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robboyland
25th Oct 2001, 23:27
I'm not flying at the moment; so suffering boredom. So I wrote this and proved that you can break all the rules of scansion, metre and rhyme.


PFL's
My FI pulls back the throttle
Informs me I have engine trouble
A checklist rant of vast proportion
And "Engine fire", comes the caution
Flaps selected, nose to floor
ninety-five I'm looking for
To starve the fire of the air
Below the traffic unaware
As we plumet to the ground
"Is fire out?" I try to sound
As though I'm in complete control
And not about to make a hole
"Affirm" response from my FI
Today we are not going to die
But I must rally senses now
As my FI points to a cow
Whose size begins to fill the screen
I must pull up or he will scream
So back I pull and not too soon
Succesfully manoeuvred zoom
Saccadic eyes I search for fields
Whose size and shape somewhat concealed
By surface, slope and power lines
I'm quickly running out of time
And then I spot my field of choice
I point it out with cautious voice
For if I'm wrong, a likely slap
As plane hits wire and spark jumps gap
Align the nose, account for drift
1000 feet, Oh God I've missed!
So clear the engine, play your ace
Exam technique with no disgrace
And getting closer to the ground
My FI says "Go around"
Carb heat cold, apply full throttle
Prevent the yaw or I'm in trouble
"Return to OATS" my FI states
And now relaxed I turn for base
I steel a glance of FI's face
No emotion, not a trace
No perspiration, or a mutter
Dead-pan, calm, what a Fu***r!
But then again he's taught me how
To stop myself from hitting cows
As my FI looks out and dreams
Of triple 7's and LCD's
Since countless times he's been to hell
Making students PFL.

OATS is for Oxford Air Training School.

Tinstaafl
26th Oct 2001, 21:58
Marvelous poem!