"hitchhikers" poems
Thanks again America.
Long ago, you sent me to war
prepared to shed my blood.
I was lucky, mine was spared.
But some hitchhikers came home with me:
tiny, wriggling, tropical parasites.
They love my aging body.
They are true like ******
They cannot leave me till I die.
Occasionally, they decide to dance.
No doubt, they enjoy themselves.
All they cost me is fever
and appetite,
sleep and peace of mind.
After all these decades,
you still want my blood,
but now you are content
to trouble it inside my veins.
Thanks Again America.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 3:57 PM UTC
two young hitchhikers
with big dumb cajun mouths
sinking below the roadside
in an abandoned cotton field
an oasis of sunkissed tractor parts
one in a ten gallon hat
the other wrapped up in barbed wire
two miles south of the state penitentiary
headed toward a pinched pachuco sunrise
onward, into the vortex.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 7:20 AM UTC
a high school football game.
the field is ablaze with juicy roses
and doves.
the athletes suddenly drop thier pencils,
their coughing hands made of melting wax.
all the trombones are falling apart, and
the flute players are losing their *******
under the bleachers, throwing away secrets.
heartbeats cracking broomsticks, the nuns
were always hitchhikers with resounding
gag reflexes.
i sail forward, snatching the time bomb
from the quarterback, snuffing out
a pall mall on his right eyelid.
the dead angel is summoned to slay
the horrible hippopotamus. she is ancient.
she has a mouth full of cavities and peace
in her veins.
the truth is a piercing thing, whose bitter tongue will decay me.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
Life's like a road trip. When you're young, you're deciding where to go, what friends to take along and what sights you want to see. As you keep growing and learning; you change destinations, travelers and where you want to explore.
Once you're in your car, driving down the winding road, you start to pick up hitchhikers. Some only need the ride to the next town over, some stick around longer than expected and some leave too soon, each leaving different stories and memories.
With any road trip, sometimes you read the map wrong, or make a wrong turn and lose your way back to the main road. But don't panic, you'll get back to where you need to be, in due time.
While driving, you could decide to switch destinations because, that's not where you want to end up anymore. So, you pull up on the side of the road, ask for directions, maybe grab a bite to eat and head on to your new road.
With every road trip, it can be fun or hectic, longer than expected or ends too soon. You might stumble upon new discovers and detours along the way, stopping to soak up the beauty of the landscape.
Road trips are unique to the driver and the passengers. Once the road trip is done and you've reached your destination, you can always plan a new trip and start looking at different routes.
As long as you got good tunes, great travel buddies and gas; life's winding road will show you new horizons.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
If life is a highway
then I'm afraid
the only people I've met are hitchhikers
waiting on the side of the road
for a ride
to anywhere really
I stop
because I could use the company
and also
I'll get to use the carpool lane
Some passengers come and go
without much effort on either part
the only thing they leave behind is a slight stench
But then
there are the few
who insist on driving
and take roads
to places
I never thought to imagine
they set up permanent residence
and I am
helpless
in the passenger seat
but as it happens
with hitchhikers
they merely want a ride
to that better place they're going
and I
am just
the transportation.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
*Stirring the lemon balm and spearmint
carpet with naked feet , traipsing the nine a..m.
red-tipped grass to the Pileated beat
Drenched , rolled pant legs covered in
seeds and hitchhikers , emboldened morning
rabbits and Apricot skies , Alabama tell tale
breezes tilt broom sage on rustic homestead
drives* ...
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
We've seen lone souls walking desert highways of New Mexico, barefoot hitchhikers along burnt out main drags and closed down drive-ins.
We bought moonshine and turquoise on the Navajo Trail and drank in the dusty neon ghost towns of Route 66.
We went over the Rocky Mountains and found kids singing Woody Guthrie in old gold rush towns of Colorado.
We walked along railroad tracks in the shade of date palms, listened as westward bound freight trains rumbled into the red evenings. A country as mercurial as our very moods.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
~
Metamorphosis
Tracing footsteps in the overgrown field
where sunlight and rain drops 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
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 9:18 AM UTC
I sat watching 3 girls,
couldn’t be any older than 12,
wearing shorts cut by
expectations and
taking pictures
with coffee cups and
wearing make up
stronger than
perfume clouds
following like
hitchhikers
and
a slow car.
