There once was a young lad named Ike
He road big wheelies on his bike
He fell to the ground
And made quite a sound
Now he rides around on a trike
3/4/2021
LIMERICKS in honor of St. Patrick's Day Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
I remember as a child
Of two or three
Getting on my Trike
My dog with me
And off together we would go
To great adventures
Traveling far and wide
All the places we did go
Many things that we did
All the world we did see
Just a child of two or three
On my Trike
My dog with me
goose loves his bright trike
legs too short for tall bikes
since he was born
he honks his own horn
and pedals wherever he likes
Biker's dozen poetry contest
Sponsored by: Maureen McGreavy
9/20/18
My trike is a grown up three-wheel bike
It was made just for me.
It takes me where I want to go,
Even when I don't ... Yes, indeed!
As I coast along the road and then...
Come to a stop sign, it's hard,
But I push on and continue my ride.
For me, it's important to start.
Sometimes I think that the wheels get tired
And I take a little trip.
The bike leans to the side, I hit the ground
I hate it when I slip.
Yes, my trike gives me a hard time.
But , no matter what I go through
It's still my bike that I like.
I call it a workout with my trike.
Many years ago had
me a little red trike
got scared, so took it
and ran away, when
I was just a little tyke.
Had real long curly hair, took
some scissors and cut it off,
knew my dad would be real
mad, so off on my trike I went,
turned around at corner and went home.
Dad was mad, but glad I was safe,
said hair would grow back, but
losing me would have been worse,
he took me in his arms and gave
me a hug and kiss.
Little red trike, don't know
what ever happened to you,
but sure had a lot of fun with
you, but none like the little
trip we made to the corner and back.
wrote 8-25-08
I sat on a bench, reading football fanzine;
Beside me, man with a craggy face
Burst in paroxysm of rage;
Cute little boy, breaks the toy!
Unreasoning sound, wafted through the air;
Angelic face, felt scare!
Memories flashed into my mind,
A treasure, built with grand design!
I ruined it, unwittingly!
I wanted to wallow in my own despair;
But, Dad took me in his arm, gently!
Soothed me up, promising to repair.
I could not stand the vile;
Boy glances, with wan smile!
I'm home for my old wooden trike,
Father's masterpiece, for my seventh birhtday!
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