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Scattered Thoughts MTAT

Truck Driver years

The windshield of my truck in the 1970’s provided many hours of muses; stuff was going on inside of this young man too.  Writing was simply my method of dispersal, however little or much sense that it made – the exercise helped me to sort things out…. and it felt good.

 

01 through 50

1975

(near Punta Gorda, Fla.)

A FISHING PLACE

I came to this place,

today and write,

Where three fishermen,

-each seek a bite.

.

I’ll try if they catch,

many or few,

To make a note,

in this poem for you.

.

One has gone,

now I see,

T’was a bad day,

– for him and me.

.

The second came,

with his wife and dogs,

Did about as well,

– as that hollow log.

.

Now the third you see,

came in his Cadillac,

-is awful quiet,

-just sitting back.

.

The first two have left

Something to be learned,

For the third has now,

-caught something he has earned.


BITTER CREEK

I am at a place,

with water deep,

Use to stop here’

– just to catch some sleep.

.

There are many Oaks,

Tall and bold,

None look less,

than a hundred years old.

.

The creek moves slow,

the air is breezy,

Moss hangs low,

– and time passes easy.

.

A good place to sit,

and look around,

I’m sure glad God made,

– this piece of ground.

tgh


A new day has started,

born from the night,

Images emerge,

–  the activities of life.

A new day means much,

to different people you see,

And then something else,

– to you and me

.

Everything is original,

existing for a reason,

Like the changing of the tide,

– the passing of season

.

A winter snow,

enhances this day,

The early sunlight glistens,

– melting it away

.

Moods also reflect,

the different places we are found,

like this jumbled mixed up writing,

– bouncing all around

.

This had no special reason,

just a time consuming jingle,

jumping from morning light,

– to where my feelings mingle.

tgh


Snow

I stopped tonight

in Michigan,

Where the snow had fallen,

– over again

.

Then it all froze,

clear and cold,

silently still,

– passively bold

.

In its own way,

It remains today,

A covering presence,

– a blanket to stay

.

Exactly how this happens,

Just makes me wonder,

This event of beauty,

I can only ponder

.

Only in saying,

that we may never know,

if again next winter,

– it will positively Snow.

tgh


All and all

People should try,

and do what they should,

you may be surprised,

if you found that you could

.

For if you try,

and see that you can,

I bet that you may,

-try it again

.

And if you see,

how it could be,

I would know then,

you were smarter than me

.

Now you have seen,

what you think you saw,

but what really have you read?,

– all and all.

tgh


2/22/75

The difference.

What’s the difference,

in night and day,

fast or slow,

or going the wrong way?

.

What’s the difference,

in right or wrong,

good or bad,

short or long?

.

What’s the difference,

in coming or going,

moving or stopping,

 living or dying?

.

What’s the difference,

in different things,

and how’s it the same,

with what life brings?

.

How are things,

we control each day,

about like those,

In which we have no say?

.

Not quite short,

yet not so tall,

Something is there,

– between it all

.

It’s just a difference you see,

Just in between,

Wouldn’t it be a drag?

If we didn’t have such a thing.

tgh


Experience

Whatever happens,

today or tomorrow,

Most likely you’ll carry,

in happiness or sorrow

.

The best that we carry,

deep down inside,

Was meant for us,

meant for the ride

.

Even the worst,

could be intent,

and with God’s blessings,

Heaven sent

.

We want what we don’t have,

And when received,

We quit trying,

This is perceived.

Carry these things,

and live to realize,

All that we share,

Is clear in God’s eyes.

tgh


One-half.

I’ve known couples,

United,

Then one became,

Undecided

.

One would take,

The love that was given,

the other left to cope,

–  “just part of livin.”

.

Time has ways of mending,

Yet some never heal,

Some figure whatever happens,

– just happens for real

.

Don’t pull yourself down,

If you find yourself stuck,

Creep toward the hard road,

– out of this muck

.

Then you’ve helped yourself,

and in turn others around,

Believe in yourself,

– this lesson I’ve found

.

How many friends?

Have faced this same problem,

how many kept going,

How many fell down?

.

Lets don’t compare,

with people of our past,

Just stick with what is right,

– and verily you’ll last.

tgh


Hangover at six.

(3-26-75)

Just sitting here now,

trying to write,

to make things rhyme,

with all my might

.

Got drunk last night,

in North Caroline,

my head hurts,

–  not feeling too fine

.

I’m waiting to unload,

at this super mart,

so shoppers may have

–  food for their cart

.

It’s now six a.m.,

people coming to work,

glancing as they pass,

must think this drivers a “turk”

.

I’m in my truck,

writing all this down,

as they pass below,

– nearer the ground

.

In my overalls,

long hair and beard,

I’m sure they think,

– this drivers weird

.

To me no matter,

I won’t think back,

for what I do,

– is my own silly track

.

How I choose to ride,

this set of rails,

is up to me,

-before my “end” prevails.

tgh


On sunny days,

I like to think,

’bout good things,

– not things that stink

.

Another nice thing,

Is this soft gentle breeze,

its the kind of feeling,

that sets my mind at ease

.

Makes me think

of years gone by,

Things gained and lost,

– maybe why !

.

The past and future,

is around you know,

as I sit and ponder,

– just where I’ll go

.

Now there’s stillness,

Fresh air around,

I hear fall leaves,

Settle to the ground

.

These days are nice,

When appreciated,

I’m glad I stopped,

– and just waited.

tgh


Attitude

Its something we have,

and carry each day,

Part of what we think,

do, eat, and say

.

It’s just something within us,

That has been here as long,

And difficult to sense,

When “it’s” right or wrong

.

In most that we do,

In how we think,

If overlooked,

– “it” adds the link

.

Walk if you want,

or run if you will,

It’s there with you,

When you find yourself still

.

I suppose when we go,

and leave this place,

“it” will just dry up,

– leaving a space.

tgh


I’m sitting here,

As truckers do,

Hours to wait,

Near an avenue

.

The atmosphere is alive,

Here in Jacksonville,

Inconspicuous I watch,

– attentive and still

.

The streets are loud,

and its twelve at night,

I remain in my truck,

– just out of sight

.

I’m not trying to say,

That this place is a ‘drag,’

I’m just a visitor,

– just look at my tag

.

I am simply gazing,

Into all that I see,

Believing in small things,

Watching things grow -drastically

.

I observe at different levels,

watch, listen, and learn,

Another town along the wayside,

– a few more hours to ‘burn.’

.

We live by what we learn,

It’s not just a matter of luck,

To appreciate what I am saying,

– observe life from a truck

.

This city has a spirit,

Growing at a rapid pace,

Folks busy at all hours,

Going from place to place

.

This had no special meaning,

just a ‘thing’ for me to do,

As I sit alone in my truck,

Along a midnight avenue.

tgh


Urge.

I have this urge,

Of writing things down,

Some make me smile,

– some make me frown

.

There is a comfort in the effort,

Like no other that I know

I’ll guess I’ll use it till I lose it,

– or the urge thaws like the snow

.

Am I hunting something special?

I really don’t have a clue,

Just a private journal of sorts,

When there’s nothing else to do

.

I suppose it’s like a fisherman,

Who spends time with his pole,

or a touchy gourmet cook,

– reflections of their soul

I am not in it to be someone,

Its just a release of inner me,

This is amateur scribble,

– as you can plainly see

.

Who really knows?

I may destroy all of these,

For they each did me good,

–  and set this mind at ease.

tgh


Just Something

Something about the birds,

something about the breeze,

There is just something about life,

– that sets my mind at ease

.

There is something about cars,

Even with all the noise,

Intriguing things,

– that other folks avoid

.

There is something simple,

and something very plain,

Something yet unique,

– in each and every thing

.

I suppose the something that survives,

that something about,

is the something that I see,

– Character shining out.

tgh


MOOD

What do I want?

in life ahead,

At this moment I feel,

There is a ‘skin’ I should shed

.

What I have accomplished?

in the years of my past,

Today it all seems wasted,

– and gone so very fast

.

Maybe it’s just this feeling,

Or that it was meant,

maybe all those moments,

–  were times well spent

.

I can only go forward,

and hope to leave my dark past,

But passing through the guilt,

– touch feelings that seem to last

.

I suppose what I want,

and what I really need,

Has to do with leaving this mood,

– and this uncertainty.

tgh


Orate

I hope to be a hundred,

with knowledge to posses,

Wisdom that I could speak,

-and leave doubters there to rest

.

Articulating sounds with meaning,

Pictures in every word,

never a moment to stutter,

-never to sound absurd

.

Structuring a voice of sound,

Coloring moments of thought,

never becoming boring,

– and leaving quite a lot

.

I admire those that orate,

Fluidly and without offense,

Gifted and resolute,

From them it all makes sense

.

Here I am at twenty-three,

Years from who knows where,

Maybe one day I will find an audience,

– and have a message then to share.

 tgh


Little Progress

So here I’ve stopped,

And I’m struggling just to write,

Where did all my simple thoughts go?

– meant for black and white

.

Time, and little progress,

I’ve lost all solid notions,

I may as well hold a towel,

– and try to dry the oceans

.

In my meandering mind,

I ponder which way to go,

I think I’ll leave this hollow page,

And hope for direction to show.

tgh


The rains came today,

quietly and swift,

condensation many say,

– and I say a gift

.

Falling downward to earth,

On the roof I hear drops patter,

pounding and then rebounding,

– then to the ground they splatter

.

The storm continues,

Rain continues to fall,

Wetting my lush surroundings,

–  then soaking into it all

.

Soon the moisture will be gone,

Soaked and evaporated away,

Leaving no trace of this moment,

– gone, like today.

tgh


Sitting here,

With paper and a pen,

I conjer up some words,

– from my head like a den

.

I flow with the ink,

And sometimes make a rhyme,

It’s the fluid of the moment,

– the thoughts at the time

.

I hope that you might,

find something that you feel,

in these simple lines of writing,

-one time to me so real

.

If you dislike what you read,

or find the thoughts unsteady,

Maybe it’s not for you,

I’ll understand if you’re not ready

.

I wish you a good life,

Make the best of what ever,

I will continue with my attempt,

And quit?  -maybe never.

tgh


I see many people,

in the work that I do,

finding similarities,

– in the routines that they choose

.

There are patterns that I see,

folks being them,

Common patterns of life,

– the ‘tipping of ones brim

.

I’ve heard the loud talkers,

Observed others moving slow,

I’ve seen folks act as fools,

– even predicted their little ‘show.’

.

I see one acting “cool,”

dressed unique he would say,

Unbeknownst to him,

– I saw a likeness yesterday

.

Yes, I’ve seen them such as you,

and others quite like me,

I’ve seen many just sitting back,

-absorbing the things that they see

.

I have met people so very kind,

and others simply mean,

similar shapes and sizes,

– both dirty and clean

.

The best are inconspicuous,

Just going on with their day,

doing what it takes,

– being themselves along the way

.

We are far from unique,

Is the lesson that I have found,

Today I sit like others,

– watching the others around.

tgh


It is a small part of my day,

to stop and find this time,

to write and make note,

– of what crossed this simple mind

,

Just to sit and write,

about what “I” feel inside,

no boundaries of intention,

– then this book I hide

.

I hope that it may be possible,

one day to translate,

the intent of those words,

– and others to relate

.

For another to understand,

and feel these passing senses,

is finding mutual ground,

– bridging literary pretenses

.

A bond hopefully real,

Moments that we care,

The joy of an honest laugh,

– moments that we share.

tgh


Sitting by this motel,

a Holiday-Inn in fact,

there is much in observation,

– a drivers basic task

.

I like to sit in my truck,

Looking through familiar glass,

life outside revolving,

– moving by very fast

.

Everyday happenings,

life as it appears,

real events unfold before me,

– I feel sadness in others tears

.

If I were not a truck-driver,

the same person I would be,

challenged from within,

– from the things that I have seen

.

I believe in many things,

common sense I have learned,

books to me have been foreign,

– boring and unearned

.

With the things that I write,

most will never know,

the effort of this all,

– was just wasted time to “blow”.

tgh


Broke-down on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel

Now guess where I am,

this moment where I write,

few things went well for me today,

– then more of the same tonight

.

But this is pretty “far-out”,

a one and only – for now,

my semi-rig has two flat tires,

– but what a place – “wow”

.

What a place! that I now sit,

Out on the Chesapeake Bay,

five miles away from land,

– and here I must stay

.

Just outside the tunnel,

the waves at a steady chop,

the wind blows ever gently,

– it’s early morning, three o’clock

.

Making the best of my hard luck,

I find it’s not that bad,

I find comfort in this setting,

– and find ways to being glad

.

There are neat things here,

and to very few available,

this place, time, and setting,

– is really incredible

.

I wish you were here,

and could share this air I breath,

knowing I’ll dread the moment,

– when the tire-man says to leave.

tgh


Today is natural beauty,

weather so crystal clear,

a crackling kind of freshness,

– slicing through the air

.

The breeze is very gentle,

flowing from the east,

the thermometer shows near eighty,

– a nice day, to say the least

.

I listen to “Abbey Road”,

the tone fits the day,

I long for days of youth,

– that frolicking kind of play

.

I search for comfort in where I am,

miles from my hometown,

missing the bond of those friends,

– today so spread around

.

I sort these complex feelings,

feeling out some inner pain,

I need to move on with today,

– and with it’s beauty, remain

.

Just to feel a smile,

Is certainly what I needed,

to be comfortable in this new place,

– I think I have succeeded.

tgh


Tired and weary,

1200 miles I drove today,

five different states,

– little coherent left to say

.

But I did give two riders a lift,

a “dude” and a “chick”,

we laughed and spoke of many things,

– about any subject they picked

.

They were college material,

alert and very bright,

taking a “break” in time,

– enlightening each others life

.

They were doing their “own thing”,

enjoying “whatever” there was,

stopping wherever they pleased,

Why? – just because

.

These two were good to meet,

for they opened another door,

and after saying goodbye,

– they said “thanks again, for-sure”

.

Days like this are great to have,

Those folks were great to meet,

it changed the driving of some ole highway,

– to driving a familiar street

.

