childhood bicycles in summer~
coasting along the street,
heat shimmering above the handlebars
as if the air itself were remembering;
we rode through afternoons
that opened like bright pages,
our shadows lengthening beside us
in quiet companionship,
and every turn of the wheel
felt like a small permission
to believe the world was wide,
wonderful, and waiting.
There are better ways to travel in town
Past crusty breads, savory cheese, desserts
Two legs move slowly unless pumping down
Move out of the way at expert exerts
On busy European streets, renowned
diving, left, right, recentering, on walk
Here come the bicyclists; they’re all around
You might have to trace my figure with chalk
A slow stroll on quiet streets, disturbed
Darting into cute little shops, askance
Handlebars swerving, our sweet snack is curbed
Waiting for signal that we might advance
On busy European streets, renowned
diving, left, right, recentering, on walk
Here come the bicyclists; they’re all around
You might have to trace my figure with chalk
Children holding on tight; they’re used to this
Going to school, not by foot or by bus
Whilst straddling bike, mama blows a kiss
They weave through traffic; we try not to cuss
On busy European streets, renowned
diving, left, right, recentering, on walk
Here come the bicyclists; they’re all around
You might have to trace my figure with chalk
In the concrete jungle
I go riding my bike
My tummy rumbles
There’s no food tonight
I’m not ruby rich
Street my playground
Now I’m just a kid
Middle class lost and found
I see Ms Peaches
A well known store thief
In her bag she reaches
A sandwich for me to eat
In return I pay her
With my lemon loyalty
I can be the little bird
Black yelling popo you see
I ride despite the dangers
On my thrift store 10 speed
In my mind I’m a red ranger
Like I saw on classic tv
I fantasize as I ride
One day the moon I’ll see
Handlebars to stars I glide
On my bike I am free
A bicycle is freedom
It's not just wheels and gears
It's more than bottom brackets
It's more than front and rear
It's freewheeling down steep hills
No pedals, feet up high
It's becoming young all over again
With hedges zooming by
It's finding winding tracks and lanes
It's getting muddy, wet
It's getting caught out in the rain
A love you dont forget
misjudging potholes in the road
And landing on the side
It's grazing knees and bruises
An exhilarating ride
It's falling in the Bracken
It's walking flat tyres home
It's fresh air and a peace
It's together or alone
Im back to being 12 yrs old
Exploring places yet unseen
It's going out for hours
To where I have not been
So look beyond the handlebars
The sprockets and the chains
This is perfect freedom
Will make you smile again
So free the bike now from the shed
Clean rust from off the frame
Set it free from cobwebs
You'll never be the same
Rust and chrome, a hand-me-down bike,
granddad’s grease still singing in the spokes,
each turn a prayer he hammered back to life~
the bent frame straightened under stubborn love,
the chain baptized in oil and patience.
Ten years old, I straddled time itself:
the saddle, cracked like his laughter,
the pedals, spinning secondhand stars
beneath my untested feet.
He said, Every wobble teaches balance,
and the road rushed up to meet me,
not as a stranger, but as a conspirator~
wind in my face, the world unspooling
behind me like a liberated kite.
Even now, the ghosts of those handlebars
twitch in my palms—how they trembled
before they learned to trust the fall,
before the wheels, like memory,
stopped fighting the curve.
O first flight, O rattling heirloom,
you were never just a bike~
you were my resurrection.
related memoir vignette can be read at
poetrysoup.com/short_stories/a_girl_a_bike_a_librarian_and_a_magical_spell_13645
noon’s furnace: asphalt shimmers; air—thick, slow—
cracks open. cicadas drill through stagnant gold.
a sprinkler’s hiccup-hiss: the pavement’s glow
un/curls in steam. the hydrant’s shout: uncontrolled.
children shriek!—a liquid burst of now,
popsicle rivers bleed; knuckles—sticky, green—
cling to handlebars. shadows stretch: thin, lean
across chain-link. each blade of grass—laid down—
bakes. but dusk? a match-strike: fireflies!—
the yard exhales jasmine; stars prick the bruised eaves—
porch swings gasp. the melted things—still writhing—
pool in gutters: chalk suns, lemon peels, dreams.
the silence hums. even time—soft, unspooled—
beads on your neck. and summer? stays. but cooled.
Let go of both the handlebars,
free the fireflies from mason jars;
Poignant lyrics sprung from memoirs
barz built for starz, barz built for starz;
So much fervor flooding the mic
moving across the stage catlike;
He’s controlling a missile strike
riding a bike, riding a bike.
“Stage Fright”
Where are my lights?
My camera?
My action?
It's not supposed to be like this!
I trained long enough for the stage,
for stardom.
I know I did.
I just know what I did.
I was surrounded by the actors and stars.
I walked the red carpet in dresses from Mars.
I went from a saddle with handlebars
to a drug-induced mansion and flying cars.
From there on the platform I waved,
I smiled.
I said, “Look at me now!”
Wait! Don't run!
I used my hysteria to calm the crowd.
And from behind my back
I drew my gun.
I said, “Hey! Watch me juggle!"
Then I drooled. I frothed.
I failed all my fans today.
I really didn't want to,
But I practiced till I puked...
and then I blew them all away.
Seems like not so long ago when we were kids
Walking through the woods behind the park
Playing cowboys and Indians, six guns on our hips
Never coming home till after dark
Morning would find us teaming up again
One behind the plate, one on the mound
Let the glove dangle from the handlebars
And ride our bikes all over town
Dutch Masters and a White Owl trying our first cigars
Playing grown up was pretty slick
Never thinking how we’d react
Laughing but so damn sick
Caterpillars in the trees come spring
Checking a robin’s egg waiting for it to hatch
Hiking behind Snake Hill on a hot day
Itching like hell from falling in a nettles patch
Saving pennies to buy a pack of Luckies
Never dreamed of growing old
A couple of quarts behind the Dutch Hill Dump
A little too brash, a little too bold
Time is the enemy of every child
Doing all that we ever could
So many gone and we were growing old
But I never thought I would
Come out, come out, taste the bouquet!
Flowers smell better tossed with stars;
Tonight the fairies will come out to play;
Riding the sky without handlebars
the Fey’s toadstools delicately ring;
Their vibrato hanging within bell jars;
As you gaze within wings are fluttering,
throwing a wimpering whirring glow;
Your reality is left all but stuttering;
Vim and vigor pollinate with gusto,
tender loving care allows wishes to grow.
Memorized His T-Shirt
Your eyes I’d memorize, emotive brown.
I think you memorized those lines, oh you…
Tinged pink, the peaks of youth, don’t let me down.
You knelt at my curved knee to tie my shoe.
I ride your bike on handlebars, so cool.
Our bodies fit each other like a glove.
Your arms and legs, steady, don’t be a fool…
I’m safe as long as you don’t crash, my love.
We stretched our wheels a bit too far. Twilight
simmers, our experience shows, who cares…
Fate linked up with friends - not stranded tonight.
The moon is nigh, unspoken dreams we share.
***************************************************
*If I told you, you had a good body*
*would you hold it against me - shirt’s bawdy*
**************************************************
My New Year's resolution
For twenty twenty-four
Is the same old resolution
That I made ten times before
I vowed to stop eating junk food
Like candy and all kinds of chips
So, that I could lose those handlebars
That have grown around my hips
I vowed to stop eating McDonalds...
And Wendy's and Burger king
And focused on eating better things
Like- Buffalo Wild Wings
I vowed to eat more fruits
Like- oranges, grapes, and cherries
So, I bought myself something good
A pack of Starburst's, flavored- Wild Berries
Start
to shape
a moustache
this time of year,
handlebars, pencils,
or lines from ear to ear,
funny grins for volunteers,
and charities will remember,
a tidy growth every November
handlebars, pencils, = types of moustaches
A November Nonet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Counter > Howmanysyllables
11/09/22
A book of scars
tells the tale of a lively past;
A book of scars
falling off of my handlebars
opens leaving me an outcast;
Still, I am who I am if asked;
A book of scars.
Your eyes I’d memorize, emotive brown.
I think you memorized those lines, oh you…
Tinged pink, the peaks of youth, don’t let me down.
You knelt at my curved knee to tie my shoe.
I ride your bike on handlebars, so cool.
Our bodies fit each other like a glove.
Your arms and legs, steady, don’t be a fool…
I’m safe as long as you don’t crash, my love.
We stretched our wheels a bit too far. Twilight
simmers, our experience shows, who cares…
Fate linked up with friends - not stranded tonight.
The moon is nigh, unspoken dreams we share.
***************************************************
*If I told you, you had a good body*
*would you hold it against me - shirt’s bawdy*
**************************************************
9/8/2021
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