Best Peddle Poems
Looking back at the summers
Way back then, when I was ten
The golden sun was still a friend
And the world was good, around each bend
I'm riding my bike, with the breeze in my face
With time on my side, I am winning a race
Where life seems so carefree, I can hold my arms high
Where wheels spin beneath me, in a race to the sky
I'm sailing past memories, past all the troubles I've known
Past the everyday worries, that we face when we're grown
With my legs long and tan, I am peddling fast
Where tomorrow is distant, and sweet memories last
Where nothing will die, and everything blends
Over roads without sorrow, where nothing will end
Clutching the handles, and pumping my knees
I will fly past the heartache, where my troubles will ease
Far down the lane that circles the trees
Where faces of loved ones, still smile up at me
A turn 'round the corner, finds happiness there
Everything's simple and everything's fair
A splash through a puddle, or bumpy old tracks,
My eyes remain forward......with no looking back
I could peddle forever, to that place worry free..
When I ride that old bike, there's a child left in me
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1/27/6 "Back Then When I Was Ten" Contest
Sponsor : Kelly Deschler
Categories:
peddle, childhood, happiness,
Form:
Rhyme
South African lockdown
Gone is the heave, the bustle and the crowds
The pavements are weeping like widows without sounds
The governments are ruling with their heads in the clouds
We should not be submissive wearing fear as our shrouds
Shops and small business are collecting dust,
certain of finally all going bust.
Who then will take care of the poor and oppressed?
while the elite dressed in their opulence remain so blessed!
Lockdowns and spikes, confusion and fear
uncertainty, poverty, protest and crime become clear
stand on your balconies, porches or steps, shout out your anger at being so misled
don’t clap for key staff members but for your freedoms instead
What is the virus which has so much clout
We are starting to question it has left us in doubt
Fear is holding us hostage with dread
We need to be working as who buys the bread?
Ease off the peddle of this vicious control
you have each country stuck in a hole
We will not be silenced our voices will be heard
We will not go down without a fight this is absurd
Release these clasps
Remove these masks
We were born free as birds
Our anger is stirred our vision not blurred
Categories:
peddle, anger, community, confusion, corruption,
Form:
Rhyme
From now on
Mornings will never be the same
How fortunate I feel
Can’t take it for granted
Everyday I am thankful
Not rich but enough to get by
Free to do as I please
Create my art
Write poetry
Just for the love of it
No need to peddle or hustle
To put food on the table
Of course it wasn’t
Always so easy
Everything has a price
I haven’t forgotten the years
Of ploughing through
The ruthless game of
Politics and personal agendas
In the arena of public service
Keeping an eye on the finish line
That seemed would never come
Giving my all till depleted
Not everyone is willing to pay the price
Battered ego
Accumulated scars and anger
Nobody ever said
Respect would be part
Of the salary package
But the finish line comes faster
Than one can imagine
Time passes and
Only now I stand back
And see the big picture
After comatose years of
Deprogramming and recharging
Peeling away layer after layer
One day there it is
That inner pearl exposed
Primed to be nurtured and polished
Feeling excessively fortunate
Overall very few people are so lucky
Read on air by invitation ~ July 24, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 1st place 2025, 3rd place 2020
Submitted on May 28, 2018 for FROM NOW ON POETRY CONTEST sponsored by NAYDA IVETTE NEGRON - RANKED 9TH
Categories:
peddle, change, future, hope, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
Radiant are the words
that painted your existance
Shinning are the details
swept with lyrical rhymes
Brightly sewn were intentions
that bless us day and night
A tapestry of beauty
in heart shapes and designs
A glowing presence expressing love
made of it's own light
Hopes that peddle effortlessly
that never wains or tires
Happy and content
circleing it's beautiful fire
Sparks sparkling words of care
Rainbow colours here and there
Stars that twinkle in the night
small white unageable lights
That lights above the perfect night
Just before the perfect day
I like the way
you decorated my heart
I really can't discribe
this kind of art
Colours are made to
dazzle the eyes
But what you've given
also pleases the blind
Rhyme and rythem
do not account for the deaf
But lives feel those
certian depths
I stand in awe
of your beautiful delights
Close my eyes
and say good night
Categories:
peddle, angel, april,
Form:
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Categories:
peddle, confusion, dedication, depression, devotion,
Form:
Free verse
Lenny was 30 and still living with his old cheese, everyone called, Lenny’s mum.
She was always on his Cadbury Snack to go find a trouble and strife for a chum.
“Geez, leave off mum, I’ve been looking down at the Punchbowl rubbity Dub”.
“Well Lenny, go to the grab a granny at the Rissole, Fridý night will ya luv”.
Friday came, Lenny put on his best bag of fruit and fired up his old VS Dunny Door.
With his pay in his sky rocket as he hit the frog and toad with the peddle to the floor.
Mum put some of dad’s old brill cream in his Fred Astaire before he left the house.
“Be good Lenny, me little china plate, if ya need a lift home give me a Wally Grout”.
Jenny was on the rock ‘n’ roll so she saved up her oxford scholars for a big night out.
She wasn’t flash to look at, with her bifocal monkey’s arses but she had a good jam tart.
