Aviation Christmas Poems

[Redwine]

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS -- AVIATION STYLE
Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.
The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.
When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.
He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.
He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!
With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name:
"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?
While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."
He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho- ho..."
He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.
His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.
He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low- lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.
And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"
And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"
He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed through the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."


Author unknown

[flying on one engine]

Santa Claus, like all pilots, gets regular visits Transport Canada, and it was shortly before Christmas when the TC examiner arrived.

In preparation, Santa had the elves wash the sled and bathe all the
reindeer. Santa got his logbook out and made sure all his paperwork
was in order.

The examiner walked slowly around the sled. He checked the reindeer
harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolph's nose. He painstakingly
reviewed Santa's weight and balance calculations for the sled's
enormous payload. Finally, they were ready for the check-ride.
Santa got in, fastened his seatbelt and shoulder harness, and
checked the compass. Then the examiner hopped in carrying, to
Santa's surprise, a shotgun.

"What's that for?" asked Santa incredulously.

The examiner winked and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you this,
but - on take-off - you're gonna lose an engine."

[canwhitewolf]

santas single engine check ride

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIvDryR-F_g

[Beechball]

Could somebody post the "Twas The Night Before Christmas", the Santa Clause Pilot version . The one with his filing a flight plan and ATC and stuff in the verses. Can't find it anywhere online and would like to have it for my kids to read.
Thanks.

[Ralliart]

'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp, Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ. The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care, in hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots, with gusts from two-forty at 39 knots. I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up, and settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter, I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter. A voice clearly heard over static and snow, Called for clearance to land at the airport below.

He barked his transmission so lively and quick, I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick"; I ran to the panel to turn up the lights, the better to welcome this magical flight.

He called his position, no room for denial, "St. Nicholas One, turning left onto final." And what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came, as he passed all fixes, he called them by name: "Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun! On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he taking?

While controllers were sitting, and scratching their head, they phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread, the message they left was both urgent and dour: "When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking, then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking." He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh and stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho- ho..."

He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk, I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks. His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost and his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale, and he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale. His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly, His boots were as black as a crop duster¹s belly.

He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red, and he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low- lead." He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump, I knew he was anxious for draining the sump.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work, and I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk. He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief, then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log, these reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog. He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear, then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk, He called up the tower for clearance and squawk. "Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction, Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion."

He sped down the runway, the best of the best, "Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west." Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed through the night, "Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

Merry Christmas

[CD]

Here is one version for ya:

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,
Not an airplane was stirring, not even a Champ.
The aircraft were fastened to tiedowns with care,
In hopes that come morning, they all would be there.

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,
With gusts from two-forty at 39 knots.
I slumped at the fuel desk, now finally caught up,
And settled down comfortably, resting my butt.

When the radio lit up with noise and with chatter,
I turned up the scanner to see what was the matter.
A voice clearly heard over static and snow,
Called for clearance to land at the airport below.

He barked his transmission so lively and quick,
I'd have sworn that the call sign he used was "St. Nick".
I ran to the panel to turn up the lights,
The better to welcome this magical flight.

He called his position, no room for denial,
"St. Nicholas One, turnin' left onto final."
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Rutan-built sleigh, with eight Rotax Reindeer!

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,
As he passed all fixes, he called them by name: "Now ringo! Now Tolga!
Now Trini and Bacun!
On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?

While controllers were sittin', and scratchin' their head,
They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,
The message they left was both urgent and dour:
"When Santa pulls in, have him please call the tower."

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparking,
Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to parking."
He slowed to a taxi, turned off of three-oh
And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."

He stepped out of the sleigh, but before he could talk,
I ran out to meet him with my best set of chocks.
His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost
And his beard was all blackened from Reindeer exhaust.

His breath smelled like peppermint, gone slightly stale,
And he puffed on a pipe, but he didn't inhale.
His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,
His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.

