Songs of the Open Road

NEW LOCATION

2009-03-09T20:33:00.004-06:00

I've moved the blog to

http://roadpoetry.wordpress.com

Check it out

I've been on an intellectual and poetic hiatus, but I'm back and new poems will soon make an appearance. I promise.

A Holiday Greeting from Chopper Kate

2007-12-02T11:37:00.000-07:00

The Road to Home

Her tired gaze fell out the window
and ran with her thoughts
down the one way street.
This season of homecoming,
memories cascade down
from her eyes, down her face.
So envious of the families
she saw, doing Christmas things
together, laughing.
Imagining it was her family,
with smiling bright eyed grandchildren
who begged and cajoled
to open just one gift...pleeeeeeeeease???

Long ago, last parting words
his and hers, bitter and haste
stood like the Great Wall of China
between his life now
and the old homeplace,
where she and a stubborn pride
with a tired wet gaze
that falls from the window outside
and down the one way street.

Across the miles
he stands gazing out a window
down a one way street
and where it just might lead
his heart says it's her he wants to go again to meet.

Pride and doubthad jumbled his reason
into excuses why he shouldn't
make the first move to reconcile.
Too far and too long..it had been such a long while.
What was said? Who was wrong?
Somehow it didn't seem to matter anymore.
Across the miles from "home"
he walks to open the door
leading to that one way street.

One more cold Christmas dawns
too early she wakes up,
and it will be the longest of days,
as alone she sips her cup.
Through the window her sad gaze
leads out to the snow covered street.

Tire tracks run along it's way
Who had ever comes out here?
That hadn't been there yesterday...
Turning into her drive
right up to her door.
Shouts of Merry Christmas,is anyone here?"
"Hey Mom I'm home"
and
"How I missed you dear! Can you ever forgive..me?"

A house became a home once more
when doubts and pride stayed at the door.
A one way street goes both directions
The most precious of gifts are the love and affections
from family and friends that we cherish
and give unconditionally in return.

Merry Christmas 2007 from Chopper Kate and family!

A new poem from Chopper Kate

2007-11-23T13:03:00.000-07:00

I feel so much regret when I travel I-40, that I was never able to travel it's predecessor..the old Route 66...I try to imagine what a road, what a trip that might have been. She was narrow and winding, but full of magic it seems to me. If I could take a step or two back in time, I would take that trip...get my "kicks" on Route 66.

Anyway...I wrote this in my head on the way back..because I was feeling like I never wanted to end that ride, just turn around and go back, taking my time and exploring all those places that we never seem to have time to.

Channeling Route 66

Mother Road,
spinner of wheels and dreams,
bearing us forth into this land of wonders,
bursting at the seams,
"Freedom!" her gift and lullaby song
beckoning us still further along
than we've ever been before.
Can you take me there,
back in time, when and where
you were more than just a memory?

Ghostly echoes in the wind,
Peter Pan voices from backseats begin.
Highway games and singalong songs,
rib jabs and pigtail pulls,
"Don't make me stop this car!"
"Are we there yet? How far?"
Long before Ipods and DVDs;
brothers and sisters talked and teased.

Look to the left, look to the right!
Enticing as a siren's song,
Rainbow rows of advertisements
vied for our attention and sight.
Begging us to stay and linger,
To search for treasure and marvel
at those amazing sights with each new point of a finger.
"Hey, did you see that?"

Oddities and anomalies the old highway
wears as easy as fringe on old buckskin.
Moving and shaking, tantalizing, she draws us in.
We wrote our names with black lava rocks
on pale desert sand. A legacy to all who pass,
"I was here and still I am!"

Old route towns lay cracked and emptied
like countless eggshells from forgotten diners.
Falling all too thoughtless from our hands.
Feel the hunger pains, for all that's past.
Longing for that feeling, like a first kiss
and we wished again that you would last...
forever.

Latest from Sorez The Scribe

2007-11-23T12:53:00.000-07:00

Just Another Biker
~by Sorez The Scribe

More than just a way of life
This life I live this bike I ride
More than tats upon my skin
They tell the tale of where I've been
More than just the words I Scribe
Down to earth the poems I write
More than just a broken heart
When my ol' lady died in my arms
More Than just the Patch I wear
Above my heart upon my vest
There is so much more to my life
Than just being labeled another biker

Another Day, Another Ride

2007-10-28T10:08:00.000-06:00

Another Day, Another Ride

A late October Afternoon,
I point the Road King out of town
It’s only 55 degrees
I have my stocking cap pulled down

I head for the curves of Portneuf road
Rolling south at a leisurely pace
The chill in the air intensifies
The wind tingling on my face

I turn onto Marsh Creek Road
And give the throttle a twist
No traffic, I ride past farms and kids
All riding should be like this.

At McAmmon I pull in at the truck-stop
Two bikers from Logan are there
We talk of our rides, of rides to come
Of the clean and crisp fall air

They take off and I go inside
Come back out with a cup of joe
I sit there soaking up afternoon sun
Beneath mountains now dusted with snow

Two more motorcycles rumble in
A sport bike and a new black Fat Boy
The new owner grinning from ear to ear
Just a hundred miles on his brand new toy

We chat for a while then I take off,
Turning back on old US 91
Three more bikes are on my tail
Soon we’re rolling four as one

At Inkom the riders pull up alongside
An old boy on an Ultra glide
Grins as we sit at the stop sign,
“Hell of a fine day for a ride.”

I turn left and they turn right
We wave; we’re all heading for home
Another good ride, another good day
For me, another road poem.

Winter will come, it’s in the air
Snow and Ice may keep us inside
But know that there will always be
Another day, another great ride

Bikers

2007-10-13T11:20:00.000-06:00

I suppose this poem might piss some people off. se la vie

Bikers

People ask “what makes a biker?”

I hear that question a lot

I'm not sure there is an exact answer

but I'm pretty sure what they're not

They're probably not those hardtail hardheads

who park their rides in front of the bar,

whose asses are parked on a barstool inside

but whose bikes never travel too far.

They're not those fat-cat wannabes,

trailers hauling their custom bikes

from rally to rally all year long

they don't know what real riding is like.

Tattoos sure don't make you a biker,

although some have tats, some do not.

Expensive black leather isn't enough

It's something that just can't be bought.

Do all biker's have to ride Harleys?

I love my Harley, but that's just not true

I've ridden with guys on all kinds of bikes

who were “bikers” through and through.

Are all one per-centers bikers?

I know that many of them ride free

But some of them are just assholes,

just another kind of wannabe.

To me real bikers are riders

out there with their wheels on the highway

putting on the miles, living in the ride,

on every back-road and byway.

Instead of hiding under the overpass,

right on through that storm they glide.

They know that trailers are made for boats,

that it doesn't have to be sunny to ride.

A biker will stop to help you out

if you're down along the way

The brand you ride doesn't matter a damn

They might need your help some day.

To me it's all about the ride,

about living out there on the highway,

about riding with a few good friends,

but you don't have to do it my way.

If you think its all about the tats,

about the chrome, the leather, the bars,

you can go ahead and live that life,

but you might as well drive a car.

You don't need a nice motorcycle

to get all rowdy and drunk,

to dress up like a pirate and

get in fight with some punk.

Me, I'll be out there on that highway,

making that Road King roll.

I bought it to ride, and I feel deep inside

I'm a biker, right down to my soul.

Biker Poetry Comes of Age

2007-10-09T16:49:00.000-06:00

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Biker Poetry Comes of Age: 'A Biker Poet`s Eye View'

Interview 2: K. Peddlar Bridges

By MarySusan Williams-Migneault

Editors Note: Open Call for Submissions: Send your Biker Poet`s Eye View of Biker Poetry History, your early Biker poetry experiences or any thoughts you have about Biker Poetry Coming of Age to rdhousepress@aol.com for future publishing so we can archive and / or document Biker Poetry coming of age as a genre in its own right.

This month, RoadHousePress cyber-views (as interviewed over the web) K.Peddlar Bridges, First Biker Poet Laureate to be officially named and appointed as Don Clady`s SuperSunday (R) Motorcycle Expo`s and First Bikerpoet Laureate for Connecticut Bike Week. Through the many miles and hard work of the Highway Poets Motorcycle Club, Bikerpoetry has flourished on the East Coast and is now spotlighting and sponsoring Biker Poets south and west of Connecticut, to the Florida panhandle to the shores of the Pacific West, and Northward to Alaska and Canada. Biker Poets such as Chopper Kate, Ironhorse Writer, Uglicoyote and their Biker Bard Friends are riding/writing for poetic Gold in America`s 'out west' horizons. Wild Bill, First Biker Poet Laureate of the Northern Frontier rides and writes in Alaska! Gypsypashn, a club member of the Highway Poets is serving her second term as First Dual Biker Poet Laureate of New Hampshire and Massachusetts. Every day Biker Poetry is stretching the horizon! Bear in New York, Panhead Josh in Iowa, Joe Go, Colorado T.Sky, Sorez, The Holy Ranger, there are so many to name -- all Biker Poets out there in the wind, on the road riding to bring Biker Poetry into its own standing.

Last month we posted the Lost Interviews of Radio Man Dave by K.Peddlar Bridges that traced a path from cowboy poetry to biker poetry. This month, we will get his Biker`s eye-view of how he ended up on that path and where it has taken him.

There is no `King of the Hill` Rants

By K.Peddlar Bridges, Biker Poet Laureate,

Senior Columnist: Connecticut Cruise News Newspaper

Columnist: motorcyclegoodies.com (BikerPoetry 101, 202)

MSWM: Who`s on First?

Who`s on First.

That`s what I said, Who`s on First?

Abbot and Costello`s famous sketch reminds me of Biker Poetry History - There is no `King of the Hill?` .. seriously, Peddlar -- Who`s on First?

Peddlar: That does seem to be an issue, who was the first Biker Poet? First let me digress ...

I always think it was August `63, but in truth, it may have been a warm night in late September. I was 16 and had a `53 Ford Ranch Wagon I was driving ... this Ranch Wagon was to play an important part in my first ride down the black top, by myself, because a friend of mine was riding an old Honda Dream ... Old now/ New then ... He asked me if I would like to trade rides for a few hours ... we all know how that story went ... I didn`t care if I ever saw the car again ... But he missed his ride in short order. But, by the time we were back on our own respective rides, I was in love.

