#bikes
There was a young man who could paint
He was not known for using restraint
He'd paint things he likes
Such as **** women on bikes
They're good. But Picasso they ain't
Dec 30, 2025
Dec 30, 2025 at 5:57 PM UTC
Indigenous!
Belong, in place.
Eligible to be? (Unpaid)
Tracing comfort. (confronted)
Distribute all rawness.
Attribute all peace.
Abolish odd disturbances.
Against all odds, shadowing perspective.
Feeling at ease... Just ME! (Relieved)
Canvased in dirt immersed in blood. (Rituals)
Unleash the royal beast.
Reveal all - ME. (Lead)
Smudged, focused on the challenge.
Do you see?
ME?
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 7:08 PM UTC
The Heraclee sky was a lurid, neon blue but the morning was surprisingly cool (at 54°). The antemeridian sun managed to cast sharp, surreal, black-hole shadows, giving the world a baroque art look, as if we were strolling through a Rembrandt painting, where everything is defined by shadows.
The lavish breeze, coming up off the Mediterranean Sea, seemed compressed and frantic, as if trying to flee the choppy, sapphire water. Tall marsh grasses waved back and forth, as if to unheard music, reminding me of 60-thousand swaying arms at the Taylor Swift concert.
Higher up, the wind played with feather-like clouds, making them seem to rise, fall and spill over each other in their race for the horizon. On the beach, there were ten or more colorful, elaborate kites - the French love their multi-wired stunt kites.
There was a dragon, a multi-color WWI biplane, there were bird kites, an octopus and a swooping butterfly. We watched them for a while, from a hill. “I’m going to get one of those,” Peter said, dreamily (for use on the Malibu beach his parents' modest home overlooks).
A little later, Peter and I decided to bike down to the beach from the hotel. The idea was valid but the bikes, seeming leftovers from World War 2, shook and rattled like percussion instruments as we made the death-defying plunge down the steep, uneven stone-laid path. We were laughing, screaming and half convinced we’d die by the time we reached the bottom.
Once there, a snooty concierge said, “That is NOT the bike path.” Which seemed hilarious. When Peter replied, dead faced, “We’re American,” as if that were an internationally understood pass for being stupid. It made us laugh so hard we couldn’t look at each other for a couple of minutes. I don’t know which hurt more, my bottom or my side.
As our guffaws were dying down, Charles arrived on the bike path.
“Why’d you do THAT?” (take the wrong path) he asked, with a tone of irritated censure.
“There was a sign,” I argued, gasping for air from my still doubled up laughing position, “that said ‘Bike Path?’" my voice rising like a sarcastic question.
“You didn’t notice the ten-inch tall, blue arrow under the words pointing to the bike path?”
Sometimes Charles can be extra over - as in overprotective and over-reactive.
As Cherles and I wrangled away, Peter stood patiently by, waiting. He doesn’t argue with Charles, he says he finds the 6-foot-3-inch, retired NYC policeman a little intimidating.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, dismissively, “he’s a big ‘ol teddy bear.”
May 28, 2023
May 28, 2023 at 12:00 PM UTC
A BLACK DEVILS TONGUE ROLLS OUT BEFORE ME
HISSING, LICKING, FLAMING & SPITTING
I'M ON THE RUN FROM THE DEMON INSIDE ME
GRINDING WINDING CHURNING AND BURNING
A SCREAMING BULLET TEARS FROM HELLS OWN KEEP
THUNDER QUAKES OF LAUGHTER FROM THE BELLY OF THE BEAST
A BLACK DEVILS TONGUE ROLLS OUT BEFORE ME
HISSING, LICKING, FLAMING & SPITTING
I'M ON THE RUN FROM THE EVIL INSIDE ME
GRINDING WINDING CHURNING AND BURNING
A STREAK OF LIGHTNING BOLT BLISTERING THE EARTH
TREMBLING AND SHAKING LOOSE OF HELLS OWN HEARTH
MUSCULAR SKELETAL CONTORTING
BODY BRACED IS FORCING
SPITTIN SPARKS GRINDIN' WHEELS
KICKIN' FAST AT THE DEVIL'S HEELS
FLIRTING WITH PSYCHOSIS
THIS MADNESS TAKES 'A' HOLD
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
GRIPPIN A SPINNIN' WHEEL
GRINDIN' SPARKS AT THE DEVIL'S HEELS
