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Joel L Young

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The Last Cyclist
by Joel L Young

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

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           >> View all 74

An iconoclastic look at the last of a kind.

He's the last biker of his family
riding on a black top highway
a red sun morning that's 
turned clouds in a misty puss

The rain's turn to blood
lit the sun in Georgia colors
in the red haze of the night
It's not as bad as it sounds

The loneliness of the running
iconoclast listening to Neil Young
singing about a beautiful girl
riding a Harley - a legend in her time

Wrinkled lines tell of hard choices
she harvested long ago. When her
cowboy, got on his hog and rode
into the moon's eye to wash away his sins

She returned like an angel to watch
as their son grew on his own  
sailing green grass and high tides
that thrushed southern feelings upon his being


When he gets on his mom's Harley to ride
He visits her in the holo-graveyard
she's been buried in, in his mind
Still he's never been found her again


They say she went to the moon
to see her old man
but the Georgia red skies
only healed the wounds she carried

The young man rides alone
into the Sunday afternoon
a Zen master, laughing
at the maintenance of things

Happy he has friends and hopes
he carries a tradition his family
started long ago when choppers
roared on the southern winds

. Joel L. Young 2003

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Reviewed by Phyllis Jean Green 8/28/2003
"Wrinkled lines tell of hard choices"..."thrushed southern feelings". . .what a vivid picture you paint. Love it!
Reviewed by Lady Peg (Reader) 8/27/2003
Wonderful poem.
PJ
Reviewed by Nicole Davis Vergara (Reader) 8/27/2003
This is a wonderful piece and you have done a truly fine job with it! Peace, Ride and Write On! :O)
~Nikki~
Reviewed by Kay P Devenish 8/27/2003
Made me feel pretty sad ,I wanted to give that young boy a big hug I liked the way it evolved and the character in it was very interesting,the ending great too.
Reviewed by Kate Clifford 8/27/2003
Sad and wonderful at the same time. Nice to see you back!
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