On my job, every December was
faced with cautious trepidation.
In heavy fog, others kept passing me.
From valley to Bay, fog was blinding.
It was safer to follow big rigs
With eyes glued to their tail lights.
poems this mine here else often lists
economical text much inferred
few words fewer articles prepositions conjunctions sometimes needed
rhymes or not
short but slowing fast world trick make think
visual poems stolen cummings
is new question un marked re able
s pa
ce s
runonswhereeveryfit together
i don't know how you know
it's yours now
maybe makes much sense war
98% genocide
rev wright was right
possible not since rexulti
kill bear with ukraine cannon fodder
so iran can't stop merrikkael turning gaza
gehenna turning resort luxury hotels casinos
offshore oil rigs election want blame drumpf
but have zero credibility ever after praising president credit cards and truancy warden
go ahead watch strait hormuz raise inflation
like when merrika blew nordstream blame other monster
poems this mine here else often lists
economical text much inferred
few words fewer articles prepositions conjunctions sometimes needed
rhymes or not
short but slowing fast world trick make think
visual poems stolen cummings
is new question un marked re able
s pa
ce s
runonswhereeveryfit together
i don't know how you know
it's yours now
maybe makes much sense war
98% genocide
rev wright was right
possible not since rexulti
kill bear with ukraine cannon fodder
so iran can't stop merrikkael turning gaza
gehenna turning resort luxury hotels casinos
offshore oil rigs election want blame drumpf
but have zero credibility ever after praising president credit cards and truancy warden
go ahead watch strait hormuz raise inflation
like when merrika blew nordstream blame other monster
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sun-baked asphalt stretches,
heat-haze shimmering like water.
A lone hawk circles
above mesquite shadows.
Cattle low in dry grass.
Oil rigs nod slow.
Wind carries nothing
but grit and space
and the weight
of sky.
Always
sky.
They’re roaring by with lights aglow
Akin space rockets, to and fro
Unfailing captains on steroids
Between this Earth and asteroids
This is the blood that moves the trade
This is America, conveyed
Truck-ships, with missions on the mind
Despite the night defy the grind
Rigs leave no waves in their wake
Them running fast and never brake
Men often follow their path
So to avoid the radar wrath
They land for brief prescribed rests
While speeding on the cryptic quests
We’re whizzing by, in cars and vans
And eye the sleeping caravans
United States, the land of trucks
Can’t pass them by sometimes, shucks
Resilient movers. And my crux?
Wouldn’t be the same without trucks
Sept 17, 2023
It was break time in the Jungle
The elephant took his chance
To ask the lady hippo
If she'd like to dance.
The Leo Lion Combo,
Sax drums guitar and bass,
Mightily played away
So music filled the space.
Twenty seven giraffe
Employed just for the night
Carried rigs to Illuminate
From their great height,
With strobes and spots
And dimmers and flash.
The Zebra formation troupe
Performed with zeal and dash.
The chimp in the corner
Made obeisance to the Gnu
As they joined the Palais Glide
Proceeding two by two by two.
The jungle buzzed and jived
During this daily break
Until the back to work buzzer
Was sounded by a duty snake.
The daily truce was over,
The Bush baby decided to beat it
Before some hungry carnivore
Tried to catch and eat it.
The tempo had been fast
The rhythm nice and loose
And the animals had enjoyed
Their daily pre lunch truce.
Back to normal in the jungle,
Twenty four hours to survive
Until the excitement of
The next daily Jungle Jive.
Bow to your partner
Then take your chance
To make good your escape
After the last notes of the dance.
Autumn's bounty now waits in the fields.
Sowers and keepers of the crops are
Now replaced by energetic reapers.
Dry and ready for the combine;
Brown and ripe for the harvesting;
The corn to feed the world;
The soybeans to ease hunger;
Cotton to cloth all mankind.
Like a kid fixated in wonderment,
I stop and stare along the roadside;
Observing massive machines of steel,
Rolling along the dusty fields,
Cutting and threshing and separating
the seed from the hull; corn from cobs.
The big rigs are loaded and heading
to the storage bends and buyers.
091622PS
He’s itching,
he’s twitching,
he’s ready to shop.
The big rigs
are rolling;
they’re making a stop.
He’s tracking,
WhatsApping,
he’s all in the know.
He’s topped off,
he’s loaded,
he’s ready to go.
He scored him
some soy-based
down under the bridge.
The goat milk
awaits him
just over the ridge.
She’s calling,
she’s balling;
it’s almost all gone.
His eyelids
are heavy;
been at it since dawn.
He got to
the last stop
a minute too late.
The guy in
the Tesla
scooped up the last crate.
He cannot
go home yet;
he can’t bear to face her.
