Dead Bikers

The month of May is flying by on gossamer wings of sunshine. I am not afraid to admit I have a bad case of Spring fever. I played with Echo Poems for a while, not it is time to move on. It might be fun to experiment with Epitaph Poems for the remainder of the month. Some might consider that I am walking into dangerous territory, fooling around with poems found on tombstones, but I like to live dangerously. The dead people I am writing these poems for are fictional characters. There will be no shedding of tears during their composition. I will this group of Epitaph Poems Dead Bikers.

Epitaph Poems and Dead Bikers

  1. They date back to ancient Greece.
  2. These poems are typically found on tombstones.
  3. Epitaph means “a funeral oration.”
  4. These poems are short, generally two to four stanzas.
  5. They can preserve the memory of the deceased.

Now that we know what an Epitaph Poem I will move on with my morbid task. None of the people these poems are about existed in real life. They are all products of this writer’s imagination. I plan to select a group of fictional people and write a dedication to their fictional life. That’s what we writers do; we make stuff up.

Dead Bikers
This group of short Epitaph Poems is written for a group of mostly fictional bikers. Their counterparts are riding the golden gates on Harley-Davidsons. The cool ones have Indians. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

Her lies the sensational Sexy Sadie,
She never could act like a lady.
Give her enough booze,
And she would show her boobs.

This guy’s name was Lefty
Right-handed but he was hefty.
He could only make right turns,
Now he lives where it burns.

We called this here guy Beaver.
He was as loyal as a golden retriever.
Great big teeth in front so he never would smile,
But would always ride with you the extra mile.

We called her pockets because she was small.
She only stood about five feet tall.
Where she came from no one could tell
But she sure was small and swell.

Crazy Claud was crazy
He spent time in the navy
Got booted out because he was lazy
But he knew how to make good gravy

Here lies a guy named Lizard
He was a mechanical wizard
Could repair anything with duct tape and wire.
Died when his Chopper caught fire.

Twister got caught up in a tornado.
Outside the small city of Kokomo
Or that’s how the story is told
But that’s how tall tales unfold.

I may come up with more before the end of the month. 

Who is Molly Shea?

Molly Shea is an accomplished fictional short story writer from Indiana who writes short stories and novels about a fictional town called Tecumseh.  To read more of her short stories and adventures, click here.

Be sure to follow Molly on Twitter!

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Published by henhouselady

I am the author of Saving the Hen House. I didn't know when I started it would turn into a series. I love to ride motorcycles, the blues, my family, and going on adventures. This old hen rocks.

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