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

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 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 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 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 7, 2014

There are some topics that folks don't like to talk about. Politics, religion, money. And suicide. It's a painful fact that sometime, a person feels like their best solution to their problems is to kill themselves. And in my line of work, I have seen the aftermath of that decision and it's impact on family and friends. I have had friends kill themselves and wondered what I could have done to help them. 

There is a certain method out there that comes even closer to the police, and that is suicide by cop. A person has decided that they want to end their life, but can't bring themselves (for whatever reason) to do it. So they will get the police involved and try and goad the officers into taking their life for them. Check out this website for more information about suicide by cop. 

All of that brings me to these lines, wherein I try and describe what happened to me and my shift partner a few days ago. I think you can all tell where it is going.

Wanted His Wings, Didn't Want To Earn Them

Unlike swimming we didn't get to wait 30 minutes

Before being thrown into the deep end of the pool

The call comes into my ear; suicidal subject

More information to come

Setting aside the initial bad information we arrive at the house

Still not sure, still no further, still and quiet we arrive

The son meets me at my squad; he's pale despite his complexion

In the garage is his father; desperate; and armed

I unleash my firearm, not heading into this fray without at least equal footing

My partner has a Taser; I am the lethal coverage

We creep to the garage, me telling the son to go inside

If it goes south, he doesn't need to see it

I spot the father in the corner, his head in his hands

His empty hands

My partner knows him. He seems to know everyone

And in this case I am extraordinarily happy for that

We edge the corner of the open garage door

I still see no weapons and neither does my partner

He calls out to the father. 

His name...Angel

A few minutes of talking and Angel is in the back of the squad

He's going to talk to someone

I check the garage quickly and find it

A shiny, black 45 caliber replica BB gun

Looking at this piece of molded plastic I shook my head

He would have died that night had he presented it

If he had followed through with his sadness

I would have granted him his wish of death that night

But Angel is not an angel today

He lives on with his family and his memories to haunt him

My partner and I live on with ours

And no bad memories to haunt us from this house

January 28, 2013 - 0900

This originally started out as what I call a "snippet". Just a little bit of verse or a few lines that I save and hope to fill out into something later. I ended up writing the whole thing in about 20 minutes.

Coyotes

It was the deepest part of the night

Just before it becomes morning

As the dog and I walked

In our dark neighborhood

From my right I heard

A coyote bay

A sharp, long, lonely sound

A lost friend. A sad cry

We walked on; it didn't seem close

But who could tell

Echoes and trees have a way

Of distorting a sounds direction

Then from the left

Another coyote calls

Answering a friends call

Friends finding friends in the blackness

At first, I smiled

Nature at it's most natural

Two scavenger-predators

Out for a meal and a chat

But the baying kept on

My dog, oblivious to the potential danger

Kept at the business of her business

Nose to the ground, ears missing her kin

I understood what was happening

At least, I felt like I did

We were being watched

We were being followed

Turning us back towards the house

The call and respond followed

Down the sidewalk and to the driveway

Never getting closer, always following

I let out my breath as we went inside

They couldn't get in our house

My grip relaxed on the butt of my pistol

My dog begged for her treat

January 13, 2013 - 0900

Random Limerick Time!

It's hard to stay focused while working

Many things make my eyes herky-jerking

But I'll knuckle down

Because I'm not a clown

Leaving loose ends all a-quirking

My Baby and I are so happy

When we are awake or taking a nappy

We hold hands and kiss

It's a treat I won't miss

I agree when they say we are sappy

The weather dropped way too down low

I wonder how far it will go

It's too cold to for snowing

And the wind keeps on blowing

So in my toasty car I go patrol

January 7, 2013 - 0900

Welcome Back Poet, We Missed You

I know that it has been a while

Since I have written here

And so I hope to add more rhymes

Throughout the coming year

And not to be so sad and dour

To bring some happy thoughts

So everyone can read and smile

With the haves and the have-nots

If I miss a week or two

Don’t fret and don’t lament

I didn’t forget my place to write

I’ll be back to make a dent

In the minds of those who read

My silly little lines

And maybe make you stop and think

Deeply, from time to time

December 5, 2011 - 0300

I was driving on the nearby Army base when I heard a variety of sounds. I stopped my car and turned off the radio and the heater so that I could get a better handle on what was going on around me.

