|Haiku are OK, but I like meter and rhyme ...||Humma Hah|
Sep 3, 2001 2:25 PM
|I can count to 17, too, but, as a poet, I'm in more of the Charles Kuralt school.
Here's my latest creation, done this very weekend.
The Harmony of Wheels
c. 2001, Tom Ligon (Humma Hah)
It looked almost impossible
When I was but a child,
The bigger kids upon their bikes,
So daring, and so wild!
How could they learn to balance so,
To lean, but never fall,
Without so much as training wheels?
I'd never learn it all!
But daddy put me on a bike,
He held the seat so tight.
He leaned it as I steered around.
I wrestled with my fright.
Just minutes passed, and I relaxed,
The work had turned to play.
I looked around, and daddy stood
A hundred feet away!
Forty years and more have passed,
But I am still a boy.
Gliding, banking, flying low,
A bike's my favorite toy.
Two wheels, two pedals, and two legs,
As natural as can be.
A hundred miles a nice day's ride,
The feeling sets me free.
A harmony of turning wheels,
Momentum circles 'round.
A subtle blend of rake and trail,
The balance thus is found.
The music of the tensioned spokes,
The purring of the chain,
The whistling wind and whispering tires
All join in the refrain.
A subtle shift of rider's weight
The bike responds and answers back,
A gentle, silent hint.
Some science, luck, and builder's craft,
Derivatives and trig.
They scoffed at the velocipedes,
But now this thing is big!
Two centuries past have cyclists thrilled,
Some singly, some in hoardes,
On wooden rims, with iron legs,
Down dirt roads, on the boards,
On pavement, trails, and mountainsides,
The all perch on two wheels.
We know that this was meant to be
By just how right it feels!
|Thank you, Humma!!!!!||rollo tommassi|
Sep 3, 2001 4:41 PM
|That is truly beautiful!!
"how right it feels" - absolute truth!!
|I am impressed...||Spinchick|
Sep 3, 2001 6:10 PM
|We may have to start calling you Humma "Walt Whitman" Hah. Walt is one of may favorite poets. Had a way of putting into words those experiences in life that most of us are totally inept at describing. (See - I can't even write a sentence).|
|Henry Charles Beeching tries his hand...||Rasta|
Sep 3, 2001 8:14 PM
|Here's a bike poem from a different era. (As far as I can tell, there's surprisingly little bike poetry out there. Anyone else know of any?)
Henry Charles Beeching. 1859 - 1919
Going down Hill on a Bicycle
A BOY'S SONG
WITH lifted feet, hands still,
I am poised, and down the hill
Dart, with heedful mind;
The air goes by in a wind.
Swifter and yet more swift,
Till the heart with a mighty lift
Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry
'O bird, see; see, bird, I fly.
'Is this, is this your joy?
O bird, then I, though a boy
For a golden moment share
Your feathery life in air!'
Say, heart, is there aught like this
In a world that is full of bliss?
'Tis more than skating, bound
Steel-shod to the level ground.
Speed slackens now, I float
Awhile in my airy boat;
Till, when the wheels scarce crawl,
My feet to the treadles fall.
Alas, that the longest hill
Must end in a vale; but still,
Who climbs with toil, wheresoe'er,
Shall find wings waiting there.
|Brave kid!||Humma Hah|
Sep 4, 2001 3:33 AM
|... A poet of that age would have been describing a fixed-gear, likely no brakes, you'll note the feet are off the pedals!|
|Now, that's Poetry! (NM)||ACE|
Sep 3, 2001 11:36 PM