October 13, 2014 - 1007

I posted this a FB as well. Last night I couldn't sleep very well at first. I kept thinking of Pepper, our wonderful Weimaraner who we said goodbye to 06/09/12. So I got out of bed and wrote this.

The Worst Day of My Life

The night before the day it happened

We cried. We knew it was time

So we gave her her favorite things

Soft food and bones and cookie

Pet and hugs and kisses

We had a mattress in the dining room

Because she couldn’t get up the stairs any more

Even though I could carry her up

Coming down caused her much anxiety

So we slept with her downstairs

On that morning there were more tears

I hadn’t cried for my grandfather

The inspiration for my entire professional life

Or for a friend who killed himself with no explanation

But for her I held nothing back

It was a short drive there

Less than half a mile door to door

But I made it last as long as I could

I didn’t want to make this trip

As necessary as it was

We waited until the last possible minute

Before I carried her inside

They all knew her, loved her

But not like we did; not like I did

I held her in my lap until they called us

In a small room. On a white tile floor. On a soft blue blanket

I sat her down and she laid down on the blanket

She was ready. I knew it but I wasn’t

I didn’t want to see her go

But it was time to let go

As she drifted away I held her

Her last sleep was in my arms

I’ll never forget her fur against my face

The soft whisper of her last breath

As she said goodbye to me

And I to her

August 21, 2014 - 1245

What Color Is A Mirror

What color is a mirror?

The silvery reflected backing facing us as we look

At ourselves in its glass face

Speckled with bits of dirt and toothpaste

A brilliant white combination of all colors

The spectrum captured in the polished surface

Shining what we see back at us

Turned towards its back

A void devoid of color except the backing

The absence of anything familiar to remind us

What color is a mirror?

A snapshot of the immediate

Keeping the moment for a moment

The minds eye making an attempt to save

What it is we see when we see ourselves

The clothing we were wearing when we went

Out to see him or her. For the first time

Or maybe for the last time

Bright or somber. Is that the color

What color is a mirror?

The pale pink/white of my skin

Or the dark brown/mocha of yours?

The dusky yellow of his

Or the brownish-red of hers?

Olive or tan or albino white

These and others in the looking glass

Looking back at eyes of blue, brown, green

Hazel and gray. Does the glass see these

As we see these in the colorless mirror

August 20, 2014 - 1250

Perceptions

All police are bad. Just look at them

Breaking that old mans ribs…

As they do CPR on him to save his life

All police are bad. Just look at him

Hitting that child on the back…

To clear whatever she was choking on

All police are bad. Just look at her

Taking those children away from their mother…

Who has been abusing them their entire lives

All police are bad. Just look at them

Speeding down the street…

Towards the gunfire, while others run away

All police are bad. Just look at them

Breaking the door to that apartment…

Where a woman is being beaten by her boyfriend again

All police are bad. Just look at them

Waking that family up in the middle of the night…

To tell them that their child is dead

Just look at them. All police.

Doing all the bad things...

That nobody else would dare to do

June 9, 2014 - 0850

I wrote for 30 days straight, and then took over a month off. That seems about right.

I'm back today to put more words on the page for a very special member of Team R. It was 2 years ago that we lost her and it still hurts us. We talk about her all the time, make jokes at her expense, and tell stories of her exploits. But mostly, we miss her. So very much.

