I don’t write a lot of poetry. Over the years there’s been a bit here and there. Almost all of it is free verse, as is today’s offering. This was supposed to be an essay or short story, but it refused to flow. The creative voice suggested some verse, and it flowed. Hope you enjoy.
As always, thoughts on the piece are welcome. As are general thoughts on poetry or bicycling!
First Freedom
My first real freedom came on two wheels.
My world had been defined,
By the length of my legs
And my endurance for there and back.
On the day my father let go,
Allowing me to ride free,
The boundaries of my world
Exploded.
Even with a single speed
The old boundaries were reached faster
And more easily achieved.
I could stand at them and look
For new limits
Around the next curve
Or over that hill.
Those wheels carried me into college
Across the campus with a little style
A little swagger.
Young women on bikes!
Long legs and small patches of bare skin
Where their tops pulled away from their jeans.
Today it’s a greater joy than ever before
Legs and lungs are pumping
Blood pounding in my veins
Those boundaries are miles away
And I smile
Knowing that they are calling my name.
Stories Are My Life 
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