Long Biker Poems
Long Biker Poems. Below are the most popular long Biker by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Biker poems by poem length and keyword.
I’d rather be a biker than a snowflake.
A biker on the roads can race,
Ride freely to any old place,
No one dares get in their face,
I’d rather be a biker than a snowflake.
The snowflakes march, but never fly
In sheer numbers their courage relies,
They march for peace, but violence cry,
I’d rather be a biker than a snowflake.
I’d rather be a lumberjack, than a hipster.
Wearing plaid, but not posturing,
A chainsaw or an axe I’d swing,
And send mighty trees a-toppling.
I’d rather be a lumberjack, than a hipster.
The hipster would sooner hug a tree,
And when they drink a beer that’s cheap,
They claim they do it ‘ironically…?’
I’d rather be a lumberjack, than a hipster.
I’d rather be a cowboy than a hippie.
I’d ride the range from dawn to dusk,
Wild horses I would try to bust,
On wild bulls I’d try my luck,
I’d rather be a cowboy than a hippie.
A hippie might think riding mean,
Eschew the beef, and other meets,
Prattle on about being ‘green,’
I’d rather be a cowboy than a hippie.
Yeah you struck out a lot but when you connected it was majestic and I've never before or since seen anyone lay out for a ball like you
You looked like a biker or one of the plant workers so familiar in my hometown or like any other guy on my dad's union league softball team in that powder blue
While I was too young for your '79 masterpiece (though I later memorized all the stats) I followed every at-bat when you tied for the crown with Reggie in '82
I came home from school one afternoon and they told me you'd been traded to Cleveland and I cried and to this day I resent the two nobodies they got in return and I still don't understand what exactly they were trying to do
All's well that ends well because after a few years they came to their senses and brought you home and I was there at "Gorman Night" when you made your triumphant return to County Stadium and to our Brew Crew
June 9, 2017
"Hey, you! C'mere!
Tell me what you're thinkin'."
A boy on the verge of manhood
Stepped over to the woman.
He looked so innocent
In his ragged jeans, white t-shirt,
And black, leather biker jacket.
"What do you mean,
What am I thinking?"
"What's goin' on in your head, boy?
What do you think?"
"Ok, I'll tell you what I think.
I think life can be good
If you let it be.
I think sex can be too complicated
And love too easy.
I think brown is the ugliest color
There is, was, or ever will be.
I think a '67 Stingray with
A T-top and five on the floor
Is the coolest car around,
But a '93 Metro is much more practical.
There must be some power higher than us
Because this world is too magnificent
To have happened by mistake.
I think the UT football team sucks this year
And Navy isn't doing much better,
But A&M and the Buckeyes are pretty good.
I'm in a good place inside myself,
And I think you're pretty neat yourself."
He stood there with the wind
Tossing his red hair.
She looked into those big green eyes
And grinned as she turned
And walked away.
He yelled after her,
"Hey, you! What do you think?"
She turned and said,
"I think you'll turn out just fine."
we are badass parrots they said when they arrived
there were only three but they had the attitude of five
they strutted and threw their weight around
I was glad when they finally stomped over the mound
they are tough! I told the other giants fair.
one of them laughed and batted her hand in the air.
if they give me attitude I will fry them up.
so saying, she kicked the big one; his name was Hup.
the tallest biker chick came over and gave her what for.
she laughed until tears came out of her eyes like a downpour.
get back over the mound or I will stomp you like a bug.
this confident parrot ran for her life; I had to laugh at the thug.
Cindy
By Franklin Price
03/04/2022
When I first met you Cindy, you were another person's spouse
You became a friend to Barb and me, were always welcome in our house.
People always stopped and stared, your beauty was in bloom
You were then, a trophy wife, when you walked into the room.
We all became the best of friends, rode Harleys everywhere
Whenever someone saw us, all the rest of us were there
You and Barb became the best of friends, went in business together
Through thick and thin you persevered, through clear and stormy weather
You left the marriage you were in, and you moved on to another
Searching for some satisfaction with a younger biker brother.
