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The Holy Ranger Poems

On, in reference to THE HOLY RANGER: HARLEY-DAVIDSON POEMS by Dr. Martin Jack Rosenblum, a reader from Florida wrote a Customer Review that gave the book's Ranger Evopoetic Poetry a Five-Star rating, which is the highest. Here is that unsolicited Review:

"Martin Jack Rosenblum in this collection conveys the thrill of owning and riding the pride of America - the Harley-Davidson. The reader also gets a glimpse of a childhood and a life in America's heartland, and frequently draws parallels between the modern biker and the horsemen of the old west. In the past, Harley lovers have fallen back on the old saw, "If I have to explain, you wouldn't understand" as a way to avoid putting words to something embraced so passionately".
Now they can say "Read Rosenblum; he explains ... and you will understand!"

Last updated October 2,2005.

Enter (From The Last Autumn Ride)

the scattered leaves
against the side
of the garage

wet from
an afternoon
rain this fall
the slight wind
in later afternoon
light qualities :
images receding
from cut edges

into burnt ridges
against a backlit
storm door entry.

At Milwaukee Chapter Harley Owners Group Meetings We Will

often marvel
at the chance
meetings & when
one is arranged
possessing that
element of pure
acausal shock
the intimacy

defines luck:

as though a tattoo
upon chrome values
tales of the rides
are spun around an
evening's pleasure
& unwound on roads

where luck
is hardened
not always by
helmets but in
the rush of wind
there are omens of
divine protection.

Legacy: EvoPoetic Confessional

an eagle mind
an even road will suddenly twist
a wolf heart
a straight shot can quickly ricochet

:evolution thunder balance
while heading through poetry territorials:

let me admit that my hands
get windburn when I prowl
& cold stiffens them but
win hot lose or draw I
slap leather & hang
onto power that cycles primitive need for the ride
which turns & crooks unleashing
wild pacts made with tight grip
upon buckhorns thrashing as
though wounded in this hunt for significant wind
but if so then healing glove fringe rolls out in
the reach for brake levers only
when crossroads give hesitation

Late Fall on a Harley-Davidson

the leaves scatter into heaps still wet
from light rain & the fog lifts valleys
onto shaded helment visor visions coming
upon a road kill
as though a ranger
having followed the trail
that led to frigid air
impossible to breath quick
so head down right over the stench.

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