Best Schwinn Poems
end of Haviland
stilled kickstands & spokes of Schwinn
our teen shapely thighs
after school books are returned
and mind wanders down the road
chill in Summer heat
orange & vanilla twist
creamsicle in cone
the yield of sweet and tincture
melting on curbside tongues
it was the week after Christmas,
the one when fate had granted me my fondest wish,.....
(a lustrous, ruby-red, Schwinn bicycle that sported a basket in the front, and a bell to ring.)
On that cold, late December night, I'll always remember how suddenly the sky was stained by the color of alarm
My young mother leaving her warm bed at three in the morning
without tying her robe, rousing us all with calm haste
Deep red reflections seeped through mud-splashed window screens
as she shooed us like sheep, down raw-grained stairs.
She pushed us from behind with her two hands,
out the door, and onto a frost-slick back porch,
into the wee hours of early light.
By then, wide-eyed, we stood and watched the fire from a safe distance,
as it consumed our garage. And, my bike.
From the frame of the doorway, and the top step's narrow slat
she enveloped me in her folds of chenille to keep me from shivering.
The cool of her hand on my shoulders,
watching my dad in his attempt with a hose,
to douse the inferno,
all the while, in a faltering voice, warning him to keep safe.
Sounds of sirens wailed in the distance
When I looked up into her face, with anxious eyes
I remember her soft, reassuring voice
"Hush now, don't cry"
"Everything will be alright."
I don't remember much after that,
except looking down, at her bare feet
turning blue in the cold
_____________________________________________________________
I have swept the sidewalk and watered the flowers- the yard is perfect you see
Afforded the time to swing in the rocker and drink southern sweet tea
As I sip from my favorite old fruit jar- a steady northern breeze accommodates
My thoughts wonders back to recall the best remembered days-
of youthful summer s gone by
What precious memories to an old man like me- whose senses have dulled – now denied
I gladly endure and believe in the best of cures- the wonders and joys of youthful age
So I will tell you heartedly what cannot be forgotten- senses of my summer youthful play
The sting of my palm while playing catch with my older brother-
who died when I was thirteen
Or the flicker of lighting bugs caught in a Mason fruit jar –imaginative fairy queens
A croaking daddy bullfrog while fishing on Pine Lake – just Tom, Dad and me
The earthy aroma of freshly cut grass before playing ball at the little league
The sweet watery meat of a stolen watermelon-the farmer knew it was me
A dip in Pear Creek wearing nothing at all- with a summer’s kiss from Mary Ann-
- when I was fifteen
Playing pirates and Tarzan in the back yard- under the laughing- weeping willow tree
Or the July Ozark Mountain visits to grandmother’s house - I still believe she loved best- only me
The carefree rides- wind in my face- on my new Schwinn bike with my best bud Steve
The mournful tears as I watched Old Yeller- when I thought I was too old to cry
I will stop for now- there are reddish clouds with filtered flashlight beams filling a dusking night
For it’s time to eat my bread and wash for bed- I hope my dear wife will not be snoring tonight
As I wander through my mind, back to years now long gone by.
I stumble over many memories, some now faded and worn by father time.
Others clear, even brilliant, bring a tear, or a smile to the corner of my eye.
At times I was cowboy Roy, as my pony raced the wind.
Some game of cowboy, or some pirate or maybe I was fighter pilot Dan.
There was bubble gum, old Junker bicycles, but I always wanted a Schwinn.
Long lonely walks along the lakeshore, a fishing pole at ready in my hand.
Flowers, frogs, tadpoles and maybe a story from grandpa, occupied my day.
Dirt so hot, it burnt our bare feet, hot summers that never seemed to end.
There were always chores that called, but not always done just right.
And school, but also games, baseball, kick the can, now do come into my mind.
That first kiss, that spun my head around.and made my heart so light.
Chums and best friends, having now gone their separate ways.
Stubbed toes, skinned shins, horses and how we played the game.
Ah childhood, those were "the good old days".
My first car, a FORD of course and this was a model "A"
Parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles now resting in their graves,
Who taught those treasured values that guided and help me find my way.
Hard work, responsibility my young shoulders forced to bear.
There was sports and girls, challenges that I could never get quite right
The years of war with stars hung in windows, for boys who were serving there.
That redheaded girl that grabbed me by the heart and agreed to be my wife.
There were hard times, but good times, as we traveled through the years.
Four grown children, with children of their own, now living their own dreams of life
The time of my life is passing, like water that flows on its journey to the sea.
And though youth has escaped me now, these memories still burn just as brightly.
Somehow I know that my life’s journey, was the adventure that a child had dreamt about with glee.
Dad was lounging in his chair, the football game had just begun.
Beside him with his baseball, glove and bat, stood his little son.