He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,
And he asked me to "fill it, with hundred low-lead."
He came dashing in from the snow-covered pump,
I knew he was anxious for drainin' the sump.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And I filled up the sleigh, but I spilled like a jerk.
He came out of the restroom, and sighed in relief,
Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,
These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.
He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,
Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, Clear!"

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,
He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.
"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,
Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"

He sped down the runway, the best of the best,
"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."
Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,
"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

[CD]

You're quick on the draw, there Ralliart...

[CD]

Here is another version...

Twas the night before Security

'Twas the Night Before Check-In and I had unpacking to do-
Removing all my sharp objects and my wine corkscrew.
Can't carry our items that are for personal use,
or those that we need if a screw comes loose.

Checked baggage for us is not an option you see,
we leave the simplest of items, including our equipment key.
Now if by chance we make the sensor bell ring,
security can go through our personal things.

From Tampons to Trojans, bras and briefs,
dirty laundry is shown to all passengers and thief's.
We're asked to stand, arms out from our sides,
With our legs outstretched, wand on our hides.

You say we have authority, to gain passenger respect,
but we're not trustworthy enough, to pass a security check.
An unknown employee decides if I am okay-
To be given a crash axe and a plane to fly away.

Now for us who on the plane we go,
care greatly about our personal safety you know.
Yet Rampers, Mechanics, Food Service and Fleet -
Not much security for those, who don't fly in a seat!

Big Security for us Flight Crews to go through,
so tell me now - Why don't those other people go through too?
Grumbling and complaining the passengers they board.
Mad at long lines, but it's due to the luggage they hoard!

The passengers don't get it - the airlines don't see,
that to limit the "hand-carrieds" would be an outstanding key.
Yes, bring on your baseball bats, and your roller bags too,
wheels with bungie cords - and these aren't weapons to you?

No leatherman's for us, no screwdrivers will do.
Better take away our neckties - one pull on those and we would be through.
The Lav doesn't flush, a bin won't shut -
A latch is loose and I've nothing that will cut.

A carrier won't open so your drink I can't pour,
And we certainly can't stop at the local hardware store.
Wine in First Class? You must be dreaming -
My corkscrew was taken in Security Screening!

You want us to search - a bomb scare you say?
But look at those overheads - We'll be here all day!
A disturbance on board? A passenger fray?
Grab the Flex Cuffs - they will save the day!

Woops, on too tight? And the wrong passenger to boot?
No scissors or pliers - Go get the Crash Axe! What a hoot!
Flightdeck's are locked, they are safe but still prone,
and the Flight Attendants too, want to make it home.

So where are our Sky Marshals, so safe we can be?
I say covering the Legislators, who want to feel free.
My trip is now over, my layover in sight.
I'd like to settle down for a good rest tonight.

But my nails are broken and my nose hairs are loose,
so without trimmers or clippers what I am to use?
Can't stitch or sew my buttons back on,
to carry scissors and needles by the Crew is all wrong.

So who is more secure - is it them or is it us-
Who you give a multi-million dollar airplane to fly in, totally in trust.
Trained to save lives but not responsible enough,
might as well cut off our hands or put them in cuffs.

Our day starts again and we're expected to smile.
We always seem to go the Crew Member's extra mile.
But keep in mind at the end of your day -
That this heavy security for us is not okay.

Your Pilots and Flight Attendants are alone on the flights they go -
Yet not everyone who has plane access has been checked for weapons you know.
Make it fair for us all, the same Security Check Screen -
Or it won't be long before we will be making a big scene.

Then night after night as we fly out of sight,
you'll know we've done all we can, to give you - Our passengers - a safe flight!

[Guido]

Aw man, I prefer Santa's flight test... <edited to preserve the punchline of the following joke...>

edit: thanks, CD

[CD]

Santa and TC

Santa Claus, like all pilots, gets regular visits from Transport Canada, and the Transport Inspector arrived last week for the pre Christmas flight check.

In preparation, Santa had the elves wash the sled and bathe all the reindeer. Santa got his logbook out and made sure all his paperwork was in order. He knew they would examine all his equipment and truly put Santa's flying skills to the test...

