"biker" poems
*She was costly Bordeaux
he was recycled biker leather,
her classic affluent beauty
yearned for motorcycle thrills,
she lifted him up a grade
he brought her down to street level,
they fused at steamy rush hours
under trafficked high ways,
pursuant to reckless merging
reality's intersections accelerated
crashing expedited speed limits,
would never again drive
mid smoothly paved junctures
at the standard rate of normal*
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
I might have told you some of these things,
If you were alive.
You had an amazing body from the moment we hit seventh grade.
Your ***** just sat, round and high,
Your ******* pointed straight outward,
Like a freak of nature, or an action figure.
Cheering at football games
Girls hated standing next to you because
You peeled their boyfriend’s eyes from their skirts to yours.
One summer night on Garrett’s roof,
After making turkey sandwiches at two in the morning,
******* the fumes in your thin lips,
Watching the smoke twist in the air
In front of your ice blue eyes,
And your white blonde hair,
We talked about ***
About how it’s ****** up
how it is so much harder
For girls to have *******
Then I dated Jesse,
After you.
We were 16.
Sometimes I think about the night I told you I was sorry,
In the parking lot by the river.
Your breath smelled like Doritos and cherry *****
You fooled around with your pink shirt
Telling me it was ok.
We talked about our secret handshake.
We talked about how you used to want to be nicknamed cupcake,
We talked about the time we had a séance.
Age eleven bringing back ******
On your screened-in porch,
Warm air swayed the candle flames,
Crickets in the darkness around us,
Suddenly,
A biker knocked over your trashcan in the ally.
You are dead now.
But you did it.
Sometimes I’ll eat too much,
Or *****
Or smoke half a pack of cigarettes,
When I think about you.
One night last summer I ate an entire half-gallon of vanilla ice cream,
Alone in my kitchen.
My stomach felt sick for three days.
I walk the trail behind your house,
The one where you think you started your period.
The first place we ever smoked ***
I talk to the trees about you.
When the wind blows the branches
And the dry leaves sound,
In that gentle shudder,
Along the cold ground,
My skin prickles,
And the hair on my arms rises towards the sky.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Ragged mountains and rough terrains,
Withstanding storms and heavy rains.
Warm rays of sunshine bring light.
Bearing hues of black and white.
To the touch it feels like a freshly mowed lawn.
A promise of tummy tickling at dawn.
A relaxing walk in an uninhabited forest.
A tempestuous hike to the top of Everest.
You could be a renegade or a mad scientist
An investment banker or electric guitarist.
A biker's beard could be just as immaculate.
Rough as sandpaper or soft as velvet.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 8:00 AM UTC
A body and soul stretched to extremes
Yin and yang
The most and least of both worlds
Opposite sides of the coin
Cleansing and pure
Tainting and pitch
Light and dark
Of the purest white
And the most tainted black
Earth and air and fire and water and aether
Sun and rain
The brightest and hottest fires of sun
Beating and firing heat from the bottomless flames of hell
Breaking into a cold sweat without cease
The flaming evil of health
Rain and sun
The darkest and iciest rain of clouds
Pouring and drenching from the endless pools of heaven
Chilling into a cleansing soak never long enough
The freezing good of pain
The contradictions, the back and forth
The intelligent confusion
The stupid direction
The leather and biker tough guy
The shy and bookish sweet girl
The false realities and true lies
Love in strangers and indifference in close friends
Hope in troubled times and loss in peaceful
Banding together the unlikelies
Separating the probabilities
Pain in love and happiness
Contentment in fear and despair
The sound of one hand clapping.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
Hello moon
I never saw you at noon
😔ain't happy with that
But I will just keep it at heart
You saw her riding
Right🤤🤤
She is a good biker??🥵🥵
Or a rider
I guess she is a good lier
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 8:18 AM UTC
there was a little badger a biker dood was he
wore a leather jacket and rode a big harley
he just love to tour around the countryside
each and every city tour nationwide
he to took a little trip for his biker fix
to the USA to ride the 66
a favorite route for bikers
where they get there kicks
he mounted on his harley and began his ride
riding down the highway he was full of pride
he rode to the end. his dream it had come true
down the 66 like all the bikers do.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Clothed up to the max
I enter the garage to mount my indoor bike tracks
On a digital road we drift
As we press Go on the biking game "Zwift'
Ride fast, ride free
No need to watch out for the tree
As the game takes us on a journey
Hey "ride on' there's Bernie
The sweat builds to a stream
I race on in my digital dream
Watopia world provide us with freedom
A place to gather, a fellow biker's Eden
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 8:40 AM UTC
What does it mean to be a Modern Man?
