Hey fellow fliers,
There is a poem and I can't find it for the life of me. I forget if it is "The Seat" or "The Chair", anyone know what I am talking about or where I could find it?

 

I'm not sure if this is it. Although this is a classic aviation Poem

High Flight
by John Gillespie Magee
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 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.

 

No afraid not, thanks though.

 

I can't find that one but how about-

I Chop Some Parsley While Listening To
Art Blakey's Version Of "Three Blind Mice"

And I start wondering how they came to be blind.
If it was congenital, they could be brothers and sister,
and I think of the poor mother
brooding over her sightless young triplets.

Or was it a common accident, all three caught
in a searing explosion, a firework perhaps?
If not,
if each came to his or her blindness separately,

how did they ever manage to find one another?
Would it not be difficult for a blind mouse
to locate even one fellow mouse with vision
let alone two other blind ones?

And how, in their tiny darkness,
could they possibly have run after a farmer's wife
or anyone else's wife for that matter?
Not to mention why.

Just so she could cut off their tails
with a carving knife, is the cynic's answer,
but the thought of them without eyes
and now without tails to trail through the moist grass

or slip around the corner of a baseboard
has the cynic who always lounges within me
up off his couch and at the window
trying to hide the rising softness that he feels.

By now I am on to dicing an onion
which might account for the wet stinging
in my own eyes, though Freddie Hubbard's
mournful trumpet on "Blue Moon,"

which happens to be the next cut,
cannot be said to be making matters any better.

-Billy Collins

 

I could sit in a chair all day,

I could sit in a chair and get carried away

Just sat in a chair all day.



I could sit in a chair all day

I could sit in a chair and rant and moan

I could sit in a chair and cry into the phone

As I sat in my chair all day.



I could sit in a chair and cry.

I could bring several tears to a plexi glass eye,

And still sit in this chair all day.



I could sit in a chair all day,

But my worries and cares would not melt away,

If I sat in that chair all day.



I could sit in a chair all day,

Until doctors came in and took me away.

‘Cos I sat in a chair all day.



I could sit in a chair all day

And weep with regret as my life slowly froze

I could sit in a chair all day

As silvery cobwebs covered my clothes,

I could sit in a chair all day.



I could sit in a chair all day

‘Til my limbs ceased up and withered away,

‘Til my mouth went dry with nothing to say,

‘Til my heart and my blood turned a dull shade of grey

As I sat in that chair that had turned into me

And myself became glued

And I couldn’t get free

And my eyes became leather

And now couldn’t see

Me

sat in this chair all day!

©Lynda M Roberts 2011