like flying through the city on you, my bicycle,
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  
Rachelle Aviv
Rachelle Aviv
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

January 29, 2014
     edited February 10, 2014
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
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.

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

And I a bicycle for two, I reply.
SE Reimer
SE Reimer
Sep 16, 2013

Everyone’s peddling something, she complains...
And I a bicycle for two, I reply.
You’re so short-sighted, she retorts...
But I may have missed you were I not, I say.
You’re too happy-go-lucky, she quips...
But I think I’m lucky-to-be-happy, I grin back.
You poets are so unrealistic, she says...  
On the contrary, love, we breath life into realism. 
You’ve got your head in the clouds, honey...
But I was just looking for you, my angel.

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.

Olivia Kent
Olivia Kent
Feb 10      Feb 10

Doris bought herself a bike when she were 93.
Thought a trip to John 'O'Groats, would keep her flying free.
Started off at Lands End, from there on she did wobble.
Rode past the tanker.  
Bloody driver,what a wanker.
He nearly knocked her off.
She noted down his registration number.
Took it to the cop shop.
Wasn't feeling very happy, poor old darling needs a nappy.

Got back on her bike, to resume her hike.
The raindrops poured and granny snored.
Had a kip while on her bike, maybe Granny needed a trike.
Got as far as the corner shop.
She fancied a little nibble.
Noticed it was getting dark.
She checked out the sky.
Decided cycling was too hard work.
So off she went.
Decided to fly.
Grabbed her broomstick from the hallway.
Off she flew, up, up and away.
Wahey Doris.
Witch granny on an away-day.
(C)LIVVI 2014

Victor Barajas
Victor Barajas
Jan 4      Jan 5

As I wipe away your dust,
I see your true value.
In my eyes, you're treasure.
While in others, you're trash.
Why don't they see your potential?
You may have had an awful past,
But you're still beautiful.
They just don't understand you
& They never will.
I won't throw you away.
Because if I were down and out,
I'd wish someone would do the same.

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