Best Hitchhikers Poems
I saw him on the highway
Thought he was insane
Standing with his thumb out
In the pouring rain
I don't usually stop for hitchhikers
But something said I should
Besides, it was raining awful hard
And the wind was blowing good.
I said, "Hop in, it's cold out there.
Where you headed on this stormy night?"
He said, "Down the road, I really don't care
Just somewhere else will be all right.
I ain't got no license, so I'm travelling kind of slow
They just left me out of prison a few nights ago."
I might not have stopped had I known
Now we were on this dark road all alone.
I didn't know if I was in any danger
But as I drove, I listened to this stranger
He spoke of life and of acceptance
He spoke of sin and of repentance
A story of gratitude and saving grace
And I saw a smile come on his face.
He asked if I'd take him a little farther down
And drop him off in another town
I was already late but I said okay
And I listened to his stories along the way.
When he was getting out he said, "Thanks for the hand.
God will bless you. Soon, you'll understand."
There was a new feeling inside me that I found
And I began to turn my life around.
I stopped at the prison to find out about Jack
And tell him how I got my life on track.
The warden listened and he shook his head
Saying, "I have a hard time believing what you said.
It couldn't be Jack, I'm telling you so.
You see, Jack died this day, eighteen years ago."
Angels come in strange forms sometimes.
Categories:
hitchhikers, faith, life, mystery, life,
Form:
Couplet
The routine ride home from a neighboring town, seemed different today.
As I glanced at the dirty, sandy spot left on the usually spotless black leather seat beside me,
I felt almost ashamed of the warm smile that crossed my face..
But that's how I felt.
Content some how.......
No radio blaring as usual. Just thinking of Ernie and his stories.
Wondering what that look was, I saw deep in his eyes.
Scared eyes..yet not scary. Eyes that had seen too much maybe, who couldn't seem to find home.
The cardboard sign simply said east. He was sitting atop a dirty, dark roll of gathered belongings at the only stop light in town. It was one of those sunrises that make you feel small. Pinks..purples..glassy blue..sun rays shooting through scattered clouds like golden fingers pointing straight to heaven. As I sat waiting for the light to change, I noticed this guy noticed it too! I don't see many hitchhikers in our small town and the words pounded into my head since birth kept ringing over and over. Never talk to strangers...don't do it!
Ernie is sitting next to me holding his dirty rolled up blanket protectively in his lap and
I'm at the drive through at McDonald's. Three sausage biscuits please..I take mine and hand the bag to Ernie who looked like a skeleton lost under layers of old wrinkled clothes. Kind, hollow eyes thank me as he rolls the top of the bag down tightly and asks if he can please save his for later. I can't speak and hope he doesn't notice tears running down my cheeks. He must , for he breaks the silence by telling me of his years on the road, although I didn't ask. He speaks intelligently of the sights and places I've always intended to visit some day. His words bring to life the adventures of meeting all kinds of people - good and bad - all over the country, but Ernie didn't tell me why he lived life on the road.
Later, he shook my hand and said goodbye.
As he stood there, that last look we shared..he smiled - I cried.
I thought I was going to help a lonely man, but he helped me........
©Donna Jones
10-16-2013
Categories:
hitchhikers, introspection, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
I love the night,
wandering in wide tranquil countryside,
in the dim light of the pinhead stars,
with their intricate constellations,
a nocturnal symphony that helps give directions
to wayward hitchhikers that roam in off course pathways.
I love the night,
imbibing the perfumes of the ambrosial countryside.
The newly cut hay, the wayside fragrant flowers,
all covered with a fine dew
spreading delicate exquisite odors in country meadows.
I love the night.
In the open vistas,
where all daily cares just fade away,
like wispy steam from a far off train.
A soft music can be heard behind thick hedges,
but be aware, think not of the ugly resonance
that go bump in the night.
I love the night.
The winking owls hoot in lament,
grasshoppers sing in close-mouthed consent,
soggy frogs give an occasional harsh croak,
but birds sleep happily on lofty trees.
Isn't it a wonderful place to be?
Thank you, God for providing me the night.
Categories:
hitchhikers, night,
Form:
Free verse
sniggle snarp to the i flee
frumple fram to me and ye
hearts a croom and eyes a breen
word from mouthy to me queen
Categories:
hitchhikers, i love you, love,
Form:
Vogon Poetry
The Bedbugs Come to Call
By Elton Camp
All my life I’ve heard of this pest
In filthy houses they come to nest
Bed bugs you will never detect
Where people have self-respect
It seems now, that’s no longer true
Several things we may come to rue
First of all, we have no way to tell
Who stayed before us in the hotel.
