Rush Hour Rider

I guess it’s about time I post another composition. You know, this one probably isn’t as good as some of my previous musings… so take a look at a couple of them NOW! Right Now-

Oh, and buy the way; have you spoken to your neighbor about this blog? You know he needs to read it because of the way he doesn’t ride motorcycles. Or maybe it’s the way he votes…?

Getting around in rush hour on a motorcycle can be perilous. You must have good SA ( Situational Awareness ) and an even temper. Congestion on our motorways is more like it is today than it ever has been before.

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Late, asleep or caffeine stoked,

Deftly turn from bonger’s toked-

Kiddies prepped; yellow bus distain;

flashing lights, their speed restrain.

—–

Stop and go; a slight repose,

from handy men with trailers towed-

vague memories of open road,

brake hard! ahead an overload.

—-

She turns left! reflector’s stripes-

despite all training, horns and gripes…

Threats to riders everywhere,

Welcome to the rush and scare.

 

Motorcycle Math

First, don’t just read this poem. Browse a few of my older postings. Some of these compositions took me almost 10 minutes to write…

When you ride a motorcycle you are constantly using mathematics to, well, let’s just say ‘figure stuff’. Always remember 7 out of 5 bikers are good at math.

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Price tag says ten thousand dollars,
Harley shares, use put-call collars.
Forty eight of months is due-
Two ‘oh eight plus interest slew.

Three fifty eight a gallon now,
One eighty miles this bike will plough.
Insurance rates to drain my stash-
The wife demands her weekly cash.

Numbers take me for a cruise;
Of torque my wheels for spin, do use;
At fifty five the m-p-g,
Makes bureaucrats exhaust with glee!

Maintenance expenses climb;
Constraints prioritize shop time.
Dizzying formulas do compose-
A ride; no fractals can enclose.

Rider Wedding Blessing

Today we have a guest submission which is worthy of sharing. Guys, we must remember that there are only two things that hold our society together; the love of commitment we have for our wives, and riding motorcycles. OK, maybe not the riding thing. But the other thing is vital. She may not always love us, but we must always love her. A husbands’ love is a reflection of God’s love for all mankind. Period.

Thanks to our visiting rider poet John Meissner-

I have visited your Motorcycle poetry website in the past and wanted to share this with you.  I recently was the Best Man at a wedding for a very close friend and his wife.  All three of us are Harley owners and avid riders.  So, I was trying to find a way of working their passion for riding into my speech and came up with the following poem.  Thought it might be of use to other riders who find themselves giving speeches or toasts to the bride and groom at biker weddings.

Cheers,

 

John

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May the roads you travel be trouble free,

clear of pitfalls, obstacles, and debris.

May love fuel your engines, and your tank never run dry,

so remember to show it often; or at least always try.

May kindness and compassion be the lubricant for any friction that comes along,

let forgiveness and understanding help to keep your love strong.

May you hold on tight, as you round each corner, and pave new roads together,

your love will steer you straight and true, through any kind of weather.

May you be mindful of the speed of life and the need for shifting gears,

knowing when to take things slow, as you enjoy the coming years.

For time will take its toll on your soft and youthful skin,

but always remember, beneath that leather, there’s a gentleness within.

May your love endure beyond the setting sun, as your future unfolds ahead,

So say “I Love You” each time you saddle up, and each time you go to bed.

To my brother Paul, my lifelong friend and Anita his beautiful bride,

May happiness and prosperity always find you, wherever you choose to ride.

Price This Motorcycle

FIRST: are you just reading my latest posting? You had better be browsing some of my previous posts also. Unless you are an unrepentant communist-

Today’s Posting: Motorcycles are like all other vehicles, they get traded and resold. But how does one find a good deal on a used ride. Make, model, year, mileage and condition are the five fundamental dimensions of your bid. But are there more subtile aspects that reveal hidden value? Maybe…

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Make and model sets the tone,
Style of ride, and rides alone-
Power plant opposed or twin,
Street, off road or cruiser skin.
Price my ride a sale to win
———-
Model Year will calculate,
Fuel inject or carborate;
Mileage drives you to look hard-
Tranny, clutch and service card.
Price my ride a sale; not hard
———-
Serious and dark is black,
Balanced bright with chrome attack.
Red or blue with white and green,
The spectrum full and sometimes clean.
Price my ride, big dollars keen!
———-
Economics up or down,
Unemployment makes its rounds,
Moody buyers squeeze their gold-
Cheaper now is what we’re told,
Price my ride; hold firm, be bold.