Nature Being Natural

In the dark

In the cold

All around I can hear

Nature being natural

I can hear

The wings of an owl

The feathers rustling on

The icy night wind

I can hear

A coyote howling

At the brightly shining

Cloud covered moon

I can hear

Deer in the shadows

Hooves walking well worn paths

In the unmown grass

I am surrounded by structure

Buildings and streets and civilization

But when I stop and pay attention

I can hear nature being natural

September 19, 2011 - 0430

Today I am 38 years old. I don't have any fancy plans, other than to get some rest and then spend the day with my wonderful wife. But I did have to work. We had one call all night in the rain, but it was a good one. A car had missed a turn in the road and ended up on the train tracks. The driver was not surprisingly arrested for DUI and I got to write about the entire thing.

I took some of the words in this rather long set from the Grandiloquent Dictionary. See if you can spot them.

A Birthday Car Crash/Arrest/Writing Experience


When the call came out it didn't take much for an
autotonsorialist like myself to think "DUI."

She was no beldam. In fact, she was young
and dressed for a night out.

Perhaps it was a
cacestogenous upbringing that
led her to drink.

One thing was for sure
she did not suffer from dipsophobia.
The car reeked of booze.

Upon our arrival, she began to
explaterate. We couldn't get a word in
edgewise.

Under arrest, she was taken away by my partner.
The sound of her car being towed off of
the tracks was fluctisonant.

It became obvious enough that
she was gambrinous. But where she had been
she would not say

We knew this would happen to her.
There was plenty to indicate the
hamartithia from her.

A check of her wallet
for bond money found her to be quite impecunious.

She began her jactancy
with us after a time. It didn't last long.

As she was being processed, she played with
her hair, causing a krobylos to come into being

When we did not believe her stories
she was overcome with lypothymia

She decided to "come clean" with us
and say who was really driving. But several
different stories made me think
she was simply practicing her mentimutation.

She started to nicitate
when we called her stories false. She knew
she'd been caught

As we got closer and closer to her
being released, her oenophlygia became
more and more apparent

We told her that driving drunk
was not the end of the world, but
maybe this would give her a mild case
of potophobia for a while

She was just a quean
There was time for her to
learn from this mistake

And though the third raith was almost over
The fourth had yet to begin.
She didn't listen to us

The alcohol had made
her saprostomous. Time for
her to go home

When told that she could
leave, she was overcome with
tachyphrasia, thanking us repeatedly

She ran from the station
like it was an utlesse, even though
she'd been set free

Walking up the sidewalk, she seemed
quite vauntie. And why not?
She was alive after all

I was happy she was unhurt.
But her drinking style will
lead to a wanweird I think.

Jail time and xerophagy
would do her some good

Too much more drinking and she'll end up
a yaud. Like so many others around town.

And another zob is not
what we need around here.

September 12, 2011 - 0345

You may think, given my profession and my love of it, that this would be a remembrance type post, for September 11, 2011. After all, I was a cop on that day 10 years ago. I wear the 9-11 bar on my uniform still, as a reminder of where I was and what I was doing. But this isn't that kind of post. I managed to make it all day without seeing too much from either extreme, liberal or conservative.

This is instead, a coverage of my last two days. My wife did a ride-along with me on Saturday, and I made sure it was worth her losing some sleep to see what happens at work. And Sunday was a pretty typical slow day. I did talk with some people, but overall it was a recovery day from the night before.

