Kuykendahl Volunteer Motorcycle Philosophy Forum

Firstly, the administration. In writing this poem, it turned out to be a piece of verse in what I term ‘The New Yorker School of Poetry’ – which is to say that it doesn’t really have consistent rhyme or rhythm. It’s more like free verse with a little rhyme. OK, enough admin. Do you ever need to commiserate with your associates? So do motorcyclists and bikers. I do it near Kuykendahl Road. Oh, and it is all volunteer work.

//////////

Not every day will you find us there, but pretty much-

we volunteer to solve the nation’s ills,

while settled back; above twin cylinders we ride;

near Kuykendahl Road to share our thoughts.

—–

Some scars of Vietnam to heal, with grocery prices rising,

tattoos and smokes are often shared but not universally.

Handlebars make camaraderie,

as banter percolates discourse on riding best of breed.

—–

So park your bike in the coffee shop lot,

no need to order, just show your face.

Grab a chair on the leeward side.

Politics and motorcycle talk proliferates apace.

—–

Old heads who ride those Harleys proud,

and college grads with Hondas sneak upon the group in style-

Young guns on Kawasakis fast and true arrive without their reservations,

yet all mix to speak of weather, spouses and current tribulations.

—–

Some days just two hold court to chat,

beside the traffic’s screech and clatter at the light.

A stealthy biker passes by; pipes loud!

which prompts more talk of who rides right.

—–

Conservatives sit confident in their unruffled best,

our group it welcomes liberals and others; its our quest.

We, most of us; depart with sunset due- and carefully.

To ride creations wonder; then philosophize when day is new.

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