Sunday, June 24, 2007

V-Twin Biker

Q-Ball over at has published two poems of mine. There is getting to be quite a collection of Biker/Motorcycle poetry over there so check it out.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Two Poems from Wild Bill, The Alaskan Biker Poet

Left or Right
By Wild Bill © 2005 all rights reserved.

Simple sounds this day of spring
Cold steel turning warm
Rhythm sets my mind to roam
Direction starts to form

With not a thought my foot descends
A click and kick is felt
Hand relaxed, gears engage
Power takes the belt

Motion starts in a roll
Butterflies descend
Colors bright, shoulders tight
Feeling starts to blend

Left or right is on the mind
Decision is defaulted
A cage is rushing up on me
All the motion halted

Familiar turns are easy
Follow an older trail
Dare I take another track
Where shadows are not stale

Left or right is in the air
Heads or tails the gamble
Fate then takes its proper place
And down the road I amble.

A Motorcycle Seat
By Wild Bill
Copyright © 1996 All rights reserved

Many stories have been told
Of bikers and their bikes
By poets, writers, prosecutors,
Liars and the likes.

But it's doubtful that you've heard
This story I repeat
With a Bar, Bikers, Beer
And a motorcycle seat.

A local road dog
Called Larry by his buds
Was at the Carousel
Sippin' on some suds.

When a fellow rider
Re-entered from the street
Shouting out profanity
To candid to repeat!

Seems his battery
Had plumb run out of juice.
"Your bike will need a jump."
Larry managed to deduce.

So with his own DieHard
Concealed beneath his seat
He jumped the brother's bike
And the fellow hit the street.

Now Larry was a biker
With a heart like Denali
But if his kindness was a mountain
His memory was a valley.

He placed his seat atop his bike,
Ordered up a brew,
And proceeded to forget
The saddle mounting screw.

The rest of this story
I'm sure that you can guess.
But I simply must complete it,
A poet can't do less!

Later in the evening
When he finished his last bottle,
Larry lit that big V-Twin'
And grabbed a little throttle!

Then just like a rocket
From Cape Canaveral launches,
The bike took off down the street…
Leaving Larry on his haunches.

He sat there on the road
With his seat beneath his flack,
Then remembered with concern
That he'd just filled up the tank.

Wild Bill's Culture Corner

Wild Bill Rogers is also the Editor and Publisher of Midnight Sun Rider, Alaska's Motorcycle Magazine.

New Baiku

Three Baiku


Sunset on Mink Creek

Rumbling on by Scout Mountain

Watch out! Cows on road


a high rate of speed

concentrates, centers your mind

motorcycle zen


mountain shimmers gold

bikes rumble up Teton Pass

our fall color ride

copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

A poem by Chopper Kate Johnson

Last Leg

The last leg on this long limbed trip
feeling dusty,kinda crusty and saddle weary
my hands black
from the constant grip.
Red, road hard eyes,
grit and burn.
These lines are getting bleary.
I'm leaning hard into the turn
I've got a 100 miles left to home

A mind's highway rolls
a thousand thoughts and dreams
reflections paying tolls
of regrets and mighta beens
appear, then drift away
like a wind that ebbs and blows
I've got another 50 miles left to home

Wearing the dust
of all those rides
in the lines of my face
wind etched, it never hides
or masks what I am.
What you see is, what you get!
I've got 25 miles left to home

Two bad knees, and an aching shoulder
my bitch riding, constant companion.
The cost of the pounding we take,
we pay as we get older.
I've still got 10 miles left to home

When I think I can't go on,
can't take riding any longer,
something takes over,
from somewhere inside
a deep seeded want
that just grows stronger,
and the longer goes the ride,
self doubts and dreads
so all I feel
is the comfort that awaits
just over the next hill
I've got just 5 miles left
to home.
copyright 2007/chopperkatejohnson

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

The Story of Bobby and Jen

The Story of Bobby and Jen

Bobby Good had dropped out of high School
He washed dishes at The Rotisserie
He kept his eyes on that girl
With red hair all in curls,
A waitress named Jenny duPree.