Drunk Drivers and Familiar Faces


My Baby came with me to ride and see
Who would be out in the little city
A Saturday filled with people galore
And a full moon to bring all the crazy to fore

As we drove and we talked a car we did see
Across the train tracks, no lights on had he
After speaking a moment he went on his way
I'm hunting for drunkards to arrest this day

Not too long after a second car flying
Red Ferrari was speeding, driver implied I was lying
But when no ticket was issued he changed his tune
'Cause it drunks I was hunting under the full moon

'Twas an hour long gap til the next car we bother
Not stopping at signage, said that she'd rather
Apologize now, which she did in a flash
Her car smelled delicious, French fries in the dash?

As we pulled away, an illegally parked truck
I scratch out the ticket for a quick city buck
And there at the wheel, my passed out drunk driver
An easy arrest, a definite high-fiver

His tests and my banter made Baby laugh
The driver smelled awful, like he'd taken a bath
in funky cologne and cheap warm beer
Hauled away, then his car on a tow truck disappeared

He couldn't perform the last simple test
One one ticket, out the door with the rest
of the people still milling all over the town
Blending back in, another drunk faceless clown

A couple more hours and I was going home
To my wife and my dogs right where I belong
Wonder what the next night would hold
On a Sunday? Not much the truth be told

Night two was a contrast in black and white
Starkly different that yesterdays busy night
Making my laps and looking at faces
Glazed over by booze in the usual places

My ear was bent as I sat quiet thinking
By a businessman who had NOT been drinking
Venting about the local town councilmen
And decisions they'd made that had impacted him

He went on his way and I then saw a face
One that had not been seen lately in this place
Quick stories exchanged and then on his way
And to keep driving to finish my day

September 5 2011 - 0500

This is a twofer. I got a little busy last night (9/3-4) as you will read and ran out of time in my regular shift to write some verses. As it turned out, I had plenty of time, but I was tired and decided to combine yesterday and today. Today was typical. And by typical, I mean not a damn thing went on all night.

This form is called an English Quintain. It's five lines per stanza, with an easy to follow rhyme scheme and no syllabic meter. Makes for easy writing in the that respect, but not so much in the rhyming.

Two For The Price of One


My first night back and I was trapped
Long talking, but not saying a thing
I was tired, though I had napped
Hoping for info I let him sing
And his paranoia did not cling

After moving illegally parked cars I drove
Stopped two more hoping for a drinker
But nothing doing near our cove
One was cheerful, little stinker
The other a more solemn thinker

A simple drive then turned to chaos
Fighting men and lots of bleeding
What a scene to come across
An ambulance I was needing
Their medical advice he was not heeding

Difficulty finding someone
A day shifter called out ill
I stayed over myself, there was no one
The city doesn't foot the bill
I don't dip into their meager till

Tonight by contrast was a snore
A few people around but not many
Staying active became a chore
But cool air we had aplenty
The open windows they did help me

August 29, 2011 - 1415

Well, I'm back. After a week away from the town and the nightly grind of the shift it's good to be back. I would have written something last night, but I had other important documents to draft. Like a memo for reimbursement for mileage and fuel to the tune of almost $500.00. And a total reworking of our departments firearms program. I learned in those five days, that if someone in my department shoots someone right now, we are totally screwed. And I am not going to be in that bag, so I used my down time to draft a new training curriculum. I'll do some more on it tonight but I should also be able to put some poetry out as well.

I'm not going to try and rehash what I did in that week of training, but instead focus on what I usually write about which is my every night encounters.

Welcome Back, Welcomed Back, Welcome, Back


I was warned by text before I even arrived
That my peer would be ranting long into the night
But when we arrived we were both pleased to see
That he'd taken time off and that I would be free.

So I drove all the streets and said my hellos
To the businesses and all of the people I know
Drunk boys and girls all wandered the walks
Interrupting my driving with slurred boozy talks

Then I was greeted by a new throbbing pain
Not wearing a gun belt had suddenly drained
my lower back muscles of all of their holding
Uncomfortable driving from the belt not molding

But I was reprieved by hours of writing
New training materials that I knew I'd be sighting
After learning that we as a department were lacking
And a single lawsuit would send all of us packing

August 10, 2011 - 0930

Man, do I feel like a fool. I've been home and only had a few minor chores to take care of and I didn't even post what I had written...last week. Sorry about that everyone. I have it all written out and so here it is.

This is a poetry style called a Dizain. It's French in origin, and has a 10 line structure, 8-10 syllables per line and an easy to follow rhyme pattern. The one that I wrote is about another nice and busy night at work and the many wacky things I saw that night.

A Good Working Weekend


Multiple puking was first on the list
One guy, back and forth, in the dark alley
Another guy peeing could not be missed
Thought he was hidden down in a valley
Caught, his pants fell - there's no dilly-dally
My second drunk driver in as many nights
It makes me happy when none of them fight
He hit a parked car as he pulled over
Refused the breath test, 'cause he knows his rights
Nice enough guy, but also not sober

August 1, 2011 - 0500

Actually, August 2, 2011 at about 0150. Sometimes, things get in the way. Like life away from the streets. A couple of days off were complicated by at-home repairs that came out of the blue and needed immediate addressing. These have been taken care of, and we are all much happier at home for it.

Also, it seems that Google/Blogger have decided to let me publish today. Or my desktop is feeling generous. Either way, here it is from last night.

Looking to southeast Asia, we find a style called the Ya Du. It has a simple, Haiku-like structure, with a staircase rhyme sequence that is both fun and challenging. This one gives another look at what really doesn't go on in our town on a Sunday night.

Hot Days, Slow Nights, Back to Work


Lots of email for me
My four days seemed long
But these were hot days
My Ways were too short
And when I return there's nothing to report

Driving in the slow town
Deep sweat frown on faces
AC down. I understand.
We'll hand over money soon
Hoping for relief tomorrow afternoon.

July 18, 2011 - 0500

First off: it's hot. 85 degrees at 0410, and it's starting to rain a little. Sure, why not add to the humidity. Second: I apologize for no post last Thursday, but that was my wedding anniversary. Four years ago I married the most wonderful woman ever. We had sushi, I was given the night off. It was a nice evening. And therefore I wasn't up at 0400 to write to you.

This week will be limerick week. A five line, usually humorous, often vulgar or obscene, set of lines, originating in my ancestral homeland, Ireland. I disagree that they should always be vulgar, or even humorous. Who's to really say that a limerick can't be clean. Or that it can't depict a serious situation or theme? It's true though, the raunchy ones are usually the funniest.

For tonight's rhymes, all you have to know about the night is that it was very hot and humid, the parties involved had been drinking, and to never, ever, waste electricity.

Laundry Limerick


Late night heat and warm beer makes one crazy
But doing laundry means you're not lazy
But if you don't close the door
You'll get knocked to the floor
And the rest of your thoughts will be hazy

June 27, 2011 - 0500

As I wrapped up my work week, I figured it would be an uneventful Sunday night into Monday morning. It started out that way, but when we finally made it out onto the streets I was surprised at what I saw.

This morning is the classic sonnet, with a slightly altered rhyme structure. I didn't start out to make any changes, but ended up switching a couple things around and I like how it turned out. I'm sure there's a name for the type of sonnet written, but I have no idea what it would be.

Rare Sight Sonnet


My talk ran over with partner and peer
They debated and I just did not care
When we got out there was no one there
Except for a girl with eyes like a deer

She swayed from the booze on the low sidewalk
Boyfriend and her were just standing outside
Next to the street as if waiting to ride
She dropped her pants and I jerked to a stop

Boys pee outside, but girls do so rarely
Partner handcuffed her and took her to jail
Cursing and crying her ticket of fail
Called racist, she left. Laughs held in barely

The night finished slow. The paperwork done
Only early in shift did we have any fun

June 12-13, 2011 - 0515

Wow. That's all I can really say. Yesterday was busy from the jump off. Call after call and person stop after person stop and car stop after car stop. It all added up to my not being able to write anything down in verse form, only in notes on a Post-it. But now, here it all is, covering two days.

By request, this is a semi-epic poem written in as close to iambic pentameter as I could manage.

Epic Saturday Epic


Gather round children and hear my story
Of three men, then two, all bound for glory
Well, maybe not glory but loads of fun
With action for all o'er hither and yon

As I and he spoke all about crashes
Suspicious cars drove away like flashes
Southern folks partied well into the night
'Til coppers showed up and gave them a fright

But then comes a call, a man who is armed
Brandished a dagger, yet no one was harmed
Description goes out. We canvass the town
As we looked high and low, he was not found

We drive slow laps with our eyes wide open
To catch the rogue man was what we were hopin'
And standing by office were three young men
Not knowing the trouble they'd soon be in

With a snort and a sneer as I drove by
The wrong thing for them was to catch my eye
Stood up, patted down and riot act read
We tried to talk sense into their young heads

One was familiar, a call from last week
Into his turmoil we'd had a peek
We shooed them away; no time for these kids
Packs on their backs, on their heads crooked lids

I drove and I saw a car with no lights
Hoping for drunkard to make my young night
Wrong tags on car, and he stopped to the left
Just a kid. The car from his folks, a gift

After lecture I sent the young one home
To the safety of family well known
Back to my town to hunt still on-going
What was left for us? We were not knowing

I was north, it south. Faster than needed.
Right without stopping, 'til my lights pleaded
And up on the curb the tires did stop
I smelled weed and booze under hair like mop

Laughing and crying she did all my tests
At the end in my handcuffs she did rest
The sticky bud found in false snakeskin bag
With liquor a cause for her judgement lag

Refusal of test and she's out the door
The paperwork piling up more and more
And the calls keep coming without a stop
Running us ragged; we thought we'd drop

from the nights busy pace and no lunchtime
With open door called from neighboring town
Called off before showing up at the door
A very late meal. I wished there were more

The next night, so calm. It was very nice
Repeats on some rummy's did make me smile
No calls for knives or weapons this evening
Only two cars stopped, while they were leaving

If this is our summer it should be fun
We'll be safe and be strict with everyone
People will know that in our little town
That jail's where you go when acting the clown

June 6, 2011 - 0500

Sundays around my small town are usually quiet and I can catch up on some reading and general administrative work. It being my first night back however, I was expecting to be cornered for some time by the other supervisor here, as he generally stays about 1 1/2 hours after his regular shift. He was not in, and therefore I was able to get out rather quickly, and good thing too, be cause it started off like gangbusters.

I decided to break away from classical Greek/Roman more well known poetry styles, and travel to the Emerald Isle. Being very proud of my Irish roots, I wondered what the style of Irish poets was like. It's actually pretty easy, with tonight's being an "Ae Freslighe". No rhyme pattern, just seven syllables per line, and the first word had to be repeated at the end of the poem as the last word.

Local Town Ae Freslighe


Counterpart was off tonight
He took the day and stayed home
I knew now what to do then
The night was free for myself

Quiet shattered by a call
Two men, one with a gun
Mere moments from the station
Both found, but there was no gun

Both men were known to us all
One sober and one was drunk
Happy that there was no gun
We sent them on their journeys

One bar was busy all night
Party and party and more
Oaken Coin had the people
Yet we had no calls there

When they closed is when they called
Hit and run in the back lot
Minor damage by unknown
car, who was seen but then left

Report in hand, we left there
I pulled on doors to stay up
Nothing unlocked, all secure
I went to check the train lots

Three young people in the north
Dropped off by cab waited there
Next train was in four hours
They were fine to stand out there

Last contact was with a cop
From a town too far away
for me to go visit there
We chatted, and then parted

For a Sunday it kept pace
And we stayed fairly active
This is what happens for me
And not for my counterpart