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Fleur Sep 26
Pleading for a purchased god
Romanticized for its ancien régime
Celiac, and yet I licked the wheat paste
Of the letter I was was trimmed A4

In all that time spent by the basin
(and its traffic-trimming wetlands)
I only rode my bike to the depot
To color code my calendar

When capital kept its calls collect,
When the gravy train kept me idle
Each chamber would be emptied
Fruitlessly: punch drunk with praise

(Indulge a little)

Each from four through five: orchestrated
The plains always claim the sixth
(Respecting the tradition of western folk)
Only three will ever threaten treatment
A stream-of-consciousness bout of grief over a gravy train and the threat its indefinite departure presents.
Jammit Janet Jul 4
I climb mountains of emotion
Ride the downhills
Trying to sync
Trying to flow
With the unpredictable path of life
On my soul-cycle Of love.
Hussein Dekmak Oct 2021
While I was enjoying my bicycle ride, It started drizzling and I felt happy, then it stopped.

Suddenly it started pouring rain and I felt excitement and comfort rush over me when I remembered my childhood.

The sweet memory of playing under the rain and waiting to get in trouble with my beloved mother felt like a precious gift.

Hussein Dekmak
Thomas Steyer Jul 2021
Can't decide what to play with today.
There are my colouring books and pencils.
I could also find my drawing pad
and use a ruler and some stencils.

I have my Legos and my cars,
and lots of other shiny toys,
but my mum sends me out
to join the other little boys.

It's a beautiful day, she says,
you should be in fresh air,
yet too young for school you are
no need to worry or even care.

I meet Timmy, my friend down the lane.
He shows me his bicycle with considerable pride.
It's new, he says, with bell, brakes and all.
I ask him if I could learn to ride.

Of course, he says, hop on and I'll push.
I follow his instructions - tightly grip the handlebar
and speed away without a plan of further action,
when along comes roaring an enormous motorcar.

Please make it stop, I scream. But Timmy is not there.
So just before the tragic but inevitable demise,
a miracle occurs, I wake up in bed safely,
all grown up and full of surprise.
mark john junor Aug 2021
That day
one I will never forget
my brother set me free
he let me fly like the wind

he removed the training wheels of my life
and set me in motion
that day I found the joy of
two wheels and the wind in my hair

now old age creeps up upon me
but I still have two wheels and the wind
I still fly
my brother set me free
let me fly like the wind

poetry ©2021 Mark Junor
Wilkes Arnold Jul 2021
Water Street
After the rain
Is where wayward teens
Ride their bicycles
On damp pavement
Under staggered lamps,
I never knew,
Before seeing from the 2nd floor
That 2am
Is when lost youth roam.
Rebecca Brenes Apr 2021
I have friends in High Places,
good friends
tripping *****
floating atop mushroom clouds of ecstasy
Naked,
in otherworldly dimensions
pioneering the mental landscape,
explorers of the mind and soul
Bodies,
breaking free of the Iron Cage
living to Love
working only to get by
getting high
to escape
to a place
where mere existence
makes sense.
In honor of Bicycle Day. And inspired by the poetic ramblings of Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac.

© 04/19/21 Rebecca Brenes All Rights Reserved
Jaicob Apr 2021
"Get out,"
I was told.
"Leave my sight"
I packed a bag.
"Just leave"
I rode off.
"Come back"
I was chased.
"I love you"
My bike was taken.
"You can't leave"
I'm crying.
Your arms hold no comfort for me.
My parents say they love me... Is love chasing somebody away from their home and taking their bike?
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