Long Police officer Poems
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You were a great actor who was often cast in tough-guy roles.
You did a fantastic job as a police officer on Highway Patrol.
You passed away in 1986 at the age of seventy-four.
When you died, you were married to Mary Alice Moore.
Your first serious acting job was as a footballer in She loves me not.
Becoming as brilliant of an actor as you was what other actors sought.
You enlisted in the United States Army Air Corps. during World War II.
When people look up the word hero in dictionaries, they see a picture of you.
You have two stars on the Hollywood Walk of fame and you won an academy award.
Nearly a quarter of a century ago, you were sent to Heaven to be with the Lord.
(DEDICATED TO BRODERICK CRAWFORD WHO DIED APRIL 26, 1986.)
**Therapy Session**
Some people insist that a demon exists within all of us.
A rapist is nothing more than a thief,
And it's clear that some public defenders
Don’t have more intelligence than their clients.
Remember, you are not obligated to serve as a juror in every case.
With that understanding, creating a mental trend becomes straightforward.
It's astonishing to discover a hockey player who is anything but fierce
or a police officer controlled by fear and anger.
A cook without a kitchen is ridiculous
as tango without jingo—a philosophy that leaves no gaps.
The new breakfast drink is here: iced coffee
In the morning and mocha lattes all day.
Don’t interfere with the work that empowers us each day.
I am a woman who follows the warmth,
and I refuse to believe that a tree that doesn’t blossom is a worthless creation.
Yes, you can eat tree bark while the lark builds its nest on the ground.
A philosophy without any gaps stands strong.
mistakenly me...
I was walking down the street minding my own business
It was near dusk it was getting dark walking across the line onto the sidewalk
I was by chance inquiring in my inquisitiveness wondering what the siren was What was the business?
As one police car railed by me
I imagined and thought what if they were looking for me
And then suddenly and my peripheral vision I did see
Heading toward me police officer rallied saying halt as he approaches me
Mistakenly me
Following his loud boisterous instructions as he tells me to get on my knees
By the time I get down and get there he already has me my hands in the air
He cuffs me, seemingly unfair read my Miranda rights in 4 seconds it seems
I was told this is suspicion the suspect matched my description
We were both African American medium brown with black curly hair?
But alas the suspect was six foot three, well I'm only just 5 foot 6
The suspect was skinny unlike me with a media muscular built
Mistakenly me
Seem not to matters to them though all I needed was one of color or you see
The assailant had lied accuser had lied to save herself from an alibi
Just because I was close to matching I was placed without compassion inside
a jail cell
Guilty until proven innocent how is incarcerated being a look alike mistakenly me
Until my trial date my freedom is inadequate
Stopped question handcuffed UT and in prison...
This is how that night I was someone losing my freedom
Freedom to nothing to somebody I am mistakenly me
Now proven innocent released and forgiven
freedom to nothing to something, I've been exonerated forgiven;
Mistakenly me
3/22/19
Freedom to Nothing to Something Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Delilah Ventura
I turned to the bottle because I'm a Cop.
I was a good Policeman but it had to stop.
I couldn't stand the crime and violence anymore.
It got to be something that I could not ignore.
A six year old kid was killed in the cross fire when a gang decided to attack.
I had to explain to his parents that their son got a big hole blown in his back.
I saw so many deaths that it became hard to even keep my meals down.
I could no longer tolerate the violence in this crime infested town.
I couldn't continue being a Cop, it was something I couldn't take.
It bothered me so much that every day my hands would shake.
My career as a Police Officer came to an end.
And sadly, the bottle became my best friend.
As I sit alone in this bar, the bartender is pouring me drinks.
Please don't be a Police Officer in this town, it really stinks.
(This is a fictional poem)
"Do what you have to do the lame police officer
Uttered to the abusive man standing beside me
"Speak to your JP she said to the man who has abused me. I still cannot get over the shock of the abusive man
Standing with axe, you come here to use me
And do everything to confuse me, you twist my body
In the gate and try to break my hands before the heartless crowd but heavens stood by at the cry of mercy , no one came to rescue me, instead they stand and stare visciously at me as if they too were going to attack and murder me.They leaned on the wall and looked as if they were going to start a brawl.It started
Early in tbe morning when I sat quietly inside meditating
And the devil was outside shaking, he leaped at me with a angry swing, with angry eyes jumping out of the socket
I could see hate moving around and his expressions
Jumping on his face like a clown.He shouted at me with the Devils spin and I tried desperatly to get away from him but he slammed my body in the iron gate
And sware to chop off my head when he come again
Abusive men give birth to abusive children
And those children become a nusiance in the city
Men with nasty mouth ,men that is cursing out loud
Men with tainted faces growling like elephant underneath their breath while their faith hangs in the balance
and they canot agree with anyone
There is a big network around the town,
and I dont know where they are grounded;
politicians pulling strings
And police men doing aerobics in thr gym
Dancing to the tune of their thiughtless rythm
My heart is playing a sad tune while my spirit dances
Around the moon, it makes my spirit break and cause my mind to shake and in the middle of it all I still stand tall holding my head high.