**** magazines and enraptured
by the irrelevant famous,
exposing the youth’s lack
of interest in literature,
callow and murderous,
glasses filled and cocksure,
the world in front of them
and yet they’re taking
steps backwards
MJB
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
polish driver
wants to drink the beer
in the brown paper bag
in the park
he is not hurting anyone
he does his good deed sometimes
he picks up hitchhikers
he just wants to eat the *****
but his timing is wrong
he is going home alone
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
This Is Your Captain Speaking
So stop whatever you are doing
And pay atttention
First of all I see from our instruments
That we have a couple of hitchhikers on board our ship
Hello wherever you are
I just want to make it totally clear
That you are not at all welcome
I worked hard to get where I am today
And I didn't become the captain of a Vogon ship
Simply to turn it into a taxi service
For a lot of degenerate freeloaders
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
My life can be described as a man on the road
Never ending road trips to god knows where
Beaten up truck
Don’t give f*ck
Wind lacing grease through my hair
As the radio blares
Hitchhikers hopping along for the ride
We get talking til I get them where they want to be
You know, then they’re done with me
Leave me with a bumper slap goodbye
Least they had a destination
But see nothing can beat the sensation of finding one
Without maps or gas station attendants
I honestly can’t decide which one causes the worst headaches
Advil a poor girl’s novacaine
So I keep moving forward
Better to just be lost than be reminded of it
I’ll avoid me what shows me where I am
What shows me where to go
But I’ll get there
We always do
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 5:56 PM UTC
Wanderers. We’re all just wanderers
Hermits on a journey to rest
Nomads who have always been lost
Hitchhikers on some random path
Nobodies who’ve never had a place to call home
But I think that if you take a closer look
At how wonderful every detail is
Then maybe home becomes something
That isn’t just a roof above your head
Maybe home is a warm smile
The feeling of light coming in
As you let out a solid laugh
Or seeing those flawless whites
Shine from ear to ear
And hearing a terrible joke
That made you giggle nonetheless
Maybe home is a simple Hello!
Hey how was your day?
What’re you doing tomorrow?
I believe in you!
Hope you’re doing fine!
I’m always here for you okay?
… And that person who listens
Even when no one else will
Maybe home is waking up each day
Having that glimpse of the sunlight
Brisk gently across your stone cold face
The smell of breakfast and a new day
A chance to begin again or to start trying
To live each day like its your last
Maybe home is a warm embrace
Reassuring you that everything will be okay
That no matter what happens you will never lose me
And even when I let go, I’ll never leave you
Sometimes all you need is to feel wanted, needed, loved
Home. Home has never been a single place
For us to go back after each dragging day
Its more of those moments we take for granted
And the people that are too often overlooked
Perhaps we should stop searching for home
And let home surround us instead
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 12:38 PM UTC
Marigolds twinkle in July's ********** ,
Turquoise butterflies , picture postcard weather ...
Morning dew cools latent heat , hitchhikers
gather on wet blue jeans ...
Agrarian summertime dreams , days of Strawberry
wine , brilliant stars that whispered cool nights ...
Muscadine harvest , fireworks at horizons edge , Roman candles and rocket lights whistled low piedmont refrains ...
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
My path has never been on the straight and narrow
Its been a winding trail, over mountains
Though streams
Pieces have been missing
I’ve had to build my road as I go
Creating my own detours
Perhaps straying from the course
Sometimes stumbling into the blackness,
Of a forest
Or a mistake.
But I have also seen beauty on my travels
A forgiveness, and acceptance that shines
I have waded into the waters of youth
And slept in the meadow of knowing
The people I have met along the way
Like hitchhikers, picking me up instead
For I carry none with me,
The burden to satisfy grows too heavy
I always stumble despite my best intentions
And disappoint, even the most beautiful of people
The falling is inevitable, like the passing of a day
Or the chill of the frost on the grass,
Before the sun breathes its hot breath.
I don’t know if my road will get me to the golden gates
The ones that await you
For my path always seems to disappear over the horizon
-Taylor
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 8:43 PM UTC
I'm on the horizon, looking back to all that followed
A few thousand faces I can see in the water
One out of few are the lights in the mourning crowd I spot each day
The rest are hitchhikers in for the ride
Not anyone I ever really knew
I continue to rider towards the horizon
With every break to make the next move
I look back to see how many more faces in the crowds
But see none that I hoped to see
I cannot go back, for I am too far now
Will I ever see them again?
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
The penthouse view is not so great
for seeing details like expression
on the beggars face in the city park.
Private jets fly much too high
to pick up hitchhikers along
that lonesome country road.
And Capitol Hill is much too steep
for the poor to climb
they clamber at it's foot.
Nobody asks that you walk along that lonely road,
or beg in a city park.
We only ask you don't look past
the ones who do below you.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
The winds are blowing, the clouds
They collide in the heavens
White
Grey
Wisps
Like old friends
They meet, mix,
And take from each other,
Drop off some of there thoughts
That rain down below,
Drizzle,
Torrential,
Hail,
Snow,
Depending the feelings
Above,
To what will fall below,
They are always moving
Globe trotters,
They pick up
Moisture,
Hitchhikers,
Evaporation
Get there fill and then
Expel
In light hearted banter,
Or
In anger
Deluge
The ill prepared below,
Always look up and imagine
Where that wisp of vapour,
Will bring life or tragedy where they go..
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
We weren't ally movies, cigarette people,
gawking at a late night phone call.
Humbled at cathedral train stops, twitching for their next fix.
We weren't tidy enzymes, dieting hitchhikers,
Einstein drag queens and old boyfriend photographs,
generation universities, alcoholic planners, *** breath.
