Best Bike Poems
(Verse 1)
Rust on the spokes but the memory shines,
Dust on the frame like a map of old times,
Handlebars crooked from corners we’d take,
Chasing the sunset down every mistake.
Scraped knees and laughter stitched into the air,
Freedom was something we didn’t know we’d wear.
(Pre-Chorus)
No keys, no clocks, no place we had to be,
Just spinning wheels and a wild, wide “we.”
(Chorus)
Oh those old favorite bicycles, rolling through our days,
Chain-singing summers in a hundred golden ways,
Pedals pushing promises down every street we knew,
With the wind as our witness and the sky as our view.
We were kings of the cul-de-sac, queens of the lane,
Riding forever, never feeling the chain.
(Verse 2)
Bell that would ring like a bright little boast,
Racing our shadows we loved the most,
Trading our stories at the corner store,
Counting loose change for a dream and more.
Tires would whisper on warm, worn roads,
Carrying secrets only childhood knows.
(Pre-Chorus)
We thought the world was a circle we’d trace,
Round and around in that reckless grace.
(Chorus)
Oh those old favorite bicycles, rolling through our days,
Chain-singing summers in a hundred golden ways,
Pedals pushing promises down every street we knew,
With the wind as our witness and the sky as our view.
We were kings of the cul-de-sac, queens of the lane,
Riding forever, never feeling the chain.
(Bridge)
Now they’re leaning in garages, quiet and still,
But I swear I can hear them beyond the hill—
Calling my name in a soft, spinning rhyme,
Turning the wheels of a simpler time.
(Final Chorus)
Oh those old favorite bicycles, echo in my mind,
Rolling through the roads we can’t rewind,
But somewhere in the distance, in the dust and blue,
That child is still riding, still breaking through.
With the wind as a whisper and the past in flame,
I ride them again every time I remember their name.
Like a royal parade,
they waddled across
the well traveled thoroughfare
teeming with autos crawling to a stop;
otherwise road rage reduced to admiration.
The regal drake held his head high—his eyes
piercing straight ahead—oblivious to the traffic.
The obeisance of his trailing brace
reflected a solemn reverence to their chief.
A mother hen shot an evil eye to a baby Donald
who quickly got back in step before exiting onto
the dew laden emerald grass—Glistering.
With the aura of a spa for creatures
bearing wings or fins or tails, as well as feet,
the pond awaited them—one by one
quacking with pleasure as they entered.
As we mounted our bikes
to continue our ride, auto horns
began to honk and obscene words
abated the serene ambiance.
We were kissing behind the bike sheds
The future Mrs Bronte and I
Get yourselves up to see the head
We heard our teacher cry.
The headmaster said I'd gone too far
Practicing to save my future wife
I really shouldn't have unhooked your bra
Or given you the kiss of life.
We stood in his room in front of head
Our eyes looking down, both our faces bright red
Darren shifted nervously from side to side
Don’t worry Darren one day I’ll be your bride
I begged the head please don’t make us cool our ardour
In our biology practical we’d been told to try much harder
He said 'I was young once I’ll give you one more chance
I can’t stand in the way of a budding new romance'
Our classmates asked but we wouldn't tell
What the headmaster had to say
After school we stopped beside the wishing well
We passed along the way
We kissed each other then kissed our penny
Then watched the penny fall
The kisses we've shared over the years have been so many
We have no regrets at all.
16th May 2014
Written by Jan Allison & Darren Watson
Beneath a perpetual sky
Longing to perceive nature’s sigh,
In lanes of sparkling morning dew
Before ‘Draughton village’ we view.
Thunder lightning hoarfrost and hail
Sunbaked days when coasting the dale,
‘Bolton Abbey’ stone throw from home
Muscles taut, like a garden gnome.
West wind howling hard to face
When 'Crindles Hill’ did slow the pace,
Delightful scene when on the crest
Downward cruise gratifying rest.
This green bike bought from ‘Uncle Cliff’
Dreams fulfilled with chain driven diff,
Simple, yet it was nature’s plan
This childhood journey that began!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
A bunch of dry lime leaves like schoolkids runs
across the street. Be careful, do not slip
on crispy morning frost. I see someone’s
bike on its side, its owner rubs his hip.
Are you okay? He is okay. A crow
pecks out a crumpled tinfoil. What's inside?
Alas, inedible. I’d like to know
what cars parked off the road dream of at night.
Oh, these wet dreams that make their windows sweat,
you’re definitely better, to misquote
Poe, than reality. A young brunette
next door walks her old dachshund in the coat.
That's how a pen of poet turns sometimes
a routine morning walk into the rhymes.
21.10.2019
Your Best Sonnet July-December 2019 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
https://www.howmanysyllables.com
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Bike Riding
Once, I was able to navigate my sleek black Fuji racer, sitting arrow straight, pushing hard, and hands at my side. It’s amazing to think I was able to maintain my balance, down hills, around
unyielding corners, no plastic garbage pail stuck on my head to protect what little brains I had in the first place. Ah, those were the days.
I was dashing and daring back then, hawk-like eyes focused, clear and bright. There was no need to squint until my head ached. I rode with a pack of wolves, flying maniacs all part of my tribe, hurling down streets littered with the remains of Detroit’s monsters. There was no sissy water bottle stuck on the frame, no reflective side mirrors to steer me away from danger. No, just a basic stripped down machine was all I needed as if I was a test pilot screaming past mach one, the rush of pure adrenaline.
Now, when I bike ride, I feel weighed down with the expectation of a crash landing about to happen. Flung backwards by the slightest breathe of wind, I choke the handle bars with white knuckled kid gloves with eyes glued to the road, I expect the worse is always about to happen, watching the odometer to gauge how far I have gone, and how much time I have left.
Bike ride,
air through my hair,
sunshine dousing my skin.
Dirt and splashed mud cover wheels.
Sweat drips
heat rises, thigh to palm to cheek.
Music comes from nature,
leaf and rock crunch
below tire.
I like
my bike.
Riding,
gliding,
I view
sky blue
and see
grand tree.
Morn yields
corn fields -
Pasture
rapture;
Farm ploughs;
calm cows
lazing . . .
grazing
on grass
gone past.
Slow roam.
Go home.
Bugs hitting my face
Wind in hair, feet on pedals
-Eleven again!
Among the many things that sit
Forgotten in our shed,
My son’s old bicycle called out,
Just messing with my head.
I finally decided that
The time had come to see
If it could be restored enough
To get some use from me.
I dusted off the cobwebs,
Scrubbed the frame but after that,
I noticed that the tires were
Unfortunately flat.
We tossed the bike into the car
And drove to get some air.
Back home, I hopped on for a ride
Not thinking, do I dare?
With just one gear I pedaled on;
It made a clunky noise
And even though I fell (just once!)
It brought back childhood joys.
I doubt I’ll ride it very much
But when I can, I will,
As long as I don’t leave my street
And have to face a hill!
In the dim and distant past, i cycled around
Slow and fast, past sleepy houses, on small city blocks.' In the morning fresh when its not yet hot ' sometimes a daring
Cat shot in front, aloof and sleek, no play for me then on bots..I recall the rich sent of
Fresh cut lawn, before the day would swallow, this placid morn' i recall milk bottles sitting on front door stoops, as pidgeons scattering, as the hawk broke loose, out a of a blue yonder, with whistling
Wings, echoing the sound of my bike wheels, as i turn for home i hear the church
Bell ring.'
I love my fella dearly, though I sometimes do not like,
his pure love and devotion for his bloody mountain bike,
thank god I'm easy going and I'd never make him choose,
though perhaps a little bit of that's the fear that I might lose!!!
he keeps 'her' warm and dry as she resides in our front hall
(you have to hold your breath to squeeze between 'her' and the wall!)
he rides the bike to work and back, together they go far
just as well, for what 'she' cost we could have bought a car!!!
he talks about 'her' tenderly and often buys her gifts
for pedals, forks and special shoes the internet he sifts
he looked at me in horror when I suggested get a shed
i got the strong impression he'd put me in there instead
but i needn't speak to soon and bawl and fret and moan
as for my latest birthday I have got one of my own!!!!!
Bad Day for a Bike Ride
Dr. James E. Martin
©May, 2013
He rode his bike up the hill,
Amazed that he could do it still.
On the way down,
A surprise he found,
He experienced an unexpected spill.
I
used to
love riding
my bicycle; now
pain!
Anyone who mountain bikes on a wilderness trail,
especially where wildlife predators are known to prevail,
are all performing a very unsafe and dangerous thing,
that could end fatally or seriously life threatening.
Wildlife preditors like bears have very poor vision,
so when they see a blur moving fast off in the distance,
it looks very similar to prey desperately running,
and that will trigger the bear's predatory instinct,
and at the very least will pursue the biker for investigation,
and if you happen to mountain bike fast past a mountain lion,..
.. well, place a house cat on the floor and drag in front of it a string.
The mountain lion will respond to the biker in the very same fashion.
When it comes to wilderness trails, your safest option is walking.