In the way in the Renaissance you were a Renaissance Man?
Knowing all there is to understand,
and learning all the skills you’ll need with your hands.
Fluent in English, American, and Ebonics.
Part IT Guy to fix everyone’s electronics.
Part Guru to share your health advice.
Part Farmer because who can trust anything,
you buy in the stores these days.
Part Eagle Scout so you can impress everyone,
because you “still get out to the woods once in a while.”
Part Mechanic to work on your fuel efficient car,
and your wife’s giant dual-axel turbo diesel truck.
Part Biker, because Man was born to be free.
Part Hippie, because EVERYONE WAS BORN TO BE FREE.
Part Hill Billy because they’re doin’ it right.
Part Libertarian, part Socialist, part Anarchist.
Part Patriot, part Activist, part Terrorist.
Part whatever the **** I want because I don’t give a ****
Part of a government watch list.
Part of a Humanitarian Project.
Part of a Rebellion,
Part of a Revolution,
yet to come.
Part of you,
because our conscience,
is the same.
Part of the whole,
because it is impossible not to be.
Part of god,
because by now you’ve realized,
it is you,
and there’s no turning back.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
there was a little badger a biker dood was he
wore a leather jacket and rode a big harley
he just love to tour around the countryside
each and every city tour nationwide
he to took a little trip for his biker fix
to the USA to ride the 66
a favorite route for bikers
where they get there kicks
he mounted on his harley and began his ride
riding down the highway he was full of pride
he rode to the end. his dream it had come true
down the 66 like all the bikers do.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
"Cash, Grass or Ass-No One Rides Free!"
reads the bumper-sticker slapped on the ratty Harley.
Its black leather seat is cracked, tattered and torn,
the headlight is busted and there's no friggin' horn;
with mismatched saddlebags strapped to each side,
the panhead leaks like a sieve, but it's still quite a ride.
The gas-tank is dented, scratched and coated with muck,
the chrome no longer shines, but who gives a flyin' ****
Its tires are bald, the spokes are all rusted to ****
and the frame is off-kilter from a cage-driver's hit.
The biker just puffed the last hit from his pipe,
slammed down the rest of the J.D. from the bash last night;
then he hops on his hog, kicks the monster to start,
the muffler-pipes blast flames and roar like a ****
Together they roll down the road like old pals,'
with nowhere to go, just obnoxious and loud:
the tombstone tail-light flashes bright red on this mess,
'though Cashless, Grassless and Assless, they couldn't care less!
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 1:34 AM UTC
Sea serpents still smash ships
In the dark seas of my subconscious,
Devilish legends roam
Giggling, chainsaw wielding
Masked maniacs are at home
Hunting and being hunted
By whip wielding antiheroes
With black leather biker outfits, with the right sleeve missing
The theater of my Id charges a penny admission
Sold my soul for a remote control
My mind ruled by visual opiates
Of violence and flesh
Creative outlets come
In sporadic outbursts
That ****** your imagination,
What some men call horror
I call liberation.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 7:21 AM UTC
There's nothing like the Feel
Of two wheels and the power
Between your Legs, The Pounding
Of two Cylinders, as the engine Revs.
Wheeling through snaking roads
Surrounded by Sunlight and trees
The intense smell of fallen leaves
On a cool nights ride. Feeling free
Blasting down a two lane road.