We must take the greatest care
Bed bugs can be most anywhere
On spreads or sheets they like to hide
On upholstered chairs they’ve been spied
Maid brings them on the housekeeping cart
Or aboard the luggage carrier they may dart
So when we leave the Marriott,
Sneaky hitchhikers we have got
In the dressing room of the clothing store,
Must never lay our garments on the floor
Use the hook on the wall
Coat, clothes, purse and all
In doctor’s waiting room never dare
Sit on cloth cushioned couch or chair
If we dare to buy from any yard sale,
We must wash the garment without fail
Be certain to use water hot as can be
To insure that you stay bedbug free
Don’t think it can’t happen to you
It really can, despite all you try to do
But even if the pests we acquire,
They cause no real illness dire.
So now try to have a restful night
Please don’t let the bedbugs bite.
Categories:
hitchhikers, funnymay,
Form:
Rhyme
The Bedbugs Come To Call
By Elton Camp
All my life I’ve heard of this pest
In filthy houses they come to nest
Bed bugs you will never detect
Where people have self-respect
But now we find that is not true
Several things we may come to rue
First of all, we never can tell
Who was before us in the hotel
We must take the greatest care
Bed bugs can be most anywhere
On spreads or sheets they like to hide
On upholstered chairs they’ve been spied
Maid brings them on the housekeeping cart
Or aboard the luggage carrier they may dart
So when we leave the Marriott
Sneaky hitchhikers we’ve got
In the dressing room of the clothing store
Must never lay our garments on the floor
Use the hook on the wall
Coat, clothes, purse and all
In doctor’s waiting room never dare
Sit on cloth cushioned couch or chair
If we buy from any yard sale
Wash the garment without fail
Use water hot as can be
To help stay bed bug free
Don’t think it can’t happen to you
It may, despite all you try to do
But even if the pests we acquire
They cause no real illness dire
So try to have a restful night
Just don’t let the bed bugs bite
Categories:
hitchhikers, august,
Form:
Rhyme
Sometimes I dream about old dusty roads
Driving through the dirt, with no where to go
I've passed many hitchhikers
Their showin skin and money
But none of that means anything to me
None of that means anything to me
I keep driving along that old dusty road
Searching for the reason, why I even left home
I keep driving through the dirt and the mud
Thinking of all the things that I have done
I shift into neutrul as I cruise down a hill
My mind slips for a bit
And a deer ran out from a feild
I slammed on the brakes
And dust flew up high
That's when I knew that everything was alright
I keep driving along that old dusty road
Searching for the reason, why I even left home
I keep driving through the dirt and the mud
Thinking of all the things that I should have done
My car has ran out of gas
And this lonely road becomes clear
What would have been different if I stopped
To talk to the hitch hikers and the deer
Maybe if I picked them up, theyd help me push my car
Or maybe they would robbed me dry
And killed me with a crobar
Or maybe I'd just drive by and pretend they werent there
Cause they were never there
No they were never there
I'm pushing my car down an old dusty road
Wondering why I still haven't gone home
My shoes are covered in dirt and mud
Giving proof of something that I have done
Categories:
hitchhikers, adventure, animals, confusion, fantasy,
Form:
Lyric
Metamorphosis
Tracing footsteps in the overgrown field
where sunlight and raindrops date
Counting sticker burrs like lemon drops
in a candy counter display
Hitchhikers I remember them called,
lovers of socks and pant legs I think
Each with their own story to tell,
minute worries clinging to that last hope of life
The path, familiar but then again not,
it leads somewhere else now
Dragging shadows like kite strings,
knotted in the weave of its boundaries
Taking in my surroundings and releasing them
for another may find them useful as well,
I find still no sign of that last phrase,
spoken softly but misunderstood…is my understanding
A collection of stone and gravel stew
finds my shoe souls imaging in the dry dusty paste
Outlines of thoughts, perhaps poetry in oblong shapes and
perfect tread patterns stamped and posted,
showing no indication of my ever being here
Staring now at a cocoon on a lone branch, I see
what my life had been, dark and lonely, dreaming of the colors,
feeling confined but grateful for the transformation
You smiled, I smiled, my wings appeared and I flew,
as might a rainbow on a balloon, soaring until the tiniest speck
in the sky could be me or just something on your glasses
Light headed in a good way, free at last to define love,
the metamorphosis of my heart,
the changing of a man into more than he could hope to be,
seeking and finding that blossom,
sweet nectar, a sugary substance, love deep in the petals of life
Though, no one told me of the life span before hand,
no calendar hanging on my wall with circled dates highlighted in red,
nor a stamp of expiration anywhere on my heart,
good if used by…used by, funny I should write that now
as my attention rests still on this cocoon,
wondering where I went wrong,
somewhere on this path lies the answer…
for I once was a butterfly, just as you will be small cocoon,
at which time you will learn…
it is easier to fly with a heart that is unbroken
Categories:
hitchhikers, butterfly, heartbroken, life,
Form:
Free verse
Clouded glass prevented
The driver from reaching her
Destination. Sunken eyelids,
Furrowed forehead,
Contributed to the already
Wearied woman's unseemly appearance.
