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


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 rolling 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

fight with some dumb 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.

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis



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

Ridin’ With My Bros

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.

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote

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

Sexy Sally

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!

copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

The Story of Bobby and Jen

The Story of Bobby and Jen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

copyright 2007 Bill”uglicoyote”Davis