I'M DRIPPIN' WET
MINDS BLEEDING
THIS MADNESS TAKES A HOLD
I'M GRIPPIN' HARD
ON A SPINNIN' WHEEL
KNUCKLES WHITE ICY COLD
I'M GRIPPIN' WET
MINDS BLEEDING
THIS MADNESS TAKES MY SOUL
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
GRIPPIN' A SPINNIN' WHEEL
SPITTIN' SPARKS
ON THE DEVIL'S HEELS
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
MINDS BLEEDING
THIS MADNESS TAKES A HOLD
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
GRIPPIN' A SPINNIN' WHEEL
WAITIN' FOR THE DEATH KNELL PEEL
A BLACK DEVILS TONGUE ROLLS OUT BEFORE ME
HISSING, LICKING, FLAMING & SPITTING
I'M ON THE RUN FROM THE DEMON INSIDE ME
GRINDING WINDING CHURNING AND BURNING
A SCREAMING BULLET TEARS FROM HELLS OWN KEEP
THUNDER QUAKES OF LAUGHTER FROM THE BELLY OF THE BEAST
A BLACK DEVILS TONGUE ROLLS OUT BEFORE ME
HISSING, LICKING, FLAMING & SPITTING
I'M ON THE RUN FROM THE EVIL INSIDE ME
GRINDING WINDING CHURNING AND BURNING
THIS RUPTURED CHASM ERUPTS SPLINTERING THE HEAP
WILDFIRE SPITTING FROM INFERNAL DEEP
MUSCULAR SKELETAL CONTORTING
BODY BRACED IS FORCING
SPITTIN SPARKS GRINDIN' WHEELS
KICKIN' FAST AT THE DEVIL'S HEELS
FLIRTING WITH PSYCHOSIS
THIS MADNESS TAKES 'A' HOLD
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
GRIPPIN A SPINNIN' WHEEL
GRINDIN' SPARKS AT THE DEVIL'S HEELS
I'M DRIPPIN' WET
MINDS BLEEDING
THIS MADNESS TAKES A HOLD
I'M GRIPPIN' HARD
ON A SPINNIN' WHEEL
KNUCKLES WHITE ICY COLD
I'M GRIPPIN' WET
MINDS BLEEDING
THIS MADNESS TAKES MY SOUL
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
GRIPPIN' A SPINNIN' WHEEL
SPITTIN' SPARKS
ON THE DEVIL'S HEELS
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
MINDS BLEEDING
THIS MADNESS TAKES A HOLD
I'M DRIPPIN' SWEAT
GRIPPIN' A SPINNIN' WHEEL
WAITIN' FOR THE DEATH KNELL PEEL
THESE DARK WINGS
SPREAD OVER MY HORIZON
REIGN IN EVIL
REIGN IN FREEDOM
REIGN IN HELL
THESE RIVERS RUN WITH BLOOD
FLOWING TO THE FLOOD
THESE RIVERS RUN WITH BLOOD
FLOWING TO THE FLOOD
FROM THE GNASHING TEETH OF THE JAWS OF HELL
RASPING GASPING SEETHING AND BREATHING
MOVING FASTER THAN THE TOLL OF THAT FATEFUL BELL
WREAK CRAKE SHREIKS AND SHAKES THE HEATH
WINDIN' DOWN THAT STEEP SLIDE
SLIPPERY SLOPE
LANDSCAPE
RACING
THROUGH
MY
MIND
WINDIN' DOWN THAT SLIPPERY SLOPE
LANDSLIDE
RACING
THROUGH
MY
MIND
WINDIN' DOWN THAT STEEP SIDE
SLIPPERY SLOPE
BLACK TRACKS
RACING
THROUGH
MY
MIND
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 8:19 AM UTC
we're riding bikes
in the midnight,
facing the wind
i close my eyes
and i hope we don't
fall and die
because
now i ve understood
that life should be
a fearless ride.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 10:36 AM UTC
it's been so long since....
oh, how I long for the those days
swinging in the tree
hanging upside down on that big branch
waiting for the sun to go down so hide and go seek was more challenging
skateboarding with friends and riding our bikes for hours and hours
marbles were the rage and the Boulders were worth some attention
falling down and scraping our knees, shaking it off till we got home
spinning around so fast and furious that you got too dizzy and fell down
oh how I long for those days....
has it really been so looooooong?
Brian Hill - 2020 # 149
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 9:25 AM UTC
If I was a bicycle, I would freely ride Through the earth's green hills
I would journey with great pride
Endeavouring all of life's thrills
I would ride, I would ride
Through the earth's great mountains and great hills
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC
Do you remember those nights
We laughed and talked until sleep?
With you laying by my side
I had no need for medication or sheep.
Remember the inside jokes?
The dishonest promises we made?
I do not see how you could forget,
For me the memories will not fade.
Remember all the puddles?
With bare, cold, feet our bikes we rode,
Down your drowned driveway,
At the end we slowed.
We shared our simple secrets,
Things no one else knew,
I thought you would be there for me,
Because I am always there for you.