She walked into the Rissole, tilting her leg as she let rip a decent Royce Hart.
Her dad would’ve said, “A bit more choke and it would’ve made you start”.
Jenny met Lenny at the near ‘n far, knowing he was giving her the old Captain Cook.
Introductions made and Lenny thought she was a bit of alright, as he had a second look.
They hit it off after Jenny’s Third vodka and Lenny’s fifth schooner of pigs ear.
Feasting on bar snacks of party dogs eyes, Jenny dripping the dead horse in Lenny’s beer.
A couple of young blokes walk up to Jenny and tried to give her Reg Grundies a flick.
Jenny started throwing cut lunches, smashing him on the Lionel Rose, then gave him a kick.
Lenny intervened, saying, “We don’t want any froth and bubble.” Before thing got nasty.
He took Jenny outside screaming, “He’s got a face like a half eaten pasty”.
And that’s how Lenny and Jenny met, Lenny’s mum was happy seeing Lenny with stars in his mud pies.
They got cash ‘n carried, had a couple of billy lids, that loved to eat burgers and fries.
It’s not at all romantic, but that’s how most Aussie love stories go.
Lenny and Jenny together forever, They’re mates most of us will know.
Categories:
peddle, humor, love,
Form:
Rhyme
My last words to you were, "I love you." Those were your last words to me
on the phone. You were in Miami. The night we spoke you were rushed to the hospital. Your life was no more. The Angels carried you to a much better place than this Earth could ever give you. I remember when you bought my first bike, and I was afraid to ride. It was my first time, riding and you gently pushed and I started to peddle. Wow what a Joy that was. Me and my father, enjoying a moment of triumph.
I wasn't there when you died that day.
A secret was kept from far away.
Your caring voice on the telephone.
To always make sure I made it home.
Your sound advice you always shared.
In each word you said you deeply cared.
Your three sons are thinking of you.
Friends and family, they are too.
Your presence now is what I feel.
You're not forgotten. You're here and
real.
Your last words to me I shall not forget,
"I love you son." Is what you said.
The memories of you will always be.
Inside my heart in every beat.
Until our paths will meet again.
This heartfelt love to You I send.
Michael Tor in memory of my dad Rene.
June 8th 1938- September 26th 2021.
Sons Gaston, Gus, and Michael.
Grandaughters and grandson Ashley,
Brandon, and Briana, Taylor, and Jordan.
Categories:
peddle, fate, father, love,
Form:
Rhyme
When did a lie become an alternative truth?
Why are parking spaces so small?
Do subway riders even know deodorant exists?
Why do jaywalkers ignore red lights?
Why do kids never wash their hands before they eat?
Why do people spell doubt and subtle with a "b"?
Why have twenty checkouts and only two cashiers?
Why are there no cops around when you need one?
Why do people peddle religion door to door?
Why didn't these annoying things bother me before?
A few more things to add to my list of gripes.
Why wasn't I warned that life could be so screwed up?
There are no washrooms around when you need to piss
and tips get automatically added to the cost of a meal
while interest rates on credit cards are outrageous.
And the deliveryman won't deliver to my apartment door.
I know I've been ranting a lot, but there's so much more:
like roads that never get plowed,
people who pay for groceries by check,
and double parking on a narrow city street,
all things that add to my anxiety and frustration.
Oh, and what about coffee that's too hot to drink?
Categories:
peddle, 8th grade, anger, anxiety,
Form:
Verse
...for my sons Keir and Evan
Truth is a two-edged sword,
you will be cut by nonsense,
not by circumstance, my son,
and blinded to its darker side
you'll drift in seas of innocence,
carefree as a neophyte
with all the answers pending,
daft and delirious, your youth is fully spent,
and dreams are never-ending,
immerse yourself in fantasies
as long as you are able,
and nestle, tightly held in heaven's tending.
The twin deceits will wriggle as you learn,
and even good will bring you sorrow,
as the ways of evil cause you strife;
differentiate, discern
that which you can beg or borrow
to lend a sweet contentment to your life.
Everyone will aggravate and meddle,
good and bad will jostle for attention,
the guilty and the innocent,
whatever they can camouflage or peddle
to cheat on their redemption,
(beware the sly recalcitrant!)
The glory of the earth is set before you,
flora, fauna, the duplicity of man,
the dust of stars, the rubble of creation,
the planets slowly spinning into view.
Amidst the whirl, the waste, do what you can,
identify the source of inspiration,
the sounds of summer singing in the grass,
birdsong, and the bliss of flowers in bloom,
the unity of things, below, above.
You'll make a difference in the days that pass,
as you give your fellow seekers elbow room,
uncompromising in your search for love.
Categories:
peddle, dedication,
Form:
Verse
The world is shifting, not the same,
We’ve faltered as a human race.
No one’s safe on this forsaken plane,
Even the righteous lose their grace.
In Kali Yuga’s shadowed prime,
One plea remains, one urgent call:
Oh Prabhu, we need you now,
For Kali pursh looms over all.
The age of chaos spreads its gloom,
The good have fallen, lost their way.
People chant your sacred name,
As we wander through this disarray.