After driving so many miles,

With steering wheel in hold,

I’m worn, weary, and frazzled,

– a true story I have told.

tgh


I thought to sit,

– and found I had sat.

I thought to look,

– yet had already seen

.

Now as I write,

– the ink is dry behind me.

Things quickly go unnoticed,

and as we do,

– it is done

.

Before you know it,

– you knew it,

And as you read,

– it has been read

.

I started to think,

– and it was a passing thought.

Must all in our lives

– pass so quickly?

tgh


Sifting Sand

Sitting at a simple place,

quiet and into writing,

something within this simple life,

– makes it all worth living

.

Making my own way,

feeling this perspective as right,

taking it in day to day,

– maintaining a mental sight

.

Being more and more sure,

I do what I can,

trying different avenues,

– continually “sifting the sand”.

tgh


I control many feelings,

that others seem to show,

directing most all my thoughts,

– with smiles rare to flow

.

I wonder at times if it’s right,

in being as I am,

quickly knowing others,

– then moving on again

.

A shifting personality,

drifting further within,

never really sad,

– less fellowship with friends

.

I’m just holding things steady,

Not an obvious craze,

Peering out two portholes,

Searching through the maze

.

I’ll just move along,

probing this days plight,

or yet I may change my mind,

– before I’m out of sight

.

I might want a career,

maybe even a wife,

I might even want to know,

What is left to life?

.

I bounce across those things,

Including what brought me hurt,

And things that came too quickly,

– becoming the things that were

.

I do think quite a lot,

if I’m right or wrong,

but this mind just won’t rest,

– it must be deeper than long.

tgh


Tell you what I want to know,

I’d like to know, where I’ll go,

I’d like to know, what I’ll do,

– pushing past today, peering through

.

I’d like to know more of us,

I’d like to know more of me,

I’d like to know, what I’ll “do”,

– then find some time to rest

.

I’d like to know, how I’ll “go”,

when and how, and what I’ll know.

I’d like to know what makes me so curious,

– and whether or not it was good or bad

.

I suppose I’d like to know about everything,

knowing I could be dumb about something,

I’d like to thank the heavenly spirit for this life,

– and all the thoughts uncertain

.

I’d hope to live not looking back,

Wanting as I want and in no-ones way,

just to come and pass through life,

– respecting others and their ways.

tgh


Sometimes we may wake happy,

or some days even sad,

sometimes the weather makes us,

– turn towards good or bad

.

I like the happy ones,

as I imagine others do,

welcoming new personalities,

– the whole day through

.

Ominous days spell gloom,

few emotions on this face,

anywhere else seems better,

– any other time, or place

.

Sometimes we just wake beat,

tired and moving slow,

no direction in particular,

– the less we care to glow

.

At times we mesh with others,

with feelings parallel,

days meant to last,

– then to bed again we fell.

tgh


Alongside this highway,

a trash container there,

a crumpled newspaper is being read,

– it sways in the air

.

Supported by two aged hands,

A dirty shirt and whiskers gray,

A gentleman with yellow teeth,

– ‘wastes’ his time away

.

Time is no factor,

as crumpled pages are nursed to life,

wrinkles on all the faces,

– patient and without strife

.

Stains taint those pages,

the pictures relay it all,

the ads hold little interest,

– and the stocks seem way too small

.

All this news from yesterday,

seems fresh for him somehow,

The comics bring a goofy smirk,

– as I imagine his belly growl

.

I search this mans cause,

his wrinkled and dated shirt,

then luck for him I witness,

– from a glitter in the dirt

.

I sense him search direction,

as the paper is gently tossed,

from his face I feel gloom,

– What has our society lost?

.

He slowly begins to walk away,

searching the ground below,

as the crumpled paper moves with life,

– when the wind upon it blows.

tgh


Sittin in a Truck-stop,

near Jackson, Tennessee,

the weathers changed from bright,

-to overcast, wet, and dreary

.

I’m 800 miles North,

from my Florida home,

and 800 miles south,

– from where I have come

.

I’m heading west to Missisip,

to deliver this heavy load,

I’m a “trucker” you see,

– living life upon the road

.

All this driving will end,

one year from this fall,

I think I’ve found my calling,

– a young lady to me has called

.

I’m feel that I have driven,

hundreds of thousands of miles,

before she riveted me with her heart,

– and gentle kind of smiles

.

I’ve sat in lonely TV rooms,

such as the one where I’m at,

and lived along the highways,

– through cities in and out

.

I’ve gained much,

through the folks I have met,

common sense came the hard way,

– never will I forget.

tgh


Waiting to load in Mississippi,

On a humid cloudy night,

my mind wanders with suspense,

– what a my future has in sight

.

With 22 full years behind,

I wish for eighty more,

to live life to its fullest,

– as a roach crawls across the floor

.

Young adulthood has been ”wild,”

gone too fast to think,

about the things that should ring true,

– I hear the dripping of a sink

.

