"stalled" poems
you check on me many times a day
with my antique ears
I hear your squeaking shoes
on these vinyl floors
someone laid for those who came before
like passengers on a stalled bus
with windows that allowed only one view
I know you and I wait for the same thing
for you to check on the passenger who replaces me
he will be no different
a few more hairs, perhaps a few less stares
you will gently place your hand on his wrist
write in his chart, and maybe
glance at the date of birth,
do the mindless math
and wonder without wonder
if my replacement will have a bigger number than I
but I am still here
gazing at your angled eyes
while you count the beats
which slow a little each day
waiting for you to say
how long will this one last?
don’t worry, squeaking vinyl floor walker
when my drum stops pounding
I will try to make sure it happens
while I am asleep
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:42 PM UTC
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.
I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,
Before all of this and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!
I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.
.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
It was not a heart, beating.
That muted boom, that clangor
Far off, not blood in the ears
Drumming up and fever
To impose on the evening.
The noise came from outside:
A metal detonating
Native, evidently, to
These stilled suburbs nobody
Startled at it, though the sound
Shook the ground with its pounding.
It took a root at my coming
Till the thudding shource, exposed,
Counfounded in wept guesswork:
Framed in windows of Main Street's
Silver factory, immense
Hammers hoisted, wheels turning,
Stalled, let fall their vertical
Tonnage of metal and wood;
Stunned in marrow. Men in white
Undershirts circled, tending
Without stop those greased machines,
Tending, without stop, the blunt
Indefatigable fact.
8k
(1)
The day she visited the dissecting room
They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,
Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume
Of the death vats clung to them;
The white-smocked boys started working.
The head of his cadaver had caved in,
And she could scarcely make out anything
In that rubble of skull plates and old leather.
A sallow piece of string held it together.
In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow.
He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.
(2)
In Brueghel's panorama of smoke and slaughter
Two people only are blind to the carrion army:
He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin
Skirts, sings in the direction
Of her bare shoulder, while she bends,
Finger a leaflet of music, over him,
Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands
Of the death's-head shadowing their song.
These Flemish lovers flourish;not for long.
Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country
Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner.
6.7k
she was hot, she was so hot
I didn't want anybody else to have her,
and if I didn't get home on time
she'd be gone, and I couldn't bear that-
I'd go mad. . .
it was foolish I know, childish,
but I was caught in it, I was caught.
I delivered all the mail
and then Henderson put me on the night pickup run
in an old army truck,
the **** thing began to heat halfway through the run
and the night went on
me thinking about my hot Miriam
and jumping in and out of the truck
filling mailsacks
the engine continuing to heat up
the temperature needle was at the top
HOT HOT
like Miriam.
leaped in and out
3 more pickups and into the station
I'd be, my car
waiting to get me to Miriam who sat on my blue couch
with scotch on the rocks
crossing her legs and swinging her ankles
like she did,
2 more stops. . .
the truck stalled at a traffic light, it was hell
kicking it over
again. . .
I had to be home by 8,8 was the deadline for Miriam.
I made the last pickup and the truck stalled at a signal
1/2 block from the station. . .
it wouldn't start, it couldn't start. . .
I locked the doors, pulled the key and ran down to the
station. . .
I threw the keys down. . .signed out. . .
your ********* truck is stalled at the signal,
I shouted,
Pico and Western. . .
. . .I ran down the hall,put the key into the door,
opened it. . .her drinking glass was there, and a note:
sun of a *****
I waited until 5 after ate
you don't love me
you sun of a *****
somebody will love me
I been wateing all day
Miriam
I poured a drink and let the water run into the tub
there were 5,000 bars in town
and I'd make 25 of them
looking for Miriam
her purple teddy bear held the note
as he leaned against a pillow
I gave the bear a drink, myself a drink
and got into the hot
water.
6.3k
I find myself looking for words.
Combinations of feeling
I did not know existed.
I cannot breathe.
I struggle for them
& make myself a fool.