I'm thinking that the sex was good. You married him. What for?
Though your looks were of perfection, had love to give and so much more.
Barbara saw that more within you, your intelligence came through.
You were more than just an object, you had more in life to do
You were more than just a play thing, Barb had made you realize,
The work, and love and friendship, had really opened up your eyes.
All our lives were changing, Barb's and mine had turned about.
Billy's and her heads were banging and I had to get her out.
We moved to North Carolina, where it took her several years
To come to grips, and stabilize, and dry up most her tears.
We were saddened by departing, leaving everyone behind
But if we did not do it, she would have lost her freaking mind
You took over all the business, and you really made us proud
You are more than just an object, you're a standout in the crowd.
You've divorced your biker buddy, and took back your maiden name,
Still printing out “Checks on Demand”. You are changing up your game.
Barbara has passed away, all her pain on earth is through
I'm still here and cheering, for some joy and peace for you.
I would love to be a part of that, as we travel on through life
You have lost your best friend Barbara, who was my own best friend and wife.
We both have friends and family who will help us move along
I would like us to be more than that. Does that make my liking wrong?
You make my heart beat faster when I call you on the phone
To hear your voice assures me that I'll never be alone
Her love brings us together. She's so much of who we are.
She's still resides within us, she'll always be our shining star.
He’s having a big mid life crisis
It’s a bit late, I grant you, but true
It should have begun in his forties
And not when he hit eighty two
When he traded his wife for a new one
(She is thirty years younger, or more)
The old one was getting quite past it
So he told her, and showed her the door
He now spends his time, with fine dining and wine
And all of life’s pleasures and joys
From Italian suits and dying his roots
To a house full of gadgets and toys
In the garage there sits a big Harley
And whenever the weather is sunny
He jumps on his hack, with his bird on the back
And they go out and spend loadsa money
But he’s not such a big hairy biker
Since when they return from the trip
He’ll sit down in front of the fire
For a cocoa, and afternoon kip
As his old aching bones start rebelling
And he ponders upon his past life
All the things he has done, the women the fun
But most, how he misses his wife
Form:
I ride the bike even when it's a little cold
I am now biker trash so I am told
What has changed I just can't see
Has parking my truck really made a change in me
Or is the fact that I like to ride
And that my friend I'll never hide
From the ones that can't understand
How that throttle feels in my hand
Yet it's still the same man as before
That now you have some need to ignore
Last week when you were broke
I didn't laugh or at you poke
Instead I held out my hand
Helping you as much as I can
When you once had no food to eat
Who put that sack of groceries at your feet
The that time your kids got really sick
My phone seemed to ring awfully quick
At those times you were not afraid
And a friend I thought I had made
But now my face you can only slap
Because I have a leather jacket and some chaps
Go ahead and judge me if you must
And I really don't need your trust
I have shown what I can and will do
In your time of need I was there for you
Now that you've seen me ride
Have I some how hurt your pride?
Now your friendship may be missed
But don't dial my number I must insist
Because in my truck or on my bike
I am still the man that for 5 years you did like
Maybe the stories are really true
Everyone is trash unless they live like you!
An Uncle Charlie Original
In Ongata Rongai's club, a memory song weaves,
A tale of Newton Karish and daring thieves,
Late '90s, New Year's Eve, a lively show,
A sold-out crowd, in high spirits, they'd go.
Karish, unlike modern stars who mime,
With a live band and dancers, he'd shine.
From 10 pm till dawn's early light,
He'd entertain with all his might.
Dancers lost in rhythms, the crowd in delight,
As midnight approached, spirits took flight,
But then, at 2 am, a sudden hush fell,
Speakers went mute, a foreboding spell.
A gang, six or seven, with weapons untamed,
Machetes, clubs, and rusty guns they aimed,
"KILA MTU LALA CHINI!" the leader's decree,
Patrons, sobered, herded, as fear grew free.
