like flying through the city on you, my bicycle,
Silas
Silas
Apr 10

the cool wind in my hair
as you and I glide across
the cement jungle.

You make my life tolerable
in this crazy urban landscape,
my trusty metal steed that
helps me duck and weave in
stand still traffic of the Nation's capital.

nothing like flying through the city on you, my bicycle,
on this beautiful spring day.  I know you can't speak,
but if you could, you would also say "wheeeeee" with glee.

#urban   #whimsy   #bicycle  
RA
RA
Feb 10      Feb 10

I can fly, standing, my
back erect, I can fly, holding
my arms aloft, I can
fly, speeding down the hill, I
can fly, swerving around cars.
I fly, dancing with death and
courting danger, I fly, laughing
loudly at my fear, I fly,
relishing the near-misses and almost-
impact of tragedy, I fly, I
spin, I wheel, I turn, I
soar, (I escape
everything.)

January 29, 2014
2:29
     edited February 10, 2014
of the time you make me feel like I'm a bicycle.
Maria Gracia Revilla

Most of the time you make me feel like I'm a bicycle.

Steep, reckless roads. Dangerous with every twists and turns.

But with no reason I just keep on going; pedaling and pedaling until I reach you.

And when I do, The handle becomes my strength, the pedal becomes my direction, and the wheels become my feet.

V
V
Apr 28, 2013

The autumn sun slides low
against the hours,
peaking over the day
as if barely begun
and almost finished.
There is something familiar
here in the half light,
not quite vertical yet
bright enough to see
the path I ride is not as rough,
the wind is not as strong
and my heart is not as hard
nor encumbered
as days since passed
where in hind-sight
I peddled for sanctuary;
sanctuary from
a morbid kind of half-sight
held tight by a half-life of
loneliness and lies
now long lost
and finally made right.

previously published at Napalm and Novocain, August 2012
querlous
Oct 4, 2013

It's well past midnight but you're still on the road
Joints stiff from bending over the handlebars
The wind's been in your bones for such a long time
You can't even remember when you got on
The hard asphalt road stretches on forever
Streetlights, neon signs and glaring windows whizz by
One by one, like the all people in your life
Every one so different and yet all the same
The only steady sound is your pumping heart
And the low whirring of well-oiled chain and gears
For each push of the pedal beneath bare feet
The other one rises inexorably
Troubles that seem to never stay down for long
Beads of sweat form endlessly on your forehead
They enter your eyes but never reach your cheeks
Reduced to just a little salt by the wind
You're reminded of reasons to be happy
That disappear before you finish thinking
And leave your eyes with a stinging sensation
It feels like there's something stuck deep down your throat
You can't dislodge it with your exhalations
It won't go down however hard you swallow
Perched on the cold metal frame, chasing the moon
It feels less like you're trying to run away

resting above the bicycle seat?
Thibaut V

I know we all
love perfect geometry

so there I laid
making sense of the scene
staring at the machine
resting incomplete
and knowing- it needs me;
I am the missing piece

But then I wondered
which part would I be
resting above the bicycle seat?
crunching the cogs-
and hogging all the good teeth
but no-
instead disguised in the frame-
-in the open triangle-
-under the icon-
-under the handlebars-
-a part I don't know the name-

but the one trying to make ends meet.

Rachel comes on her bicycle
Raj Arumugam
Raj Arumugam
1 day ago

She’s riding her bike
the wind’s on her cheeks
and hair
She’s got no worries
no care, cause she’s
riding easy on her bike


Rachel comes on her bicycle
down the street and
she sways with a smile;
she can go steady or she
can show off, as she pleases,
on her happiness bike

off her bicycle
she loses her smile
she frowns, she does not talk
but O -
she’s a goddess, she’s Venus
she’s all radiance
when she’s on happiness bike

she’s in her red top today:
her breasts decent
but talkative;
her bum is composed -
and O, as always
Rachel is glowing
on her happiness bicycle
we know it all:
angels come on bicycles now

She’s riding her bike
the wind’s on her cheeks
and hair
She’s got no worries
no care, cause she’s
riding easy on her bike

Would you buy me a yellow bicycle?
Flawless Contradictions

Would you buy me a yellow bicycle?
If you loved me perhaps you would
Tie me down so I can't float
I get restless and its hard for me to stay
I try not to slip away into the unknown
My soul is youthful
I'm hard to trust
I may spin out of control
But your the one
With slivers in my veins
I taste the pain
Consuming all my truths
With not a choose to choice

After my first bicycle accident I fell so hard it was the wors
gmg
gmg
Jul 25

After my first bicycle accident I fell so hard it was the worst pain I ever felt, at least for the time being. I had scraped knees and hands. I was scared to ride again because bicycle accidents hurt but I had to get up and keep going. And to be quite frank, thats how I feel about you. You made fall so hard that it felt like I was struck by lighting while being hit by a train and my breath left my body as I was being crushed and shocked at the same time. I fell for you so hard it was like riding my bicycle of a cliff falling onto a pile of sharp rocks. But none of this really tells how much I love you or even close to how hard I fell. You were like my first bicycle accident without training wheels, and instead of my dad, you were the one to catch me when I'd fall. I used to scratch my elbows on the gravel, and tiny rocks made a bed out of my fresh wounds, kinda like shards of glass after punching out a window, but not quite as painful. You were what I was looking at while I wasn't paying attention, it was a boy then and it's you, a man now. I guess I've always been attracted to the things that caught my eye the most, like rainbows after a sunshine downpour, I like how the color spectrum was freed, and I like how the treetops would dance. I like how I fell for you, I didn't scrape my knees on my way down this time, you caught me in your arms, and I tried to shake my nervousness off with a smile, but you giggled and told me I didn't have to worry, you were my prince and you'd always catch me, your princess, in your open arms. But eventually my bicycle grew old and I needed a new one, just as to you I grew old and you grew out of me and went looking for another girl who was falling a bit too hard. My search for a new bicycle happened during your search for a new girl and I never realized until it was too late and you were already gone. So I was lying hurt on the floor with my heart torn open just like my scraped knees while you were off to catch the next girl that fell. You see, before you left me little old me, I realized I fell in love with you, and everything around us seemed to explode into a million fiery pieces. You smelled like cigarettes and pine trees, and I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it, no matter how many times I wash my clothes, you're still lingering on them, like the taste of your kisses linger on my lips. I'm turning more and more into a young lady, so no more plaid button-up long sleeve tees with a pair of my favorite jeans that have a hole in the right knee, I'm going to wear dresses, and hope the wind teases the flow so you take a look at my lightening kisses thighs. Funny how we met, I keep giggling at the fact you actually caught me as I fell, but I guess I was stupid to think you'd actually stick around... Now I'm back to biking, and I bike to a nearby lake, I'm back to feeling like I used to, I'm back to feeling the wind play with my hair, I'm back to square one, falling in love with scenery around me, instead of silly boys like you...

writing collab with twitter user @xlachrymose
by a traitorous bicycle;
Daniel A Russ
Oct 3, 2010

Boredom churns broad-in-brain
competing with petty volumes of alcohol
(white Russian, 1, Magic Hat #9, 1)
for dominance of the summer's eve.
Unsure of which would prove the victor,
past-tense, too, filled with unknowing:
thought- and pedaling-process interrupted
by a traitorous bicycle;
a forward-bent-fork;
a fleeing, unbolted forwardwheel.
Fast-pitch forward,
eyes-wide but dead:
quickfall into void.
Then, wide-eyed horror:
awake again
filled with the horrible pain of life again
fueled, amplified tenfold
through the impact of the sidewalk.

 
To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment