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Thread: my little poem

  1. #1
    sandcruiser thbirks's Avatar
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    here's a poem i wrote. hope ya'll like it


    on the road
    beside the lake
    beside the highway
    i search for the beauty
    but reality stands in my way

    a youth passes on a scoot
    puffing out blue smoke
    instinctively i give pursuit
    spinning hard i start to choke
    man against machine
    the issue's moot
    they may be faster
    but i don't pollute

    i am silent
    i am clean
    i pass through landscape barely seen

    in their boxes they sit and peer
    from a space in which they steer
    through a life that seems complete
    with air-conditioning and power seats

    into their domain
    i emerge again
    for all their grace
    they don't seem sane
    it must be the constant strain
    they scream and moan and pawl the ground
    creating a truly hideous sound

    fear pushes me to the side
    for to merely brush their hide
    would surely be a suicide

  2. #2
    Mr. Cellophane RainmanP's Avatar
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    I bend a knee to you, sir. Excellent verse!

  3. #3
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    Very cool. Doesnt it have a title though?

    Dan

  4. #4
    sandcruiser thbirks's Avatar
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    Thanks for the kind words. as for a title, i've got it filed as "Beside the Road" but I'm open to any suggestions you may have. You may be interested to know that the poem was mostly composed while riding my bike. The Bicycle is such a source of inspiration. later.

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    nice poem.

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    I like it.

  7. #7
    Commander, UFO Bike K'Tesh's Avatar
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    I've done a few bike themed poems...

    The Road, Sky and Mountain

    You watch as the pedals move
    in a never ending circle,
    twin wheels beat the pavement
    smoothly silent.
    The red bags hanging on the front
    flap slowly in the pine scented breeze.

    The sky is perfect
    few puffy bright clouds
    against the morning sun.
    A hawk catches the first thermal,
    spinning in the sky.

    The whistle of a car's wheels behind
    is followed by a quick rush of wind,
    and the glint of the sun off the window.

    The road is straight and narrow
    unbending for miles.
    Trees, needle thin, point to heaven,
    yet the road points to the snow capped peak
    miles away,
    never growing or shrinking as you pedal to it.


    Submitted by the author, James C. Parsons
    Copyright 1987, All Rights Reserved

    I wrote this in highschool english. It was entered into the Young Writers Competition put on by the Oregon Arts Commission 1987. It won.

    It was my personal dream to ride in Eastern Oregon, on those straight, long roads towards, what I imagine is Mount Hood. I haven't been out in the Bend area since I was a kid. I has yet to happen, and I still have the red bags.


    This is similiar to what I was thinking of, but the trees are much thinner in my memory.

    Rubberside Down!
    K'Tesh

  8. #8
    Senior Member
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    K: Riding in oregon rocks. Try riding on the Oregon Coast. It is amazing.

    FYI: I ordered some of the strips for my wheels today/ Now they come precut. Its a great deal and I talked with the owner, John. Nice guy.

  9. #9
    12mph+ commuter
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    Nice work, all around.

    As long as we are sharing bike poems, I have a couple from a modern poetry class I took in undergrad.



    Quote Originally Posted by Bicycle Hang in Suburbia
    There’s a bicycle hanging upside-down
    on hooks in a two stall suburban garage.
    The handlebars show no discolored wear marks,
    no years of aging with nimble steering hands.
    The tensioned-leather saddle has no dimples,
    no measurement of a rider’s sit bones.
    The tires have collected no rocks or glass,
    no sun-based cracking or beer-bottle scars.
    The chain is covered with no road slime,
    no slush projected from careless motorists.
    The hub bearings spin without friction,
    no pitted cones or overly-viscous grease.
    The steel frame can glide without creaks,
    no stress-fractured lugs from potholed streets.
    So, I grinded off the Japanese serial number
    and threw it into the plastic artificial lake.


    Quote Originally Posted by On the road to Ocheyedan, Iowa
    On the road to Ocheyedan, Iowa,
    I grew my first pair of wings.
    With my grandfather’s
    Sears and Roebuck 10-speed bike,
    I wobbled down our
    coarse gravel lane.
    Right past the novelty sign,
    “Milton Lane” (my great,
    great grandfather’s name),
    runs County Road 5.

    My tires were soaked in sunlight
    as I flew between the trees
    that decorate the roadside.
    As I raced down the familiar
    S-curve that leads south,
    I decided to pedal through
    to the next prairie hill.
    Where Minnesota ends,
    Iowa begins.

    The road began to crack
    and bubble, as if it were
    a great river in spring time.
    Each pothole and vibration
    weaves a new patch
    into my memory.
    I wondered who lived here,
    down the road where each
    house looked less familiar
    than the last.

    I was soaring now,
    high above each acreage,
    as an eagle rested atop
    each passing telephone pole.

    Even now, I can taste
    the feathers of June dust,
    rising sweetly from the tar.

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