"trike" poems
I’m thinking now of my childhood
Of Dinky toys and a bright shiny trike
I travelled for miles going nowhere
On that beautiful three-wheeled bike.
It even had a boot on the back
Like a bread bin between the wheels
That I used to fill with books and toys
Only opened to best friend’s appeals.
The bike was bright red and I loved it
I raced round on it every day
Until that time when I was just too big
And the bike was taken away.
I missed that old red tricycle
It had been my companion for a while
But the two-wheeled cycle that Dad got
Soon turned my lips up in a smile.
It was a second-hand bike and quite grown-up
Hand-painted the darkest maroon
And I rode it for miles, this time with my dad
But it’s fun-giving days went too soon.
My next bike was blue, and a racer
Derailleur gears numbered ten
I wanted to ride out again with my dad
But he’d cycled his last before then.
My dad rode a bike for the whole of his life
Yet he never reached fifty-three
When I’m on a bike now, cycling along
I think of him riding with me.
©Joe Wilson – Riding a bike with my dad…2015
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
I want a swing
To sway between
The moon and the earth,
A hammock to lie
Between Canis
Major and minor,
Let me row a boat
One paddle
Through
The milky way,
Let me pedal
Across the galaxy
On a starship enterprise trike,
I want to race
A shooting star,
Whittle meteoroids
Into beautiful
Paper weights,
Surf the rings
Of Saturn,
And play
Laser tag amidst
All the space debris,
Let me be astronaut...
APAD13 010 - © okpoet
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
I tear through cobweb-curtains
in the attic of my mind and gather
dusty memories and things long lost
I never thought I'd find
Delicately, I collect old photos
of forgotten smiles and love letters
that once set my heart alight
and broken lamps, love-stitched quilts,
worn cookbooks with my mother's
notes, and my trusted, rusted trike
I pack them in a cardboard box with
a smile and a wish, and with pride
I tie a balloon for every year of my life
and watch the memories rise
As the box wanders into the clouded
arms of the blue father-sky,
the shackles on my ankles are undone
and as I take weak steps like a newly mobile
fawn, I know that I am free and my
haunting is now gone
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
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.
****** driver,what a ******
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 *****
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
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Down in the depths of the hole, there's no sound but the beat of my heart
And my dark charred thoughts
That drip like black oil
That everything it touch's, it stains and soils
Thoughts of death and gruesome memories
From them there is no where to flee
So I lay in the bed curled into a tight ball
Just waiting to hit the bottom of the fall
There is no one to talk to, no one to call
No one knows how this inky darkness flows
How it consumes the soul and continues to grow
I'm imprisoned in theses bones, this skin
Is this how the end begins
I've prayed for love and light
But I've only been given glimpses of that site
Any happiness I have fought for is snatched away
In just a short few days
So now I pray
For death and a shortening of my years
To live a long agonize life is my fears
Not one month goes by that tragedy doesn't strike
It's like trying to get through life on a trike
You pedal really really hard but get no where
To tell the truth I just don't care
I want to become totally unaware
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
Tapos na ang araw
Dumilim na ang kalangitan
Dumating na ang buwan
Nagliparan na ang mga bituin
Kasabay ng pagdating ng pagod
Sa napakahabang araw
Nagmamadali sa paglakad
Pagaspas ang takbo ng mga paa
Di matigil sa paghabol ng hininga
Para lang makauna sa pila at makauwi na
Mapupungay na mga mata
Walang pakialam kahit kanino
Binabangga kung sinu-sino
Nilalampasan ang mga tao
Na parang nag-aalay lakad
Hindi man lang humingi ng tawad
Kahit nabangga sa bilis ng hindi pag-iwas
Walang Pake kahit makasakit
Basta ang sarili ay makasiksik
Sa Tren,
Sa Bus,
Sa jeep,
Sa trike,
Unahang makauwi
Okay lang kahit nakatayo
Pero mas maswerte kung minsan nakaupo
At kapag may babaeng nakatayo
Pasensya na pagod ako
Pasensya na ganito ako
Nakakainis
Nakakabwisit
Kanina pako nagsasalita
Hindi parin ako nakakauwi
Nandito parin ako
Ambagal ng takbo
Ang bilis ng oras
Naipit sa daloy ng trapiko
Parang hindi nausad
at walang progreso
Parang walang katapusang byahe
na kalyeng naging preso
Tulog na ang iba, nagpapahinga
Pero ako nandito pa
Sa gitna ng kalsada
parang pagong ang pasada
Nang mga sasakyang parang gamu-gamo
Sisiksik pag nakakita ng puwang at espasyo
Tiis nalang at makakauwi din tayo
Matatapos din ang takbo nito
Hihinto sa destinasyon ng ating tahanan
Makakarating din sa ating pupuntahan
Hindi kailangang magmadali
Dahil ito ay walang katapusang
Byahe ng ating buhay
At bukas sabay nating itong sakyan
Wag po tayong magtulakan
Lahat po tayo makakauwi sa ating pinanggalingan
Hindi natin kailangan madaliin
Ang byahe na walang katapusan
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 12:01 AM UTC
Young, you watch the wheels, mama's car reflects the sky.