Bobby rode an old chopper Harley
The only memory left him from his dad.
His dad taught him to ride,
Then committed suicide
That bike was all Bobby Good really had.

He would roar on that chop through the town
People turned and just shook their heads
"Bobby’s trouble,” They’d say
“His dad made him that way.”
He’ll end up in prison or dead."

Jen duPree didn’t care what folks thought
She loved Bobby despite what they said
She loved his leather and boots
She loved to ride on that scoot
Jen thought, maybe someday they’d wed.

One day he said “Jen we must leave,
“We’ve got to get the hell outta here.
Everyone in this town
just keeps putting us down.
They’ll never leave us alone, I fear.”

She said, “Lover I’ll go where you ride.
But we’re broke, we need money to run.”
“Jen, I’ll get us the dough
You get ready to go.”
From his pocket Bobby pulled out a gun.

Together they rode back down town.
And they held up the hardware store
Shots were fired that day.
When that bike roared away,
They left two innocents dead on the floor.

They headed south toward Old Mexico
There was hot pursuit on the road.
On a sharp mountain curve
The chopper started to swerve
Bobby Good died right there I’m told.

As the ambulance raced back into town,
Jen Dupree raised her head and cried,
“Is my brave Bobby dead?
I loved him” she said.
Then Jenny took one last breath and died.

They were young, they were beautiful, now they’re dead.
When they rode, they thought life couldn’t end.
But mourn not at their side,
Two innocent people died
That’s the real story of Bobby and Jen.

copyright 2007 Bill”uglicoyote”Davis

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Roadkill Dave

The Legend of Roadkill Dave

If you've done any riding out west
Up near that great Divide
You may well know
How that snow can blow
and ruin a biker's ride.

There was a legendary old rider,
Who lived up there in a cave
On his bike he would go,
come rain, wind, or snow
They called him Roadkill Dave.

He lived up on the Red Desert
Up near the great divide.
He would sometimes ride out
to Rock Springs and about,
He always wore a gun at his side.

He rode a 52' Harley
Leather saddle bags, skinned from a bear,
His leathers wore stains
from blood and hard rains,
And most of his clothes were threadbare

They say he served in Korea,
Just showed up and moved into his cave.
On his old bike he rode
Down old trails and dirt roads.
Cold and snow didn't stop old Dave.

In the Winter out there on I-80
Oh God, how that wind can blow.
In '74, when a Spring blizzard hit
I was alone, out driving in that shit
My cage slid off the road in the snow.

You couldn't see for, love or money
The whole world outside had turned white
I had packed no warm clothes
And when my carburetor froze
I thought I'd freeze to death that night.

I was dozing off when old Dave found me
and hauled me off on his bike,
How that Harley could go
Through the ice, wind and snow.
I've never again seen the like.

In his cave Dave warmed and fed me.
He said, "eat up," so I had my fill.
It was a fine stew, a real treat.
I asked, "What's that tasty meat?"
He laughed, "Why do you think they call me "Roadkill?"

The next day the when blizzard died down,
Roadkill Dave hauled me back to my car
As I watched old Dave go
On his bike through the snow
I longed for the warmth of a bar.

That's the last time I saw old Dave
Though I heard stories of him now and then
How he made that bike go
Through rain, wind and snow.
He was one hell of a man.

They found old Dave dead one day
In the Red Desert alongside a trail
as he rode in the rain
He had felt a chest pain.
and his old heart decided to fail.

They sealed him up alongside his Harley
In his home right on that stone floor.
Carved on the seal of that cave
"Here Lies Roadkill Dave.
They don't make men like him anymore."

copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

When Bikers Come to Town

They turned right onto Main Street

On that hot and dusty day.

Thirty bikes with Thirty riders,

Why'd they come here? Would they stay?