He’s trying
to score some;
he’s Formula Racer.
----------
Echos of Cake's The Distance in my mind on this one...
Those, who work this country,
ride private planes and limousines
or other cars for hire.
Them, who make the country work,
drive big rigs and pick-up trucks
and actually perspire.
Those, on their high-cost carbon commutes,
make jokes about them.
Looking down on flyover country,
those ugly jokes are spewed out loud;
Complete disdain for the bovine crowd.
They, being them, just keep on working
and loving to live life.
Those, whose schemes victimized them,
and caused so much anguish and strife,
are amazed that
They, being them,
Forgave.
Wondering why life can't be simple,
I look forward and see hurdles,
I look back and see the start line,
Inches before I started.
Wondering why life can't be straight,
I look forward and see alternatives,
I look back and see wrong choices,
Yet choosing which to take,
Maybe this or maybe that.
Wondering why life can't be happy,
I look forward and see despair,
I look back and seek my mistakes,
Trying my best to move forward,
The past rigs me to pieces.
Why can't life be without problems,
When the only thing I don't see are solutions?
The dope man drives a car
9 miles long and 3 miles wide
Those are someone's daughters
who will have to pay for this ride
There is gold upon his fingers
rings jingle-jangle from his nose
People look up, then look down
pretend not to signal him as he goes
A breath, a sigh - a lust gone wild
Junkies who buy his poison
are some desperate mother's child
Fingers dig and fingers search...
fingers spell out a prayer...
Let that money for the dope man
be safe in a pocket somewhere
Rigs are primed and rigs are filled
Blood tells its story straight
Tourniquets and flexing veins...
mad moans as the bodies wait
The dope man drives a hard bargain...
He wants the strings to your soul
He sells dreams - he sells visions
that take a terrible toll
Engine roars wrathy
It digs deeply with high rigs
A deer seers in it
Human primates him
A crowd excavator does
Huge power of pit
Water flows in mad
Forest is gotten rid of
No home for biomass
Been months since I've been fishin', underneath the starry skies,
Been months since I've been fishin', underneath the starry skies,
Next week I'll go for stripers, with me I'll bring some pie.
I fish into the ocean, through all the crashing waves,
I fish into the ocean, through all the crashing waves,
I'm thinking about the bait I'll use, that I'll pull out of the bay
I make up my own tackle, simple fish finding rigs,
I make up my own tackle, simple fish finding rigs,
Couple with some healthy clams, I'll make my way to Brig'.
The foxes look to seal my bait, I'm on the watch for them,
The foxes look to seal my bait, I'm on the watch for them,
It's dark and cold all about, many weakfish fill their den.
Far away back at my home, my family barely sleeps,
Far away back at my home, my family barely sleeps,
My safety they do pray for, and filet dinners for the keeps.
Most nights it's just sharks and skates, or seaweed from the drift,
Most nights it's just sharks and skates, or seaweed from the drift,
My truck facing the ocean front, my line across the sandbar cliff.
2018
god has not bothered me much
he said
ants continue to terrorize nations
the ugly I have found to be beautiful
the root
the gnarling tree trunk
they believe in me
what I see - I am
he said
it is hard to cope
only writing crazy poetry
keeps me sane
an eighteen-wheeler roars
the rigs smoke stack passes
just below
wings hovering
descending to the black top
to the flat carcass of a possum
a beak resumes its conversation
with death
i recall as a boy standing by a window
looking at a flock of sparrows
sparrows just like those seen now
every feather could be the same
are the same
he said
the air-conditioner is a hive of humming minds
most pillows are stuffed with whispers
gulls scream
the sky is all theirs
yet it is not enough
ghosts do not bother me
what does not seem to change
that bothers me
TASMANIAN DEVILS
The house next door
had flames in the windows
We watched from the street as
the firemen arrived, four rigs responding,
Engine Company 5 – The Tasmanian Devils
Engines and ladders, axes and hoses, abundant
testosterone surrounded and entered, laid into
that fire like an infantry platoon doing necessary
work through the hedgerows of France in the
summer of ‘44
“Cute little girl!” said the tall young man as
the water and smoke later sizzled
in the char
Twelve years later, at a different address,
three rigs responding, Tasmanian Devils and a
gasoline smell in the storm sewer system, same
tough young men, little action this time, a band
of paratroopers with no enemy in sight
The tall fire lieutenant remembered my face
but not my new wife and proffered the question
to set memory right
“How’s your little girl?” said the voice of
command with the steely gray eyes
I said “She died a year later!” and he looked through
us both, reached for the catalogue of the suffering he
had seen, shifted his gaze and called out to his men,
mounted his rig and tightened his face, surprised
once again at the number of ways that
a fireman finds death!
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