Best Firehouse Poems
Dragon went to the mailbox this morn,
And he came excitedly flying back, yes, toward the house…
So Now, you should… be doubly, doubly, doubly forewarned.
Yep! Now, you GOTTA know… We’re in for a LOT of ensuing chaos!
Yes, He had a letter addressed to him…
With a smile on his face and a letter in his hand…
And what, you ask, had him wearing, such bubbly, bubbly, bubbly grin?
He’s going, this year, to the Fireman Competition, and held the invite so grand!
By Now, you must know, such excitement, so fine…
As usual, made his fire to run, run, run… onto the letter in hand…
And that Date, and the Time? You know, that fire? Well… never mind!
Thought this would slow Dragon? No way! He’s ready, now, for that Laurel Strand.
He flew to the Firehouse, lickety- split…
Crashing into the fire truck, giving it a broken axel and 4 tires flat, flat, flat!
Leaving his head, stuck, solidly, through the window, into the trucks cockpit…
Fortunately, out ran the fire chief, to organize the rescue, of our little dingbat…
When NOTHING ELSE would work, all the firemen…
Put their feet on the door, grabbing Dragon, and they pulled, pulled, pulled!
Finally, it took old Grandpa Troll to pull his head out, by taking the door off…
And then breaking the door apart! My! What a day, I must say, THIS had been!
Then next week’s competition was explained…
As a Charity Event to enhance and outfit their old faithful fire truck!
Now a little rescue practice will never, never, ever… it’s ascertained…
Ever be turned down! And Oh My! And Oh Well! What’s that truck worth?
That is… compared to our klutzy, little clown…
Grandpa Troll donated repairs as Dragon worked it off, day after day, after day.
My Moral is: If great you will be, then mistakes will be made along the way…
As you walk to your destiny, don’t despair; just keep going to your brighter days…
Written By Carol Eastman 5-19-2016
I told my therapist I had a fall back position That I had saved the pills from my wife's death bed Enough pain killer to bring down an elephant Hiding in the back of Mary's closet Waiting for me if things go Gothic black again My therapist in a calm concerned tone of voice asked me to get rid of them Made me promise to do that as homework and I tried Today the the Firehouse excepted Mary's used and unused needles Then sent me back home with the rest Having brought my attention to these pills has brought them to life in my mind They know my name They have an intimate connection with Mary's pain They have made me remember it all again I will keep them in the trunk of the car tonight And tomorrow they will go to the dump One more shadow of darkness removed One more day of moving beyond the barricade of myself
RUN OVER
a child’s mind at play
with the words
“he was run over by a mack truck”
his books flew as he crossed the street
from the public school not far away -
a most busy street.
did i say there is a school there?
kids ne’er slow down -
they keep trucking along.
a huge tire track across a brown grocery bag
the cover of an english book.
a teenager on crutches (years later)
on crutches, on crutches...
how slow does a truck have to go to miss
a small child with books?
a child’s mind at play -
the words had nowhere to go.
i was still learning how to form sentences.
how to express awe and place interjections!
you cross our sleepy village,
near the firehouse,
(they don’t run over children)
and cross the busy busy street
to get to the school.
i rode a bus to Catholic school,
safe -
except for one crazy nun,
who’d run over some.
5/7/2019
December 14, 2012
Little pink coat, Mommy holding
little pink hand, the firehouse
must have seemed a marathon away,
the longest run of their lives.
Skedaddle little pink coat,
miniature uggs flopping,
one size up so they’ll
fit next year.
Nametags sewn in elfin collars,
forever suspended mitten-
sleeved jackets
in a Sandy Hook cupboard.
Good morning Ms. Davino,
Good morning, Mrs. Hochsprung,
Good morning, Mrs. Murphy,
Good morning, Ms. Rousseau,
Good morning, Mrs. Sherlach,
Good morning, Ms. Soto.
Who knew you’d be so brave?
I remember my first grade teacher,
when the hallways were safe
and nuclear attack seemed so remote.
Mrs. Lanza, did Adam
say good morning, Mom,
or just get down to
business?
We are all so sorry.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
December 18, 2012
These shootings occurred in my hometown.
When the Parakeet increased his squawking
with the noise box ceaseless talking
far louder than the muted city roar.
Then I pondered that curious poem about the lost Lenore
About that bedeviled man and the raven Nevermore
How I envy Poe his quiet midnight
when he could hear a tapping however light
through the window pane or was it a chamber door
when quoth that famous raven Nevermore
I agree oh raven, Nevermore!
Nevermore what power lies in that word
I'm trading my parakeet for a silent gallows bird
that knows only that single solitary noun or did he mean it as a verb?
Nevermore the nightly noises that disturb
television gunfights, cabs screeching off the curb
neighbors who are seldom seen but always overheard
The raven sought a bust of Pallas
as a quiet place to perch
They took me to the rest home
between the firehouse and that bell ringing city church
so to the end of this as must all tales
for now I contemplate Poe's bells, Bells, BELLS!
You respond to the call twenty-four hours a day,
you lock up criminals, showing them crime doesn’t pay.
You make our communities and neighborhoods safer,
our chances to live peacefully are a whole lot greater.
You risk your life by simply wearing your uniform,
but risking your life daily is pretty much the norm.
You seldom receive credit for your heroic acts,
I am telling the truth and I am stating the facts.
A firehouse alarm sounds, breaking the night’s silence,
as for the number of casualties, you are left in suspense.
The Dispatcher says, “Apartment complex fully involved,”
the issue of being short-staffed has yet to be resolved.
First alarm out and you’re the first on the scene,
from a window above you hear a faint woman’s scream.
Without thought you rushed into the apartment,
you successfully saved a life with little time spent!
Accident with victims, a man and his wife,
you saved their lives with your “jaws of life.”
You are an innocent bystander that springs into action,
“Civilian Saves Lives” read the newspaper’s caption.
You have the tough task of keeping the country safe for us,
I was once in the service so it is easy for me to discuss.
I mentioned you last but you are certainly not least,
you are the main reason we live free and in peace.
You save people’s lives and you don’t even know them,
I am thanking you all with this inspirational poem.
Where your courage comes from nobody knows,
but to me you are all “modern day heroes.”
My grandpa is a real character; he really is a pip,
He likes the TV commercial where the girls all skinny dip.
You can never see them swimming or on the beach just sunning,
You only see them wrapped in towels but it starts his motor running.
“You know what I’d do if I were where they filmed this silly thing?
I’d pull the handle on the wall and make the fire alarm ring.
They would drop their towels when they ran around trying to get free,
Then I’d come in, the fire chief, and they’d all run to me.
I’d protect them from the flames, give them the shelter that they seek,
And while I helped them into my truck I think I’d take a peek.
In my fire truck full of women wearing nothing but their smiles,
I’d take them to the firehouse but only after a hundred miles.
Then I’d let them out so they could show their grateful gratitude,
And I’d greet each one personally ‘cause they’re still in the nude.”
Then gramps falls off to sleep and on his face we see his grinning,
And if thoughts are as bad as acts then he is happily sinning.
There is a presence to a Sunday morning,
an ease. People waiting on line for their
coffee seem more animated, less agitated,
friendlier….almost chatty. The traffic seems
to get along better too. No schedules demand
cut throat tactics to beat the next red light.
School buses, along with their riders, are
tucked away for the weekend. The hum of
the tires on the pavement seems almost
musical, soothing, in a movingstillness
kind of way. Joggers seem more relaxed,
their dogs less pressured to “get it done”.
Ducks idly talk to their shadows. Church
bells chime more jubilantly echoing over
the breaking day. We sit. Two old men
sipping hot coffee. Reveling in the present,
reminiscing about the past, in no hurry
for the future. An elderly woman ambles
past, smiling at the blowing leaves,
shuffling her feet in mock childhood frolic.
Cyclists relax into a near traffic-less rhythm
of wheels, spokes, gears - grinning into the
chill breeze of November. The firehouse
doors are open, the firefighters resting
between rounds, trucks sitting idle in
the bays, hoses rolled and ready. Two
squirrels play tag in front of a blue house
disappearing into piles of leaves only
to re-emerge atop a fence post. A grey
and white cat lays motionless nearby.
There is no rush to the cadence of the
churchgoers. It appears they may have
already entered into the day’s prayer.
A gentle sense of unanticipated hope
pervades the subtleties of life.
There is a presence to a Sunday morning.
John g. Lawless
11/8/2015
The winds from a quiet day are brewing
The leaves are dancing as the winds are beginning
Practicing an upcoming evening of drumming
Turning into pulsing shaking pounding
Lights on, lights off electricity lines swaying
Firemen last moments in the firehouse are sleeping
Power shutting off thus darkness in the evenings
All the dogs are close by and shaking
70 mph winds rains, fires, flooding
Technology off candles books and writing
Normal evenings shattering
Mother Earth is frenzied and awakening
When Mortimer Manders collapsed in the street,
his daughter, Muriel, was with him.
Though now seventy-five,
he’d continued to thrive,
in spite of the irregular rhythm
his heart was now keeping. But this was quite grave.
He hit the hard sidewalk real sudden.