"You'd better run and tell your mom

lock the doors and shutter down.

I've heard bad things can happen

When bikers come to town."


I watched as they rumbled down the street,

 Chrome and steel, all dressed in black.

The reached the end, where three roads meet,

Then turned around by the tracks.

The paused and spoke  and seemed to decide

Then they slowly rolled  back  down.

At Annie's Place they pulled aside

The Bikers put their kickstands down.


Most of them were dressed in black,

But when they took their leather away,

I was, I must say,  somewhat taken aback,

Many of those heads were gray.

And everyone was smiling  bright,

I never saw a  glare or a frown

I thought perhaps I'm just not right

About these Bikers who came to town.


I decided then to check them out.

So I walked  over to Annie's Place

I saw  the two waitresses scurrying about

And Annie  had a smile on her face.

The I saw that patch upon a vest

It read HOG, Portneuf Valley Chapter,

I put my previous worries to rest.

It wasn't my daughters they were after.


It was for Annie's food they had made this run,

It's a long  ride, many beautiful miles.

To them, the ride is always most of the fun,

But Annie' s famous pie made  them smile.

So  I got on the phone and I called my wife,

I said,"Honey, just come on down.

Bring the kids, no need to fear for your life,

The Bikers have come to town.


Copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

A Tale of Bad Habits

A Tale of Bad Habits (Ike's Tale)

I used to smoke a little weed,
I could roll a joint nice and tight,
I occasionally did some other deeds
To help me make it through the night.

I gave that stuff up a long time ago,
Haven't touched it for many a year.
I'm certainly not a teetotaler though,
I still like to knock back a few beers.

My beer, I like served with a strong shot back
I'm of the dark beer and micro-brew school.
And nothing washes down a shot of Black Jack
Like a pint of Montana Moose Drool.

I know my limits, and when I'm on my bike,
I know when to put it to bed,
'Cause riding my Harley is what I like,
And that's hard to do when you're dead.

Or worse, you could end up alive, sort of
but not able to ride your bike
Let me tell you the tale of a "bro" that I love
Let me tell the sad story of Ike.

Now Ike had a fine old chopped panhead
On which he'd done all the work,
He had a sweet wife, two rowdy kids,
But his brother-in-law was a jerk.

One night that jerk pushed Ike to far,
He stormed out and jumped on his sled,
He rolled on down to a good biker bar.
started tossing back J.W. Red.

He finally quit,and he went for the door
But before he staggered outside,
I said, " Old friend, you know the score.
Why don't you let me call you a ride?"

He ignored me of course, roared off on his sled
And he soon put that pan in a slide.
When they reached him at first, they thought he was dead
But Ike is tough, tough enough to survive.

But he'll never ride again, they say,
Ike's been in a wheelchair all Summer.
His bike, his sweet wife just gave it away
to the brother-in- law, ain't that a bummer.

copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

Monday, June 18, 2007

Two Poems By Bikerwolf

Bikerwolf's Page

Brothers And Sleds

By: Bob “Bikerwolf” Bryant

As I sit here writing
Borrowing thoughts from my soul
Considering myself a middle aged man
Maybe a little closer to old

The thoughts create a cluster
They overwhelm my head
But with each passing vision
I see brothers and sleds

I see young men and old men
I see bikes old and new
I see lots of ol’ ladies
I see kegs and kegs of brew

I see jokes played on each other
I see attitudes turn bad
I see bikers when they laugh
I see em’ bow their heads

I see endless black ribbons
I see cold winter nights
I see full moon rides
I see some shit kickin’ fights

I see walls of solid concrete
I see bars straight and round
I see wrenches turning
I see brothers lay em’ down

I see brothers carrying caskets
I see those too short bike week runs
I see the life that I love
Living free and having fun

I even see the future
I see the good times ahead
I see myself a little grayer
I still see brothers and sleds

Copyright 2004 All Rights Reserved

By : Bob “Bikerwolf” Bryant

A long haired young southern biker
Sitting low on his solo seat pan
Thought he knew all about life
Thought of himself as a biker man

But he really learned all about biker life
One night at an off the path bar
He busted in like he owned the place
An old biker asked “ Who do you think you are”?

