Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Three Thousand R-P-M

April 11, 2015

Sometimes in life there are triggers or thresholds defining transitions. Same for motorcycles.

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Vibration rattles handlebars while pausing for the light-
Radiated waves of heat cook muscle through clothes bright.
Drivers souls crushed down into the coolest of the gems;
Freedom flashes, V-twin roars; Three Thousand R-P-M.
——-
Once more the speedo passes thirty, fifty is on deck-
Car ahead drifts toward my lane, a swerve avoids a wreck.
Fifth gear now, new band of smash as cams do lift the stems-
To feel the power in the breeze; Three Thousand R-P-Ms.
——-
Accelerate past stripes of gooey latex on the road-
Passing quickly S-U-Vs and lorries rolling loads.
Hefty forks steer deftly down the blackened asphalt’s hem;
And there I cruise quite comfortably; Three Thousand R-P-M.
——-
An hour passes, almost two till conscience bids me home,
She tarries there; but stresses when too long out there I roam.
Just one more stop to fill the tank, this ride another poem,
Back on the road, shift up to third; Three Thousand R-P-M.
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Infrastructure Indentured Cruise

January 14, 2015

Barron’s writer Jim Mctague on Jan 10, 2015 eloquently described the gut wrenching fervor of lawmakers to repair U. S. infrastructure. Everyone wants roads and bridges fixed- but wants the other guy to pay. It’s why we have a failing society, lazy federal bureaucrats, and $18T in short term debt. Fix those potholes for my ride!!

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Panic stricken politicians,
rust stained concrete bridge partitions.
Eighteen trillion on our card-
taxpayers must work more hard!

Black smoke proclaims the dozer’s day,
dawn illuminates the fray
steel, pipe and girders strong;
new road for rides alone and long

Sand, stone and asphalt heat,
mixed to harden, forms replete.
Patiently my V-twin waits,
Four lanes to reach horizon’s gates…

Muscled brawn strains with the beam,
Rebar placed to bridge the seam-
Painted stripes and drainage swales,
Smoothly cruise refurbished trails.
Nineteen trillion dollars- Fail!

The Quantum Motorcycle Mechanic

July 9, 2014

Quantum physics is a very strange set of equations that predict the existence of sub-atomic particles and their corresponding force vectors. But that isn’t the way it started out. The physicists who began the work were actually Harley riders and they were searching for a single equation; using their odometer as a baseline- to predict when they should change their engine, primary and transmission lubricants. The resultant work yielded strange outcomes like ‘anti-chrome plated’ oil filters. The rest is motorcycle history…

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Accelerate to speeds beyond the known-
As time dilates to squeeze a bottom clone.
Anti-spin collisions, get a quark,
Transmission oil is looking awful dark…

Ride through a vector field with charm-
Another round odometer won’t harm.
The engine oil must drain at winter’s face;
Electrons twice, two places once embrace.

Equations theory filters with a nut,
Much easier to twist; then fully shut-
But will the Higgs trace out a blatant path-
Scraped knuckles are the only epitaph.

Synthetic color mystifies the mind,
Inspection plate removal at the chime.
Femto seconds age at pico-scale,
Cruise boldly through old Sol’s neutrino gale!

Quittin Time

July 9, 2014

Title Stolen from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s song…

If you have a riding problem- you do it at Quittin Time

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Nail deep to hold the structure’s frame,
Another roof conceals enchantment’s flame-
Minutes drag till day completes its fun;
Release the torque for v-twin rumble run.

Cubicles encase the business ebb and flow;
Endless tapping keys unlocked, transpose-
Knowledge printed read, then glibly tossed,
Handlebars will pull you from partition’s dross.

Baking sun or icy gale, a prairie players prayer;
Target depth from toil and greasy derrik’s tare.
One last pipe to trip on schedule firm yet true;
Then saddle up your triple pistoned ego coup-

Mundane to serve a burger on a garnished bun,
Patrons harried raw by deadlines they do shun.
French fries bubble deep within the slime-
RPMs and thrust to claim; at Quittin Time.

Minding Your Ride

May 20, 2014

Do you ever wonder how motorcyclists make decisions while they are riding? You’re in good company, because no one else does either… But in today’s philosophy of waisting time on pointless research, I thought it would be important to peal back the onion on a motorcyclist’s brain in action. A new low- I know already…

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RADAR on the internet;
Forecast shows no front to fret-
Ride on roads not fully planned,
Text the friends with just one hand.