From that night on, or perhaps even before, I was to fall for every ride I ever saw. In `66, I was to buy my own ride, an old beat `46 Indian Chief. The bike didn`t last long, but the fever never left. I always banged words together in my mind like rocks, but in `66, before I bought the old Chief, I wrote my first Motorcycle prose piece. By today standards, it could be considered a prose-poetry piece. It was about a teenage dude ( that`s what I was then - a teenager) who has a dream of buying a Bike. In the spring he buys an old Harley with a blown engine and tranny. Then in the late fall he finds a wrecked Harley (wrecked from a street jockey,' he calls it). And then spends the winter in the barn putting the two together as one. Then come one (next) East - Coast - Spring evening, he pushes the Bike out the door to the yard, fires it up and rides it West into the Sunset, knowing that during the dead of night, he will spin back around, ride East and park on the East-Coast beach, just in time to see the sun-rise over the Atlantic. I wrote that story in 1966, and there has been a lot of Bikes, a lot of Sun Rises - Sunsets and a lot of stories in between, then and now. I don`t feel that this story is all that unusual for any Biker Poet, be it man or woman Biker Poet. The story is always about the same. Youth sees motorcycle, youth falls in love. The first words hit the page and the romance is on. And the story ain`t over till they tap on the copy page of your life.

Where did it all start?

Where does it all start for any Biker Poet?

Most likely pretty close to all the same.

When I was three or four, I wanted to be a singing cowboy and ride a quarter pony.

When I was 8 or 9, I noticed my first Harley-Davidson, Also about that time I heard the song, Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots, for the first time. And I knew from that day on, my quarter pony would say Harley-Davidson across the reigns. Black Denim Trousers, and Motorcycle Boots, Leather Saddle Bags, Harley-Davidsons with rumbling exhaust that echo thundering horses hooves and a heart set to flame and motion. For me, from then on the quest was set.

But for me, for many years, I always thought, it was to be a solo journey. I met Poets and I met Bikers. I knew a few Hipsters and a real Beatnik or two. Traveled with about a gazillion Hippies, but, the lines never seemed to cross over from Biker to Poet. Somehow like Darwin`s Duck, the strain was written into the genetic code of the creature, but the species never seemed to manifest into being. Then suddenly, on one tad pole poet, his jacket turns to leather and the Harley wings appear. Then on one old wild dog Biker, a grin appears, the eyes turn bright and crafty and there is the flash of a weapon ... no... it is of an ink pen. The Biker Poet has come to be.

The real issue here is not who the real first Biker Poet was, but a History of Bikerpoetry. For myself, as said, I only have my own yard stick to measure by. The writing and the riding started for me in the 60`s and was full bore in the early 70`s. I have no way of knowing of really who was doing what, when, because for the most part, the work was not brought to the public. Easy Rider`s Biker Life Style never seemed to present Poetry as a solid event. Often it would be published under an unknown name, even if the writer was well known under another name.

Other times Bikers when running with the pack would dress as Bikers and often dress as citizens when ever it would work to their advantage, Yes, I have done this.

If I have any claim to anything at all. it is because for the most part, I did it as a Biker. I wrote it as a Biker, I published it as a Biker. For no better reason than I didn`t know any different. I was a Biker.

The first piece I ever Published in the Local News Paper was a Biker Piece. When I went college I went as a Biker. Many of the pieces and poems I published in the schools paper when I was the schools photo editor were Biker pieces. For the most part, the photos taken of me and printed in the college paper were of me wearing my two vest, because I`d lost nearly a hundred pounds and carrying my ruck sack with my club patch and Harley wings painted on it. I published a small poetry magazine, with two other poets, and did it as the staff editor and Biker. We performed at gigs and hosted coffeehouses and homeless Benefits, and because, I was doing such, my photo was in many local papers including the Boston Globe. As a Biker Poet and wearing my vest. I shot one hundred cable TV shows and over 90 of then with my vest on and not wearing a jacket and on several shows I had my bike on stage and performed Bikerpoetry with another biker playing blues harp. I`ve sold my Biker chap books on street corners to get gas money to go to the next poetry gig. I figure the profit for my chapbooks in one gallon for each book sold. I have shown for what I thought was a pre-booked gig and feels because I as a Biker was never allowed on stage ... ended up reading my poetry in the parking lot and selling chapbooks in the parking lot for gas money to get back.

I have given dozen of writers their first ink. Their first shot at the mic, their first stand in front of the TV camera. And I did it as a Biker. I have performed in clubs they didn`t want to let me cause I was a Biker, I have performed in clubs that I almost didn`t make it out of because I was a Biker. I have shared the stage with Poet Laureates and Publishers and famous Poets and walked away with the show and I did it as a Biker.

Every college professor`s class I ever walked into they had their doubts because I was a Biker and every College professor class I walked out at the finish ... They knew I was a writer and a Biker Writer to boot. I recently sat in Harvard`s Faculty Club, which I would venture to say, I am one of the First Biker Poets to ever be a member of, talking with a professor, who I feel is a friend of mine, and whose class I took at another college and received grad credits with.

I have been on Newspaper Staffs where they did not want to let me use my Biker by line, (The Peddlar). Ask them today and they will tell you that (The Peddlar) produced some of the best work they ever had. And yes, it was published with the by line, The Peddlar. I have won awards, written a novel and received 9 grad credits for it .. left there and went though Harvard and received a degree in Creative Writing and Literature. And, I did it all as Biker.

In truth, I was the First double Biker Poet Laureate: Connecticut Bike Week and Super Sunday (R) Expo both at once. I am the Co-founder of The Highway Poets Motorcycle Club, the Biker Poets and Writers Association and the Founder of Roadpoet eMagazine. If you counted up all the photos, essays, stories, News Items not to mention poems I have had printed it would easily range around a few hundred ... Four chap books, four page spreads in Motorcyclist Post and Wail Magazine. And every time I`ve ever made an advance, I`ve turned and shared it with my fellow Biker Poets and Writers. Right, now I am helping give our fellow Biker Poet Writers a chance to be guest columnist in two publications and that is not mentioning the number of Biker Poets we are publishing on a monthly basis.

Do I think I was the First Biker Poet? I have no Idea, I just know for the most part there were no other Biker Poets standing beside me well I was doing it. If I was at a Lit event, there were Writers and there were Poets, but there were no Biker Poets. If I went to a Bike event, there were Bikers and there were Motorcyclists, but there were no declared Biker Poets or Biker Writers beside me.

I met Lizzard in `77, he was with a band ( Storm Bringer ) and considered himself a song writer and a photographer. I met Colorado T. Sky in `83, when we both read our work to a group of Hippies living in a big old bus garage. I had published, or was just about to publish, my first local Newspaper piece, which was a story about a biker and a pan head. They did not publish those kind of stories in the local paper in those days ... the night I met Sky he had already written (Night Stick Jim) a classic Bikerpoetry piece.

Sky and I have always run nose to nose. If you go by the time frame, I was there first. I`m older. If you go by age in years of events, I believe Sky was there first. Measure for measure, Sky and I have always run neck to neck. I hosted a gig in a bar. Sky hosted a gig in a bar. I put out Wail Magazine, Sky put out the Highway Poet. I wrote for The Post, He wrote for the Express! Sky founded the Highway poets, I co-founded it with him. I Hosted a cable TV show, The Poets` Cafe with Peddlar. Sky Emceed a Radio Show, The Other Side of Mid-night with Colorado T. Sky. I started Poetry venues and it was listed in the newspapers as open mic with feature, Hosted by Bikerpoet ..... Sky opened for rock bands and was listed Colorado T.Sky Biker Poet opening for ...

Sky and I read and performed in night clubs, poetry festivals, and true Bohemian Coffee Houses, and we did it as Biker Poets and there were no other Biker Poets there. Sky and I performed as part or Connecticut Bikeweek Poet Laureateship, to symbolize the end of my Poet Laureateship and the beginning of his Poet Laureateship. We read in a real Biker bar, with near a hundred Harleys in the parking lot on Big Mike Griffin`s stage. We had brought Bikerpoetry to a new height.

The issue is not 'who is or was the first Biker Poet in the Bikerpoetry pack,' but 'who is the first Biker Poet out there at your local reading; who is or was the first Biker Poet to be published in your local newspaper?' How many Biker Poets have you ever put on stage or have put in ink. That is what counts! Sky and I and the then Wild Card, Martin Jack Rosenblum, were doing it long before the Internet.

The issue is not that who was first Biker Poet because there have been some fine Biker Poets and Bikerpoetry pre-1960. Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots is a true Ballard, disguised as a novelty song.

But the real issue is bringing Bikerpoetry and Biker Writers to events, readings and places that were never opened to the Biker Poet before. Again the Wild Card Martin. Sky and I brought Bikers and Biker Writers to the Literary World and we brought Poets to the to the Biking world. As we were introduced at the Show, where Big Mike Griffin was performing, by the Emcee who was a Biker saying 'These Poets are not just poets ... they`re bikers too! They ride.' The Emcee said this with pride and I felt pride. And I feel because we were Biker Poets I/e fellow bikers, the audience gave us the respect fellow Bikers receive from one another.

What Martin Jack did was up the anti ... Sky opened for bands; Martin Jack opened for bands too; who opened first??? I hosted Poetry Gigs, Martin Jack hosted Poetry Gigs too; who hosted first? Sky and I cut tapes. Martin Jack cut tapes too. Whose tapes were first??? Who published the first book? Who went to College first ... that ain`t what counts. What counts the most, I believe, is Sky and I brought Bikerpoetry to the public and Biker sector. What Martin Jack did was bring Bikerpoetry corporate. As far I know he was the first Biker Poet and perhaps the only Biker Poet so far for any Corporation. Martin Jack cut tapes and published Books with a Harley catalog number on them he was listed in the book as the Harley-Davidson Poet, The Holy Ranger.

Through the years there has been much discussion as to whether he was Harley-Davidson`s official Poet Laureate or not. In the TV Documentary, 'The secret life of the Outlaw Biker,' Actor Peter Fonda of Easy Rider movie fame is near quoted as saying, 'And some times it takes the soul of a poet to describe the feeling of riding a Harley-Davidson, here we have Martin Jack Rosenblum, Harley-Davidson`s Poet Laureate.' Peter Fonda`s word is good for me.

Perhaps my view in mono-dimensional ...as I said I`m the one I have traveled with most. So, it is my view I have seen. I don`t just write about Bikerpoetry I live it ... 24/7 and I have for many years. I was cautioned by a trusted friend and colleagues to be careful, for this could easily end up as a battle for the King of the Hill ... and I must admit she was near right ... for this could easily end up as a pig pile and as near always, with the best on the bottom.

But, in truth, even Sky, Martin Jack, or myself could be knocked out of the batters box on a technicality, for find the oldest dude in the pack and he most likely rode first, and wrote first. Harleys have been around a hundred years now, and before that there were bicycle poems and perhaps Org our friend the cave dweller ... wrote a poem about being in the wind on his ride, a Dino-Davidson. Some-one-else was always first ... Jack Nicholson was the poet in 'The Hells Angels on Wheels,' filmed in the `60`s. Hunter S Thompson, Freewheeling Frank prove a lot of great ink was dry long before I ever published. They say Sonny Barger wrote Bikerpoetry, I`d love to read that ... and Red and White Geno published a book of poetry ( The Modern Day Barbarian,) back when Harleys were still running four speeds and drive chains. And Peter Fonda could out top us all by simply reading a Bikerpoetry Poem of his own on Jay Leno on any given Tuesday Night during our next Bikerpoetry Month.