Come on over here, have a seat at my table
Let’s put down a few
I’m gonna tell ya’ about our rules here
If you don’t like em’ then you’re just passin’ through

First off we don’t all need to hear you
Unless you have something to say
But I don’t know what the hell that could be
Because the first time we’ve seen you is today

You’re lucky that you’re still in here
Busting in all badass and shit
Just because you ride that scoot
Doesn’t impress any of us one bit

In case you haven’t noticed
The lot is full of Milwaukee iron
And the faces you see all around here
Well each one has earned those lines

We respect your enthusiasm son
Don’t mind if you hang out and drink
But don’t think you’ll run rough shot here
If that’s your intention, you better re think

Now you might consider yourself a biker
A loner I guess since you’re alone
But you just remember one thing
Around here, you are not known

But there is one thing that I do like
About your cocky assed way
Laughing the old biker said
You remind me of myself, back in my younger days

So go ahead and have a good time here
But remember to keep it real
Just check your attitude at the door
Where outside sits that Iron and steel

Copyright 2004 All Rights Reserved

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Another new poem

The Essentials

I rolled into town, late one day,
I'd been riding fast and far,
In my favorite friendly hide-away.
I bellied up to the bar.

An old biker invited me to his table to sit,
so I grabbed my beer and and my shot.
I walked on back to talk a bit,
and I told him, "Thanks a lot."

"I've been meaning to come and talk with you,
I'm a biker poet you see,
I'm always lookin' for things that ring true
To set my reader's minds free."

"You've been riding now for, what, fifty years?
And I figure you've seen it all.
Been there, done that, shed all the tears
you've answered most every call."

"Now poets, they reach for the mysteries of life.
They seek to know what life's all about.
All this loving and leaving, this joy and strife,
Can you help me figure it out?"

He smiled and said,"Son you're so full of shit,"
Then he took a long, deep swallow.
"The truth is right there if just you look for it.
Your words, they just seem to ring hollow."

"It's big titted women that make the world go
Smooth tequila gives meaning to love,
Takes money to make your way through life's big show
Fast bikes show you what you're made of."

"Fast motorcycles, and big chested gals ,
hard cash and a jug of good booze.
If you have all those things, and a few good pals
You can live your life just as you choose."

He finished his drink and walked out of the bar.
I thought, maybe, just maybe he's right.
He was waiting for me as I walked out the door
and together, we rode into the night.

Now, when I'm riding with some of my pals,
Or writing, wondering what words too choose.
I think of fast bikes and big titted gals,
hard cash and a jug of smooth booze.

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

RoadPoet eMagazine

The Summer edition of Roadpoet eMagazine is now online. Check it out

Another Biker Has Gone Down

I'm sorry friends that I can't be with you to celebrate today

If you're all gathered round and reading this, I've probably passed away

but if I were there I'd tell you not to shed a tear or frown

I'd tell you just to simply say, another Biker has gone down.

If I were there I'd tell you that I had a wonderful life,

That I loved my kids and family and especially my wife.

I loved all my drinking buddies and all my life-long friends

I'd raise a toast to all of you, "May your party never end."

If I were there I'd tell you how I loved the the small blue highways

How I loved the curving mountain roads, loved to ride the back-road byways.

And how I loved it "in the wind", loved it when that engine rumbled,

and the biker friends who rode with me and would help me when I stumbled.

You are amongst my dearest friends, brothers and sisters of the road,

We've traveled many miles together, shared many heavy loads.

If I could be there, we'd laugh and share the memories from our past,

and this gathering would be just one more tale, another story, not our last.

But today I can't be with you, except in your hearts and memory stores

So you'll have to laugh, lift a glass to me, then let your engines roar.

