"RoadRyme"

OldSarge's Poetry Page

It isn't Hemmingway, but I hope you enjoy it!

All work presented here is original and Copyright Michael J. Gallucci 1999

"Lost on a painted sky, where the clouds are hung for the poet's eye"

~Richard Bach Johnathan Livingston Seagull~

That About Sums It Up

You know that Oldsarge rides a Vulcan,

It's black, red and chrome and quite hulkin'

Though it drinks lots of gas,

It really hauls ass,

And leaves all those Harley guys sulkin!

To Our Fallen Comrades

Written for Memorial Day 1999  ~Oldsarge~

 

To comrades here and in the past

Whose memories shall always last

For Bro's who've known the wind and roads,

Our hearts today bear heavy loads.

On this day we all remember

And homage pay to this life's splendor

We lift their names, thus not forgotten,

To the one and only Son begotten.

 

While some today may light a grill,

Or spend this time to seek a thrill,

I think this day means something more,

Let's not forget what today is for.

Through age, and war, and accident,

So many ways the flame is spent.

Those left behind don't oft know why,

It's always hard to say good-bye.

 

So Bro's and sisters let us raise,

A glass or cup to toast and praise,

The lives and deeds of those departed,

This ride's for them, so let's get started!

The Man In The Chrome

Written during a hard period of time in my life

 

I look into the chrome and see,

A strange old man stare back at me

The lines of age are deeply set,

His eyes say something different yet.

 

He turns his head from side to side,

To try and catch a glimpse inside.

Is this a friend, or is he foe,

Resigned I sigh; I just don't know.

 

'Ol Pete pulls up right next to me,

And shakes me from my reverie.

He yells "Hey Bro! The light is green!"

The rearview shows me looks so mean.

 

I slap old Shiela into first,

And off the line my Vulcan bursts.

At 60 I shift into third,

And suddenly feel quite absurd.

 

I back it down and look to see,

If a black and white has noticed me.

If they did I'd beg no pity,

'Cause I just broke 70 in the inner city!

 

My Bro's catch up and smile & grin,

The cagers frown at the thunderous din.

I think to myself, "What the hell was that?"

My reflection stared back from where he sat.

 

But wait!  The eyes don't show the age,

That rested there before my rage.

Could force of speed and Brother Wind

Stay time's sword and age rescind?

 

I stay up front and take the lead,

Not understanding my own need.

My bro's swap looks, understanding they lack,

Oldsarge & Sheila are usually in back.

 

By now we're on the city's edge,

My pulse & Sheila are like a sledge.

The road is wide and traffic's clear,

Adrenaline replaces fear.

 

I shift down and twist the grip,

With so much torque the tires slip,

As one the wind and engine roar,

My spirit screams "Yes! This and more!"

 

I sight the line of the first curve,

and counter steer with steel nerve,

The tires bite and floorboards scrape,

I feel the hair stand on my nape.

 

The force of physics still apply,

I straighten up and sling shot by,

Without a glance or look to see,

I know my Bro's have stuck with me.

 

Now we settle on a pace,

Above a cruise, but not a race.

We hardly speak when stopped for gas,

No one wants this zone to pass.

 

For hours now we cruise and speed,

But still we three maintain the lead.

How strange to think of us as three,

Sheila, the man in the chrome, and me.

 

All day I've snuck repeated glances,

While riding hard and taking chances,

To see the man in chrome reflect,

A different me in some respect.

 

Heavy's been this aged load,

Released by sun, and wind, and road,

And as I see the veil lift,

Suddenly I feel a shift.

 

Reluctantly we turn for home,

And once more I peer at the chrome,

In hues of fire from late day sun,

I see the three are now as one.

 

We've ruled the road this special day,

And found much more than just our way,

Too long I've struggled as if confined,

At last I've found some piece of mind.

 

There's difficulties we all face,

While rushing headlong through life's race,

When wind and Sun and riding mix,

It's often there we find the fix.

 

~Oldsarge~

VROC #2246

I wrote this next one at Boy Scout summer camp.  I spent the last three summers there, and the camp staff (In good humor) always gives a good ribbing to the camp director, who likes foxes. There are many in and around Camp Freedom.  Usually something to the effect of S-P-L-A-T I hit it with my pickup truck... in tune with "There was a farmer who had a dog...."

The Foxes Revenge

We had a nice camp fire,

Around it we all sat,

And from the woods there came a fox,

So cute and brown and fat.

 

It stopped and stared straight at us,

With eyes so big and round,

And judging from it's height and width,

I'd gauge it 20 pound.

 

It sat there in the roadway,

not knowing our intent,

And it had no way of knowing

Where Brian and Billy went.

 

Now Brian and Billy were hungry,

So to the trading post they went,

And before they even knew it,

Their money had all been spent.

 

They had a pile of candy,

That'd make your stomach sore,

But when they stuffed the candy down,

They looked around for more.

 

So when they came-a-walkin

Through trees and brush and rocks,

Their mouths began to water,

When they saw our friendly fox.

 

The fox it was a big one,

And even though they're sly,

It didn't move a muscle,

As the two boys snuck on by.

 

From over by the fire,

We watched their plan unfurl,

As one they pounced upon the fox,

And the three began to whirl!

 

The teeth and claws were flashing,

The hair and fur did fly,

We barely got out of the way,

As all three tumbled by.

 

Those two boys were the hungriest,

I ever had chance to meet,

And I started feeling sorry,

For I thought the fox was beat.

 

They fought all through the camp site,

And back out to the road,

They never heard the pickup,

Carrying it's heavy load.

 

The weather it was raining,

The fog was thick and fat,

And though we couldn't see it,

We heard a juicy SPLAT!

 

In horror we were frozen,

In place where we all sat,

Worried about the two young boys,

And the fox so plump and fat.

 

We rushed to find the pickup,

And looked in cab and box,

We didn't see our Boy Scouts,

The driver or the fox.

 

From the screeching and the splatting,

We knew he didn't miss,

Then Johnny came up yelling,

"Hey guys!  Come look at this!"

 

Johnny led us over,

And pointed down the bank,

We saw the boys and driver,

As in the mud they sank.

 

In mud they were all covered,

And caked from head to toe,

We knew at once they were alright,

But where did that fox go?

 

I heard a little scratching,

Back there by the truck,

I turned around to see the fox,

Can you believe the luck!?

 

He paused and seemed to smile,

Before he turned to run,

That smile seemed to somehow say;

Pickups 0, Foxes 1

 

~Oldsarge~

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