Best Patrolled Poems
Bewitched again by autumn's laggard spell
Like alchemy, green leaves are turned to gold
Although the summer still has dreams to sell
I watch fall's silent sorcery unfold
Brisk morning breezes hint of coming cold
Forgotten are the yellow daffodils
The grass is brown where robins once patrolled
Who now, I'm sure, are sunning in Negril
And yet it seems leaves change almost at will
As fall performs his yearly slight of hand
Replacing summer heat with twilight chill
And leafy green to russet on demand
While autumn draws attention from my eyes
It tricks me not to notice how time flies
by Daniel Turner
Negril is a tourist destination in Jamaica
Inside my heart I have unwritten codes
Those values I enforce by self demand
Unbreachable, my lines drawn in the sand
Their presence helps to navigate my load
With age my principles have not grown old
Though times may change, the heart's still in command
I'll walk a line to lend a friend a hand
My conscience keeps my boundaries patrolled
And even though I do my very best
I make mistakes, sometimes I cross a line
That does not mean I'll compromise the rest
It simply means that I am not Divine
There may be times when I'm falsely assessed
But my self worth is rarely in decline
by Daniel Turner
I am a word, a simple scribble -
ink arranged on empty page;
I'm voiced with passion from a preacher's
pulpit, or the actor's stage.
I'm sprayed in hate on subway walls
or whispered in a lover's ear,
I am the poet's knife, his lyric
few will sing, and fewer hear.
There is a bridge across a bay;
a golden gate of south and north,
though deep the gulf and far the span,
it carries countless travelers forth.
And I have been that bridge to some,
who span the gorge at any cost
between the thought and understanding
that might otherwise be lost.
Recall a wall inside berlin;
a harsh divorce of east and west,
patrolled by dogs and steel-hard men
and cold barbed wires that never rest.
And yet I've seen a similar
blockade in every border town;
two languages of words distinct
that keep each side to mind its own.
A frenchman and a spaniard, who
perhaps live just across the street;
they know each other's faces well
though naught is spoken should they meet.
I've built my bridges and my walls
and yet two things transcend me still:
the music of an artist's hands,
and love that spreads a heart's good will.
written Feb 1985
“Back in my day” his stories all would start
I’d lean in close to listen though I knew ‘em all by heart
He was a living legend, one of Texas’ best
Not just another lawman with a tin star on his chest
He fought along “RIP” Ford & John Coffee Hayes
When Texas was wooly & wild, back in the good old days
“One Riot, One Ranger” I’ve heard it said many times before
from fighting off Commanches to turning the tide of a range war
A Ranger never faltered, never imagined he could lose a fight
He’d go hell bent for leather just to turn a wrong to right.
From Nueces to Salado Creek he patrolled the border land
Dealing out swift justice with a smoking Colt sitting easy in hand
Hardin, Iron Jacket & Sam Bass thought they could get away
The Rangers ran them down to ground, the stories still are told today
Great Granddad was a hero, one of Texas’s best
Not just another lawman with a tin star on his chest
He passed on the legacy & the stories I’ll now tell
as I hear his voice echo when I start off, “ I remember well”
So tip your hat & raise your glass to the Rangers out there on patrol
and to all the Shadow Rangers, Rest in Peace, God rest your soul
even her name evoked colorful images
Ginger November, a student of mine
quiet girl with ebony hair
a blessing to teach till family troubles intervened
divorcing parents of a Catholic schoolgirl
Ginger tried to keep the burden hid
enduring much hardship
struggling to cope
mid-semester exams evoked fear
to avoid failure, students had to pass
no student could copy another’s work
four different tests I’d prepared
quietly, I patrolled each aisle
students barely knew I was there
from behind I approached Ginger’s desk
to find her checking notes in her sleeve
if I’d adhered to rules
Ginger would not have graduated
this thought I couldn’t bear
knowing her hardships at home
“You cannot get an A,” I said after class
“but return here after school”
at three p.m. she slowly entered
shame clouding the beauty of her face
a different version of the test I handed her
“If you pass, you’ll get a 70;
when averaged with your other grades,
you can still make a ‘C’”
this “A” student earned her “C”
but cried while retaking the test
other teachers might have let her fail
I thought she needed support
for Ginger I broke the rules
knowing the pain she carried
what I did was surely wrong
but a second chance I felt she deserved
January 16, 2019
For Chantelle Anne Cook's "Second Chances"
School was a mile and a half
walk from home,
across roadways, busy streets
and railway lines and through
parklands patrolled
by swooping magpies in spring.
We thought nothing of it
when it was pouring with rain
or hot as hell. Six year olds
walked a gauntlet of risk
back then.
Memory can almost recall
an image of each house
along that daily route, the smells
that gathered in the doorways
of shops, the reek of urine
wafting out of a laneway
beside the pub and, still mapped
upon the mind, where fruit trees
overhung a fence and were good
for a seasonal treat.
Each step taken fed the senses
with familiar signposts marking
the way between home
and the schoolyard gate.
Time has passed
into a more protective and yet
more dangerous age. Children
are shuttled to school by parents
in bull bar protected SUV's
and buses with flashing lights.
Souls have become
more brittle under the weight
of an insidious world, perhaps
no better or worse off
than when I walked to school
and danger hid in places where
the senses could go. In my day,
bully boys had names
and were dressed in uniforms.
Now, it is in the odorless
corridors behind digital screens
and in promises where lives
tick away in the sterile
waiting rooms
of mortgaged dreams.
Hurricane
By Edmund Siejka
There were warnings of a hurricane
People had been through this before
They knew what to do
Why some of the houses on the water were worth over a million dollars
They would ride it out.
The hurricane came ashore and slowly marched inland
South of Merrick Road
Cold grimy
Water was everywhere
Sewage and fuel coated lawns
Soldiers patrolled areas hardest hit
Boats were strewed in streets and yards
Neighborhoods sat empty for weeks
And politicians worried about their future.
Spray painted signs warned
“You loot
We shoot”
Heat and electricity were luxuries
Cash was a valuable commodity
Most people were patient
Some were not
But no one seemed to care.
Families returned to their neighborhoods
Tired, cold, and hungry
Water logged furniture lined the streets
Making two lane roads impossible
The only ones to show up
Were utility workers from out of State.
We don’t respect nature
We build where we shouldn’t
We pollute when we should know better
We use up resources like there’s no tomorrow
And then we’re surprised when nature hits back and reminds us that she is after all
…….Mother Nature.
As dark as night
You are nothing but agony
Misery ,separation, cries , death ,hate
Perpetrators once my
Friends, neighbors, colleagues, companion
Transformed to haters.
GERMANY , EX YUGOSLAVIA ,RWANDA ,BURUNDI
You patrolled with negation
See ,see now they walk
Head bend ,shame on their faces
doubts in them , repentance they seek
We pardon them, come changed compatriots
Click clack boom boom
Click clack boom boom
Cling cling chop chop
Babies, women ,men ,young ,old
Down, hmm.
Never ,never again
Buck was a tough man
very fast with his gun
always just one step
ahead of the law
He rode from town to town
never staying all that long
because as soon as word got out
the young gunslingers would come
Now Buck was not a man
to go looking for trouble
but it seemed that some how
it was his middle name
Really all he wanted to do
was marry his sweetheart
and raise a fine family
to live peacefully with them
He had a small hideaway
high up in the Rockies
a simple log cabin
where he could hole up
Not the place to take a bride
far too isolated and bare
talking to Betty he asked her
to purchase some land
Make it down in lush valley
he told her, we can raise cattle
a few horses to start a herd
maybe some hens and geese for eggs
Betty found a prime piece of land
with a cool bubbling spring
trees to shelter and give shade
sweet green grass to feed them all
Buck and Betty got married at last
soon built a fine house and barn
with a corral and stables
yet all too soon their bliss shattered
Young gunslingers heard where he was
dropping by to chance their luck
ending up in wooden coffins
because Buck was real fast
Until one day the townspeople
rode out to see Buck
they wanted him to be their sheriff
to protect them from the bandits
Buck agreed to wear the badge
and rid the town of the bad guys
each day he patrolled the territory
many baddies he lay to rest
Yet he felt he had no real peace
that his life was on borrowed time
he wanted to live his life quietly
tending to family and his ranch
This seemed a wistful thought
as still yet more gunslingers came
one day he knew he'd meet a faster gun
and end his life face down in dirt
One day while build a nursery he got
Betty to chop while he held the logs
well Betty missed and got his fingers
cutting them clean off only stumps left
It was his gun hand that was hurt
soon the word went around
the young guns stopped coming
no sport for them now
Buck finally got his dream
and lived to a ripe old age
siring five fine children
and many grandchildren
Against all the odds
he died quietly in bed
his last words to Betty were
"That was the best miss you ever made"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It’s not just bricks and mortar
Nor a distant memory
But the ground roots of our livelihood
And our future destiny.