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 7:38 PM UTC
This probably isn't what they are called,
And I can't think of the elusive word,
But...I really like bike bells.
You know the ones!
The little diddlydoos on the handlebars of a ten-year-old's bike.
The ones that go
*bbbBBBB
RRRRRrrrrr
iiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIII
NNNNnnnnnn
ggggggGGGGGG!*
God, they're my favorite.
Because, you see...here's the thing:
When you were a ten-year-old,
Riding a bike to some friend's house your mom didn't approve of,
Did you ever bbBBrrIInnGG the bike bell on your bike when you were upset?
Of course not!
Bike bells are a child's way of telling the world,
"Guys! GUYS! I had a really good day!"
And it makes me happy to know some little kid is so joyful they can't help but bbBBrrRRiiIInnNNggGG all the way down the street.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
He drives a gray Subaru
I get in the passenger seat
He turns on nirvana
I don't want to
But I can't
Help it
I begin to weep
He asks what's wrong
I can't explain
He turns it off
I thank him
Until
Radiohead
Water falls from my eyes once more
I shouldn't be in this car
I should be riding my bike beside yours
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 3:12 PM UTC
No age limit.
Freedom.
Strength.
GREEN!
Don't care if it's a hipster fad.
I Loved you far before the world.
Simplicity of my legs.
Yet so much power behind these things.
You make me throw my OCD needing to rhyme and flow completely out the window.
Well... Sort of.
And yeah, it bugs me that I'm now writing in complete sentences, but I don't even care anymore.
I care about my bike.
And the beauty that it brings to the world.
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 12:49 PM UTC
the Cape is a place
where time stops,
and all that moves
are the waves and breezes,
bicycle wheels and boats
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
It starts
with a bang
A single shot
Followed by a
Chorus
Of clacking
Clicking
And whirring
As though
The bullet
Tore a hole
In the sky
And now
all the air
Is rushing out
******* us
With it
A spectacle
To witness
Such great pitch
And movement
A steady buzz
Buzzing
rolling
Cacophony
Fueled by
Ambition
aggression
And panic
Elbows out
Jarring
Sparring
Until we settle
Into our rhythm
Carbon and metal
And organic
Mass
Undulating along
Whoosh
Wooshing
Flying
on the ground
Escape velocity
Hurtling along
Pushing
A wall of air
The winds of
Our arrival
Surrounding us
An envelope
Sealing
This new singularity
From the rest of
The universe
Until it collapses
On itself
And vanishes
Until
The next
Event
Horizon
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC
chasing down those clouds
in penetrating light
rode to the bridge
sun had set
pink and gold patterns
on the river
The man at the water plant
leaning on the railing
glanced down the river.
above the silhouetted hills
below the salmon gilded clouds
a patch of blue
no longer blue
but the color of the turquiose ring
on my bike tires
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 7:11 PM UTC
In a museum, or forgotten barn,
A small red twelve inch two wheeler
Hangs on invisible wires,
Or is covered in pigeon droppings and dust.
But Tannehill rode it once,
Like something in a dream.
He was too long-framed for it.
He controlled it, rounded the corner,
Pedalling hard down the sidewalk,
Across the street from our new house.
I gawked from the front yard:
He was a boy with his bike,
Like *The ****** on T.V.
It was the first I learned to ride,
And the falls were magnificient,
On grass or asphalt.
Girls' bikes were easy,
One size fits all.
Then I learned to pedal
Beneath the cross bar of the big boys'.
Push the pedals,
Shift the midrift, and be gone.
Always from somewhere
To somewhere else,
Far from the soft front lawn.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
I am up
Awake
Before the sun
It's arrival
Heralded by
Colors creeping
Out against
The retreating night sky
Do not mistake me
For a morning person
I do not relish this
Nor do I mourn
For sleep
lost
It could be
found
But this
is necessary
Not without joy
Not without sacrifice
Without a word
It simply is
A ride
My Fortress
of Solitude
For a mind
Besieged
By thought
At war with
Itself
Do not
retreat
Into the past
A ruthless place
A heckling pace
That tells you
You cannot
Hang on
Give no portage
To fate
For you cannot grasp
What the future holds
Just
Keep moving
Focus
This ride
It is the only ride
That matters
I wrap myself
In its tight fabric
It's sounds
Clicking and clacking
Racing thoughts
Shifting
Centrifugal forces
Sifting
As I order
Myself
Ride
As long
as I pedal
I am
Present
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 6:49 AM UTC
I spend my summers in Amsterdam
Everyone rides bikes
The girls all wear short skirts
The wind blows and all the girls ride by with their ***** in the air
I sit outside the cafes and watch the bikes go by
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 9:25 AM UTC
The brand new sun
Fresh from the vacation
In clouds and cold
Taking out the bike
Raising the seat to accommodate
New height
Riding down the smooth hill
Zooming so fast
That you can’t hear someone yell your name
Feeling the wind whip your hair
Your shirt, pants
Legs, arms and face
Seeing a car and coming to a soft stop
Lazily turning around -- heading back up the hill
And doing it all over again
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
The heat,
The way it ripples from the steel handlebars
And burns my hands,
The way the clunking of the chain feels
As each pedal propels me forward
Beneath the sun.