Rolling into a small town,you
Hear the Bikes Rumble, as you
Shift down, and throttle off the gas
The roar of your bikes sound, as
It bounces off the passing buildings.
You're out of town past the Last street light
As the Stars unfold in the stark black night
The feel of the wind's a sweet taste of freedom
Content for the silence and the Bike motors hum.
As an old Biker the ride is Past, but the feel of
The wind Flowing past my face, and the pound
Of the Motors sound, still be mine, Till my Day is Done
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
There's nothing like the Feel
Of two wheels and the power
Between your Legs, The Pounding
Of two Cylinders, as the engine Revs.
Wheeling through snaking roads
Surrounded by Sunlight and trees
The intense smell of fallen leaves
On a cool nights ride. Feeling free
Blasting down a two lane road.
Rolling into a small town,you
Hear the Bikes Rumble, as you
Shift down, and throttle off the gas
The roar of your bikes sound, as
It bounces off the passing buildings.
You're out of town past the Last street light
As the Stars unfold in the stark black night
The feel of the wind's a sweet taste of freedom
Content for the silence and the Bike motors hum.
As an old Biker the ride is Past, but the feel of
The wind Flowing past my face, and the pound
Of the Motors sound, still be mine, Till my Day is Done
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
Imagine loving a sober alcoholic Gemini biker with a chipped tooth.
After you are together for eight months, let that sober alcoholic Gemini biker with a chipped tooth take you out in to the ocean, when the waves are cresting at six feet and you are terrified. You almost drowned when you were a child. He tells you to come out further. Turns his back on the wave, just like your father said never to do. He looks you in the eye and says I will never let anything happen to you, I am not him, you can trust me, I will not hurt you.
So you dive under the wave and he has you in his arms and the sun is expanding through the water droplets on your eyelashes. It’s cold but not too cold and it feels clean. You believe him, and believe that nothing is truer than this moment right now with the salt drying our lips and tangling our hair, nothing is braver than trusting someone despite the past. This is one of the greatest days of your life and you never want to leave the coast or his tattooed heart because this is what is real.
Imagine that you two part several weeks later.
Imagine that he begs for forgiveness.
Imagine that you go back.
Because you remember the beach and that day. And every day in its consistency when you are together, and how your anxiety subsides, just for a little while. Things do change, for a week, maybe, but then the past arrives reading The Book of Power and she is hungry. Wrapped up in memories, she plants a green kiss on his cheek and he leaves you in the water to drown. You are treading water trying to seem like you are swimming but you are failing, failing miserably, and when he finally drags you to shore he doesn’t pump your lungs with oxygen, he watches you choke as everything comes up. He tells you that he loves the past and he is waiting for her to come home and always has been.
So now, you do not even have the past. He took it from you and everything you thought was real. You cannot tell the difference now and ask and ask Could he have loved the present, just for a small while? Does he look at your chair in his house with his dog and think of her? When he looks at the ocean, does he taste you?
You are the past, too, just not the right one.
Imagine this but do not live it.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
******* Your Sister
There was something familiar about her face. Something in the way she tossed her brown hair back and smiled. I couldn’t quite place it. She was an out-of=town biker ***** I was just an in-town biker. We leaned against the bar, my hand on her hip.
Wow. You just don’t give a **** do you?” she said, wrapping her arms around me.
“Oh, I give a **** I’ll share it with you, if you want.”
Her smile grew wide, as she bi her big bottom lip.
“You wanna get outta here?”
We roared into the motel parking lot. She pointed to a room, and I parked right next to her bike.
“I say ******* Your bike feels good, makes my thighs twitch,” she said.
On the way to the door, her knees were trembling. They buckled slightly, every few seconds. Yeah, this was gonna be all right. Back in the bar, we had something magnetic when we locked eyes. It was always a good sign, when you had that. I pushed her down hard on the bed, pressed her mouth to mine. She was a sloppy kisser, all over the place. Not soft and gently, like I expected. Well, we lay there anyways, kissing and grinding our hips. The chin of my beard was wet.