Here I am in the night wondering where I am going to spend the next moon, I have been waiting for many days for this mystry to break
To want to leave the city without delay
But the more I plead the more they make me absorb my own misery
No tears is left in my eyes and no tear is left to dry.
And the man that is walking around with his sin
Will cause the whole world to grin.
The night is standing like giant above me and the moon is dancing around me.
The music is playing and and the flawless donkey is braying ,
And here I am still waiting for you at the big gate.
When you think of heroes, who comes to mind?
Who inspires you the most?
Could it be a sports athlete on the court or the field?
It could be fictional characters like Spider-Man or The S.H.I.E.L.D.
Maybe it's one of your teachers in school;
Or your best friends who are just like you, totally cool.
Your pastor in church, a doctor or nurse,
Your parents/grandparents who warn you not to curse:
It might be your neighbor you see everyday
Or someone in the military fighting for the USA.
A famous singer, an actor, an activist;
A guidance counselor, your siblings, possibly a therapist;
Maybe a police officer or firefighter? That's a pretty long list.
So who do you look up to as your hero?
Think before you answer and try not to boast.
Not all heroes wear capes, as you can see,
But there is a hero inside of you and me.
Officer Farnsworth was our DARE officer;
he came to school and played at recess with children.
He explained it this way to me. Some children are told the police are bad.
If I come to school and play with them, they learn that this is not always the case.
So this is why I do it. He would bring his lunch, and eat with the students also.
I watched him do this for at least ten years; winning them over one at a time.
He is still a police officer, and he is still helping children learn that they can count on him.
It is a lesson I will always remember, and fondly. He is a wise man who won them over.
In later years, when they dealt with him as adults, I am sure it was easier for them
because they saw him as an understanding human being, and a friend.
Anguish Isn't Always Visible
Late in the night a war fell, a war of midnight without a glow.
He always wore a painted face.
His world became shrouded in endless dark all at once.
A police officer pulled him over for a broken taillight.
He reached in his back pocket when asked for his driver's license;
accidentally failed to grab his wallet before getting behind the wheel.
The world was turned upside down, with so much anguish.
Feeling he was causing more harm in the world, than good.
In the middle of the floor with all his belongs he sat
and hungered for the tasted of cold steel and lead.
A shot was heard!
This was the place of his death.
Those that loved him lost so much at his passing,
but were left with memories they had shared.
9/11/2017
The signs of suicide were never there. My son grew up with him so we were very close. At the time of the incident he was living with his girlfriend in their own apartment. He was working with handicapped children, and was going to college to get a degree. He had a family that loved him and wonderful future ahead of him. There was no reason for him to committee suicide.
California Cold
Rented cars…
every month the cost?
Bread and milk.
Why?
To go get my kids.
I had to.
My own car was bad,
unreliable, and dangerous.
Custody, and Judges decided,
the penalty I was to pay
for making bad decisions,
was to “serve” accordingly”.
He loved me.
He married me.
We had kids together.
Then he left…
Or I wish that he had…
as the bruises
have not fully healed,
this time,
the bones,
they may never mend.
Freedom came with a price.
I heard him yell,
“I will make her…”
Loudly.
“If I can not,
I will find someone that can.”
…
Sixty eight times 800,
give or take a few side trips,
I could have driven to the moon.
The atmosphere would have been
a bit more breathable, in the end.
The parking lot,
The exchange, the police…
Every time.
You kept our kid’s blanket.
You stole it from his hands.
You let him cry on the pavement,
The blacktop…
Before you, there groveling…
(The bus driver gave it to him.
It was his…You THUG!)
I picked him up.
I had to drag him to the car.
“God help me get out of here.”
Whispered, as only He can hear.
The Police Officer asked if I needed help?
(Not to get the loved blanket back, never…
That was a civil matter,
and had to be taken to court.
No, to get my kid in the car before he called CPS)
The other one, in uniform…
distant, perhaps fighting his own
dark battles at home?
He did not look so friendly.
I said “no”, and my son suddenly complied.
We left.
I bought three new blankets,
at the five and dime.
It took three hours, to choose.
Then we drove home.
400 miles away.
Heaven.
Tiny Tim with droopy eye went out
with corpse-woman (she’d heard
he’d died)
Had a cigarette between two finger’d
bones called life and when living
ladies heard he’d died the world
began its wailing from the other side.
LAPD roped off the scene but the
ribbons were too low for ghosts and
all his demons. Detective Mister
found his bloody revolver and no cell
block too secured assured for dead
men so police officer said, “Tiny Tim
was too beautiful but he died today;
the judge had verdict match the
coroner; misadventure in love case
closed casket so move along move
along my fiends.
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