Yet she dreaded that most of all.
Then as fast as a fish flitting
Out of the water and in,
She realized how wrong they'd
Been all along. These freeloading
Hitchhikers were simply baggage
In her already jam-packed car.
Furthermore, they
Didn't deserve to see that side
Of her, or any, for that matter.
Categories:
hitchhikers, analogy, beauty, bullying, conflict,
Form:
Free verse
A glimmering hitch
A hitchhikers ditch
Ditched to know rich
And rich for a itch
The itch before a twitch
A twitch before the pitch
The pitch lining up the stitch
While we stitch ourselves into a niche.
Categories:
hitchhikers, adventure, change, environment, growing
Form:
Light Verse
8/18/17
Put on a camo hat
Then checked each and every trap
And reset them, so there could be another catch
Been wearing a mask
To take care of the task
It's tedious, and helps being apt
Had to use gloves
And trudge
With a shoulder strap that falls off often or rubs
Held the atomiser tighter and lifted it up above
Near a wall of shrubs
The mask was to prevent what I was using, from getting into my lungs
And the gloves were to keep it off my skin, because
It could be harmful, since the packaging said it was
Don't need to be world renowned
I wasn't going to mess around
Just wanted to hold it down
And make my family proud
Instead of being a clown
The current labor
Involved the use of a generator
Across the span of a few acres
Wasn't going to ignore
Used extension cords
When the weather was cool or warm
Had to work with a hose
And stay composed
Not sticking out my nose
Focused on the bigger picture
Got covered in stickers
AKA hitchhikers
Worked with pliers
Near and far from telephone wires
With my hands
Followed through on plans
No need for a helping hand
Stepping up to the plate, being a man
Otherwise I'd be damned
Used my brain
Across any terrain
Instead of letting it all go down the drain
A fan of dunkles
Dug tunnels
And pits with shovels
Keeping out of trouble
Using my mind, knuckles
And muscle
Sticking to the hustle
On the double
Categories:
hitchhikers, dark, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
Mornings
My five-year-old son
Wheaties on his cheeks
Draws yellow flowers on my paycheck stubs.
When a grey cloud blocks the sun
He shakes his spoon at it, threatening extinction
And casts a fierce accusation my way.
Through holes of dreams
I maneuver escapes in the old Ford
Pick up hitchhikers who wear glasses.
Then summer takes a wet turn.
Dandelions, top-heavy, stagger
In the grass that needs cutting.
Categories:
hitchhikers, anger, anxiety, appreciation, car,
Form:
Free verse
If clocks ran backwards and time did chime
The hours and the minutes of your life and mine
Would tomorrow be written by the poets and the bards
And the cruellest of sorrows in the deck of life's cards
When salvation is sought at the end of a bottle
Should we drive there directly, open road and full throttle
How I'd love to bestow all the beauty life holds
For each suffering soul, put an end to life's woes
A hitchhikers fate may be yours to command
Are the cards they've been dealt in the palm of your hand
If the tale of each fate's in the past that we've penned
Are we destined to travel the wrong road again
Should we crawl on our knees, bow down when He calls
Should we cower at heel in Elysians Halls
Is faith but a chore under tightening reins
Is religion the cure or the cause of our pains
If peace has a place in rhe hearts of all men
Could hatred be quelled at the stroke of a pen
Lay claim ro your lives in rhe Game of all thrones
Carats cut like a knife the most precious of stones
If tomorrow's been written in the annals of time
To what lies the purpose of your life or mine
Do we stand tall and proud like our fathers before
Or sink like a stone to be lost evermore
Categories:
hitchhikers, birth, death, metaphor, time,
Form:
Rhyme
Area 51 reruns itself.
Tube-fed alien hitchhikers
hideout in paper suits and
sweat mercury.
Mothers in desert tan caravans
bleach breakfast,
call skinny kids in,
mid-century ray guns
glitter in sparking hands.
Comical signs
on shimming roads to nowhere
direct and redirect at will.
New Mexico keeps its spells
While headlines change minds.
Local Maps are 10 dollars further.
We want to stay cool
with a low maintenance blond
in an adobe dabbed motel
but there are silver balloons out there
they are made of desert dreams.
Tequila stained shotguns
hunt aluminum tracks.
In government condo’s
workers pack for a ride
to an unnamed airport
No name tags please,
no indications of culpability,
just load your life
point it between two trailing stars
shoot the gawking rumors
wherever they appear to fly from.
Categories:
hitchhikers, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
In the peace love seventies
Preached to forgive our enemies
Growing up our freedom breezy
The lovin’ was made easy
Woodstock hippies in bell bottoms
Singing ballads on through autumns
Hitchhikers up thumbing muscle cars
Guitar strumming sweet mellow bars
Long hair beads under stars
Campfires looking up at Mars
AP: 1st place 2025
Categories:
hitchhikers, autumn, freedom, friendship love,
Form:
Rhyme