We did exactly what everybody in the country did, watching it. You entered this state of sort of denials. You think, well, it must have been a tragic accident by an amateur pilot. And then you see the next plane coming.
quote by Diane Sawyer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Don't Alarm The Passengers
Steward...
Is it my imagination,
Or is the plane flying without a pilot?
'Don't alarm the passengers,
But yes.
The conservatives aboard,
Have decided those liberal...
Are in too many positions of control.
And wish to replace the pilot,
Because it is assumed...
He is a Muslim, born in a different country.
And determined he is no longer qualified to fly.'
But don't they realize all of us might die?
'I have been promised a high paying position,
By them...
When the new pilot is found and we land.
However...
No one else aboard has the guts,
To sit in the pilot's seat.
So I'm doing my best to keep all of you calm.'
Are you NUTS?
'Sir,
I must beg of you to lower your voice.
We have many conservatives flying first class.
And they will be distubed by your outbursts! '
But we all will die without a pilot!
'Hopefully not.
Many are now praying to have someone appear,
Who poses no threat to their stolen traditions.
And that person not be of color.'
What difference does that make?
'Many on board...
Rather die than be saved by a Negro! '
Are they all INSANE?
'Sir,
I must beg of you to lower your voice.
Don't alarm the passengers,
But yes.
The conservatives aboard,
Have decided those liberal...
Are in too many positions of control.
And wish to replace the pilot,
Because it is assumed...
He is a Muslim, born in a different country.
And determined he is no longer qualified to fly.'
So...
What happens? ! WHAT HAPPENS? ? ?
'Sir,
Please lower your voice.
What happens?
Whatever happens...
I'm sure no one will ever learn a thing! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Denials Kept
Denials kept,
Victimize and kill.
Denials kept,
Protect the sick from ills.
Denials kept,
Do not warm but chill.
Denials kept,
Keep the truth concealed.
Denials kept,
Produce conflicts to fulfill.
Denials kept,
Hides inside those minds that lie...
To themselves with alibis.
Denials kept,
Victimize and kill.
Denials kept,
Protect the sick from ills.
Denials kept,
Do not warm but chill.
Denials kept,
Keep the truth concealed.
Denials kept,
Hides inside those minds that lie...
To themselves with alibis.
Denials kept,
Destroys not create.
Denials kept,
Chases with debates.
Denials kept,
Confuses those who lose.
Denials kept,
Is the choice of fools.
Denials kept,
Hides inside those minds that lie...
To themselves with alibis.
Denials kept,
Victimize and kill.
Denials kept,
Protect the sick from ills.
Denials kept,
Do not warm but chill.
Denials kept,
Keep the truth concealed.
Denials kept,
Produce conflicts...
To fulfill.
Denials kept,
Protect the sick from ills.
Denials kept,
Protect the sick from ills.
Denials kept,
Protect the sick from ills.
Denials kept,
Kills.
Kills.
Kills.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When we did the pilot, I sort of pictured this guy pirating a signal and then this story unfolding of him building this satellite and these robots and watching these bad movies.
quote by Joel Hodgson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXXII: Accident
It’s not a terrorist attack
It’s not a battle of war
It’s just an accident
It’s not natural disaster
It’s not global tragedy
It’s just an accident
It’s not a conspiracy theory
It’s not a character murder
It’s just an accident
It’s not a careless mistake
It’s not a wrong decision
It’s just an accident
It’s not a misfortune
It’s not a twisted fate
It’s just an accident
It’s not a planned piracy
It’s not a suicide party
It’s just an accident
It’s not a mechanical failure
It’s not a human error
It’s just an accident
It’s not a crash
It’s not a downfall
It’s just an accident
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yep, You Told Me
A plane crashed
Between Chicago and LA
It's all my fault
I didn't do the pre-check
I'm a bit shook-up
Oh Bea
You tried to warn me
You said, 'Young man,
This plane has got to crash
It don't have no pilot
It's running out of gas'
I said, 'Bea,
You just don't see
I'm flying this plane
And the gas will last'
But the engines started to putter
My mind began to flutter
As I held onto the wheel
If it had to smash
I'll die with it
That's the only thing I could see
Then I said,
'Wait a minute
what am I doing
I have to jump'
You know Bea
I'm an injured man
But I'm a living man
That's the way it should be
But the wounds will heal
Again I'll feel
And I don't know
Guess I'll have to see
poem by Roger Harkness
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Reggae Accident
Reggae accident
By: lucas p. gravell
1993
-- spoken:
Okay now, get ready heres your part. now listen to me.
