pedalling my bike,
my legs became language
because as i rode
i could suddenly manage
all the words i wanted to say
released in a package
well, my bike is a pen
driving smoothly on pavement
its lines helped me when
i wanted to escape
so i rode my bike again,
pedalling for ages
Final leg, still a chance
Focused, head down
Pain
Energy fading
A foot slip
Concentration meets exhaustion
Pedalling harder, slowing down
Quick look down
Something is wrong
I swear
I stop
No other way
A broken chain did end false, grand hopes
I jolt, knees lock, my nerves, open panic
Quietly raging, steward turns up, voices warn
Xanthopsia, yellow zephyr
Wheels flash passed
Peloton already distant
Stragglers stare
Endgame
Consoled by crowd
Devastated
Punctured dreams
Fort Largs
Once we stood together proud and tall
Dressed in khaki or navy blue one and all
We ran the grounds and learnt the law
In the people’s service those years before
Remember us from those times past
As from this ground’s memories we pray will last.
© Paul Warren Poetry
School Holidays
Do you remember the sunny days
When you knew they would never go away
And the morning sun would shine through the blinds
And happiness would be forever kind
Did you ride your bike as fast as you could
Taking corners and pedalling hard as you should
And sunsets in pastel colours in the sky
As the days on end would fly by
Did you count the waves as they came in
On the white sand as you jumped in and out again
And not a day was wasted each and every one
As Summer Holidays we’re meant to have your fun.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Disappointed she bends on her knees
Ears shut, not to catch his brutal words anymore
Spilling her painful tears on the floor
Desperately prays for her dilemma to freeze!
Mind recollects.....
Soon after her wedding ceremony
Life started pedalling her emotions strangely
Darkness had swallowed her insanely;
And lamely egressed her love harmony.
He thwarted her from achieving goals
Surrendering to his orders,
She feared to cross borders
Neither sneaked out for short strolls.
Will she opt for a mutual divorce?
Unable to bear the impact of desertion
How long can she survive with no affection?
Unhealthy relationship might not reinforce;
She needs to sort out
As this is utter ridiculous
Being very meticulous
With a well planned route ..!
She was his pillion on the bicycle
The trees were bare and calm
Fallen leaves carpeted beaten path
Her golden locks dangled in breeze.
He handed her a fresh crimson flower
Fragrant long stemmed single Rose
She held it abreast , a balancing act
She smiled and was so glad....
They Reached the church yard fast
He took it back , to her dismay
Oh ! It was just a hand change
Her eyes sadly followed his steps.
He disappeared to the cemetery
His return was unsteady and slow
Again he handed over her a Rose
Almost dried and petals breaking
With a request to throw it over
Into the river , on way back home.
Only words he spoke , pedalling.
But she kept it for a long - long time
Inside a jewel box found in the attic
Time glued them to a lovely pair
On wedding night she opened the box
To gift him, his moms blessings.
Pedalling along
the wind in your face
Taking it easy
no need to race
Relaxing
as you breathe in the fresh air
The feeling of freedom
of being out there
For life
can be so hard at times
When everything
seems to close in
But cycling
releases the demons inside
As they fly away
with nowhere to hide...
So head held high
and helmet on
Even break into a song
For today is a 'Good Day'
and will be all day long
As you pedal and pedal and pedal away...
Contest Brian's Choice B
Sponsor Brian Strand
3rd PLACE
About me (isn`t it all)
Old age is travel towards death, and I spend
the waiting time writing what I call alternative poetry
as I`m not fond of swanky poems full of adjectives.
I have published many books of poetry on the Amazon
and about 30 E-books each book is about thirty pages
consist of poetry and opinion and read by no one.
I have a catering education but what I know comes
from reading massive amounts of books and
newspapers, of a solitary figure, except my wife
have no friend (they are all dead) should she go
before my life would be no worth living.
Every morning I sit pedalling away on my stationary bike,
try to get in an hour, but it is like going nowhere fast.
I comment on what I read in the Guardian and on twitter,
like to read George Galloway`s opinions, he is small
of stature, is a narcissist and should be careful not getting
to close to Russia, the bear has sharp claws.
I spend my time (if not wisely) by being active this because
boredom beckons when I have nothing to do.
In the evening I drink wine and fall asleep in front of the TV
I have always been a drinker, but dislike drunkenness.
Trump Is Pedalling Meddling
Sure seems pathetic when President is pedaling;
In other party's affairs always may be meddling;
After pausing,
Trouble causing,
When things down, Trump should start settling.
Jim Horn
Garbage night
Bins line the road as I walk down the street
pristine and clean, rinsed in summers rain
but what filth and smells are lurking inside
the hidden interiors what disclosures
just waiting to be revealed
lidded and kept from view and inspection
My eyes pass over bins glistening lids
to the houses which stand behind
I wonder about the idea
which occurred to me in the street
and if a similar concept could be thought to apply
hidden behind brick facades
My mind wanders on, to a newsagency
with the papers lined by the door
the daily dose of muck raking rag
shouting its’ headlines so bold
pedalling hate and fear for profit
exhibiting what they’ve unearthed
and as my mind retreats this horror
and wanders back down the street
to find its’ body walking
the last thing it muses
as it slips back into place,
our society looks so neat from here.
©T.Arnold
There are times when people under estimate me
And my drive to be what I always wanted to be
It has made me wonder how it came about
When they thought that they could measure the clout
That they wanted to give to me at the time
And to see the panic on their own face is quite fine
Knowing when it blows up in their face
With them back pedalling to save the disgrace.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Sarah Storey was the first disabled athlete,
In the Commonwealth Games to compete,
As an English competitor, and she’s thrice,
Able-bodied national track champion of ice.
She was born without a left hand, entangled,
But she was firstly a swimmer, she jangled,
Then she became a cyclist on road and track,
And is still pedalling strong, not to look back.
She swam in Barcelona in 1992 and won,
Two golds, three silvers and a bronzed one,
Then in 2008, again at the Paras her fifth,
She won the individual pursuit with much pith.
Sarah Storey won Britain’s first gold in the C5,
In the women’s individual pursuit she’d thrive,
And in the C4-5 5000m, C4-5, and on road,
She won each one with a gold that was owed.
In 2014 she founded a sports cycling team,
Which supports a breast cancer charity keen,
And she became a MBE in 1998, OBE in 2009,
Then she was made a dame in 2013, long line.
She married Barney her coach and duel pilot,
For the tandem duel ride, which could be a riot,
And was on the 2012 Celebrity Mastermind IQ,
With Sex & The City, and also has a girl to coo.
sun is setting
into a new tomorrow
the colored cows gaze
into the disappearing horizon
ruminating
bunch of dogs resting
peacefully
we are now
on the rusted wheels
of time unbalanced on
the edge of a thrilling life
hand in hand
pedalling back then forth
spokes of intimacy
leading to an open
confession
dogs are sleeping
now
Thirteenth Birthday
I picturize my thirteenth birthday through memory glass
My grandpa matured my dream with a shiny black bicycle
Thrilled for I would now be able to ride like other friends
Grandpa held the cycle as I capered along with him
I was taken to a huge ground where the soldiers paraded
My cheeks were glowing red hot when I was taught to cycle
I tremblingly held the handle of my pricelesss gift
Quickly I put my foot on the right pedal then on the left
And sat on the seat pedalling flying faster than the wind
The speed was thrilling as I crossed impossible milestones
Onlookers smiled to see the teen's two ribboned plaits flying up
Felt like a star shooting in the sky as I zoomed around
My heart ringing louder chimes echoed in the whistling wind
My wave to grandpa in cinematic charismatic style
Made me lose balance and down I lay in a plumpy heap
November 6, 2015
Contest: Screwed 9
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
The mirror showed
a Chinese lady pedalling a bike
in a pink kimono
The mirror showed
trees bowing
to a tropical (pina colada) lake
The mirror showed
a pink bedspread
losing her magnolias
The mirror showed
me grabbing your arm
and twisting it backwards
the moment when we pretended
to be real ballerinas
shows in the mirror
Limerick: Once a pretty Pole psychologist
for Ewa
Once a pretty Pole psychologist
Who preferred fast pedalling cyclist(s)
Kept a velo d’apparte*
And a Tour de France dart
Found trundling Bone-Shaker* merry twist.
• Velo d’apparte(ment) = exercise bike
• Bone-Shaker = first French bicycle, invented and manufactured by Michaux during the 1860s, whose framework was made of wrought iron and whose wooden wheels were bounded by iron tires.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.