October 7, 2015 - 1500

It's been a long time since I've written anything here, or at all. The inspiration to write isn't always with me and that leads to long periods where I don't write anything at all. Then something happens and I put pen to page. Literally. I will hand write everything first, revise it so that I like what I've written and then type it out for this place.

In this instance, a friend has had to make the horribly difficult decision to take her faithful dog on that last car ride. Anyone who's a dog owner or pet owner knows how heartbreaking this is. I actually called it "heart crushing" because that's what happened to me and my wife when that decision was made at our house. It's been three years and we still talk about, laugh about, and sometimes even cry about Pepperoni.

So this is for you Lucy. Beloved companion to a friend. Anyone who knows will understand.

For Lucy

We found out last night

That a friends dog had reached
The end of her days

Her time had come

She wasn't even my dog

But I cried. I was sad

Thinking of a friend who

Has to make such a decision

I was also sad for my dog

Gone these three years plus

But sitting in an urn

On our dresser. Still wearing her collar

And I was sad for our dog

A gray-faced gray; tail still whippy

But easily injured and slowing

From her puppy like ways

I'm sad for all of these things

Dogs and people and urns

Gray faces and stubby tails

And all of the dogs I don't even know

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

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 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 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 9, 2014

It was supposed to be a hectic couple of days off. There were floors to be completed, and dog medicine to administer. So far, I've accomplished the medicine. The flooring is another issue and frankly it's a bit bothersome. A professional operation should know where their customers products are when their trucks leave so that things that are scheduled can be taken care of. But alas, it's not that way in the real world. So instead of waiting for workmen to leave, I am doing my usual day off routine. And that's fine with me.

Same Old Same

Hectic and harried on my hallowed days off

Aren't what I wanted. Wearily I wrested myself out of bed

Dutifully dealt with dog and dog doo

I sat silently on sofa. 

Time ticked away as we waited

Passed out pup and people papa

Both bothered that breaking day was barely beginning

Stretching and straining; sure they would start soon

Looking longingly out living room window

Hoping against hope to hurry house workers

Setting to some simple tasks

Moving most of the mess out of the way

Deciding that dog was in need of dosing

I took bottle of brownish bad time in hand

With a wipe and a wisp

The medicine made it mess in her ear

Laundry lay lazily in baskets 

Laughing at my lack of motivation

Steeling myself so soiled clothes wouldn't win

Into washer with them while we waited

Finally, feeling forgotten phone calls were made

Seems someone set our stuff aside

It was out but out of range

Causing cancellation

Required rescheduling was done

Clothing cleaned, creased and classified

Dog dosed and dog biscuited

Day off. Drifting away as normal again

National Poetry Writing Month - April 2, 2014

Yesterday at work, I fell for an April Fool's prank by my coworker. Later that evening, it was no prank when we responded to a call for service.

Battered, Bruised, and Bitten

Sitting in a quiet restaurant with my wife

Recapping the events of the afternoon; all seemed well

Then, a crackle of static in my ear

Those infamous words "I'll be right back"

Rarely is that promise kept; to be "right back"

Lights on, siren blaring to clear a path to trouble

Running towards the unknown

Screaming and then silence from 911

She was underneath him, father restraining daughter

Daughter by court order; her troubled past made blood parents a memory

When she was released from his confines, she bolted

Ran past my partner and out the back door

As he followed, I found her on the side of the house

Out the front door and in some bushes

Screaming. Crying. Angry. Vicious

I tried to reason with her; to calm her. She wanted none of it

Safety is our priority; handcuffs came out. 

