Flight of the Aeroflot Star
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Above the tarmac, where the city sprawls,
A silver arrow answers distant calls.
Not linen smooth, but canvas rough and deep,
Where frantic strokes the promised speed do keep.
The Concordski, a vision white and sleek,
Ascends a sky the Master’s hands did speak.
In impasto clouds, the blue and ochre blend,
As frantic swirls around the vessel bend.
A roar that rips the oil-thick, heavy air,
A dream of travel, born of Soviet care.
The sweeping brush-strokes on the wings are caught,
A contrail bright with fire that the burners brought.
Below, the watchers, dark and small they stand,
Gazing upon the wonder of the land.
But higher still, where light and texture gleam,
Flies CCCP-77110 in a painted dream.
A swirling vortex of the painter’s mind,
A rush of speed for all of humankind.
A supersonic brush upon the breeze,
Across a sky of textured, painted seas.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 