The sky is blue,
The air is crisp and leaves pinpricks
On my skin,
Soothed by the tenderness
Of sun rays that fall like curtains
Upon the concrete.
It smells of rubber,
A lingering scent of nostalgia
That fills my lungs like tar
And fills my heart with youthful
Thoughts.
As the wrinkles emerge,
And the delicate cracks begin to show,
I realize that my bike
Is the last memento that
Resonates through my aging ways.
Let's take a final spin down the boulevard,
Before the sun goes down
And my bones ache once more.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
O’Silky smooth ballsac
Stuck to my leg
Ever-presence defines manhood
As tree defines fruit
And as fruit defines tree.
Ne'er such a sense
Overwhelmed my hot-spot
As this dangling (oval, skin and nerves of)
Oily pouch
I cream.
Yet
A line as destructive
As the San Andreas
Fault- O divine chafe
You reduce me
You erode me
As if we rented *******
Bikes
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
The following is what you make of a stranger’s ramblings
Now the cop
who ignores the lights is out the next day giving tickets
the sky does not turn black with an honest **** in a hit and run
the sky starts to melt when you and I refuse to think cause survival!
We are so busy trying to survive that we let everyone else die!
Are we given enough problems to only be able to carry for so many of others?
The doctor earning boat loads of money needs to make sure
that he can survive on his retirement funds!
Why are our problems blown up so much,
I get it they are close so the look big but the sky is falling and we
are busy looking for the remote!
Was the world designed in a way where learning of others problems
is always the straw that snaps the camels back?
Where we always have enough problems to only be able to
carry so many of others?
I’m no Titan.
I have seen myself flattened against the sky and ground
hearing stories of cruel smiles and I have minimal problems
that I can honestly claim as my own or as problems.
The world is going to explode and we will be bickering about who
should have been guarding the gate as a trigger is pressed against our face!
It’s not too late or I would have killed myself or made love then killed myself.
Our problems are not even the center of an atom.
They are often the same one, so instead of looking at them individually why not
attack the chain?
It is hard to believe in non-violence.
Honestly is humanity slowly turning the earth from something
that could have been the back-drop of heaven into the welcome gate for hell?
Strangers are what you make them to be!
Stop hating each other! You don’t need like each other
just know that they are humans so they have encountered magic
a magic that would have lit up your world the way fireworks explode
against the city-scape.
Also know that you and I and the stranger down the street
have all embodied a devil at it’s worst and a saint all
without being fully aware.
An angel never knew it was an angel only others did
a devil can see themself.
This is a call to arms just not guns
this a call to boycott, to call others to march with you
a lone marcher is a crazy a thousand lone marchers together we are
something.
The time to hit the gas was years ago.
Your own problems might get worse but they die and defeating
others problems is immortal.
This was what you make a stranger’s ramblings.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
Meh speed is fun, no not the drug.
Wish that came earlier.
****** up my race on a bull **** attack.
Finished off the back.
The ******* scrub, placed or some ****
I didn’t listen.
We agreed before to be at each other necks.
We like it that way.
I should have made him feel like ****
All he does is sit.
People ******* hate his guts.
He is fourteen.
Solely responsible for ******* up his future.
I try to help.
I might try to back him up, or burry him.
I’m not sure yet.
His dad is nice, his mom is full of ****
I do extra to shut her up.
His dad cheered for me at the race.
No **** I’m trying.
I thought his sister had a crush on me.
She’s like thirteen.
I kinda, almost, at one stage liked her.
We are tied together.
They are a tight family and he is stuck to my wheel.
He *****
Tremendous respect for that ***** though.
I know how it hurts.
A ******* monster attacking your soul.
Burnt legs, crispy spirits.
The monster tells me I’m going the right way.
Can’t stop.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
(memories from a lost youth)
Shoe leather for brake pads
we scuffed to a stop.
"Their" cried Derek "It's their"
Tumbling down hill scratching
and ripping through
bramble thicket we gave
chase.
Into the newly plowed field
splurging treacle like, through
mud that tried to **** off your
feet.
We stopped in shock
as a gust of wind lifted the
bright red balloon, with its
unread message waving to at us;
as the wind carried it on to
where?
Derek screamed words you can't
say to an adult when your only
ten.
Defeated we splurged back to our bikes.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC