Astyages's Weblog

August 15, 2009

Poetry

Filed under: Dave the Mad Biker — astyages @ 9:43 pm

           Dave, the Mad Biker from Hell 

  

1:       You may keep your tales of glory

           Of wealth and power and fame

           And I’ll tell you the story

           Of one who wouldn’t play that game:

           A hard-riding crazy Irishman

           Who, so I’ve heard tell,

           Is known by the name,

           And it’s earned him some fame –

           As ‘Dave, the Mad Biker from Hell’

 

 2:     From the cold Streets of London

           Young David had come,

           To Australia’s sunny shores.

           His busker’s life he’d leave behind;

           It’s hardships he’d deplored.

           A New Start he’d work hard to make,

           And he’d succeed for sure…

           Until one day fate laid his path

           To the Uni’s hallowed door…

 

3:       Now, Dave had but one ambition,

           And all he sought was knowledge,

           So he studied really hard

           At Elizabeth Community College…

           Then to Uni off he went,

           As proud as proud could be

           To study Anthropology

           And earn him a degree.

 

 4:      He passed with flying colors;

           To do honors was invited.

           But then they made him student rep

           And his career was sorely blighted

           When they disestablished the department

           Of Anthropology

           And he was made to fight his teachers

           And the whole Arts Faculty.

 

5:       He knew it was no accident,

           The situation had been crafted:

           Volunteered, real ‘Army-Style’;

           He knew that he’d been shafted…

           Now the winding road it calls him,

           For he knows that he must find

           A different kind of future

           To the one he left behind.

6:       Now he rides the lonely road

           In silence, and solitude serene

           While he ponders on the irony

           Of all he’d heard and seen.

           Even those who had supported him

           Could now all kiss his ass

           For those he’d represented, (of course),

           Had been mostly middle-class. 

 

7:       Like his life, Dave’s ancient bike reflects

           Cruel hardship and poverty

           The clutch worn through, the brakes near gone

           The tyres as bald as he;

           But he doesn’t care for he knows full well

           He’s more chance now than then,

           Of survival, as he rides this wreck,

           As ‘Dave the mad biker from Hell’.

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