We weren't Godly student coffee drinkers,
mother machines abdominal on speed,
delighted in poverty and splendor paperwork,
We weren't high-school bathroom ***
***** sheets, glamorous handcuff hunger,
waxy TODAY show hosts,
We weren't pompom mutts,
Underclass DNA and angsty pin-ups,
We weren't back hand world, no money,
Clinical musicians, and upper East side Jesus,
Harvard waitresses and empty notebooks,
poets on crank and speed,
We were All ******* Up
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
Reality turned cartoon
By imaginative creeps
Lost in solitaried room
Collapsed in by beasts
****** deviants,
Art in under the sheets
Whilst fathers cheating again
Mother sippeth on hard ale
Both making Lovers with other men!!!
Some claim truth in prophecy
Preaching on mounted steps
But the real prophet's Cameth and left
Now only biggots we haveth at best!!
Biggots who speaketh of change is here
As they chant it out by signs
Making themselves
Seraphim
Their fallen angels in disguise!!!!
I seeith in the misty terrace
A meager man lost his abode
Sleepeth with the hitchhikers
Makes drunken bars his home
But I giveth him a lift to God
Just takes one slight hand
To reacheth out
When he's in doubt
(Brotherhood of men)
See,
Man hath lost his way again
He's consumed by mortal goods
Forgotten all the truthful words
Moses spoke and others heard
Man's to busy making technology
His amour' and his best friend
The conflagration awaiteth him,
It's bound for renewal
And end!!!
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC
FRIDAY NIGHTS WERE FOR
walmart runs and getting drunk and baking red velvet cake and another walmart run because we forgot to get chocolate icing the first time and flour on our eyelashes like snowflakes in Colorado and cranberry juice and ***** and twirling around the kitchen and heavy hearted kissing on the sofa and medicine for the people and forbidden touching and a few tears and endless loving.
SATURDAY NIGHTS WERE FOR
numbly staring at the tile above the faucet and soaking for hours in the tub with a book sitting on the ground and not being able to gather my thoughts and focus enough to pick it up and start reading it and laying in my mothers bed and watching sad films about writers and hitchhikers and thinking if this were 1947, that would be us;
but this isn't 1947,
this is sunday,
and SUNDAYS ARE FOR
sleeping until my body cannot take any more rest and willing myself to get dressed and singing on the 10th floor of parking garages over looking the city and looking for green lights at the end of all the tunnels because you're okay and I'm doing my best.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
*Blue jean hitchhikers , sweet cornrows
Wild Plum groves off Roseberry Road
Knee high grassland , matted trails home
to dusty , dog day Farms* ...
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 8:01 PM UTC
I remember the crazy times
we'd travel down south
to the outlaw town of Ensenada.
We'd swing by Hussong's
for some golden elixir
& Mezcal mixers.
It was a fun wild-place,
where having your face
rest in your own *****
was allowed at your table.
I mean nobody gave a ****** about such things.
It was truly a place where anything went,
especially drunkenness.
The last time we visited,
some twenty years ago,
we lost two hitchhikers
we had picked up
in Malibu
on the PCH.
Now years later,
I wonder how,
or if
they ever made it back.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
The god welcomed you in the garden of six flowers ,
You entered with a rose in your hand ,
He turned it into a dark winter night ,
And you shivered with your half naked mind ,
Partly open , Partly obscured ,
Seeking freedom but it needs a cure ,
All He gave you with rest of the five was love ,
And nothing much .
The shepherds and the hitchhikers they seduced the lambs ,
You whispered in God's ear " hallowed be thy name "
©
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
The ascension of human consciousness in the alchemy of time,
The Conscious, Sub conscious, & Super-Conscious Mind,
Place these thoughts in a conspicuous place,
Protected by Smith and Wesson glued to my second amendment,
Before we are born After we survive death,
Infinite intelligence calibrated,
A beginningless endless story with one eternal life,
Molecular mole diving through holes of motion,
E=mc2,
A lifetime conversation about the conservation of energy,
Modes of behavior adjusted to determined,
The mind exists and these are my minds exits,
Knowledge of the past present and future buried alive in my corpse,
Technical psychic underground psychologist,
Memory can not be replaced physically,
Informing every rational mortal,
Speak the truth and dare not make believe,
In a world of who you know rather then who you are myself is who I'm helping,
Coincidentally born December 5th ruled by planet five standing out in the midnight sky,
So i write to you Jupiter people on a Thursday made for Jupiterians,
They say Jupiter only returns in your life every dozen years as a hitchhikers guide to the galaxy,
A humble mumble from the concrete jungle,
The elephant on this galactic asteroid belt,
Collecting as much Tin to show you my appreciation....
My eye sockets are being closed by the forces of nature,
My mind will enact the dream catcher,
A motionless dance move i call the sleeper....
Stay gluten free......
Mythic personal healing
Or
Corporate pharmaceutical overseas dealing....
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC