Dan's Poems Open a Window to a
Trucker's Soul
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Daddy was a Trucker
It was his turn next in Sunday School class,
To tell 'em what his daddy did.
The lesson that day was on the way,
That daddies loved their kids.
One kid's daddy was a doctor.
Another's was a CPA
The teacher said their daily bread,
Was bought with their daddy's pay.
The teacher looked at the little boy.
He could tell he was about to cry.
He figured something must be wrong,
So he quietly asked him why.
The little guy with tear-filled eyes,
Said, "Ya'll have all the luck,
Your dads are rich, they drive big cars,
And mine just drives a truck."
The teacher spun his wheelchair around;
He grimly faced the class.
"I've taught you well, but I'll burn in hell,
'fore I let that statement pass.
"You kids see me as a Sunday School teacher,
Just a cripple with a lesson plan.
But down inside these twisted legs,
Are the bones of a truckin' man.
"I was a high-rollin', hammer-stompin', pill-poppin' dude,
'Til the ice on Interstate 10,
Sent the finest ol' rig that a bank ever bought,
To the bottom of the Rio Grande.
"Not much to tell about what came next,
'Cept this ol' wheelchair I ride,
And now and then, I teach your class,
So the Lord will know I tried.
"And I've tried, young fellas; I've tried real hard,
Just to pay for all I've done.
But I'm gonna close the Good Book now,
And talk to the truckerman's son.
"He's a truckerman, son, do you hear me?
Don't give me that hang-dog look.
You're the son of a gear-jammin' king of the slab,
Who's a winner in any man's book.
"Who feeds you, boy? Does the grocery store?
Does the fast-food joint down the street?
Or some eighteen wheeler, runnin' all night long,
Bringin' home every bite you eat?
"There's not a thing you'll use today,
That some ol' trucker didn't bring.
Somebody's daddy rolled all night long,
So you could do your thing.
"Your thing, my thing, this country's thing,
The whole thing rolls on wheels.
We're kept alive by the men that drive.
These men God made out of steel.
Add It Up
The day will come
When you will lie
Upon the bed in which you'll die.
The grief-filled eyes, of those who care
Will vanish soon, as if in air.
For all that counts upon that day
Will be the price you dared to pay.
The love you had, the love you gave
Is all that counts when in your grave.
The things that ate up all your time,
They matter not now in your mind.
And as the light and darkness meet,
Life hands to you your balance sheet.
And by yourself you read the score,
It's all of love, and nothing more!
The money, time, and wasted days
Are not allowed to have their say.
Alone you see with tearful eye,
That values on the years gone by,
Were not of things you held so dear
But only of the people here.
And as your spirit starts to soar,
Twas love and nothing, nothing more.
The Real Issue
It's not how much I got or made.
Or where my name's engraved.
Nor will it ever matter,
How many clapped and raved.
There sits no jury in my gold.
No judge will see my fame.
For the tally sheet that adds me up,
Will slowly spell my name.
And after that, just one dot more;
A question will be posed.
How deeply did he share his life,
And cause this world to grow?
Did this man love?
Did this man share?
Did this man dare enough to care?
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Tell Me Now
When you look at yourself
In the mirror of life,
And can't stomach the fact
That you see;
Just ponder a moment
And then ask yourself
What you mean
When you say you love me.
Or your daddy or mamma,
Or children or wife,
Or Whoever Is up for a stroke.
Maybe you need to know
That if love doesn't grow
For yourself
Then it's all just a joke.
If you can't love yourself
Don't say you love me,
For you can't
And you don't and you won't
For love is a thing
Welling up like a spring
Spilling out, when your cup
Overflows.
It's the same with respect,
And also concern,
For giving must start
From within.
There are gifts you can give me
That I will accept
If I first know
That you're your own friend.
Winning
You're not a winner because you've won
Or cause you're getting ready to,
Cause God put winning in your soul
The day that he created you.
You're special cause you're made that way
Not because you've sung your song.
See, winnings just your witness
Of what's been in you all along.
The winner simply opens up
And lets the real things in him out.
He's simply using what he's got
And understands what life's about.
See, everybody's made to win,
And those that do, are those that see,
That we all come fully loaded
With this power that makes us free.
So, when you win, don't try to prove
That you've got something that I lack.
You've just been using what you got
To pay a little interest back.
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The Visible Proof
When you do what you do 'cause you love what you love
You create what we call a career
You express what you know 'cause it comes from your soul
Not concerned with how it appears.
It's good 'cause it's true and it's honest
There's no need to inspect or approve.
It's your gift that you give 'cause your soul needs to live
And to give it's the right thing to do.
Your work's your delight. It's that beautiful time
When your spirit of love meets the needs of the day.
What's created is there for the whole world to share
With no fear of results and no motive for pay.
You loved it, you did it and what came to be
Was a statement about what's important to you.
For what a soul loves is what a soul does
The heart guides the hands while they build what is true.
The truth is what's real, both spoken and done.
Reality's offspring, the child of the soul,
Conceived in belief, expressed as the best
The visible proof that our love makes us whole.
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