The radio blared a Doors song.
“Let it roll, baby roll …”
Suddenly, it hit me. No, no, this is all wrong. I pulled back.
“What?” she asked, smiling.
“Son of a ***** I rolled off of her and stood up, tightening the strap of my leather jacket.
“What the **** she shouted, impatiently.
“I can’t do this.” I said, shaking my head.
“Why the **** not?”
“Well … ugh. You look just like my sister. I couldn’t figure it out before, but the resemblance is just too much. Christ, I’m sorry, darlin’.”
She sat on the bed, mouth hanging open in disbelief. She slowly formed a sentence.
“Let me get this straight … so … you’re seriously NOT gonna **** me?”
“Baby, I can’t.”
“Well, **** she said, sitting up, pulling her **** back into her AC/DC shirt.
I pulled out a joint and lit it up.
“I can’t ****** believe this **** … lemme hit that.”
I passed her the joint.
“Yeah, I know. I can’t believe it either. You could be her twin.”
“No, it’s all right.” She took a big hit and held it in as she spoke. “As bad as I wanted to **** your brains out … it’s okay. That’s actually very respectable. Ya Know? Shows you really care about your family and ****
“Yeah, I do. Nothing is more important than family.”
“You’re a good guy, Dan.”
"Well, its mainly because I don’t wanna feel like I’m ******* my sister.”
*******
She finally passed the joint back, both of us laughing like children.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
The white fluorescent lights buzz over my head, as if a method of determined annoyance.
Studying is a truly lackluster operation
Students methodically find ways to keep themselves distracted
Looking around, trying to catch glimpses of how others are managing their time so well, a frantic approach to studying that I have single handedly mastered
A very tan incongruous man, seats himself with the Miami Herald in hand
His skin has a leathery texture
He is a tall and gangly, strange looking man of at least 50
3 inch thick sideburns, red corduroy pants that reveal his mustard yellow socks and brown-black shoes
Button-down shirt with the vertical stripes, sure to match every color with the rest of his outfit
Off-white straw fedora hat with a forest green trimming,
He sports a fabulous mustache, that puts every biker’s or Italian baker’s whiskers to shame.
Something tells me he's not a student
Seated across from me are two foreign women that are studying the English language.
I know because they are the only ones talking, pushing my diversion from work a little further.
The sky is turning grey outside the colossal library windows
I’m hungry.
That kid in the corner keeps staring at me.
I have been here too long.
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 4:28 AM UTC
I was once in a rough & gruff biker gang
figthing with tough as nails bikers, dang
and I knew all of the sick biker slang,
but then I woke up when my cell phone rang
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
You move through the hallway
tile by tile; step by cautious step
as you explore every
sound the scooter makes;
every moment new and
wonderful.
You tiptoe, dip your toes down
and lightly dust the floor,
skim it like the first time in
the shallow pool of the bath.
Then you step, push,
slide down the hall
leaving care in your wake
like discarded cheerios and
chewed up apple bits.
You stop, smile at
this new secret
the world whispered
as I lift you up into my arms.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC
there was little mouse a biker mouse was he
riding on his harley living life so free
heading for the highway to get his biker fix
all along the coast on route 66
with his leather jacket having so much fun
pulling down his shades to protect him from the sun
he just love to ride anytime he could
just being on his harley made him feel so good
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
sweaty forehead, a gory past
wildly glowing eyes of oblivion
shivering hands, sirens, bars
freedom, imprisonment, razor blades
peru, coca farmers, chemicals
smuggler channels, route 36
franklin's face on crumpled-up paper
rattling coins, benjamins, stacks
gotta make it or take it
gotta sell or abuse it
flashing louis, abundant future
sweaty forehead, ****** present
biker chapters, brothers, funerals
tommy hauled jim's coffin
rick carried tommy to his grave
cut-offs, gats, one call: ******
despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta
mortals remain silent, angels don't
rain of blood, a puddle of codes
turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs
cults **** cultures, weapons replace
shelter in a group home; the stabbing
"shaun got heart, he a furious one --
can use dat dude, pay him up"
black, white, african-american, chechens
territories of unspoken laws
intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters
lured teenagers, deadly magic of power
the old ones impress the new ones
newbies will turn into soldiers
**** or get killed; headshots of fear
numbers on the forehead, blueish
unwritten are the rules of some
bribed politicians, skippers, knockos
the one who wets, will be wetted
others prefer the clarity of faith
organized crime, rats and kingpins
multilevel marketing, elevators
glass towers, late and secret meetings
route 36, the white magic of death
it's all in the game
"The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life.
Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself.
Relax."
(Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 4:06 AM UTC
there was a little bat a biker bat was he
on his little harley riding wild and free
all around the country the little bat would go
traveling round for miles he just it loved it so
with his leather jacket and his biker boots
planning out his journey picking all the routes
one day on his travels along a country road
he heard someone crying it was a little toad
he lost his way and far away from home
he had lost direction when he began to roam
dont worry said the bat i know what to do
i will ride around and find your pond for you
toad climbed on the bike and sat at the back
of they went together along the country track
searching for a pond they rode for a while
then found the toad his home and he began to smile
toad he was so happy in his pond once more
safe and sound again like he was before
the little bat rode off and he waved goodbye
continued on his journey beneath the bright blue sky
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
Oh, I walk these streets the whole night through
people walk by without a worry or care
I played pool with a biker till two
I listened to a street poet tell of a lost love
Oh, he brought tears to my eyes with memories of you
I kicked a can under a street light and thought
Oh, I walk these streets the whole night through
I saw your face in every woman that passed by
I saw your face in a love song from a car that passed by
Oh, you keep me awake at night
I came home in the early morning light
and tried get some rest and sleep
but all I saw was you in my head
Oh, when I dream I hold you in my arms
and say the words I once said
when I wake I'm so sad your not by my side
Oh, I walk these streets the whole night through
I saw your face in every woman that passed by
I saw your face in a love song from a car that passed by
Oh, you keep me awake at night
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 5:46 PM UTC
The ten speed biker was coasting down hill
about 20 MPH when he took a spill,
He's moving on, He's moving on!
He hit the brake a little too late, He's moving on!
The ten speed biker was do'n ok,
Till he an old Tom Cat got in his way,
He's mov'n on, he's a mov'n on.
He tried it to miss, but the ground he kissed,
He's mov'n on!
The 10 speed biker broke down in tears,
climbing up a hill he ran out of gears,
He's a-moving on, he's moving on.
He had to call his nurse, when he went in reverse,
He mov'n on, he's mov'n on!
The ten speed biker was a do'n ok, till he saw a pretty girl,
and he looked her way, he's mov'n on, he's mov'n on.
His bike is a wreck and so is his neck, he's mov'n on.
(She wasn't worth look'n at any way)
Welll, the ten speed biker was hav'n no trouble,
Till he tried to ride through a big mud puddle,
He's a mov'n on,
Now he's filthy sight, and so is his bike
But he'll soon be mov'n on, be a mov'n on.
The 10 speed biker hit a serious cog,
When he got chased by a mangy ol' dog,
He tried mov'n (faster) on,
But he ran of of luck, 'n got bit in the ****
He's mov'n (a little slower) but he's still mov'n on.
[This next stanza was written by my 7 yr. old Grandson.)
The ten speed biker do'n 'bout 25 and didn't see
the big hornet hive, he's moving on, he's mov'n on.
You could him cry'n "I think Im dy'n!
He's mov'n on, yeah mov'n on!
(This last stanza is a true experience when I was 65 yrs old)
The ten speed biker had good control, till he waved at a friend,
and ran off the road, he stopped mov'n on, stopped mov'n on.
Now he's sett'n home with broken ribs and a collar bone ,
He' NOT mov'n on! yeah he's NOT NO LONGER MOV'N ON!
[I didn't have all these experiences, but wrote this poem to
an old country western song tune. by G.E.Parson
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC