True Tales of Two Souls

Hello, and Welcome. My name is Mike Rinowski, and I’m going to entertain you with a trilogy of poetic verse called “True Tales of Two Souls.”

The first part is about The God Particle of the American Soul. It’s a trilogy within itself; the heart of which tells the story about a wild ride, to honor our fallen on the land they saw last, and an obligation you may have felt the same.

The second part is about the soul that Joe Biden fights for.

Each part is about ten minutes long. It may be odd to have a two-part trilogy, but it comes from the odd duck in the flock, who respects your time, and believes he will hold your interest for twenty minutes. So, make yourself comfortable!

Before I get to the first verse, I’m going to take a few minutes for a brief introduction, with a bit of history relative throughout the trilogy, and most powerful and pointed in my wrap-up of these tales.

**************

I’m neither a Republican, nor a Democrat. I’m an American, happy to be in America.

You see, I have a collection of expired passports packed with pages of visas for all the borders I crossed during my fifteen years in Asia. I have hands full of Foreign Residence and Employment Permits, and expired driver’s licenses from a half dozen countries, too! For more than twelve years, I lived in three communist/socialist countries, and one on the edge of anarchy.

It takes generations for the nature of a people to change, and I was thrilled to join in the evolution of a free-spirited nature–in Viet Nam, more than in China or Laos. Sadly, such an evolution in Kashmir doesn’t stand a chance against the constant clash of armies and more than a dozen militant groups.

Late on a quest across that mystical land of Viet Nam, with occasional curiosity about the depth and disparity of our natures, I was enlightened to the God Particle of the American Soul; it’s something with greater definition to me, as time passes; it’s something missing, and fading, from the lives of too many people within our borders.

You see, Viet Nam’s history reaches back to the time B.C., when their nature was dictated by threats from Chinese occupation, feudal wars among Warlords, French colonial repression, the American War, and finally, rebirth. In contrast, America’s short history began with the Revolutionary War; followed by a broad westward expansion of people with grit, who built the greatest nation on earth. To sustain our brief existence, millions of men and women lived and died with creeds, such as: “Give me liberty, or give me death”, and “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”

 

I’ll entertain you, now, with that story.

“An Ode to My Boys”,

was a funny little ditty

I wrote last year.

It’s now a full-blown poem

with a message to hear.

I call it:

Essence

By: Mike Rinowski

 

It’s been a good year

I said with cheer.

 

To the north and south

west and east,

my Boys beat

with the heart of a beast.

 

I looked to each with pride

as I would to a bride,

but spoke words

neither wanted to hear.

 

Our season has gone

last tracks have been laid,

I sadly said.

 

You, whose miles are few, my ’98,

with my battle-scarred ’08,

the time has come

to hibernate.

 

While frigid winds blow

and trails cover with snow,

I’ll tend to your needs

for another season

you’ll roll.

 

And in a blink,

winter’s chill will shrink,

and in May I’ll call

the ’08 to make

another ride to The Wall.

* * *

Once upon a time, you see,

its tires laid tracks,

to honor our fallen

on the land they saw last.

 

My boots on the ground

they had not been,

nor those of friends

nor any kin.

I was just—an American.

 

From one job to another

I landed in Hanoi,

and with

shady arrangements

imported a Fat Boy.

 

No Harley had been

on trails like mine,

with beauty and welcome

at a peaceful time.

 

The solitude of jungle

was a powerful sensation,

on a war-torn land

now a young nation.

 

A threshold was crossed

where I felt a bond,

and the spirits were quick

to respond.

 

Nobody rode alone,

it was said.

I became nobody

with over 58,000 instead.

 

Fearless we were

on my iron beast,

made in America

to say the least.

 

With innocent

and noble intent,

no judge of events,

we laid tracks

with a playful vengeance.

 

I taunted

trails and elements

with a fist in the air,

and some situations

just weren’t fair!

 

In the spirit of freedom

for them I did ride,

with a handful of throttle

and a heart full of pride.

 

Beside my trails

remains did wait,

while their spirits

looked down

from the Pearly Gate.

 

The hell

they all passed through

I imagined with tears,

but later to them

raised Ba Muoi Ba beers.

 

On the land they did battle,

some would say

“Their cause was not lost

–in slid shades

of the American Way.”

 

Within its borders

our colors are bold,

in fashion or flag

and our nature takes hold.

 

From the tip to the top

41,000 miles I rode,

with the spirits

of young men

it was a ride to behold.

 

The wind in my face

blew caution astray.

I was Viet Nam’s

luckiest rider–every day.

* * *

With asphalt next year

the ’08’s tires will rhyme,

as they have now

for ten years’ time.