It was a reggae accident
I said a reggae accident
I cant here you
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
Now make room for the band
A reggae accident
Here they come here they come
A reggae accident
I say make room for them
A reggae accident
Ha ha, look out now
It was a reggae accident
A reggae accident
This is not a political statement
Nor is it a farce
In the land of the great bald bird
The rasta man is sparse
He does not like our urban jungle
Or our capitalistic nightmare
He does not believe in auto insurance
Mon I dont believe that is fair
It was a reggae accident
Four rastas in a rambler
A reggae accident
They came from out of nowhere
A reggae accident
They were smoking some spliff cigars
A reggae accident
They totaled out my car
I lost the case that sealed my fate
Last week in municipal court
The judge ruled for rasta restitution
Of a most peculiar sort
Now theres four stoned faces at my dinner table
And my wife wonders how come
She does not mind the extra mouths to feed
As much as she minds those after dinner drums
We sing was a reggae accident
Four rastas eating pasta
A reggae accident
Pass the parmesan please
A reggae accident
How does a rasta spell relief
A reggae accident
No problem mon, pass the spliff
Oh reggae down...
Now the sun shines on the isle of jamaica
As its done since time began
No problem says the rasta mon
When I asked to join his band
You see I sold my house I quit my job
I left that narrow-minded wife
And I moved to the island of jamaica ya
Just to live that rasta life
It was a reggae accident
Four rastas in a rambler
A reggae accident
They came from out of nowhere
A reggae accident
They were smoking some spliff cigars
A reggae accident
Now Ive become a rasta star
It was a reggae accident
Look out world
A reggae accident
You know the harder they come
A reggae accident
The harder they fall one and all
A reggae accident
It was just an accident one day
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
-- spoken:
Come back, come back to jamaica
Come back to the way things used to be
Ya, ya lets play some dominoes now mon
Come on...
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Things First
There we were, on our flight to London, Paris and Rome
When I realized we must immediately return home
I insisted the Pilot turn the plane around
And get us back down on the ground
The pilot hemmed, jawed and hawed
After all, it was Europe we were headed toward
But when he finally understood, he agreed
To turn the plane around 180 degrees
So we wouldn’t visit the Eiffel Tower, or London’s Big Ben
Forget about the audience with The Pope in the Vatican
It was first things first and I understandably reckoned
That compared to where we were headed, they all came in second
After landing, we grabbed a cab and home we went
Got dollied up for our important event
We dared not be late, couldn’t be tardy
For our annual Writers Club holiday party
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Country Alone
There is dreaming land and happy country
Cursed and blessed by her beauty alone
The lost children of the country
Foreign in sweet home alone
Do not understand country
Hardly meaning own name alone
Some praise the country
Some leave and laugh alone
Emptying nectar of country
Satisfying their belly alone
Forget about future seed country
Fight living and growing alone
So tragic for the country
Eaten by her child alone
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I fly away from Tanzania
I fly away from Tanzania
and as the plane turns
over Dar es-Salaam,
I see the statue
of the black man
breaking his chains
and I wonder
who is really free
in a land of poverty?
The sea is dark blue
and a flotilla of small boats
are carrying tobacco, coffee
and cotton to ships
in the deeper water.
The great country
stretches out under the plane
and the massai mara planes
looks as if it goes on
into infinity
and I plan to visit
the Serengeti National Park,
to go to Zanzibar
and to climb mount mount Kilimanjaro
when I return
Three weeks of erecting cell phone towers
flew past in a blink of a eye
and I am going home again
and the Nyasa Lake
passes like a blue sea
under the plane.
Johannesburg international is hot
and it’s the beginning of spring
and the Wimpy has got
cheap burgers
and bottomless Coke
and I drink
as if coming out of the desert
and it’s great to be back
in my own country again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Amateur Hour
Dont make me sad
Talking bout tomorrow
Its not so bad
We were doing fine just then
Youll move on up, youll move on out
And you wont cry
cause your amateur hour is over
Youre only going where Ive been
And youll see what Ive seen
Youre no amateur - amateur
You know if someone likes your face
Youd be a fool to stay strictly amateur
Its strictly for amateurs
The world could be a better place
If some of us could stay
Amateurs
Theres no more time
To think about the way ahead
Just miss one line
Fall over - youll be left for dead
Your heart will play no part except
When memories of your amateur hour take over
Then screw yourself into a ball
And keep it rolling on
Youre no amateur - amateur
You know if someone likes your face
Youd be a fool to stay strictly amateur
Its strictly for amateurs
The world could be a better place
If some of us could stay
Amateurs
Dont make me sad
Its not so bad
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Between the amateur and the professional... there is a difference not only in degree but in kind. The skillful man is, within the function of his skill, a different psychological organization... A tennis player or a watchmaker or an airplane pilot is an automatism but he is also criticism and wisdom.
quote by Bernard De Voto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aearial Painting
Aerial Painting
The painting in the hall of an old bi-plane flying
a across a blue sky, was different this morning,
it had landed by a waterfall and the pilots stood
leaning against the plane’s fuselage slowly
smoking a cigarette, eyes closed enjoying every
moment, every inhale of scented tobacco.
I looked at the painting again the sky was dark,
there was lightning in the air the pilot had flown to
the front and collided with a barrage balloon,
the plane was a broken as thrown to the ground by
a spoilt boy who had wanted a fire-engine for his
birthday, and know only the blue sky prevails.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Watching Me Watching You
I sit by the cutting on the beaconsfield line.
Hes watching me watching the trains go by.
And they move so fast --- boy, they really fly.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the way he stares --- feel like locking my door
And pulling my phone from the wall.
His eyes, like lights from a laser, burn
Making my hair stand --- making the goose-bumps crawl.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
At the cocktail party with a bucks fizz in my hand
I feel him watching me watching the girls go by.
And they move so smooth without even trying.
Hes still watching me watching you watching the
Trains go by.
And the crowd thins and he moves up close but he doesnt speak.
I have to look the other way.
But curiosity gets the better part of me and I peek:
Got two drinks in his hand --- see his lips move ---
What the hells he trying to say.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Im watching you watching him watching me
Watching stares.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching
The trains go by.
Hes watching me watching you watching him
Watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me.
Hes watching me watching you watching him watching me watching him watching.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A London Plane-Tree
Green is the plane-tree in the square,
The other trees are brown;
They droop and pine for country air;
The plane-tree loves the town.
Here from my garret-pane, I mark
The plane-tree bud and blow,
Shed her recuperative bark,
And spread her shade below.
Among her branches, in and out,
The city breezes play;
The dun fog wraps her round about;
Above, the smoke curls grey.
Others the country take for choice,
And hold the town in scorn;
But she has listened to the voice
On city breezes borne.
Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Costs crores
Costs crores
To train a pilot.
No body can fly
Without pilot.
You are my only pilot
I cost nothing
It is you to take my flight
Without any hazard.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Tea On The Lawn
It was foretold by sybils three
that in an air crash he would die.
"I'll fool their prophesy," said he;
"You won't get me to go on high.
Howe're the need for haste and speed,
I'll never, never, never fly."
It's true he traveled everywhere,
Afar and near, by land and sea,
Yet he would never go by air
And chance an evil destiny.
Always by ship or rail he went -
For him no sky-plane accident.
Then one day walking on the heath
He watched a pilot chap on high,
And chuckled as he stood beneath
That lad a-looping in the sky.
Feeling so safe and full of glee
Serenely he went home to tea.
With buttered toast he told his wife:
"My dear, you can't say I've been rash;
Three fortune tellers said my life
Would end up in an air-plane crash.
But see! I'm here so safe and sound:
By gad! I'll never leave the ground.
"For me no baptism of air;
It's in my bed I mean to die.
Behold yon crazy fool up there,
A-cutting capers in the sky.
His motor makes a devilish din . . .
Look! Look! He's gone into a spin.
"He's dashing downward - "Oh my God!" . . .
Alas! he never finished tea.
The motor ploughed the garden sod
And in the crash a corpse was he:
Proving that no man can frustrate
The merciless design of Fate.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Politicians
Politicians, what are you about,
You are supposed to sort things out,
In Parliament, the seat of power,
Well, lets face it, you're a real shower,
For do you govern the country right
On our behalf, I don't think so, quite,
We really do not have a chance,
Listening to you, there's no advance.
It seems the simplest things we need
If left to you, all go to seed,
We wait, we wonder, we can't see why
It takes so long - Oh, how we sigh,
When all your talking comes to now't,
If left to us, we'd well sort out
These problems of our country's ills,
Without resorting to Westminster's pills.
Members of Parliament, what's your game,
Come along now, take the blame,
We put you in your higher state,
And yet to us you can't relate,
It seems you fleece our pockets well,
And, in due course, your chests you swell,
You give no answers, talk in riddles,
There you stand, playing your 'fiddles'.
At question time when doing 'biz',
Hot air! Hot air! That's all it is,
We vote you in, we feel disgraced,
We need to have our brains replaced,
So off you go, it's time to leave,
No good to stay, when you can't achieve,
So who'd run the country. well, that's well known,
It's men running business's of their own.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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In a Country
My love and I are inventing a country, which we
can already see taking shape, as if wheels were
passing through yellow mud. But there is a prob-
lem: if we put a river in the country, it will thaw
and begin flooding. If we put the river on the bor-
der, there will be trouble. If we forget about the
river, there will be no way out. There is already a
sky over that country, waiting for clouds or smoke.
Birds have flown into it, too. Each evening more
trees fill with their eyes, and what they see we can
never erase.
One day it was snowing heavily, and again we were
lying in bed, watching our country: we could
make out the wide river for the first time, blue and
moving. We seemed to be getting closer; we saw
our wheel tracks leading into it and curving out
of sight behind us. It looked like the land we had
left, some smoke in the distance, but I wasn't sure.
There were birds calling. The creaking of our
wheels. And as we entered that country, it felt as if
someone was touching our bare shoulders, lightly,
for the last time.
poem by Larry Levis
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I would hate to think I am not an amature. An amateur is one who loves what he is doing. Very often, I'm afraid, the professional hates what he is doing. So, I'd rather be an amateur.
quote by Yehudi Menuhin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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