If I could do it all again,

I believe it would be near the same,

I would spend time to thank more folks,

– and the relatives that still remain

.

What can I say?

Humid reflections,

from a Mississippi diner,

– I search directions.

tgh

(rev comp, 10-23-03)


I can’t help but to notice others,

As I drive here and there,

with a glance and a thought,

– I absorb without a stare

.

I drive further down the highway,

as more images revolve,

there is a lot to deduce from others,

– from the hash I try to solve

.

When it’s possible I do stop,

and take what time I can,

to speak with those strangers,

– to further understand

.

We speak of different subjects,

those mostly “off-the-cuff,”

refraining from common questions,

– the weather, we’ve heard enough

.

Folks have unique perspectives,

and are interesting to hear,

when their voice flows in earnest,

– the individuality is clear

.

Others are a wealth of activity,

leading lives to us unknown,

we cross paths for just that moment,

– and then continue on our own

.

I also notice crowds,

where folks overtly blend,

their eyes, styles, and movements,

– and the message that it sends

.

When it’s all said and done,

noticing others is nothing new,

looking out this truck window,

– down another avenue.

tgh


No Clickety-clack

Peering down some railroad tracks,

Long straight and sleek,

There is a point they seem to touch,

– on the horizon I see them meet

.

A primitive survey team,

Once drew a line across a map,

Cut earth and chiseled stone,

– creating a ‘bed,’ forever flat

.

Tons of iron and cross-ties,

Were poured across this land,

Moving our nation and supplies,

– touching every man

.

‘Iron horses’ worked very well,

Those mighty diesels pulled great loads,

But now I’m a ‘driver in a truck,

– favoring our country’s roads

.

Loads for the trains have slowed,

Economic challenges of this date,

The railroad makes fewer stops,

– “Casey-Jones,” is running late

.

I look for glare upon this set of rails,

A shiny sign of passing,

I find only rust, red and rough,

– leaving sentiments, everlasting

.

A copper penny flat,

May the horns forever blast,

as I stand at this old crossing,

– without the sound of ‘clickety-clack.

tgh


I’m in a real small town,

Close to Louisian,

Isolated, and dated,

– folks work anywhere they can

.

I’ve come to load peppers,

The experience unique,

Crates thrown into my trailer,

– and then loaded, manually

.

Hard workers is what I find,

Like ants they all pitch in,

Folks that weren’t so open,

– take time to be my friend

.

Early they show for work,

I hear the chat along the way,

Then they joke as they labor,

– through the hot August day

.

They return the next morn,

Still talking more the same,

wishing like any other,

– desiring simple fame

.

Building in their minds,

upon dreams deep within,

they share these as they work,

– concurring, I see them grin

.

Like others that I know,

They have their little spats,

Snapping and retaliating,

– as quick as midnight bats

.

The next day they forgive,

But never seem to forget,

‘cause that is what they live for,

– that little something that they did

.

These folks took me in

and nothing seemed to lack,

Me, the only white,

– in this brotherly town of black.

tgh

Centerville, Ms. 8-24-75


Lets work together,

ahead is where we’ll look,

reaching our desires,

– and you learning to cook

.

We’ll each do our share,

I hope too for luck,

Building a life together,

– I’ll quit this truck

.

The two of us united,

Working both, for ours,

I’m sure we can do it,

– this thought never sours

.

It may be quite a change,

at least I’ve heard it so,

canoes become too small,

– then a boat we have to row

.

I’m sure the oars will pull equal,

even if straining it does take,

we’re headed for the sandy shore,

– in sight, we can make it

.

This is just a stupid poem,

It’s purpose only to fill this page,

but everything I said is true,

– and I will prove it with some age.

tgh


Rainy days,

after lunch,

not a lot to do,

– but think a bunch

.

About things ahead,

and things so near,

about things I wish,

– were already here

.

About the past,

present, and now,

It’s easy to think,

– I even wonder how

.

I hope for a good future,

one to build,

one for two (or more),

– as I look out this windshield

.

The puddles grow deeper,

and mass with time,

That’s how I want,

– that future of mine.

tgh


It’s been a long time,

since I last shared love,

but I haven’t forgotten,

– the one above

.

This doesn’t mean to say,

that I’m a ‘Jesus freak,’

but that my trust is through him,

– with what I seek

.

I figured a time would come,

When love was sent,

never been in a hurry,

– I’ve remained content

.

Wanted only the right love,

the one that would stay,

so that’s what I’ve aimed for,

– while going about each day

.

So maybe this is it,

or maybe it ain’t,

My life is a picture,

– and I’m still finding the paint.

tgh


I live in this truck,

enjoying small moments in time,

riding busy highways,

– and noticing the signs

.

There’s one for caution,

another warns of curves,

ahead a rough crossing,

– which then jolts my nerves

.