As this place prepares to close
When the final bell will sound
To mark the end of education
On these few acres of ground
So as the winds of change
Whistle down St Andrews Street
Time to take a look behind
Before it beats the last retreat....
To days when health and safety
Had not bound us up in rules
When “clackers”, “chinas”, “conkers”
Were all the rage in schools.
Chocolate crunch with strawberry custard
Was “ haute cuisine” at dinners
And monitors patrolled the room
Catching non-veg eating sinners !
Then there were school productions
That often caused a rumpus
I was told I didn’t look fierce enough
As a pirate in Columbus
It’s where I learnt the facts of life
Red faced at every showing
We gathered in the dining hall
To watch “living and growing”.
Girls in groups around the field
Playing games with white elastic
Or spinning tubes around their heads
Making noises quite fantastic
And on those heady summer days
In the shade of orchard trees,
I’d have my packed lunch and my drink
Smelling hops upon the breeze.
Groups of boys in mass migration,
Was quite a common sight ,
Swarming like bees round honey
To the battle cry of “fight!”
“Top cat” was on the telly
And so was “ Hong Kong Fooey”
We all brought board games into school
On the feast day of St Louis
Queuing up in tennis courts
Then marching to assembly,
I doubt they had such crowd control
For the FA cup at Wembley.
The changing rooms down by the pool
Were not far from the gym,
Where ropes and box and benches
Were designed to do you in.
Bassets sherbet from the tuck shop
A treat beyond belief
Matched only by the popping
Of “space rocks” on your teeth
So when the corridors are empty
And the babbling voices still,
Theses echoes and these memories
Shall future musings fill .....
For it’s not just bricks and mortar
Not just a place to swat and cram
It’s where the building blocks of selfhood
Turn the boy into a man.
Bat Masterson was hired as a gamblin' boss at the Denver Saloon in 1891,
In a town high in the Rockies, Creede by name; he took no guff from anyone!
The rowdy saloon, restaurant and gamblin' hall ran twenty-four hours a day;
Bat patrolled the place with a pair of 44's on his hips to keep ruffians at bay!
One night he was approached by Parson Tom Uzzell who asked to preach,
As he was wont to do in minin' camps, hopin' fer errant souls to reach!
With misgivin's a sermon might dampen play, Bat banged a bottle on the bar
And told everyone to "remove yer hats while Parson Tom preaches over thar!"
After the sermon Bat directed a bar-tender to pass the hat for Parson Uzzell.
"Be generous with yer coin, then ya'll can continue with yer booze to guzzle"
"Boys, I'm a-thankin' ye", said Tom, "I'm gonna build a church in Creede!"
"I had a revelation from God; He said a heap of religion is what you need!"
Bat was a notorious practical joker and while the parson slept that night,
He had 3 of Soapy Smith's con men steal the parson's pants on the slight!
When the silver-laden pants pockets were emptied, $348 was tallied!
The raucous rabble agreed to double that amount when again they rallied!
$700 was collected; Bat put the pants and money in a safe in the saloon.
Tom roared into the saloon next day clad in red long-johns around noon!
Callin' on God to strike down the thief who had stolen his pants and money!
They laughed when Bat gave Tom his pants; even Tom thought it funny!
