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.
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.
the streets took hold like death to you fair queen
your crown a rag wrapped round thy weary head
a need, a goal but often just a dream
your body, your mind, the need to be fed
a heartfelt cry as I called out your name
to you I strode across the shelter floor
homeless armor wrapped tight ‘round your svelte frame
our embrace this reunion oh so pure
no home for you no food to eat or drink
your world is there tucked inside a brown bag
but still you are able to hear and think
your heart, your pride a weight to bare, to drag
we’ll cross this naked bridge once more my friend
and when we do embrace shall come again
Once dolorous by
the might of
disaster's lick
and hope flick
the luminous Cross
and it was... ‘Red’
RedCross,
flame eternal wick
Vigour is needed
Opportunity arises
Love is shared
Unconditional is Service
Nurturing is done
Time is devoted
Excitement exists
Energy generates
Realism occurs
The Volunteer
Each heartbeat of the volunteer
Exudes a hope for mankind that
Embodies lessons of mercy,
Honour, and compassion; equal
That higher calling made to all
Believers. The power of...love.
Not just love for friends, but strangers.
Daily sacrificing their lives
And their selves on the alter of
Humanity. For no other
Reason but that calling breathed
Deep within each drop of blood...That
"Greater love has no man than this:
to lay down his life for his friends. "
3.26.2017©deborah burch
Sonnet
Dedicated:
In Honour of my son
In Memory of my husband
And to all "Good Samaritans" in the world
Holy Bible: reference
John:15:13
The call goes out, the horn it sounds.
Someones fight for life begins uptown.
Most of us hear that horn from the safety of our home,
not giving it a thought as it bellows out it's tone.
But for a certain few, that sound means so much more.
It's someones cry for help and that quick they're out the door..
For their the Volunteers and my respect for them immense,
when their out there fighting fires, no matter how intense..
The screeching of a wheel.
The sound of breaking glass.
Your entombed in your car
and you think that breaths your last.
But a few minuets pass , as the roof it's cut away.
You hear a friendly voice assuring you're OK.
They say our countries values , have gone a bit astray.
I say that isn't true for volunteers are born each day..
So if you hear that horn as you go about your way.
Please take a couple minutes and Volunteer yourself to Pray...
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