And, as said, even if Sky, Martin Jack and I were out of the running, there is a lot of other hot competition out on the poetry track.

Gypsypashn ... Member of Highway Poets MCC, holds the Dual Motorcycle Poet Laureate of Massachusetts and New Hampshire. She is a Columnist for Motorcyclists` Post, Bikerbits Editor, poetry venue host and has published dozens of times, as well as, her own chapbook.

Marc Goldfinger AKA Moshe Dean ... Member of Highway Poets MCC, former Cambridge Spare Change Editor, and the Changes Poetry Editor, has published several chapbooks of his own, has had many poetry features and easily, a couple of hundred publishing`s behind him ... Moshe has repeatedly brought Biker Poets and Bikerpoetry to the pages of Spare Change. So, if you want to read a Biker Poem - head for Harvard Square.

Joe Go Gouviea ... Member Highway Poets MCC, Co-Founder of Biker Poets and Writers Association and Former Poet in Residence for Cape Cod Community College, has published Poems, Articles, and a Poetry Anthology. Joe Go is, at present, publishing an Anthology of Bikerpoetry, including a large number of our contemporary Biker Poets between its covers.

J. Barrett Wolf AKA Bear ... Member Highway Poets MCC, Editor and Publisher of Roadpoet-ny.com and formerly one of Connecticut`s Traveling Poets, has published numerous articles and poems and recently produced a chapbook with CD recordings.

Susan Buck ... Member Highway Poet MCC, a true working member of the New York Publishing World, has numbers of publishing`s, including gloss magazines, and is now about to bring her name forward in the field of Motorcycle Photo-journalism.

The Ironhorse Writer ... Highway Poet MCC (prospective member) is Super Sunday (R) Motorcycle Expo Biker Poet Laureate, is an Associate Columnist for Poets` Corner/Connecticut Cruises News Newspaper and has numbers of hard copy publishing`s, scores of web publishing`s and, at present, is in the process of producing a chapbook.

Sorez The Scribe, Highway Poets MCC (prospective member), has published hard copy in gloss and paper magazines as well as droves of e-publishing`s. Sorez is the House Poet for VTwinbiker.com and has recently published an I-book.

Panhead Josh, Highway Poets MCC (prospective member), has been published in hard copy, newspapers and magazines, and at present is working toward publishing a chapbook of his work.

Wild Bill the Alaskan Poet, Biker Poet Laureate of the Northern Frontier, has published much e-copy and, at present, is the Editor / Publisher of the Midnight Sun Rider Magazine ... Alaska`s only Motorcycle Magazine. Wild Bill gives ink to Brother and Sister Biker Poets whenever possible.

Not to mention what I call the Shooting Stars on the rise ... some new to Bikerpoetry, but, because of great talent and effort in the Bikerpoetry Community are already becoming well known:

Kate Johnson AKA Chopper Kate ... Watch this rising star ... She has been published in hard copy, e-copy, and what she ain`t done this year, you can bet your carburetor she`ll have accomplished by next year. Chopper Kate is an Associate Columnist for the Poets` Corner/CT Cruise News Newspaper.

Tom Quinn, Springfield, MA.`s Biker Poet, hasn`t published a lot at recently, but you know what ever he sends in next will be good.

Uglicoyote AKA Bill Davis - (Candidate pending, Highway Poets MCC) Come this time next year, you will most likely have seen a lot from him. He publishes a Biker Poetry blog and recently was published in hard copy in the CT Cruise News and in e-copy on motorcyclegoodies.com. He also recently was chosen as an Associate Columnist spot in the Connecticut Cruise News Newspaper`s Poets` Corner.

And lets really look at it ... every publisher, every venue host, every professor that ever gave a spot in the classroom, a shot at the mic, or ink on the page to a Biker Poet is part of Bikerpoetry. Poetry is about words ... Bikerpoetry is a life style and commitment to the art form, the life style and the Bikerpoetry Community at large and let`s not forget the ride ...

Before I end this rant let me stop and say thank you to our Editors and Publishers who have taken every chance and opportunity to give we Biker Poets a brake and ink whenever possible.

Thank You, Don Clady of the Connecticut Cruise News. Thank You, Jodi Lipson of Motorcyclegoodies.com. Thank you, Leo Castell of the Motorcyclists` Post. and let`s not forget to say Thanks to QBall of VTwinbiker.com, Blaze of Laconiabikeweek.net and Metal Man Dan of loudpipes.com and the many other who help Bikerpoetry to keep making History. And of course, Thanks to you and RoadHousePress Editor, Publisher MarySusan.

I will close this with a short story, one time, brother Lizzard and I were stopped at a red light in Manchester, New Hampshire. Me on my old Rat Chop, and him on his Old Green Sporty, when these two Ninja riders pulled up to the light and slid in front of us. When the light turned near green they cracked their throttles stood on their tale and blasted off leaving Lizzard and I in the dust ... Lizzard looked over at me and called, 'I think they`re going to lap us a few more times to catch up!'

So, if any one is worried about who is a head of them - or - who thinks they are ahead of them ... My advice is:

If you want to run with the Bikerpoetry pack ... Strap your saddle bags tight, crack your throttle and hang on. (Peddlar)

MSWM: Thank you Peddlar for all that you do and have done to keep that Bikerpoetry pack writing, riding and bringing their Bikerpoetry to the community. In closing this months installment of Biker Poetry Comes of Age, let me once again make a call for submissions:

A couple of years ago, I sent out a question to the Biker Poets that I had in our files: 'What is Biker Poetry?' The responses ranged from tongue in cheek to informative, without any clear definition.

Today I am looking for historical information regarding Biker Poetry emerging as a genre in its own right, from where you ride and write, your impressions and your historical account. I am also hoping to connect with the Biker Poet that is out there holding a pen or tapping a keyboard to bring the wind, the road, the steel pony to the page, that may never have considered Biker Poetry as a genre, but has been writing and riding all along. If you have been a part of this historical progression, please send me your Biker Poetry history.

If you are not a Biker, but you have historical information or you know someone who does, please drop us a line. Send an email to rdhousepress@aol.com and write the word 'history' in the subject line. In closing, here is a Biker Poem, for what would an article about Biker Poetry be, without the Biker or the Poem?

The Rally by Kate Johnson AKA Chopper Kate

the rally

thunder rolls, a chromed storm brews
backslaps and beer hugs
catching all the latest news
leathered bodies and weathered skin
beards, tats, babes and sin
cold ones crack like throttles on blacktop lanes
moth like they gather `round the flames
confessions and tall tales
reverent silence and sordid details
weaving invisible bonds

Kate Johnson/Chopper Kate/all rights reserved

***********************************************

For more information on Bikepoetry check out any of the following links:

... K.Peddlar Bridges, Co-Founder Highway Poets MCC,

Former Biker Poet Laureate Connecticut SuperSunday (R) Motorcycle Expo`s

Former Biker Poet Laureate of Connecticut Bike Week,

Founder/Owner RoadPoetMagazine (www.roadpoet.com)

roadpoetmagazine@webtv.net

... Colorado T. Sky, Co-Founder of Highway Poets MCC

National Biker Poet Laureate 2007-2008

Former Biker Poet Laureate of Connecticut Bikeweek
www.highwaypoets.org/

... The Holy Ranger: Martin Jack Rosenblum,

Member of Highway Poets MCC:
http://holyranger.tripod.com/

... Mark Goldfinger AKA Moshe Dean, Member of Highway Poets MCC:

http://poesy.org/marc_goldfinger_interview.html

... J. Barrett Wolf, AKA Bear, Member of Highway Poets MCC

Editor/ Publisher of Roadpoet-ny.com

... Jose` Gouviea AKA Joe Go, Member of Highway Poets MCC,

Springfield, MA Motorcycle Show Event Poet,

Founder of Biker Poets and Writers Association

http://bpwa.net/mission.html
bikerpoetswriters@gmail.com

... Gypsypashn AKA Betsy Lister, Member of Highway Poets MCC,

Founder/Editor of bikerbits daily eZine

Roadpoet eMagazine`s Dual Biker Poet Laureate:

New Hampshire Motorcycle Poet Laureate,

Massachusetts Motorcycle Poet Laureate

Motorcyclists` Post Columnist

http://www.bikerbits.info/ or gypsypashn@aol.com

... Panhead AKA Josh Griffith, (Prospective Member) Highway Poets MCC
panheadjosh74@hotmail.com
Cedar Rapids, Iowa

... Dr. Mark 'Tiger' Edmonds, Professor of English (St Leo University),

(Candidate Pending Highway Poets MCC)

mark.edmonds@saintleo.edu

... Sorez The Scribe (prospective member) Highway Poets MCC:

http://www.freewebs.com/eddiesorez/main.htm

... UgliCoyote (Candidate pending for Highway Poets MCC):

Associate Columnist Poets` Corner/CT Cruise News Newspaper

http://songsopenroad.blogspot.com

http://hard-ride.blogspot.com

... Ironhorse Writer (prospective member) Highway Poets MCC:

Associate Columnist Poets` Corner/CT Cruise News Newspaper

www.ironhorsewriter.com

... Kate Johnson AKA Chopper Kate,

Associate Columnist Poets` Corner/ CT Cruise News Newspaper:

http://360.yahoo.com/iwachick

... Wild Bill, Biker Poet Laureate of the Northern Frontier

Owner/Editor of Culture Corner

http://wildbill.tripod.com/biker.html

... QBall at www.vtwinbiker.com

... Metal Dan at www.loudpipes.com

... Don Clady, Editor, Publisher/Owner of Connecticut Cruise News Newspaper,

Founder Connecticut Super Sunday(R) Motorcycle Expo

www.supersundayonline.com

... Jodi Lipson, Editor at www.motorcyclegoodies.com

... MarySusan Williams-Migneault, Editor/ Publisher of RoadHousePress.com

RoadHousePress eCafe & Wordsymthery
www.roadhousepress.com

Biker Poetry Comes of Age by MarySusan Williams-Migneault
c October 2007/RHP

RoadHousePress
Suite 342-H
Cummings Center
Beverly, MA 01915

rdhousepress@aol.com
roadhousepress.com

Bruce Arnold

2007-10-06T10:12:00.000-06:00

Bruce Arnold, the editor/owner of LDRLongDistanceRider.com has written one of my favorite poems, I Ride Mine. He also has some related merchandise on sale here, including a nice wall plaque of this poem. Bruce along with fellow biker Ray Henke, the editor of Motorcyclists Against Dumb Drivers, team up on Bruce-n-Ray's Biker Forum where Bruce occasionally commits random acts of poetry. Poetry like this:

A Biker Funeral (dedicated to "Trip")

Sunday morning early comes
This sweltering summer's day;
Chrome and coffee polished off
As bike and rider wake,

And rumble off to clubhouse for
A changing of the brew;
Black vests in formation--fast
and tight--a loud tribute.

