Posts Tagged ‘new yorker’

Convertible Command

April 16, 2011

Have you ever had your eye on a motorcycle that’s completely ‘out of your reach’ financially. No!? Well I have for sure! The new Harley Davidson Convertible (soft-tail family) is just about the most perfect motorcycle I’ve seen to date. Sleek lines, comfortable seat, BIG power, and just plain good looking. Oh, and BIG $$$ too! I may update this poem as it is a work in progress. An yes, don’t look for this poem in the New Yorker magazine poetry section either- the poetry editor won’t like it.

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Carelessly it knifes the breeze,

conquers rolling hills with ease.

Asphalt flat salutes its reign-

sovereign ride for those who gain.

—–

Big twin proud, one hundred ten,

throttle through the dragon’s den.

polished chrome on wheels so bright;

price tag large – my wallet lite!

—–

Custom built up north you know-

King of Softails; seat real low.

Bags and glass can come; or no.

Convertible; a C-V-O!

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Weekend Calorie Rider

March 19, 2011

More than two thousand years ago a group of jewish separatists authored what we call the ‘Dead Sea Scrolls’. Scholars contend that from these writings we can determine much about their beliefs and even their daily lives. This begs the question – what will be the defining attributes of our culture should someone dig up our way of life many years hence? I suggest it will probably be fast food lingo… And yes – I’m sure if I were to submit this poem to the editors of the New Yorker magazine; it would be gleefully rejected. I must use too many semicolons!

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Quiet dry road in early calm,

rat racers in repose; remain.

A weekend yet in stillness balm;

Roar on towards nurishment’s refrain.

—–

Cheerful lights and happy signs-

Fresh and warm; my wheels slow.

She smiles and greets; familiar lines.

“Will this be for here; or to go”?

The New Yorker Magazine Motorcycle Poem

August 14, 2010

Most of you probably don’t ever read The New Yorker magazine; either the print or on-line version. Neither do I – except for the cartoons and just a few of their poetry selections. Why do I mention this? I don’t know really – except New Yorker Magazine poems don’t ever seem to have a rhythm or consistent rhyme about them. They seem to be just a record of some detached, new age beatnik recording his thoughts about some hip activity like sailing around Maine looking at old lighthouses. So here is my attempt at writing a New Yorker style motorcycle poem. And since it is a New Yorker Magazine type poem – it is understood that you are far too unsophisticated for me to care about your opinion.

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Dreary days near the Hudson river as street vendors peer down into their stoves.

The horns and honks of insecurity tap out of tune of sheer drudgery;

And yet he seeks to find that sublime state of two-wheeled transportation.

—–

Escaping from liberal talk shows on the radio – he dashes to a dealer’s corner flat,

where clean new bikes with engines strong await some cool, aloof mind to demand hard speed;

and race the rider to a rocky shore up north [ or at least further away from New Jersey ].

In Maine let’s say where lighthouses pine for faux-caring riders.

—–

His tank is almost empty and the tolls have drained his stash-

But onward he goes towards the expected destination and conversations to save lighthouses.

Totally sublime and carbon neutral.