Dress the part and TCLOCS first,
Ready for the power burst-
Rendezvous agreed for start;
Caffeine races head and heart.

Search the road twelve seconds out,
Swerve and miss that tree branch stout!
Snap check fuel while scan on goes;
Spacing good, as traffic slows.

Adjust a mirror to better view,
Closing threats as throttle queues-
Roadway scan shows clear ahead,
Outside curve, then lean to thread.

Brain beyond the handlebars-
Sunshine bright or under stars,
Fleeting glance to left or right-
Creator’s goodness and His might.

The Chrome Palette

April 28, 2014

True motorcycle affectionados know that chrome is a bold accent to your ride with subtle yet perceptible tones. Chrome is not a clashing cymbal, but a brass ensemble of reflection and form costing thousands of both dollars and hours.

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Does Tiffany’s define a cut of brighter hue,
Or swords of steel slice rain as thin or true?
My ventilator breathes in air with lungs of chrome;
Pedestrians glimpse flashes as I roam.

Cylinders are topped with flashy steel,
Exhaust pipes burn of blues and sprinkled teal.
Highway bars protect by blended white;
Yellow clouds dance on my chrome headlight.

Forks forged firm suspend with mirrored shine,
A frame of black and orange through prism fine-
Brake lights beam reflected back each time
Chrome spectrums tell the Maker’s story line.

Left Arrow Green

April 6, 2014

If you ride motorcycles in urban or suburban settings, you’ll quickly note that multi-taskers live in left turn lanes. They are doing everything but paying attention to the signals…

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Light change, green arrow;
In this designated lane.
Eyes up to left oblique
Throttle rolls, demands the strain-

Torque pulls the wheels forth
Press handlebars for lean.
Velocity past ten and then-
The v-twin gets hard mean.

Together clutch and toe refine
A better gear select-
Angles rate and past quite clean
Look through to lane elect.

And back to roll more gas to give
The fuel injectors hot.
Ventilator gasps the passing breeze
Blow by the sluggish lot.

Clean air proceeds, to cut a path;
And slipstream straight ahead,
Tires bite black asphalt sheen,
Keep rpm-s from scale of red.

Carrot Street Rider

March 28, 2014

Locke Ness Monster, Bessie, Kipsy and Champ may be mythical water monsters, but they don’t affect motorcycling in the traditional sense. However, there is a monster threat to riders in southern Texas- The Carrot Street Possum. I’ve seen it myself; and it’s something I wish I could ‘un-remember’!

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Shortcut avenue, minus signal light-
Saves anguish from the traffic blight.
But monsters lurk; quickly blossom,
Giant, fierce; the Carrot Street Possum!

Cool spring day on side street cruise,
Attention span you hold- don’t lose.
In third gear now and breeze is fine.
V-twin revs, keep right of line.

But suddenly from ditches dim-
Lumbers toothy little rhino grim.
Eyesight poor, caution blind-
Scamper on but pass behind.

Into abyss on other side-
Racing heart is hard to hide.
I slow to catch my breath, then ride.
Doubters cast aspersions; lied,
On Carrot Street the legend possum eyed.

Mosquito Motoring Updated

October 12, 2013

I couldn’t get my iPad to make the changes I needed to the previous post. So here is an updated version of Mosquito Motoring. it isn’t better; just longer. Please remember that you need to read all of my poems as the NSA is keeping track…

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Each week the headlight peppered black,

forward progress; beetle whack-

Visor smudge a yellow brown

Bug residue my helmet crown.

—–

Wash and scrub, use elbow grease

Lacewing wings from chrome release!

Swift seventy grasshopper  smash

Hits your face with force; whiplash!

—–

V-twin roars from stop sign red;

snorkel’s air through filter’s head.

Sudden cough from airflow slight-

Bumble bee blocks throttle might.

Rain on Chrome

August 23, 2013

When you visit this blog, you MUST read more than one of my postings. It’s part of Obamacare now – and the IRS is tracking your participation. But it’s OK because the NSA knows your reading habits anyway. This poetry post is about weather and the abundance of motorcyclist chrome love. BTW, I was unsure how to spell scintillate; but I figured you didn’t know either so here goes….

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Shine, glisten and scintillate;
radiant chemistry ingratiates.
Mist forebodes in chromosomes-
warning hints of rain on chrome!

Majestically bright billows build;
before their condensate, I’m stilled.
Instinctively I ride towards home,
Interdict that rain on chrome!

Circumspect makes rides go right,
sidestep showers; radar sight.
Deceptively the humid roams;
then left am I with rain on chrome…