Best Bicycle Poems
The perky saleslady looked at my aging bicycle
and asked if I would consider a newer model
something lighter
something sexier.
I told her, "My bike and I have a delicious history -
our past and future have merged into a single trajectory,
we're in this together for the long ride.
"I don't think of her as old, she is 'vintage'
we've been through many miles together -
seen breathtaking vistas.
"She knows what direction I want to go even before I do.
We have scars from the journey but each scar has a story
and every story brings a smile.
"Yes, we're slowing down and every ride feels uphill,
but for better or worse, she's never given up on me -
I owe her the same courtesy."
The saleslady chuckled nervously and said,
"Do you know you sound like you're talking about your wife?"
I got on my bike and said,
"I do".
Written 1 Nov 2020
Around since 1885,
These playing cards contain
A fascinating history
That Google helped obtain.
My favorite fact’s from World War II.
(It’s more than rumored lore.)
Some special decks were sent as gifts
To prisoners of war.
These U.S. soldiers, held in camps
In Germany, did learn
That moistening the cards would yield
A map for their return.
Escape routes cleverly concealed
Within the layered cards
Would likely not be noticed by
The German soldier guards.
In Vietnam, as well, some decks
With only Ace of Spades,
Were sent to the Americans
To use in jungle raids.
The Viet Cong were so afraid
Of how this Ace appeared,
Just seeing one would make them flee
So villages were cleared.
While we are playing Solitaire,
Casino, War or Spit,
We should remember how those cards
Helped troops, if just a whit.
On a bicycle, freedom's flight
Pedaling 'cross the horizon
Reflections of blue in my sight
With dreams of lassoing the sun
A girl's spinning wheels leave the ground
On a bicycle, freedom's flight
O'er the treetops without a sound
Veils of darkness fall out of sight
Wishing in the morning star's light
Bright tomorrows, I wait to greet
On a bicycle, freedom's flight
My pink beauty with flowered seat
Dark days return and tides do rise
Still, memories soothe in the night
Two wheels like wings of butterflies
On a bicycle, freedom's flight
For half an hour,
he was a few feet in front of me,
trying to tame the little metal beast,
jittery under the torrent of none-too-gentle
dos and don'ts coming from me,
his 6-year-old legs getting bullied by the pedals,
his hands on the handlebars fighting the side-to-side
spasms of the front wheel,
all four limbs wrestling with the fear in his mind.
Then, suddenly, he was 20 feet ahead of me,
then 50, 80,
the short sleeves of his oversized tee-shirt flapping like
fledging wings,
his neck and arms looking especially scrawny in the
horizontal lift-off,
hair gelled by the newfound wind into an
aerodynamic crown,
all of him flying down the promenade of the
dusky park.
The world has many lessons in store to replace
the things I’ve tried
to teach him through the years.
Just not this one.
c n a l l a n c
gni a a ing
B J u m p u p
I t o survive,
K $
I'm an enthusiastic cyclist, @$$$$@
N n
G o a G
/ to r O
S(queal)S P r S O n my S
I K I L o I D I
N I N A w N e N
G L G C P G x G
L L L E ATH's L e L
E (S) E S f o u JIVE, (R) c i s e
# # @@ on my list n / #makes me alive, #
H H e d H H
A A r e h A A
N N N N
D r i v e, D D r i v e, D
E x h a u s t e d or f l a t - t i r e d, j u s t e n j o y e v e r y l i f e's r i d e.
MY heart rate raced as I sat and marveled at
this machine. A Cervelo S-5 carbon Bicycle.
This must be a dream!
So Aerodynamic and efficient with a stream
lined design. With a DI-2 shifter that shifts
precisely and is so divine.
I'm sitting here for several hours on my new
racing bike. They're tweaking it perfectly, and
making it right.
A true masterpiece that is designed for speed.
Which every adrenaline junkie definitely needs.
I quickly fall in love with the way that it feels.
At ten thousand dollars, its quality revealed.
As I get on it, it fits like a glove. I shift it quickly
as I start to take off.
I race with an accelerating rhythm, at maximum
speed. What an experience, a euphoric feeling
that overtakes me!
My heart pounds with excitement and my thighs
start to burn, as lactic acid builds up, rounding an
apex of a treacherous turn.
I glanced at my Garmin , peddling quickly in this
competitive race. Twenty-six miles an hour, I
average, pushing myself, at a grueling pace!
My heart pumps as I spin up this hill, anticipating
the descent, oh my what a thrill!
I try catching my breath as my lungs cry out for air.
Reaching a pinnacle point of exhaustion, and
borderline despair!
I'm pushing my cadence with everything I got.
Failure is not an option, like it or not!
I'm shooting for King of the Mountain, in this heart
stopping mile. Thank God it's all over, as I stop and
relax, for a while!
It's all finished now, as I check out the Strava on line.
And much to my amazement, I am the fastest, of all
time!!
I wish I could take credit, and be solely responsible
for this great feat, but I know in my heart, it was a
great effort, made by My Bicycle and Me.
I travelled around the world on my bike
I wandered many places that you might like
Hotels, restaurants any other places were reserved
I wanted to visit one glamour hotel
Frozen faces looked at my outlook and my modest bike
They said places reserved and no parking to oldest bike
I was angry at first, but then I felt hungry
Went to the restaurant, no one made me angry there
Cause there was no soul to get my bike to parking there
Many countries around the world sun is shining everyday
I wanted to testify, so I rented Bentley for one holiday
With a hat, put some beard and moustache on my face
My Bentley aided me to see receptionist’s smiling fake face
They offered me rooms that are deluxe
Parking was available to my big car,
People are so flux, yeah so flux!
