Sixteen summers peddled I
like a lone tiller in lone world
a fine Hercules with no gears
that lived with my father for eight winters.
...
Ode To My Cycle
Sixteen summers peddled I
like a lone tiller in lone world
a fine Hercules with no gears
that lived with my father for eight winters.
A transferred gift it was in1982 with no price,
nothing else I inherited then and thereafter.
It waited like a pet dog every night when unpeddled
and took me round with a sweet soul moving
with the resurrection of each day
rode upon sizzling roads, escarpment, bridges, bushes, brambles
in spring, summer, autumn, winter
regardless of grammar of the earth.
I loved the clinking, creaking, screeching
and the disappearance of spokes like illusion.
Between the handlebar and the saddle
on the rim it bore many side-tracking the bus routes
scuttering pebbles, stones, mud balls under the wheels
moving left-right-left like clauses and phrases.
I tendered as a treasured gift,
greased, oiled, washed, repaired
like a physician for sixteen summers.
And one day I went with it to a mechanic,
sold it for a fabulous price
to trim my life faster
to the spattered roads with purring and whirring
but its wheels still sing in my memory like humming birds.
His poem revives the readers' sleeping memories and makes them cherish their memorable experiences.
i would like to submit my poems for inclusion the web