One Perfect Rose

A single flower she dropped when we met
and in her hands she held a pipe, a water hose
that splashed me by accident quiet wet
while at my feet lay a perfect rose.

I wanted to take her for a spin on my motorbike,
to experience the sun and wind in a special way,
wanted to give her a present that she would like
but she giggled and with a garden hose began to play

and like little children we ran up and down
laughing and having fun
and never such exuberance I have known
from the time that my dating had begun

and later when I returned her rose her eyes did propose
a tender embrace, maybe a kiss and I held her close.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Journeys In Mind Soul

used to go
for a few short
rides after work

a long ride
on the weekend
around the city

traffic is worse
now I don't ride
into the city

much anymore
but it once worked
need to ride

escape a week
traveling by car
stuck in traffic

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Pain...What is it?

Pain...What is pain?
Pain...get wrapped in the head with a baseball bat,
That could be called pain.
Pain...get kicked in the gut by a cowboy boot,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...poke a needle in your eye,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...get your fingers caught in a motorcycle chain,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...jump in front of a train,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...lose control while flyin' a plane,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...There ain't ever no gain in pain.

poem by Axe Timson
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Beat Museum

I just went to the Beat Museum
These poets are obviously dead,
Sardonic, original, witty men,
Not fit for more than what they did.

I guess it's good they left something behind,
After all, most of the world needs some kind of sign,
How could we calculate variable pain,
Raising its head through motorcycle chain.

Strip joints surround the Beat Museum,
You get porno dust on your shoes as you arrive,
You can buy original copies of whatever they wrote,
And see a car, that looks like the car, Kerouac used to drive.

poem by Richard Jarboe
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Moon Song

The moon begins to rise upon my fallen eyes
Im taken back to firelight
A drunken dreamers plan to stay just as I am
Amidst the dancing paradise
A case of beer, a smile, a motorcycle child
I feel the glow surround me
And you, and you, and you, and you, and you
Orange funnels and snowy tunnels
Summer troubles and books in bundles
Orange funnels and snowy tunnels
And you, and you, and you, and you, and you

song performed by America
Added by Lucian Velea
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Learning To Love The Noise And All That Stuff...

at first i hate the noise
of motorcycles passing by the house
the screeching sound of the engine
is bombarding my eardrums
to pieces,

somehow, it is the adaptability gene in me
that survives
whatever the situation is
one must easily learn to accept
lest you
perish from the face of this earth
choking yourself with
disappointments

somewhere, i dream
not of silence but of noise

noise has a role too to play
in the deletion of

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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a Distressful day finds me

a Distressful day finds me
and at work
the air conditioner is on
and I am catching flue
from a colleague.

At a robot a oversized trailer
hits me against the leg,
while the truck thug
turns with purpose wider than his lane
and drives away into intractability.

At the front gate
the motorbike’s gear leaver
comes loose
and I can find no gear.

Kyla belches and I hear
that my darling is away with her
to make a end

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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The new day started wonderful

This morning it felt
as if I was going to ride
into the red ball of the sun
while the wind
knifed strong past me
and the blue Honda motorbike
quickly eated up Soutpansberg Avenue.

There’s something magical and enchanting
to a rising sun
that is just hanging halfway
above the black tar road
and the colour of that red ball
still stays with me.

I drove with power
up the hillock of Gordon Street
and the rays of the sun
was at my side
and the caboodle of cars

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Exhausted Rose

Motorcycle summer dawns,
Luna was magnificent in leather boots
Riding through avenues of flowers
In glorious yesterdays gone.

Laughter emanated from afternoon bars
While sexy gang kids in tattered jeans
And sacred t-shirts
Danced to urban beats on street corners.

There is too much time
For hospital stays
And suicidal departures
After love has faded
Like an exhausted rose.

There is no point
In a dream deferred for eternity
Or sexuality suppressed
For proper societal acceptance.

[...] Read more

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Thundering On (Cavatina Sequence)

(after Thom Gunn)

A far off hum breaks the noon time silence,
rumbling thunder
of a manmade kind draws near, grazing cows
pause in wonder,
swallows, some in wheeling flight,
nesting under
a highway bridge swish about in some fear,
as some oncoming danger they do hear.

Men and women sit astride motorbikes,
with legs touching,
in almost a solemn intimate ritual,
everything,
even their black helmets, leather jackets,
is vibrating
to the essence of acceleration
of being in powerful forward motion.

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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The joy of the road

It’s a big joy
to take the road
and drive past cornfields
and to get the sweet sour smell
that water leaves there
for the first time
in your nose.

It’s a big joy
to drive on a road
that allures black in front of you
and goes up and down through the landscape.

There’s something indescribable
if you become part
of the sun and the wind
and with a motorbike
to find your place
in the world around you.

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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We All Went To Dorset Steam Fair

We all went to Dorset steam fair
In the year 2001.
The 33rd year of this wonderful fair,
And we loved it all and one.
The atmosphere and the energy
The smell and the feel and the noise.
The feeling of oneness and synergy.
All of us felt it, ourselves and our boys.
Seven of us went to the steam fair,
To participate, laugh and play.
Many things we saw there,
Although we went just for the day.
The fair for all of our boys was the best.
Something for one and all.
A very important fact, (I don't jest) ,
For our boys ranged from tall to so small.
Army trucks and steamers.
Engines of all size and type.
Vintage cars sporting streamers,
And motorbikes there for the hype.

[...] Read more

poem by Rosi Caswell
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That goodbye

You dropped the two dogs
and cats,
had some tea with us
and I took the motorbike
to show you the way
back to your highway

and we had a burger
and some French fries
at the Wimpy
and you cried
while we said some last words
face to face,

we embraced and kissed
and you got in your car
and I led the way
at places waiting on you
to catch up
and that goodbye

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sigh

I know that love
doesn’t fade with time
and true love
does never pass.

The same things
that could make me
fall in love
with you before
still charms.

Eyes that sparkle bright
filled with teasing devils
dancing within,

soft perfect lips,
a smile coming from angels
and hair
that softly falls over shoulders,
still bewitches me

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Every Girl Loves Her Shoulder Tattoo

Avoid the circle
Of cruel cutthroats
Of the ilk
Your pirate father
Associated with
When he stole your mother
From your school teacher grandfather.

Maintain your refined taste
For expensive wine
After the art gallery nights
And the Chinese poetry dawns.

Do not succumb
To base superficial joys
And the motorcycle-gang violence
Of the illiterate boys,

But of course,
Every girl

[...] Read more

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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The Road Ahead Was Meandering

The road ahead was meandering,
while I drove at a steady speed
taking the path as it did swing
with the wind rushing at my chest and feet,

the sun shining hot on my body
and the action of driving,
had a pleasure to it, while I felt free
a part of the motorcycle

which roared with power beneath me
and I was one with the black stretching road
while far in the distance I could see
a truck creeping along with its load

and I enjoyed speed and sheer tranquillity,
felt one with the passing nature
and the elements of the wind and sun had a kind of affinity
while the feeling was in perfection awesome and pure.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Goodbye to purple covered Jacaranda trees

Goodbye to purple covered Jacaranda trees
which line the streets
and the great laagered fort on the hill
telling stories of times past,

the university on the knoll
next to which I once lived
waving with buildings and towers
sending its greetings into the sky

while I drive away fast
and the motorbike’s wheels sings whispering
do not look back

and its engine howls its cry against the wind
weeping instead of me
while I drive away from the city
that I love and where I cannot stay.

The bike flashes on in a blur

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Mr. Jones

Mr. jones
Put a wiggle in your stride
Loosen up
I believe he'll be alright
Changing clothes
Now he's got ventilated slacks
Bouncing off the walls
Mr. jones is back!
Bulge out
And wind your waist
Tight pants
Got curly hair
Drinking cold beer
From metal cans
Moonshine
And handi-wipes!
Mr. jones is back in town
It's his lucky day
Hold up your hands and shout
Jones is on his way

[...] Read more

song performed by Talking Heads
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paris,1912

I was born a hundred years ago;
Made it to the Mecca of art
For art's sake;
Picasso's circle constituted by poets,
Mainly;
Gathered in outdoor cafes
We came up with modernism
By slamming the door on the old
And inviting in the new:
'If the artist says it's art,
Then it's art.'

(I look at the streets now,
A hundred years later,
And am griefstricken how
The gasoline engine has
Singlehandedly reduced
The role of poetry in young lives;
I am so sorry I thing rap music is neither
Poetry nor music;

[...] Read more

poem by Stan Petrovich
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Dead Guy Stickers

In the USA,
They want to put dead guy pictures on cigarette packs.
With that brilliant logic in mind, I say put dead guy stickers on:
car windshields(dead guys in wrecks)
pistol and rifle handles (dead guys shot)
marriage licenses (dead spouses)
hamburger and hot dog wrappers (dead fat guys)
pies, cakes (more dead fat guys)
bathroom doors (thousands of dead guys in bathrooms every year)
bicycles (road kill dead guys)
fire places (burnt dead guys)
swimming pools (drown dead guys)
every electrical outlet (fried dead guys)
air plane tickets (dead passenger guys)
the beach (shark bit dead guys)
cities (shot dead guys)
air (blue dead guys)
fish (poisoned dead guys)
motorcycles (more road kill dead guys)
scarfs (strangled dead guys)

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Jarboe
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