The bicyclist
A man in the rain
Riding on a bicycle
Is going somewhere
poem by Asif Andalib
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A Bicycle Poem
do not worry how the bicycle looks
ride it.
do not think how the wheel and its
spokes work
do not attempt to understand its structure
ride it.
do not think how the other people looks at
you with your bicycle
just ride it.
when you are riding it already
just feel the joy of the air that meets your face
the speed by which it takes you
to another destination
just ride it, disembark when you get there
you do not even have to own it and keep it for the rest of your life
when you get old
remember that bicycle that once gave you all the joys of riding
before you die
give it to the young
they shall have their own joys too
riding it
and perhaps they will write a poem about you
or if not
about the bicycle at least
who knows?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My White Bicycle
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
Riding all around the street
Four oclock and theyre all asleep
Im not tired and its so late
Moving fast everything looks great.
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
See that man, hes all alone
Looks so happy but hes far from home
Ring my bell, smile at him
Better kick over his garbage bin
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
The rain comes down but I dont care
The wind is blowing in my hair
Seagulls flying in the air
My white bicycle
Lead:
Policeman shouts but I dont see him
Theyre one thing I dont believe in
Find some judge, but its not leavin
Lift both hands, his head in disgrace
Shines no light upon my face
Through the darkness, we still speed
My white bicycle and me
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
(burgess/west)
Getaway music
Copyright 1975 nazareth (dunfermline) ltd
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The journey of life is like a man riding a bicycle. We know he got on the bicycle and started to move. We know that at some point he will stop and get off. We know that if he stops moving and does not get off he will fall off.
quote by William Golding
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Riding
IF I should live again,
O God, let me be young,
Quick of sinew and vein
With the honeycomb on my tongue,
All in a moment flung
With the dawn on a flowing plain,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the sun and the rain.
If I, having been, must be,
O God, let it be so,
Swift and supple and free
With a long journey to go,
And the clink of the curb and the blow
Of hooves, and the wind at my knee,
Riding, riding, riding, riding
Between the hills and the sea.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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democracy in the Philippine islands
there is this little boy
who is practicing to ride a big bike
his feet are short
and so are his hands
and always
in this predicament
does he fall and tumble
the years passed
and it is the same boy again
practicing to ride his
big bicycle
sometimes i am just curious
what is this boy
eating and drinking
since his feet are still short
and his hands are still small
he never had the guts
riding his bicycle to the full
it is the same situation all over again
he falls and bleeds
and cries that the bicycle is always too big for his
short feet and small hands
he falls and he tumbles
he bleeds and he fails
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red BMX Bicycle
There was a small boy
In the countryside
Who had a small red BMX bicycle
Kept in the store besides the herbicides
Every evening like a cycle
He would ride down the dusty road
The sun a yellow ball
on the west side
Glittering under the sun`s rays
Was that small
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
Who had nothing…
Totally nothing
He was a friend to the small boy
Every evening like a cycle
He would wait by the dusty road
To have a chance
On the small red BMX bicycle
His face would be all smiles
Even after falling off that
RED BMX BICYCLE
One day at dusk
The smaller boy
Stood next to the small boy
And asked
“When you grow up, would you give me this bike? ”
The small boy without thinking
Said YES..
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
One night
He had a bad stomach ache
His mum wiping the tiny streams of tears
That fell from his small face
That was pale…
Due to dust from the dusty road
As he played with his the small boy
And rode on that
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a small boy
In the countryside…
Now HE is all grown
And in the university
Far away in the city
That RED BMX BICYCLE
Now long gone
Given to some relative, I guess
If I could go back
To those days…
Those days with beautiful sunsets
Back in the countryside
Waiting for my chance
On my red BMX bicycle
Watching that smaller boy fall off
I would give him…
I would hand him that bicycle
And never expect it back
And watch him ride
Towards the beautiful sunset
On my red BMX bicycle
But if I can go back
All will be in vain
Because on that night…in the dark
He struggled with pain
His small heart couldn`t keep on
Outside there was rain
The gods possibly wanted to cleanse
All the evil that night
That took him away
Now I reminisce
As I keep moving on
About that smaller boy
And our small
RED BMX BICYCLE…
poem by Paul Oguda
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Business is like riding a bicycle. Either you keep moving or you fall down.
quote by Frank Lloyd Wright
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is like riding a bicycle; you don't fall off unless you stop pedalling.
Life is like riding a bicycle: you don't fall off unless you stop pedaling.
quote by Claude Pepper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.
Albert Einstein in letter to his son Eduard (5 February 1930)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's been a long time since I've written old-fashioned sword and sorcery; I'm hoping it's like riding a bicycle.
quote by Lynn Abbey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wild People's Wild Ride!
Just a bicycle to ride around this neighborhood,
Of six continents, mountains and thick woods,
A float underneath makes a hovercraft to sail,
Oceans of knowledge and wisdom parasail.
