Best Pedalling Poems
Running your fingers
over my delicately tuned form.
Blind. - You know which keys to press.
To enhance sweet music from me.
Happily and playfully,
my white notes singing love.
The darker side brings juxtaposed
moods and sadness,
pedalling drama and bitterness.
You know just how to play me.
The mirror showed
a Chinese lady pedalling a bike
in a pink kimono
The mirror showed
trees bowing
to a tropical (pina colada) lake
The mirror showed
a pink bedspread
losing her magnolias
The mirror showed
me grabbing your arm
and twisting it backwards
the moment when we pretended
to be real ballerinas
shows in the mirror
365 days of the Alcohol Experiment
After 30 days the need to continue was evident.
Italian adventure to Rome Florence and Venice, cosy restaurants and no wine a penance!
Elation on completion of a holiday with alcohol deletion.
Real rest, renewal and recuperation.
Not hangovers, exhaustion and a turn to work depletion.
No barriers of painkilling built up around me but open and available and at last truly living!
A feeling of real health never known,
sober sleep the deepest.
3 am awakenings not repeated.
Weight more stable than for 35 years
Alcohol free means energ--ie
Faced my AF fears and after 8 years trying, succeeded.
Now Coffee and company with intimate conversation not superficial chat, slurred speech and inebriation.
AF tribe explosion. Deep friendships unfolding.
laughs and special moments. Discovering worthyness and self love and whaw that I am enough!
Lliving in the moment not for the alcohol moment.
Sober socialising discovered.
Alcohol companies, brainwashing adverts pedalling lies uncovered.
Culture driven by alcohol is epidemical
Profits & Taxes guaranteed by a chemical.
Facing trauma and grief with a stable mood. Alcohol as the cause of anxiety and depression understood.
Just 10 months AF with my beautiful mother.
Such quality time above any other.
Emotional transparency, expression and facing the pain. Not numbing and smothering self again.
It's a brave new world of no regret experience.
Just wished I had known and not spent years delerious.
I'm not looking back not giving in now!
This new life I've found will much more than do
Cause it's wonderful, beautiful, amazing and true and I wish for a total culture that's new!
Thirteenth Birthday
I picturize my thirteenth birthday through memory glass
My grandpa matured my dream with a shiny black bicycle
Thrilled for I would now be able to ride like other friends
Grandpa held the cycle as I capered along with him
I was taken to a huge ground where the soldiers paraded
My cheeks were glowing red hot when I was taught to cycle
I tremblingly held the handle of my pricelesss gift
Quickly I put my foot on the right pedal then on the left
And sat on the seat pedalling flying faster than the wind
The speed was thrilling as I crossed impossible milestones
Onlookers smiled to see the teen's two ribboned plaits flying up
Felt like a star shooting in the sky as I zoomed around
My heart ringing louder chimes echoed in the whistling wind
My wave to grandpa in cinematic charismatic style
Made me lose balance and down I lay in a plumpy heap
November 6, 2015
Contest: Screwed 9
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Limerick: Once a pretty Pole psychologist
for Ewa
Once a pretty Pole psychologist
Who preferred fast pedalling cyclist(s)
Kept a velo d’apparte*
And a Tour de France dart
Found trundling Bone-Shaker* merry twist.
• Velo d’apparte(ment) = exercise bike
• Bone-Shaker = first French bicycle, invented and manufactured by Michaux during the 1860s, whose framework was made of wrought iron and whose wooden wheels were bounded by iron tires.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
There's an excercycle race on
Down at the local gymn
One guy's clearly out in front
But others closing in
All are pedalling frantically
They like to win these races
Each one with a determined look
As sweat pours down their faces
There's an exercycle race on
Down at the local Gym
This one's for ladies only
It's part of keeping trim
Each one of them has extra fat
A reservoir in case
Additional energy's required
To make the finals race
There's an exercycle race on
Down at the local gym
Vast calories are burning off
A race for life and limb
The mirrors on the wall will show
A worthy use of time
As most entrants likely should admit
They're more than past their prime
In the exercycle races
Down at the local gymn
At least one person's thinking on
What it is that's asked of him
All this time and money spent
Just maybe could be making power
To put on to the national grid
Then charged out by the hour
If we could store this energy
For use in something good
Like the greening of the planet
Then we probabubbly should
In some big battery somewhere
Or tank or holding pond
And draw on it when lakes are dry
Next summer and beyond
Sarah Storey was the first disabled athlete,
In the Commonwealth Games to compete,
As an English competitor, and she’s thrice,
Able-bodied national track champion of ice.
She was born without a left hand, entangled,
But she was firstly a swimmer, she jangled,
Then she became a cyclist on road and track,
And is still pedalling strong, not to look back.
She swam in Barcelona in 1992 and won,
Two golds, three silvers and a bronzed one,
Then in 2008, again at the Paras her fifth,
She won the individual pursuit with much pith.
Sarah Storey won Britain’s first gold in the C5,
In the women’s individual pursuit she’d thrive,
And in the C4-5 5000m, C4-5, and on road,
She won each one with a gold that was owed.
In 2014 she founded a sports cycling team,
Which supports a breast cancer charity keen,
And she became a MBE in 1998, OBE in 2009,
Then she was made a dame in 2013, long line.
She married Barney her coach and duel pilot,
For the tandem duel ride, which could be a riot,
And was on the 2012 Celebrity Mastermind IQ,
With Sex & The City, and also has a girl to coo.
Life off the rails
Do you ever lose perspective? Does there come
A time in your life when it seems the world
Is all a bit too detailed and complicated?
It’s like that just now for me, and I’m not
Sure which way is up or down and which is
In or out, and whether life is short or it’s just
My height.
What I need is a personal guru, to set me straight
and give me the good oil on people and life.
Some revelations on when is friendly also interested
And should I act my age, when all about aren’t quite
There yet; and should I go with the flow and seek
A partner for a lifetime, or just as long as it lasts,
One night or two?
Have I lost the big picture, can’t see the wood
For hugging too many little trees, got lost in the
Fine print of life? Is “what the heck, why not?”
A sound rule of thumb for operating my life; and
Should I be more sensitive to subtle nuances and
Less reliant on a wet fish slapped forcefully
In my face?
I wish, sometimes, I could step back from each frantic
Day and sort out what’s worth it and what’s just
Pedalling faster, but going nowhere. Maybe then I might
Work out what I want from life; set some goals
That don’t just mean more work and study, or longer
Runs or better scores. Maybe I might just find someone,
Or just some peace.
About me (isn`t it all)
Old age is travel towards death, and I spend
the waiting time writing what I call alternative poetry
as I`m not fond of swanky poems full of adjectives.
I have published many books of poetry on the Amazon
and about 30 E-books each book is about thirty pages
consist of poetry and opinion and read by no one.
I have a catering education but what I know comes
from reading massive amounts of books and
newspapers, of a solitary figure, except my wife
have no friend (they are all dead) should she go
before my life would be no worth living.
Every morning I sit pedalling away on my stationary bike,
try to get in an hour, but it is like going nowhere fast.
I comment on what I read in the Guardian and on twitter,
like to read George Galloway`s opinions, he is small
of stature, is a narcissist and should be careful not getting
to close to Russia, the bear has sharp claws.
I spend my time (if not wisely) by being active this because
boredom beckons when I have nothing to do.
In the evening I drink wine and fall asleep in front of the TV
I have always been a drinker, but dislike drunkenness.
There are times when people under estimate me
And my drive to be what I always wanted to be
It has made me wonder how it came about
When they thought that they could measure the clout
That they wanted to give to me at the time
And to see the panic on their own face is quite fine
Knowing when it blows up in their face
With them back pedalling to save the disgrace.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Garbage night
Bins line the road as I walk down the street
pristine and clean, rinsed in summers rain
but what filth and smells are lurking inside
the hidden interiors what disclosures
just waiting to be revealed
lidded and kept from view and inspection
My eyes pass over bins glistening lids
to the houses which stand behind
I wonder about the idea
which occurred to me in the street
and if a similar concept could be thought to apply
hidden behind brick facades
My mind wanders on, to a newsagency
with the papers lined by the door
the daily dose of muck raking rag
shouting its’ headlines so bold
pedalling hate and fear for profit
exhibiting what they’ve unearthed
and as my mind retreats this horror
and wanders back down the street
to find its’ body walking
the last thing it muses
as it slips back into place,
our society looks so neat from here.
©T.Arnold
How do you make love in tenses,
To fit in so it won't hurt at all?
Love is an art theatre,
At the centre, nothing is real,
Players play to entertain:
Good love goes wrong, wrong love goes good
That's what people are always worried about.
It doesn't scare me; the scars
I see in people's heart won't go away,
Won't let me come close to loving them
Beyond normal human love and kindness,
Am I alone in this?
Pedalling onward, pushing forward
To a strange, strange place;
I've not been to this place before:
My heart is leading the way!
Is this what being in love feels like?
I've lost my mind, lost my heart,
Her heart, my home:
I'm a lover, head in air,
Heart beats, heart breeds
Wandering, a sheep shepherding itself
Searching, seeking rest in the threshold of love,
Shut the world out, shot myself in the leg!
I spat on the ground, the ground I tread,
A troubadour, transiting!
Love kills you for free
If you are confined to one space!
Clear your mind; take a walk
Don't get too close,
I am a lover, lone lover
Pedalling onward, pushing forward
To a strange, strange place;
I've not been to this place before:
My heart is leading the way!
Is this what being in love feels like?
Hope was Burrow's substance, where he poured his time,
Pedalling steadily.
Intended path made smooth for those in legacy line.
Sliced through wiry roots,
Watchguard Wombat dug safety spaces.
Safety albeit empty,
claw shortening scooping to prop up progeny.
Plodding stoically.
Muffled praise from mollycoddled recipients who forgot
to congratulate wombat.
Chirps trill between ear orifices, a cheerful bell,
twinkling creek,
Thrill of apparently sucidal bird ledge leap,
harks updraught as capacity for flight.
Her name is Rainbow, though only he calls her so.
Optimism is Burrow's skeleton, firm fragile scaffold not broken
Bloodstream good Samaritan convinces him those closest know
that he would give everything
- devoid of return, satisfied in striving.
Fallen from insipid clouds, risen to a wide arc -
Squadron Observation squawk when the sun reemerges.
Related inseparably, sweet candy stripes are strings,
Harnesses of translucent hues.
Rainbow holds a cauldron in her wings
Shivered salute feather plume pom poms, her support
Altitude albeit not born to
Chimes a celebratory chortle, rain's finishing touch
Firey refraction stacks medallions of precious metal.
Magnetism draws, claws refuse to dig, Burrow closes.
Academy of affluent fly close to burn point,
- risk being scorched
Hypnotised by the increments his digits indicate.
Prospective friends and followers fill up his hollow
Lucrative lure curates karma, demanded by lorikeet
Marionettes dance, tuned to bushland command
Pinnochios pulled by Burrow's Rainbow.
The weight being carried,
on this never ending, twisted path,
is breaking the small of my back,
feels every bumps from the pedalling ties.
Eyes wincing, trying to keep the sweat out,
the pain throbbing through my head,
thoughts making it pound,
in ways that will not stop,
feeling the mind’s pictures,
making its way in every flowing piece,
of my brain.
The hills are getting steeper,
climbing, always climbing,
makes my knees feel like exploding,
every spin of the pedal hurts more,
takes so much energy to move upward,
continuously losing breath with every strain,
every time the summit is reached,
coasting down to the bottom again is pain free,
finding another climb in waiting.
Am I ever going to finish this ride?
Be relieved when the pavement becomes smoother,
instead of hitting every hidden, hole and crack,
knowing if struck at a speed too fast,
that a slip will happen,
and anything could be broken,
will never heal properly over time,
aches giving reminders of misplaced healing,
every muscle ends up aching and sore,
pounding in the sun’s heat,
but moving towards an unseen end,
where my body can rejuvenate,
without the full weight on my bulging back.
August 2, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011
Disappointed she bends on her knees
Ears shut, not to catch his brutal words anymore
Spilling her painful tears on the floor
Desperately prays for her dilemma to freeze!
Mind recollects.....
Soon after her wedding ceremony
Life started pedalling her emotions strangely
Darkness had swallowed her insanely;
And lamely egressed her love harmony.
He thwarted her from achieving goals
Surrendering to his orders,
She feared to cross borders
Neither sneaked out for short strolls.
Will she opt for a mutual divorce?
Unable to bear the impact of desertion
How long can she survive with no affection?
Unhealthy relationship might not reinforce;
She needs to sort out
As this is utter ridiculous
Being very meticulous
With a well planned route ..!