Poetry By Chuck


White Line Fever



Leaving the rat race

Dust has a taste

Wind in my face

Life without haste

Claiming my place

on the road


Vibrations of feeling

Smells so appealing

The sky is beaming

Blue yet teeming

With clouds of white gleaming

on the road


Sunburned nose

Boots with shined toes

Leathers for clothes

Patches that show

Time to compose

on the road


Yellow strip moving

Glances disapproving

Civilization removing

Attitude improving

Nothing is proven

on the road