus the distorted opportunity for a
self-proclaimed smuck to die a hero.
Thanks Keith. Always appreciate your comments.
......Some part of them wishes for........
This is powerful, Billy, especially the end.
Very nice, Billy. Powerful and poetic!
Thanks Larry!
You are welcome, Billy!
It doesn’t take long
For a false statement
Uttered as the truth
To become fact
To those who wish to believe it
Once it becomes
Airborne.
This little poem packs so much punch! There’s something powerful about ending with a single word like that. But oof - the reality of all of this is just so hard!
Oooph. I feel this after forcing myself to watch some of "the debate" (wondering if that was your muse for this?).
Absolutely. I made it ten minutes watching and then had to turn it off. I fear we are in real trouble after seeing just that much of it. Who among us lives in Canada and will let my family move in??
It was a feature-length horror flick of epic proportions (I couldn't seem to pry myself away, and I'm dealing with quite a "hangover" this morning...lesson learned). Even Canada feels too close for comfort. New Zealand *might* work. Poetry is truly the only thing that makes sense anymore (maybe ever).
Such honest and prophetic words, Karri!
It truly was a spectacle that I could only watch in small doses. Perhaps next time we should ask the candidates to share a favorite poem and why.
💔💔💔
So much truth in such a small poem.
My anger is airborne, taking off
in search of small and vulnerable beings
and their soft spots, and I am too tired
to stop it. How much damage have I done,
allowing it to fly off the handle I held it on?
It's a desperate, flailing grasp
to wrestle it back under control,
and I wonder if this time the talons
will have left a mark too deep
for forgiveness or healing. It seems
that even I am not immune to my wrath;
I hurt myself just as completely.
I feel this one so much. That strange out-of-body experience of watching yourself lose it. Thank you for sharing something so honest!
I feel this very much. As my girl Taylor says “my words shoot to kill when I’m mad. I have a lot of regrets about that”.
My own anger felt so recognized in this, A. Sometimes poetry does that - really helps exiled parts of self to feel recognized. As hurtful as it was for you to feel it, miraculously it can be curative when you share it. I love the whole poem, but the opening lines really gripped me in their talons.
This is both raw and beautiful, A. I love how you use the familiar "flying off the handle" to describe anger launched airborne, and the image of it as bird of prey not easily wrestled back to its perch. Thank you for sharing.
This is brilliant A. So honest and real, and so creatively crafted. The ending really struck home with me, that notion of the hurt inflicted on oneself, gosh, that is true for me.
I am in my bird-watching era. At the feeder, out the window, while pumping gas or walking in the park or driving in my car. Sometimes I like to ID them, but mostly I just watch and try to acclimate to their sounds - I want to be fluent in them. So a haiku to contribute 🩵
I love to watch birds.
Maybe for a moments glance,
I am airborne too.
This is so lovely and put a big smile on my face! And I love the idea of becoming fluent in bird!
Thank you, Lisa. And thank you for the prompts 💞
Lovely! Birds just have that affect on us!
They really do 💞
This is a lovely haiku, Lindsey. A real gift!
Thank you 💞
I, too, am in my birdwatching Era. I've been learning the birds near me and trying to become fluent in their calls as well. I love your haiku!
Thank you 💞 it is such a grounding practice for me. Helps me “be here now”
Yes!
My 'mare'est nightmares
.
Find me airborne, free-falling,
.
to waken, gasping.
.
.
.
(sorry, scary, but true)
I can definitely relate to this!
That feeling of falling into doom is scary as all hell for me, too.
The freakiest thing ever!
This was one of my recurring dreams as a kid, either falling from the top of the stairs or off a cliff. I haven't had this one for a long time, thankfully.
I can relate, Chuck!
“those who
sense my water to be
just the soft, strong thing they need
to hold and carry their pain.” 💔
The kiss over fingertip cliffs! This was such a wonderful pleasure to read. And yes - goddamn - if uncertainty doesn’t feel like being nonconsensually airborne!
Thank you so much, Lindsey!
Yes, that was an outstanding line.
I’ll get a copy or a few of your book! Best wishes on being the one. I pray it will happen for you.
Thank you so much, Billy! I feel like I’ve got a cheerleading squad here, which is a lovely feeling!
You do! Goooo Lisa!!!
I love the movement and energy in this poem. I do feel like I'm flying.
And if your book isn't selected, keep sending it out. You might try Unsolicited Press. They are publishing my poetry collection next winter and another book in 2026. I'm happy to chat about it sometime. You can find their newsletter on Substack.
Congratulations, LeeAnn - that’s wonderful about your upcoming publications! I’ll probably be researching other publishing possibilities in the near future, so I’ll look into Unsolicited and head your way if I have questions. Thank you for your generosity!
Oof. What a gorgeous poem, Lisa. When you publish your book, count on me to buy it 💛. I’m hoping to tackle this prompt later today!
Mom!? Did you make a fake Substack account to boost my self esteem?
Margaret, thank you, this means the world to me. I look forward to your poem!
I love this. You know I'd snatch up your poetry collection in a heartbeat. Also, I find it much easier to write when I've got a prompt of some kind, even if I end up going in kind of a different direction. I struggle with just deciding to write something when it can be about anything, so I'm not sure how you do it.
Thank you, A! I don’t really know how I do it either. 😂 I just sort of let it happen. As soon as I start trying too hard, things go awry.
I do well with a prompt too!
That’s so good to hear, Gloria!