The world was so big before I met you
& now I'm grasping for it,
unable to recall it's delusion
as I am pulled into your orbit.
Out of drifting dreams.
My mind goes blank
& all I can see
is the dark galaxy that is you.
Alien, beautiful & natural.
You haunt me.
I nearly never believed so big,
& you infiltrated this complex defense
to show me what's been missing.
Half crazed by the loneliness of space
I cannot articulate.
Another form of art I hesitate to express.
I do not trust myself
that it will not be perfect,
fluid,
each stroke of the tongue
like the brush fear failure.
I want to show you all I see
beneath the stars.
Let the brilliance of the moon shine through.
But she is stuck.
In the cloud of curious awareness,
my eloquence cripples me.
How many things can I say
before I lose my grace?
& I dread
the company of simple minds
who cannot love stories.
So eager,
your patience holds the hand of the clock.
I want to watch your eyes glow
lit up by the music from my lips,
& I want to be carried off
by all you reminisce.
I can't believe in chance
when a soul like yours comes to court.
Thrice even.
I am challenged by the core of you.
Inquiry.
Things I cannot see
& stopped looking for.
If I take no notice,
I will not be seen.
Drawn into someone else's dreams,
Abandoning me.
I forgot how to identify
with my kind
so that I did not lose me.
Then I rusted over.
The great machine locked away
while the shows went on
in Technicolor.
Introspective
losing passion & luster inside this shell.
How you found me,
only body in forum.
You took me out to play.
Engaged, stalled, oiled & sparked
Life.
I am reminded of a better me.
An affirmation,
of my Dominant heart.
His voice,
the coaxing in my womb to Be.
Away with closed up, dying to shine.
You wanted to show me off,
pretty girl.
I remember being a Goddess
& shattering the abyss around me
with heart & raw warmth.
The fire of honesty.
Unsatiated wander bred in me
& I held nothing back.
Now the world is clay
& my garden to build upon.
Train me to grow.
I am inspired to be stardust.
Permeate every corner of this heavenly body.
I find myself the eager student of Aquarius.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 1:50 AM UTC
"I love you."
Their true feelings spoken, There's something to be said,
To share their feelings - they're no longer weak.
As they lay there in bed.
As they lay there unafraid to speak.
They can't see their future without one another.
A deep a relationship, they are almost there.
Emotions still roar like thunder.
Hopes and Dreams, they now share.
Not just sleeping together, but Making love.
They hide no secrets, Tell no lies.
Each other - They're proud of.
Arguments now lead to Compromise.
It's their first time.
Emotions take over.
Touching, Kissing, Feeling,
Passion - the wait is over.
Their feelings for each other, yet again, grow.
Every one gets along fine.
Questions, Answers, Conversations flow.
Nervous - Meeting the family for the first time.
He says he wants to be more serious - She agrees.
Relationship is stronger.
Arguments forgiven.
Would we happy with each other?
What we have, is this right?
Frustrated with each other.
First fight.
He is lost in her beauty.
Many Dates passed, the first now a memory.
Dates and Dinners, Drinks and Movies.
Date two, Date three.
The first kiss - He gave her.
A memorable night.
Both on their best behaviour.
A romantic dinner over candlelight.
No hesitation shown.
Arranged first date - No-one stalled.
Spoke for the first time on the phone.
Nervous - Dialling their number, first call.
Exciting emotions unlocked.
The start of a relation.
Numbers swapped.
Shared a conversation.
"Hello, Nice to meet you!"
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
#*Multitudes will be liberated by that recognition;
and although multitudes obtain liberation in that manner,
the number of sentient beings being great, evil karma powerful,
obscurations dense, propensities o too long standing,
the Wheel of Ignorance and Illusion becometh neither exhausted nor accelerated*.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
translation: Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup
Free Tibet your sticker tells me…
Yes, I think, perhaps I should –
and the noble thought compels me,
uninformed, half-understood.
Will their freedom help my Karma?
Upgrade my reincarnation?
(Soul who could not dare to harm a
fly… much less a Buddhist nation.)
Not to justify aggression
by the ever-brutal Commies,
let us grant no glib concession
to the Maoists – or their mommies.
Slogans echo in the void,
shining in bardos of the dead;
stopped by the light, I am annoyed
impatient for the change from red.
A bumper crop of human woe
beams forth a mandate to my brain
while red Dakinis circle slow
in Buddhist hells of karmic pain.
The eastern concepts here diverge
and bow before brutality.
They make this driver long to merge
with incorporeality.
Then I glimpse a monkish fellow
swathed in saffron, calmly seated.
His, the cloud-borne sage’s pillow;
mine the traffic; stalled, defeated.
In his gaze of stern displeasure
I perceive the orient stars
calculating man’s mismeasure
trapped, exhausted, among the cars.
Flanked by Spirits wreathed in fire
he extends an accusing hand:
Western slave of base desire:
come and liberate my land !”
I meditate before the stop light:
am I ready for the task ?
Should I just refuse it outright
Can’t it be someone else ? I ask…
Must I free this mountain nation
from the Buddha, demons and Reds?
Shall your sticker’s declaration
shatter the yoke and raise their heads ?
Somebody ought to free Tibet,
and heed this Himalayan cry.
Maybe we should get upset…
The red light changes. Cars pass by,
predestined for benign events
and unconcerned for persecution;
oblivious to dissidents
awaiting execution.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
he emerges from the driver’s side of his stalled minivan as if you’ve been given too much information. he holds a hammer in the looseness of his stung left hand. for a moment it seems he’ll attack windows. instead, he cries. his shoulders give him away. not a car horn sounds. this is a kindness. someone has an egg timer. I locate the itch thrown off course by my lover’s legs and imagine her happy. across town a silent alarm is pressed by the anonymous smoker of wedding cigarettes. the bomb squad arrives before the bomb squad knows it and you join
this bomb squad.
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
I was born to a woman who smoked cigarettes
and since I was a child, I tried to inhale blueberries until they
stalled my windpipe.
My mother taught me that word –
windpipe – after she coughed for hours upon hours. I
was so happy that day, imagining how I must have swallowed
windchimes for the doctors who helped birth me
in December’s final snow –
how I hoped they believed I sounded pretty, although
covered in that sop adults call life juice. Life juice sounds nice
but I had known babies who
came just as sticky as me and never got to breathe.
Windchimes, you know, the things
beautiful ladies in ankle-length dresses hang outside,
my daddy lived thirteen hours down the interstate and I knew
somehow that he owned one.
In my dreams, I touched it
and pulled on it. I twisted the copper-ends up like my
momma’s hair and pretended we were with my dad by some
lake where the breezes are heavy enough and I
am small enough for them to carry me up, up, and away.
Everyone insisted that windpipes are inside
while windchimes stay out –
I fixed that problem, too. I tried three times to plant chimes in
my ears, unglue parts of the skin there from myself
to make room for dangly jewelry. A tiny
slit was all I needed, but it would not stay open for long
and I never got to swing my head
pretend I possessed the ability to create music like how God
let my momma grow smoke. I never got to exhale.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
The Pedicab drivers of Gotham all say
You should ignore a "Whale Hail"
because it just doesn't pay.
The city is hilly and
to pedal gets tough
when your passengers are,
shall we say, overstuffed.
Two tubby tourists out on the town
between them they weighed about
Eight Hundred Pounds.
They had wiped out the Sushi
at an all you can eat.
Much too lazy to walk
on their overstressed feet.
They hailed for a Pedicab
of which there's a multitude
Thats the sole explanation
for accepting their pulchritude.
Their ride started slowly,
but pleasant enough.
But then came a hill
and the going got rough.
He groaned and he struggled
as he trucked up the road,
but not even juiced Armstrong
could handle this load.
With two tubby tourists
ensconced in the back.
He slowed to a crawl
then stalled in his tracks.
Something had to give
with those two in the rear
The cab then turned turtle
chucking him in the air.
The two tubby tourist
were down on their backs
Their driver unconscious
and two tires flat.
An Ambulance came
and gave him first aide
The two tourists rolled off
and he never got paid.
If we banned too large colas
and sixty ounce beers
could we hope that these
land whales
might,one day, disappear?
Until then its risky
to pick such fares up
unless in a limo
or a truck thats Ram tough
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
That day was brutally hot, and the cannon incessantly roared
It was the twenty eighth of June in the third year of the war.
Mary Hays was with her soldier, John, as he fought against the King.
Men would call out “Molly Pitcher” and she brought water from a spring.
The action began badly; Cornwallis pushing back Charles Lee.
Who’d have bet a continental that this would be a victory?
Then Washington brought up fresh troops and held Cornwallis back
Rebel cannon from Hays’ battery stalled Cornwallis’ attack.
John Hays , at his cannon, had succumbed to wounds and heat.
But his gun must not go silent or we would go down to defeat.
That was when Mary Hays decided she would take her husband’s place.
She ran to serve his cannon and kept up the firing pace.
She narrowly avoided death when the Redcoats returned fire
But bravely stood her ground and fought, and a legend was inspired.
Mary Hays survived the war and lived a ripe old age.
She was honored for her service and a State pension was paid.
That day at Monmouth Court House, we proved we could stand and fight.
The British army left the field in the darkness of that night.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
*Words swirl through parting crimson.
Each syllable reflects on
the warm surface as it passes.
Some are almost drawn back
by the delicate wisp of breath.
Others are bitten off
stalled by a thought,
a look...
that look!
A tooth gripping soft red.
Released, the cherry
lips fall back in place.
Another butterfly flees my chest.*
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
All edge and divides
Frightening truths, severed lies
You don’t walk through a crowd
For fear of taking their lives
Serpent tongue, serpent teeth
Rattles between lips, sealed
Spoke of many, far too many
Nonconformities
Cyclic reveries
The start and end don’t
Repeat
Just an infinite line
Parallel in
Retreat
Cyclic history
Stalled and stuttered to
Death
Just to rise once again
All mistakes and
Regrets
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
from a point of ignorance, or perhaps from
a point of common sense...
listening to
jan lamprecht talking
about apartheid in south africa, and how,
apparently, the idea was to create
a poly-state solution, or what would
have been a federation, akin to u.s.a.,
now, i already said, from the point of
ignorance, or perhaps from a common sense...
let's not read too much at this point
for the sake of argument...
if that was really going to happen?
that there were white states, and there were
black states,
but somehow, they managed to work
together...
i'm looking at the map of south africa
right now...
now...
in europe, you have countries
that are land-locked, and we just call them that...
but i'm looking at the map...
and the apartheid beginnings, which
would rather seem obvious to the eye...
wouldn't apartheid have been stalled
once lesotho & suazi emerged?
surely these areas weren't the spartan 300
akin and never being colonised...
it's a "poem", it's not a history book,
i don't feel like i need to be right
or wrong, or need to constantly rely
on precision of facts to write, constantly making
references...
i'm working from: word of mouth,
from someone who was there...
but i can't really imagine either lesotho
or suazi being so ****** resistent to british
rule...
to me, they were the beginning results
of the apartheid project to create
the s.a.f. the south african federation,
federation meaning: there's already a whole,
now we need to cut it up, but retain the original
whole...
united states?
how would you establish
that, if not through a civil war?
it's still a federation,
the f.s.a. ha ha, imagine the chants...
f.s.a.! f.s.a.! no ring to it without
there's a federal bank, right?
federal this that and, of course,
x-files & federal bureau of investivgation.
like i already said, i'm not going to look
into the origins of lesotho & suazi,
as other than from the project apartheid...
and i'll only cite one realiable source:
jan lamprecht...
it's the tongue on the ground (boots too),
and if he doesn't know what he's talking,
how can some historian, in a stuffy library in
england tell me what is and what isn't true?
