Showing posts with label biker poets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label biker poets. Show all posts

Friday, November 23, 2007

A new poem from Chopper Kate

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

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

Monday, September 24, 2007

A Free Man

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.

Copyright 2007, Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Lots of Biker Poems

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

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

Saturday, September 22, 2007

A New poem by D-day Dean

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

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

My Column about Biker Poetry

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.

Monday, September 3, 2007

Bikerwolf

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

Sunday, September 2, 2007

National Biker Poetry Gathering?

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

Monday, August 20, 2007

A poem by "D-Day" Dean

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

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?"

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Trailer Queen

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

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

The Cowboy and The Biker

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

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Riding to Sturgis

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.

copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis


Friday, July 27, 2007

Open Letter to Biker Poets

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

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Escorting the Wall

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


Tuesday, July 24, 2007

I love Loud Pipes

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

Monday, July 23, 2007

BikerPoetry Comes of Age

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.

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Sensual Bathing

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

Sunday, July 15, 2007

We Ride These Roads

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