Iron horses, hundreds strong,
Come thund'ring through the gate;
Sleeping souls on notice, fallen
Biker nears his fate.

A mile of gleaming metal lines
The circle and the park;
Out of saddles, boots hit brick
And make for chapel's heart.

Members of the Club stand post,
Proud brothers in the wind;
Shaded eyes the tears disguise,
And loss they feel within.

Friends and family pay respects
To biker and his mate;
Praises made and prayers raised,
Blues legends resonate.

Final words and kisses, then
The pipes' Amazing Grace;
Souls of bike and rider seek
Eternal resting place.

Sunday morning early comes
This sweltering summer's day;
One more rider, Heaven bound,
Roars through the Pearly Gates.

Written by Bruce Arnold, 2004

A Free Man

2007-09-24T22:23:00.000-06:00

A Free Man

Sunday morning, nine A.M.
On the Payette South Fork road
Fifty degrees, crisp Autumn air
As the Aspens turn to gold

Head east towards Lowman
Then north to Stanley, a steady sixty-five
Ponderosas tower beneath blue skies
God, its great to be alive

To feel the cool morning chill
Smell the world you're riding in
To hear the stream along the road
Take a bite of the rushing wind.

The most beautiful ride in Idaho
This Stanley to Ketchum run
Beneath the Sawtooth Mountains
In the warm September sun

A car behind presses me hard
An SUV, black as midnight
It roars around me at seventy –five
Blacked out windows, rolled up tight

The passengers protected from
The sunny world outside
In total, sealed off isolation,
On their sterile, joyless ride.

I pity them, for they'll never know
In their driven, hurried rage
The bite of the wind, the smell of the pine
They are prisoners in a cage.

As for me, I’ll ride until snow flies
Ride as many miles as I can
For as I ride, my spirit soars
On my bike I ride, a free man.

Lots of Biker Poems

2007-09-24T21:15:00.000-06:00

The internet's largest collection of Biker Poetry by individual poets can be found over at V-Twin Biker. It is growing all the time and QBall has started a fourth page of poetry. I'm proud to say that three of my own poems are the first on the new page.

New from Sorez

2007-09-24T21:08:00.000-06:00

This Is Now
~by Sorez The Scribe

There's nothing like a long haul ride
To shake the cobwebs from my mind
Karma finally swayed my way
As I throttle on today
I stayed the course strong and true
Never gave up on being who
I am the Brother I've always been
But doubted myself when downtime hit
Suffered through the loss and pain
Nothing more to lose yet all to gain
I wear my heart upon my sleeve
My Colors proud for all to see
Yeah there's nothing like a long haul ride
To shake the cobwebs from my mind

Nice words from Kano

2007-09-24T20:55:00.000-06:00

My Bro Kano over at Kano's Coffee House-Motorcycle and Scooter Talk, has some nice words for this site and my poetry. Kano has some good things to say on many subjects and and his site is worth visiting.

A New poem by D-day Dean

2007-09-22T13:20:00.000-06:00

A Dying Soul

I'm dying, I'm dying -

My soul is slowly dying.

You sit in the garage and beckon to me

“Can you come out and play?”

“I cannot,” I say “She has other plans for me today.”

I yearn to ride, to live and be free

But today that is not to be.

I hear your friends roar by – free in the wind

That’s how we were meant to be.

I can't explain how I feel

She just doesn't understand.

Together forever, one with the road

Exploring our great land.

For now, I live for the time that we steal

Exploring the country roads together.

The soul of a biker should never be caged

Running wild with my machine forever.

I'm dying, I'm dying -

My soul is slowly…..

-Written by Dean "D-Day"

Visit D-Day's blog, Musings of a Contemplative Biker

My Column about Biker Poetry

2007-09-18T20:30:00.000-06:00

The guest column that I penned is now online at Motorcycle Goodies in the Special Interest section. Check it out. I'm pleased as punch. The same column will appear later in the month in Connecticut Cruise News newspaper. I'll let you know. Props to fellow poet Peddlar Bridges and to MarySusan at RoadHouse Press for their help.

Bikerwolf

2007-09-03T08:22:00.000-06:00

Fellow poet and bro biker, Bikerwolf , has made some changes on his site, Bikerwolf's Perspectives, adding a lot of new original work. This southern boy's poetry won't be everyone's cup of tea, but some of it really rings true for me. Check out Vacation Time, Through and Through, and That Was Then. Bikerwolf has what the academics would call verisimilitude--he's the Real Deal. Check him out and tell him I sent ya.

Keep On Keepin' On

National Biker Poetry Gathering?

2007-09-02T13:51:00.000-06:00

Press Release...

2008 National Bikerpoetry Event.

Rock and Roll,

A lot will be happening in 2008; It promises to be an exciting year.

There is talk of having a 2008 National Bikerpoetry Event.

Several places have been presented as possible choices. Each one has
its own merit.

So far the choices are:

Uglicoyote has a offered a possible major Bikerpoetry booking at Elko,
Nevada. This is where the East Meets the West, and the Steel pony meets
the quarter pony, and the Bikerpoet and The Cowboy Poet share the same
range.

Colorado T. Sky has suggested the Indian Lookout Country Club Inc. in
upstate New York. This spot has been biker friendly, and has long Biker
event history.

J. Barrett Wolf, aka Bear, has offered the use of his home and land to
hold a Bikerpoetry Month or National Bikerpoet event on. Bear's land
holds camping and amenities, and is just far enough from Binghamton, New
York , to be a ride. Binghamton is a major poetry friendly town, and
booking a few reads down town should be possible.

One other place I would suggest is Poopy's in Savana, Illinois. It is a
Biker Friendly town, and there is a campground available.

This is too big an issue for one or two Bikerpoets to decide without
first consulting the Bikerpoetry Community at large...

Your feedback is needed on this ... a commitment would make this event
happen ... if this is not worked out by January first, it most likely
will not happen ... So, we need our fellow Bikerpoets to make this
happen.

My choice is wherever the Bikerpoety Community decides.

Hope you can take the run with us ... best miles and verses

Peddlar

Riding Through The Fire

2007-09-02T10:06:00.000-06:00

Riding Through The Fire
This poem came out of recent ride I made up to Missoula and then on to Kalispell, MT. Of course, most of this can be attributed to the imagination of the poet, but at the time there really were some fires burning in western Montana, one quite serious just north of Missoula, the "Blackcat" fire, where I rode through flames right down to the edge of MT highway 93. I rode through extremely smoky conditions on a lot of that ride and this poem came to me in bits and pieces as I rode. I finally got around to releasing it onto the page. I hope you enjoy it. Keep on Keepin' on

Ridin’ through the fire
Ridin’ through the smoke of Hell
The forest around him burning
He keeps riding toward Kalispell

He met her in a saloon in Drummond
She lifted his soul and body higher
She was gone when he awakened
Left both his heart and the forest on fire

She told him she lived up by Kalispell
In a cabin near Flathead Lake
And although the smoke was getting bad
He new that run he had to make.

So he went ridin’ through the fire
Ridin' through the smoke of Hell
He rode straight on through Missoula
He was headed for Kalispell

Although fires burned right beside the road
He kept that Harley’s wheels on turning
Through Arlee, Polson, then on to Big Fork
His heart-fire just kept on burning

He had to see that Montana girl again
She had taken him so much higher
Than any woman had done before
She’d really set his soul on fire

So he went ridin’ through fire
He rode through the smoke of Hell
He just crossed the Jocko River
He had to make it to Kalispell.

She heard about it the next morning
He’d run a road block, the announcer said
On a closed highway he’d lost control
In the flames they found him dead.

She wondered why he had made that run
What caused him to take that ride?
Her husband didn’t see the tear that fell
With the name of the man who had died.

He’s still ridin’ through that fire
He’s still ridin’ through the smoke of Hell
Around him all is burning
And a woman weeps in Kalispell

A poem by "D-Day" Dean

2007-08-20T20:30:00.000-06:00

A Love Letter

My love, my love, my true love.
I knew from the first time I saw you that I just had to make you mine.
You looked so beautiful that day that I couldn't resist walking over to be close to you.
Now I wonder how I ever lived without you.
I long for each morning to come so that I may marvel at your beauty in the rising sunlight.
I feel alive when we're together!
You fill my soul!
Then I twist your throttle and we ride off into the sunset and I pray to God that we will always be together.
My love, my love, my true love!

Written by Dean "D-Day" Bartosh

Latest from "Chopper Kate" Johnson

2007-08-20T19:49:00.000-06:00

this idea I took from a message board for lady riders. there was a gal there who wanted to quit riding...you could tell she never wanted to , she did it for others not herself. I am sure she won't come to such a tragic end..but then that is what poetic license is about.

He wanted her to "ride her own"
it was his persistent request.
She didn't want to make him mad
by refusing to take the test.

A brand new, shiny v rod he bought
for her to cruise upon.
with him she rode side by side
plagued by doubts and fears,
they kept her constant company
along with frustrated tears.

She thought " with me
there must be something wrong,
the love for the ride,
shouldn't take so long,"
and wondered if it ever would
find it's way inside her skin.
That kindled flame that grows to passion
warming your soul from deep within.

Sometimes she tried to tell him
that riding wasn't meant for her,
How she felt awkward almost numb,
but he would laugh and call her
crybaby or chicken shit,
and just plain dumb
it shamed her so, she wouldn't quit,

There came a day when her rider's skill
was put to test on a rain slicked hill,
and as her old man knelt
dripping sorrow by her side,
He cried out,
"Oh Lord forgive me!
Why did I make her ride?"

Ridin' With My Bros

2007-08-16T10:13:00.000-06:00

Ridin’ With My Bros

I often ride out solo
and the time alone I spend out there
helps me put things in perspective,
sorta clears clear the mental air.

But there’s nothing like a fine, long ride
taken with my friends and brothers
to remind me of why I’m a Biker
why I need the support of others.

When we stop along the highway
in a friendly biker bar,
it’s good to laugh and be with friends
who accept you for what you are.

When those nasty gremlins hit your bike,
and I promise you they will,
it’s good to have a trusted friend
to help you over that hill.

When the day’s ride is over
and we all sit around the fire
you share all your tall biker tales;
and no one calls you a liar.

So I’ll take those solo rides I need
to keep my head screwed on,
but then I’ll hook up with my Bros
and just keep on keepin’ on.

Trailer Queen

2007-08-14T22:18:00.000-06:00

Trailer Queen

Am I not pretty, I’m a trailer Queen
The prettiest motorcycle you’ve ever seen
No hard riding for me, never been out in the rain
I come off the trailer, then go back on again

The R.U.B.*who owns me can’t really ride
I’m just another hobby, a point of personal pride
His friends all have Harleys, so he has one too
To dress up in black leather is a cool thing to do.

To Sturgis, Las Vegas, Daytona and all the rest
He hauls me on his trailer then does what he does best
Rides me around a little, finds a bar and goes inside
Parks his fat ass on a barstool and tells all about his ride.

I wish once he’d come out of that bar, hop on me and ride away
Head for the back-roads full of curves, and ride me hard all day
I wasn’t made to sit and shine, I was born to run
To feel asphalt fly by beneath my wheels, now wouldn’t that be fun

But that will never happen, I’m mainly meant for show
I could make his life exciting, but my R.U.B. will never know
I'm the prettiest motorcycle that you’ve ever seen
Am I not pretty, I’m a trailer Queen.

* R.U.B. = Rich Urban Biker

The Cowboy and The Biker

2007-08-14T21:24:00.000-06:00

The Cowboy and the Biker

“Where ya headin’ on yer ride?”
The old cowboy asked.
And the old biker replied,
“I’m headin for Sturgis.”

He sat there smiling from his truck
While he eyeballed the bike
Then he said, “Good Luck,
On your Ride to Sturgis.”

He said, “Cowboys and Bikers are alike.
Cowboys have to go to Cheyenne
But for you on your Bike,
You have to ride to Sturgis.”

“The horse that you ride has two wheels,
And although mine has four legs
I know just how it feels
To be headin’ for Sturgis.”

With a laugh and a wave he drove away.
I climbed on my bike and fired up.
We’d both connected with a brother that day
While I was ridin’ the road to Sturgis

Riding to Sturgis

2007-08-14T17:58:00.000-06:00

Riding to Sturgis

We’re heading to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
We’re heading to Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.

The Black Knights came to the Black Hills
From D.C. they all rode
No trailer queens, no toy hauler frills
Just two thousand miles of road.

They rode to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.

A father riding with his son
We met along the way
Dad from The land of the Midnight Sun
His boy from out Portland way

They were riding to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.

Two who flew from the land down under
Picked up bikes in Frisco town
Across desert and mountain they did thunder
To get where it all goes down

They rode to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way

Each Summer thousands make the run
To this little Black Hills town.
If you’ve never been there for the fun
You should come to party down

You should head for Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
Come on out to Sturgis, Sturgis
And ride yours all the way.

Bringing a Brother Home

2007-08-14T17:06:00.000-06:00

Today, 08/14/07, the body of Sgt. Nick Gummersall was returned to Pocatello for burial. Sgt. Gummersall was killed in action in Iraq. He was twenty- three years old. Over one hundred bikes rode escort for the Sgt. and his family from the airport through town to the funeral home. People lined the roads and streets, holding flags, signs, and hands on hearts as we passed. It was an emotional and moving experience. As the body was removed from the plane by the honor guard, a fledgling Bald Eagle cried and flew nearby.

Bringing a Brother Home

We brought a brother home today
We rode with him along the way
When he arrived an Eagle cried
We brought a brother home today.

He was every father’s shining son.
He was every mother’s precious one.
He served us well but then he fell
We brought a brother home today.

He left his home and answered the call
While many give some, he gave all.
No more from home will this lad roam
We brought a soldier home today.

Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

USN 1967-1971

Poem by William Karnowski

2007-07-28T16:39:00.000-06:00

Leaning

when riding a harley

you are in fact no freer

than a walking man

it just feels that it is true

there is no room

for kitchen sinks and libraries

of other peoples knowledge

and their guesses of knowledge

nor their pretenses of knowledge

one is left with motion

and wind and wandering

with no agenda for a day

there remains only friendship

flights of fancy

hedonistic joy

all in all

the physical expression of poetry

the instinctive leaning of a turn

and putting a foot down to stop

and with a dab of the toe

a flick of a wrist

to disappear into ones own sunset

William J. Karnowski

author of: Pushing the Chain, Painting the Train, Catching the Rain, Hardtails and Highways, and The Hills of Laclede.

Open Letter to Biker Poets

2007-07-27T09:02:00.000-06:00

Greetings Brother and Sister Poets,

First let me introduce myself. I'm a teacher/biker/poet from Pocatello, Idaho. Some of you know me and have heard from me before; you may even have read some of my poetry. Others of you are hearing from me for the first time. Bear with me.

Most of you have probably heard of Elko, Nevada, a small western community located along I- 80 in northeast Nevada at the foot of the Ruby Mountains. One of Elko's claims to fame has been as the home of the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, a week-long event held each January/February. Cowboy poets and writers from all over the country converge and words and rhymes fly like bullets at the OK Corral.

Elko also holds their Annual Motorcycle Jamboree- Rumble in the Rubies each June and that event is becoming one of the best rallies in the southwest. It seemed to me natural that Elko would be a good place to locate an Annual National Bikerpoetry Gathering, to be held in conjunction with the Motorcycle Rally already in place. To make a long story short I have contacted the rally's board chair and she agrees. Evidently they have talked about this before but haven't really gotten it off the ground.. I volunteered to help (Pocatello is only about 200 miles from Elko), thus this letter.

In order to organize a National Bikerpoet Gathering, we need Bikerpoets. I'm hoping that some of you will express and interest and perhaps even make a commitment to attend such a gathering in June of 2008(June 20,21,22). This could be a great event for all of us and for the cause of Bikerpoetry in general. Let me know what you think, and of course, pass this along. Many of you are in contact with far more poets and writers than I am and I could use your help getting the word out. I appreciate your consideration and look forward to hearing from you.

E-Mail: uglicoyote1@yahoo.com

Keep On Keepin' On

Escorting the Wall

2007-07-26T11:35:00.000-06:00

Yesterday (7/25) we brought the Viet Nam Memorial Moving Wall into town for a four day stay. The Moving Wall is a replica of the real Memorial in Washington, D.C., although smaller. All 58,195 names are there. It will remain on display through Sunday during our POW*MIA Rally and Bike Rodeo. It was while I was riding as part of the 125 bike escort to The Wall that this poem came to me.

Escorting the Wall

We escorted The Moving Wall today
Rode beside it into our town
The names all there reminding us
Of brothers and Sisters who went down

We escorted The Moving Wall today
But it isn’t with The Wall that we ride
We ride with those fifty-eight thousand,
One ninety-five brothers and sisters who died.

They went off to Viet Nam to serve
Their country and you and me
They served us well, but then they fell
Their homes never again to see

The Wall is a moving symbol
But we don’t ride with The Wall
Its all those people whose names are there
We’re riding with those who gave all.

So visit the wall and bow your heads
Remember them with pride,
Then raise them a glass and keep riding on
With the spirits of those who died.

Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Bikerpoet, Viet Nam Veteran, USN 1967-71

Living in the Ride

2007-07-24T16:18:00.000-06:00

Living in the Ride

Riding in the world,
I hear the meadowlark’s song
I taste the dust coming off
The wheat field harvested
As I pass by

The sound of the wind
The sound of the wheels
The rumble of the engine
With these sounds,
Every moment I ride

In the distance a thunderstorm
Watch it grow, see the lightning.
Soon to feel the sting of drops
Cooling skin too long burned
By the high plains sun.
Long days in the wind

The fresh smell of falling rain
The sweet smell of freshly cut hay
The smells of asphalt, fuel, exhaust
Mingle with the odor of yesterday’s roadkill
The living and the dead,
All with me as I ride

I pass a car
In the back a small face
nose to glass, a wave
a smile, perhaps a dream.

I’m in the moment,
Living in the ride.

I love Loud Pipes

2007-07-24T15:19:00.000-06:00

I Love Loud Pipes
A love song for the Denver City Council

Window rattling, earth shaking,
Stomach churning, ear-drum-busting
Loud pipes

Alarm starting, backfiring,
Flame-throwing, head-throbbing
Loud pipes

Snorting, snarling, rip-roaring,
Feel-em in your guts, kick-em in the nuts
Loud pipes

Hear them clear across town,
What the hell was that, an Earthquake?
Loud pipes

Get off your cell, pay attention,
Roll up the window, watch out for that bike
Loud pipes

Loud pipes thundering
Through the valley
Up the hill
Down the highway
Into my soul
Singing the song I love
I love those loud pipes

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

BikerPoetry Comes of Age

2007-07-23T14:05:00.000-06:00

BikerPoetry Comes of Age
Or ... In the early days ...

by MarySusan Williams-Migneault
RoadHouse Press (www.roadhousepress.com)

In my communications with other Bikerpoetry editors/ publishers a question has come forward more than a couple of times asking about how to reach more Bikerpoets in order to bring their work to light? This led me to remember the early days, when I first met Peddlar and Bikerpoetry was already on the move, and while there are more BikerPoets riding down History lane with us, the ride itself has not changed.

I think what helped to bring this ever growing number of Bikerpoets to our attention and off to a modest gallop around these parts is that Peddlar (AKA K.Peddlar Bridges) and a handful of other Bikerpoets have been standing at open mic poetry readings, both in community readings and Biker events as well, for quite a few years now -- as far back as the 1980s in my own recollection, but the facts might bring it back much further. Years have a way of blending into other years in my mind's-eye view and Peddlar is always correcting me, because when it comes to Bikerpoetry -- he knows the exact minute that something happened. And then Sky will have a whole other set of dates, because when it comes to Bikerpoetry -- he knows the exact minute he was there.

One date I know for sure, because I was there.. is 1987! That was the year a friend of mine invited Peddlar to my home to read poetry at my birthday party. I can remember thinking, "Geez.. he sure is scarey looking -- are you sure he writes poetry?" That was my introduction to Bikerpoetry, but Peddlar was already an Editor for a Poetry Magazine, Columnist for the Motorcyclists Post and was regularly featured at poetry readings.

By 1990 Peddlar and Colorado T. Sky had already founded the Motorcycle-Poet club, the "Highway Poets." Besides reading at poetry gigs, Peddlar brought his Bikerpoetry to the Stage to benefit the community's homeless population. Slowly but surely, with each local community event and each road trip to other poetry readings and Bikerpoet events, more and more Bikerpoets joined the Biker-Bard ride through these early years of Bikerpoetry.

Peddlar and I have bumped into Bikerpoets in all kinds of strange and sundry places, like when, several years ago (circa 1989), he brought me along to a 'civilian' academic-type community poetry workshop in Cape Cod (MA). Peddlar had run out to the car to get his camera, leaving me sitting amidst the poised and polished librarian-like citizens (who were already a bit jumpy by Peddlar's Biker presence) -when this big ol' pirate look alike, Motorcycle Poet, Colorado T. Sky stomped in!

