September 11, 2013 - 1410

This past week saw a flurry of activity at the work place. Several arrests on one case that is one that shakes even the most hardened officer to his or her core. Child pornography, sexual abuse of a child, and on and on. The outcome was very different in real life, but the ending of this poem is all too real.

Regrets and No Regrets

What does he think of when he thinks of her?

Does he see long term love

In a child's eyes and body

Or is it the body he sees in his eyes?

Smooth, young, taut, untouched

Innocent eyes, trusting soul

Unknowing mind, thinking that this wrong is right

But not saying no to the right wrong

Does he see a in her a wife?

A woman child mother of future children

Is it deep in his soul that he loves her

Or is it deep somewhere else that his feelings reside in

She shakes inside of her t-shirt and shorts

The hand on her leg, feels wrong; dirty; shameful

She can't say no or he'll tell mother

It's her fault is what she is told

He was sure he'd get away with it with her

Scared into silence as he has his way

Gave her money and clothes and phones

In return for her body, mind and innocence

She says he's her boyfriend and pretends she loves him

While he loves her, she cries inside; dies inside

Her little girl days are gone forever

And she can't tell her mom because it's her fault

Braver and bolder, now he wants her pictures

Phone to phone so he can see her always

Share her with his friends phones

Relive his "love" when she's not with him

More and more she is sad inside; cries and cries

She can't take any more of the "love" she's been shown

Boyfriend is a monster; mother...can't tell her

She has no friends; she is alone

Her new phone rings and rings; he wants a "date"

When she doesn't answer he's confused and angry

Did she tell? Are the police onto him?

Is their romance over? Run or stay is what's on his mind

Mother comes home and sees the bag and books

TV is on too loud again. She has to leave soon

Three jobs is what it takes to make the rent

And food on the table for girls home alone

She was found in the closet

Her favorite pink belt coiled around her throat

New phone open to her pictures to him

A note on the bed said only "I'm sorry."

September 4, 2013 - 1020

I've heard and read that if you're going to write, you should stick with what you know. It makes it easier and you'll be more prolific and happier with what you have put down. So, I started thinking about what I know, and what I like to write about.

Calliope, Erato, and Thalia

I didn't want to stick with just writing about my dogs

or my job or my family

But that's all that inspires me

These three things are my muses

I don't want to bore the readers with

how I think about my sweet dog not being with us any more

How sometimes I laugh about her and sometimes I cry

and she's been gone for over a year

I didn't want people to think that I was only the police

and that all I could tell them were stories about drunks

and fights, and blood and pain

But some days that's my job

I was not really willing to tell everybody how much I care

about my wife; how much she inspires me every day

To be a better man that I ever thought I could be

But it's the truth. She does

Zoomies and whippy tails and squeaky toys

Lights and sirens and radios

Smiles and warmth and love

This is what I love to write about