Throttlin Steel by Parnel

How can I explain the way that I feel
Strapped on a harley
Throttling steel
Eating up the highway to some distant place
The rapping of the pipes
The wind pressed on my face

Through the sights and the sounds
I feel so alive
Like I’m locked in a movie
Where I alone survive

I roll down the hwy
Increasing my speed
The vibration of the motor
Is like a drug that I need

I’m lost in the moment
Somewhere in time
I think not of the future
Or what I left behind

Just putting and rolling
My machine and me
The feeling of oneness
A picture of free

But words just can’t explain it
And you’ll never know
The religious experience
Of the things that I’ve told

Til your strapped on a harley
Then, you’ll know the feel
Of eating up hwy
And throttling steel.

Rice Burner (67.26.95.103) -- Saturday, October 11 2003, 05:28 pm

The Experience!
Oh yes! Finally a bike poem. I really enjoyed your poem. I got to experience this once for six months on the road /w friends. From Canada to Mexico and half of U.S.of A. Sleeping on the ground every night/w a sm. tent. The stars are so big in Montana, so much to see,like you said, like a motion picture movie. A religious experience is right, I call it "God's country." I still experience that, but in more depth. Riding in the mountains alone, on dirt trails, to the top, once over 13,000 ft. over the clouds. They will never know, and we can't explain it, of the things seen and felt, and the feeling of speed over 150 miles an hour, through the painted desert of Arizona & Utah. Like Parneli Jones and on the wings of an eagle. Ahh the feeling and the memory you have brought back to me in your poem. Thanks so much Parnel. Happy trails to you. - Catch the Weezer Geezer

Martin Vann (171.75.220.166) -- Saturday, October 11 2003, 09:11 pm

Parnel, meet my knuckel-head
Parnel,

She hears your words, that fly with freedom's wings, her touch, is warm to my thighs and "all" she ask of me, is an occasional oil change. Then once again, I mount her, with your words, she and I travel, into freedom's breeze. My Cobra Mustang, don't mean a thing, when I feel her leather, between my legs, taking me forward, to another dream. When I die, and am for sure, pronounced, to be dead, I pray I leave from here, riding, my knuckle-head. I've had more June-Bugs for dinner, than Chicken Fried Steaks, and I shared each meal with her, WHY? Because, we love each other.

Yea, this is K-O-O-L, thanks Parnel and Harley, I thank U 2.

MartinV
Var-oooom, out of here!

Terrie* (65.136.7.143) -- Saturday, October 11 2003, 09:55 pm

my weakness... the throttle, chrome and all ...good one Parnel
ohhhh ...yes i can definently remember my first experience on a harley. before i got married my husband took me on a short spin on his friends harley .i was sooo scared..i hung on to my husband so tight he probably still bears the deep scares from my fingernails. but then after a few more rides i started really loving them...i developed a deep passion for them. my husband would surprise me and borrow his best friends harley. we woud head up to the hills and the ocean.i enjoyed the feelings that surged thru my body.. feelings of contentment, satisfaction. i mean to experience many things at once was awesome.(minus the bugs) many things that we take for granted as motorist, riding on a harley allows you to appreciate life more, thankful to God for his creations in life you found and experienced..i haven't been on one for 'bout 15 years...but every time i see one parked or one going by ahhhh...my heart burns with desire. those feelings live'n up in my soul...thank you for such a vibrant poem...if you happen to be riding by and some crazed lady stares w/lust for your harley it be me :)

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