November 14, 2015 - 2300

The words come, the words go. The ones that stick around end up first on paper and then on this screen.

I love listening to music of all kinds. I have an eclectic collection of everything from A to Z. Pop, rock, metal, punk, opera, classical, ska. You name it I probably have a song in that genre. And with that come a lot of memories attached to songs. Some are guaranteed to bring a smile to my face as I travel back in my mind to the time that is being invoked by that tune. Others make me so sad that I only need to hear a few bars of the beginning and the tears well up in my eyes and I have to change the song.

This is about the latter.

It Isn't Their Fault, But It Isn't Fair

Driving to work, listening to a CD

I cried. A song reminds me so much

of that sweet, sweet pup

That I can't listen to it any more

It's stupid. It's only a song

And a good one as well

But it's forever tied to her

And her being gone. It's ruined

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 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 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 5, 2014

It's Saturday, and for most folks that means a day off. Not for me, and my fellow officers. We work more often than the postal carriers. Every day, all weather, light or dark.

ENDO

The day on the calendar is meaningless to me

Monday. Thursday. Sunday. Saturday

In my mind, it's Day 1. Or 2. Or 3. Or 4.

Everyday. No Days Off

That's when I work. It doesn't matter that it's

A birthday. A holiday. Or any day

For me it's Day 1. Or 2. Or 3.Or 4.

Everyday. No Days Off

While family is at home, or occasionally out with friends

I more often than not am at work.

On Day 1. Or 2. Or 3. Or 4.

Everyday. No Days Off

This is the life of the police. 

A sacrifice of time spent with wife, husband, or child.

Because of Day 1. Or 2. Or 3. Or 4.

Everyday. No Days Off.

June 6, 2013 - 0030

Once again I am back here with some words for you. I was on a short break when I got caught in a hole called YouTube. My subscriptions are mainly gun related, with a smattering of humor and a bit of workout motivation. But now and then I leave the suggestions and venture out into the wild, wild YouTube and search for something more. And tonight I found myself listening to poetry, and to be specific slam poetry. As I listened to the words that these wonderful writers had come up with it hit me.

I Am What I've Always Been

Do you know what I can't write?

Slam Poetry

Because I've never had to fight 

or rise up against the strife

of the Man keeping me down

I am white and middle class through and through

The police were and still are my friends true

Even when I did wrong as a child

I knew. And I was sorry for my indiscretions

Stealing, lying, speeding. These were my crimes

Sent to my room to do hard time

with my bed, and books, and the view of

maple and oak trees. Hardened criminal

More like hardly a criminal. I was vanilla

Still am in many ways. Almost every day I

listen to metal, and punk...and Mozart

Yo! You hear that Sonata No.4? Shits tight!

That's right. I'm the guy who doesn't like to fight

Who covers his head and feet at night

One hand reaching out to pet the dog and

fall asleep so that everything is all right

I can listen to slam poets and I'm moved

Almost to tears by their words, the

verbal manifestations of hopes and dreams and fears

And know that isn't me. I'm not afraid

of what they're afraid of. Police helicopters above

No mother while growing up to give love

Father abandoning me when I was young

Bullied in the halls at school, pushed and shoved

That's not me. I was a different kid

And now a different man. Odd man out

Picked last in games because I was gangly

and spindly and uncoordinated without a doubt

But my folks were there for me

When I was in the school play they came to see

I had a real speaking part too

Not just in the background as a tree

I didn't get bullied in the halls

I was unmolested in the spring and fall

And as I grew up I knew that 

I would be okay. It didn't have to get better for me

And that's why I can't write slam poetry

April 6, 2013 - 2215

I wanted to write something about politics and how I feel about certain issues that are foremost in the news right now, but I had nothing. I am pro-gun, pro-choice, pro-gay, pro-police. I am liberal with certain conservative leanings. I don't follow politics because I find it mind-numbingly boring. There, that's what I wanted to say about that, but I didn't have the poetic words to say so.