Please smile and do not shed a tear, wipe away that silly frown.

I'm off upon that final ride, another Biker who has gone down.

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

New Poem--uglicoyote

99 Miles from Shoshoni to Casper

He was fifty miles from Casper
when his old "pan" decided to seize.
The Wyoming sun burned down like fire
in the hot Wyoming breeze

No sign of life showed either way
as he looked up and down the road
just a lonely bird, circling way up high
and couple of horny toads.

Then a semi roared on past
not even slowing down
He thought, "I best get off my ass
and walk back towards Shoshoni town.

He walked a until his feet were sore,
that sun kept beating down .
"I'll sit and rest a spell," he thought,
"right here, I might even lay down."

So he closed his eyes for a little rest
then he heard a distant sound,
and a girl pulled up on an Ultra Glide
right next to his patch of ground.

A beautiful girl she was, he saw
all curves in smooth black leather,
a true Wyoming biker chick,
she smiled and said, "Call me Heather."

" I saw your bike back down the road.
Then I saw you here in the ditch.
I'll take you back to Shoshoni,
If you don't mind ridin' bitch."

"I'll ride with you Heather" he replied
"If you'll grant just this one request.
Let me put my arms around you"
"Sure. Put your hands inside my vest."

They rode, she was young, and fine ,and firm,
as he wrapped his arms around.
Then he heard a siren, then a horn,
and he was back down on the ground.

He opened his eyes and there the man stood
his silihouette blocked the sun
He was a Trooper, one of Wyoming's best
and he stood at least 6'1".

"You okay, sir?" the trooper asked,
"You look like you might need a ride."
The rider pulled himself up onto his feet,
"It was just a dream," he sighed.

They got into his car. turned around
and off towards Casper they rolled.
He noticed the picture on the trooper's dash
and it made his blood run cold.

"Who's that?, he asked him about the girl,
the blonde in smooth black leather.
"Oh her, that's a girl who loved to ride.
My daughter. Her name is Heather."

"She was killed out here on this very road
She was riding her Ultra Glide
at a high rate of speed when the front tire blew
and caused that fatal slide."

"So I patrol out on this road, rain. or shine
Her spirit's out here on that Glide;
I think I see her from time to time.
Knowing she's here helps the pain inside."

When he paused, the biker told of his dream
and the girl in smooth black leather,
and how she stopped to help him out.
The lawman smiled , "That's just like heather."

They hauled his bike into Casper that day,
and the shop gave it all their best.
In two days that old panhead roared back to life
and he was on the road headed west.

But he can't forget his dream-girl out there
on that long road, in all kinds of weather
A beautiful girl on an Ultra glide.
" Need a ride boy. My name is Heather."

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

Pastor Bob and the C.M.A.

Pastor Bob and the C.M.A.*

On a sunny Sunday morning ride
I stopped to adjust my load
A group of bikers passed me by
and roared on down the road.

At the next town, a rest stop
they were there when I pulled in
One of the riders walked up to me
I recognized that grin.

"I'm Pastor Bob, " he told me.
"I ride with the C.M.A.
I smiled and slid back on my bike,
but he wouldn't let me get away.

"Have you found Jesus," he asked me?
"I can help you find him again."
I replied, "Sorry that you lost him.
Guess I'll just have to live in sin."

Bob wasn't sure how to take that,
but he kept up his holy spiel.
So I held up my hand and said, "Bob stop!
Let me tell you just how I feel."

"I know you think you're being kind,
and "saving souls" is your call.
but insulting me and what I believe,
that ain't being kind at all."

"When you shove your religion into my face
you assault what I hold dear.
You've no right to do that, Pastor Bob,
so before I roll out of here,

I'll tell you, I believe in freedom,
in truth and the open road,
in honesty, and integrity,
in shouldering my share of the load."

"I believe that people have a right
to believe whatever they may.
I believe that if you don't respect my right,
Then Bob you can K.M.A."

So I started my bike that Sunday,
but before leaving him in a lurch,
I asked "Bob if you're such a Christian,
Why the hell ain't you in church?"

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

* C. M. A. = Christian Motorcyclist Association

Saturday, June 16, 2007



Harley Davidson

American Iron Steed

History rolls on



Three sport bikes scream by

Tires gripping canyon asphalt

Me, I'm', just cruisin'



Water hole ahead

Iron horse in hot sunshine

a great biker bar


2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

Friday, June 15, 2007

Uglicoyote--new poem

Remembered Roads

It was a hot and windy day
and I was feeling quite beat down
when I stopped along the way
in that little nothing town

I pulled up by the pumps
and filled her up with gas.
Three old-timers on their rumps
in front, just nodded when I passed.

I went inside to get cooled down
Then got myself Coke
I went back out, looked around,
and lit myself a smoke.

At my bike those three had gathered round,
you could see stories being told.
They examined her from top to ground,
glanced longingly down the road.

One turned to me, stuck out his hand
I shook it and he said,
"We, all three ,fought for this here land
as did many friends, now dead."

"We all came back from World War Two,
The three of us ", he said.
"We weren't quite sure what we would do,
when in entered into our heads."

"We'll all get motorcycles, we thought,
and to this we all agreed.
War surplus bikes were readily bought,
They became our Iron Steeds"

"Jim and Tom had old Harley 45's;
I bobbed an old surplus Indian.
Riding those bike made us feel alive,
like we were really back home once again."

"We rode those bikes from coast to coast,
and then back around again.
We did all the things we had missed the most
when we were off in that foreign land."

They went on to tell their tales,
of young women wooed and tossed.
Of a bar fight and a night in jail,
of memories they'd thought lost.

You could see the twinkle in their eyes
as they remembered those long lost roads.
As they told of mountains, bright blue skies.
and riding in rain and cold.

Departure time finally came for me,
each took my hand in turn.
The last said, "My son, ride free,
for there's one thing I have learned."

"If you love the freedom of the road,
riding under that endless sky.
Remember always the debt that's owed
to all of those who've died."

"You have the freedom of the ride,
oh wondrous things you'll see,
but the ghosts will be there at your side,
who purchased this Liberty."

As I rode away, those three old vets
just disappeared from view.
Impossible, I thought, and yet...
The words they spoke rang true.

So now, three ghost's ride at my side,
together toward the setting sun.
In freedom and the wind we ride
On remembered roads we run.

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

Thursday, June 14, 2007


I'll make the first post here by posting some of my own work. Enjoy. Feel free to comment on the poems.
I love feedback on my work.

Villanelle for a Road King

We all have many reasons we love to hear that thunder roll
The old lady bitches, the boss pays less, the kids demand their say
Remember, four wheels may move the body, but two wheels move the soul

The daily grind of making a living forces all to pay its toll
Blood pressure rises, pleasures seem few; of course there are bills to pay
So we all have many reasons we love to hear the thunder roll

Release is just a ride away, and sweet sanity our goal
We swing our leg across the seat, the engine fires, we ride away
Yes, four wheels may move the body, but two wheels move the soul.

We turn to that favorite back road, the one all curves and knolls
Into the first turn, accelerate,the next curve comes fast, but we know the way
These are among the many reasons why we love it when the thunder rolls

The fresh wind washes away our pain, as down the straight we roll
The pulse of power, the sounds of the road, all cares and worries wiped away
Truly, four wheels may move the body, but two wheels move the soul.

We thunder on into the night, your cares have gone; you’ve met your goal.
Tomorrow will bring another load, more cares, concerns; another day
We all have many reasons why we love to hear that thunder roll.
We know that four wheels may move our body but two wheels will move our soul.

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

What the hell is a villanelle?

