Poem | |
The old truck hadn't been used in a while,
But it should be good for a few more miles.
Under the hood, the engine was rusty,
And the interior smelled faintly musty.
Assuming it would start--we all wanted to know...
When we put it in gear, would it actually go?
Someone called,"All the tires are flat".
But a little new air would take care of that.
Better get some fuel, since the gauge is on "E".
Wash the windshield, so the driver can see.
No problem to let it coast downhill to the mechanic's shop;
Next question:Are the brakes good enough to make it stop?
The truck was so bad, it had no heater fan.
But the Master Mechanic had a Master plan!
He took it to His shop for the needed repairs.
'Twas quite a long time that He kept it there.
He tinkered, and cut, and removed lots of stuff
Solving problems we had thought were real tough.
He put in new hoses, gaskets, and such.
What a joy to watch His skillful touch,
As He cut away the old to make room for the new.
Finally the day arrived when he was all through.
A great crowd gathered around the shop door,
To behold the new creation, there on the floor!
It was washed up, and pumped up,and all the fluids were filled.
Even the body He had been forced to rebuild.
Fresh paint;new tires;and the engine a'humming.
It was ready to face the world oncoming!
When flaws seem difficult to be fixed by man.
Stand back, and watch the touch of the Master's Hand.
Poem | |
Across the road from new truck sales
Lay a yard filld with trucks that died
These vehicles' voice offer tales
Once on them a trucker relied
They thought that he would be companion
Their eternal guide protect them
He took one to the Grand Canyon
He was truck's total brain stem
Made the decisions for each day
This truck didn't object just follow
Whichever way trucker would stray
Even if where lay Capistrano Swallow
Then one day the truck's tires went flat
Soon in this graveyard this truck lies
Trucker lost his favorite hat
Old trucker no longer truck guides
Poem | |
He drives along the countryside ,
speeding the hearts of all the woman.
Delivering his sumptuous smile ,
the enigma of his personality.
Deep blue eyes are purest in the world ,
A white man's love to die for !
I have bathed in oriental monsoon,
tasted the Indian wine
, but nothing as compared to his passion.
The gear of my heart is in his hands ,
My blood runs through the engine ,
He drives me to his heart's harbour,
For he is my sexy TRUCK DRIVER.
Poem | |
Now I know I aint got much
Not a Bible to believe In
Now my only cars a truck
That I also use to sleep in
Cause' this truck is all I got
My backyard is a parking lot
Poem | |
The wild truck
On a war
But still on a road
Who is on the wheel?
Where is head?
Where is hope?
Poem | |
I have been privileged,
To hold in my life,
The title that’s known
As a truck driver’s wife.
Now, women all know
Being married is rough.
But, marry a trucker,
And then let’s talk tough!
The miles that they run,
And, the job that they do,
Gives us grey hairs,
And fries our nerves too.
And when they get lonely,
And call up the house,
Who’s there for ‘em to turn to?
it ain’t Mickey Mouse!
But, through all the turmoil,
The stress, struggle, and strife,
Those men appreciate
The finer things in life,
And they’ll thank their lucky stars
For a truck drivers wife!
Poem | |
My Dad drove a big grocery truck,
An eighteen-wheeler it was,
It gave me a thrill just to look at that monster,
But to ride in it gave me a buzz.
Dad drove for the Kroger Grocery stores-
He drove all over the state,
Sometimes sixteen or eighteen hours a day
Just to give people the food which they ate.
I will always have a soft spot in my heart-
For the guys and gals who drive today,
They have to go to school for a start-
Then drive long hours for their pay.
My Dad was a very careful driver-
He only had one accident in sixteen years,
He had driven for fifteen hours with only two hours sleep-
Then dozed off at the wheel which was always something to fear
My Dad worked hard all of his life,
My respect for him grew and grew-
Then as I became older-I realized
What it really meant to be a truck-driver's daughter.
Poem | |
Around the Truck With a Roar
By Elton Camp
Bob was driving home one day
But a big truck got into his way
“He’ll pull over or stop soon,”
Bob, at first, did hopefully croon
This road had many a blind curve
Only an idiot around it would swerve
Finally, Bob gave away to irritation
And blew his horn in frustration
The truck went slowly down the road
For, in fact, he had a very heavy load
Bob had no special deadline to meet
Still he squirmed angrily in his seat
“When that approaching car gets by,
To pass that truck I’m going to try.”
He shoved the accelerator to the floor
His powerful engine began to roar
Around the curve a Hummer came
For the wreck, Bob was to blame
Around the curve, lickety-split
Bob’s car was beautiful, wasn’t it?
The doctor said, “There’s naught I can do”
Bob died that day, proving his words true
From this sad tale, a valuable lesson learn
Foolish changes, an early demise may earn
Poem | |
An Impossible Dream (A Cry of a Truck Pusher)
The street is my home
It is where I belong
I know no love
So I make it not part of my daily vocabulary
One sachet of pure water
Enough to perform the magic
In cooling down the body
The small lotto kiosk is my sleeping place
My heart was filled with merry
The day she looked my way
I wish to dream a dream
Even if I lost my memory
Her beauty I will always remember
But we both belong to different worlds
I push and pick before the hand can go to the mouth
She is welcomed with smiles
With servants at her beck and call
What am I feeling?
Is it love?
But how can this be
Love is not love
I can only dream of her love
I can only visualise her embrace
I can only imagine her warmth and kisses
Oh! Allow me to dream a dream
I have long suffered on this street
For tomorrow may not be mine
Don’t blame me,
Maybe I have a slow faith
From her posture
I knew she were a creature
And it’s in her nature
To capture my heart
Oh! How I wish I were a preacher
To tell the world about the moisture in her love
Oh! How I wish I were a teacher
To lecture about how she will feature
In my future dreams.
But it is just an impossible dream
Because I am only a truck pusher.
Poem | |
The Truck Driver
By Elton Camp
Bruce had a job he wasn’t wild about.
He drove a big truck on a regular route.
Then on one fine summer day,
He stopped at a café on the way.
Bruce was sitting at the bar on a stool
Minding his business as was his rule.
On a cup of strong coffee he did sip.
So he’d stay alert for the long trip.
From the parking lot came a roar.
The sound the waitress did abhor.
“It’s that horrible motorcycle gang.
As always, I’m in for a harangue.”
Into the room they stalked with a smirk.
Each one appeared to be a dirty jerk.
Their cursing and sneering was a disgrace.
Each had a scraggly beard covering his face.
“Hello, baby, you cute little miss.
This time, how about a big kiss?”
Bruce looked the thug in the eye.
“A little courtesy you should try.”
The thug threw the coffee in his face.
“A little man like you is a disgrace.”
Bruce just calmly wiped the coffee away.
He went out the door with nothing to say.
To the waitress he spit, “Not much of a man, is he?
With that, even a slut like you will have to agree.”
“He’s not a very good driver I’d have to say.
He just crushed ten motorcycles on his way.”
Poem | |
Two Scavengers in a Truck,
Two Beautiful People in a Mercedes
At the stoplight waiting for the light
nine a.m. downtown San Francisco
a bright yellow garbage truck
with two garbage men in red plastic blazers
standing on the back stop
one on each side hanging on
and looking down into
an elegant open Mercedes
with an elegant couple in it
in a hip three-piece linen suit
with shoulder-length blond hair & sunglasses
The young blond woman so casually coiffed
with a short skirt and colored stockings
on the way to his architect's office
And the two scavengers up since four a.m.
