Posts Tagged ‘ride’

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….

//////////

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…

Advertisements

Beatnik Winter Motorcycle Poem #2

February 5, 2011

I remember the beatniks back in the early 1960s. So I thought I’d try using their lingo and outlook on life to write a motorcycle related poem. It probably won’t be very good, so just go out and ride your motorcycle down to your local coffee shop and cheer yourself up. And I don’t remember how well beatniks used rhyme so the poem is rather weak there also… think of it as Beatnik Motorcycle Free Verse

//////////

Like man -! I couldn’t ride today, dig?

Cold and icy, like the arctic came down into my scene.

Clouds blocked the sun and ruined my fun daddy-oh.

Ride towards the peace and love with goggles on.

My front tire is groovy-

Driller’s Honored Ride

October 11, 2010

The CNBC web site indicated recently that there have been approximately 184 million gallons of crude oil spilled in the Gulf of Mexico. This fact, besides the loss of eleven men is unfortunate on many levels. It is very distressing that their lives and the family members have been lost in the disaster’s translation (sorta speak). I honor those brave souls. And for months beyond others wrestle the belching beast below. We honor them also. –

///////////

Eleven souls lost from blast, fire and falls,

Brave men; who drill deep down past sea, through earth-

To make this nation run its daily course and more,

They worked unseen, unsung and paid the fullest measure worth.

—–

Shock and heat dispatched the topside show; yet below,

of monumental challenges left beneath-

a mile or more of reach to stop the flow.

The anger grew as fish nor oyster fit for tables set.

—–

But on we ride; and at the pump reflect upon those men,

who struggle daily to control a beast beneath the waves.

Their brawn and brains applied to wrestle steel in darkest night,

Whilst skimming seas of oily grime and seabirds; washing saves.

—–

Salute to those now lost did make my ride a joy!

Their eyes are dimmed from time; but view eternity through this riders bliss-

Two cylinders that crush the fuel those proud eleven found,

Propel me through creation’s profound majesty.

East of Giddings

July 22, 2010

You’re a long way from home, but still plan to make it back even after a hard, hot day in the sun. You’ve re-packed for the four and a half hour journey, and the bike is full of gas and ready to roar down the highway. But you have to consider the risks of loosing light and fatigue, and the unfamiliarity of the road. You break the ride up into different segments, and take a short break as you gain each milestone. Darkness and rain will slow your pace.

///////////

At highway’s edge with shadows long,

just south of Austin; a full day gone of toil and sweat.

Thick brown pack is swung across the back,

must gently ease into a long ride yet.

—-

Each journey starts with gears in low,

right turn away from western sun.

It’s east he rides to get back home,

but Giddings first; the target run.

—–

A highway sparse of traffic now,

most folks have made their treks by day.

He speeds past fence and lonesome doves,

as cooler air is rushed his way.

—–

The pistons pound, pick up the pace,

It’s Giddings now, the hours have made.

To take a stretch and move the bones,

A little gas and water in the fading shade.

—–

It’s east of Giddings now, and further east he goes-

A wondrous place for those who care to ride.

Old Texas sights with modern tech beneath,

The highway straight and flat and long-

And thunder in the east; beyond the east of Giddings’ skies.

The Errand Ride

February 27, 2010

Are you motorcycle riders like me? – you dream about that cross country trip with the warm wind rushing around your helmet (because I KNOW you guys always wear your helmets) but you end up spending more time on your bike going to the store or the post office… come on – if you are a real rider you know what I’m talking about. Here’s a poem for all those short trips….

//////////////////

Beans, bacon, stamps and tools,

upshifting and downshifting;

Check traffic left and right, you go,

you’ve got the list she gave,

and thought of one more you know.

—–

Staples, fax, detergent and pizza,

upshifting and downshifting;

Sun glare is in your eyes-

Did I bring the orange juice coupon,

and return the book on spies.

—–

Eggs, cards, and vacuum bags,

upshifting and downshifting;

I check both mirrors quite often.

a new work shirt of white would help

and lotions her hands soften.

—–

Tax, titles, and college classes,

upshifting and downshifting;

Garage door needs that special coil.

Still dream of riding far and wide,

remember virgin olive oil.