The Body of the Plane E-Book

Z.J. Galos

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Serie: ZJG Ballads
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 49

Beschreibung

While boarding an airplane from South Africa to Europe, the poet lives through a series of unusual magical experiences. Since his 'other half' has corresponded with him with E-mails, he senses an underlying urgency to meet again face-to-face. However, this urgency has been building up for many months of absence from their first meeting, but her calls strike a chord within his deeper inside when the bond of love calls for another physical togetherness. Even being through continents apart, her partner will respond immediately. This ballad depicts the emotions felt by the poet during his long flight to Athens. Although twin flames are unique in ESP, the poet has depicted his fears of a successful reunion on one hand, and on the other, the joys of holding his love in his arms again. How long will it be possible to nurture a genuine twin flame relationship that will be fulfilling for both? Could they both keep their physical desires aflame? Could their mental strength for continuation persist to carry on for another year or two? Right from the start of their unusual relationship they had agreed never to promise anything to each other. Will his effort in this 'flight for love and hope' come to fruition for them both?

Leseprobe

Contents

An Indian summer

The artist’s rites

Manutate for Love

Poetry in an anthropomorphic world

The body of the plane

THE BODY OF THE PLANE

I have seen expectation

on the faces around me

as we embark through the

lit-up sloping tunnel to the

DC9 airplane emblazoned with

the name of a Greek hero/

and some people in midst of

the crowd we have just seen

before in the last tax-free shop

that sells liquor in a preferred

two-pack-box with an advert

promising a good present

with make-believe economy.

Faces/ somber/ disillusioned,

enquiring like the businessman

detached and without illusions

like the man who sits in the

wrong seat/ investigated by

he clued-up young woman

with her Dell laptop and the

sharp wide-awake talk.

Then as the long-haired and

mustached friend sat down

next to her/ she's nervous and

seeks another seat/ put-off

by his macho vibes.

There is tension before any

take-off/ the usual shuffling of

feet, of bodies settling down

and this pushback movements

of a bald-headed silly man

in front of me/ however it’s not

easy to write into my journal

if he moves back and forward

continually on this tight air ship

sailing into the winds of hope

and it may bring some comfort

to a friend, a best of many friends

now hurt by some misfortune

as darkened clouds that have

hovered for a while across her

most fragile being…

Now it’s pushing through the

inky clouds towards the free

cleared-up heights of an

‘Arcadian’ peace of mind

but then/ will I have some

peace I never had since

a year and a half/ seeing her

the last time?

She told me of her wings

being clipped and I still

have not let go of her body

I do cling to with tenacity

her body of a goddess that

lies stretched-out above the

sheets of vanilla-clouds

in this high-altitude flight.

The airplane like the body

that is the spirit

of that trace we still feel

we still be touched by

from stone/ tree/ and the

marble-works of man

embodied in the wonders of

their creative worlds

shining from their secular

buildings and their

sculptural dedications

with the story carved into

the plinth’s surround in a show,

of a traditional procession

as the decorated cella-wall

in this overflow from the

sculpted fields of the tympanum

that sets the artistic tone.

Under dire circumstances

without even a task light

working on my pad

I am determined to finalize

this journey’s mosaic

thought-flashes of your

country

that has drawn me like a

migrating bird above

the Sacred Rock

that has never lost its

magnetic forces on either

flocks of birds or man of culture

who seek his beloved woman

in the marble's fluted trunk

that releases her slender body

in a style of a sacred ceremony

with the horses' fiery galloping

that moves the walls and

blows the roofs sky-high

catapulting its broken

image into the four corners

of this world.

This body of the plane

that flies at high speed

into a corner of the world

I wish to be

coming from the other side

the darkest on this planet

the other/ southern-most.

A well-seasoned woman

reliable/ and one/ who does

not get her knickers in a knot

a trusted Amazon

descendant from a goddess

just like Ceres/ or especially

Athena with her protective

bronzed shield/ or else

Persephone

not afraid of the cavernous

underworld.

Here, high above the clouds

I muse in isolation from any

terrestrial life

about the deeper sense of

my existence…

Perhaps I had a journey to

continue in some yo-yo-style

back and forward movements

that will fulfill the sense for

something higher

on a level of intermediate life

important for the next life:

The unknown afterlife?

We can call it many names

always the same old thing

never changes/ never fades

as we don't know for sure

we speculate and challenge

intellectually

dissipate into a matter of a

different form.

We’ll never die.

My life has turned around a

pivotal incident

that was unforeseen

yet that has been carved on

some stone somewhere…

In magical Arcadia?

Somewhere there exists that

pool of knowledge that is

accessible only to a few.

I travel with positive moods

and a saddened heart

but a joyful spirit that will

meet your soul

place it upon my slightly

welted lap

and let it still thrive

bloom like a late flower

in spring/ an exotic plant

come alive

during an Indian summer

that burns like the sun on my

exposed back.

Let me still be one with

you/ you/ you

even if we do lie presently still

but might now and then meet

as we used to meet…

Lie still and enjoy the transfer

of our emotions/ our feelings

along the fully stretched-out

bodies/ in crouched-upon

seat-embraces/

the embryo-cuddles/

in tight hugs and close embraces

we still can pull together into each

other as one/ melting together

in fusion.

There! The hill of joy and

one word: Hidoni/ as you

did open-up in me jets of

blasts and fires…

Then we extended it and

the artist’s rites of love

I wrote: ‘Greek Fire!’

Wow I do know!

There was exhilaration

of never-ceasing lust

indeed feats of fuck for

those days we were in

our unbridled and unfettered

ways of time to ourselves

dotting desire's I's and

crossing the tee's of a

perfectly warm and natural

sexual life/ we always have

dreamed about.

The verandah/ breath of air

that seemed always to carry

tranquility

your smile that carried me

above the clouds

your face came close and

closer yet and never stopped

loving me

lips that parted

your crimson lips that closed

tightly around my excited

red penis in a way only you

have been able to bring to the

satisfactory fulfillment of our

living fantasies/ or was it the

lust we did seek that was

hiding behind some secret

expectations/ some trust

we built and then we had

our yearnings cultivated to

this extent of physical and

mental burn I did feel with

you/ and died with you