Honorin' the tradition of big winners, Parson Tom bought a round for all!
'Tis Colorado lore about the prank played on Tom in Denver Saloon Hall!
I had a dog way back when
With white teeth and tail a wag
He slept so fine in steepled den
Crunched on a chicken, like a rag
With eyes of brown, and fur of black
Patrolled the farm, a canine cop
The silly cats he would attack
And barking noise should never stop
One snowy day he disappeared
Walking a road he often trod
Did not return, as I feared
Where was my dog? I asked God
Then one night, I heard him bark
My friend returned in pitch dark
A sugar cube that I once took
made the air around me look
as if I stood in painted air
Amazing colours everywhere
'Twas at a party in '69
We ate the sugar with some wine
And all at once things weren't the same
I think it was the wine to blame
And then the floor beneath my feet
seemed to ripple, as if with heat
The walls began to move and sway
and goldfish swam in the ashtray
Through the ceiling, rain was pouring
and tiny dinosaurs were roaring
Floating right before my eyes
were Lucy's diamonds from the skies
The carpet rippled, 'coz beneath
swam purple sharks with sharp white teeth
The air was filled with drumming sounds
whilst guards patrolled the coffee grounds
As I turned the heat up higher
ice cubes poured forth from the fire
The sofa grew boots and started to walk
and ten million people told butter from Stork
The bats in my hair were digging around
to see if small creatures in there could be found
whilst the end of my legs had turned into hands
and I entertained all by doing hand stands
When I woke in the morning those things were not there
except for those bats that were still in my hair
And then when I tried to put on my shoe
I found it was filled with dinosaur poo
Li'l Angels, Child-aged old
Long time, lost out in the cold
Like clay were you shaped into a mold
Of What Not To Be, after you by Momma had been told
Now, for your safe return, We must be bold
Although, the rainbow's end lacks a pot of gold
On the idea that it's a loss, should We not be sold
Ordering the Authorities more areas patrolled
As if fate in Our hands is controlled
Wanting back What from Us had been stoled
Despite, it could cause Our heads to be swolled
But, for this should it be life without parole
The conviction made based on the Windows of the Soul
For it hurts MEMORY LANE being strolled
Repeatedly, taken on Our hearts a toll
Not having Our child, in arms to hold
Troll Lake was slowly filling, after the dam and bridge were finally built.
But, it was close to the city, and kids were coming nightly, without relent!
Bad things were going to happen, if we didn’t stop those, partying fools.
The Trolls scared most away, but the wilder ones returned, definitely not cool!
With all the fun and hardy partying, they weren’t even close, or ready to resign.
Then our actor Trolls came home, with the paparazzi tagging along, behind.
They kept lurking around bushes, and we smelled disaster, coming really soon.
So we put up a sign, ‘No Trespassing! Danger! Creature From The Black Lagoon!’
They all laughed hilariously, not believing it could remotely, be possibly true.
So we had to devise a plan, to scare them off, that’d added a wallop, to the boo!
Now, as the lake had filled we’d found we’d acquired a Monk Frog, on a lily pad.
He helped us with meditation, yoga lessons, and advise… that was totally rad.
He told us of his Gold Fish friend, who thinks he’s a shark and would happily fight.
But to all those skinny-dippers, his nibbles had been like, the bark without the bite.
So we borrowed Grandma Trolls’ Large false teeth, adding more bite to his delight.
Someone got bit, as a Troll jumped up, snarled, and lunged after the kids in the night.
This made the kids scramble wildly for their lives and to protect their manly parts.
They say, they ran all the way home, still naked, till they hit their own front doors.
The Police found them to book them, for trespassing, and basically running amuck.
The paparazzi, got it all on tape, selling it to the newscasters, so all were in luck.
The film of the creatures’ outline coming out of the water, made it more profound.
And rumors ran like wild fire, to not swim in our mysterious lake, so spellbound.
Even the paparazzi, backed off, wondering what other dangers, might be around.
It’s amazing how great we could be, when we get together, and our ideas abound.
PS. A happy, little shark patrolled the lake... nightly, from then on…