Not puncturable tubes on its confidant wheels,
Cautious breaks applied at every seducing tool,
That sells the conscience at bargaining price,
Love the cross continent tribes with no surprise.
Abundant of resources to be shared and enjoyed,
The games of currency, metal and commodities,
Weaken the money and devalue the affordability,
The countries pay treble and get halted financially.
Riding through the economic vault of universities,
Where the brains found out the principles of economies,
How far we shall go on this pyramidal lavishing,
Are, what we leave behind, more important than the living?
We have a cycle of life, not a bicycle,
Where the mended mistakes be amended,
A cycle of life be happy and enjoyable,
Riding through the tamed culture is pleasurable.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Communication is a skill that you can learn. It's like riding a bicycle or typing. If you're willing to work at it, you can rapidly improve the quality of evry part of your life.
quote by Brian Tracy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Midnight Train
(instrumental intro)
Oh my darling will you come to me
Shaking now just like a willow tree
So tell me whats the story
This track well ride to glory
Coming home
Pretty karla and her russian clothes
Clapboard house and a different nose
Love keeps a candle burning
These steel wheels are turning
Back for home
Come in out of the rain
Come out of the night
Out on the midnight train
Midnight train
Come out of the light
Come out of the rain
Riding the midnight train
Midnight train
Moscow lights, well they dim and glow
The taste is sweeter than its driven snow
So tell me whats the story
This track to ride to glory
Coming home
Come out of the rain, come out of the lights,
Out on the midnight train, midnight train
Come out of the lights, come out in the rain,
Riding the midnight train, midnight train
(instrumental)
Oh my darling will you come to me
Shaking now just like a willow tree
Come out of the lights, come out in the rain,
Riding the midnight train, midnight train
Out of the rain, live again, riding the midnight train, midnight train
Come of the lights, into the rain, riding the midnight train, midnight train
One little strange, come back again
(instrumental fade out)
song performed by by Ufo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Riding With Cats Eyes Nine Lives
riding with cats eyes nine lives
riding in dark or moonlight
riding in cloud shadow or rain
riding with a lucky stars roll
riding at speed in night magic
hitting judder bars in darkness
hitting judder bars hard fast
hitting judder bars all alone
hitting judder bars straight on
hitting judder bars at speed
is heightened airborne rush
is riding racing death in night
is riding in night fed wonder
is heightened seconds flying
is ready road rocket launch pad
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death Match
Tom the alley cat
took out the possum
the Ray-Ban wearing
bicycle riding
death defying
high wire artiste
met his match
though he left Tom
looking like a badly shorn
poodle.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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Rough God Goes Riding
Oh the mud splattered victims
Have to pay out all along the ancient highway
Torn between half truth and victimisation
Fighting back with counter attacks
Its when that rough God goes riding
When the rough God goes gliding
And then rough God goes riding
Riding on in
I was flabbergasted by the headlines
People in glasshouses throwing stones
Gaping wounds that will never heal
Now theyre moaning like a dog in a manger
Its when that rough God goes riding
And then the rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God comes riding on in
And its a matter of survival
When youre born with your back against the wall
Wont somebody hand me a bible
Wont you give me that number to call
When that rough God goed riding
And then that rough God goes gliding
Theyll be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
When that rough God goed riding
When that rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
Therell be no more heroes
Theyll be reduced to zero
When that rough God goes riding
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets.
quote by Christopher Morley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Amirah
Always nice
My favorite subject is English
I love swimming
Riding bicycle is a joy of my life
Always sweet
Happy and noble
Amirah Kam
poem by Amirah Kam
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Lichtenberg
(New South Wales Contingent)
Smells are surer than sounds or sights
To make your heart-strings crack--
They start those awful voices o' nights
That whisper, " Old man, come back! "
That must be why the big things pass
And the little things remain,
Like the smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain.
There was some silly fire on the flank
And the small wet drizzling down--
There were the sold-out shops and the bank
And the wet, wide-open town;
And we were doing escort-duty
To somebody's baggage-train,
And I smelt wattle by Lichtenberg--
Riding in, in the rain.
It was all Australia to me--
All I had found or missed:
Every face I was crazy to see,
And every woman I'd kissed:
All that I should n't ha' done, God knows!
(As He knows I'll do it again),
That smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain!
And I saw Sydney the same as ever,
The picnics and brass-bands;
And my little homestead on Hunter River
And my new vines joining hands.
It all came over me in one act
Quick as a shot through the brain--
With the smell of the wattle round Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain.
I have forgotten a hundred fights,
But one I shall not forget--
With the raindrops bunging up my sights
And my eyes bunged up with wet;
And through the crack and the stink of the cordite
(Ah Christ! My country again!)
The smell of the wattle by Lichtenberg,
Riding in, in the rain!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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