I just watched a video on YouTube of a poetry reading/spoken word performance by Andrea Gibson. It was phenomenal. 12 minutes, three pieces and at the end I had exactly zero words. Amazing. Watch it and enjoy it. It also made me think about some things. About me and my wife and our marriage. I haven't always been the best husband, but overall we are pretty damn good together. Everyone can see it, we don't try and hide it. But we have gay friends that don't get the same things that we get. Living in a big city, they can be together and no one really bats an eye, but as of this writing they can't be married in that city. They can't go through that ceremony in front of their friends and family and say the vows. There are civil unions, but as I heard someone say recently (and I wish I could remember because I would totally give them credit for it), certain words have MEANING. And marriage is one of them.

Untitled Poem Number Whatever

As it stands before the Supremes

Not Diana and the girls

But the nine justices in D.C.

Here's hoping that they realize what justice is

It's not justice that a man can't marry his boyfriend

Like so many hasty Las Vegas girls can marry theirs

It's not justice that a girl can't marry their girlfriend

Like young eloping boys can run off and marry theirs

"Justice" Antonin Scalia has it wrong

And if he were to read my words and want to speak in person

Privately or publicly I would tell him to his face

You sir, have it wrong.

Is it justice for my friends and the friends of others I know

That if my wife and long time companion goes into the hospital

That I can see her, be with her, make decisions for her

When others cannot for their long time companions

Can "teh gays" raise a child? This is a question too?

In my job, after many many years

I wonder if some straight parents deserve the children that they have

When I see dirty clothes, squalid homes, broken bones and dreams.

\

It makes me angry that my friends have found their one

The one that they love, honor, cherish

But the ceremonies and the rites that were afforded to me

Aren't the same ceremonies and rights that they have as well.

October 1, 2011 - 0500

And, welcome to the last quarter of 2011. It was a much more productive night than last night, since I posted nothing yesterday. And despite being harangued by my peer for about an hour and a half, I was able to get out and make an arrest before the bars closed. DUI arrests are probably my favorites. They can be dangerous, without a doubt, but most of the time they are merely entertaining. And for me, even if there isn't anything particularly funny about the contact or tests, it's still satisfying to get a drunk driver off of the streets. Which is what I did tonight.

Day One DUI


The first day of the month of quarter last
As I sat with a partner passing time
I saw a car without lights driving past
Not exactly the most heinous of crimes

But we know that these can lead to something
And so I left our chat to catch the car
Most times it just turns out to be nothing
But late at night I can't let them go far

The smell of booze inside the car was strong
I got her out and made her do my tests
From what I saw her driving now was wrong
This is one of the things that I do best

She refused and soon was sent on her way
And I went back out on the streets to play

September 17, 2011 - 0500

It's time for yet another festival in town. This one closes most of one of the major streets in the business district of the town. It's only a minor inconvenience for us (the police) to drive the side streets and adjacent lots to get where we need to go, but I can't imagine what would happen if there were a fire.

Despite this, a couple of the bars did well for themselves this night. Probably because it was a pain in the rear to get to others. One in particular had a large crowd, and we kept our trained eyes on this place so that they knew no shenanigans would be allowed.

But Is It Art?


A major street in town was closed tonight
This blocked some businesses and several homes
Nobody came to us and begged their plight
We knew not where they went, not where they roamed

A staggering blue shirt walked and kicked cones
I caught him just outside of a bears bar
We talked and his sorrow became well known
He was not from the town, he was from far

Some bars were busy but most were not full
Most closed early, tow stayed open late
Expecting trouble to one we all did roll
The fights and boobery we did abate

They say the town is too small for real crime
My answer is to say just give it time

August 13, 2011 - 0515

This one is late for a couple of reasons. First, is that it covers two days. An eventful two days. And second is because it's fairly lengthy. I had to start a new Moleskine just to finish writing it out. Not that I filled 192 pages with this one, but I was almost at the end of my old one and this ran five pages.

The style is a Burns Stanza or Standard Habbie. Easy rhyme sequence and simple syllabic structure. And, with as much as I had to cover I needed something easy to follow.

Two Days Busy


We had a shift of three once more
Bars open late. What's in store?
We wonder walking out the door
It's slow until about half way
A drunk man peeing on a door
Caught dead to rights. Not much to say

Handcuffed and taken in a charged
In booking to the toilet barged
His bladder from the beer enlarged
In wallet found a gram of coke
The state was called about his charge
A felony is not a joke

His friend had fake ID in hand
Plans for leaving us were canned
"Stay with us" we did demand
A call to states attorney made
Transport them to Waukegan-land
To a gray jail cell I'm afraid

Two arrestees head to court
Me leave on time? I did abort
that idea. Day shift was short
Both were kept after judges call
I left for home and sleeping port
Almost 12 hours overall

Friday there were but two on shift
A full moon lets the crazies drift
And gives my tired bones a lift
That, and a large iced coffee drink
Lots of people through which to sift
Our first call put us on the brink

A business man. A fake ID.
The kid confronted tried to flee
With owner following angrily
He caught up, but by car was pulled
The car kept going down the street
And owner on the pavement rolled

They chased them down on motor-bikes
All streaking through the inky night
The young man trying to take flight
But wisely he did finally stop
We show up and arrest on sight
The joys of being a local cop

A bong and beer in car were found
Offender did not make a sound
When told the car would be impound
Three students all were in the car
Good schools, but no sense abound
They might be free had they gone to a bar

Kid one from Stanford college nigh
And two, from Berkeley, almost cried
Three was a Wisconsonite
He caught the charge that was most harsh
First two released to parents sighs
The third one given tickets charged

I tried my best to make the pinch
You'd think when busy it'd be a cinch
And drunks arrested in a clinch
But four stops got me nothing fast
I gave not even a inch
But luck tonight had long since passed

With five arrests in just three days
Those working a deserve some praise
Something more than a turn of phrase
They all were working as  a team
When young ones came and made their plays
All comes together like a dream

August 6, 2011 - 0500

Tonight was much, much better than the night before. There were lots of people all about, and they stayed for most of the night. This in turn, gave me lots of opportunity to make stops, talk to people, and eventually arrest someone. Which I did.

It was my second stop and I cashed in with it. The driver was pretty hammered, but mostly in control of himself. If only he'd turned on the headlights...

This is a Cyhydedd Fer Sonnet. There wasn't any real information regarding the origins, only the rhyme sequence. It's a set of eight rhyming couplets, with roughly eight syllables per line. Straight forward and easy.

Fun (For Me) Saturday Night


The weather was warm, made me sweat
Runs down my back where I can't get

The town was busy as could be
So I went out, a drunk to see

My first car stop had lights on high
She was sober, we said good bye

Second stop had no lights at all
Two times the limit; he took the fall

He was sent out into the night
And in my car I did take flight

My third stop was just simply lost
He went his way with laughter tossed

Nothing makes my night more cheery
Than arresting someone drunk and beery

July 9, 2011 - 0500

Friday into Saturday. There were a lot of people milling about the sidewalks and streets all night, up until the bars closed. Fortunately no one was hit by a car, including mine although there were some close calls.

I think I've done free verse all four days this week. Next week I'll pick a different style and run with it for four  days. Enjoy the weekend

Nicely Un-Busy


When you're drunk and walking I commend you
But don't walk in front of my car too
It makes me worry that you're not okay
Please use sidewalks. Live another day

A call to us about a potential problem
Is he drunk or sick? My partner talk to him
He gives two samples, both times zeroes
Police and just ill, he calls us both heroes

Only the police get to have blue lights
But this Mustang I've seen on several nights
This evening our paths finally meet
Unlicensed driver ended up in my backseat

Moms big Lincoln had a bad alarm
Other than loud it caused no real harm
Unhooking the battery ended the sound
And she left her moms car in our now quiet town.

July 2, 2011 - 0520

It's been said many times before, better late than never. I got called away from my desk for a couple of things, one fairly serious but not originating in my fair city, and the other not as much. But I'm back at the pen and i bring you my words.

In my few lines of the evening I use alliteration in tercet form. It's just what popped into my head, and seemed to work for me.

Tercets of Tumult
        -or-
Slow Sultry Summer Song


I slip and slide silently on the streets
My car completely a clone of other carriages
Nothing of note nearly all night

By and by boobery begins
Musical missionaries migrate to my town
For a drunken debauch in dim and darkened bars

Ruffians ran readily whenever I arrive
My attention attuned to their actions
Not that they'd noticed me near by

My offer to allow them to orate or explain themselves ignored
Later: Stop sign! Surprise! We spoke and then split
A simple citation certainly, but not needed

Time ticked by tentatively, too slowly for me
A bistros barrier was breached by the breeze
Lazy last leavers left unlocked. We looked and then left.

June 25, 2011 - 0500

What a night. It started off slowly, and built up into a crescendo of drunken boobery. Well, not too bad really. But there were lots of drunks around tonight. I saw a lot of people as I drove in, mainly sitting on the sidewalks. Something about it seemed...not right. And after a couple of minor contacts we had ourselves a full on rockin' good time at the end.

Tonight's form is the Japanese style known as senryu. Similar to haiku, but more concerned with humans and their nature, rather than nature itself. It's supposed to run about 17 syllables total in the three lines, but I know I fudged a couple of them. And I wrapped up with a haiku.

(with apologies to Elton John)


Saturday Nights All Right


People are fragile
I almost hit two crossing
Made one cry

Giant truck hits a curb
Eight girls inside, seven are drunk
It's not her real car

I saw him stumbling
Then I saw him peeing
I saw ALL of him for Pride

More fragile people
Crossing the tracks where others died
Be careful this night, and later

Fight at a bar
We're there within moments
One taken away

Down with the one, another
Second fight, same bar
I begin to hate that place

Suspect released, no charge
The "victim" started it all
Trampy sister was the source

The sky is clearing
Today should be a nice day
And yet, I must sleep

June 18, 2011 - 0530

Due to circumstance beyond my control, that is to say, busy as hell and couldn't even catch up with email until right now, there will be no poetry tonight. I have made my notes, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. Until then, I bid you adieu.

May 28, 2011 - 0500

Despite the rain and crap weather, my wonderful wife came to work with me. This is exciting for me, because I love my job and like to show off at work for her. Unfortunately, things didn't work out as planned.

This set of verses is in a style called memoriam stanzas. The meter is iambic tetrameter, based on the poem "In Memoriam A.H.H." by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Rhyme is simple and quick, just like tonight at work.

Shortened Ride-Along


She came with me to see me work
I tried and tried to make it fun
A car we stopped for stop sign run
A valet, nice, and not a jerk

Then I was called to see the man
And to the station I did drive
My Baby left for home to thrive
While I was stuck with anger grand

30 minutes he stood and yelled
I felt like I could not just leave
He wears emotions on his sleeve
And I the stories hear him tell

Town started full but soon dropped off
One by one the bars did empty
With no one out I stopped to see
A barman, and my hat I doffed

Half an hour left for business
And only one was still in use
The crowd thinned like down on a goose
When I drove up and ended this

Maybe it worked out she went home
Baby would not have seen too much
No fights or stops, arrests and such
Just driving and the tires drone

May 21, 2011 - 0500

It was so foggy when I left for work I couldn't see my car parked across the street from my house. And it only got worse when I got to work. But it did make it easy for people to be stopped, evidenced by my 5 traffic stops for the night. Too bad not one of them was drunk.

Tonight is a classic Italian sonnet. Iambic pentameter and a rigid rhyme structure that I held to quite nicely, if I do say so. Straight forward into the events of the evening.

Misty Busy Shoreside Night


The soup of fog lay all on the city
It stayed with us almost the whole night through
And though she saw, she did not stop. It's true
that striking walkers is never pretty

No lights at night and I will stop you cold
Run a stop sign and soon we two shall meet
Driving wrong way down a road is a feat
No drunks were driving these cars I was told

The girls who took the flowers, out again
Making merry at the same small tavern
The fog left and we had a clear view then

I saw two girls in a car sitting plain
One was male inside the nights dark cavern
And one more stop to bring night to an end

May 14, 2011 - 0510

It seems like I just posted something today, but it was actually yesterday late. And I wish there were more to opine on, but a drastic change in weather combined with a lot of recent college graduates packing up and leaving meant that tonight wasn't anything to jump about as far as calls for service were concerned.

The evening is documented with a sestina. A pretty interesting structure, with no rhymes or meter. But the words at the end of the sentences repeat in various ways throughout the entire poem. It made it easy to come up with the last word of each sentence, but putting the rest of the words in front of it was the challenge.

The Night Seemed To Go On and On


Despite the date and it's evil ways
I didn't hold high hopes for action
The weather had turned from warm to cold
Leading my mind to a state f dullness and slow
It carried on this way as I drove into my town
My hope was that there would be things to do

We changed from civilian to cops, like our hair-do
I check my equipment constantly, set in my ways
After checking that all was quiet in town
Partner and I set out to seek our action
But my suspicions were right, the town was slow
With most people being kept in by the cold

Not winter time, no snow, not that kind of cold
The kind that keeps you inside with nothing to do
A shiver in the air, that makes your watch slow
Wondering how the nights pass in these long ways
But still, I prowled around hoping for action
Never to come, never to arrive, in our town

Lack of people made time stand still in town
I couldn't go out jacketless into the cold
Whenever I heard a sound, I thought it was action
Craning around to see what there was to do
As a more veteran copper I'm kind of set in my ways
It amazed me that the town was so slow

I got out of my car, took a walk nice and slow
Staying active can be tough in such a small town
Being creative  and looking around for new ways
to find something to do when it's cold
Pulling on doors is just what I do
When I find one open, then we spring into action

After that's done we hunt for more action
Despite my cars speed, I still drive slow
Passing my squad car isn't something you do
Even though we work in such a small town
I think sometimes I'm too nice when it's cold
No tickets, just scolded and sent other ways

The stories aren't too exciting when there's nothing to do
We all took this job because we crave action

And sometimes it's easy to get set in your ways
When working and policing a town slow

But crime still happens in our tiny town
And won't necessarily stop because it's cold

May 7, 2011 - 0510

Tonight was a nice, cool but not cold, busy but not packed in town, work night. It started immediately with an alleged battery with a baseball bat and then flowed smoothly into a pretty nice DUI arrest. In between I was inundated with attitude, anger, and lots of other emotions.

The poem of the evening is a Rhyme Royal. Iambic pentameter, as much as I could stick to it, with a pretty easy rhyme sequence. If you use words that rhyme. I decided to challenge myself to use words from a list my wife sent to me of words without exact rhymes. That was the challenge tonight, and I like to think that I stepped up nicely.

Steady Work, If You Can Keep Up With It


When I came in to work I felt no angst
It appeared to be simple, no depth
We were about to speak and then I sprang
From chair, to door, to car, averting death
Or so it sounded as we crossed the breadth
Of town and back, but nothing could oblige
The space we'd leapt, our fuel was like a tithe

Please don't call me when we're on the cusp
Now is not the time. We cannot oblige
When clear I'll call and then we can discuss
That which burns you, and makes you feel alive
Or the thoughts that in your brain seem to writhe
Inside your mind we all have seen or glimpsed
We don't like to see, but you give us hints

And then, drunk girl, makeup smeared like plankton
Nearly hitting cars should light ones brain bulb
Three times over makes us all feel quite stunned
Your car was towed, a German metal hull
Your friend left you with us and your trouble
You pulled yourself from the heat of the kiln
But remember when you lie, it's on film.

April 10, 2011 - 0456

In keeping with the structured poetry, here is an Italian style called a canzone. It has the same general rhyme structure and attention to meter as a sonnet, but there were no set rules with the writing of one. Seven to 20 lines, 10 to 11 syllables. And since the town where I work used to have a predominately Italian population, I decided to pay homage to that, and to a slow Saturday night.

The Ride-Along


Out quickly into the night, we set out
to find our prey. My Ride-Along. My wife.
The hunt was on but no cars were about
And the night dragged on for the love of my life.

After peering and hoping, there was a car
to stop and inquire of the man
If he had been drinking either near or far
But he had not, and was sent off with license in hand.

More time ticked away and my wife she grew tired.
With the lack of action, I understood,
That staying too long while I was so wired
with nothing to do in my small neighborhood

Would make for a boring night for my love
So harder and harder I tried.
Then a car appeared as if sent from above
And I hoped that this would be the one who'd imbibed.

But sober and sane was the driver inside
And my Ride-Along left, wishing me a fond good-bye.