Long Bike Poems

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Premium Member Petite Mal Epilepsy: the Perfect Child

I have a disability I’ve had my whole life long.
My memory disappears whenever things go wrong,
My first memory was wondering where and who on earth was I.
And who were all the people that I did espy, 
When we moved to our first house, it struck me yet again.
Thank goodness my brother came along on his bike just then.
My mother came outside, and looked familiar so I followed her within.
I actually thought that I was normal, when I was very small.
They took my hand when I went out, so it mattered not at all.
Ingrained habits kept me in the yard, with my friends, and at their knee.
I was such a quiet thoughtful child, they were happy to let me be.
Who am I and where am I, became my quiet refrain.
But I didn’t worry because they always there to call my name.
My parents never caught on, no not once, never at all…
I actually acted like everyone else when I was very small.
I looked normal to others so alone I had to carry on.
Then I went to ballet class, I studied so very hard… for oh so long.
The day of the recital I lost it all in front all where I wanted to belong.
My mother thought it stage fright, and finally took me from the throng.
What good was it doing, she thought, if I did not want to learn the dance?
And then I realized to live my life I’d have to work hard for every chance.
And if I had an argument with a friend, it was over oh so fast.
For the stress made me forget and my life became recast.
So if they didn’t come around for a while I didn’t really care.
Because I would soon forget they had ever even been there.
Eventually they would come back and my memory would come back. 
Then off we’d go to play again as I studied how to avoid another attack.
When asked what I wanted to play, I’d smile at them you see…
And they’d be happy as I said, “whatever you want is ok with me.”
But do not think to pity me for my stubbornness is truly limitless.
After 12 and ½ years in college… I became for 30 years, a true Chemist.
I raised a son and held my own in a world that couldn’t understand me.
But with all those bouts of confusion the world still became my cup of tea.
Quiet, stubborn, hiding my pain, and with lots of daily notes…
Lots of time spent studying ways around my problems, I would devote…
My family had no pity, just the charge to get out there with mankind.
And here I am successful at 58, now with poetry on my mind.
Form: Rhyme


~ (~) ~ the Things of These ~ (~) ~(Part #4 of 6) ~ (~) ~

As you see, hear a few moments later a funny looking Huckleberry Hound dopey little dog
cartoon the families all time favorite as the children snicker, and everyone there comes
in the room just in time and laughs together. With our dog cocking her head slightly and
barking with us. As our kitten Timid whacks at her ears stops again and chases her wagging
tail, hysterically.

And I tell you if it is all I can do to cherish the freshness of these things, friend I
will. I tell you I've already won.

My baby's laughter there in the highchair clapping with his superman bottle sitting in his
diaper splashing away all over Him listening to Dave Matthew's' It's Not Easy To Be Me
waving it in one hand as he shimmy's and rocks too and fro to the beat of the ambiance of
the new day, yes, reminds me ... .

Our Oreo cookie looking kitten named pounce, playing alone today now there
in-the-rain. How everything from birth has remained so curious to him. His
resilience as he laid there with her saying goodbye ... . As Gracie his sister just passed
on, yesterday. So I feel fate brings us to this opportunity, gentle mercy, tender beauty,
purest of goodness, when willing, everyday. Though even we do, or do not pray.

Like the perfect feel of those glorious tender kisses. Sweet caresses flying footballs
bike riding scuffed up knees tender love and band aids humming-birds-humming.
As-they-hover by the honey water feeders. The dog barking Pounce and Timid playing with
their super bouncy ball bouncing around whimsically too and fro. The Mango Chicken
Surprise chicken in the Set-It-and-Forget it rotisserie. Slippery wet feet legs flung up
swinging arms and tossing shoes loud thunks of your older swimmer Son slipping coming in
from His morning workout on the linoleum floor being just freshly mopped right bye the
back door.

As Mama cries out ""sorry Son" the dog or cat peed and you yell too"" You alright", and he
yells back frustrated "Whatever!" "This is a crazy family"! "I want out" Let me out"! And
yes some other real good humor I cannot really hear right now, and as well yes I feel he
is like Jim Carry and Robin Williams and a lot like me and my morning coffee.

Still being drank all throughout whatever heat of the day.





http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWJVmk8s9NU&playnext=1&list=PLAAF17CBEBB7C3D44&index=78
© James Long  Create an image from this poem.

