Pseudo Biker Poetry

The hot spell that held Colorado in its grasp seems to have broken and quite a bit of rain has fallen in the past few days. In looking at my old stack of poetry I found a poem from 1991 that seemed a good fit:

The first rain has fallen
Bringing in the moist cool fall.
The oils wick up
And the plastic paints take on a new demeanor.

My tires make their way across the tarmac
That grips half heartedly
And I remember,
Shift smoothly.

The crisp air brings many memories
And the chimneys begin their scents.
The autom rides have beauty
And new challenges to bear.

Ride swift and wll
Before the frosts come.
But remember wet leaves
Grip not as well as warm asphalt.

09/26/91

Found Writings

This past week was Passover, and included in that time was a lot of offline time. The offline time provided quite a bit of time for reflecting on things, but it also provided time to look at what I had on the bookshelves. In addition to many good books I had a wonderful find of a printout of my poetry, a bundle of which I knew was somewhere, and I have been looking for it, but also there were a few additional sheets of paper including a few poems I had thought I had lost forever. (n.b. much of my poetry is somewhere between poetry and prose.)

Ironically all of these copies of poems are print outs, so these all existed in some electronic medium at some time, and some of them (the ones I thought I had lost forever) had been posted on web pages. Although you cannot rely on online data fading away, you also cannot rely on it remaining available.

Having found my poetry I thought I would post a few of poems from the stack:

Pavonia Station
The dragon stirs
It's warm breath rustles the air.
The little mice scurry for cover
In the moldy lair.
Long last the green eyes gleam
And its sleek body slithers forward.
The scales peel back.
Unwittingly,
Oblivious to our host,
We enter.
"Hoboken Train!
Hoboken, Next stop and Last Stop!
Please watch the doors"

4/18/1995

Early Morning Shift
If you wake up in the morning
And see the sun bright rise
You'll know that I have gone
And rubbed my weary eyes.

The morning has come
And i have risen to my task
I sit now at my terminal
In its hews I now bask.

Morning, bright morning
will the sun not rise soon
In darkness I ride
Wishing I slept till noon.

12/23/1992

Dreams
Sunrise comes
Too early and too late.
My dreams have come and gone
In that sotten dark,
'Tween Witches hour
And dawns breath.
The dark road
On that darker mare
Carried me through
My restless hours.
Asleep,
Yet not resting.
Eyes closed,
But not unseeing.
Tossed and turned.
The sun creeps under my eyelids
Telling me to rise.
A new day is come.
And that dark riptide
Shall be left behind
In yesterday.

6/5/1992

Me Today in Rhyme - July 5th

This is Goldie Katsu and this is Me today
And now I have some words on july 5th to Say
The fourth was a blast with a boom and bash
And now back to work with some documents to hash


Today I have sorted and filed some piles
And written some words and walked some miles
Some days are interesting, exciting and fun
And other days are just a list of things to be done.


Whatever the day an opportunity is given
How will you view it, and how will it be driven?
What words will you say and what lives will you touch
Will the day seem just right or maybe too much


However it feels and whatever you sense
24 hours each day will dispense
With these words I leave you and now I must fly
But first I will wish you all good day and good bye.

Folders of a Life

I am sorting through my late Mother-in-Law's folders and papers and such, and this is a bit of a capture of my thoughts:

Folders of a life
Stacked up and emptied
Scrap by scrap.
Ages of paper sorted through:
Letters home,
Pictures,
Degrees,
Licenses,
And subscriptions.
Now all empty of meaning
Except in the memories of those left behind.