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
~
*Ragged mist of stalled horizon,
from dry dock
to disadvantage point
second hand shops
of sackcloth and ash,
they contain multitudes
treading the outside edge
of perception,
rehearsing disaster
in fistfuls of earth,
and the immaterial:
the stuff of pure shadow
a bevy of dead buildings
resemble a fallen actress
in the throes of dance,
with emaciated figurines leaning
forward in the temple,
listening for clues
too far to whisper
work will never resume
on the tower,
and it will remain painfully scanty,
a place to bury strangers
or raise up cholera
the third world summer
sun on sacred walls,
red before orange,
let the rays burn away our sins,
we contain multitudes
but one step inside doesn't mean
we understand anything*
~
Mar 22, 2023
Mar 22, 2023 at 5:29 PM UTC
when you start
feeling as if
just being you
is not enough ,..
when you see
the sunlight slipping away
sliding into the ocean
and the outbound tide
is pulling strong ,..
gravity throbs downward ―
you see it's weight groan
pacing in lonely eyes,
you feel it's burden
bear down on
a wayfaring stranger
wandering away alone ,..
wondering what went wrong
stalled by a riverside
frozen in time ;
walking on slippery rocks
and fallen stars,
searching for peace
along the meandering shoreline
the waterfall surrenders
a river's silent lament ;
the storm gales' surge stirs
the urge for moving on
a heart broken knows
how fickle tides change
which way the wind blows ,..
which way the rain
comes falling down ―
watershed moments
undulating
serpentine rivers,
unbridled terrain waters
veritably cascading beyond
blurred latitudes,
uninhibitedly drifting
in shapeless symmetry ―
a deep ocean rises
with the calling tide's
murmur,
the shorebirds linger ;
hole up with the peace
of the unsullied sands
at the sea stained
tide-mark ―
barnacles cling
to the pulse
of the tidal sway
where starfish hold on to
slippery rocks ,..
being enough
to while away
just a little bit longer ―
to simply let it all be
and wholly wash out
in the water
waiting for the tide change,
to swallow whole
the rivers stagnant flow,
immersing
the stars in swirling silence ―
in the unrestrained
rhythm and the sea ...
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
I took it
Eagerly
ate it up
from your hand
persuasive
treacherous
hand
You sold me
more
Saw the budding
addiction
the yearning
for more
access
to another me
adventure
ecstasy
I fell
plummeted into abstinence
Fear
I needed more
of it of
the other me
You stalled
me
Tricked
Pleased
Disoriented
me
I
got
lost
ad
dict
ed
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
Dashing hither, dashing thither,
Dashing in the winter weather,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a hat upon his head
Not some lace cap fit for ladies,
Nor a bonnet stitched for babies,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a top hat there instead!
Never had a hat so fine,
So tall and silken, so refined,
Regaled upon the daily grind
Of prince or pauper in the Strand
Ladies stalled to see it's lustre,
Swooned and swayed before it's bluster,
Fell and fainted in a fluster,
Startled by a hat so grand!
Children screamed in dreadful fright
And yelping dogs began to bite
As crowds began to brawl and fight
And riots claimed the London street
In the chaos thus ensuing,
Folks began to run, pursuing
John the dashing haberdasher
Chasing him from Strand to Fleet!
John was taken to the prison,
Chided by the crowds derision,
There to wait the Mayor's decision
On his wanton heinous crime
Charged with breaching lawful peace,
He paid a fine for his release
And ordered to desist and cease,
He left his top hat well behind
Thus is told the tale of John
Who dared to bravely dash and don
A silken top hat high upon
His noble head in London town
Heed his tale and take this warning,
When you wake one winter morning
With desire to be less boring,
Careful how you dress that crown!
