Truckers' and Others Poems & Poetry

I am Man
I am blood, rhythum and fire.
Man, stepping out from the mist.
Imperfect. Fleshy peach.

I am man tounge of flint.
The path that walks with an open glimpse.
Vulnerable. Intense.

It is the first of February I have been driving through the night. At sunrise I get through the light traffic of Little Rock Arkansas on I-40, and sun is rising before me.

Another bug ends its life, when meeting my windscreen
while in this gradual morning light, wild life can now be seen
Diesel engine purring along this open, flat section

It's winter in Montana
And the gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour
At twenty-five below.
Oh, how I love Montana
When the snow's up to your butt

From the time you're born
To the time you die,

There's a trucker right by your side.
When the doctor laid you in your mother's arms,

There was a trucker coming from a farm.

I load my truck with my clothes and thing,

I build the air, check the lights, and just look away,

Deep inside i love what i do, i just cant take the look on them too,

IM GOING DOWN grapevine HILL THE AIRS UP AND THE SOUND OF THE JAKE HOLDING MY RIG BACK ROARING IN MY EARS

All day long, in that big ol' truck he rides,
Nothing but a cell phone there on his side,
That's my baby behind that Freightliner wheel,
Everyone knows how he makes me feel.

Listening to a song as I ride along,
I'm Westbound again, going home.
It has been only seven days ago that
I left Mama behind and I'm doing it alone.
Weather has been fair to mostly sunny,

God Bless this truck that I drive,
and help me keep someone alive.
Be my morning sight this day,
on the streets where children play.
Keep my cattle safe and sound,

I drive these roads, my foot on the gas,
But nary a vehicle do I pass!
The pedal's to the metal, yes, the hammer is down,
But 64 is as fast as I get around.

I am a trucker girl,
it was always what I wanted to be.
My Barbie dolls drove Tonka trucks
and a truck is home to me.

The miles in between us
cut me straight to the bone
But I just keep on pushing this old truck
knowing in a few days I'll be right at home

Were I'll be back in your arms right were I wanna be

And I don’t want to live without you,
God I just don’t know what I would do.
Life with you means everything.
Baby only you can make my heart sing.
And crying because we are miles apart

The glimmering black ribbon stretches before me,
reaching into endless darkness far ahead, begging I follow -
follow unspoken promises of returning into new born light.

I could have loved a banker and have money everywhere
Fancy suits, wing tip shoes and perfectly groomed hair
But I’d rather have a T-shirt and old blue jeans when I can

In the night air distance, I see an 18 wheeler parked
along side the road.
It's yellow decorative lights glowing so proud and bold.

I bet that trucker is tired and is taking a nap,

White lines, and miles, Are all that keep us apart. But regardless where you are, You always remain here in my heart. Hours pass by, Days come and go. I wonder when you'll come back, but I guess only you will know. I remain here waiting, Doing what I must do. Until you return, So I can be with you. I'm not sure you realize, What you've done to me. Or how much I need you, I hope you'll eventually see. Until we're together again, I'll keep you in my heart. For I miss you so much, When we have to be apart.

Dear Lord,
Please bless my husband while he's out on the road. Please protect him from the wind and rain and cold. Help him to keep that big rig between the white lines so he can make it to his destination on time. May he find his back-haul quickly and make it home soon. Please light his night on the road with your stars and moon. Let him rest peacefully in his sleeper's bed, and please let there be a good meal and fresh coffee at the truck stop ahead. Help me to keep the home fires burning while he's outh there movin' on. And give me the strength and wisdom to take care of things while he's gone. May the road he travels be clear and dry, and may not temptation catch his eye. Help him rmember when he's all alone that his loving wife and best friend is waiting for him here at home.

As the other children bat portently
at tetherball
and foursquare

a boy walks a hot walk
wearing the full weight
of his angry red shirt

while the heels of his torn bluejeans
stir the gravel and dirt

The Price Of The Road There is a very high price for driving the roads... We pay for the bridges and we pay for the tolls... But the highest Price a Trucker pays is not the money to repave... He gives his life for being gone... And the price is leaving family at home... It is never noticed by the public’s eye How many times his wife has cried... And what about that first homerun hit over the fence by his son... The people cheered and gave him praise... But he hung his head and walked away... Yes he won the game with that hit he made... But the crowd didn’t know the price HE paid... Yes they watched him hit the ball…. But the one that matters, missed it all. A very high price was paid that day... Dad was gone and missed the play. Danny White Sr. – Truck Driver, Husband and Dad - CB Handle - The Guitar Man

The day is almost over and fifty more miles i will walk in the door and be greeted by smiles.
watch me some foot ball, and pop a few tops, wont have to worry 'bout log books, or cops. stretch out in my bed, and sleep in till noon. walk out in the yard and look at the moon.

Our Truckers of America are men/women who are
devoted to what they do, but can be a little misunderstood.

They are people who drive across this land reaching their goals
with a hard driving diesel engine under their hoods.

I follow this line with ghost of the pass.
Of a family tradition, I am the last.
It was pass on to my father by those before him.
And of this family tree I am the last limb.
These men a tall shadow they did cast.

I used to stand at the edge of the driveway and watch you drive out of sight,
Watch you drive that eighteen wheeler into the night.
I would wait by the phone praying you were alright,
Praying when I heard a jackbrake I would see you rolling into sight.

My mind reminisced as Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell crooned on the radio; the soothing sound of
falling raindrops, steady rhythm of windshield wiper blades, and oncoming headlights took their hypnotic hold on me.

The old-timers story was like that of a hard drinking cowboy, tossed about by the winds of misfortune, in a worn-out Louis L’amour paperback novel with dog-eared pages faded over time. It was filled with adventure, romance, drama, and a cast of mostly hard luck rabble-rouser’s who breathed life into it—no two being quite the same—and offered the reader a small measure of highbrow humor mixed with back-alley discourse.

They travel cross our land at night
From coast to coast they are a site
They're large and tall and long and sleek
Can travel coast to coast within a week

They work for their owners that have a need

Those old white lines, are slowly fading
on this old highway, that I roam
there's no street signs, no map is needed
this big rigs headed, on its way home

There's no cargo, no not this time

As a Traveler who spends most of my life
Heading somewhere down the road,
The destination is not the point
It's the journey, or so I'm told.

I, for one, set off fresh
I venture out to explore.