Early morning
on summer days
he throws on his gear
and heads down the road
wind in his hair
and an adventure in his heart
ready to explore
whatever comes his way
the new bike path
freshly paved
aligning with interstate 75
or a lengthy ride through Graceland cemetery
under the big four bridge
looking for wildlife as he goes
his destination unknown
I met her at a biker bar
(C) 2025 by Russ Dodson
I met her at a biker bar
somewhere in midtown Monterrey.
She said she was a topless dancer,
working fifteen shifts a day.
She handed me a well-worn token,
said her name was Daisy Mae,
said if I learned to play the game right
I would never have to pay.
I placed the token on the table,
waited for the song to play.
When it started, she stood up;
I watched her body start to sway.
She headed for a dressing room,
looked back and said, "Don't go away."
She returned wearing a costume
meant to lead a man astray.
In pasties and a beaded g-string,
everything was on display.
Her eyes said, "This is all for you, love."
There was nothing more to say.
You ride through shadows, chasing dawn,
But you never saw the storm you spawned.
I’m not the girl you left behind--
I walk the dark with purpose, spine.
Your wheels may spin on borrowed fate,
But I was born to navigate.
I don't chase ghosts or beg for grace;
I set my fire and claim my place.
The night knows me--I wear its name,
Not weeping soft, but burning flame.
No chains to break, no debt to pay--
I forged my freedom, kept the way.
So ride, lone wolf, your distant mile.
I walk in boots, not in denial.
You had your shot, your smoke, your song.
But I’ve been midnight all along.
Authors Notes: poetic response to Midnight Rider by The Allman Brothers Band
wind blowing my hair
heard Seger roll me away
woke up on the porch
A Kamikaze peddler
Who follows his nose
fluorescent green Lycra
A middle finger he shows
Slower than a snail
As wide as truck
Forget the highway code
He pushes his luck.
Side by side they pedal
Three or four deep
Then they become violent
If you give them a beep
They own the road
and there’s no mistake
Zip through red lights
No prisoners they take
Danger personified
Full speed ahead
And then they wonder
Why motorists see red.
The bike’s abandoned
He washes his hands
Peels off his Lycra
He’s got urgent plans
Jumps in his car
To go somewhere fast
A slight incline
He just can’t pass
In front is a pedlar
And It’s Karma at last.
David Cox 11/05/25
daddy heard Johnny Cash's song
A boy named Sue
Turned around and named me Chick too
Now I am a biker chick
bullied by many
especially a guy named Rick
Sliding sideways in life right up till the grave
spent money on bike
don't ride it far just sitting
on someone's sidewalk
Those Bikes
See the goth heavy metal custom motorcycle
Ride past with a long haired rider
Dressed how they should be dressed
Black jeans t shirt denim leather
Low rider chopper as it should be
With twin coffin saddle bags
What a ride to the other side
Give him Devil fingers\M/!
Then there was a classic looking bike
Parked up alone
And I saw two racing bikes
One with a fairing the other naked
Heard his engine as he passed
A man asked me on the bridge
Where am I going?
Planet Mars on a custom bike
With my chick and loud tunes
Barney Boy aka bull dog boss hog has confident attitude to spare
We see him flying around on his Harley doing things we don’t dare
He drives down the roads showing off his muscles and physique
The motorcycle groupies practically faint; he is that unique.
off by all only slightly, like a biker wearing a white striped, black leather jacket passing through the middle of the lane.
"ive gone crazy before i can handle this"
"oh its eleven o' clock"
like a scene with an edited in shake and a man pulling at his hair yelling out
loud.
"i just want to live happily... normally happily"
"bah i cant bear it!!! i guess I'll give in"
on by all every so fully, as if the car got hit because of the biker
Neon vodka splashes into plastic cups.
Booze-hounds doze
over imaginary throbbing bikes,
their noses tucked into studded chests.
A thick thighed woman whoops
and cusses for no apparent reason,
adjusts her rocking bar-stool,
squirms while cajoling with a low-cut.
“Give her a long slow screw”,
mumbles a gray bearded angel with a leery wink.
Beside him, edged into oily leather, his wing man
strategizes some hasty unzipping.
Later, hid in the dirty light — he just might
if she waits for him outside by a wall
one leg lifted.
~~~~~~~
FYI
“A long slow comfortable screw against a wall,” is a cocktail:
ice
1 part vodka
1 part sloe gin
1 part Southern Comfort
orange juice, as needed
1 part Galliano.
~~~~~~~~
As I get older I’m taking a liking
To relive my youth and go motor biking
To pull back the throttle and kick down the gear
And tear up the highway, just like yesteryear
My hair flowing free as I ride without care
My wife put me straight, ‘You ain’t got any hair.’
I told her there’s one thing that time never steals
The rush that a man only feels on two wheels
And out on the road in all my old leathers
My gas driven steed shall vanquish all weathers
I’ll ride and I’ll ride till my legs are like jelly
She said that those leathers won’t cover that belly
Give me dirt on my face and flies in my teeth
Akin to a cow-herder out driving beef
The pounding of pistons driving me on
The joy of not knowing where to or where from
She said okay go be a speeding banshee
But don’t go too far in case you need to pee
I had to relent there’ll be no pennies spent
I can’t blame the wife, her thoughts were well meant
Don’t wanna get caught short in skin hugging leathers
There’s must be more ways to escape boredom’s tethers
And so this is me, not wild and not free
Just a wannabe biker writing bike poetry
I loved riding my
bike as a child. It offered
me a new world view.
I was fast and free.
Then we put cards in the spokes,
and I motorcycled.
I cut corners like
a politician and wore
aviator glasses...
I could have passed my
driving test, last year - but nooo
- for once - I was chill.
I'm sure the trauma
of my laziness will scar
me, but - maybe not.
Sometimes I'm
SO resilient that people
think me uncaring.
Warning: People may
be far more emotional
than they might appear
I need to sell this bike
Dad says, a suzuki 550s
after it melts a hole
in my shoe and burns me
melting my ankle a bit
screaming down the hill
"Dad Stop the bike!"
I say
he rips my shoe out
burned rubber and skin
Eating berries makes me stop crying
Dad tells me he knows the people who live here
and we talk about the homes we've lived in
reminding me of many places
I don't know why that is important
but it is.
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