Bill “Uglicoyote” Davis


Road Scribes Of America ™ Associate Member

Bill “Uglicoyote ” Davis


Sensual Bathing


Cool spray soaks us both,
I run the sponge softly along
sensuous, graceful curves and hard,
straight, lines, water beading on
smooth skin. The droplets
burst beneath my fingers and
the white soapy suds overflow,
gently rolling to the floor
as I massage softly, first the front,
then move to the rear and down.
Later, a soft, clean towel rubs us
both dry.
I love washing my bike.


©Bill “uglicoyote” Davis
Road Scribes Of America ™ 


On acquiring a new ride!


Time to Part


We were lovers for a while
Together going here and there
But after many a joyful mile
She was starting to show the wear
Some blemishes on her skin
Showed the many days in the sun
The times when we had been
Not two, but  truly joined as one.
It was sad to say goodbye,
But I still bid  her a fond farewell.
No tear fell from  my eye
At least none that one could tell
Now there’s a new girl in my heart
All black and dressed in new leather
And towards new rides we depart
Two into one, joined together.
It was difficult to part
But the parting time had come
Now there’s a  new love in my heart
And our new ride has just begun.


©Bill “uglicoyote” Davis
Road Scribes Of America ™ 




Every day upon my ride
there are bridges to be crossed
that take me to that other side.
Without bridges I’d be lost.
Bridges are often the only way
to reach those other trails.
What lies beyond, who can say?
I cross them without fail.
Some riders pause,hesitate
afraid to explore what lies there.
The other side which quietly awaits
 to lead you, who knows where.
Some crossed bridges,led me wrong
but I’ve gone back  to a different turn,
to find a new path, to ride along
 as long as my bridges aren’t burned.
So I cross  those bridges as they come, 
mostly learned from the other side
I’ve burned a few, regretted some,
but that’s how I ride my ride.


©Bill “uglicoyote” Davis
 Road Scribes Of America ™ 


My Heart Leaps Up
(with apologies to Wordsworth)


My heart leaps  up, as toward a rainbow I ride
So it was at the beginning of my ride
So it has been  through all the years and miles
So it shall be until the end of  my days
 or let me die
The child is father to the man.
And I wish my days could be
bound together by the road,
by the wind,
by the ride.


©Bill “uglicoyote” Davis.
 Road Scribes Of America ™ 


Do You Swear To Tell The Truth?


Do swear to tell the truth
as you write your living ode
about the things you’ve seen and done
as you rode the open road.
About the lonely highway’s
where you were the only one
who passed through beauty and silence
on your life’s headlong run.
The rivers you have crossed 
the small villages and towns
where you met with other riders
on their quests to chase life down.
Can you tell truth about the joy
that sometimes rises deep inside
or about the hard and  tough times
that you’ve had along your ride.
Road Poet, tell the whole truth,
don’t hold back, spill your gut.
As you ride your roads and write your odes,
tell the truth and nothing but.


©Bill “Uglicoyote” Davis
Road Scribes Of America ™  

Today is the first day of the first full week in August, which means that the Annual Black Hills Motorcycle Rally in Sturgis is underway. Wish I were there, but maybe next year.
Last time I attended I wrote this:


Riding to Sturgis


We’re heading to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
We’re heading to Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.
The Black Knights came to the Black Hills
From D.C. they all rode
No trailer queens, no toy hauler frills
Just two thousand miles of road.
They rode to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.
A father riding with his son
We met along the way
Dad from The land of the Midnight Sun
His boy from out Portland way
They were riding to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.
Two who flew from the land down under
Picked up bikes in Frisco town
Across desert and mountain they did thunder
To get where it all goes down
They rode to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way
Each Summer thousands make the run
To this little Black Hills town.
If you’ve never been there for the fun
You should come to party down
You should head for Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
Come on out to Sturgis, Sturgis
And ride yours all the way.


Ride if you go. Trailers are for boats. 


© Bill “Uglicoyote” Davis
Road Scribes Of America ™ 



My Mom wouldn’t let me have a motorcycle because it would “turn you into a “hooligan.” She was a wise woman.


Short History of Hooliganism


I want to be T.E. Lawrence
On a Brough superior
Doin “the ton”  down 
a dusty British Lane
I want to be Malcolm Smith
blasting across Baja
in a clud of dust
on a  red and chrome Husqvarna
I want to be Steve McQueen 
 in a motorcycle movie,
“On Any Sunday” with
Malcolm and Mert Lawwill
I want to be Rollie Free,
150 miles per hour down  the salt
On a Vincent Black Lightning
in just a swim suit and sneakers
I want to be Marlon Brando,
The Wild One,
Or better yet, a Boozefighter
At Hollister, 1947
I want to be Sonny  Barger
in Oakland, 1957 or
Partying with Hunter Thompson
Or Ken Kesey at La Honda
I want to be  Billy, stoned
Following Wyatt down the 
Easy Riding road to New Orleans,
Riding with Captain America
I want to be Bert Munro
doing 200 at Bonneville
on a 1920 Indian,
the world’s fastest.
I ride with them  on every road I travel
I ride with them in my dreams
In my imagination, we are one
Together we ride


© Bill “Uglicoyote”  Davis 2012
Road Scribes Of America ™ 


This was my very first Biker poem written almost five and half years ago.


Leather, Chrome, and Steel


In Blackfoot, Idaho one night
He walked, lonely, out of a bar
A woman sat there on the curb
Strumming her big guitar
“Is that your bike?” she asked him,
“I love leather, chrome and steel.”
“Hop on,” he said as he settled in.
“I know just how you feel.”
She swung that guitar across her back
And hopped onto his sled.
“Where ya going?” he asked as she got on board
“Outta here,” was all she said.
She wrapped her arms around him
They headed south to the Utah line.
He rode hard into the desert night
The big twin singing fine.
They finally pulled down off the road
He took out his old bedroll
And there beneath the desert stars
She did things that moved his soul.
The next morning when she shot him
And he lay bleeding in the sand
She looked into his fading eyes
She reached out and took his hand
“I don’t like men,” she told him
“But I like leather, chrome and steel.
My first old man was a biker
A no good, cheatin’ heel.”
“So I’ll take your bike, if you don’t mind.
But I’ll write for you a song.
About your love of ridin’ in the wind
And all the women who done you wrong.”
He closed his eyes and she rode off,
Left his body behind that hill.
She rode on south towards Mexico
I’ll bet she’s out there still
So. if some night you leave a bar
And lonely is how you feel,
Beware a woman with a big guitar
Who loves leather, chrome, and steel


2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis
Road Scribes Of America ™ 


Road Song for Charlie


Free range words,
 played all night long
road rhythms the music
and truth is the song
To ride with all brothers
To roll down that highway
To capture the truths
and that lurk in the byways
To treat all with respect
to be loyal and true
to your friends and brothers
on  this ride with  you
If  you can  do these things
and learn to do them well
You might just grow up
to be  like Charlie Brechtel


©Bill “Uglicoyote” Davis 2012
Road Scribes Of America ™ 


Ode to RoadScribes


All day riders and midnight writers
Sages, poets, and
composers of song.
A fellowship hearty
Of road, wind, and pen
I’ll joyfully ride along


© 2012 Bill “Uglicoyote” Davis
Road Scribes Of America ™