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

Bruce Arnold

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

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

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