Long Hitchhikers Poems
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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.
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
Interstate routes
Endless road
Highway travel the threshold
On and off ramp
Distances being miles
Listening to music while
Once and a while rest stop
Sometimes rain could fall on car top
Highways to anywhere and any major city or town
The map is showing where you are bound
Highways everywhere
There’s always a beware
Hitchhikers all on the road
Keep driving
You don’t know who they are
They could have a criminal history
Not knowing could be your mystery
Highways are often called Turnpike or Freeway
Freedom to explore
Sightseeing with a observe
Embracing a beautiful morning sunrise
The start of energize
A need to travel
Perfect get away
Journey into relaxation
That’s a way to spend a vacation
Just rest
Soak up the effect
The highways are everyone’s friend
From beginning to end.
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
I have a song to sing and it will tell you where I have been, in the shadows of the night the fear of hope break through daylight and destiny begins the journey without shoes.
They left their homeland in search of a better life two of them walking hand in hand as destiny propel them to another land but they end up having to pay a bountiful price for their sacrifice.
They become vagabond on the way hitchhikers and belly dancers and they kept going despite the outrageous feelings but they had one goal in mind and that was to reach America and experience the American dream.
There was no visible sign of reaching but they kept pursuing their dreams, crossing barriers and left exposed to open dangers but courage kept them going. A bandit with scars in his face held them up at gun point and took away all that they have got, shortly after that mercenaries strip them of their shoes, leaving the bare essentials on their body but they continue to journey on.
With courage in their feet and faith in their hand they were determined to go along but, they fell on the wayside from hunger and dehydration. The heat scorched their behind but mercy came just on time. An old woman live in the nearby bushes came with a jug of water and pour it over them. They were still alive and could walk half a mile to the old woman’s house. She gave them something to eat and let them rest for three days and when they were strong again they continued the journey.
They cross-country in the bushes chewing grass and feeding on wild peaches, climbing mountains and jumping from rocks with a touch of sentiment bundle in their backs and at nights when it gets cold they make a fire and have scrambled bird eggs and lizard legs for supper. Thorn and thistles pierce their knees and barbed wire sinks deep in their flesh when they try to jump the fence.
They kept humming the immigrant song in their head as they reflect on the dead that did not make it, and there is still no sight of America. They were determined to get there for they have been travelling for more than a year. Their bodies are weak but their spirits are strong as they journey on the painful path to reach America.
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
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.
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.