The Loss Is Great, The Memories Are The Same

I woke early today with her top of mind

The kind of mind that wonders about the loss of family

And wanders from memory to memory of her fuzzy face

Missing from this place for two years

Two years to the day, she went away and we had to say

Goodbye. Farewell our friend. It was the end of her days

It seemed like that day wouldn't end, it replays over and over in my mind

Again and again that fateful day that I knew would come

But I didn't want it to. I wanted it to never come

To somehow pass us by. To let her lie with us forever

And ever in our heart and home, never gone. Never gone

And she isn't. She's always with us in our hearts

Some days are easy. I'm too busy to be sad for her

I don't stop and think how much she would have liked a cookie

Or fries from my plate. But on this date I know they won't wait

They'll invade me like invaders at the castle gate

I won't stop them. I let the memories come in and ransack my mind

I let them flood over me like tidal waters breaking a dam

I let them wash away my anger of not thinking of her

Cleaning my heart with my own tears

I miss her. We miss her, every day that she isn't laying on the bed

Is another day that we are reminded that we are one less

There will always be four members of the team

Always the four forever and ever more

It isn't the memories that hurt us the most. Those are what keep her alive

For us, for me, it's the thought that I will forget her

That I will let her slip from my mind and be gone from the team

That is the most painful. That she would be only a dream

So I keep the pictures close at hand, on my phone and in my office

In my direct line of sight so that I might never let her go

Even though...she is gone

She's never gone from my mind

Every second, of every minute, of every day she's with us

In some way. Whether it's a small picture on a phone

Or a piece of cloth wrapped around a lamp or on a leash

A tag on a chain, or simply a memory burning in our brains

National Poetry Writing Month - April 30, 2014

30 straight days of writing. I don't know how many words or lines or verses that is, but it's impressive nonetheless. Thank you to those who have read what I have written, and if you like any of it by all means leave comments and let me know about it.

I will endeavor to keep up with it, going back and trying out some of the earlier styles and schemes. But for now, here's the last one of the month. And of course, what better way to wrap up than with a sonnet.

Done, But Not Over

The month is now done, the pen is set down

As I say farewell to this writing task

Hoping that I have made smiles out of frowns

With only one humble request to ask

If you hear the muse, then take up a pen

Take out a notebook and put thoughts to page

Write down what you feel, because only then

So words will be kept for every age

I'll give you more rhymes, some old and some new

Improving with each of the words that I write

I've enjoyed this whole month with nothing to prove

We go now into that poets good night

Thank you dear readers for sharing my space

I hope that I'll see you again in this place

National Poetry Writing Month - April 29, 2014

Today was an exciting day at work. I've been here six years and today was the first search warrant we've executed here during my tenure. It came about as a combo of good timing and the experience and skills of the officers involved in getting the warrant. It worked out for the best, as we were able to arrest the offender and get drugs and money for forfeiture, but these things have a way of going bad, fast. I'm glad we pulled this off without a hitch.

You Can Run, But You Can't Hide

With years of work under their belts

And experiences that most don't have

I came to the office early and geared up

We were actually going to hit it

This is the sort of thing that officers dream of doing

That tests are given and interviews conducted for

The chance to be one of the ones

Who smashes down the doors of evil

And imposes the will of good on those within

It's never the same twice when it goes down

Armor and shields are donned

Weapons checked and re-checked for function

The last place you need a gun to go down

Is when you're first through the door

Not knowing for sure is not the worst part of it

The waiting beforehand is 

Feet tapping, fingers drumming, mind racing

What will be waiting for us on the other side

There's always the chance that they will win

Bullets don't have names on them

They are addressed "To Whom It May Concern"

And that's our concern, and why we train

And practice

And go over floor plans again and again and again

Until we know the layout by heart

Until we know the doors and windows like the backs

Of our gloved hands

It went down ALMOST flawlessly

We were in and up and inside in mere minutes

But it only takes mere seconds for toilets to flush

And villains to disappear

Sooner rather that later he was caught

Close by and dark clothed he secreted himself next to an officer

In fact, under an officer

He would have gotten away with it

If it hadn't been for those meddling police

With years of crime under his belt

And experiences that I can never comprehend

He wouldn't talk with us; not impolite or uncooperative

But no, he wouldn't talk with us

With a click of the pen and a click of the camera

It was off to the county cages with him

To await his day in court

Leaving us with mountains of paperwork to complete

And the next door to contemplate

National Poetry Writing Month - April 28, 2014

Ah the joys of home ownership. There's nothing like having your own castle to come home to, where family and friends can gather and recount the events that bind you all together.

And then there's the upkeep. The maintenance and repair. The improvements. We've recently had the floors replaced in our house, with the old grimy carpet being removed and for the most part new shiny laminate flooring being put in it's place. The stairs and second floor hallway remain carpeted, but with new replacing the old. It's been an uphill struggle to get it done in a timely manner and correctly. Today was another example of how contractors never seem to know what each is doing.

Right Hand, Left Hand

Have you two met? You're in the same field

Home improvements and repairs are your game

It seems however that you don't know the deal

When it comes to your work being the same

It's the same house you've been in twice before

And I've called you back two times as well

My has greeted you each at the door

So why does this work always give me such hell?

Tear out the old, put in the new

That's the gist of this job

But you'd think that each time the arrival was new

And they'd never set foot in my yard

So it's phone calls and calls to the place where we pay

To get you back out to my place

There are smiles and I'm sorry's every new day

When you don't even remember my face

This day we both hope is the last that you'll be

In my halls and my driveway outside

You both are polite and as nice as can be

So I'll sign and say my good-byes

It's always good looking, the work when it's done

But the constant returning is never much fun

National Poetry Writing Month - April 27, 2014

I heard a reading of Carl Sandburg's "Chicago" and it was amazing on a couple of levels. First, it's a brilliant piece of literary art. You can hear what I heard on Soundcloud. Second, it's about what I consider the most impressive and amazing city in the entire country. And it made me think about my own little hometown in Kansas where I grew up. So this is about the city where I was born and raised and lived for the first 18 years of my life.

In Praise of T-Town

Grass and trees bend to the breeze

Blowing across the prairie and into the cities

No mountains to stop it from whipping the hair

From your face and the hat from your head

My home was not on the range

A modest little one story story on the southwest side

Of a city that by comparison to others

Can barely be called a city

It was my whole world for my beginning life

I knew every nook and cranny of the park

Could ride a bike from one neighborhood to another

And never be on a main street

Friends lived within walking distance of me

Our families knew each other and there was trust

That if you were bad at their house

You'd be in trouble at yours

Growing up we were shielded from the horrors

Of big city life. No real crime or poverty

On our side of the city

That was a northerly problem, and more so outside of us

The more I looked around

The city where I was at, the more I realized

That there was more to be seen outside

Of it's small town limits

1991 - war divided my high school along it's lines

Hawks and doves swooped through the campus

You were either for the soldiers and their mission

Or you were against. There was no middle

I knew then that I had to get out

I knew then that I was going to leave this smallish place

And never return to live again

Not ever

By the time I was 18, I had already enlisted

My fate was set with Uncle Sam and his ilk

13 weeks there, and the remainder of 4 year

Solidified my decision as the right one

I have been back only a few times since leaving

There is a slight sense of nostalgia

But no burning desire to return and stay

My place is now outside of that place. Forever

National Poetry Writing Month - April 26, 2014

Yesterday I wrote about my wonderful wife. She's the brightest star in my galaxy and I love her dearly. Today, I will show my love for the other two girls in my world, our dogs Fiona and Pepper.

Normally, I'd give Pepper top billing, but I feel that it wouldn't be fair to Fiona anymore. We had to say our goodbyes to Pepper almost two years ago and it still hurts me to think about it. But whenever I get too down, I think of Fiona and her wacky antics and snugly ways and I smile all over again. This one is for you girls.

Furry Friends

These are the children in our house

One rambunctious, one quiet as a mouse

Quite a pair of pups we have

When thinking of the one makes me blue

The other makes me laugh, she always comes through

I love them with all of my heart

There are times when I call one by the other name

I feel bad when I do, and she's not to blame

I'm forgiven with wet, doggy kisses

Pictures and video of the one we miss

Taking more of the same of our current miss

We'll never forget either of them when they're gone

She's always in mind and always will be

And so is the other undoubtedly

My mind, my heart, our dogs, forever

National Poetry Writing Month - April 25, 2014

Tonight was a beautiful night to be out and about. It was warm and clear and there were lots of people but nobody was being stupid. Just what I wanted for the evening. And as an added bonus, I got to have dinner with my beautiful bride.

While some folks get this privilege every night, for me it's a treat because of the shift that I work. Coupled with the long hours her job is demanding of her lately and we're a tired pair when we're off. So, when I get the chance to see her when I'm working, I take it because it's a rarity for us.

This one is for you Baby. I love you.

No Comparison

Rivers and valleys and mountains and streams

The wind in my eyes. Warm sun on my face

There's nothing like her in any of your dreams

That can even come close to taking her place

She challenges my mind and she makes me so glad

I kiss her hello no matter when we meet

She'll hold me close and console me when sad

Her love for me is what makes me complete

At the end of the day, or in the cool early morn

I know that I love her with all of my heart

She makes my heart happy and I'm never forlorn

We're together forever; never apart

You make me better Baby, without a doubt

My love for you from the mountaintops I'll shout

National Poetry Writing Month - April 24, 2013

We're closing in on the end of the month! 30 poems in 30 days doesn't sound like an insurmountable task, but some days were more difficult than others. I'm glad I'm doing this and I think I'm back on track for more writing after this challenge is completed.

That being said, today was a mish-mash of things going on at work. Not so much at home. There it was me and the dog. Pretty mundane. But at work, we had a little of this and a little of that. So, here you go.

Something For Everyone

It was the calm before the storm at the beginning

A little conversation, some complaining and moaning

The usual business as usual

And then it began

A walk-in battery, the regular non-rechargeable kind

He had shoe prints on his face

Nose broken by black sneakers and his past

He was out of the life. But are they ever really out?

A-hunting we went for the kicker and his driver

How hard can it be to hide a truck and two men

Quite a bit. Despite our efforts it was gone

Taking with it a known felon and his accomplice

She came in to report missing property

From the rented house that weed paid for

When pressed to print, she declined our help

Knowing that we would end up arresting her and hers

Rain came in and kept the animals in their caves

Washing the dirt from the streets and my car

No need to wash it when nature does it for you

I wandered the streets looking for our assaulter

No luck with the truck

No others about

No need to keep driving

The shift is over for the night

National Poetry Writing Month - April 23, 2014

There has been some grumbling at my department about a change in schedule. Specifically, going from an 8.5 hour day to a 12 hour day. I have stayed relatively silent on the matter, since I am both a separate union and technically part of management. Today there is a department meeting to discuss this and a few other items that the FOP members wish to address directly to the chief. I was not asked to attend, and I won't unless directly asked to be there.

One member has the loudest voice, both physically and positionally as the FOP president. He's invoking turns of phrase from two of the departments biggest malcontents, one deceased and one out on an injury.These two and their catch phrases are what bring us today's lines.

...The Bottom Line Is...

The winds of change are blowing through the building

And not a single window is open

It's an internal wind that wafts through the halls

And into the offices of myself and my boss

On the wind I hear two voices from one

Both of these are and were maligned

Are unliked and out of touch

With how things work in a place like ours

One of the things that's repeated from beyond the grave

"Who cares?" Over and over again, as if we didn't hear it the first time

He never cared in the latter part of his career

About anything, and it cost him his health and his life

The other words oft repeated from new lips

"Fuck this place." As if there were opportunities

For a 50-something police officer in the world

Who's file is as thick as a brick

Both of these come now from on high

Within a union that has no unity

To a membership that is only agreed

On how divided they are

So now it's come to a head

From the head of the department to the head of patrol

And I am sort of in the middle

Not really patrol, not totally management

Today the words will probably be said to the man himself

From beyond the beyond

And from one who's luckily employed

To the one who's heard them both before from them both before

National Poetry Writing Month - April 22, 2014

As I was driving home from taking the dog to the vet this morning, I adjusted the radio so that I could hear the morning hockey talk. It took me back a little to see that the volume was at 12. It made me think, is my hearing that bad? I suppose it is, after years of loud concerts, shooting guns without adequate hearing protection, working near active military flight lines without ANY hearing protection, etc, etc. It's been a slow process but a steady one towards my hearing loss, and it is the inspiration for today's verses.

What Was That Again?

When I was born, I could barely hear

And what I did was scary; unfamiliar

It made me angry and sad

To not know what was being said

As I got older, my hearing was perfect

I could hear everything around me

Even if I didn't understand it all

I could hear all that was being said

When I entered the military, it was still okay

But the damage truly started then

Guns and planes and music too loud

But I could still understand what was said

Later in life, the ringing in my ears is louder

Than the radio in my car and it's a little scary

But not unfamiliar. It's been there for a long time now

And I'm now starting to misunderstand what's being said

The older and older I get, the less and less I can hear

Music is muted, voices are quieter. Drowned out by tinnitus

And constant abuse of my hearing

And it makes me a little angry and sad

National Poetry Writing Month - April 21, 2014

If you haven't gathered from past posts, I like animals. Actually, I love animals. Mainly the furry ones, but generally I like them all. Almost 2 years ago we had to endure the saddest day of them all when our beautiful dog Pepper (aka Pepperoni) left our lives. It's still difficult to think about.

Because of my love of animals, seeing a little dead one on the street is kind of difficult for me. I know there are thousands of squirrels and skunks and whatever, but it doesn't mean that they weren't cute to look at or watch in the grass behind the house. It made me wonder this morning what would go through the mind of them as they're crossing the road. I'll try and not be too morbid or graphic, but these verses won't end well.

The Last Steps

The grass is nice on my paws; not rough like the bark

Of the trees where I usually stay

Over there, across the hard grass, I see new trees

Maybe there's acorns that I haven't buried there yet

I'd better have a look

This lighter hard grass isn't so bad. It's rough and I can grip it

That darker one is what looks scary

Those giant, loud animals rushing by make my heart pound

But I can still see those new trees

I can make it, I'm sure of it

*hop*  *hop*  *hophophop* I'm on the dark hard grass

Oh no! One of the giant loud animals!

*runrunrunrunrunrunrun*  Too close. They don't even look

It's like they can't see me out there crossing

To the new trees. Now I'll try again

*hop*  *hop*  *hophophop* 

*runrunrunrunrunrun* I've almost made it. I'm almost there

The new trees are closer. I can smell their leaves

I can see the new acorns there.

It makes me pause. I'm awed by the sight of them all

...

I never heard the loud giant animal

I was amazed by the new trees and acorns I could see

I looked and there it was, almost on top of me

And then, there it was

...

National Poetry Writing Month - April 20, 2014

Tonight, I came as close as I ever want to to seeing someone get hit by a commuter train. I've seen the aftermath more than once, and I know I will see more and more as the years go by. But I hope I never actually see someone get hit.

Too Close For Comfort

Sitting near the tracks, I watch the world pass by

Car and pedestrians on their merry ways

Enjoying a pleasantly warm Easter evening

All hopefully headed home to families and the night

Down come the barricades, flashing lights and bells

All of the cars stop. After all, I'm right there

Women with strollers pause at the line

The rotating light on the engine passes us by, north to the next stop

The fiberglass arms stay down; the bells and lights stay on

Another train approaches, this one from the other direction

It's not an express, it's speed isn't that great

But a seven car train and engine doesn't stop on a dime

I hear the whistle blare out it's warning tone

I see the now sweaty and fear-stricken face running

Across the tracks. As the train approaches

He makes it with feet to spare

When the cars clear out and the mothers are gone

I pull up to the man and think for a second

How badly should I berate him

For his nearly deadly error in judgement?

One look at his face tells me that it's probably not needed

His eyes are wide and glassy; there are beads of moisture on his brow

He knows that he is lucky tonight

Maybe the luckiest man in the entire city tonight

We speak for a couple of minutes and I send him away

A bit wiser now that he's cheated death

And on his way to the store on the corner he goes

To pick up whatever sundry items he'd been sent for

Back in my car I'm as grateful as he is

Not that I was almost killed by tons of steel this night

But that I wasn't witness to his death this night

And that our lives go on as they were before the train passed us by

National Poetry Writing Month - April 19, 2014

Despite it being a Saturday afternoon/evening and the weather being fairly nice the day was pretty mellow. We stopped a couple of folks from a known drug house but overall it was uneventful. It makes for little inspiration for work, but I did see some dogs playing and that always makes me smile.

Pups On Parade

Seeing them prance and pounce

On the sidewalks and in the parks

Always makes me happy

Seeing the Pups on Parade

Chasing sticks and balls and toys

Slobbering and scratching

And rolling in the grass

Happy Pups on Parade

Watching them play with their people

I wish I was home with ours

To enjoy her antics as she gallops around

Our beautiful Pup on Parade

I bide my time and end my shift

Heading home to the house

With wife and dog

And hopefully see our Pup on Parade

National Poetry Writing Month - April 18, 2014

At better than half way through the month I feel like I'll be successful at this endeavor. Some days I struggle a little to come up with something to put down, but so far I've always been able to get words on the screen.

Today the highlight was directing traffic. This is the bane of police existence to be sure, because no matter how smart people may be or think they may be, when they get behind the wheel of an automobile they all turn unto complete idiots. (Not you, everyone else)

Do As I Say, Not As I Say

First clue: the gigantic piece of equipment

Blocking an entire intersection

This should have tipped you off

That something was amiss

Second clue: the large man

Standing the near the equipment

In the lime green vest

Risking his life so that you are safe

When his hands go up
It means stop. Right there

It doesn't mean creep forward

Until your bumper almost bumps his knees

When he points left or right

It means go left

Or right. There's a reason for that

Don't try the other direction

Honking won't get you anywhere

In fact, it may get you nowhere fast

It may get you dirty looks or dirty words

It may get you a ticket

Be patient, be polite

Surrender yourself to his commands

He will tell you when it's safe

After all, it's why he's risking his life

National Poetry Writing Month - April 17, 2014

Today at work I walked along the beach. I know what you're thinking; a relaxing stroll near the waters edge. Listening to the whoosh of the waves as they lap at the sandy shore. The sound of birds overhead. I did hear the water and the birds and I was at the waters edge. But that was because near the water, I wasn't sinking into the sand and rocks.

The call was one that surprised me and I hoped that it wasn't true. Fortunately I was right.

You Can't Park That There

As I was in my office I heard the call

Where on Earth would we find this one?

Any chance that it was untrue would be grateful

Leaving my office, I sped to the first place I could

Knowing that my shift partner was already on his way

On my way there, he redirected me

Now I headed to a gate and a path that I was vaguely familiar with

To the sandy beach we went

Hoping that the caller was wrong

Even though we were secretly wanting to see it

Better safe than sorry, we went to a fourth sandy spot

Every pore was dumping sweat inside of my armor

And as we walked, we cursed the caller and his call

Coming to the end of the way, there was nothing

Heading up some makeshift stairs, we headed back

National Poetry Writing Month - April 16, 2014

It's been warm. It's been cold. It's been rainy, sunny, and snowy. All in the space of a week. The poor flowers and birds don't know what in the hell to think. But, as I look out the window right now, the grass is green, the sky is blue and the birds are singing.

And Ode To (Hopefully) Spring

Once in a while you must look outside

And see what's been going on around you

To see the green grass and the nests of pride

That the birds have built up all about you

Watch the snow wash away and show the ground

And all of the blades it once had hidden

The warmth of the sun brings life all around

Baby birds hidden high. Puppies. Kittens

Despite the cruel winter it all comes back

Slowly but surely the flowers return

Through the harsh cold springtime finds a crack

To makes itself felt in the sunshine's burn

Go out in your yard and smell the flowers

Take in their new life; take awe in their power

National Poetry Writing Month - April 15, 2014

If you haven't discerned by now, I am a police officer. The badge as my avatar, my name on the posts, the fact that I write a lot about work and arresting people. It isn't a huge state secret. I do keep the details as vague as possible to help keep myself and my family safe when I am off of work.

I also am one of those cops who likes guns. Pistols, rifles, shotguns. I enjoy shooting them, I enjoy teaching others how to shoot them and I even enjoy cleaning them. Today I will write some about guns and my enjoyment and use of them.

All Ready On The Firing Line

(1)

It's called evil

Dangerous and deadly

Unnecessary for most

And an adult mans Lego set

Black and shiny

Camo and dull

Cold to hot steel

And plastic pieces and parts

I can teach you to

Use it properly. The names

Of the parts and how

To aim and squeeze

It's a tool of my trade

No more and no less

Dangerous? No. A tool

The user can be dangerous

(2)

13+1 of brass and lead

Polymer and metal strapped

To my hip as I walk

The streets and alleys

I've never used it

On another human

And I hope to

Never have to

34 parts in total

I can teach you how

To use those parts

To save or take a life

(3)

A most blunt piece

Of iron and wood

Plastic and lead shot

Shooting from it's barrel

It's iconic sound brings

All nonsense to a halt

Everyone knows it's voice

No one wants to challenge it

It's proven itself

To my forebears

On domestic and foreign fronts

It's a proven winner

(4)

These are merely tools

Used by good and evil

For good and evil

To each their causes

The one behind

The rifle

The pistol

The shotgun

I train with these tools

And train others with them

To advance good

And end evil

National Poetry Writing Month - April 14, 2014

While a lot of people are complaining about the weather, their jobs, etc., I am going to take a different tack. I am going to complain about...NOTHING! 

My job may be frustrating and crazy sometimes, but I have a job. There may be a list a chores and errands waiting for me on my days off (of my own making) but I have a home to go to. And a beautiful wife and dog to go home to. So while there are plenty of things for some folks to whine about, I feel pretty lucky.

Nothing To See Here, Move Along

I could complain

About the snow and cold

And the piles of paper

On at my workplace

But the truth is this

I'd be pretty bold

To not see how much

I have had to grace

My life. A job I love

And a wife who loves me

And a happy-go-lucky

Dog in our house

And though some that I know

See the worst they can see

I only know that I have

A home, dog and spouse

That I adore more than anything

Else that I have had

A bold statement sure

But it's the truth

That no matter what comes out

To make me feel sad

They are there for me always

And of that I have proof

To those who'd complain

'Bout the weather and such

And work and other things

To them I would say

Look and around you just once

And remember how much

That you have in your life

Each and every day

National Poetry Writing Month - April 13, 2014

Here it is, a lazy, rainy, Sunday afternoon. I finished up crossing my eyes to get the work schedule completed for the month. It's a mess, to say the least. We run pretty close to minimum staffing at my workplace, and when someone is out sick, it makes it even tighter. Well, we have one guy out on an extended injury leave and a second is out with his newborn baby. Which makes for some long days for some, and extra days for others.

Pair that with the rain and I end up looking like the bad guy for forcing folks to work. Such is the life of the supervisor.

It Can Be Lonely At The Top

For the overall good

I have to do "bad"

To keep the honcho happy

I make others mad

Our hands are so short

That we can't reach the light

Working long days

And some extra nights

The moaning and groaning

I can already hear

Some soft as a kitten

Some piercing my ear

But until we are more

We'll make due with less

And the paper of working

Will look like a mess

National Poetry Writing Month - April 12, 2014

The weather has been fantastic the last couple of days. Of course, it's going to turn colder again at the beginning of the week, but I'll call it officially spring. And with spring comes the inevitable stupidity of the people.

I am inspired today, by the events of last night. And the fact that one of the people involved looked like this:

Sorry I couldn't find a larger picture. But honestly, she really did look just like this. Bonus if you can name the movie this is from. Extra bonus if you can name the character.

I Thought You Looked Saner

Near the change of shift, the radio calls to us

Someone has come to the station with a problem

That they can't solve themselves.

That they also cause themselves

It's been a long shift; lots of people about

None of whom were overtly evil

But just generally annoying

Except for the sailors. They were all fine

We met the distraught caller in the lot

A brand new SUV parked next to my squad

A larger, older, sweatier man

Lumbered towards us, asking for our help

"We met her downtown" says he

She seemed nice; a few drinks later

And off to the suburbs they all headed

Man. Girlfriend. And "friend"

A $40 friend we later found out

As the truth was revealed to us

He'd rented a car to hide his identity

In case he was pinched by the police

"She's crazy!" he cried. She looked fairly calm to me

Sitting in the passenger seat, staring out of the glass

At the four police now gathered 

And the four paramedics standing nearby

We coaxed her out of the car

Sarah was her name; homeless hooking was her game

She admitted so in a roundabout way

The caller would admit no such thing

Since Sarah was not a criminal in our eyes

She was set free upon society

Or at least the next train back to the city

And we turned to the caller

Larger, older, sweatier man: hear this

The next time you pick up a prostitute 

And the deal goes bad at your house in the next town

Take your problem to their police

And with that they were gone

Back to the big city, and the small house

And we back to the station

To end and begin the night

National Poetry Writing Month - April 11, 2014

I spent the better part of yesterday and about an hour this morning finishing an online course called ARIDE - Advanced Roadside Impaired Driving Enforcement. It's a sort of in between training course from the basic Standardized Field Sobriety Tests to the much more advanced Drug Recognition Expert. The DRE certification is one that I would greatly like to obtain. I've always enjoyed taking drunk drivers off of the streets. With my current department I've amassed almost 70 DUI arrests, and that was in about 4 years. It may not seem like many, but it's good enough for second overall in enforcement in the department.

While taking the course I was thinking to myself, I wonder what could have happened to all of the impaired drivers if I hadn't intervened.

If I Weren't There

If I weren't there to stop you

Would you have made it home?

Safely to your family

Or to your home alone?

Could you have gone without a crash

And taking an innocent life?

Using your car and your impaired mind

As weapon; a gun or knife

Is it possible you'd have killed yourself

In some fiery mass of steel

Leaving me and my fellow officers

To tell your family, and see how they feel

About you making such a rash mistake

To drive after drinking so much

No longer would they hear your voice

See your face, feel your touch

You curse me as I handcuff you

And take you off to jail

As I read the forms and write the tickets

And make you post your bail

But think of this when we arrive in court

And remember well my face

That because I arrested you that night

You're alive to be in this place

National Poetry Writing Month - April 10, 2014

It's crazy in my house! There are guys putting in new carpet, a new gun safe was just delivered, the dog is curious as hell. All of that doesn't mean that I will be shirking my responsibility to bring you poetry on a daily basis.

I saw a shadow that caught my imagination yesterday. I had put up a new American flag outside of the front door and with the wind and sunshine it made for a bit of inspiration.

Living Nature

The hug of spring warms the trees and ground

Melting away the frosty bite of winter

A bright shining eye looks down upon the flowers

And the fingers of the day caress the blades of grass

Warm breath of the breeze blows gently

Sending dark and light across the sidewalk

And across the shrubs near the house

The branches filling and emptying their lights blood

Voices on the air, singing bird songs

Chattering chipmunks and squirrels

An odd dog barks somewhere

Wanting to join in the glorious day

Quickly fading into blackness

Night falls on the streets 

Heat of the day is replaced

With the cool refreshing night