Turning, shifts the scene across the glass as she drives by.
Good-bye for now, good-bye until the dusk begins to crack.
Hello is payment for the night to ransom her hugs back.
Young, the wheels are slowly turning on a new red trike.
Older now, two wheels race beneath a brand new bike.
Two and three wheels' independence foreshadow what's in store.
The freedom found in two wheels, three, compared to that in four.
Drive away, the day was always waiting in my heart.
You drive away, this is the task I took on from the start.
That once you knew enough to really take care of it all,
To seek the challenge of the world, to fly, and hurt, to fall.
To measure all the joy and pain, the cost from what was free,
I hold you close, but teach you how
to drive away from me.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
You were hungry tonight at midnight
And woke me up out of a dead sleep
For the fifth time in a row,
But I got up and fed you,
And that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.
Today you started to walk
And thought I was crazy
Because I videoed you
And talked about how that
Big guy named Daddy,
Who’s been here since day one,
Wasn’t here to see.
And I was squealing
The whole time.
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.
Today you started to talk
And your first word was
“Ma-ma"
And I laughed and cried
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.
Then you learned how to ride a trike
And soon after that a bike.
You looked at me like I was nuts
After I said something about how
You were growing up too fast.
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what’s Mommies do.
When you are ten,
And you’re upset
Because you played kickball
And you were picked last,
I won’t tell you it’s no big deal,
Because Mommy knows just how you feel.
I’ll tell you it’s their loss,
But I know right now,
It feels like yours.
Then I’ll hug you and we’ll get icecream
And talk about how we’ve never liked kickball anyway,
And that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.
Today I told you
That’s it’s okay to be mad
And it’s okay to be sad.
But when you’re mad,
Count to ten and
When very mad one hundred,
Just like Jefferson said,
And don’t let anger
Get the best of you.
When you’re mad
And you don’t know what to do
And the mad you have makes you feel sad,
You can come sit in my lap, even when you’re twenty-two,
And we’ll try to talk it through,
Because that’s what Mommies do.
When you’re sixteen,
And you like someone
But you don’t want to,
Because it doesn’t fit the Five-year plan,
I’ll tell you how I had a Five-year plan
But I met Daddy in Year Two
And a week before Year Three,
I knew he was the one for me.
So before Year Three
Was halfway done,
Daddy and I
Had the same last name.
And by Year Five,
Daddy and I found out
Soon there would be
A little baby in our house.
I’ll tell you how sometimes your dreams change
From traveling to Greece,
To wiping tear-stained cheeks
And that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.
When you go off to college,
Or maybe to China,
Like your aunt did,
To take care
Of babies who
Don’t have mommies,
Or wind up in the army
To protect your country,
Like your uncle,
I’ll be waving goodbye
And crying
Because it feels like
Part of me is dying
But that’s okay,
Because that’s what Mommies do.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
At the age of 3
me hammer
nails and all
my play stuff from me dad
I was a happy lad
Those were the good times me lad
those were the best
these are our fine times
enjoy the test!!
just be a pest!!!!!!!!!
At 6 I had a trike ..
life was a happy life
did wheelies all the time
was hot
the summer fine
Those were the good times me lad
those were the best
these are our fine times
enjoy the test
just be a pest!!!!!!!!!
At 10 my life caved in
as grandad fell within
my time to grow ......
an adult life
Those were the sad times me lad
those wer'nt the best
these are our fine times
enjoy the test
just be a pest!!!!!!!!!
At 14 i did alright
got gruff a voice a fright
kicked footy till it hurt
stood lamping in the dark
Those were the good times me lad
those were the best
these are our fine times
enjoy the test
just be a pest!!!!!!!!!
And now its all done over
my work I'm almost sober
I'm old yet way before my time
tis time to pass the baton to son
come on lets have em
Enjoy the good times me lad
these are the best
those were our fine times
enjoy the test
just be a pest!!!!!!!!!
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
Drove past a mansion the other day,
high on a hill,
grand and stately,
with manicured lawns,
and wrought iron fences,
adorned with Morning Glories.
Then I drove on,
to a cozy little house,
swingset in the yard
and a trike in the driveway.
It may not be much,
but it's mine.
Walked past a gym the other day,
sculpted forms of the human physique,
active and graceful,
growing strong and healthy,
fashionably decorated
with the latest workout attire.
Then I walked on
to a medical center,
examined and tested
a barely passing grade.
This body may not be much,
but it's mine.
I went to the park the other day,
a cheerful young woman,
pushing a giggling child in a swing,
while another built castles in the sand.
I may not be much,
but I'm theirs.
Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 11:07 PM UTC
There once was a man whose last name was the name of an animal
and the animal was a symbol of everything the man believed in
and it just so happened that the animal was also a symbol of
many a man's beliefs
and so it was that the man worked very hard
and became very wealthy so that in his great success
he wanted everyone to know his name
and see it on display
so he commissioned a statue by the finest sculptor in the world
to create a huge sculpture of a particular animal
that had the same name as his last name
a sculpture of crystal with many facets
for which he paid dearly
and when he put it on display in the foyer of his beautiful mansion
where everyone could see it
they loved it
and in so loving the sculpture they were loving the man
and all those that saw the sculpture were bent to covet the sculpture
and wished to be successful like the man who had commissioned it
so they came in droves to see it
and left with fantasies of their own
about creating art resembling their names
but mostly their names were too normal
like Smith or Jones or Sarsaparilla
(and although Sarsaparilla isn't normal
it hardly deserves a sculpture)
then one day an unspeakable horror
put an end to the covetous visitors
you see it was on that day everything changed
when his children were playing in the foyer
running and laughing like children do
they were happy children
happy because they had it all
and never wanted for anything
when one boy pushed the other and
the sculpture came crashing down upon the smallest boy
sitting on his trike
and crushed the boy to death
and the great man with the name of the important animal
wept
and cursed the day
that he had wished for more
and had so foolishly believed that more was the answer
because now if he could
he would give it all back
if only he could hold the boy one more time
his tiny son crushed by the commissioned crystal sculpture of the animal
resembling his name that was accidentally knocked over by those who
had everything and wanted for nothing because their father had worked
so hard in order for them to have it all
but worse than all of that
and worse than anything else
was that his great name once a symbol of freedom and strength
would forevermore be a symbol of pain and sorrow
and there's nothing worse than having everything you believe in
thrown upside down in the form of ultimate mockery
the realization that the pain will never go away
or be forgotten
a pain that is forever
a nail driven through his heart every time he signs his name
Signed _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
John R. Eagle
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
I rode my bike
It's not a trike
Like it's heavy as steel
But one thing I can say
That may save the day
It's turquoise and pink
Which make people think
NICE BIKE!
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
I can't stand the way we grind, people try to rhyme about how everything is fine, but really they're the ones who blind us while the elitists of this time commit their crimes, there's no time to become famous cause the ones that provide for us also deprive us, til I came in attempts to revive us, too bad we're self-righteous it's only a matter of time before a mass crisis arises, unless we reverse our ways and go back to naturalistic days, too bad that's just a faded dream like the haze smuggled onto our streets by the same people who object to legalizing it, most are oblivious to the ways of a priest, he's there so you don't **** your ***** niece, stuck in the underground, fell through a crease, but that don't matter cause it's all just for lease, you're kidding yourself if you think this is fiction, open your eyes and stop letting corporate news tell lies to your children via the false ways of a Christian, trying to ruin our ambition and replace it with a tuition, following an unsustainable audition, go ahead start on your trike cause the words I spit are way beyond the concept of a bike
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
Once upon a time
Is something so easy to rhyme
I can even throw in a lime
Funny enough it only cost a dime
Here I sit in my prime
Silent as a yelling mime
Turn up the volume times nine
Twirling around so high
Riding a little trike
No knowledge of spite
Around which to bind
Life stays bright
Do not let it slide
Take it for a ride
Watch the incoming tide
Our worlds collide
We both come inside
Relinquish our pride
Give up the fight
'Fess up to the lies
A moment to reconcile
Then we begin to smile
And laughing all the while
Once upon a time
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 5:54 PM UTC
I asked this child what life is like
Spending the day on their trike
As they peddled hard they peddled fast
Life is like a trike I guess
I asked a boy in his teens
What is life like and what does it mean
He hopped onto his motorbike
And then flew off into the night
I asked someone of middle age
What is it about life that's all the rage
They rolled up the window and drove away
With nothing much about it to say
I asked an old man if he cared to share
What life was like in his wheelchair
He sat for a time with a vacant stare
Then wheeled himself out, going nowhere
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 4:14 PM UTC
It's a bright day
A cool wind seeps
Though my bedroom window
Making the air,
Pleasantly crisp.