Seeing the glint of steel, she tried to run again

This time, caught in my grip; my fist entangled in her clothing

She wheeled towards me with anger in her eyes

The fight was on and I didn't intend to lose

It started as a pushing/pulling match and ended in the mud

My hands clawing for hers, to put on bracelets for the bad

I felt her shoes in my back; my side; my head

Cuffed at hand and foot, she became calmer

Funny how not being able to move will do that

I spoke with the guardians; they were hurt but not injured

Scratches and bites on faces and hands; and hearts

They were calm despite the storm in their yard

We spoke briefly and then off to jail we drove

I took a different route to gather my thoughts

And catch my breath for a possible round two

She was docile, more or less, as she hobbled to the door

Giving me dirty looks and evil eyes

She was jolted back to reality when she was reminded

That I was the older; the bigger; the stronger; the meaner

My second fight wasn't with her, but the state

No record; only 19; no problem

And no charges for battering an officer

I had forgotten what you can get away with when you're young

Printed, photoed and processed

And off to big girl jail, where they don't care what your problems are

Or were. Now you're a number in their system

Their problem for the night

Reports and papers finished and filed

We shook hands and reassured ourselves that we were okay

He went to his home and family, and I to mine

To rest, recover and return to the next fight the next day

October 30, 2013 - 1230

Today would have been the 15th birthday of our wonderful, sweet doggie Pepper. We said good-bye to her last June and every day we think about her, talk about her in some way, look at something that reminds us of her. Her memory will live on with us forever and in that way, she gets to live on forever. Since it's her birthday we wanted to do something for her memory. I'm not good at coming up with ideas like this, and even more so when there is such strong emotion attached to it. But, as I was thinking of her and missing her on her special day today, I came up with these words for her. Happy Birthday Pepperoni. We love you. We miss you.

509 Days

It's been 509 days since we said good-bye to you

I've grown 509 new gray hairs in your memory

I've shed 509 tears at your loss

I've said I love you 509 times

509 thoughts of you have passed through my mind

And 509 more. And more. And more

509 pictures of other dogs who look like you

Not one of them is as wonderful. You're 509 times better than they

In those 509 days I've talked about you

To at least 509 people, or so it seems

Maybe I've just talked to myself 509 times about you

So that I can never forget you

Your face has appeared to me 509 times

Pictures, video, thoughts and dreams - 509 memories

Frozen in my mind for the last 509 days

And each time, 509 times, it's made me smile

I know that no other could take your place

509 others could walk through my life and not be you

I wouldn't try. It would be 509 times as hard to replace you

So I won't. It's 509 times as easy to not

Someone could give me 509 reasons to let go

That these 509 days were wasted thinking about you

They'd be wrong. I haven't wasted 509 days by remembering you

I've relived 13 years with you.

September 4, 2013 - 1020

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

Calliope, Erato, and Thalia

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

or my job or my family

But that's all that inspires me

These three things are my muses

I don't want to bore the readers with

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

How sometimes I laugh about her and sometimes I cry

and she's been gone for over a year

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

and that all I could tell them were stories about drunks

and fights, and blood and pain

But some days that's my job

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

about my wife; how much she inspires me every day

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

But it's the truth. She does

Zoomies and whippy tails and squeaky toys

Lights and sirens and radios

Smiles and warmth and love

This is what I love to write about

November 16, 2011 - 0200

It's been too long since I've written anything. And so, as promised here's the "epic" I alluded to a few days ago.

A Four Day Battle


They knew they would lose going into the fray
That there was no hope of winning
They made peace with whatever gods they did pray
And set out on their doomed beginning

The enemy rumbled and stumbled about
Not caring a bit for their foes
Rain and cold did not keep them out
of the battle to add to the vanquished ones

Bolstered by liquor they charged into war
Grabbing them by their warty heads
Lifting them up and then heaving them for
The brain matter flying from fractured heads

Numbers and bodies replenished by day
One to be decimated at night
They sit and guard on walls of hay
Hoping their visages will give a fright

The attackers vision is blinded by beer
And so the scary eyes do no good
One by one and without fear
The righteous are crushed under foot

As champions of our quiet town
You'd think that we would do more
And protect the smaller and weaker around
where we patrol near the lake shore

But truth be told we're only two
And the victims number quite high
Their enemies outnumber us, also true
And safety is first, not to die

Over and over the bodies were crushed
And over and over replaced
At night the streets were littered and touched
By guts and gore and tire-smashed face

Four days of battle passed away
And only some casualties found
It had tapered to fewer and fewer each day
With cleanup a task to confound

Was it worth it? Some would say yes
The families of victims would bust
For records and glory I cannot guess
That the toll that was taken was just

September 7, 2011 - 0415

These have been getting earlier as time goes on. Maybe I'm getting better at what I do. Naaaah, I don't think that's it. But it has been easy writing these past few poems. That's inspiring to me, since it wasn't exactly a walk in the park when I started.

I was another quiet night on the shift, with the excitement coming from outside the department. It wouldn't be proper for me to elaborate, but suffice it to say that there were smiles and jokes and lots of laughter at the station when I came in.

I decided to write a short ode to my shift and to police in general. If you're a police officer reading this, you can definitely relate to working the midnight shift, and coming home after a weekly rotation to the family.

Ode To Night Time Peacekeepers


I made it through another week
And though the bad guys I did seek
We only locked up two fair rogues
How many left, Bog only knows

The weather changing has an effect
Warm to cold means those who're wrecked
Don't walk or drive, but usually cab
Making working long and a boring drag

But I'm sworn to drive the streets
And wave and smile to those I meet
No matter wind or rain or cold
We tarry forth, forever bold

Warriors of the gold and blue
Upholding justice, standing true
Against potential chaos ringing
The law breakers their melee bringing

Fear and sadness to the folk
And towards this we go, though rains may soak
Or wind cut deeply to the bone
We fight the evil until it's done

And to our families loving arms
We settle to, where there is no harm
Only safety and warmth this perk
'Til the next nights unknown work

August 31, 2011 - 0500

When I knew I was coming back to my regular shift, I was excited. I like working midnights, and being up during the daytime killed my energy last week. I had no idea that the sun light and fresh air of the day time would do that to me, but it sure did. And now that I'm back...I'm remembering that night shift is a mostly long and boring process, occasionally punctuated by moments of excitement and terror.

But not tonight. It was a typical non-eventful night. Rain kept people away and most bars closed early. But I found a new form to entertain you with. And by new, I mean that this form was invented at the end of the 20th century. The Pleiades is the name of a group of stars, and the form. It can be done with no syllable count, six or seven syllables per line. The main part of the form is that there are only seven lines, and they all start with the same letter as the title, which is always one word. I did two to try out the freer form and the seven syllable variant.

Peaceful (No Syllable Count)

Pitter patter of rain drops on my car
Pleasing a sound as I needed
Pushing my tiredness away
Perfectly contrasting an empty town
Possibly I could find something to do
Preferably an arrest or car stop
Picking these is difficult on a slow night

Writing (7-Syllable)


When I had a spare moment
Words fell from my fingertips
Waiting was always my strength
What I needed were questions
Who I sent them to made sense
When I get them back, who knows
Wanting and wishing try me

August 17, 2011 - 0500

Another short week for me. I am taking off this Friday for Irishfest in Milwaukee, and then next week I am in training Monday through Friday. Firearms instructor class, woohoo!

But today was a fun style called a Monchielle Stanza. Four stanzas, five lines each, 6 syllables per line, and a rhyme in lines three and five. Simple. And here it is.

The Night Was Cool And Slow


The night was cool and slow
And I was set free quick
I drove 'round slow, silent
It was that kind of night
No cars or peds in it

The night was cool and slow
Midnight and I was out
The depot doors stood wide
But no one loitered in
Back to the dark I glide

The night was cool and slow
I hoped for more to see
But it was not my fate
Mid-week is quiet time
These I both love and hate

The night was cool and slow
And gave way to the morn
Stars faded; traffic grew
One more night of safety
One more that we got through

July 27, 2011 - 0500

I missed a few days. There was paperwork to do, a change in schedule for a couple of days (me, working afternoon shift). The towns annual festival prompted the schedule change, which meant that I had no real time to write anything down and put it here for the world to see.