Man has bartered souls for fleeting gain,
Women peddle selves through screens.
Neither safe from this cruel fate,
As darkness twists our shattered dreams.
The virtuous bleed while villains reign,
We need Kalki’s light to guide.
In this turmoil, help us find
A path to peace where truth resides
Categories:
peddle, conflict, devotion, humanity,
Form:
Free verse
To be so easily passed by
Walked through like a figment of my own sick imagination
It makes me wonder what I am
Only noticed when someone is in need
Then thrown aside like a peddle cast into the ocean
Brought along only to be the spare, and extra
What am I
Forgotten those that I once called family
Left behind by all
What could I be
To be so easily used and then left
Could I still be a person?
Can I still even be a man?
Categories:
peddle, anger, dark, sad,
Form:
Retirement
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Stop working now
The boss was hopeless
Gave you no hope
The nine-to-five grind
Is over now
Retirement
Exit, exit excite
Up, up away
Banjo your mango
Man goes
Peddle your medal
On your salad day
Now is not the time
To join the navy
The prospects look good
And plum the perks are
Light up the shadows of your heart
The acceptable goodbyes are gone
Cunning and guile is over now
Your time hath come now
You have been on
The see-saw of redemption
And have seen
The trickery and deceit of
Those coconuts
The valor of the dastard
Made you suffer for your pound
And their illustrations of deception
Their myths of abstractions
In silence you could not reply
But be shut and sulk.
You were brave
Your time is art now
And no more tick tock
Go out with a bang
Before the haunted dark
Peachy life now
Sleeves are down
Your retirement eve
Grow rich, go rich and
Trump up your comfort.
Categories:
peddle, blessing, celebration, devotion, farewell,
Form:
Free verse
I
Veins blue as death but they flow,
tributaries in a returning system.
They fork only when the mind
rides a lightly sleeping cycle
to a venous river
and there sinks within seeking a source
for it must be replenished, made to
travel on richer currents of air.
In such a reverie
blue threads splay, spread themselves
traveling to a nexus of stars on byways
stripped of any anatomy.
II
The girls and boys ride to school
ever faster,
a teacher fills blue inkwells
from a drip in his arm.
The children peddle swiftly along;
for on every desk
there's an apple for each of them.
In that fruit
a slow wriggling hex, a pishogue
sheds one desiccated skin after another
expanding its continuance,
but not so soon, not so fast,
not as speedily as the blue river runs
for it is the stream that feeds into itself.
III
That indigo atlas furrows a mounting gravity
through a chambered pump
for it has miles yet to cycle,
it surges and swells unhindered,
it crests and syphons
through transforming bellows,
around it pounds
unless that dark spell grows too large
and dams its onward course
then it may cease upon the morrow
or worse.
Categories:
peddle, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Jasmine Flower Peddle Gorgeousina
This poem was created for the PoetrySoup contest
“Tell Her Story”
By Ross Levan
Pink flowers adorn her beautiful face,
She looks into my soul with amazing grace,
Beautiful brown eyes with perfect skin,
Her stunning stare sees into me, she can see what’s within,
Jasmine Flower Peddle Gorgeousina is this girl’s name,
Her inviting lips provoke thoughts of sweet kisses and mid-summer rain,
There is a curious expression and a glimmer in her gaze,
Her appearance is intoxicating in so many ways,
She doesn’t party but loves to have fun,
Her past lovers say she’s a real naughty one,
She chewed them up and spit them aside,
Many broken hearts in a trail from behind,
Long black hair reaching down the length of her back,
I’ve always loved long haired beauties and that’s a true fact,
She is a treasure for any man to keep,
I bet she’s more attractive while she’s asleep,
Jasmine Gorgeousina with flower peddles at the core,
Her amazing good looks keep me yearning for more.
Categories:
peddle, fantasyflower, flower,
Form:
Free verse
THIS CHEVY CAMARO, IS MORE THAN A DREAM.
IT'S AMERICA'S FAVORITE MUSCLE MACHINE.
IT'S NOT FOR THOSE FAINT OF HART.
IT'S CREATED FOR THOSE WHO APPRECIATE ART.
FROM COAST TO COAST, ACROSS THIS LAND.
THE ZL1 IS IN DEMAND.
YOU CAN SAY, IT LITES PASSION ON FIRE.
A TRUE AMERICANS, DRIVING DESIRE.
CHEVY TECHNOLOGY PROVEN ON TRACKS.
INDY AND NASCAR AND THATS A FACT.
WHEN YOU GET IN AND GRIP THE WHEEL.
YOU'LL KNOW FOR SURE, THE LEGEND IS REAL.
TWENTY INCH WHEELS AND TIRES TO MATCH.
STEP ON THE GAS AND LAY DOWN A PATCH.
PEDDLE TO THE METAL, YOU CAN FEEL THE POWER.
ONE HUNDRED NINETY-FIVE MILES PER HOUR.
ONCE YOU UNDERSTAND THE THE MEANING OF FUN.
YOU'LL WANT TO OWN THE ZL1
Categories:
peddle, adventure, beauty, car, desire,
Form:
Rhyme