The woman at the shelter with 7 kids
I felt blessed in my mess
My infant won’t remember this
Her kids were cute from 10 to 2
Pitter patter a stepping ladder
How she loved on them swooned
The shelter gave her a few carts
They made do with those few
Sleeping was a Tetris game of art
I remember how cold it was
We huddle and cuddle
Warming our children with love
Watching like a hawk at lights off
Such a place often not safe
From two legged predators that walk
I told myself never will I share the story
Forget you’re here dry your tears
But trial to triumph God gives glory
I wonder about that woman still
Did her kids remember it
The cots the situation the chill
Instead of keeping it a silver secret
Told my son what was done
Hoping he won’t ever repeat it need it
Thank you for the heavenly volunteers
Working there donating care
I remember after all these years happy tears
They don't seek lights or chase applause,
The move for meaning, not for cause.
With hands that help and hearts sincere,
They're known by few, but held most there.
They mend the cracks, they calm the fears,
They build the bridge, they shift the gears.
No fanfare loud, no velvet cheers,
Just quiet strength and volunteers.
I volunteered for an experiment
to assess the effects of merriment
I laughed so very hard
My funny bone was scarred
Much to my humerus’ imperilment
As the poorly-programmed project
had received no traction
badly borne out by the evidence
of no enthusiasm or action
with accumulation-based speculation
pulling strings as a puppeteer
when whipping up interest
then asking for a volunteer
inducing imploring inveigling
and coercing someone to commit
"It's more than my job's worth,"
said Jack, "but I'll take a crack at it."
The boxes on the counter contain open-wide beaks
Of newly hatched birds, each begging for the food he seeks.
These babies are orphans, whose parents died or have left,
Or they fell out of a nest, leaving parents bereft.
Birds, hand-raised, are depending on those volunteering.
Our heroes are the bird lovers who show such caring.
We need these helpers who feed each one in small amount,
And those who scan the skies to achieve a yearly bird count.
I'm thankful for bird lovers who are keeping the score,
And saving robin's and egrets, and so many more.
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.
sirens pierce the snowy air
demanding - a sudden call to action
vehicles fill the town hall lot
uniforms cover regular clothes
teams converge...
fire truck emerges and
leaves with rapidly assembled crew…
neighbors doing what neighbors do
When the Special Olympics roll around.
Otis hears the call and the whistle sound.
Whether the games are winter or summer.
We bring the fun so it’s never a bummer.
In Connecticut the events take the stage.
Relying on helpers not seeking a wage.
For the folks who come out to W Hartford.
They make possible all the points scored.
Thanks if you can help on August 20th.
Showing up gives the competitors faith.
As they come to bring it and show out.
Since they’re Olympians earning clout.
Register to support them if you can.
To clap for athletes as a cheering fan.
Every volunteer raises the energy.
Boosting up the athletes’ synergy.
These challengers are here for croquet.
Sweating outdoors on this festive day.
Join in and watch as their mallets swing.
As skill and smiles are what they bring.
The Volunteer
by Bob Moore (c) 2019
A volunteer is worth, a thousand conscripts so they say
I would never volunteer, if I had my own way
but when the sergeant says, two volunteers, that’s you and you.
you have to grin and bear it, and do what you are told to do
It may just be KP, or police the parade ground
but it could be latrine duty, digging trenches in the ground
then you have to go, and fill the old ones in
hold your nose, and gag a bit, the air in here is thin
Sometimes you go out on patrol, to see what’s to be seen
I’d rather be warm in my bunk, than walking jungles green
then someone yells out “contact” and you just hit the ground
and swear and keep your head down,
as you chamber another round
Then contacts lost, if it ever was, more than a nervous call
now back to base, and thankful, as into the bunk we fall
tomorrow it will all start again, and if good luck goes my way
I will not be volunteered, and I will last another day.
Exuding cheerfulness
along their contagious smile
they never fail to glow…
indeed, sharing the blessings of God
while fulfilling charity pursuits.
Passionately devoted to life-building endeavours
willingly, they reach-out to others with care
showing Christ's love, peace and hope
being a help in distributing relief goods
advocating justice for the oppressed and abused
cheerfully giving out advice to those seeking counsel...
striving to bring to the hopeless, helpless, and hapless:
gift of the Almighty, sealed by divine grace, mercy and joy.
As their partner
in the field of volunteerism
I pray that the Lord would abundantly
grant the desires of their hearts...
midst genuine faith in Christ
that strengthens despite trials
so they would continue serving* in their blessed stature.
*Romans 12:11 Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord.
May 25, 2020
Edited on June 30, 2021
1st place, "A Brian Strand July 2" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 7/2/2021.
Young, middle-aged, old...
What does it matter?
Member of the club.
Plan improvement for
our community.
Volunteer time.
Make a new friend.
Meetings scheduled.
Decisions made.
Get onboard
raising funds.
Reaching goals.
Job done.
Thank you.
Helped.
We sit around the volunteer campfire.
The heat warming our chilled bodies.
Red yellow flames flicker in the darkened sky.
Holding bottles of cold beer.
Some silently drink with solitary thoughts.
Others are engaged in conversation.
Different languages mingling into one sound.
Laughter and music around us.
Someone dances around the group.
We look suddenly there are two, three then four.
In a circle, we dance chanting like native Indians.
No peace pipe just drunken young happy people.
Fallen asleep around the embers of the fire.
Woken up by the early morning call of birds.
Cold shivers running down our spines.
Off to the dining hall breakfast bread and tea.
"The fire has crossed containment lines,
Dunns Road has just been breached,
Emergency vehicles have withdrawn,
You cannot be reached",
Local radio announces every minute,
Evacuation roads are shut,
Power and phones are all now down,
You're alone with the smoke and dust.
Then through the haze of black and red,
Fire cowlicks up your house,
Adrenaline shakes your trembling hand,
Your legs, your chest, your mouth,
It's just you and your hose in the fight,
No mercy- do or die,
Fire licks at everything you have,
Everything left dry.
Then, in a moment, it's gone again,
Wild wind waltzed it up the hill,
And you stand alone in complete silence,
To witness what's been killed,
When, from nowhere, the acrid stench,
From animals now burnt black,
Battle with the pungency,
Life under attack.
Tears now drop, you try to feel,
Deep down you know you're broke,
As you see the stoic volunteer brigade,
Floating through the smoke,
You fall, they catch in arms of love,
Take you away from here,
To a place of peace and mates and hope,
With a smile, a joke and beer.
unsung, selfless deeds
heartwarming smiles ample thanks
humanities best
A great opportunity
To be a child again
To play, to laugh
To forget your worries
To see the world
From a child’s eyes
To live for the moment
Never worry about the next
To let go of any inhibitions
To be free again
To give someone joy & love
To learn something
Others have forgotten to
Something stirs the heart
Makes you keep going back
That’s what it’s all about.
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