Pain creeped in with the early hours of the morning,
I was doubled over in pain.
As I was screaming,
my dad was wrapping me in a blanket.
Off to the hospital he sped,
then carrying me through the big doors.
My appendix was about to burst open,
emergency surgery was for me.
I was an urban maverick
And bicycles met many needs.
More than the Pope is Catholic
I cleaved to my old one--speed steeds.
Over goatheads, glass, even nails
My bike took me every day.
Up ev'ry street and over trails
Holding a wheelie, like ballet.
My bike was my way and my wind,
My great escape to adventures.
Upright or wipeouts, elbows skinned,
Faceplants that could have meant dentures.
I rode and I rode ev'ry road.
I raced and O'r dropoffs I went.
So many bikes, had to be towed
As frames and forks I broke or bent.
I followed guys like Bob Hannah
Motocross heros in leathers
Who started out in bandanas
And flew as if they had feathers.
Oh those were my days of glory
When I rode so wild and free.
My bikes and I told the story
Of me and my one-speed steeds.
.
Flow of knowledge happens, it comes and goes, like a river it gets going and never slows.
Flow of time goes, it moves, it blends, sometimes we can feel it move so slow and then it goes fast making our days go in a flash.
Time is counted, but I feel like it goes fast and slow, like a pull it has power and we feel the move.
Flowing through this time, like the wind, we see and learn so many things.
Flowing in and out, of time and space, we wonder all about our universe.
Like colors in the sky change, things change fast, making us look with awe at our life and wonder how that changed.
So, flow like the river and keep going, let your life be something we all can remember, be good, be kind, be forgiving, and flow in this time.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
To run past the last, is to overlap past.
That past everlasts.
You can't ever run too fast.
Everlap.
Driving is not a sport for the unrehearsed,
practice makes perfect on a speeding track.
The steering wheel is a discus, blunt and capable of slicing/dicing.
A handbrake? A pull-snap-stop bone break.
Electric windows are guillotines; seatbelts are nooses in softer attire.
An Olympian goes for gold; drivers should settle for bronze on a road.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A spark in the dark~
then gone before the blink.
Faster than light,
but without the weight of photons.
You can chase it down the highway of neurons,
but it’s already taken the exit,
merged into traffic,
become the hum of another mind.
One moment, it’s the name of your first pet,
the next, the taste of salt on a childhood beach.
It doesn’t wait.
It doesn’t linger.
It doesn’t care if you’re ready.
A thought is a fugitive
that leaves no fingerprints,
only the echo of its escape.
Try to hold it~
and it’s already rewriting itself
into something else.
The speed of human thought is approximately 10 bits per second, which is significantly slower than the processing speed of modern technology like Wi-Fi. In contrast, our sensory systems can gather data at a rate of about a billion bits per second. (Source: Smithsonian Magazine)
Speed hump
Speed bump
What's the difference -
slow down chump!
Was it a car or a cat I saw?
It zoomed by! I saw wheels~~not one paw!
Weird times, I’ve had ‘em.
Mad am I, madam?
My neighbor thought it was a macaw!
usa hockey
gold even sans Russia
spread miracle whip
Sit and watch a kettle boil
time goes slowly by
Divert attention for a second
and the kettle has run dry
When young and there's expectation waiting for a birthday celebration
time passes slowly, days are long and very drawn
But when decades of maturity fills the urn, there's lesser time between those celebratory days
it doesn't seem so long since the days that one was born
When one is very young around the age of six or ten
all the eighteen year old youth, appear as very mature adult men
And now the coin has flipped, with eighty not too far away, girls of age, seen as early to mid twenties
they are often, somewhere around early forties, mature aged women
And now a self posed question? Would we have the same time perception
with all this artificial human time, milliseconds, seconds, minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millenniums
Does all this time segmentation somehow promote deception ??
With one breath I decelerate my world.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
an entry for Constance LaFrance's contest
Write a Beautiful Rubaiyat Poem
Make a discovery, well-worth your time!
Compare instant coffee to Starbuck's prime,
I-Hop's waffles to those frozen en bloc.
Voila! steel cut oats! makes hunger bells chime.
Use the stove to boil some salt water stock;
turn it down low and pile oats in the crock.
(what’s half an hour? I've a paper to read.)
I have retired and I don't watch the clock.
Lots of brown sugar and butter you'll need,
takes thirty minutes to coddle this feed.
Add whatever, the next verse gives my notes.
Steel-cut oats will get breakfast up to speed.
Include raisins which drift like little boats
in the sugary-rich, buttery moat.
For a breakfast or any meal sublime
include nuts. Then just grab a spoon and gloat.
Such lads there are, as find their mettle,
Pushing down upon the pedal,
Holding for a thing of scorn,
Stately drivers press their horn;
Ah, but well those honks might state,
There are two ways you can be late:
With speed not lead, but rather follow,
To a casket dark and hollow.
You know how fast you are?
Fast as a lightning bolt.
Every so the Speed Force.
You know how slow you are?
Slow as a lightning bolt.
Every so the Speed Force.
Where are you?
When are you?
I see you
In my dream;
I see you
In my mind;
I see you
But I see not.
How close yet so far
As I raise this glass to you
So imaginary if I breathe
You are you
But you are them
And they are you.
A theory so weary
I don’t recognize or cantonize.
While some are content
to go with the flow
others are compelled to speed up
and overtake wherever they go
perhaps it's a challenge
to the aforementioned latter
altho' not a contest
something's the matter
as how much earlier
do they think they'll arrive
by constantly changing lanes
whenever they drive
or do they feel a need for their car
to be ahead of the pack
rather than stay in their place
at the traffic's far back
whomever they are
something's wrong in the head
for with such mad driving
the sooner they'll end up dead
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.