Pottery from yours only the FW 190 D-9 Pilot

[QBlackDeathQ]

цензуре!

[Gilly]

Pottery or poetry? Came to look at the beautiful renderings of aircraft in clay- most disappointed!!!!!

Edit: I've added one!!

[QBlackDeathQ]

Originally Posted by Gilly

Pottery or poetry? Came to look at the beautiful renderings of aircraft in clay- most disappointed!!!!!

Look at the above it says poetry. In the main menu it says pottery ,its kinda deep but yeah people who fought during WWII were like ceramics very hard and tough men but they also felt.
Like ceramics which is used in today's armor, ceramics are very strong but in everyday life ceramics are very brittle. Hence they were very tough in war but felt after it was said and done for.
Ceramics are tough but only when bound together in civilian life you don't really have that. Only in war do you really find brotherhood, in war you find the best and the worst of humanity, but all in all I am very sorry you were disappointed.

[olife]

Originally Posted by QBlackDeathQ

This is a poem in reflection dedicated to those who died in the skies during WWII.

"WE SOARED"

O' how we soared, O' how we fought and roared within this war. O' how that blue sky dies with flame, smoke and the echos of those we broke, yet we fly. We fly and die with the joy of seeing that blue sky just one more time. To see the sky so alive it makes us cry knowing it will die in flames, smoke and with the echoes of those we broke. So we die. . . .just to fly and see that blue sky so alive just for just one more time.


Many respect to those who fought and died in the sky during WWII. We were enemies and we were friends, but at the end we were brave and served our countries. To those brave souls who died and those who are still alive. Thank you.

hello bro!

NICE ONE AND GREAT POST!!GREAT RESPECT FOR THOSE COURAGEOUS YOUNG GUYS WHO FOUGHT AND DIED FOR THE FREEDOM.

[QBlackDeathQ]

цензуре!

[olife]

Originally Posted by QBlackDeathQ

Thank you for your respect and recognition my friend Olife-

a man who post this sort of thread is A MAN OF HONOR,RESPECT TO U TOO!!!

i want to share with u guys the real story of the french BREGUET 693 assault planes sacrifice in 1940,this a real story wrote by PIERRE CLOSTERMANN ( THE FIRST WW2 FRENCH ACE) in memory of those courageous crews who did the ultimate sacrifice for FRANCE,i think that 60 or 70 % of the breguet 693 assault planes crews were killed ,pow or missed in action when they attacked the germans ground convoys protect by the terrible flak and luftwaffe.this is an exemple of their story...


Excerpt from "Fire of Heaven" by Pierre Clostermann
Pages 16-23
On May 12, 1940 at Maastricht


