10 Poems (Audio Read Aloud) about Flying, Airplanes, Space Ships and Flight

The Airplane
by Rowena Bastin Bennett
An airplane has gigantic wings
But not a feather on her breast;
She only mutters when she sings
And builds a hangar for a nest.
I love to see her stop and start;
She has a little motor heart
That beats and throbs and then is still.
She wears a fan upon her bill.

No eagle flies through sun and rain
So swiftly as an airplane.
I wish she would come swooping down
Between the steeples of the town
And lift me right up off my feet
And take me high above the street,
That all the other boys might see
The little speck that would be me.

The Dirigible
by Ralph Wilhelm Bergengren
The only real airship
That I’ve ever seen
Looked more like a fish
Than a flying machine.

It made me feel funny,
And just as if we
Were all of us down
On the floor of the sea.

A big whale above us
Was taking a swim,
And we little fishes
Were staring at him.

I’ve seen one flying saucer. Only when
by David McCord
I’ve seen one flying saucer. Only when
It flew across our sight in 1910
We little thought about the little men.

But let’s suppose the little men were there
To cozy such a disk through foreign air:
Connecticut was dark, but didn’t scare.

I wonder what they thought of us, and why
They chose the lesser part of Halley’s sky,
And went away and let the years go by

Without return? Or did they not get back
To Mars or Venus through the cosmic flak?
At least they vanished, every spaceman Jack.

Silver Ships
by Mildred Plew Meigs
There are trails that a lad may follow
when the years of his boyhood slip,
but I shall soar like a swallow
on the wings of a Sliver ship,
Guiding my bird of metal
One with her throbbing frame
Floating down like a pedal,
roaring up like a flame

Winding the wind that scatters
Smoke from the chimney’s lip,
tearing the clouds to tatters
with the wings of my Silver Ship

Grazing the broad blue-sky light
up where the falcon’s fare,
riding the realms of twilight
brushed by a comet’s hair.

Snug in my coat of leather,
watching the skyline swing,
shedding the world like a feather
from the tip of a tilted wing.

There are trails that a lad may travel
when the years of his boyhood wane,
but I’ll let a rainbow ravel
through the wings of my silver plane.

Riding in an Airplane
by Dorothy Walter Baruch
Azzoomm, azzoomm loud and strong —
Azzoomm, azzoomm a steady song —
And UP I went
UP and UP
For a ride
In an airplane.

The machinery roarrrred
And whirrred
And jiggled my ears
Yet I
Just sat right
On a chair
Inside that airplane
And made myself
Stare
Out of a window.

There
Way down below
I saw autos
Scuttling along.
They looked to me
Like fast little lady bugs —
So small!
And I saw houses
That seemed to be
Only as big as match boxes —
That’s all!

But the strangest sight
Was when
We came to some clouds!
We stared down
Instead of up
To see them,
And they looked
Like puffs of smoke
From giant cigarettes.

Cockpit in the Clouds
by Dick Dorrance
Two thousand feet beneath our wheels
The city sprawls across the land
Like heaps of children’s blocks outflung,
In tantrums, by a giant hand.
To east a silver spire soars
And seeks to pierce our lower wing.
Above its grasp we drift along,
A tiny, droning, shiny thing.

The noon crowds pack the narrow streets.
The el trains[1] move so slow, so slow.
Amidst their traffic, chaos, life,
The city’s busy millions go.
Up here, aloof, we watch them crawl.
In crystal air we seem to poise
Behind our motor’s throaty roar-
Down there, we’re just another noise.

Night Plane
by Frances Frost
The midnight plane with its flying lights
looks like an unloosed star
wandering west through blue-black night
to where the mountains are,
a star that’s come so close to earth
to tell each quiet farm and little town,
‘Put out your lights, children of earth. Sleep warm.’

Prayer for a Pilot
by Cecil Edric Mornington Roberts
Lord of Sea and Earth and Air,
Listen to the Pilot’s prayer—
Send him wind that’s steady and strong,
Grant that his engine sings the song
Of flawless tone, by which he knows
It shall not fail him where he goes;
Landing, gliding, in curve, half-roll—
Grant him, O Lord, a full control,
That he may learn in heights of Heaven
The rapture altitude has given,
That he shall know the joy they feel
Who ride Thy realms on Birds of Steel.

Flight
by Harold Vinal
They are immortal, voyagers like these,
Bound for supreme and royal latitudes;
They soar beyond the eagle, where it broods,
With Venus and the evening Pleiades;
For in the pale blue Indies of the sky,
They plough, gold-prowed, the Arteries of Air,
Finding an unexplored dimension there—
They leave us Star Maps we may voyage by.

Not Galileo, with his dreaming power,
Not great Columbus, master of the gale,
Chartered for Time such harbors for man’s flight.
Lured by another Odyssey, a Grail,
They climbed the heavens. Byrd in his white hour,
Lindbergh, an eagle sweeping through the night.

High Flight
a sonnet by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds -and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of -wheeled and soared and swung
high in the sunlit silence. Hovering there
I’ve chased the shouting wind along and flung
my eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
where never lark, or even eagle, flew;

and, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
the high untrespassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand and touched the face of God.

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