The world is beautiful liar
Far gone conscience is crier
Magnanimous rich people are truly missing
Greedy rich, filch people’s smell is untruly hissing
I keep on dreaming, riding my humble bike
Wishing to meet modest people that I like…
I rode my little bicycle
Down the little street,
I pushed the little pedals
With my little feet,
When my little bicycle
Hit a great big bump,
I flew over the handle-bars
And landed with a thump.
I pushed my little bicycle
Home to see my mum,
She put some little band-aids on
Where I needed some.
Now I'm all patched up
But my little handle-bars are bent,
I'm sure my dad can fix them
After my little accident.
To the rain
To the Sun
Evenly it stands
Alongside the pavement
On the way to apartment
Not belonged to a man
But maybe to a woman
Not a day or a week
More than a month lasted
It was locked and
also not old enough
To throw away or to give it free
But there may be a place
To park it, if the apartment
Neighbors pass by
Pavement is silence
No one knows
Perhaps someone knows
But my doubt insists
To look for the truth
Evening dark slightly sets in
My feet stopped near by
When I told the story
A woman who lives next to me
She is too in a doubt alike me
An analysis inside myself
In the night, on the bed
I could presume
Though it gave nihilist impacts
No, it’s not
That I think
Something could be happened
People have never ever thought
Suspicious mind
Questions me back
If it might have vanished a day
How would my mind satisfy?
Udaya R. Tennakoon
Buy a cycle,
Bicycle,
The two wheels like souls,
Wheels rolling up and down,
Telling comes good comes bad the life,
The seat,
To adjust to fit,
The handle,
To balance from middle,
The chain,
To link with kins,
The break,
To stop at risk,
The bell,
To hear all,
Our life like a bicycle,tackle!
Certain things you don’t forget;
They somehow get ingrained.
No matter when you learned them,
Deep inside they have remained.
Like how to burp a baby,
Swim a lap or sew a stitch;
The skillset’s there, so you can
Pull them off without a hitch.
The classic case in point, I guess,
Is how to ride a bike,
Which most of us were taught when young,
Quite possibly a tyke.
Though many years may slip away
Before we ride again,
We hop right in the saddle,
Like we first did way back when.
And after just a wobble
To make sure that we are steady,
We find that after months or years,
One blink and we are ready.
They say it’s hard to teach
An older dog a brand-new trick,
But if we’re lucky, lots of what we’ve learned
Has seemed to stick.
me and my bicycle
are in a ***** relation
at least in the state of running
at high speed it keeps balance
but off balance my life becomes
while I drive at low speed
me and my life
now at loggerheads
at least in the matter of speed
my life runs well like a bicycle
but at the age of forty
I could not afford high speed
upon putting much efforts
I develop back pain.
A second hand bicycle
was all the master could afford,
when he came to teach
in our country school.
After years of cycling
the four miles in the rain,
it disjointed.
The saddle sat loosely,
padded with papers and rags
during lunch hour the boys
loved to pull it apart,
leaving the saddle at an angle
that made a pyramid
on the well-worn seat.,
it was all they could do
to get back at him, as he
lashed their growing hands
with the sally rod.
PUBLISHED in PERFUME OF THE SOIL, SWAN PRESS, DUBLIN l999
His name was legend, written in lore,
Riding his bike like no human should.
He’d vault and swerve, plunge and dance,
Leap frogging my entire childhood.
He could sprint from a stop, faster than fast,
Past everyone else on the road.
Till he came to the top of the sharpest ridged gully,
That’s where he eventually slowed.
He slowed not to be careful, or safe or guarded,
Or because of the exhausting conquest.
But rather so he could balance on one spindly wheel,
All along the sharpest edged crest.
He’d be there for hours, any type of day,
Be it hot or cold, rain, ice, or smog.
Until, almost crippled, his bike and him one,
He rode his way home again, alone in the fog.
This night he came to the dark murky road, just out from home,
He peered left but didn’t look right.
Now he’s the ghost on a bike, wistfully riding the streets of this town,
Riding silently every night.
Once I had a bicycle,
A loving present from my grandfather;
Since I was his favorite granddaughter,
He granted my wish at a snap of my finger .
Since he was so old,
A new bicycle he could hardly afford;
He took his bike when he was young,
Which I found it once at the back of our barn.
As far as I remember,
It was really so old and rugged;
But my grandpa was like Mr. Mac-Gyber,
Amazingly fixing all things all-over.
My granda was a well-known painter,
I thought he will repaint and use sandpapers;
When I surreptitiously sneaked into his hut,
He was there recycling all my milk cans.
When everything was done,
He gladly gave it to me with a big hug;
I hurriedly drove it at once,
Down the street and field with so much fun.
“My bike was real a unique one!” I thought.
So different from others in our neighborhood,
Its wailing siren was made up of a cow’s horn,
Tubes were made of dried bamboos and corn.
Other parts were still the same,
Like forks, hubs and chainwheel set,
The rest were made up of my milk cans,
They were pedal, brake and seatgear stem.
Handle bars were what I liked most,
Converted from the handle of his old plow;
So sturdy and so strong all I knew,
And I can drive it so long in full control.
However, when I travelled quite afar,
Parts were falling one at a time;
Until everything suddenly split apart,
Eventually it dropped and rolled me down.
©2012Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Date: Aug. 3, 2012
4th Place Winner (My Very First Winning Poem)
Contest: Any Poem of the Week Contest
Contest Judged: 8/4/12
Poet Sponsor: Secret