"Daddy, will you come outside and play some catch with me?"
"Not now, son, I want to watch the game, please let me be!"
"Daddy, will you take me fishing, it's such a pretty day,
And maybe we can have a picnic, if that would be okay!"
"Not now, son, find some friends and run along and play.
I'm scheduled to play a round of golf with my pals today!"
'Neath the tree Santa had left a beautiful, sporty Schwinn.
The lad was anxious to show it off and take it for a spin.
"Daddy, can you teach me to ride? It won't take you very long."
"Not now, son, maybe your Mother can, now please run along!"
On a winter's morn the ground sparkled with newly fallen snow.
The little fellow's heart beat faster, his face was all aglow.
"Daddy! Daddy! Will you take me sledding on my Flexible Flyer?"
"Not now, son, I want to read the paper and stay by the fire!"
Swiftly passed the years, the boy now had a family of his own.
He lived far away - his aged father called him on the phone.
"Son, please come to visit me, I'm so lonely and all alone!"
"Not now, Dad, I'm enjoying my son - a trip I must postpone!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I sit, think; catch a quick wink as the ship sinks.
My instinct is to lip sync till the slip’s pink.
Can’t win fights when my chin swipes reach only shin height.
And when kin likes taking Schwinn bikes to my wind pipe.
It’s useless. I’m an aloof spruce, I’m fruitless.
The looseness of nooses is becoming a nuisance.
Screw this. Hope has gone the way of the dodos.
I pack my bindle full of beans and hop a train with the hobos.
If it had been the US, it probably would have been a Schwinn but this was Canada so it was a used red CCM (Canadian Cycle & Machine Company) one speed coaster bike. A bit too big for me at eight but I’d grow into it, or so I was told. The first few days were hell as I fell frequently, no training wheels for boys, and once crashed into the back of a parked car. But I persevered and soon was able to enjoy the vastly increased mobility to visit fiends and places that had formerly been out of reach. With our bikes, my friends and I extended our range from the Calgary’s western suburbs (now considered city core) to Nose Hill, Bowness Park, down a gravel path (now a paved bike trail) on the Bow River to the Zoo and even Cochrane. Our adventures were not without perils, once my chain broke going down Nose Hill, which on a coaster bike means NO Brakes, and I was saved from sure disaster only because the chain wrapped around my rear axle and stopped the bike. But we all survived, at least until motorcycles and cars became our mode of transportation.
I ride my “Women Inspired” Schwinn up to my friend’s path.
My bike is magenta and the path is chartreuse,
Swathed by the spent spring buds of a tree.
I see Mister, who I call “Meester the Dog!”
My friend slides her door open,
Mister jumps to greet me.
He is like a little, bright, brown pierogi,
Boiling between my friend and I like we were the sides of a kettle.
He is so happy, he pees on the patio and we smile and laugh.
I see my friend standing by the door,
And her great chocolate eyes and effulgent smile,
So comfortable in her soft grey top and her soft grey pants.
So comfortable in her skin.
We talk of the mundane, of money, the funny,
Tigers and Appleby’s, bogies and birdies.
We are absolutely ourselves in each other’s company
And she gives me delicious tea.
I put my magenta bike into the wind,
Pedaling happily home.
I love this woman.
Tomorrow many will observe a resurrection.
The holy will stand in church and celebrate the power of a god.
Today I stood on a bud strewn path.
Today I saw my friend.
Today I saw the sacred.
Today I celebrate.
Nestled in the hills of the northeastern plain
live the humblest people on earth
They're the neighborly folk of Modesty, Maine
plain-speaking and modest from birth
Every year in cold mid-December
the Humble Trophy is bestowed Friday night
As far back as the townsfolk remember
it has been handed to John K. Contrite
Mr. Contrite, upon receiving the prize
always bows, blushes and pleads, you're too kind
I'm sure, my dear friends, you realize
much humbler folks you surely can find
It's the twentieth annual Humble Award presentation
Everyone assumes Mr. Contrite will win
but to thunderous applause and grand excitation
the mayor presents it to Julia-Anne Schwinn
Miss Schwinn is the town's first grade teacher
always kind, mild mannered and sweet
Some call her Modesty's finest feature
so supportive and ever discrete
It is my award, Mr. Contrite screams out
I should win every time, don't you see?
Is it not clear, beyond anyone's doubt
I am the king of humility?
Miss Schwinn shouts back to Mr. Contrite
This trophy with me will stay!
You're nobody now. Just leave, goodnight!
They'll build a modesty statue to me one day!
Nestled in the hills of the northeastern plain
live the humblest people on earth
They're the neighborly folks of Modesty, Maine
plain speaking and modest from birth
Every joyful Christmases of distant past
were all very special and memorable.