But now I'm back on midnight's, where my time is my own and my desk is cluttered with my personal crap. Yippee! And what to dedicate this weeks set of poems to? How about the blues? Looking at a list of poetry forms, there is one called the Blues Stanza. We all know the blues, in one way or another. This form has an easy rhyme structure and no real meter. But like a man in a movie once said, the blue ain't nothin' but a good man feelin' bad. So why stick to a set meter when you don't want too.

My personal blues consists of working all night with nothing to do, being away from my wife and dogs all night, lack of energy during my waking time. The usual midnight shift police officer laments.

The Usual Po-Liceman Blues

Workin' all night, in a slow boring town
Just puttin' miles on a car, drivin' all around the town
When there's nothin' to do, it can get a good man down

My wife is at home, she worries about me so
My job can be dangerous, it makes her worry so
Knowing that she's alone at night, makes me feel so low

My two dogs, are wonderin' where I'm at
Sleepin' and dreamin', and thinkin' 'bout where I'm at
I wish I could be with them, pettin' and feedin' them 'til they're fat

Whenever I'm home, I seem grumpy and always tired
Six hours of sleep a day, keeps me perpetually tired
In a drowsy haze, my brain feels always mired

There's no other job, in the world I'd rather do
I'd change some things, at this job that I love to do
But even with all of these bad things, it's really hard for me to feel blue

July 20, 2011 - 2045

I know it's late, but better late than never. I didn't have time to get my thoughts on paper last night, due to finalizing a project at work. You remember, the whole golf cart thing we were tasked with. It's done, but at the regular publishing time.

Limerick Day Three. We had a double encounter at the same house. Crazy, with crazy spouse, helped out by alcohol. All on a hot summer night. Terrific combo if you ask me. And a call from a psychiatrist as well. Geesh!

Crazy From the Heat

If you call the police it's okay
We'll be there at night or in day
But mixing your meds
With booze makes you dead
And a hearse will come speed you away

If we ask you a question be straight
I'm at work only when late
If you lie I get mad
And then you'll be sad
When detained my guts you will hate

July 13, 2011 - 0500

Day two of the sonnet week, and I have a Petrarchan sonnet for your entertainment. This was not too difficult, but not exactly a walk in the poetry park either. I wanted to stay close to the structure, and needed to only use five rhymes, which I was able to do. But not without a lot of thought as to what I could do in those 14 lines.

It's still on my desk to come up with arguments against a new local ordinance. I know what I want to say, but at 0230 or 0300 when I'm actually at my desk it's not so easy to articulate those thoughts into written words. I have a couple of weeks before it's to be presented, but I want to have something done for review before my next days off. Shouldn't be too difficult, I just have to concentrate earlier in the shift.

My Worries On Writing


I write my words and I make them rhyming
This is my down time fun that is easy
It's hidden from the ones who see me
When I write them I can hear bells chiming

But now a project sits upon my desk
To help shoot down an ordinance in my town
My words are failing me. It makes me frown.
That I can't send these babies from the nest

But, I will carry on and keep my pen
to paper, and I'll give it my best
New words hatch as I send them from the nest

And when it's over, I'll sit and wonder when
the next time I'll put my words to the test
Then, like now, I hope I can give my best

July 6, 2011 - 0500

Here's hoping that the holiday weekend treated everyone well. Apart from the illegal setting off of fireworks in our neighborhood, ours was nice and relaxing. Of course, it wasn't the dogs who were worked up about the explosions...it was me. I have never liked fireworks, or loud noises of any kind. Really kind of funny, given my profession and that soon I will be one of my departments firearms instructors. We all have our things that we don't like, no matter how irrational or strange it may seem.

