Poetry from the Road

Six Day Memorie
For My Sweet Pea
By: Cattleman84​

This highway gets mighty cold
With only a memorie of her to hold

But I'm on the homeward side of a six day run
Crossing these plains and shifting gears
I've got little white lines in my headlights
And that sunrise peeking in my mirrors

One more stop, then I'm dodging the DOT
All the way home to my Sweet Pea

She'll hear me coming that last half mile
As I roll this truck down the drive
She'll run out with a sparkle in her eyes
And kiss me... Thankful I'm alive

Two short days with my Sweet Pea
And I drag my feet out the door, slowly

She watches me leave from the kitchen window
Like always, she waves with a smile
For thirty eight hundred miles, and six days
Only her memorie will keep me going mile after mile

Back on the highway its getting cold
Wishing I had my Sweet Pea to hold

Climbing these mountains there's a tear in my eye
Is it this sunrise thats blinding me?
Or because somewhere in my mirrors
I've left waiting, my Sweet Pea?

 

I come up with it while driving I90 across SD in the early morning darkness this morning.

 

Memories of the Storm,
A Foregone Stampede
By: Cattleman84​

This old trucker signed on to haul cattle.
He never imagined he'd witness a timeless battle.

On a lonesome, forgotten highway; well off the beaten path,
The storm set upon me with more fury than Hell hath.

Late one night, the thunder began to rumble, then roar.
Sound of a million hooves pounded, mere feet from my door.

Momentarily illuminated outside, in a flash of lightning,
A tumbling sea of woolly buffalo, so vast t'was nearly frightening.

They stomped and churned the earth; dust so thick I could choke.
I worked the shifter, for another gear; my ol' diesel billowed clouds o' smoke.

Upon the wailing wind, a sound that struck fear.
A long ago forgotten war cry, I did hear.

Running amongst the herd, a pony beneath an Indian brave.
Deep into the vitals of a beast his arrow did clave.

The quarry fell and tumbled, hoof over horn.
And in an instant t'was all gone, a memory of the storm.

A clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, then gallons upon gallons of rain.
The storm continued on with its tales of fear and pain.

A cowboy galloped alongside, and yelled; the word swallowed by the storms song.
Following his gaze through the mirror, were thundering long-horns, thousands strong.

My fear began to grow, like a man about to drown.
I quickly grabbed another gear, so as to not be run down.

More thunder, and more lightning quickly became the norm.
And so passed yet another memory of the storm.

Scenes such as these played out through the night.
I'll not stand here and lie, it gave me quite a fright.

Each sounding, and lit in unison with the thunder, lightning and rain.
Such memories of the storm, the world would never regain.

As dawn approached, I feathered the pedal and grabbed the big hole.
I leaned into the throttle, and my diesel rolled dark, black coal.

At that moment, deep within me terror began to boil.
T'was no longer fuel my diesel burned, but oil.

My diesel smoked and roared like thunder.
The sound so loud, I thought it would tear my soul asunder.

From the stacks, she belched great pillars of yellow and blue fire.
To God I prayed, for my diesel and I to survive; t'was my only desire.

To hold on was the only thing left to do, my diesel had run away.
Suddenly from the horizon, there appeared a single sunlight ray.

My diesel, she coughed then slowed and we coasted to a stop.
I stepped out to find myself where the road crested a grassy hilltop.

The road was dry, the winds were calm; how could this be?
On the shoulder my diesel gently purred; what just happened to me?

The sunrise was bright, the sky was blue and crystal clear.
Where had the storm gone, by d###ed it was just here!

Tall tales, or tricks of an old man's mind; most folks do concede.
But I swear, that night my diesel and I became memories of the storm... A Foregone Stampede.