Posts Tagged ‘v-twin’

Autumn Twilight Plinking

October 16, 2015

In the early part of Desert Storm, the U. S. Air Force was using the formidable F-111F to -plink- (squish) Sadam’s tanks. Plinking was accomplished using LASER guided smart bombs dropped from the F-111s. Last night, I was using my headlight to guide bugs to -plink-; ouch! And there really are bugs we call Love-Bugs here in Texas…

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Sol’s autumn beams cast shadows long, he sets quite gently in the west;

my V-twin steed loafs anxiously awaiting throttle’s harsh requests.

Rain in spring and summer heat are parents to a plague replete-

with tiny aviators wings; hit my face and goggles, -plink-.

Air is crisp as engine torques, propels me through a dimming view;

light retreats along my way, sky dilutes to muted satin hues.

Rejoice! to ride in twilight clear, stars proclaim their ancient truth above-

Annoying thuds against my cheeks; gnats, flies and bugs called ‘Love’.

How is it then that I deserve, to taste majestic rolling bliss;

upon a rail quite finely tuned, Mazzaroth bestows her ancient kiss.

Committed to the path at hand, each twist and turn of road I think,

of hard forged steel with God’s Good Grace;

and flying bugs enduring each annoying -plink-.

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.

Motorcycle Diet

June 27, 2014

Motorcycles are exactly like money; they are inherently neither good or bad, can be used for value based exchanges, often their value is related to the latest crude oil quote and are occasionally moved in the middle of the night by nefarious characters. They have been known to take people to places they should avoid – like ice cream parlors.

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Sugar cravings creeping round?
Can’t quite lose that stubborn pound?
Blame may lie at V-twin’s wheels-
Tuesday has those 2- for deals!

As you round your favorite curve
Speed demands your steeled nerve-
Then your will to jelly turns,
Spying house of deep fried burns!

Gasoline flows in your tank,
Card it siphons from your bank.
Salty snacks on shelves abound…
Belt to loosen stomach round.

Chocolate becons; creamy song-
Scale bemoans you’re in the wrong!
Motorcycle doesn’t care…
Adjust the shocks once more- with care.

Ride Free NSA

July 25, 2013

Motorcycles are becoming more electronic every year. Computer chips control fuel flow to the engine, there are electronic throttles, mileage and range is computer controlled. Each of these systems emit electronic signals that can be captured, downloaded and recorded. Sheriff departments across the nation drive around with special trunk mounted cameras that record license plate information. 1984 is here daddyo!

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Browsing steel steeds on wires fast,
Hondas, Harley’s; rides of rigor last-
Anticipate the v-twin bagger sound,
Invoice dollars, shekel, yen or pound.
– All info NSA has duly found…

Rides of chrome and brightest hue,
Processors flash numbers, engine ques.
A GPS will truly guide me home,
Swipe credit card for gas and oil to roam-
– NSA my data doth quick comb…

Park your ride; respite-, tea un-sweet;
Snap license plate, digitized quiet feat!
Tap phone of cell technology to chat-
Her love confessed to silicon disks flat.
– NSA details of data fat-

Times before the 60’s do I crave!
When wrong directly challenged by the brave-
Roads of only sunlight spectrum knew,
Rolling kisses and the wind; sky blue.
– NSA employees very few.

In the Arms of the Octane

June 14, 2013

Sorry- initially had some trouble loading this effort; then I made some changes. Thanks to Sarah McLachlan for the inspiration from her song ‘Angel’!

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Seconds lost each traffic stop,
V-twin grumbles, mounted cop,
Looking for that turnoff right,
LEDs make darkness bright.
—–
You’re in the arms of the octane,
ninety-three is its refrain.
Ride alone on asphalt pathways,
Towards an angel; restless stays.
—–
Open road – twist throttle max,
RPMs of needle packs-
Accelerate then cruise ahead,
Burning fuel without the lead.
—–
You’re in the arms of the octane,
oxygen ignites the strain.
Revolutions translate miles,
Gas transfixed; past many trials.

Rider Wedding Blessing

April 12, 2013

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.

Bagger Blues

February 25, 2013

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

Ethanol Torque

January 9, 2013

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.

V-Twin Cafe

October 2, 2012

Biker bars are NOT my thing, and going to Starbucks is just OK. I wish there was a motorcycle themed cafe where one could watch Crome roast in the sun. I’d call it the V-Twin Cafe.

Uninspired experience, no destination true,
Same old places ill defined, industrial their crew.
Agonized the hours and miles, indecision mind-
To stop along the road of ride; V-twin Cafe to find.

Parking slots of custom width just right,
Broad glass of vistas filled with chrome; quite bright-
Refreshing rest and menus minus burger blight,
No alcohol to mar old friendships past daylight.

Along the walls momentoes silently proclaim,
The glories of past rides; and riders’ fame.
From carburators, spokes and seats of spring,
Fuel injected horses strain; acceleration sings.

Watch along your route today for clues-
A new establishment; inviting riders old and new.
Relax as others tell their tales of harrowing surprise,
Of pistons, gears and democrats; conspiring demise.

Bright Rider Ballad

September 10, 2012

Some riding cultures have a dark aspect. But black clothes, jackets, and other accessories make you hard to see at night; and even in the daytime. I prefer the brighter side of riding for several reasons.

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Dull helmet on a blacked out steed,

accelerating loudly,

inky jackets boast their deeds,

Pounding on, so proudly.

—–

Others cruise on bikes that gleam,

cheerful blooms within the traffic beat.

Flashing bright the sunlight beam-

Gloves of white defeat the heat.

—–

Safety is its own reward,

See and avoid is true!

Brightly gleam a cheery chord-

Reflecting prism hues.