I am a poetry failure :(

Okay. So I was supposed to be writing a poem every day for a month, what with last month being poetry month and all.
Well, I failed.
I'm a crumb.
Don't even look at me.
I'm a stinking, lowly crumb that can't even write ONE poem A DAY.
Not even a;
Like a blossom fed by gentle rain,
my toilet flush is fueled by pain.
I couldn't even manage that. I'm so depressed :(
But I do have a very good reason. I've been busy flying to Canada to spend time with the woman that I love. Awww
The hanging around Birmingham airport was dull. Although it did get a bit livelier when a guy dropped a metal tray on a marble (effect) floor.
BANG!
Who'da thought that people would be so nervous when there are loud bangs around planes?
I swear, three people had to be removed from the polystyrene ceiling tiles.
Myself, I don't seem to jump around loud bangs or car crashes? My reflexes are sorta backwards? I don't flinch for explosions, but the world falls out of my arse if someone just goes BOO! to me, comic book style. Even if I can see them coming. This provides shear moments of amusement for (A).
The first flight was to Amsterdam's Shirpol?, Sherpol?, something like that, airport. That place is HUGE! People from all around the world seem to gravitate there to buy cheese. Lots and lots of cheese. I saw cheese of every colour and flavour. Cheeses in the shape of cars, buildings, boys and girls snogging, even cheeses that weren't even made of cheese. Although, they may have been display models. I'm not a cheese expert. And to save the poor passengers from having to walk around, from one cheese to the next, they have installed a network of conveyer belts. You just step on and you're magically whisked along by the power of pixies and engineers to your destination (your terminal. Not your ACTUAL destination. Those things are long, but not that long). The place is great though and I heartily recommend you check that place out. Even if you don't need cheese right now, it's still a great place to check out. And if you have kids, why not take them along? They can ride the conveyers while you race back to the car, in a last ditch attempt to lose them and regain some peace and quiet back in your lives.
The plane I was to catch from Shipol? was named Ingrid Bergman. I'm a really nervous flyer, and I spent about 15 minutes debating with myself whether Ingrid sounded like a crasher. I kept watching imaginary news with footage of wreckage, to see if I could envisage the name Ingrid Bergman on the side of a large chunk of deathtrap. I hate flying. In the end, all this was pointless, because I had to climb aboard Ms Bergman if I was ever going to reach Canada. And besides, I KNEW I would make it safely to Canada. The reason why, I will explain later.
The flight was pretty good. My paln (or plan, even) to keep Ingrid in the air using sheer willpower seemed to actually work. Of course it meant a lot of buttock clenching and sweating for 6, 8, 9+ hours, and I couldn't talk AND keep the plane in the air. So a system of grunts and nods had to be established between myself and the people that kept walking past, offering me crackers and microwaved mush. And while I am here, can I thank the person that piled all the complimentary cushions in front of himself before both landing and take off. Thanks buddy! You made me feel so much better.......
There was also the woman that preyed during landing. Sorry, I meant PRAYED. Preying is something else. At least her praying was helping us get down safely. What use was "Mr Cushion Waist"? He was just trying to save himself. Selfish get.
Anyway, I (and the rest of the passengers) arrived safely in Vancouver, where I could finally kiss the beautiful carpet of the airport lounge. Oh, and shortly after, kiss my beautiful girlfriend (A).