Born Biker!

Hi there VisorDowners.

I only developed visordown syndrome very recently, although I have been a keen writer and freelance journalist/lyricist/cunning linguist for as long as I can remember.

Always an articulate although somewhat verbose individual, I graduated in English and Creative writing many moons ago!

Since then I have had the odd article published here and there, and have released my music and lyrical content on my own, and other artist's record labels.

My writing however, has always been rather personal, and therefore more of a hobby to me.

Though after years of nagging from wife and old folks and friends, I am trying to get a regular column as we speak.

Still rather timid about my writing, I wondered what you thought?

I welcome any comments or Constructive criticism, and appreciate any input or thoughts (and praise of course!)

If you want to be mean and/or unhelpful, you are free to keep your opinions entirely to yourself!

thanks for your time in reading this far,  I hope you will continue...

Here is a little silly verse I wrote recently;

Born Biker

I read a lot about these so-called “born again bikers”.

Not wanting to offend you chaps if perhaps this is a category into which you fit or contendedly sit, but it seems a phrase adopted by the increasingly less-agile, egocentrically more fragile, mid-lifeing, trouble-and-strifeing, aged–round-the-middle and middle-aged post-millenium man.

As the ol’ woolly sweater ceases to fit, itchy the belly gets as ego’s go twitch,

And those in need of bald-patchy-flattery-scratching, into this category willingly sit!

And how aptly it suits, from barnet to boot,  as a comfy old woolly cliche of a substitute.  Adopted by many men down to the letter, settled into better than that battered old sweater.

If my silly verse offends i apologise no end, but to me;

A born again biker,

Is a concept just like a,

3 sided box or,

Hen-fearing fox or,

a sensitive Ox, see?

An inherently Ox-Y

Moron.

Bikers come in all shapes and sizes,

All manner of folk in all manner of disguises,

but in this guy’s eyes,

And in this guy’s ears,

Its elementary my dears,

That the true blue biking brotherhood,

The fund-a-mentalist biking fraternity,

(sounds like an non-P.C. charity)

Emphatically-fanatical to the nth degree,

Never stopped existing,

Even momentarily!

(Excluding the needs to tend to our steeds, and repair our old RD three fifty LC’s!) 

Unequivocally, quintessentially, irrefutabley and inexcusably biker are we..

Throughout all the four seasons,

There just aint a good reason,

To ever stop,

Being,

A biker.

My cognitive wheels sink into this affliction for perpetual verbosity,

As sure as my cog-driven wheels-stink with addiction to petrol viscosity,

Two stroke or not two stroke?

A poor joke of a question,

So let’s get back to the lesson,

In regression to the crux of this lyrical session;

I must contend that,

When,

The insertion of “again”,

Whether by voice or by pen,

Makes its way into the term “born-biker” then,

I scratch my head like a confunded ape,

Is there such a thing as “adverb” rape?

The adverb seems harmless and ever so little,

But it results in the excusal of the non-commital!

It hides the shame of the part-timer,

Justifies the cowardice of the traitor!

Attributes pseudo-spiritual acclaim to the deserter!

If there is such a notion as re-epiphanic re-deliverance,

Well i demand explanation or substantial evidence!  

Did you, in fact, Absconder, flee?

Of recreant or renegade are you, in truth, guilty?

A turncoat or usurper of disloyalty?

Then subjected to ridicule must you be!

For we are a community.

Repeating offenders of cornering lean.

As for me if there is such a thing as destiny,

A biker I was born as sure as can be.

Whether by mother-nature

 Or whether by other-nurture,

I am the thrill-seeker’s offspring.

I am wholeheartedly a Castrol-sniffing, apex-kissing, tank-hugging, wrist-flicking, sprocket-spinning, in-lid-singing, ear-to-ear grinning straddler of internal combustion!

An insatiable biker utterly adverb-free,

Grammar-policing defender of little credibility.

But nonetheless,

I’m proud to confess,

From the path of biking i shall never digress.

Cause born-biker is a concept of singularity to me,

And a veritable,

Desirable,

Applicable,

Acceptable,

Tautology.

Copyright BigmanProductions.co.uk

That's Copyright

oops.

You might want to get that changed

thanks The_Wool!! haha

@ Maverick Renegade - thanks mate - though this is a silly verse without the potential for expansion, it exists for it's own sake and doesn't plumb the depths of any great existential wisdom.

Nonetheless, i think too much left to write about  is much more of an issue for me!

I get a great idea for a bit of prose or an article, start writing it, and then something different/better emerges and I end up going off on a tangent, then splitting the article in 3 and ending up with tons of "nearly" finished pieces!

Jack of all journalism and master of none! No! I won't let it happen!

I would dearly love to write for a living.......

That's The_Wookie.... actually...

Silly website cut my name off

ahhh my bad.

don't worry, i always have a problem with finishing my senten....

Don't worry about it...

I'll have a green one, dusted with cinnamon, if you don't mind.

errr...

say what????