In slept in,
Should of gone to church,
But I was too sleepy for God.
There is an emptiness to the blue sky
Like a tropical ocean
I want to drive deep into it
And swim in her invigorating waters.
On the street I see,
A family of four walk by,
Mum pushing baby little girl
Rides her pink trike with white wheels
I had one, once .
It's a shame I have to study today,
I'll try but the sun
Is blinding me
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 8:37 PM UTC
Have you been to the mountain?
No no no. But
I've been under the bridge, Mr. Jones.
I've washed my feet in Cottonwood Creek.
I've named the meadowlarks after ex-girlfriends.
Suzanne. Isis. Mel-oh-dee.
Some mornings I woke up in places I'd never
been and on those mornings,
oh I woulda killed for a pen.
The fog and the
steady gasp of diesels
surrounded me and sang sang sang.
Tall grass along the interstate
and god, he didn't talk to me,
but I pretended to be god and talked
to myself, saying This way. This way.
This way to the promised land.
On what I thought to be
the Fourth of July, mud dried
around my knees in the Quapaw,
and I stood up for four days straight before
the rains came.
And finally, in the golden dawn,
I arrived at my childhood home.
Ivy on the chimney. Rusted trike in the overgrown lawn.
My father sat in his chair. Static on the TV.
He said, "Haven't done yourself in yet?"
My mother, in cobwebs and rags said, "He's got
one classic in him, one heartbreaking work
of genius before he goes."
And I asked her for a title.
She only pointed.
I turned and that's when I saw her,
the Girl at the Gate.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
Hush, my darling
watch
wait
Slip one foot over the edge.
Find that one weak spot and press
letting the cracks scream and spit and hiss.
Until nothing remains but a dark abyss
that's calling, begging you to fall.
Hear an ocean raging, seething, foaming
at the mouth. Wanting to lick up any piece of you,
to serenade you, promising desires before the curl.
The curl that pulls you into a peaceful lull just ahead of the
crunch
that collapses your breath and pushes
rivers into your lungs.
See an illusion.
A tropical paradise beckoning.
Beauty from a distance with devouring teeth.
Not whole, swallowed, painful, but brief. Rather,
slowly - one ache at a time.
An ant sting, small, but trickling poison
into a stream that pumps through your ankle. Then a bubbling,
ghastly surface that won't release the throbbing. Still more.
Silence precedes
the serpent's trike.
Taking with, all dilemmas in one torturous
Moment. Wrongly counted as a blessing. Unbearable,
but better than the old pain, for awhile.
And more than pain is the hopeless knowledge: there's no boat
to sail you back.
Feel the blistering desert heat.
Lips that crack and bleed, releasing a sweet juice
into your unquenchable throat. Sweat that drips
driving you nuts from knowing
that water is wasted...
Know.
Know the burning seas that are nothing more
than your mind
discovering the darkest side.
And nothing less.
Cry for all the lights you can't turn to. Can't bring to life
because they'll break you.
Let that hole open so wide that there's no mistaking it
but for the darkness is possesses.
Then pull that foot back and stand
on solid ground.
You've seen, heard and felt your demons.
You've waited
and watched,
You're
Safe, my darling.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
tis but a rusted memory
now
but once a child's pride and
beloved toy....
fire engine-red trike,
riden for miles, and miles
and across lands of
imagined adventure....
feet pumping, wind in face
bell clattering, tink-tink-tink
and screams of pure...
unadulterated JOY
now a shadow,
draped in old hessian cloth
bell silent, rust weeping
and frozen to the ground
red trike,
i ride you still
in my dreams
we still slay dragons
tho now it seems
that dragons have many
guises, many lives
and that in this life
of adultness...i am in
dragons...sometimes
not often, but sometimes win
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
This fight will not be fought. We know who would win.
I know I would lose. And we may no longer be friends.
It's always you and her. I just happen to be there.
I know that's not what you want. I know that you two care.