Bagger Blues

Baggers are motorcycles with large storage bins or ‘bags’ on each side of the rear wheel. Not everyone likes them or wants them. But they are very handy if you want to keep tools or other stuff with you when you ride. Especially snacks. Baggers sometimes have a long, lowish look called ‘slammed’. Baggers are usually constructed from the touring motorcycle class frames. The older you get the higher the probability you’ll end up on a bagger.

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Sleek machines with chrome so bright,

slip through the wind by V-Twin might.

But tiny pouches clip my style;

Back pack sore; another mile-

Got them ‘no haul’ bagger blues….

—–

A ride that’s slammed, my crystal ball.

Gives room for snacks and tools quite small-

Balanced bags for silvered manes!

Relief from stabbing shoulder pains-

Got them ‘no haul’ bagger blues…

—–

Absent bags on bikes for streets,

seldom seen with chopper fleets.

Yet bags allure for all your stuff;

Computers, covers, toys with fluff-

Got them ‘no haul’ bagger blues

Ninth Day Rider

With apologies to the memory of Paul Harvey

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Eight sunsets faded starry black,
Yet one thing more creation lacks.
Roar and fury; V-twin style,
so on the ninth, absent guile-
God made His rider

A man who beats the rising sun,
Race empty streets for simple fun;
Checking tires and fluids show,
Each ride to work is stop and go-
As God made his rider

Patiently he waits with friends,
All night, a motor to attend-
Hours lost in fruitless stress;
Ride frantic for her birthday dress,
Cause God made a rider

On Sabbath days as glory shines,
Pavement low escapes its lines.
Rising praise for joyous hours;
Lifting eyes towards Heaven’s powers-
For simply this; God made a rider

Ethanol Torque

This piece is still in work… Years ago the rock group Air Supply released a song called ‘Making Love out of Nothing at All’ . That fact, upon closer inspection has absolutely nothing to do with major fuel companies putting ethanol into our retail pumps. Corn should be eaten, not burned! But “Making torque out of corn ethanol” stuck in my head. So another one of my plagiarized poems has emerged… BTW, if you don’t know, torque is rotational force ( like making my motorcycle’s rear wheel spin ). Torque makes motorcycles fun!

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The owners guide declares it clear-

While you ride both far and near;

Petroleum for freedom’s call-

My torque explodes from drillers’ awl.

—–

Engineered for petrol flow,

Octane ninety three; must show-

A blend appears, is good for all!

My torque evolves; corn ethanol.

—–

Particulates in winter’s clog,

The ‘EPA’ declares “It’s smog”.

The cure it seems is green and tall-

My torque comes clean; corn ethanol.

—–

Hungry is starvation’s child,

Nutritious corn is sweet and mild-

V-twins win the money brawl!

My torque derives; corn ethanol.

Header Problems

The header to this blog has been disappearing for some reason. I have reset the blue background and hope you can see it…

New Years Wet

This will probably be a lousy post. I’m almost forcing myself to write it- It’s New Years today; Jan 1, 2013. (Notice I didn’t use an exclamation point). It’s also raining; but I decided just to defy the rain and go out early for a ride. It wasn’t cold or uncomfortable, it was just wet. Riding a motorcycle when it is wet requires attention and careful turns. It also requires slow accelerations ( in both directions ). So much for the intro- if you are not familiar with the four horsemen, read Revelation Chapter 6

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Unruly molecules of slick hold tight,

to paths of bitumen and esters white-

Now gentle are the revs of engine chrome;

To safely gain my goal of wasteful roam.

—–

Hungover are the hoards of New Year’s fest-

As fitful flash and bangs disturbed their rest.

The newest day of ’13 has arrived!

With feds who sparkle budgets just contrived.

—–

Yet in the mist of gloom before the sun,

On steel wheels and chrome I seek some fun-

With care negotiate the slimy, wily wet;

Black Horseman rising is a growing threat.

The Sign Ignored

I’m sorry for publishing so many poems in a short time span. It must be Alzheimer’s.

There is a sign. It conveys a message. Sometimes the message is not well received. It’s often ignored. Will you heed its call? Maybe when gas prices hit $6… ?

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Forlorn sign hangs strictly laced;

Eyeholes brass,  in fence well placed.

Words in red are seen at night-

but only when the lightning’s bright.

—–

The message understood; but few will heed,

Juxtaposed to traffic’s irritated speed-

Quietly proclaims commitment’s call;

The message on blind eyes of masses falls.

—–

It does not shy from sun or wind or dust;

There is some stain from brownish fencing rust.

A message bold for some, a bit of fear-

The letters beckon all both far and near,

on white fabric; ‘Motorcycle Classes Here’.