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

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 8, 2014

Currently, I am watching a classic piece of cinema: Big Trouble in Little China. Okay, so maybe it's not the best movie in the world, but I love it. For it's cheesy dialog. For it's over the top acting. For the horrible but fun special effects. For Jack Burton.

It also made me think of Chinese poetry. What the forms were, how they were set up, the rhyme scheme. So I did a quick search on the Google and found the following form and style, Gu Ti. A sort of couplet based free verse. I hope that I do it justice.

Of Bad Movies On A Good Day

Though the dog had a date with the doc, it was nice

As we left the early morning fog lifted, at no price

She had her ears cleaned out by the vet, lots of dirt

And a weeks worth of medicine, cures the hurt

Time for lunch for me before work, eggs and toast

And a very good bad movie, liked the most

Demons and monsters all around, make me smile

As I dine on my food all the while

Soon off to work for the day

What will happen to us tonight, who's to say

But we'll meet each challenge face to face

No matter the time or the place

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