 

My word was given,

and rightly so,

when I’m done

with the bike

to The Wall it will go.

 

For those yet to come

I hope they will see,

as an example of many

one acted—naturally.

 

In my life came a quest

you would attest,

to follow a path

truly blessed.

 

What it was for

I thought I knew,

but followed faith

to awareness anew.

 

One if by land,

two if by sea,

since the ride of Revere

grew our essence so pure,

that of a free-spirited

and patriotic nature.

 

We have freedoms galore

that many adore,

but there’s an old saying, you see,

that nothing is free.

 

To those who gave all

—from that fateful ride

to the latest fall—

we have a debt,

to live responsibly

and never forget.

 

The morals, values,

and excitement

they cherished in life,

must be in ours, too,

to honor them true.

 

That, is

the American Way!

 

Thank you

&

Welcome Home

 

The soul that Joe Biden fights for.

Before I get to the first verse, I have a few things to say!

 

I was a fan of democrats before I knew what a democrat was.

You see, in reply to a friendly letter I sent to the President of the United States, I received an envelope from the White House (third class mail) with photos of President John F. Kennedy, and his wife, Jackie, with young Caroline and John Jr. at her lap.  (I was one proud nine-year-old, and I still have them.)

Fast forward through sixty-some years: Any friend of JFK was a friend of mine, but I wasn’t always true blue; I recall favor for Reagan and George W, then flopped back for Obama, twice! While I acclimated to life in America, after fifteen years in Asia, I wondered, “What the hell is going on?”  Responsibility fell from the character of many, the abuse of rights and entitlements was rampant, and the powers that be treated symptoms rather than address problems.

We needed to make a drastic change, and 2016, Hillary was status quo, and I was skeptical about Trump. In defiance, I wrote in Jeff Flake, a maverick Republican Senator from Arizona.

My write-in was a wash-out, but favor replaced my skepticism, and the democratic party revealed their true nature and agenda.

Speaking of agendas, the title of my second poem is a toss-up for, “The Mother of All Agendas,” or, simply, “The Paper.”

The Mother of all Agendas

or, The Paper

By: Mike Rinowski

 

To our great nation

JFK gave a creed,

which leaders on the Left

want all to mis-read,

“What will America

do for me?”

 

The American Way

that built this land

they want to change,

and forever hold

the upper hand.

 

A lot of rain

on their parade it fell,

from the last administration

it’s easy to tell.

 

A change of weather

has long been their plan,

to get more people

onto our land.

 

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

they shout to the world,

our border is porous

just remember to vote for us.

 

There’ll be no demands

for your idle hands,

they’ll take care of you,

and your cousins, too.

 

Deep into your life

you’ll feel their reach,

and to your children,

it’s their truth to teach.

 

Less and less

our laws apply,

commit a crime

you’ll get a bye.

 

However, beware, I say

for an address you list,

your neighbor may be

a domestic terrorist.

 

Entitlements will grow

from taxes they lift higher,

but when billionaires amend,

it’s at our doors for more,

their search will end.

 

If their self-proclaimed

socio-superiority

confuses you,

don’t do a thing

until they say to.

 

The American Way

once strived for with pride,

swiftly erodes

like a falling tide.

 

Our nature once admired

around the globe,

is now diluted

by a count untold.

 

Those who toil

to make America great,

will be illegally

outnumbered,

to seal our fate.

 

Cards and ID’s will be given

to millions of illegals–

and their kin,

but paper doesn’t make them

an American.

 

With those noble people

I have no beef,

it’s all those leaders

who resemble a thief.

 

I say, “The first generation

to grasp that paper,

not have the right

to cast their favor.”

 

Since the American

Revolution

millions of lives–they gave,

if they knew of all this

they’d turn over

in their grave.

 

Brave men and women

lived and died by a creed,

from who the Left

used to be.

 

“Ask what you can do

for your country,”

was the intent of President:

John F. Kennedy – Dem.

 

Now, I end this trilogy with a poem, appropriately called;

 

The Progressive Soul

By: Mike Rinowski

 

Give me liberty

or give me death,

is not a battle cry

from Leaders on the Left.

 

Their time of strength

has fallen woke and meek,

both friends and foes

now see us as weak.

 

The power they wield

is a sinful act,

morals and values

they do lack.

 

Our founding Fathers

gave us the plan,

under one God

we are to stand.

 

But with their right hand

leaders now take an oath,

without recognition

to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

 

A facade of compassion

shadows their greed,

there’s a lack of citizens

for the votes they need.

 

Sanctity and sovereignty

are not in their plans,

votes they’ll import

from distant lands.

 

With those votes

comes burdens, murder,

and other crimes,

with more to follow

all the time.

 

The Party comes first

at any cost,

and with that

our freedom is lost.

 

The bed they share

with the media is not fair,

it would have Walter Cronkite

pulling out his hair!

 

To St. Floyd of fentanyl

they extended their praise,

but for 13 slain heroes,

and Bishop Evans,

they had nothing to say.

 

To wrap up my True Tales of Two Souls:

Each paragraph and verse were summaries to a story within, but for another time; instead, I have this to add:

Two-hundred forty-six years ago, America became a sovereign nation. Today, our sovereignty and the American Way are threatened.  I’ve entered more than twenty countries, special economic zones, and territories. Each border was strictly controlled with documents required for entry. Third world countries control their borders better than we control ours. The intent and willful neglect to secure our southern border is no longer a dereliction of duty; it’s become an act of treason and a crime against humanity—and we’re bombarded with distractions from it.

President John F. Kennedy was decorated for heroism in WWII. That’s the kind of man he was. During the Cuban Missile Crisis, in 1962, he stood alone, and he stead-fast, ready to shoot first if the Russians didn’t back down. He was that kind of leader. If he were alive today, I have no doubt that he would unleash a scathing verbal flurry of shame and condemnation on leaders of the Democratic Party.

That’s all I have to say.

Thank you & Never Forget

 

 

The Boys

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I reached a point of excitement in preparation for the 2021 Donnie Smith Bike Show, but three days before opening, I received notice it had been postponed; due to insurmountable regulations due to Covid fukin 19.

Both the Boys were polished and lookin good for a magnificent presentation.

 

December 2019

Snow covers the Land of 10,000 Lakes (Minnesota), and consequently, the riding season is over. But another great season it was; riding for those who can’t. Like many in the north country, I’ve torn the Fat Boy down to the engine and frame for minor repairs and clean up in preparation for the bike shows in Feb and Mar.

(My annual May ride on the NVAR was another success. Mpls to Sacramento to D.C. and back to visit veterans in homes and hospitals on the 10 ride, CA to D.C. was another emotional roller coaster. Then in July, I rode down to AZ to my Brother Mike’s, whom I met in Vietnam, and write about in my book. We had rode coast to coast, and in July we rode border to border for those who never had the chance. Hwy 191 is an All American byway with National Parks, Forests, Monument, deserts, and mountain passes.)

I’m learning more about the literary world, and it’s tough for a naive indie author, but I have a great review from Kirkus. They’re not cheap, but their reviews are unbiased and recognized by many book buyers and readers. It goes well in support of the many readers comments posted on that page, along with comments in conversation with readers across the land. Check it out.

I’ll have more news in the New Year, so please check back.

In the meantime, I wish all a Merry Christmas with many Blessings, and a Happy and Healthy New Year.

As you celebrate the season, remember those who sacrificed, and continue to sacrifice, for us; the fallen veterans, those now serving, and all of their families.

Thank you & Never Forget

Events of 2019

After a winter restoration, the Fat Boy received a Best Bagger at the Progressive International Motorcycle Show, and an honorable 1st Place in the Open Class at the Donnie Smith Bike Show. Great recognition for those I rode for; more to carry into posterity.

Check out the wheels! I wasn’t sure how to get what I wanted. It was a long process, tough on my arthritic hands, but after 40+ hours they turned out as I imagined they would. I like it when that happens!

My 7th ride on the National Veterans Awareness Ride (NVAR) was a fantastic emotional roller coaster, as usual. (Please click on the NVAO link beside the Home Page for a lot more on that) I was honored to be selected to place a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns in Arlington National Ceremony. Standing on the most sacred ground in America, if not the free world. I could hear the bugler’s breath as he blew each note for taps. It was a humbling experience, in which I placed the wreath in proxy for those I rode.

Three weeks later, I rode down to Sierra Vista AZ to meet with Mike Swinscoe, who I met in Vietnam three months before I left there in 2012. (Meeting him was a pivotal role in the completion of my quest, which is detailed in the final chapters of Harley Tracks.) We have ridden coast to coast on the NVAR, and wanted to make a special ride for those who can’t; from the Mexico Border in Douglas AZ to the Canada Border. A great ride, and scenery along Highway 191 is some of America’s best.

The Fat Boy hit 130,000 miles and runs great.

As summer creeps into Labor Day, I’ve received interest for newspaper and biker rag articles. I look forward, also, to a veteran’s recognition affair in St. Paul on Oct. 5

Please browse the site, and remember to hit the Paypal Buy the Book Button.

Never Forget
Thank you,
Mike “Track” Rinowski

KODAK Digital Still Camera

KODAK Digital Still Camera

KODAK Digital Still Camera