Monuments and Poetry

Mischievous, laughing boys, who grew

To quick manhood to be 'The Few'

Who flew above all human call

Through Summer's height to Autumn's fall,

Infring'd the sanctity of space

In freedom's name-and died in grace;

Falling like leaves upon the Weald

To russet-spot on English field,

Their brief, gay, valiant season spent

For us. Our task, their monument,

Nature herself has taken o'er

And has decreed for evermore,

'The Few' shall be remembered by

White chalk marks in a summer sky

That's one of my favorite poems. It's about the Battle of Britain but I don't know who wrote it. Nature may provide a fitting monument with vapor trails, but people have also built an amazing memorial to the battle. It's in London. I actually saw this at night, but it was not lit up and I didn't know what it was - just some walls with bronze statues. I wish I had seen the whole thing:

The story about is happening in each panel is awesome too. Monuments should be representational and realistic. It tells the story better, and the story is what people remember.
Here's another good poem:

High Flight

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. Hov'ring 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 windswept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or even eagle flew -

And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod

The high untresspassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee

No 412 squadron, RCAF

Killed 11 December 1941

He wrote that after flying a Spitfire for the first time. Awesome, huh? Here's a whole bunch of poems about flying.

I like this one:

An airman is always quite free, sir.
To land with a bump or a greaser.
Any old clunk,
can land with a thump,
But pro's go for smoothie crowd pleasers.

— Anon.

And this one:

The Co-pilot
By Keith Murray (Capt Colonial Airlines).
Written in 1941 and first published in October 1942 in
"The Airline Pilot" the monthly magazine of US ALPA.

I am the co-pilot, I sit on the right,


It’s up to me to be quick and bright;


I never talk back for I have regrets,


But I have to remember what the Captain forgets.

I make out the flight plan and study the weather,


Pull up the gear, stand by to feather;


Make out the mail forms and do the reporting;


And fly the old crate while the Captain is courting.

I take the readings, adjust the power,


Put on the heaters when we’re in a shower;


Tell him where we are on the darkest of night,


And do all the bookwork without any light.

I call for my Captain and buy him cokes;


I always laugh at his corney jokes;


And once in a while when his landings are rusty,


I always come through with, "By gosh it’s gusty".

All in all I’m a general stooge,


As I sit on the right of the man I call "Scrooge";


I guess you think this is past understanding,


But maybe some day he will give me a landing.

I have an mp3 of a different version that I think flows a little better, but this apparently is the original.