Tumbleweeds

Memories tumble through my mind, 
rolling aimless, some have been...
missing for a while.
I try to fill in the blanks. Others, 
I sweep into already dusty corners.
You know, the ones far easier forgotten.
Tumbleweeds...my memories
have become tumbleweeds.
I take snapshots of the cherished ones, 
file them away
giving them a home...
before they blow away in the savage wind.
I yell out to my own echoing voice -
"Did I tell you my mom liked to dance?"
"Yes", I remember.
I hear her music, rock-and-roll,
her long hair bouncing with each step.
She doesn't dance anymore...
I see my step-father, hands dirty, working
always working, but sometimes
stopping to joke or tease. 
Moments gone...memories fleeting...
begging them to stay
a little longer or at least 
visit my dreams.
"Did I tell you my dad played drums?"
"Yes", I remember. 
I hear rat-a-tat-tat in my head, 
primal beats, rhythmic beats -
complex man, gentle soul...
I would sing at the top of my lungs while he played.
He never seemed to mind my shrill, little girl voice.
I miss him, I miss his drums. Music is not the same.
Nothing the same.
I close my eyes and another memory
blows through empty spaces.
My brother is racing his bike down the street FAST.
He is about ten, all skinny legs in his shorts.
"Where are you going?" I call after him, too late.
"Don't go, please don't go!"
He is gone and I wonder if he was ever here, there, 
anywhere within my reach.
Some do go astray, I remind myself.
Missing memories...missing love - 
loneliness finding a home in my heart 
when least expected...
"Wait, come back", I yell to him. "I'm still here."
Ruminating, I ask myself if we ever know,
really know, the ones we love.
No, not really. I remember.
Frantic, I reach for the tumbleweeds, grasping.
I reach for my two earthly fathers who are long gone...
I see them, each so different yet loved. Then, 
they blow away, missing again.
I chase them futilely. The savage wind still blows,
across grains of desert sand...
I will never know why, never know. 
Tumbleweeds...my memories have become 
tumbleweeds
blowing in a savage wind.


* one of my favorite early poems (maybe it doesn't seem happy, but
it includes some of my favorite memories)
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

March 2, 2012
Second Place in Chris Aechtner's Let the Masks Fall Contest

Premium Member Dragon Slayer, No

Dragon Slayer! Dragon Slayer! Just say it isn’t so! Just Look at that cutesy face! 
Behind the scary teeth, fire, and smoke… Choke…Ah… he’s gentle to embrace!
Moody, sulky, get even-ish, is truly he. But to have him, is so cool… and so hot!
And, I truly do mean Hot! Fire retardant suit’s a must, as there’s fire… often, a lot!

He’s just a baby, waiting to be taught. I tried to teach him, how to fly me thru the air.
Instead, he dumped me in a treetop, it took all day to get down, until I despaired.
To help me down, he lit the tree afire, as his wings errantly fanned the roaring flames.
I jumped, and he smiled a toothy grin, because I was safe, he steadfastly claims.

I’m on crutches, nearly bent his tail. But he loves me, you can tell, see he puffs at me!
Grandpa Troll gives us time out, when there’s a tiff, as my dragon, is petulant, you see.
At times, he sits across the lake from me, blowing fire and smoke ¾ across the lake.
He’s such a sensitive thing, he took my couch to the lake, upon sitting, it did break.

I got upset and called him fat…he tried to steam me, as fire is such, a No- No.
For, he had learned to not throw fire… at least when Grandpa Troll is, there, tho…
He needs to be first, the center of attention, seen in his cunning life’s plots, galore!
He taught my Trolls a happy dance, while waiting their first boat ride. Silly Dragon!

They sunk my boat! It's believed, he was getting even for being last in line, you think?
And he stomped off, perturbed, when told no more rides until the boat is unsink-ed.
He’d been last, for breaking my roof for another (fourth) time, but it will soon be fixed.
You see, he gets lonely, while waiting for me, to come outside to play, the little minx!

He CAN be hard on insurance, as I got cancelled and my bills are higher than a kite!
And when the Supreme Leader of the Universe, came to our picnic on a motorbike…
Dragon, accidentally, released his Dogs of War, while sitting on his Harley Bike.
Honestly, the flat tires can be fixed, the body unbent, and the spokes were given back.

I explained they weren’t HIS toothpicks… he truly looked sad as sad can be, at that.
Never fear, we caught the Dogs of War before they had time to… do great harm.
You can just imagine how great this dragon will eventually be, when all grown up.
Dragon Slayer, indeed! Grandpa Troll gave him to me. He’s sweet as sweet can be!

Evidence of Spirit Part Iv: La Folie Du Renard

An essence heard a heartfelt plea
meek, unconfident, not familiar
"Should I bother anymore? Please guide me."
His words hardly mist....
a response slices the scene
     with the speed of a guillotine.

skittering over the asymmetrical
similarities of a snowy expanse
      a messenger appears

cracks of icy dunes 
produce precarious pawfalls
plaguing the vixen.
venturing further    precisely
she plods over precipices
of ragged protrusions
desperate to achieve the comfort
of a smooth surface.
      
"Where you go is perilous!
I worry for your safety!
It can't be done, you won't survive!"
       ...cried the timid.

Her movement stops on cue
slowly facing the pupil
she teaches in silent syllables
floating on unknown frequencies.

" DAMN YOU NAYSAYER!
I have no time for the likes of you.
Say I won't survive? Come out alive?
I've fought through worse pain
finding sustenance to gain
morsels leaving one inspired
not feeling as if they're mired.
Search within your pores
find where you have hidden yours."

Dumbfounded - the novice stirs restlessly

"Perplexed, I see, you are mon cherie.
Hear what you seek before I flee.

When life's coldness surrounding you
leaves you writhingly wretched
don't feel so desolate and utterly dejected.
Deep inside lies the truth
albeit quite protected.

Bugger those scorning your worth
their eyes glisten shades green.
Stagnantly feeding ego's girth
pompous words - own to preen.

YOU are the Alpha here Jack
there is no need to whine
Condemn the disapproving pack 
let your own light shine

Too much weight put into their drivel
making your inner child snivel
Buck up, put them in their place  
other's ire force them to chase.

This be your nefarious impasse
faux approval merely to fit in        
Always people of that class
saying anything to win

Lastly,
though I've said enough....

It's as you learned when a tyke  
those times you fell off your bike
quit being a ruse
get back to your muse
keep working at what you like!"

Sunset facing her gaze
signals the quest resumed
Her protege audibly sobs 
a simple seven syllable soliloquy stating:

          "Thank you
       I love and miss you!"

    with a whispered    (mom)

Tender tendrils of whispy wind
touch a cheek with a kiss 
and a lasting voiceless return.....
       "Forever, son"


Four Trees Toppling Over the Dirty River

I escaped to a quite place to meditate
But as soon as I got there an old man in a red cap  
with a wretched look on his face  invaded my quiet space
I have noticed him  perpetually prowling around the park
with his long range professional camera shooting from the dark
Today my spirit got  crossed and I came face to face with him
I labeled him a stalker but he quickly denied and
and confessed that he was a habitual bird watcher
I felt a sudden vexation brewing  and with deep sorrows inside 
I took my bible and  sat on the damp grass and
read a psalms from the depth of my heart.
The rain  came down suddenly wetting the pages in my bible
And forcing the bird watcher to close his  despised windows
His conscience started screaming at him  and in a few
minutes he hurried away from that place.
Something compelled me to leave that spot too
so I rode my bike along  the wet trail  leading to a  muddy course
and a man riding in the opposite direction crossed my  path
I  attempted to get off my bike to let him pass 
but he said aloud "I will  ride in the muddy part"
As soon as I reach around the tired bend
I pounced upon a sign which reads
 "road under construction, closed"
The broken swampy road perishing from inside 
with heavy equipment blocking the route kept everyone away
I felt extremely happy
I parked my bike along  the broken track and walked on
a board that connects both trail and continued on the track
I kept walking until my spirit led me to a peculiar  place
A tree  on the river  bank with roots swelling out of the ground
with no soil to cover it's body and veins running all around
caught my attention
I made my way into the bushes 
and sat on the root with my bare feet dangling
above the slow moving water and  flat rocks gazing at me
as if they have something urgent to show me
I kept looking all around still there was nothing to be found
But right in front  of me the hidden mystery was staring directly at me
There it was in living proof five trees standing on the  river bank
four trees leaning over the river  in a cluster
with one almost  falling  to the ground
But the fifth tree separated  from  the cluster was standing upright
looking healthy and strong  sucking up the energy from the four falling ones
I  photograph the living  image of the four trees
collapsing over the big dirty river.
Form: Narrative

I Know Now

i never knew one person could have so many emotions
 inside them at one time.
i never knew how easily hate could fill the empty void
 where love once thrived.
i never knew that lying got the world would make a difference.
i never knew that hurting me could help you.
i never knew that lovers make good fighters.
i never knew that the best of friends make the best of enemies.
i never knew that abstinence led to betrayal.
i never knew that distance makes the heart grow fonder.
i never knew that all our friends were just my friends, not yours.
i never knew how pathetic you were.
i never knew i just needed a stronger man.
i never knew i could be so unhappy.
i never knew how many hours it would take to build a tree house.
i never knew how quickly i could want to burn it down. 
i never knew how badly i could want to tear my bike to shreds.
i never knew how much i could want my house to fall to pieces because you 
helped build it.
i never knew that one man could destroy me so.
i never knew that the one man i loved was a s----y enough of a person to lie to me 
about something so serious.
i never knew that the one person who brought out the best in me would 
eventually bring out the worst.
i never knew that looking at pictures of happy times would make me so angry.
i never knew that watching my kitten sleep would one day make me cry.
i never knew that you could lie to my face and not feel guilty about tit.
i never knew how much i needed my friends.
i never knew that i could ever dislike 4-wheeler rides.
i never knew that i could hate going into the campers or the building for anything.
i never knew that i could eat a whole thing of ice cream by myself.
i never knew that i would cry myself to sleep several nights over a lie.
i never thought that i wouldn't be able to cars without crying, or ever come to a 
point where i actually didn't want to watch the Notebook.
i never knew that i could hate snow patrols "chasing cars" so much that it would 
make me cry.
i never knew that we could be apart for so long and yet your still ruining things for 
me.
i never knew that you could have the nerve to bug for a second chance.
       i'm not saying i regret it , because i don't.
                           It's just i know now.
                                       And there's no way in h---- i'm going back.
Form:

My Father

Mi Padre, 2012
V. Ortiz Vazquez ©

Bears the mark since child birth
Incognito until childhood
Development blocks transformed part of his destiny
Twin brother carries the severe load
Not only does he stumble when speaking but also when walking
Both deteriorating with the passing of
Seconds, minutes, hours
Days, weeks, months, years

To remember the days when family went out for a jog
To ride the memory lanes when outings took us to the mountains
Rivers
Lechón Asado
Monitas, Crab hunting
Mud beyond the ankles
To peddle through strange terrain brings the day you taught me how to ride my bike
Hanging on the tree’s branches
Result of your way of teaching
“You have two choices; break or crash,” you said

Remember my swimming training?
“You either swim or drown,” you stated as you threw me into the deep waters
To this day, panic comes when I cannot touch the floor
Next stage in my life a new lesson
To learn how to drive
18 was I, a family friend my teacher this time
Keeping in mind the words you said to me once
“If you want to learn how to drive, watch what I do”
So many words yet no practical techniques with them

Formal education left you at an early age
Life’s education provided you with lifelong lessons
Handy man you became
Trick of trades pass down to you
Childhood road blocks no impediments to you
Sharp mind even when learning was tough at times
Hands no stranger to hard labor
No competition to formal education
Building your life’s traveling path one block at a time
First, you stole my mom
Your wife
Second, came my brother
Then, me and my sister
To wake one day to learn of your demise
Explanation to the changes within you
No longer active
Your hands no longer take pleasure of fixing things
Captive between four walls
Your mind
Diagnosis of schizophrenia
Johnny, Christian, Vadeline, Carlitos, Chadwick, Cody
How long until you can no longer enjoy grandchild’s laugh?
Touch?
Conversations?

Cheated you were, are
Compensated with a wife, children, grandchildren
Nurture with richness of a simple man
Patiently I wait until the next time you say, “Tonta. Así no se hace”
And, in your father’s role explain to me what I already know
Don’t seem to understand
To call you later and ask for your handy hands
No time of waiting
Refuse to part with slipping mind
Sharp hands

Just a Few Words

Yesterday, turned out,
To be, a magical day...
I got a great new drummer,
Totally excellent, I must say,
And he took the band,
To his amazing studio...
With every bit of exotic equipment...
A musician could know...
He mixed in like magic...
Making the band's chances
of reaching success to greatly grow...

And, though my physical pain was
much greater than usual,
We went to a diner in Queens,
for a menu perusal,
I treated my mates,
To a hearty dinner meal,
Glad for once I could treat,
It seemed no big deal...
From there on we went...
To the Howard Beach Yacht Club,
To play a musical gig,
The kind of job we do love...

Hosted by Queens Hell's Angels,
A fund raiser for poor kids,
For the "toys for tots bike run",
Sounds unreal, yet it was not,
It was just what it claimed,
That it really was, and every year
It still is...
We played for free, 
though we got food or drinks,
Without charge...
And helped them earn money,
In their own hometown biker's lodge...

Well we were suplimented by
by other good musicians we knew...
We played an awesome set,
We knew what, and how, to do...
As for me, when I received,
What I perceived as a musician's slight..
Asked not to play...
every song that was planned,
For that big night,,
It seemed to me....
To be not being treated quite right...
So, yet, when we played,
We were sharper than a knife...
And were heros for the night...
Every song quite tight,
However, this somewhat offensive remark,
That was made to me,
Turned my playing skills
Up quite a mite....
And when we reached...
A great level of musical 
Excellence,at that point,
And when it was at it's height...
We were rocking that joint,
We played way out-of-sight.....
But regarding my minor ego wound,
I somehow made my point,
So by a long night's end,
I had easily won that
Stupid and needless musical fight...
Picture "biker chicks" dancing
Exotically in front of the band,
Seemingly in ecstasy...
Which gave us a hand...
You see, such a thing...
Will make us play all the better...
And thunderous applause,
It seemed dotted the "i's"
In that letter....
We "Smoked 'Em" real good,
They loved every song....
Seemed they wanted us,
To play all night long...

Great satisfaction, and fun,
I really did have...
For at least my tired soul,
It was a heavenly sent salve.
© Tom Bell  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Trust a Stranger

You're walking out the front entrance 
Leaving work behind you 
Forgetting the hustle of the day 
Looking forward to a quite drink 

Chilling out 
In your 
Soft 
Comfy 
Favourite 
Chair 

Staring into an open fire 
Being carried away with the beat of the music 
When all of a sudden 
You're startled 

By the thundering crackling 
Sound from the exhaust 
Of a oversized shinny motor bike 

A leather cladded rider dismounts
Blocking your path 
As you stand stunned & glued to the spot 
The rider comes up to your face 
Through a tinted visor on a black helmet 
You hear a soft gentle familiar voice saying

Put this on and let's go 
All your fears flash in front of you 
But your censors say your safe 
You allow this gentle giant 
To carefully place the open face helmet over your head 
Slowly secure it under your chin 
Hands you some wrap around sun glasses
Without a word 

The rider shows you how to 
Comfortably mount a bike 
Indicates you to wait until he is on 
Gives you the nod
As you mount the bike 

Cuddle into the rider 
looking over his right shoulder 
Smelling & feeling the leather on your bare skin 
As you clasp your hands together 
Around the stomach of the rider 

The bike starts 
Startled by the noise you jump 
And thrusted back as we take off 

Slowly through the main street 
Slow down even more for the school zone 
Swerving 
Swaying 
Dodging 
In and out 
Of the afternoon traffic 

Leaving the bottle neck behind 
With the confusion and worry 
Hitting the open road 
Winding the throttle wide open 

The purring of the pipes 
Echoing off on coming cars 
The thumping of the motor 
Rising up through the seat 

The wind caressing your face 
As we brake hard and throw 
The bike down into a left hand lean 
Around the corner in one motion 
Pick the bike up and throw down 
Into a right hand corner 

Dancing 
Up 
Down 
And around 

Up the hill onto the flat 
Surrounded trees 
The afternoon sun strobing through the trees 

Behind the trees 
In the paddocks 
Prancing 
Dancing 
Meres and foals

Back into town 
Where I stop at your place 
I dismount 
Extend my hand to help you off 
Lovingly remove your helmet 
Tie it on the sissy bar 
Jump on the bike 

With a crack from the pipes 
The engine roars 
Burning the tar with my back tyre 
Leaving you standing in the cutter

Dumbfounded 
Bewildered 
Tingling 
Laughing and smiling
Form: Prose

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