Now I’m a poet!

After my ride to The Wall this past May, I went to update the “Ode to My Boys”, (see the previous post) just to make the 7th and final verse present. Well, as you’ll scroll down, you’ll see the words just kept rolling out with ease. The result is:


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 say-d.


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

I 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,

I 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.


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 Moi Ba beers.


On the land they did battle,

some would say-

their cause was not lost,


 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 this year

the ’08’s tires did rhyme,

as they have now

for nine 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 an 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.


It’s the American Way.


About Mike Rinowski

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