I see folks going fast,

taking these signs for granite,

there a stop sign,

– can you believe he just ‘ran it.’

.

Indicators abound,

of life outside this cab,

Riding this highway,

– this big ‘super-slab.’

.

This road shows age,

and the signs neglect,

over there’s a pot-hole,

– but hey, what the heck

.

Only to say,

with this moment in time,

I visit many places,

– then they’re quickly behind

.

I only have myself to please,

and highways to explore,

moments cheap and plentiful,

– while living a ‘truckers’ lore.

tgh


Central Michigan University

The lobby here is quiet,

In this college dorm,

‘pinball’ in the background,

– very much the college ‘norm.’

.

Young adults come and go,

for reasons each their own,

reaching for success,

– skills for when they’re grown

.

They study to achieve,

or just wander the shiny halls,

I want, their wants,

– and to be a part of it all

.

Some pass in groups,

while others walk alone,

I hear both laugher and silence,

– mixed with simple song

.

I’m here as a visitor,

but as a student I feel,

blending into this setting,

– in a way to me, surreal

.

I enjoy this atmosphere,

for us young adults its good,

Central Michigan University,

– Troutman, is where I stood.

tgh


Sitting near in a parking lot,

I ponder what to write,

the day is slowly leaving,

– transitioning into night

.

People scurry about,

In and out the stores,

its a shopping frenzy,

– they squeeze through the doors

.

Bats, balls, shoes, and bags,

bikes, books, plants, and beer,

buggies full of merchandise,

– even a rocking chair

.

People on a mission,

a purpose for all these quirks,

or just buying for the bargain,

– as a cricket begins his chirp

.

I suppose they have their reasons,

and they’re passing on the ‘flame,’

to the children in the buggies,

– shopping is their game

.

These folks share common grounds,

maybe friends from isles past,

shying quickly from outsiders,

– products they amass

.

From a frenzy to a hustle,

it all begins to slow,

and with the night upon me,

– its time for me to go.

tgh


I can’t sleep tonight,

My head is upset,

my thoughts stray,

– and I have ‘heart-burn.’

.

There are things that I would like to change,

few, but some,

There are people that “bug” me,

– few, but some

.

There are places I must go,

and people I must see,

When I do as I feel,

– I feel the comfort

.

So I’ll continue to be,

and do,

I’ll continue this life,

– on my own

.

The episode I choose,

I choose with independence,

with whom I choose,

– In the direction that I am inclined to go.

tgh


Nothing seems as steady,

as the pendulum on this clock,

It stirs the night air,

– with another dreaded ‘tock.’

.

It’s the steadiness in tone,

that maintaining beat,

every minute, every hour,

– another second then repeats

.

It’s here and there,

Swinging in my dreams,

all throughout the night,

– and all in between

.

Quarter-after is mellow,

then comes a half-way song,

quarter-till then anticipates,

– soon another numerical gong

.

I’m the dummy that winds it,

and the one that readjusts the weights,

another page from the calendar,

– and more time escapes

.

But this is history,

this grandfathers clock,

reminding me yesterdays,

– history yet to stop

.

Today I came in silence,

as the moments here took hold,

the passing of time surrounded me,

– I heard the present growing old.

tgh


I stopped along this highway,

In western Tennessee,

to walk along a creek bank,

– in search of worldly peace

.

The interstate ran nearby,

so further downstream I went,

I found a simple wilderness,

– I found time well spent

.

The water is so clear,

and ‘babbling’ rythmatically,

so I find a place to settle,

– enjoying it all dramatically

.

Crickets chirp near my head,

there are snails near my feet,

while crayfish walk the water bed,

– this small wilderness seems complete

.

All that’s left,

is so easy to decide,

so off come my heavy shoes,

– and a few moments here I lie

.

I compare thoughts with real life,

after many miles on the road,

I enjoy this simple being,

– inner tensions I unload

.

I suppose life flows,

for us all, like this creek,

over rocks and under bridges,

– still water is what we seek

.

The current pushes slowly past,

Steadily, with more to come,

easing my frazzled nerves,

– and with this earth I’m one

.

Now I must go,

and leave this place of leisure,

to drive further down the highway,

– somehow, it seems much easier.

tgh


I am waiting for a shower,

as I have been for a spell,

I’m about to whine then scream,

– and maybe even yell

.

I’ve driven many miles,

stuck in the truck for hours,

now I feel very yucky,

I want a good hot shower!

.

So here I am in waiting,

for this simple treat,

I’ve shaved and done all the rest,

– even brushed my teeth

.

I must be getting close,

the person ahead is dryin,

I’m going to take a shower soon,

– for I am the next in line.

tgh


Under white puffy clouds,

In the midst of a gentle breeze,

the sun is softly setting,

– there is movement in the leaves

.

Don’t stop crickets,

I’m just enjoying this day with you,

its nice to stop and sit,

– with little else to do

.

Thoughts pass through my head,

like power through the lines,

no negativity here,

– just peace within this mind

.

As a monk I sit and gaze,

content deep within,

looking into fresh darkness,

– with the crickets as my friends.

tgh


I was left with questions,

when I last spoke with you,

the silence between your words,

– left me feeling blue

.

You said you had to hang-up,

other things for you to tend,

I’m left wondering many miles away,

– are we lovers? or just friends

.

What is the lesson,

When you find one with which you care,

and give to them your all,

– they vanish with what you share

.

You said that you were happy,

and looking forward to our future,

I hesitate now to feel this,

– until I know you deeper

.

Yes I think I could,

turn with few second thoughts,

but I would always be unsatisfied,

– knowing that it was you, I lost

.

I don’t want to lose this,

I want to build on what we’ve got,

but I wonder so far away

– Is it me that you’ve forgot?

.

We want what we can’t have,

In remembering those lessons past,

fleeting and without notice,

– was it really meant to last?

.

I feel we do have a future,

and I can walk, not looking back,

I have seen it from back there,

– I want our love to remain ‘on track.’

tgh


 

How do you write,

the words in which you feel,

how do we hold on,

– to moments so very real

.

How do we comprehend?

life as it touches us,

passing by so very quickly,

– then gone without a fuss

.

Occurrences abound,

of which we view but once,

many more we ignore,

– with but an instant glance

.

Meaningless to most,

as may be found in one’s trash,

but I have time to look,

– treasures there, may be stashed

.

I’m searching for a point,

a simple one to ink,

combing the constant succession,

– and pausing for just a drink

.

I am searching all the curves,

from where the twist begins,

then I’m ready for another,

– another moment to befriend

.

For periods I do dwell,

over that which I’ve thought,

breaking down those many  moments,

– and then comparing what I’ve got

.

Of our many notions,

There is much reality in truth,

idealizing those second thoughts,

– will bear for us the fruit

.

This is all shallow wisdom,

I’m still fighting hard to learn it,

Someone once told me to respect,

– and from that I would earn it.

tgh


 

This highway bridge is gone,

it must have washed away,

one-half has disappeared,

– somewhere, beneath the waves

.

I’m on the edge looking over,

sitting on the end,

perplexed with its present state,

– and the message that it sends

.

This has been here for a while,

no active work I see,

It appears to be a forgotten problem,

– a blunder, seemingly

.

A detour points the way,

to a pontoon crossing along the side,

Mississippi politicians,

– must have plenty of time to bide

.

The water continues past,

and the traffic is very light,

this blunder stands before me,

– like an awful blight

.

Like the public, I believe,

That the ‘system’ really cares,

but this bridge provides me second thoughts,

– that little more is shared.

tgh


 

 

101 – 150

1975 

Crossed in my feelings,

finding comfort in old ways,

again I travel highways,

– thinking little of today

.

I look forward to old wants,

while understanding newer needs,

hoping that I make it,

– one day to succeed

.

Going ahead is easier,

Than standing looking back,

Than deciding to make the break,

– and which is the right track

.

To tell you the truth,

I’ve taken a giant step forward,

by setting a realistic goal,

– and feeling the reward

.

My wants are there,

along with my love,

intertwined between,

– both here and above

.

The times are bad,

materials seem invaluable,

job lines are long,

– holding many quite capable

.

It must be something of a great feeling,

maturity looking back,

upon everything accomplished,

– with little that lacks

.

I need this challenge,

to slap me in the face,

I asked this gal to marry me,

– the cause of this pace.

tgh


Along a dirty creek,

on this ledge with a snake,

I swat mosquitoes one by one,

– and think stopping was a mistake

.

Hopefully it was not,

because she had ‘rocks to find,

to construct some small animals,

– a school project in mind

.

The creek swiftly passes,

free from retention,

rolling and flowing,

– relieving my apprehension

.

Dead trees line the banks,

in various stages of decay,

the air is so relaxing,

– as goes this day

.

An airplane soars high above,

as gentle air moves through,

leaves settle to the ground,

– what a great place to view

.

An atmosphere of renewal,

beauty from natures side,

a special place to enjoy,

– where evening will soon reside

.

Some folks take all they can,

others don’t care and destroy,

I just hope that our kids,

– find this creek to enjoy

.

I forgot about the snake,

as the present was passing by,

I found harmony from within,

– from this small wilderness outside.

tgh

(Mt. Pleasant, Mi.)


Thought that I would stop,

after crossing these rails,

I found many lose spikes,

– parts that could fail

.

The ties were loose,

and the crossings all rough,

The gravel has thinned,

– still strong but not tough

.

At one time well traveled,

These are now seldom used,

Shouldn’t this be noticed?

– shouldn’t this be news?

.

Or maybe its just work,

tucked far into the corner,

as the sun shines brightly,

– and the temperature gets warmer

.

Maybe if compared,

we will find it a fact,

our lives may be as fragile,

– as the mighty train upon this track

.

tgh


1975

‘Out on a limb,’

as I have been so many times,

I just need a simple place,

– for an answer I must find

.

All the uncertainty of today,

the feelings much like sorrow,

in some ways I truly believe,

– that I shall never see tomorrow

.

But tomorrows have risen,

at least they have so far,

another step in some direction,

– another twinkle from the star

.

Things just take so much time,

and pushing seems a waste,

‘whatever’ will just have to happen,

– I can only stand and face

.

There’s opportunity tomorrow,

even though I’ve blown it all today,

to heck with how things are,

– I’ll just find another way

.

So I’ll work through these frustrations,

knowing I cant always win,

in my life, this daily tree,

– on yet another rotten limb.

tgh


1975

Its Sunday night,

with little to do,

so I sit and observe,

– as I sip on a brew.

Cars pass quickly,

nearby an animal has died,

I don’t care if they look,

– I have nothing to hide.

I’ve been far today,

its been a long ride,

now I just need to settle,

– and let the vibrations subside.

I’m outside this restaurant,

where I’ve just finished a meal,

a ‘home-cooked’ supper,

– the price was a deal.

So I linger in their drive,

as bugs circle the light,

with the only pressure I feel,

– a true ‘belchers’ delight.

All in a day,

with this as desert,

a few easy moments,

– a buzz, and a burp.

Tgh (used in blog – 8-08)

tgh


Traveling through Arkansas,

along I-55,

the sun settles gently,

–  and I’m enjoying the ride

.

I notice the passing posts,

pastures and fence lines,

thinking how nice this is,

– and how I’m feeling so fine

.

I’m headed to Houston,

no hurry is my pace,

the windows rolled down,

– warm air at my face

.

I began last night,

from north Michigan,

plenty of time to arrive,

– before this load’s due in

.

I write at the wheel,

as I ‘tool along,

no worry, nor a hurry,

– I find rhythm with a song

.

The amber sunset spreads,

The rays pierce my thoughts,

within a moments notice,

– I find meaning to what’s sought

.

Miles and miles,

just thinking as I ride,

the concrete highway thumps beneath,

– the blur of the signs subside

.

Seeing is believing,

as I experience a new land,

gaining life experience,

– bouncing my glands

.

This is a beautiful sight,

this country that I see,

with peace and time,

– I’m sure you too, would agree.

tgh


In this truck-stop I have stopped,

frazzled to say the least,

I usually try for the front,

– a more secure place to sleep

.

Tonight I thought I’d change,

to the rear I would park,

wondered how things moved,

– and what exactly lurked in the dark

.

The back of class,

In its own special aura,

a simple nonconformity,

– an underground euphoria

.

A cunning slick sensation,

sliding through this air,

I can feel it moving about,

– a creepy midnight stare

.

The parking lot is hazy,

and in its own way great,

silence slithers through the line,

– sound cannot escape

.

The lingerings are slow,

diesel smells the air,

motors continuously idle,

– a cautious feeling here

.

The subtle movement,

continues all night long,

not slowing to sleep,

– amber lights burning strong

.

I missed a lot somewhere,

but it really doesn’t matter,

I was weary and sleeping very well,

– when awoken by my bladder.

tgh


Work is necessary,

from an early start,

learn the hard way,

– from there I embarked.

Now here I stand,

With little to show.

I bought impulsive stuff,

– for a fast car once to go.

It all went so quickly,

but the feeling was priceless,

Saturday nights were reassured,

– new parts avoided crisis.

Multiple jobs I have had,

never earning a ‘vacation,’

but the need was there,

– somehow, an inspiration.

Another need is coming,

the one that I settle down,

now that I know all the streets,

– throughout my home town.

With that in mind,

and my home sure to change,

there is a new sense of direction,

– and it feels kind of strange.

I guess it’s for the best,

like the fast car now long gone,

time will bear a new reward,

– to where I will belong.

I know how to work,

I’ve enjoyed being funny,

now I feel a new horizon,

– and a need to save money.

The heck with those days,

for singles they were,

I’ve been there for myself,

– this time its for her.

tgh


Sitting by my truck,

in Uvalde, Texas,

another can of Coors,

– a cooler for my desk.

Writing just to write,

the sound of traffic flows,

as the sun settles softly,

– invigorating shadows.

The song I hear today,

and silence in between,

is broken by passing pickup tires,

– and my restless daytime dreams.

The experience is unique,

a first sitting here,

in Texas just thinking,

– drinking another beer.

The day is over for me,

but interesting is this light,

I have reason to just idle,

– to sit here, and write.

Just me ‘biding my time,

at what I feel is good,

in Texas, full of beverage,

– alongside a truck, with no hood.

tgh

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