The Children Of Magenta

A Poem by R. S. Morris

Forty years ago in aviation.

NDB's and VOR's ruled.
Fly to the needle to intercept.
Just keep it centered fool.

The instructors would scream and yell.
Drum it in till you got it right.
Today, it's notes without capital letters.
Can't let the snowflakes get uptight.

Billions of miles flown by that needle.
It was the only way we knew.
No computers or F.M.S's.
Keep the lower brown and the top blue.

Paper charts to know your route.
Like you used in an old Ford car
You knew what state you were over.
Usually, we were never off by too far.

Technology has taken over.
Computers have changed the scene.
I'm not sure if it's for the better.
Those that flew then know what I mean.

Today, just like in a car
Type in your start and end.
Wait for the screen to figure it out,
for the magenta line to begin.

The pilots of today, no need to know.
The left right needle dance.
The push pull of the radio beacon.
The audio tones and marker lamps.

Flying skill has left the building,
It's a new world, better they say.
Today, can't go without copilot George.
It's what we used to do everyday.

Smells, vibrations, changes in the air.
Before anything was heard or seen.
Knew from instinct, somethin's not right.
Today, it's just messages on a screen.

Didn't have SIDS or STARS.
RNAV arrivals, there were none.
A black & white monochrome radar.
XM satellite was only in The Jetsons.

I'm glad I flew in the old days.
Dodging thunderstorms over the Atlantic.
I'm glad I'm able to taste the new.
The old was definitely more romantic.

One day, pilots will be history.
Planes already fly by themselves.
A golden era lost forever.
I'm glad I got to fly it, myself.

© 2019 R. S. Morris

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Reviews

kentuck14

R. S.
Well it's like Dorthy told her dog: We ain't in Kansas anymore! Think of those guys in early aviation . . . flying, literally, by the seat of their pants!! Thanks for sharing your poems . . . and welcome to Writer's Cafe.
Tom