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Zywa Jan 12
Every morning after the reveille
we hold a bicycle race
from the camp to the Meuse

At full speed I take
the last turn, right into
brand new barbed wire

invisible in the light of the sun
As proficient torturers two others
are colliding with me immediately

Flat tire, torn clothes
In a comic *****, I would now
be hanging horizontally

But I fall, rips in my flesh
gaping and bleeding
Bandages at breakfast

and then I lead my patrol again, what else
after the mysterious providence
of a farmer who's going to pasture on the river?
Collection "Bruises"
amelia Jan 11
she sped down the hill;
the cool wind flying through her hair and dancing
on her creamy, golden skin.

speckled with freckles,
her smooth hands gripped the handle bars
of her bike.

the machine seemed to quiver
under her fingers and
being a little old and rusty,
let her fly
on oiled springs
and rubber pedals.
written while listening to landslide by fleetwood mac
KatThebliss Oct 2018
Today was warm, I felt a little bit livelier.
Challenges never cease to erupt from the cracks in the sidewalk like brazen dandelions, the sun a relief after unyielding darkness.
I see a lot of roadblocks, they make me anxious.
The taste of defeat is not foreign, but the saccharine glow of success washes the horizon; set ablaze with ambition.
I want to be better, almost perhaps somebody else.
Today was warm, I felt a little bit happier.
Introversion breeds inward ideas.
Lady Ravenhill Jul 2018
Struggle up the hills
Late July, the sun is high
Then down hill to fall
@LadyRavenhill 2018
Haiku #53
Ron Gavalik Jul 2018
On the bicycle trail, a middle-aged
woman in spandex biking gear
had her bike flipped upside down.
I dismounted next to her.
“You need a hand?”
She kept her eyes fixed
on her bike wheel. “Why do I need
your help?” Her voice was filled
with contempt. “It’s only a flat.”
I didn’t respond.
Pedaling along the river,
I made the decision
to keep offering assistance.
Someday I’d need it.

-Ron Gavalik
Dig it? Hit my Patreon.
Dan Beyer Jun 2018
A red bicycle
passes by as the sun sets
my mind goes with it
Aa Harvey May 2018
Ghost bike

Another ghost bike, chain around my heart.
Another fallen hero, gone up past the stars.
Another soul, lost in the night.
Another memory begins to fade; gone is this twilight.

Haunted by a voice of angels.
Sorrowful cards, praise the truth.
Strike a fist against a table;
Demand another chance to love them anew.

Banish the pain; remove the scars that this world leaves behind,
When people go to wherever they are.
Speak your words, tell their tale.
All are taken too soon from this Earth of ours;
We all need to find a grail.

Broken street lamps; tires screech.
Understand and continue to speak.
Change the mindset; cracks in the pavements.
When there is nothing left, but regrets,
Will you begin to make amends?

Broken headlights on bumper cars.
We need to reverse the damage we do.
Rebuild the human and give them more care.
So self-aware; so always lacking being there.
Live a life inside your phone
And all you will be left with are bright lights and broken bones.

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Benedict May 2018
I know you shake and squeak,
I bought you cheap,
Parts of you dropped below,
Down to the road,
So, I slowed,
To rescue your parted pieces.
Then back inside,
With limited tool supply,
I’d scratch my head,
And knot my brow,
As your rusted threads,
Spun round and round,
But I’d make you whole again,
My shaking, squeaking friend,
With you there is no end,
For every time your handles creak,
Any rush of air that peeps
A look through treads run bare,
I’ll carry you home,
With care,
And make you whole again.
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