Short Peddle Poems

While the flowery language of love, does peddle double spoonful's of...

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he pulled me with his peddle tractor 
my wagon’s weight was no factor...

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mist strata of drab
musings, cover the blue sky
peddle in sunshine


Written: March 19, 2022...

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life is a bicycle
if you peddle not
it remains stationary

life is a pool of water
if rain does not pour
it cannot get filled

life is a teenage girl
if you do not dress it
it cannot be admired...

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I bought a push bicycle, 
What a tired to peddle?

I bought a motor cycle,
Then went for a car,

My belly swollen,like a pregnant ma,
No way to go than gym ha,

The gym way to slim peddling cycle!
The gym way to slim tiring cycle!!...

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HE LOVES ME WHEN THE ROSE PEDDLES IS FALLING,
HE LOVES ME WHEN THE PEDDLES ARE ROSES,
AS THE SUNSHINE SHINES ON THE ROSES PEDDLES,
THAT'S WHEN HE LOVES ME THE MOST AND THE MOSTLY,
WHEN THE ROSE PEDDLES AND PEDDLE ROSES DOES'NT FALL,
THAT'S WHEN HE DOESN'T LOVE ME AT ALL...

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my car
breaks
broke
that is
the pads
wore from
wear where

in just
one day
on my way
to work driving
every five inches
i'd stomp the peddle
then release until another

five inches
slam to a
stop again
and start
stopping
not 
wanting

to work
but
to play...

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She circled and gave life to my broken down one
In the moment or two I spent in her sun 
I was turned and shaped by her industrial hand
And left alone to peddle this land

So I rode that bike for many a year
Despite being stuck in the same ol’ gear
It lead me across back roads and new tar
As I followed the light of her shining North star


3/23/18...

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Escaping through a window,
he mounts a silver skeleton.
Flying downhill, dispensing power
through straining ligaments.
His heroic calves squeezing light
into cone-shaped yellow beams
Then uphill, the counter-attack
of implacable night.
The boy speeds through
sleeping streets,
cape flowing, eye-mask
unseen, essential though
for a peddle-powered hero
who patrols
by the glow of a dynamo....

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Pink Peddles,
Is so wild and bright,
Makes you wanna, bring it home tonight,
Cutting the thorns,
Makes you mourn,
From its softly touch,
So sweet and sweet,
Like you have some kind of treat to eat,
As you fill the vase with water,
You begin to put Pink Peddles,
Inside,as the sweet smell roams through the air,
Even tho, it may seem so rare,
To have 1 Pink Peddle stitting in your presents....

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It’s rained ‘most every day this week – 
Good news for all the flowers.
We can’t complain, ‘cause weather’s whims
Are not within our powers.

Umbrella sellers have been pleased
And stores which peddle boots;
Perhaps they and the weather gods
Have labored in cahoots.

I’ve stepped in puddles more like lakes
And dripped from each extremity;
For keeping dry, it seems like
Staying home’s the only remedy....

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Bounce, bounce, bounce, pounce, the tiny bug doth trounce.
From flower, to peddle to blade he jounce.
A salacious Salticidae, announce.

This, jumping spider, you cannot denounce,
nor deny his luring love dance pronounce.

Offering romance beyond the troyounce,
And promise his arms your desire shall frounce.

You are mine; I am yours it is enounce.
Bounce, bounce, bounce, trounce, the tiny bug doth pounce....

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Errant thoughts are
Thunder and lightning that comes down like dust
Leaves of gold and red turn
Brown and gray
Peddle faster!  Stay ahead?
Wind whipping through my consciousness...
This introspective has gone too far.
Push it to the limits of physics
And reality.
Going too fast, now.
Don't let the storm catch you
Go faster. Further
Don't falter.
Steadfast in the resolve that 
Binds you to this spinning earth....

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After the flood
cats and cars slipped under the long night,
only to drift backward
as if yesterday still pulled them in.

Old Charley Winslow died
before the flood,
but when the river threw itself
over the dike
he was seen to float out of a lower window.

Lots are gone.
Welcome mats and whistle pigs,
sheds and shingles,
plastic peddle carts.

Lots never made it back to yesterday.
Lots of underwater things....

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vibrant red peddles.
blooming.
so beautiful.
shining brightly.
thorns just below.
even true beauty comes with a price.
the price of blood.
standing tall.
the days go by.
a little lower everyday.
peddles fall.
the beauty fades.
fades slowly.
holding on.
holding onto every ounce.
every ounce of beauty left.
as more peddles fall.
slowly fading.
fading into death.
death becomes the flower.
as the last peddle falls....

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To be so easily passed by
Walked through like a figment of my own sick imagination
It makes me wonder what I am 

Only noticed when someone is in need
Then thrown aside like a peddle cast into the ocean
Brought along only to be the spare, and extra

What am I
Forgotten those that I once called family
Left behind by all

What could I be 
To be so easily used and then left
Could I still be a person?

Can I still even be a man?...

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I'm riding my bicycle, with the breeze in my face
I'm remembering back to a time and a place
Where life seemed so carefree, I could hold my arms high
As the wheels spinned beneath me, and I could reach for the sky
I'm sailing past memories, past all the troubles I've known
Past the everyday worries,  that we face when we're grown
I could peddle forever, to that place worry free..
When I ride that old bicycle, there is childhood still in me!!...

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don’t peddle  and meddle when  you should put the pedal to the metal
don’t sneeze and wheeze until you say may I please
halt before you salt,  else your arteries  will take the fault
don’t catch cold when  you’re old or your lungs will fold
take a daily walk around the block behind geese in a flock
don’t sweat the small stuff and don’t pet the sweaty stuff
cook bake beans  today, tomorrow you’ll pay
you had your chance, I’m taking a stance, no romance!...

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The Dark Delaware on my left
The defunct canal on my right
And me in the middle of both.
I’m heading south on the towpath
Peddling my hybrid all the way.
As to where? I haven’t a clue
It doesn’t really matter where
Just as long as I’m still able to
Peddle along this special place.
I’ve biked here since I was a kid.
Two things have changed since that time:
Back then I had a three speed Schwinn
Today I have twenty-one speeds;
Back then I was young, today… old....

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So many people do things
That they don’t do very well.
The strangest part, to me, is that 
They often cannot tell.

You know the type – the artists, cooks
And entertainers, too,
Who proudly peddle or perform
But haven’t got a clue.

They’re lucky to be unaware
That talent they do lack
And if they face rejection, well,
They’ll give it one more crack.

Yet if they get enjoyment
From their hobby or their work,
Perhaps that self-indulgence
Is sufficient as a perk....

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