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
back from the brink
of blindly falling;
back alone again
in a crowded room
there is no bridge
over troubled waters,
no way to purge
vast oceans
when deep rivers foment
pitch black
swallowed by an insatiable sea
no good shepherd to gather
an abandoned black sheep
cast heedlessly away
from the fold
unbefriended
like a dogless bone
a stain on impeccable sublime
a hopeless wanderer
stalled on the brink
of a threshold lost in time
purge me from your poetry
so I won’t remember
the insatiable ache
of inerasable words
left unsaid
you lured me out
from the cold & darkness
to freeze my heart
in naked light of day
purge me from your poetry
like you spilled me
from your heart;
don’t come back here
to this slippery, lonely edge,
just to bid adieu
as if I didn't notice you were gone
purge me from your poetry
so I can accept without
sorrow's ache so deep;
in unbroken silence
a heart silent atones not pretense,
and yet,
the only lie you whispered was "friend"
November 2016 ... wild is the wind
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
How Sweet yet Sorted your Flavours that Are
Branding each ****** where Lust is the Key
Keeping their Thoughts stalled in Wonder that far
Beheld the Heart's Choice you picked out to be
Now in my Learning from Elders since Time
That People regardless are not Hors d'Oeuvres
Nipping that Spread to where Souls are defined
And acknowledge the Praise they so deserve
These are your Customers; Satisfy them
Yet still keep your Person well and maintained
None do they ask for much Sterlings and Sense
Just that Spark to which your Truth is retained.
That Day will come when no Fish will swim by,
Stressed on their Fins with the Bubbles you cry.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
Bright child of the Tarot, a new age awaits you –
but not through the mazes you’re wandering in.
Your gypsy desire and clairvoyant excursions
are setting your beautiful brain all a-spin.
The dog at the precipice barks out a warning:
the FOOL, the MAGICIAN and PRIESTESS are wrong
Pay no heed to their signs and the omens around you –
let faith be your shield when the DEVIL seems strong.
JUSTICE, as blind as the HERMIT is *****
has seen that our TOWER is stricken and doomed.
The SUN, MOON and STARS in their orbits bear witness
as LOVERS in ******* to DEATH are consumed…
Egypt can’t help you – the CHARIOT‘s stalled
While the TEMPERANCE angel was mixing the drinks.
The EMPRESS (a tedious feminist) preaches
an upside down future, the HANGED MAN thinks…
Though the WHEEL almost crushes you turning this way
And the staff of correction has battered you hard
I am sure you will make it, if only you pray
to the sovereign elector who holds every card
for a ray of redemption to light up your way.
Let the major arcana now bow and acknowledge
as JUDGMENT is sounded and shatters the sky
that righteous and just is the blessed Redeemer
who loves every lunatic card-addled dreamer
like you and like me. Therefore hear as I cry
that the WORLD in its fulness can’t harbor His love –
nor the heavens within nor without nor above…
May the HIEROPHANT‘s dynasty wither away
and the EMPEROR‘s scepter be broken to shards
as the breath of God’s Spirit comes into our world
to reveal the true STRENGTH of your house made of cards.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Hauling Jack I am called
My truck rely gets stalled
I drive a powerful 18 wheeler and being a sturdy trucker
I travel from coast to coast
My story is not much to boost
I drive for “GOT YOUR STACK TRUCKING COMPANY”
I am on my CB radio talking to Trucker Flipping Sal
We actually grew up together and he is my pal
I am cruising at 75
But when I am living, it is about staying alive
I got my eyes for highway Smoky
At times he will give me a wave
Then there’s other times I get a warning in behave
My job is pretty cut and dry
Driving helps pass the time away
I have seen a lot while driving these highways
I have seen Greyhound buses signal on by
There were steep hills my truck had to try
Then there were trucks with blown out tires and sometimes their brakes could fail
Being a trucker has no fancy tail
This trucker only wants to share the trail
It’s just a job and how a trucker prevails
Hauling Jack is a man who hauls a pack
Once to the final destination, it’s a matter to unpack then reload
Hauling Jack in highway knows, and it was illustrated in being the show.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC