Motorbike ride

This morning it was dripping when I got up
and I wanted to say goodbye,
but I thought that you are probably still lying
and that it’s cuddly and hot
and that I am going to pull you out of sleep,
then I withhold myself from it.

It’s another thing to play Russian roulette
with the rain.
I decided to take the chance
and the road to work with the motorbike.

At places the road was still wet
and there where sand flushed over the road,
but I won the rain this morning
and opened the throttle
and the cool wind
blew strong over my body
and before it fell I stopped at work.

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poem by Gert Strydom
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On the highway

I who have traded
open spaces, fields
and the azure sky
for crowded pavements
and neon lights
find my place
to meet the Lord
on the dangerous road.

I have found the sapphire sky,
the breath of wind,
the white-hot sun
on lanes packed with cars,
busses and trucks
of every shape and size.

Every thing flashes by
as my motorbike catches speed
and accelerates
and men in cars sit irritated

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poem by Gert Strydom
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What Makes You Think You Will Like It?

How long have you been riding your motorcycle?
'Many years now.
Why? '
Will you teach me how to ride it?

'Do you have the desire to learn? '
I don't know yet.
'What makes you think you will like it? '
You make it look as if I will.

'Suppose I told you it took me years to like,
What it is you see me do? '
YEARS?
Are you kidding?

'I wish it was a joke.
I had to learn to like it.
But...
I wanted to.
Because I had the desire.'

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Guy With A Gold Dog

Italian guy with no last name lives on a street,
it doesn't connect to make it discreet.
The street's last letter ends with an r,
he has a motorcycle and an old antique car.
He rides in a white Chevy truck,
his street names has a word that
rhymes with the four letter word _______.
He has light blue eyes,
they are as light as the skies.
He works with his hands filling up pans
or making things break like a knife to a cake.
Once rode on his bike while my
sunglasses went for a hike,
on to exit, but not on the turnpike.
I petted his dog whose hair is gold,
heard a funny story about his dog
Guy once had told.
Maybe one day he will laugh at this poem.

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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The white girl

I fill my blue motorbike
at the garage
and the smell of fuel
is strong in the air.

The early morning sun
hangs bright in the sky
and already it’s a hot day.

I go to the shop
to buy a can of Coke
and get caught
in the middle of a fight
of a white girl
with the black cashier
and she tries to draw me
into her argument.

She’s beautiful and spoiled
and shouts and slams her fists down

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Spike

Oh, we got another one, just like the other ones
Another bad ass, another troublemak er
Im scared, aint you boys scared?
I wonder if hes gonna show us what bad is?
Boys, we got a man with a dog collar on
You think we oughta throw ol spike a bone?
Hey spike what do you like?
Hey spike what do you like?
Heres another misfit, another jimmy dean
Bet hes got a motorbike,
What do yall think?
Bet if we be good well get a ride on it
If he aint too mad about the future
Maybe we oughta help him see
The future aint what it used to be
Hey spike, youre scarin my wife
Hey, spike what do you like?
Please spike, tell us bout life?

song performed by Tom Petty
Added by Lucian Velea
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Just Thoughts Early Morning

it is another morning
in the cancer of the tropics
the chickens jump from
the trees where they roost
for the night
the cocks faithfully crow
you can hear the cackling
as sounds of the day

later the motorcycles
ramble their engines on the
roads
of this small village
where i live

people dress themselves
for work
children go to school
with their colored bags
and tiny shoes

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tend Your Lad

Tend your lad with kindness and love,
For he is as innocent as a turtle dove,
Afford him toys though he does break,
But keep bottles, blades high or above.

He must be bold, and he must be told,
That an honest character is the real gold,
He must learn to waddle with patience,
Through the waters either hot or cold.

Let him happily do whatever he may like,
Teach him to ride a horse or a motorbike,
Taunt him no more, nor use words harsh,
Let him enjoy well while he goes for a hike.

Coax him not when the school bells ring,
When he sleeps let him embrace and cling,
You feed his mouth with the lawful bread,
Then expect him to rise heights of a king.

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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Simultaneously

did you see the image?

one is about to leave
have all things packed
ready for the door and his motorcycle
the key on hand
and shoes ready to kick for the final hour

on the other hand
there is someone who is not ready yet
still stuck on his personal computer
figuring out
what to write
despite the pressure of the world outside him
like paper works
and family demands and nature's frolicking
or the tease
and the appeasement of what tomorrow may bring

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wing And A Prayer

I heard someone talking
about kids and what they wear.
They said they walk about these days
wearing nothing but a wing and a prayer.
I smiled to myself at that remark
because it was obviously they had forgot
about the clothes they used to wear.
So before we are quick to condemn
lets take a trip down memory lane,
back to the clothes we used to wear
when we were that age
and to the designs that were all the rage.

Suppose we go back to the sixties
now that was a good time,
the Mods and the Rockers,
scooters and motorbikes,
not to forget Flower Power.
Oh, yes I remember it well.
The drainpipe trousers,

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poem by David Harris
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Winners & Losers

Pop/jones
Winners and losers which one am i,
Is it the same under the sky?
Black motorcycles and the will to survive
Losers and winners low and high
In this glass and wire world
Surely leeches gain the right
To send their message screaming
One that has no meaning
To people who feel
Questions and questions plain as your nose
But who would believe a little rose?
Winners and losers in love with themselves
No santa claus no happy elves
In this smoking gun existence
It gets harder to unwind
I'll just eat my breakfast
Try to keep my questions
Starving all night
Out in the suburbs i met

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song performed by Iggy Pop
Added by Lucian Velea
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Winners & Losers

Pop/Jones
Winners and losers which one am I,
is it the same under the sky?
black motorcycles and the will to survive
losers and winners low and high
in this glass and wire world
surely leeches gain the right
to send their message screaming
one that has no meaning
to people who feel
questions and questions plain as your nose
but who would believe a little rose?
winners and losers in love with themselves
no santa claus no happy elves
in this smoking gun existence
it gets harder to unwind
i'll just eat my breakfast
try to keep my questions
starving all night
out in the suburbs i met

[...] Read more

song performed by Iggy Pop
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Nineteen Years Is Long Enough (Revised)

For the first time in nineteen years I'm planning
Christmas with my parents, to be with them as
one singing Carols, preparing delicacies to eat -
but particularly singing songs mother wrote,
presenting the play she designed for us ages
ago when we twins were just six years old

Back then my brothers and dad spoiled things -
but this time we can present mother's songs less
their interference, and afterwards I can go for a
spin on brother-in-law's motorbike, making up
for events we missed when small - yes, this
Christmas will be a grand reunion ball

For the first time in nineteen years I shan't be
home; it's either or, never parents and hubby
together, and though he was angry hearing
my plans - after nineteen years he cannot
really complain - it is the first time I shall be
with them - I think it is fair,

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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Nutbush City Limts

Words and music by tina turner
Theres a church house, gin house,
School house, outhouse.
On u.s. 19,
Hey, the people keep the city clean.
They call it nutbush, nutbush,
Nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
25 is the speed limit,
Motorcycles not allowed in it.
Go to town on saturday,
Go to church on sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Say it again...
Work the fields on weekdays,
Have a picnic every labor day.
Go to town on a friday,
Be in church on a sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Little old town,
Down in tennessee.

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song performed by Bob Seger
Added by Lucian Velea
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20th Century

Farms are burned down to the ground
and cattle slaughter just there in the fields,
while a super power forces women and children
into concentration camps to kill them there.

Railway tracks run crisscross over the country
and galloping horses and oxen pulling wagons
are replaced by roaring cars, lorries
and motorbikes
and people follow technology
as if it’s the new god.

When the stock exchange folds
people jump from the windows of buildings,
while they are out of their wits,
as if they have got wings.

Germans march past
and thousands in crowds
are giving a sigh heil salute

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Stepping out of the shadows..

Stepping out of the shadows to feel the warmth of the light.
To come to an understanding of leaving a lose/lose situation,
and yet feel victorious.

The heart slowing down... thoughts are getting focused. To only
understand the true love I have is called freedom.

The freedom to walk around without stumbling.
The freedom to feel the wind in my face.
The freedom to think about my short past, and my long future.
The freedom to enjoy my life with a view of clarity.
The freedom to count the milage on my long motorcycle rides.
The freedom to count on my friends and never fear.
The freedom to understand some peoples mistakes.
The freedom to walk away and never worry.

Into the light I walk..a new vision.. a new life.

poem by Nathan Charles
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Crazy Little Stalker Named Mike

This stalker named Mike he just can't handle it
This stalker named Mike he just can't get over it
He's so loco
Crazy little stalker named Mike

This stalker named Mike (named Mike)
He cries (Like a baby)
In a cradle all night
He screams (whoo hoo)
He moans
He shakes all over like a lunatic
I once kinda loved him
Now I more then kinda hate him
Wish that I could just get rid of him
Crazy little stalker named Mike

There goes his mind
He's losing his grip on reality that's for sure
He drives me crazy
He gives my computer viruses and so much damn spyware

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poem by Ramona Thompson
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I can not wait for two o’clock to come

I cannot wait for two o’clock to come
to climb on my motorbike
and to ride to the place
where the words of other poets
get life and energy
and bring bliss and burning beauty
and sometimes sincerity
or stark reality
as magic to me.

I cannot wait for two o’clock to come
to hear the words
of a master and to find something
in his thoughts that I can make mine,
as if it was buried in my soul
just waiting for the sun and rain
and interaction to sprout
growing green like a living thing.

I cannot wait for two o’clock to come

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Early Sunday Morning

I used to mock my father and his chums
for getting up early on Sunday morning
and drinking coffee at a local spot
but now I’m one of those chumps.

No one cares about my old humiliations
but they go on dragging through my sleep
like a string of empty tin cans rattling
behind an abandoned car.

It’s like this: just when you think
you have forgotten that red-haired girl
who left you stranded in a parking lot
forty years ago, you wake up

early enough to see her disappearing
around the corner of your dream
on someone else’s motorcycle
roaring onto the highway at sunrise.

[...] Read more

poem by Edward Hirsch
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That First Taste Of Wildness

oh, that first taste of wildness,
danger electric, intoxicating,
walking on the edge,

flapping your arms
...as if you could fly!

the first kiss, the first warm bodied
lover naked in your arms,
the first taste of flesh....

the first whisper of secrets exchanged,
the first tear of parting.

the first battle fought, the first time
knocked down, struggling to your feet,
the first taste of blood,

the first questions why,
the first resolve to endure!

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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