Even I, who was traveling with a long-haired, scary-looking Motorcycle Poet called The Peddlar, was startled when Sky sat in the only other empty chair at the table - the one next to me! I laugh every time I think of it. Peddlar on one side of me, Sky angled in on the other, almost kitty-cornered to Peddlar, making up verses on the spot along with the citizen poets sitting around the table. While Peddlar remembers the seating a bit differently and he says that Sky and him eventually were in seats across from each other, what is for sure is that their Bikerpoetry shot sparks back and forth between them both and bounced across the table like lightening striking water, jolting the citizens sleepy-eyed stares to life. And there I was caught between two thunderous bolts singeing the academic cobwebs in my brain, right side, left side and then sometimes colliding dead center in the middle of years of academic sloth.

Another year, Peddlar was given a gig at the Comedy Connection's "To Catch A Rising Star" in Cambridge, MA. Peddlar not only hosted this weekly open mic venue for the poetry community, he would blast his Bikerpoetry across the audience, leaving them hooting and hollering for more. Although he was not specifically promoting Bikerpoetry, the very presence of Peddlar hosting and reading his Bikerpoetry, with Colorado T. Sky showing up on occasion, sometimes with them reading side by side with Stone Soup's Poet Master -- Jack Powers,(Cambridge, MA) put Bikerpoetry in the limelight.

One venue led to another venue. Peddlar had first met Jack Powers at a Kerouac Festival in Newburyport, MA (Circa 1987)and was invited to read on Jack's Stone Soup Stage right then and there. In a very short time, Peddlar was inviting Jack to read on his stage. And so it went and so it still goes today, only today - the number of BikerBards standing at the mic has grown, not only in New England, but across the nation and across the ocean in other countries. And Peddlar is still standing right there on the stage at the mic with them!

Peddlar's mission to bring BikerPoetry, not only to the poetry community and the academic community, but to the community at large, was given a ten-finger boost when his Poets' Cafe (Cable) TV program hit the air! After taking the local cable televison course on how to produce a Cable-TV show, he created The Poets' Cafe, which was taped and then aired on a couple of different time slots on Cable TV. He would interview the featured Poets in an informal cafe stage setting before they got up to the mic to read their work, along with one or two musicians, who were invited to play a set in between readings. Peddlar's vision and dedication brought the Poets, the Bikerpoets and the Musicians from The Poets' Cafe into the livingrooms of the cable community, but more importantly, Bikerpoetry had set its sights on another horizon ... the TV stage.

Today the printed page and the ePage is the venue that Peddlar works on most, although he still hosts open mic readings and attends them in the community and at Bikeweek events and other Biker venues as well. He also googles Bikerpoets and if he likes their work or something strikes his interest about the Bikerpoet then he emails them and tries to make a connection. A lot of these eConnections are born out of something he is presently writing or researching, like when he began researching and writing about the roots of Bikerpoetry reaching down into Cowboy Poetry, he bumped into BikerPoet Bumper Smith in cyber-land, which led to Mountain Man in Canada.

After one such afternoon surfing the web, Peddlar found Wild Bill, the Alaskan Bikerpoet, who recently sent me an email about that eConnection with Peddlar:

"..Frankly, I doubt Midnight Sun Rider would have ever left the ground had I not received that email from him. Further, I doubt I would have written any more bikerpoetry. Peddlar helped me back into the saddle."

One BikerPoet always leads to another BikerPoet somewhere!

Having a forum to bring this all together is a great way to highlight Bikerpoetry, but make no mistake about it, Bikerpoetry is being written every time a Bikerpoet mounts his steed and chases after the wind. RoadHouse Press and Peddlar's RoadPoet eMagazine strives to document Bikerpoetry history and publish the Bikerpoets we can catch up with, thereby giving Bikerpoets a place to keep their poetic ride rolling on down the road -- be it in hard copy that goes from hand to hand, cyber-space that goes from eye to eye or radio shows and compact discs that go from ear to ear.

This venture would be a lesson in futility if we were to take something of this size on all by ourselves. That is why we are forever grateful for the generosity and dedication of: hard copy publishers, Don Clady of CT Cruise News Newspaper and Leo Castell or the Motorcyclists Post and the ever growing list of ePublishers/Editors that highlight Bikerpoetry in their eZines and websites, such as Jodi Lipson of motorcyclegoodies. The list of Bikerpoets that maintain websites, eZines and newsletters in order to ePublish other bikerpoets and to showcase their own work as well are too numerous to list in this article but will be highlighted in future chapters of BikerPoetry Comes of Age 2007.

If you would like to see a sample of some of these go to ironhorsewriter.com, gypsypashn.com, roadpoet.com, roadpoet-ny.com, Vtwinbiker.com where you can find some great links as well.

It is most exciting that Bikerpoetry is beginning to stand on its own in the academic community. Like the Lost Generation and the Beat Generation before us, Bikerpoetry seems to have a life of its own and a following of those who can hear the drum it beats. Bikerpoetry has its own poetic form, its own the cadence. Just as is true for the Cowboy Poets who thrive on the gallop and/or the prance of the horses hoof, riding forever out towards the horizon that calls out to them and forces their pens to the page, so it is with BikerPoets and their poetry. Bikerpoetry is the very breath of the BikerPoet.. but the rolling thunder, the chink, chink, chink of the gravel, or the lure of the steel pony is always there pushing the Bikerpoets hand to mount the page and write on down the road.

Unlike the Lost Generation and the Beats -- Bikerpoetry is not a generational phase to be drowned out in consumption or debauchery or time changing time. Although these forces have their way with many a mortal Bikerpoet, "The Ride" is the muse that will always beckon the Bikerpoet to its siren call to go on down the road and that road does not end at a stop sign, the road is the poem that beats on in the Bikerpoets blood, racing through the mind, forcing its way onto the page, swirling around in hearts of those who dare to listen.

My great fortune, as Editor, Publisher, Founder of RoadHouse Press, Inc., has been to play a small part in the coming of age of this genre by publishing or editing Bikerpoetry as it chases after the wind, from one horizon to the next.

If you would like more information about Bikerpoetry, or if you have information that you would like to share on Bikerpoetry coming of age.. drop me a line at rdhousepress@aol.com.

Before closing lets take a ride with Peddlar ...

If I Only Had A Nickel
by K. Peddlar Bridges
CT SuperSunday (R) Expo BikerPoet Laureate 2004-2007

If I had a nickel
For every little town
I ever rode through
Trying to forget,
Trying to shake the blues,
If I had a nickel
For every time I dialed the phone
And then didn't let it ring

If I only had a nickel
For every Tony's Only Pizza shop
In every back road town
Where I've sat and stirred coffee
With handle-bar tired hands
And road-wearied, sad, lonely eyes

Ya! If I only had a nickel
For every old, fat-bellied
Panting-tongued dog
I've seen run across
A dry yellow lawn
In the twilight of the afternoon
Setting sun
That reminded me of an old dog once
Back home

Ya! If I only had a nickel
For every South Main or Maple Street
Where I've sat waiting for the light
To change --
Not knowing when it did change
Was I going to hook a left or a right

Ya! - If I only had a nickel
For every lonely girl's eye I've met
As I rolled my bike up to the light
Her sitting on a porch or a step
Dreaming of somebody coming
And sweeping her up
And taking her away
As my bike idles, our eyes dance
But nobody's got the guts -- the gall
Or the gumption to make the contact
So when the light turns
Our fate rolls on

But I know there'll be
Another town
Another time
Another girl
Another light
Because if I only had a nickel
For every girl's eye, every cop's eye
Every punk's eye
Every cursing driver's eye
I've ever stared into

Ya! If I only had a nickel
For every cold mile,
Every lonely night
Spent in a damp tent
Under a rainy sky
With unwanted memories
Like fallen stars and snapping dragons
Singeing and nipping at my heart

Ya! If I only had a nickel
For every foot
Every inch
Every mile
I've spent pounding out
Trying to shake these blues

Ya! If I only had a nickel
For every stranger's face
That reminded me of some other
Stranger's face - someplace else

Ya! If I only had a nickel
For every little house
That reminded me of some other
Little house -- someplace else

Ya! If I only had a nickel
I'd have a pocketful of dimes
A fistful of dollars -- But still
No reason to stop!

(all rights reserved/K.Peddlar Bridges)
*****************************************************

If you would like to possibly be published or featured in one of our columns, please drop a line to:
Peddlar at bikerpoet@webtv.net
or MarySusan at rdhousepress@aol.com

If you would like to intern for RoadHouse Press, Inc. please send an email to MarySusan at rdhousepress@aol.com. Internship is a great way to begin to develop your skills as a columnist, editor or publisher, and serves the Bikerpoetry community by promoting Bikerpoets. Since, RoadHouse Press, is a strictly a volunteer press there are no monetary compensations from RoadHouse Press.

** Editors note: RoadHouse Press and Roadpoet eMagazine are not exclusive to Bikerpoetry, but are inclusive of all Road Scribes, be it motorized or not. If you love the road, the ride and are drawn to the pen and page and you would like to come along for the ride -- drop us a line, send us your work.

Sensual Bathing

2007-07-22T14:08:00.000-06:00

Sensual Bathing

Cool spray soaks us both,
I run the sponge softly along
sensuous, graceful curves and hard,
straight, lines, water beading on
smooth skin. The droplets
burst beneath my fingers and
the white soapy suds overflow,
gently rolling to the floor
as I massage softly, first the front,
then move to the rear and down.
Later, a soft, clean towel rubs us
both dry.

I love washing my bike.

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Yo-mama-ha Rider

2007-07-22T13:10:00.000-06:00

The Yo-mama-ha Rider

I saw him pull in where we stopped to rest,
A dude on some rice-burner ride
He had on leather chaps, a black biker vest
And tattoos all over his hide.

He wanted to ride with us today
Our road captain nodded yes
He fell in line as we pulled away
Then I saw what it said on his vest.

The back of his vest read “Big Dog Bikes”
But that wasn’t a Big Dog I saw
Big Dog may have made the ride that he likes
But he was up on an old Yamaha

That this guy was going to wear thin,
At our first stop we quickly would learn
Every time we would stop and pull in
This dude had bullshit to burn.

Of his biker exploits we heard all the tales
He was better, tougher, faster than all
His bikes were more powerful than ours without fail
I didn’t know they stacked it that tall.

No respect for other people had he
All bluster and bad attitude
No inner strengths that I could see
To many, he seemed just plain rude.

I guess he thought this made him a biker
He was caught up, playing his role
But tat’s and two wheels don’t make a biker
Just another poseur lacking the soul

At one time he might have been what he said
Before beginning to play this role
He let way too much myth go straight to his head
Now he’s just a Yo-mama-ha riding asshole

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Uglicoyote's Roadkill Red

2007-07-17T08:05:00.000-06:00

Uglicoyote’s Roadkill Red

It was a cool September afternoon ride
when we pulled off to camp by the road
We set up our tents by the fireside
and built a blaze to ward off the cold.

I dug deep in my bag for peppers and tools.
“You know, I’m ready,” old Rocko said,
“for something hot to help us refuel.
How about a pot of your good Roadkill Red?”

So into the pot I placed onions and stuff,
Some chorizo, and Cuban black beans,
Chili powder, cilantro, cumin just enough,
Then an ingredient the boys hadn’t seen.

Scotch Bonnet peppers went into that pot
Habaneros just to give things a kick
The boys always say that they like their food hot
We’ll find out the truth with this trick.

The pot simmered a while until the flavor was full
Then I tasted and proclaimed it done
They stepped up smiled as I filled up each bowl
They sat down to eat one by one.

Rocko’s face twisted, smoke came out of his nose
Bones tried , but could not hide his pain.
Mike gasped for breath, screamed as he rose,
mouth skyward as if waiting for rain.

And me, I just sat there my bowl in my hand.
I spooned out a second helping of chili
I said, “came out a little “spicier” than I had planned,
With that idea from ole Biker Billy.”

Copyright Bill “uglicoyote” Davis 2007

If you don't know who Biker Billy is, you should.

Biker Billy Cooks With Fire

Audio of "The Need"

2007-07-16T14:03:00.000-06:00

You can hear uglicoyote read this poem.

Gabcast! Songs of the open road #0

We Ride These Roads

2007-07-15T12:43:00.000-06:00

A few years ago I made a motorcycle trip during which I followed the course of the Oregon and Mormon trails for a great deal of the trip, stopping at various historical points along the way and marveling at the courage and determination attempting such a trip must have taken then. This poem has it’s origins in that road trip.

We Ride These Roads

We ride these roads
With iron horses we ride
Where oxen trod the prairie
Where wooden wagons rolled by
We ride these roads

Peering from the saddle of my bike
I imagine I see them still
From the east they came,
To a new life, better they hoped,
Than the old.
I am riding their road.

We ride their roads,
Platte river road
Past Windlass Hill
Past Ash Hollow
Past Chimney Rock
Through Mitchell Pass
Through summer heat
We ride their roads.

Ft. Laramie, Register Cliff,
Independence Rock by the fourth of July
They left their marks
They wrote their names
The wagon ruts cut in the prairie sod
Still there to mark the passing.
On their roads we ride.

The forty-niners,
The Mormons
Oregon or Bust, some said
And then they busted.
By the thousands they came
Most walked, all the way to their dream,
Snakes, weather, Indians, disease, exhaustion
Many died
Along these roads we ride.

Martin’s Cove, South Pass
Immigrant Pass, Ft. Hall
The Great Salt Lake,
Three Island crossing
Following men like Young,
Hudspeth, Bridger, Goodale
Donner, more, who led them
Along these roads we ride.

I ride these roads
And to my left, to my right
Everywhere I look, I see
Those who came before
Those who made the roads I ride
Their ghosts are with us now
We never travel alone
As we ride these roads

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote”Davis

Good News

2007-07-15T09:58:00.000-06:00

I've just received word that my poem "The Need" will appear in the fall edition of Midnight Sun Rider, Alaska's motorcycle magazine. Yes, there are many motorcyclists in Alaska. Imagine riding Denali on your bike. The season is short in months but those summer days of mostly daylight could make for some great rides. And the unbelievable scenery. Many thanks to Wild Bill.

Ridin' the Blues

2007-07-13T10:46:00.000-06:00

Ridin' the Blues

Blue sky above me I ride
the map's blue highways,
the blue back roads and byways

that lead me to small towns along
meandering blue rivers,
like the Mississippi which has always
been brown , not blue,

but has inspired the blues,
played a part in the blues,
the Mississippi Delta blues,
played by black men with blue guitars,
singing and playing heartfelt rhythms,

like the song of the v-twin motor
of my blue motorcycle that I ride
down the blue highways,
blue back roads and byways
beneath a blue sky.

copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

The Need

2007-07-12T22:20:00.000-06:00

The Need

On curving back-roads I love riding
The freeways and interstates aren't for me
I love exploring and deciding
Where next to go and what to see

But I must confess that now and then
I feel an inner, aching need
To open up that big V-Twin
I need an occasional "fix" of speed

Once in a while I need to check my guts
And feel that adrenaline flow
To see if I've still got the nuts
To make that baby go

So I find a lonely stretch of highway
And with the throttle in my fist
I point my bike down the straight-away
And give that stick a twist.

Eighty, eighty-five, ninety, ninety-five
Love to hear that engine's roar
The century mark then one-oh- five
Will this machine do more?

Does one-oh-five fulfill my need
If I said yes, well I'd be lying
Hunter Thompson said " The thrill of speed
Overcomes the fear of dying."*

copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

* this is a paraphrase. What Thompson actually wrote was, " Faster, faster, faster until the thrill of speed overcomes the fear of death."

Sexy Sally

2007-07-09T23:12:00.001-06:00

He strolled into the bar, real casual like,
new black leathers from head to toe.
His brand new, shiny, soft-tail bike,
said more than we needed to know.

From a stool he asked "Do you have Bombay Gin?"
(Our bartenders nickname is "Beanie"
on account of the of the skull plate the doctors put in.)
From Bean this dude ordered a martini.

Well, I thought Beanie would surely blow,
but instead he just smiled and said, "Sure.
One dry martini, I'll make it just so.
Would you like that shaken or stirred."

"Shaken", he said, then winked at ole Bean,
and asked "Who's that pretty young gal?"
Beanie looked down the bar at the girl he had seen,
and said ,'Why that my friend, that's Sexy Sal.

Red hair and tight jeans of black leather,
that fit real close to her skin/
A halter top, perfect for warm weather.
but it barely reined her all in.

She smiled and winked at leather-boy
who had now slipped down by her side
He said "Howdy miss, my name is Roy.'
Would you like to go for a ride?"

Now we all were smirkin and doin a dance;
we had seen all of this before.
When Sal asked, " Would you like get in my pants?"
Roy's jaw dropped clean to the floor.

"Here's the deal boy, now please listen up.
I have my own bike parked outside.
We'll ride for an hour Roy, and if you can keep up.
That soft-tail ain't all you will ride."

Ole Beanie couldn't hold it in much more,
I thought his skull plate would explode.
As Roy and Sal walked out the door.
We went into full laughter mode.

Outside Sal jumped on her black V-Rod
Leather-Roy jumped on his new red ride
She thundered away like the wrath of God,
He dumped his new bike on its side.

When he finally got it back upright,
Sal was a good mile down the road.
Roy tried to keep her in his sight.
but he just couldn't carry that load.

Sal came back a, big smile on her face
Sat down and said, "Great ride boys.
I went down the canyon for this little race,
but what the hell happened to Roy?"

We never did see Roy there again
He never again showed his face.
He never appeared asking Beanie for gin.
I assume because of that race.

To win that race, Leather-boy had no chance
Everyone in that bar knew full well
For a boy like Roy to get into those pants,
Well, it would be a cold day in hell.

Old Roy had it coming, most people say.
He needed his male ego jarred.
Sal took it to him in her special way.
She's a rider--Sexy Sally rides hard!

My Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureate nomination letter

2007-07-09T12:58:00.000-06:00

Re: Nomination for Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureate of the Western Frontier 2007

RoadHouse Press, Inc. (roadhousepress.com) would like to officially nominate Bill "Uglicoyote" Davis for Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureate of the Western Frontier 2007. Davis's commitment to ePublishing and supporting Bikerpoetry through his blogs and webpages is second only to his own bikerpoetry and riding history.

Bikerpoetry is coming of age! The efforts of Bikerpoets such as Peddlar, Colorado T. Sky, Wild Bill (The Alaskan Poet), Mountain Man in Canada, Gypsypashn, Bear, JoeGo, Panhead Josh and countless others to keep bikerpoetry on the forefront of history as it comes of age are commendable. Publishers such as Jodi Lipson, Don Clady, Leo Castell are but a few of the known publishers that provide the ePage or the hard copy to bikerpoets, and I am sure there are many more out there nationally or internationally that are jumping on the bikerpoetry bus to spearhead the movement. A special mention for Bill Macmillan at Worcester's Best Poetry Venue: The Java Hut, because the stage and the mic lends the lime-light to Bikerpoetry and gives us the opportunity to showcase the genre in community. But, where would it all go without the bikerpoet who pours his/her heart and soul into carving their hard-ridden spirit onto the stage, the written page or ePage so we can all witness this genre exploding?

Through such bikerpoets as ChopprKate, Tom Quinn, Ironhorse Writer, we have seen the reason that bikerpoetry has sprung from the road to the page, because they represent hundreds of brothers/sisters who ride by bringing the thunder of their words to life. Bikerpoetry is rolling down history road so fast that it's becoming hard to keep up with the names of all who join the Bikerpoetry movement for the ride through The Biker Poetry Hall of Fame. The best way to do this is hop on one of the websites that host venues for Bikerpoetry and follow our band of BikerBards around the country as they post other bikerpoets works or put on live shows and venues throughout Biker Nation and the community at large. Check out motorcyclegoodies.com under press releases (information) and in the northeast you can find listings on supersundayonline forums, laconiabikeweek.net, roadpoet.com, roadpoet-ny.com, gypsypashn.com, VTwinbiker.com, The Motorcyclists Post, and in CT Cruise News Newspaper (Publisher, Editor Don Clady).

RoadHouse Press, Inc. apologizes if we have left anyone out of this press release for so many, many generous community venues and bikerpoets have contributed to the coming of age of Bikerpoetry in 2007, too many to list, but they are not forgotten. Without the hard work of so many the Bikerpoetry movement would be still crawling, but thanks to so many, we are off to a great run!

The Bikerpoet Laureate is a key figure in the bringing this genre to light in the literary world. Through poetry venues, websites, publishings and public relations the Bikerpoet Laureate fosters respect between the academic community, the literary community and the biker nation as this genre steps to light and takes a bow.

Two of my favorite memories in the toddler stages of Bikerpoetry, as the editor/founder of RoadHouse Press, Inc. are sitting at Charlies' Tap in Cambridge, Massachusetts when the roar of Peddlar's bikerpoetry brought the house into thunderous applause one week and then the next week walking into a poetry workshop in Cape Cod to find Colorado T.Sky. Between the two, Sky and Peddlar, sat the poetry community. It was like bringing a couple of choppers with iron clad bikers attached into a sewing circle. The electricity zapped when Peddlar tossed verses back and forth with Sky. And this was just the early days --- today this happens week to week to week.. whenever a Biker Brother or Sister brings their work to the table, stage or the Page.

Best of luck to Uglicoyote with this nomination. I am sure he will serve the poetry community with dedication if he is appointed. Take a look at his eZine and you will see why RoadHouse Press, Inc has made this nomination: http://songsopenroad.blogspot.com/

MarySusan Williams-Migneault
Founder/Editor RoadHouse Press, Inc.
roadhousepress.com
rdhousepress@aol.com

Fast Freddy

2007-07-05T21:54:00.001-06:00

Fast Freddy's Flying Road King

He was a Harley Rider
Road King Custom, FLHRS
And when he sat astride her
Fast Freddy felt his best.

He loved her smooth clean fenders
He loved her shiny chrome
He polished and treated her tender
Garaged her when they were home.

She was born a twin-cam eighty-eight
In the year 2004
Although she never made him late
Fast Freddy wanted more

So her took her to his Harley guy,
Freddy had money to burn
He said, "Lets make this Road King fly.
Lets make these tires burn.

A few thousand dollars down road
Eighty-eight became one twenty-one
New cams, pipes, all part of the load
She was something when she was done.

But what really made Fast Freddy's day
Wasn't the sound or the shine
It was hearing his Harley guy say
She just dyno-ed at one thirty-nine

So Fast Freddy put his money down
Smoked out of the parking lot
You could hear him thunder out of town
But wait! There's one thing I forgot.

You see Freddy couldn't ride very well.
He was a lawyer, a legal eagle.
This little detail I forgot to tell.
No endorsement. Fred rode illegal.

He was coming down a six percent grade
When a deer stepped into his headlamp
At high speed a mistake was made
Fast Freddy took the runaway truck ramp.

Up the ramp that Bright Harley did go
At an unbelievable pace
Exactly how fast, nobody knows
But that Road King was launched into space.

Freddy eventually fell off of his ride
And survived, as most idiots do.
Where'd his bike go? No one can decide
If it crashed somewhere or just flew.

But special NASA instruments have found,
And I have this on an insider's say-so,
From space each day comes a strange sound,
Sounds like "potato-potato-potato."

Copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis

August is Biker Poetry Month

2007-07-05T21:50:00.000-06:00

Roadpoet EMagazine,

Press Release ...
by Gray Hunter ...
Roadpoet Staff ...

August 2007:

Put your rubber to the road and your pen to the paper and tell the world you are a biker and a poet. This August is the third annual Bikerpoetry Month and all riders and writers are urged to take part in as many Bikerpoetry events as possible.
Yes, April is National Poetry Month, but in the Spring of 2005, the staff of RoadPoet eMagazine decided that Bikerpoets and Writers needed their own Poetry Month. Let's face it, April is cold and Bikers get their inspiration to write through their riding. Throughout the country, August is a good month for riding, so August was chosen for this honor.

So the question is, who can be part of Biker Poetry Month? Anyone who does the following:

- Publishes Biker Poetry
- Broadcasts Biker Poetry
- Gives a Biker Poetry lecture
- Hosts a Biker Poetry Workshop or a show
- How about a Bikerpoetry Month Cookout?

For more information or to add an event to the Bikerpoetry Month Events list, please contact RoadPoet eMagazine i/e roadpoet.com at roadpoetmagazine@webtv.net

Below is a partial list of Bikerpoetry Month events:

First Thursday, August 2nd, (Arrive: Between 6:30 - 6:45/Sign Up:
Between 6:30 - 7:00)Andy's Place, Lowell, MA Welcomes BikerPoets
to Lowell's First Poetry Open Mic and Slam.

Saturday, August 11, 2pm ... All invited ... Hopefully it's a ride!
Open Mic Village Book Store Bellows Vermont

Monday, August 13, 7pm ... Conway Library, Conway NH, A RoadHouse
Press Reading, All invited. Open Mic following feature.

Thursday, August 16, starts around 6 or 6:30pm, Gypsypashn's
Traveling Poetry Caravan Reading .. Downtown Medford and/or
3rd Annual Bikerpoetry Cookout to follow Reading at her home.

Monday, August 20, 8pm. Stone Soup Cambridge, Featuring
Colorado T. Sky and the Highway Poets

Tuesday, August 21,7:30PM at North Star Portland Maine,
Featuring J Barrett Wolf AKA Bear and the Roadpoet eMagazine
Staff and Friends

Saturday, August 25, 3rd Annual Second Hand Reeds Bookstore in
Saco Maine ... Colorado T. Sky

Sunday, August 26 Java Hut,Worcester, MA - Colorado T Sky
and the Highway Poets

Also during the month of August, several BikerPoets will be nominated as Bikerpoet Laureates. The present Bikerpoet and Motorcycle Poet Laureates are:

K. Peddlar Bridges aka The Peddlar,
Super Sunday (R) Expo, Poet Laureate.

Betsy Lister aka Gypsypashn,
Roadpoet eMagazine's, Massachusetts' Motorcycle Poet Laureate.
and Roadpoet eMagazine's New Hampshire Motorcycle poet Laureate.

Bill Rogers aka Wild Bill, The Alaskan Poet,
Roadpoet eMagazine's, Poet Laureate of the Northern Frontier.

And The Biker Poets and Writers' Association's,
National Bikerpoet Laureate, Colorado T.Sky.

Below is the criteria for 2007 Bikerpoet Laureateship:

The Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureate will display an outstanding commitment to the Motorcycling and Poetry communities, as well as a serious commitment to riding and Poetry itself. The obligations and duties of the Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureate are as follows, but are not limited to:

To be published in ink and light on a regular basis

To promote Roadpoet eMagazine and support Roadpoet eMagazine
poetry events.

To show a serious commitment to Motorcycling, Poetry and the Event
i/e the regional area the Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureate represents.

To promote Motorcycling and Poetry on a regular basis.

To attend and perform at BikerPoetry readings and Motorcycling events
as to represent The Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureateship at these events
on a regular basis.

To find a hard copy forum to represent the Motorcycle/Biker Poet
Laureateship, Motorcycling and the Motorcycle Poetry Community, always
striving to publish and promote other Biker Poets whenever possible.

If for any reason the set Motorcycle/Biker Poet Laureate can not fulfill these requirements as Motorcycle Poet Laureate by choice or circumstances, the Editor/Publisher of Roadpoet eMagazine i/e K. Peddlar Bridges will stand in place for The Motorcycle Poet Laureate for the remaining time or choose another Motorcycle Poet to do so.

The Poet Laureateship has a long standing in Literary and World History, dating from Virgil, Homer, Chaucer, through 18th century Britain, up until today, with such names as Billy Collins, Ted Kooser, and Suffolk County New York's Poet laureate, George Wallace. The mission of the Poet Laureate is to express -- The News, the Emotions, and the Excitement -- of the events for the group they represent. They are to be a collective voice, be it mirth or sorrow.

If you know someone you believe who fits this list? Please let us know.
So when the dust settles on the pavement and the parchment this September First, let's all look back on this year's Bikerpoetry Month, as a huge success!
*****
Two notes:
First,please notice that most of the events listed take place in the East. Are there any events like it in the West?

Second. I'm pleased and proud to tell you that I am one of the Bikerpoet Laureate nominees.

Keep on keepin' on

Latest from Chopper Kate

2007-07-02T22:32:00.000-06:00

Tex

It had been a couple of years or so
since I saw Tex last.
I nearly walked on by
when a voice from the past
spoke up and said. "Don't ya even know a brother?
Bet you thought ole Tex was dead!"

"Tex, you look damn near civilized!
I wouldn't have believed it was you
if I hadn't seen with my own eyes!"
Two feet of beard and hair past his shoulder
all were gone now, cut and shaved clean
His eyes looked distant, a little sad and older.
A genuine graybeard, seasoned and sage
now looking more like some wild bird
held captive in a cage.

"I sold the shovel, you know I gave up the life.
It all came down to change or lose everything,
my home, the kids, my wife.
A man's gotta do, what a man's gotta do..."
His voice trailed off along with his gaze.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing,
I was confounded, left in a daze.

Over the years I've seen my share of souls
convert for one reason or another,
but I never dreamed Tex would,
My partner in "crime", my old road brother!
I bit my tongue before I could say,
"Man, it wasn't that shovel that made you lose your way"

It's a choice we make, I believe.
When those "demons" seek you out,
they gamble with your soul
hold all the cards and deal the doubt .
A man has to be ready when they come to call.
It's got nothing to do with riding,
not a damn thing at all!

But, I couldn't even begin,
and as I watched his face turn to the wind,
I swear I saw as we stood there in silence.
a glimpse of my old friend and that wind washed defiance
as fleeting as the waning breeze.

"It's been great and you take care! "
I slapped his back and hugged him like a bear.
His words they turned over again and again
like some troubling song stuck in my brain.
I rode away and he climbed in his truck.
Turning to wave, I yelled back "Good luck!"
It wasn't much to offer that much is true,
when a man 's gotta do, what a man's gotta do.
copyright 2007/chopperkatejohnson

V-Twin Biker

2007-06-24T21:13:00.000-06:00

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

Two Poems from Wild Bill, The Alaskan Biker Poet

2007-06-21T21:08:00.000-06:00

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

2007-06-21T09:40:00.000-06:00

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

A poem by Chopper Kate Johnson

2007-06-21T08:55:00.000-06:00

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
and...
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
and...
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!
and...
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.
and...
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
vanish,
so all I feel
is the comfort that awaits
just over the next hill
and...
I've got just 5 miles left
to home.

The Story of Bobby and Jen

2007-06-20T10:58:00.000-06:00

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.

Roadkill Dave

2007-06-19T21:13:00.001-06:00

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

2007-06-19T16:23:00.001-06:00

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.

A Tale of Bad Habits

2007-06-19T12:14:00.001-06:00

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.

Two Poems By Bikerwolf

2007-06-18T21:57:00.000-06:00

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

ATTITUDE
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

Another new poem

2007-06-17T20:43:00.000-06:00

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

2007-06-17T19:55:00.000-06:00

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

Another Biker Has Gone Down

2007-06-17T18:47:00.001-06:00

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

2007-06-17T15:42:00.000-06:00

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.

2007-06-17T13:42:00.001-06:00

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

Baiku

2007-06-16T08:22:00.001-06:00

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

Uglicoyote--new poem

2007-06-15T15:51:00.001-06:00

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

Uglicoyote

2007-06-14T21:51:00.000-06:00

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?)
1.
Those good vibrations
Rolling through the Portneuf Gap
Into summer sun

2.
swinging to saddle
erases life distractions
road and man are one

3.
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.