grungy from their route
on the way home
the older of the two with grey iron hair
and hunched back
looking down like some
And the younger of the two
also with sunglasses & long hair
about the same age as the Mercedes driver
And both scavengers gazing down
as from a great distance
at the cool couple
as if they were watching some odorless TV ad
in which everything is always possible
And the very red light for an instant
holding all four close together
as if anything at all were possible
across that small gulf
in the high seas
of this democracy
Poem | |
If my heart breaks and there’s no one around
Does it still make a sound
Does it still fall to the floor
And shatter on the ground
And if I buy a million rolls of duck tape
And a dump truck full of staples
Can I patch it back together
If I took a mile of cloth and wound it around
Would it mend back
If I made sure it was tightly bound
If I was asked to give it all
And I gave it
Should I expect something in return
When’s it my turn
Who’s going to catch me when I fall
You asked me to hold your world
Like I was Atlas balancing it on my shoulders
But it was more then that
You asked me to do it walking a tight rope
Up in the air
As if I were a cat
Who could land on my feet
But there was no safety mat
I’m more like a kite
With need of a string
So when the winds blow me about
I have someone that can bring
So when I’m out there taking on the storm
And even if I get ripped
And even if I’m a little torn
I’m still anchored like a ship at sea
But my ships titanic
And I got pulled down
And my heart played the captain
Staying with his ship
As it drown
As it was pulled me 6 feet underground
But my hearts not a vampire
That can rise out of the grave
It can’t heal itself after each encounter
Its more like a zombie
Rotting and falling apart
Not knowing better then to keep moving
Even when its not recognizable as a heart
But nobody said zombies were smart
I built my heart like a comet
To burn bright across your midnight sky
But if you remember in class a comet doesn’t fly
It falls into the atmosphere
And if it doesn’t get burnt up
If it lands somewhere near
And I was to pick it up and be like here
It would be a cold black lump
It would be a hard rock
A starting block
In a wall
That would put china to shame
That could stop a freight train
And if there’s someone to blame
Because I was given eyes to see
And if I would of used them to look back
I could of seen it wasn’t meant to be
Poem | |
we were on the road
had a load
our feeling shows
we pull over
got into over clover
LOVER ON THE TRUCK STOP
Poem | |
A Poet Drives a Truck
Transmit and reflect light with a steady glow.
Inspect the equipment routinely and thoroughly.
Explore alternate routes when feasible.
Let the eyes range over the land, the sky,
the near, the distant road, and the mysterious
Transcend rage and panic with humor and consideration.
Tell the truth especially when a brilliant lie
seems more appropriate.
Look flowers in the eyes.
Frisk about like a dog unbound.
Sniff the night perfume of trees.
Listen to the songs of birds.
Let them take wing in the breath and soar forth
to the moon.
Editors’ Note. This poem, from which this volume takes its name, was published circa 1999 in a newsletter published by Lowell’s employer at the time, titled “Still Manifesting.”
Poem | |
Trucking down from Canada, through Northwest America.
Feeling every lonesome mile, you can rest in just awhile.
Southwest of Seattle town, there’s a place where you sit down,
Drinking, trying hard to lose those Tacoma truck-stop blues.
“Better get back on the road, ‘hope your senses are not slowed,
Too much beer is in your head, clear your brain or you’ll be dead.
Drinking coffee when you drive, singing songs to keep alive,
Maybe they can help you lose those Tacoma truck-stop blues.
Make believe you love the life, leave your children, leave your wife,
Leave those other trucks behind, hear that diesel sound unwind.
Waitresses and wives agree: truckers only think they’re free;
Driving fast but you can’t lose those Tacoma truck-stop blues.
Poem | |
The next day BioWare may discharge the overall game Revise 1. 7 with regard to SWTOR. This particular area may expose 2 large brand new functions: Galactic Status and also the Artefacts from the Gree occasion.
Galactic Status offers gamers having a brand new development program. Through carrying out missions, they are able to generate status along with various in- online game factions. Because they progress with the 6 status rates for every faction, they will get access to steadily much better benefits. Status is actually discussed through just about all figures inside a provided Heritage, which means you will not need to do the actual mill throughout for every personality.
The actual Artefacts from the Gree occasion transmits gamers in order to Ilum in order to discover an old starship. Right here, gamers will discover extremely sophisticated gear. They will additionally experience a strong brand new adversary from the middle of the actual charter boat. The big event may operate till Feb 26th, however BioWare states it'll come back regularly throughout every season.
In order to commemorate Revise 1. 7's upcoming discharge, BioWare sent a brand new truck. This showcases the minute-and-a-half associated with video footage in the Gree occasion. It is nearly time for you to observe you skill regarding your own status within SWTOR. Area 1. 7 is actually getting the brand new status program along with the brand new Artefacts from the Gree occasion towards the reside machines upon Wednesday, Feb twelfth. The actual upkeep eye-port for that area is actually 5 . 5 several hours, even though just like the majority of main areas, almost always there is the opportunity which it's going to operate just a little lengthier due to unexpected problems.
In the event that you've kept much more queries by what the actual status program may increase the online game, a current improvement weblog solutions individuals queries. Particularly, this particular area is not upward with regard to screening about the check server, perhaps to maintain the big event a little more of the solution. In any case, gamers can get to place their own on the job the actual modifications within just a few times, therefore prepare to visit over the universe and obtain a few props through galactic status.