"... It Maestricht the hammer was given initially. The narrow streets of the small Dutch town beyond the steady stream of tanks and trucks flowing along the banks of the Meuse to the bridge of boats launched by the German engineers alongside the collapsed structures of the railway viaduct.
All this mass of vehicles on the roads swept Tongeren and Bilsen, and rushes endlessly on the bridges intact to the Albert Canal and Weldwezelt Vroenhoven.
A few miles south, Fort Eben-Emael, with multicolored glaze covered with parachutes and works crowned with smoke, gets killed. The haggard defenders out of the bunkers smashed in stumble and slide down toward the plain amid the carcasses of gliders, covered by machine guns from enemy paratroopers ...
On the dark waters of the canal, the inflatables empty special sections assault, down to the drift.
In the space of a few square miles, bounded on the west by the Albert Canal - huge and unnecessary anti-tank ditch - north flanked by Maas Maastricht Canal and south-east by the river that winds Jaar in flooded meadows Seven Panzer divisonen crowded ...
Led one by one on the bridges that were blown by the heads of traffic to the Wehrmacht, covered with sweat and dust, tanks and armored cars to pass through six wheels slowly swinging their long antennae radio.
But no sooner on land, in a thundering exhausts and the tilling of their macadam steel tracks, armored accelerate ...
Thrashing impregnable defenses - tears of plans so sure and collapse of perfect features ...
And then, to delay the inevitable, our attack aircraft, bombers and fighter are cruelly thrown into the furnace in small packages ridiculous.
Who has seen the diluted in the vast sky?
Poor French planes left in the clear morning in May 1940 and never returned, picked up on by the Messerschmitt or caught in passing by flak!
Yes, the flak. Because it is already a nightmare for drivers of AAA Auto - small guns with long pipes venomous spitting jets of steel beads that mow the wings and blind - scattered everywhere by the Germans in their path.
German battalion each file to the passage of reinforcements flak. The quadruple 20 mm anchored firmly in the poplar of the bank and new carriages are lowered by 37 mm platform trucks. The gunners in shirtsleeves stack chargers and stumble upon the masses of empty shells.
The observation center is attached to the tall chimney of a brick, and binoculars for eyes, heads Battery monitor the valley of the Meuse.
Every fifty meters along the canal, about four kilometers from the bridge Vroenhoven that of Veldwezelt, there is a piece of flak ...
Under their protection, the convoys of trucks parading endlessly, loaded with troops.
What could they do?
The Luftwaffe is mistress of the sky, and the two previous warnings have proved it.
All around the fields are strewn with charred carcasses of planes - wings crushed, dismembered fuselage, aluminum scrap lamentable identified grass dead, blackened by fire and oil tanks ruptured. Sometimes, some German engineers dug a hasty pit where the poor dismembered bodies of the crew are sleeping, wrapped in silk of their parachutes ...
Then it is still the dance of white flares warning that rise toward the blue sky, heralding a new sacrifice.
Whistles - the shrill horns flug-alarm.
Even before the aircraft is in sight, the two hundred tubes flak rebounded and opened fire - amazing drum roll prelude to execution.
Wreaths of smoke running along the towpath, and a thousand dazzling dishes of 20 mm tracers. Echafaudent a mosaic of black and gray bursts.
The vehicles stopped - the soldiers in field gray steps clinging to turn their heads and wonder. Suddenly the driver cut the ignition and jump into the moat, the men kneel behind the caterpillars and trees ...
Six planes arise, resulting in gale flush with the brick towers of Maastricht. Quick, graceful - fuselage drop tadpole-shaped, suspended fine median wings - Breguet 693 of the assault group 1 / 54 darken, firing their engines and Gnome Rhone 14M on frail drift direction lights up perched on the depth ...
From the order of a perfect level refused the right training burst into heartrending crescendo in the range of ten thousand horses rampage. Each aircraft rocketing through the tracer in beads, clearly showing his number painted on the gray cabin, then fall back and bites and soul, open bomb bay ...
Head, a motor already on fire, the Breguet No. 49 (Lieutenant Pilot Delattre - gunner Warrant Di Mateo) dropped its six small bombs that explode in the middle and bounced covered trucks. Comet causing a long tail of flames, he turned, and his heroic pilot comes back, taking the road in a row under the fire of his cannon and machine guns of its fixed. Stock of a wing on the other, helpless, it triggers and crashed into a prodigious burst of sparks on a group of armored cars to cross that black crushed by the shock of six tons launched five hundred earlier.
The Breguet No. 21 (pilot lieutenant Gady - gunner Sergeant Paul Cabaret) made his pass at overspeed, bombard and plunges into the canal cut, flush with water, pressed by the black flakes. Incidentally he shot two posts of flak gunners whose collapse on the carriages. He escapes ...
The third attack aircraft through the glowing ribbons that line the sky. The guns of the DCA panting accompany its trajectory a thousand deadly debris. Mingled with the din of exploding bombs and the roar of engines, four explosions sounded dry, metallic - four impacts on the wings thin, four threads of smoke. The Breguet No. 10 (pilot Chief Warrant Officer Richard, gunner Chief Warrant Officer Renaudie) comes immediately as a torch.
The pilot throttled back, lowers its shutters, sliding suddenly arises and gear up, with a rustling of sheets, in a marshy meadow ...
There is a lull in the barrage of flak - the servants are turning undecided. A new section of three Breguet who faked to Tongeren, back to enemy columns perpendicular bottled so low that they seem to slide on his belly in a meadow to another ...
The Breguet No. 7, No. 9 and No. 4 (pilot Henry, Goyer and Boulanger, Guyard-gunners Besson, Turpin and Roux - were all three killed by flak Tongeren few minutes later) take advantage of this floating , slip through the trees, bomb and strafe and jump the curtain of poplars - flak but still won, because two of them get under their fuselage a heavy plume of black smoke ...
The newcomers are caught in the mesh net tracer impenetrable. The wings of the Breguet No. 14 (driver, commander Plou, commander of the 1 / 54) are shredded, and the plane unbalanced aileron ripped mowing the trees lining the road, bounced and hit in a cloud of dust quickly hemmed flames ...
N ° 19 (piloted by Lieutenant Leleu), a torrent of fire flowing over twenty meters from its punctured tanks suddenly pitched up, full throttle and two dark figures stand out of the cab in twirling - two parachutes bloom, nailed place while the aircraft turns into a spin.
The last of the Breguet - N ° 22 (Blondet Lieutenant Pilot) - booster engines, power limits disengaged, starts to turn, desperate, surrounded by multicolored tracers slamming their lashes underneath. He sows his bombs diagonally on a park of artillery tractors. Touched, the Breguet flickers and aluminum scrap torn by bullets fly in his wake, but he still goes by a miracle, and disappears into the thick smoke from fires raging along the road ...
It's over.
On the floor a hundred blazing vehicles, and burning gasoline eating away at the tar.
The sky is flecked with dense clusters of bursts and streaked with gray streaks of tracer.
Tongeren managed muffled amid the roar of the engines of the column that starts, the crackle of the flak that hounds in passing on the Breguet survivor ...
And tanks, and trucks begin to move again, irresistible mass.
Eight had four minutes of rest!
The flak still there, and sacrifice continues ...
After this will be the Breguet Lioré and Olivier 45, while our Curtiss, our and our Dewoitine Morane Dornier and cling to bite into the flesh of the Luftwaffe. Messerschmitt still dancing round their death in our sky.
Thousand aerial victories, but also five hundred pilots killed because they were too little and it was too late!
The fire jumped from the sky to another - ocher plains of Poland in the Vosges green, soot from London to the snows of Russia and the blue Pacific from Alaska to the ice ...
Too little - too late!

It's over.

[QBlackDeathQ]

цензуре!

[olife]

Originally Posted by QBlackDeathQ

Very powerful story, the courage it must have taken.

yes bro!!!THANKS A LOT FOR YOUR RESPECT!!!

[Robotic Pope]

Originally Posted by QBlackDeathQ

Many respect to those who fought and died in the sky during WWII. We were enemies and we were friends, but at the end we were brave and served our countries. To those brave souls who died and those who are still alive. Thank you.

+1. Respect.

crazy typo by the way lol
This is for you Gilly, though i'm affaid it hasn't been in the kiln yet. What plane do you think it could be?

[winny]

I've seen some wierd threads in my time.

This one is right up there. It's great.

You can't have a poetry thread without 'High Flight'

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 windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
Killed 11 December 1941

(Repectfull Pause.....)





And for the pottery fans..