The Inspector walked slowly around the sled. He checked the reindeer harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolf's nose. He painstakingly reviewed Santa's weight and balance calculations for sled's enormous payload.

Finally, they were ready for the checkride. Santa got in and fastened his seatbelt and shoulder harness and checked the compass. Then the Inspector hopped in carrying, to Santa's surprise, a shotgun.

"What's that for?!?" asked Santa incredulously.

The Inspector winked and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you this ahead of time," as he leaned over to whisper in Santa's ear, "but you're gonna lose an engine on takeoff."

[Beechball]

Thank-you people! That's exactly the stuff I was looking for.
Great Work!

Merry Christmas!

[32a]

http://people.cornell.edu/pages/bs16/Ch ... before.txt

Military Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,
Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.
Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds,
As enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.

Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube,
Was triply-redundant, linked to the Blue Cube,
And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense
That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.

When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter
I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter;
I increased the gain and then, quick as a flash,
Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.

And there found the source of the warning we'd heeded:
An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.
"Alert status red!" went the word down the wire,
As we gave every system the codes that meant "FIRE!"

On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk!
And scramble our fighters--let's send the whole flock!
Launch decoys and missiles! Use chaff by the yard!
Get the kitchen sink up! Call the National Guard!

They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged.
Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,
And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,
As the foe met his fate in the high arctic night.

So we sent out some recon to look for debris,
Yet all that they found, both on land and on sea
Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,
Broken sleigh bells, white hair, and a deer's parachute.

Now it isn't quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.
There are unhappy kids in each village and town.
For the Spirit of Christmas can't hope to evade
All the web of defenses we've carefully made.

But a crash program's on: Working hard, night and day,
All the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.

So let's wait for next Christmas,
in cheer and in health,
For the future has hope:
Santa's coming by stealth!

Thanks to Rowland Croucher

[Single-Engine IFR]

T'was the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Were empties and butts left around by some louse.

The last quart I'd hid by the chimney with care,
Had been swiped by some bum who had found it there.

My guests had long since poured into their beds,
To awake in the morning with some gawd-awful heads.

My wife too felt old with her head in my lap,
While, me, I was dying for just one more nightcap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a smell,
I sprang to my feet to see what-in-the-hell.

Away to the window I tore like a flash,
Stubbed my toe on the desk and broke a chair with a crash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Made me think of the heating bill and all that I owe.

When what to my blood-shot eyes should show up,
But eight bloated reindeer and a loaded beer truck.

With a little old driver who looked like a hick,
Than I saw it was Santa, as tight as a tick.

Like Sherman tanks the reindeer they came,
And he hiccuped and belched and called them by name.

On Schenley, on Seagram, we aint got all night,
You too Haig and Haig and you Black and White.

Get on to the roof, get the hell off the wall,
Get along you dummies, we've got a long haul.

So up on the roof went the reindeer and truck,
But a tree branch hit Santa before he could duck.

And then in a twinkling, I heard from above,
A hell of a noise that was no cooing dove.

Then I pulled in my head and cocked a sharp ear,
And down the chimney he came right smack on his rear.

He had pints and quarts in the sack of his back,
And breath that could blow a train off the track.

He was dressed all in red with fur cuffs on his pants,
And he squirmed like he had ants in his pants.

His droll little mouth made him look a bit wacky,
And the beard on his chin was all stained with tabaccy.

He was jolly and plump and tried to stand upright,
But he couldn't fool me, he was high as a kite.

He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And missed half of the stockings, (the plastered old jerk).

Then placing his thumb to the end of his nose,
He flipped me the bird, and up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his truck at so fast a pace,
He fell over his feet and flat on his face.

But I heard him yell as he flew out of sight,
Merry Christmas you rummies, now really get tight.

[200hr Wonder]

Had to dig up some good Christmas cheer for yesteryear

[200hr Wonder]

Had to dig up some good Christmas cheer for yesteryear