I went with a refrain poem today. A repeated line or phrase throughout the entire thing. Today's is about slow nights in my small town.

Not Much To Do


I arrived at work to sick slip waiting
     The town is dead tonight
Shift not covered and laziness I'm hating
     The town is dead tonight
Taken care of straight away
     The town is dead tonight
12 hours for those whom the city will pay
     The town is dead tonight
One car stopped but no arrest
     The town is dead tonight
An alarm at a business, and no fire is the best
     The town is dead tonight
A second car stopped and the driver is hooked
     The town is dead tonight
His car was towed and he was booked
     The town is dead tonight
As a second alarm call pierces the night
     The town is dead tonight
Still no fire, and that's quite alright
     The town is dead tonight
It sure doesn't help me to stay awake
     The town is dead tonight
But on a first night back it's what I'll take
     When the town is dead at night

June 15, 2011 - 0500

It's the last day of my shift, which if you've been paying attention gives you a decent idea of my schedule. It really isn't that difficult to figure out when I work.

Being a Tuesday into Wednesday made for a pretty serene night. Only one call all night, and it was so close to the station that I walked there and made it in under 2 minutes. And the weather was still nice enough that I didn't even mind the brief bit of exercise. The verses are limericks. Enjoy them, as I enter into and enjoy my weekend.

Last Day Limericks


When he's in a good mood it's sure showing
The outcome we all are now knowing
He still doesn't know
What was said is no-no
But he's taking the deal to keep going

To argue with barkeep is just silly
When the people all run willy-nilly
He won't make a stink
If you just stop and think
That at 1am it can be a bit chilly

The doors were unlocked and wide open
For a burglar neither were hopin'
With guns drawn we looked
But we found not one crook
And the owner was happy we were both in

June 8, 2011 - 0510

As I looked at the form for tonight's poem, I realized something - I haven't really followed the form factor of the Irish poetry very well. I kept to the syllable count and as close to the rhyme scheme as I could. But with the one I picked for today I really saw just how complex my ancestors were with their poetry. I'll be trying to stick more closely to these forms in the future.

That being said, it was another very warm, very quiet night. 80+ degrees again around midnight and nobody out to talk too, except each other. So I went for a walk and found a couple of open doors. Fun fun. I documented these with a Rannicheacht Bheag. When I saw the form laid out in x's and o's, so to speak, it really looked like a Haiku, hence the title.

A Kind of Irish Haiku


Overnight shift left me sweating
Humidity we fight
Quiet night. No car stops getting
Nothing here overnight

Warriors stood, telling their tales
Slow. I was curious
For something to do. Action hails
and calls to warriors

Businesses are checked by my shift
Walking we find doors ajar
Two at one time, their minds adrift
This makes for bad business

June 1, 2011 - 0505

The year is now about half over, and the weather seems to have taken a definite spring/summer turn. It's nice enough that I don't feel bad about wearing short sleeves at work. I can drive with the windows down and it's comfortable. Even though we weren't busy with calls, we did manage to get out of the car and amuse ourselves with a walkabout in the apartments in town.

I'm starting off the new month with some free verse.

Nice Night For A Walk, If You Can Get It


Another weather perfect night, out of so many crappy ones
Nice night for a walk, if you can get it
Better than the night before, I drove with windows down
Nice night for a walk, if you can get it
It still wasn't bad when the guard flagged me over
Nice night for a walk, if you can get it
Gang related graffiti, was I surprised? Not at all
Nice night for a walk, if you can get it
We held off on the full tour until after the bars closed
Nice night for a walk, if you can get it
And I had a talk with some people that I know
Nice night for a walk, if you can get it
Watching a drunk cross the tracks, so I stopped him
Nice night for a walk, if you can get it
He gave us information on his own, on a whim
On our stroll through apartments old and new we got our share
Of graffiti, sweat, piss, tortillas and despair
But, all in all, it was a nice night for a walk, if you can get it