Except for one unique Christmas unsurpassed.
I recall it was an unforgettable
day, with presents under the lit Christmas tree.
My parents and I gathered at Christmas morn,
I dropped to my knees. I found, I was torn, gee!
So many gifts which to open first. I was torn.
I looked about the room, there against the wall
stood a very large clumsy wrapped Christmas gift.
I asked, "Can I open that one first of all?"
I pushed all the other gifts out of my way
to get to the one large clumsy wrapped ultimate gift.
I unwrapped with quick fingers, the welcoming gift.
I tore at the string and wrapping. Then, ecstatic
screams of joy, tears, and wails it took my breath away.
There was the Schwinn bike I saw in “The Attic”
store window that my heart simply craved and yearned.
My parents looked at me with pride and joy and said,
“Merry Christmas!" My heart gleefully turned.
My eyes were fixed upon the bike with a smile;
it was the most magical moment of any Christmas.
It was a bright red, with shiny chrome fenders,
and tassel hanging down the ends of the handle bars.
I rode all day.
They were all special and memorable memories,
except for one unique Christmas.
11/29/2017
We Bought Her a “Schwinn” Her First Bike!
In the back of the garage, a dusty old Trike
Mom and Dad, my First ride ; YOU shall be Glad
She Falls and skuns Her dainty Knee : A Child so Sad
“Watching A Tears - PAIN 2 “Soon”
With All My LOVE, before I die, YOUR Liege ALWAYS
LOVE…HG ( Harry )
All the Christmases distant past were all so very memorable. Except for one Christmas I truly remember,
especially because it was unforgettable.
My parents and I gathered around the tree Christmas morn.
Many beautiful presents I found,
I was torn, which one to open first.
I looked about the room, there behind the tree
stood a large clumsy wrapped Christmas package.
I asked, “Can I open that one first please?”
Unwrapping the package with quick fingers,
I tore at the string and wrapping.
Then, ecstatic screams of joy with tears and wails
it took my breath away.
There was the Schwinn bike I saw in the store window
that my heart simply craved and yearned.
My parents looked at me with pride and joy and said,
” Merry Christmas!”
My eyes were fixed upon the bike with a smile;
it was the most magical moment of any Christmas.
It was a bright red, with shine chrome fenders,
and tassel hanging down the ends of the handle bars.
For all day long I rode.
12/15/2016
Stuck in the past lane
He drove a '64 Ford Fairlane
Listened to early Beatles and Beach Boys
Collection of Pet Rocks, his favorite toys
Ate sandwiches on Wonder Bread
Dreams of Twinkies swirling in his head
Favorite campaign slogan was 'I like Ike'
Tooled around on a Schwinn 3-speed bike...
Roger's friends teased him, calling him 'chicken'
'Til his adrenaline really kicked in
Thinking he'd take up the art of Kung Fu
Brave Roger made a wish ~ snapped his pelvis in two
The ballerina with her coquetry
and prince with yawning tights his legs stump me.
Her twirl a-spin with graceful poise so long.
The twaddle of his movements poor ping-pong.
Unhandsome chin and rabbit ears so dull
But Alice charms before the queen of bull.
Her ruffles white, she curtsies with a kiss
the redness of a playing card’s abyss.
A timed waste for the prince - he scorns his watch.
His buffoonish pants made of trips and starch.
The queen, she’s not amused — “Off with their heads!”
“I shall have rabbit stew and corset seeds”
The ballerina begs with lashes long
The queen so flatly states her wish “S’long!”
Just then a storm reshuffles deck - a win.
The queen’s been tossed - the duo rides their Schwinn.
To find a finer ballet stage just in
The precise time for girls and rabbit-spin.
10/22/2018
Try Something New Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Nina Parmenter
With dodgy rhymes
We did not dress up for Halloween
In England, when I was of that age.
Movies revealed what fun it was;
the sheer joy in that,
and other things
American kids had,
which we did not;
comic books, Schwinn bikes and X-ray specs.
"Those Yanks, they're always showing-off"
my dad was often fond of spouting.
But I would dream of dressing
as a ghost,
monster, pirate,
or even Superman.
Knock on doors, yell "trick or treat."
In truth, not knowing which answer
would give me the better thrill.
Although, buckets piled high with candy
would, if I were being honest, win the day!
Last October eve would come and go as ever;
always so damp,
so cold,
and so very, very dull.
No pumpkins on the porch, inviting doors
nor crowds of laughing, giggling little ghosts.
Just rain; and dreams;
of pumpkins
candy
comic books,
Schwinn bikes
and X-ray specs!
Fall Flavors Poetry Contest Dressing up for Halloween
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Date wrote: 9th September 2022