It can hurt to be around people
Especially those somber and sad
You can feel it the heart is a steeple
Welcome to the life of an empath
The news can be overwhelming
Yet I enjoy being in the know
The contents is often telling
If my mood will swing high or low
Low for a firefighter died only age 20
After a job he had a medical emergency
High for the wins in time there are many
Babies born, cancer cures and love's legacy
To be who God created you to boldly be
Is a curse and blessing empath is me
this is american child
poverty
trash
boy
sex
gay
******
homosexual
weak
ugly
only half irish
In the tongues of a July hellfire arson,
he couldn't breathe,
became fallen in the flames.
A hero of life,
his undying duty immortal,
the alarm still sounds.
As his brethren salute him,
stand, honor him ~
his funeral procession draws near,
still eternally passes silent,
but thunderous within the beats
of our grateful and collective hearts. ~
911 Emergency
Alarms puncturing
Lights illuminating
A fire, burning up the way
They are ready to foray
In an unselfish display
Their life always
On the line
All the time
With a sparking do well
Challenging a flaming hell
At the ringing of a bell
To rescue a crying yell
From the purgatory of perdition
On a fire and brimstone mission
The one in question
Who is that thither
Who battles the fire
Frees us from forlorn mire
That he so
A Firefighter Hero
you wear skin but
it doesn't fit
not even when you grow a bit
it's tangled, battle-worn
frazzled and fringed
mangled and torn
you wonder, if you're caught by fire
will it burn you whole
will you survive
within you are a tree
hollow heart
scars so deep
but roots so strong
that wait for rain
and sprout in spring
Darren White, October 18 2018
Grandma was a firefighter woman
For most of the 1960s--
When she was already in her sixties
You see, around about 1961
A brush fire almost burned down
Kanarraville—that little Utah farming town.
The men farmed or worked outside of town,
And there were no firehouses very near.
So the postmistress said “Sisters, volunteer!”
Housewives and mothers heard the call,
About 20 or so ladies in all
Were trained to put those fires down.
My grandparents ran the Ranch Café--
(Famous for their sourdough biscuits)
A classic mom-and-pop business.
When the old fire engine sputtered by,
Thelma would stop making pumpkin pie,
Toss her apron, and be on her way.
An all-women’s volunteer fire department
Was really unique--quite the novelty.
Papers mentioned them around the country.
Nothing could keep those old ladies down,
Except the expansion of the town;
Which eventually had a paid fire department.
Yes, the old gals put out their last fire.
The Ranch Café is gone, and so are they,
But those firefighters are remembered today.
I can still imagine Grandma then,
Riding on that obsolete fire engine,
In her fireman’s hat and waitress attire.
She became a firefighter at a very young age
Passed with flying colors at every stage
Determined to follow the footsteps of her family
That is the dream that she did see.
She built up her body like any man
But had the gentlest hands.
The kindest heart that anyone would know
And that was something that she did show.
She would put the person on her back
Looking forward and would never slack
Her goal was to save all the lives she can
That was her goal, that was her plan.
And every time she looked at her children
As a mother would often do- and see the pride in their eyes
And in the faces of the lives she saved and prevented
Them from going to an early grave.
Then she would know that the choice she made
To be a firefighter would take her spirits so much higher.
So to the firefighters I salute you one and all
So stand proud, stand tall.
The sirens wailed at company two,
The men dawned their gear without a clue.
Into the trucks,out the door they went,
They had to go where they had been sent.
They seen the glow from two blocks away,
They closed their eyes and began to pray.
God keep us safe as we fight this fire gone wild,
Please don't let it hurt,not one little child.
And if it should take me,please hold my families hand,
Let them know that I am in a better land.
I pray to you,dear heavenly father,
Let me go home to my wife and daughter.
Kinshala
I am scared
not of you, but my extra sensory
perception on my internal
dialogue
of what to do...
afraid of non condusive traits
that form a line
inside my cranium
and around my spine....
I'm burning up...a celebrated
convoluted can of beans and brine,
I want so much
to feel yr embrace and
grasp yr touch to give you muchos besos
(like giving poor muchos pesos,)
don't laugh, but touch me with yr eyes
I want to give you all of me
(especially what you cannot see)
without any unwelcome surprise...
So Kinshala
of whom I am burning for
if yr house is smoking down
I'll be there to turn the door
handle and be true
to quench the fire
and save you
from uncertain realities and strife
for I'd guard you with my life...
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.