Leather, Chrome, and Steel

In Blackfoot, Idaho one night
He walked, lonely, out of a bar
A woman sat there on the curb
Strumming her big guitar

Is that your bike? she asked him,
I love leather, chrome and steel.”

Hop on, he said as he settled in.
I know just how you feel.

She swung that guitar across her back
And hopped onto his sled.
Where ya going? he asked as she got on board
Outta here, was all she said.

She wrapped her arms around him
They headed south to the Utah line.
He rode hard into the desert night
The big twin singing fine.

The finally pulled down off the road
He took out his old bedroll
And there beneath the desert stars
She did things that moved his soul.

The next morning when she shot him
And he lay bleeding in the sand
She looked into his fading eyes
She reached out and held his hand

I don’t like men, she told him
But I like leather, chrome and steel
My first old man was a biker
A no good, cheatin’ heel.

So I’ll take your bike, if you don’t mind.
But I’ll write for you a song.
About your love of ridin' in the wind
And all the women who done you wrong.

He closed his eyes and she rode off,
Left his body behind that hill.
She rode on south towards Mexico
I’ll bet she’s out there still

So. if some night you leave a bar
And lonely is how you feel,
Beware a woman with big guitar
Who loves leather, chrome, and steel

2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Hear the Thunder

As we prepared to mount our bikes,
He asked, "Tell me why you ride.
There's nothing that you few can do
For these soldiers who have died."

"You're wrong" I answered back to him,
" Yes, they all have paid the toll,
But we can help people remember
When they hear the Thunder Roll."

"These men and women served their country,
their deaths were not by choice.
They fulfilled their solemn duty
And now we are their voice."

"Some returned in shrouded coffins.
They served and gave their all.
Some went to serve in foreign lands,
And never returned at all."

"So we ride to offer honor to
All those who paid this toll.
We ride so you'll remember them,
When you hear the thunder roll."

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis
USN 1967-1971

The Road

The road goes on forever
and the party never ends. Robert Earl Keen

Miles and miles of
Miles and miles

Big sweeping curves,
Tight hairpins and mountain switchbacks
Long straight-aways

Miles of corn, wheat, soybeans and sunflowers
Miles of pine, spruce, redwoods and cedars
Miles of prairie grass, sagebrush, mesquite

Narrow canyons open to wide vistas
Spectacular sunsets
Soft, ghostly coastal fog
Rolling into the rising sun

Idaho wind,
Nebraska heat,
Iowa rain,
Cold at 10,000 feet-- July in Wyoming's Snowy Range

Oceans, lakes,
Ponds, streams, and those rivers-
Those rivers.
Crossing the Snake, Madison, Salmon
The Platte, the Missouri
The Big Muddy

The rivers of concrete, asphalt, gravel

U.S. 101, 20, 30, 66, 26, The Lincoln Highway,
America's Roads,
State roads, County roads
Roads which appear only
On the map of the mind.
Blue Highways,
Highway blues

Riding the soul of America,
Riding my soul
Riding those miles and miles of
Miles and miles.

Bill "uglicoyote" Davis 2007

A Ride to Nirvana

I met Jesus and Mohammed
In Montana
On the Highway to the Sun

Jesus on a old panhead chopper
Mohammed astride an Ultra Glide
Both wore Diablo colors

And they shared their tequila
and smiled their bad boy smiles
Then we fired up and were off

they to Heaven in Sturgis
The Buddha astride his Road King
to Nirvanna and home

It was a hell of a ride

copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

Three Motorcycle Haiku (Baiku?)
Those good vibrations
Rolling through the Portneuf Gap
Into summer sun

swinging to saddle
erases life distractions
road and man are one

her hands grip my chest
orgasmic pulsings subside
power out of curve

2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

Haiku are Japanese form poems that adhere to a seventeen syllable count, five in the first and third lines and seven syllables in the second. Traditional haiku usually deal with nature and the seasons. I write about bikes and riding so I call mine "Baiku". These I've done for fun. If you want to read more Motorcycle Haiku go here here.