"EVERYONE, GET NAKED!" his next demand did ring,
So, they stripped down to nothing, a peculiar, shocking thing,
As the gang searched pockets, taking what they could find,
The crowd cowered on the cold floor, fear etched in their mind.
The gang's leader, bold with humor in tow,
Ordered the speakers to once again glow,
Onstage, Karish and his band stood bare,
Naked and vulnerable, in the chilling air.
"START SINGING!" the gang leader's absurd command,
Karish, his voice trembling, had to withstand,
"Muthoni Kifagio," the song he must perform,
A satirical piece, to ridicule and inform.
Adding humor to the tale's unique lore,
The gang chose a dancer, a man to explore,
An old, pot-bellied, short figure in a cowboy hat,
Dancing comically for the gang; imagine that!
The heist was brief, mere minutes had passed,
And the gang disappeared, leaving the patrons aghast,
Naked and frantic, like a colonial scramble they raced,
For clothes to wear, in haste, they embraced.
Karish and his band, furthest from the pile of clothes,
Landed mismatched attire, confusion arose,
Karish in a spaghetti top, a scent of perfume so strong,
His wife at home, his troubles, he'd explain ere long.
No offense, but imagine the scene so bizarre,
As the pot-bellied dancer, in a cowboy hat, old by far,
Wore lady's biker short, oh what a sight,
In an unexpected place, a humorous plight.
To this day, Karish worries and ponders,
How the dancer, in his unusual wonders,
Explained to satisfaction, to his wife's delight,
Why he wore lady's biker short that night.
Hiking Hannah wondered about hundreds of hikes in her wonder journals.
She's been to Kansas to see sunflowers and Iowa to see corn kernels.
Her cousin asked. Are you going to Europe- namely Italy any time soon?
Hannah's laborious notes said Saturn, Pluto,and maybe the moon.
She had the boots, the canned foods, the can opener, and the walking stick.
The heels of her boots were heavy, because they were incredibly thick.
She had seen so many marvelous things and tasted cookies, Chips Ahoy.
Next, she might concentrate on the Midwest, Maybe Omaha or Illinois.
I thought you were going to outer space, her sister Sally said to Hannah.
Hannah was fixing herself a sandwich of peanut butter, lettuce and banana.
Possibly, or maybe Canada or Mexico, she said with a little bit of sass.
First she had to get a waitress job, down at the Derby Bass.
For money is important if you want to be a hiker.
Or an astronaut or doctor or even a kerchief-wearing biker.
We ventured out one summer morn
to meet up with the rising sun,
the trip began at Castle Rock;
we joined the others for the run.
Inside a truck stop restaurant
the club debated where to go,
some wanted south to warmer lands,
the others north to find some snow.
We decided north and south were out;
most choices were too far to roam.
We voted to go east instead,
all wanting to stick close to home.
Mount Saint Helens made our list
and looming Mount Rainier did too,
we flipped a coin; let fate decide
which roads we would be riding through.
I picked that coin out of the air
and slammed it down just like a boss.
I raised my hand and all could see
that Mount Saint Helens won the toss.
We topped our tanks and checked the tires,
then lined the bikes up in a row.
One final check determined that
this biker run was set to go.
The Pres pulled out and took the lead
His panhead chopper screaming loud
The rest of us filled in the line,
the one percent, the few, the proud.
With colors flapping in the breeze
and engines gleaming chrome and steel,
the club was on the road again,
expressing all these things we feel.
The knucklehead was running smooth;
with you snug up against my back,
we made the perfect picture love,
you clothed in white and me in black.
We wove around for miles and miles,
until we claimed the mountain crest,
then, near the famous lava tubes,
we finally stopped to get some rest.
We pitched our tents and made some food
then we decided to explore
the holes that held the lava tubes,
the sulfur springs and so much more.
When we were done it was full dark
the only light a crescent moon
so we returned to find our tents;
the morning light would find us soon.
We washed ourselves and changed our clothes,
then settled in to spend the night.
Near dawn we woke and 'saddled up'
prepared to ride before first light.