You'd rather just be with her. She'd rather just be with you.
I just happen to be there. Everyone knows it's true.
She picked you already. She'd only ever SETTLE for me.
So before I **** anything up, I think I should flee.
I'm afraid to speak my mind; tell you to back off.
Tell you it bothers me when you two don't stop.
I don't know why I ever let myself care. Why I let this happen.
I knew it wouldn't go anywhere. Not even as a backup.
Only a couple more weeks, and I can just be gone.
I don't have to be a third wheel. I won't have to just watch.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Down in the depths of the hole, there's no sound but the beat of my heart
And my dark charred thoughts
That drip like black oil
That everything it touch's, it stains and soils
Thoughts of death and gruesome memories
From them there is no where to flee
So I lay in the bed curled into a tight ball
Just waiting to hit the bottom of the fall
There is no one to talk to, no one to call
No one knows how this inky darkness flows
How it consumes the soul and continues to grow
I'm imprisoned in theses bones, this skin
Is this how the end begins
I've prayed for love and light
But I've only been given glimpses of that site
Any happiness I have fought for is snatched away
In just a short few days
So now I pray
For death and a shortening of my years
To live a long agonize life is my fears
Not one month goes by that tragedy doesn't strike
It's like trying to get through life on a trike
You pedal really really hard but get no where
To tell the truth I just don't care
I want to become totally unaware
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
Dibble bubble bubble
Written on shitely mearce
A stake to plunder crunch
Of politician Pierce
Colligan
To hollagans
Collagen appeal
Maketh dartboards out of heart boards
Wherein innocence tis real
Foughty daughty submarines
Climbs to ****** coarse
Follitine
Dreamers
Plot success Morse
Coffee beans
To livered spleens
Pains to shock the trike
Childress of a virtue
Seaps of anothers life
Trigulues
And bedulues
Smiling at the air
Drommatice
And romisis
Promises don't care
Foughty immense Brice
Pickled to shickled biles
***** of settle keaster ways
A blighty for the smile
Libertinth
And minants tint
Flight to bagbird heads
Crucifixed pixies
Twilight up ahead!!!
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
Wake up I said to Mister Ted
it's time that we arose
So out of bed you sleepy head
and help me chose my clothes
first vest and shirt then summer skirt
now socks no leggings grey
my teeth and hair I brush with care
there now we two can play
Now down the stair with Mister Bear
toward the kitchen door
for cereal or hot oat meal
and cold milk from the store
Eat it all up and drain my cup
Then race to find my shoes
now mister bear which shall I wear
For we've no time to lose
Let's play hop scotch or maybe watch
the ducklings on the pond
Take them some bread or cake instead
the kind of which their fond
then if you like we'll ride my trike
and you can ring the bell
then tyre swing or pogo spring
Or simply rest a spell
You chose the game it's all the same
for I don't mind you see
cause I dont care sweet teddy bear
as long as you're with me
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
I can still see Stan pulling his hair and
off there to the right, Oliver with his,
I can never remember if it was a bowler or a pork pie hat, but I kinda like that, like the haziness of a memory that comforts me, it's a
part of the comedy of growing up.
Once, like I was two or maybe three an eternity ago, on a trike, pedals and a bell, pedalling like hell was on nmy trail,
but
the word constituent, constituant, ringing in my head, must have repeated and said that word for hours and hours.
Mum Said, i had ABC, well that's waht it sounded like to me,
acronyms, CIA, RAC,CBI,
I went to the citizens advice bureau
the CAB, WHICH
if I really had OCD, would be the ABC, BUT YOU SEE the alphabet is what we get in tinswith tomata sauce and Mum OF course had the last
word.
They always do when you're two or maybe three.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 6:36 AM UTC
Sixtys the new thirty
so I've bought myself a bike
a Harley with a heart of chrome
to replace my shopping trike
no more bingo nights for me
my engine gunning loud
I've joined with the Hells Angels
and left the knitting crowd
No more standing in the rain
with my bus pass and my brella
im off to find myself some fun
with a rather younger fella
My hair net now an helmet
painted to look like flames
and notches on my fuel tank
cause I can't remember names
So clear the road I'm coming
and I won't be slowing down
cause I'm taking back my freedom
from this stuffy little town
Lock up your single men
hide them safe and sound
because the boys will all be men
if by this gal there found
My Harley roars and I'm away
another notch I've carved
so sixty the new thirty
at least then it's been halved.
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 11:13 PM UTC