When Muriel knelt
beside him, and felt
to locate where his pulse was, she couldn’t.
Soon, passers-by stopped and gathered around,
but no-one had medical knowledge.
“It’s good, I suppose,
If you loosen his clothes:
I think that’s what they told us in college …”
She looked wildly around, and thought that she’d found
a willing and capable saviour.
A red firehouse lay
thirty metres away –
(might as well have been Outer Moravia!)
When Muriel pounded the firehouse door,
a voice answered back through the panels,
“You make think it inept,
but we’ll only accept
an approach through appropriate channels.”
“But he pays your wages,” she argued with force:
and, pointing to where he was lying,
“You’ve got to come quick –
he’s collapsed on the bricks –
my father is probably dying!”
“You don’t understand how these things are arranged,”
said the voice, from the depths of the station:
“You just call nine-one-one.
If we try to respond,
we are risking adverse litigation.”
Running into the roadway, she flagged down a car,
and the driver agreeably shocked her:
with a white coat and bag
and a hospital tag,
he said, “Yes, you are right, I’m a doctor.”
As the quack pulled away, he turned briefly to say,
in a voice that was suitably gloomy,
“I will not touch that man,
for if I lend a hand
and he happens to die, you can sue me.”
The ambulance came, but things got more lame,
as Mortimer started to weaken:
though the ambulance crew
looked resplendent in blue,
the responders were all Costa Rican.
“We’ve lived here some time and our English is fine,
but we can’t touch our defibrillator.
To avoid getting screwed,
we must talk to him through
an officially-sanctioned translator.”
“But you sound good to me, and it’s peachy, you see,
for my father speaks German and Spanish.”
“But your ganso is cooked.
No interpreter’s booked.”
And the ambulance packed up and vanished.
So the moral is clear. Clear of medics please steer.
Your best course, if you’re feeling nervous, is
lay on linguists each day
in Magyar and Malay
– and don’t call emergency services.
You'll find me in -
Chiltern Firehouse,
a hotel in London, baby.
If you walk down Chiltern Street
I'll be waving from a window.
Look for me in London town.
You'll find me in -
Chiltern Firehouse,
a hotel in London, maybe...
if I decide to go there.
I'll be crying by a window...
Look for me in London town.
You'll find me crying,
yes, crying, baby,
for you walked out on
me and baby Johnny.
He's grown up now,
but don't look for him in London town.
----------------------------------------------
6/23/2015
Contest - Late Jan. 2019
Sponsor - Brian Strand
1st place win
Featured poem of the week commencing
5/3/2020
The elves were busy, packing up Santa’s red sleigh for his annual trip.
The year had been busy, as usual, for the residents of the North Pole.
With the last load on the sleigh; reindeer hitched and Santa aboard, the elves punched out on the clock.
Santa was aloft and on his way across the world; timing his deliveries on the sleigh’s new digital clock.
His fancy computer-driven sleigh had an encounter with a drone and he was glad to have the old one on this trip.
The reindeer flew Santa and sleigh to the tropics first; the South Pole.
He found it a bit peculiar that he had to deliver at a firehouse but, managed to easily slide down the fire pole.
Back at the sleigh, he read the list of stops and checked his clock.
He would get home in time for a nice shower and some hot cocoa after his trip.
The elves were up to greet Santa as he returned from his trip; a hot meal and cocoa, hit the spot and Santa bedded down after setting his clock; with a, “closed for the year”, sign on his lamp pole.
Halloween was favorite
of all kids on the block,
to dress up in our finest
or as a clown to mock.
After Trick or Treat was done,
then came the bested part.
At the local firehouse,
the fun and games would start.
Whose costume was number one?
the burning mystery.
We paraded 'round and 'round
for the judges to see.
Candy apples there for free
and tangy cider, too,
but the tastiest of all,
a donut each for you.
Those olden days, now long gone,
still live in memories.
Whole community pitched in
for neighbor kids to please.
Written 9/2/16
Looking back, I cherish the memories,
Of the firehouse and my fellow colleagues.
The camaraderie, the shared experience,
The bonds we formed, will always make sense.
I found purpose in serving others,
In moments of strife, I discovered my true colors.
Selflessness, bravery, and dedication,
Are the hallmarks of our noble vocation.
So here's to our firefighters, the brave and true,
Who risk their lives, to protect me and you.
May their courage and strength, never waver,
For they are the heroes, who we must savor.
He waits,
Abandoned alone,
Motherless in a basket
Swaddled in a strangers
Clothes.
Staring at the sunrise,
With wide newborn eyes.
Motherless in a basket,
And still has yet to cry