The Writings-Volume 1

The Writings-Volume 2

A Policeman
Near Summer's End
For the Rookie Police Officer
For the Ride
Wild and Free
Our Fallen Brother
Violence
A Distant Star
We Remember the Officers
The Monument
Guardians of the Night
In Remembrance
The Waiting
The Last Shift
A Policeman's Prayer
Working Graveyard
Grief is Like a River
The Wall
A Monument
A Part of America Died
Broken Dreams
My Pop the Cop
In the Simple Performance of Duty
Beware of Me My Friend

A Policeman

A policeman is a composite of what all men are... a mingling of saint and sinners... dust and deity. Cold statistics wave the fan over the stinkers...underscore instances of dishonesty and brutality because they are news. What that REALLY means is they are exceptional, unusual - not commonplace. Buried under the froth is the fact that less than one half of one percent of policemen misfit that uniform. And that's a better average than among clergymen.

What is a policeman made of. He of all men is at one the most needed and the most unwanted... a strangely nameless creature who is "sir" to his face... and "pig" to his back.

He must be such a diplomat that he can settle differences between individuals... so that each will think he won... But if the policeman is neat, he's a flirt. If he's not, he's a grouch.

In an instant he must make decisions which require months for a lawyer. But if he hurries, he's careless. If he's deliberate, he's lazy. He must be first to an accident... infallible with a diagnosis... he must be able to start breathing, stop bleeding, tie splints and above all be sure the victim goes home without a limp, or expect to be sued.

The police officer must know every gun... draw on the run... and hit where it doesn't hurt. He must be able to whip two men his size and half his age....without damaging his uniform and without being brutal. If you hit him, he's a coward. If he hits you, he's a bully.

A policeman must know everything and not tell. He must know where all the sin is and not partake.

The policeman must, from a single human hair, be able to describe the crime, the weapon and the criminal.. and tell you where the criminal is hiding. But if he catches the criminal he's lucky... if he doesn't he's a dunce. If he gets promoted he has political pull. If he doesn't he's a dullard.

The policeman must chase bum leads to a dead end and stake out ten nights to tag one witness who saw it happen, but refused to remember.

He runs files and writes reports until his eyes ache to build a case against some felon who will get dealed out by a shameless shamus or an honorable who isn't.

A policeman must be a minister... social worker... a diplomat... a tough guy... and a gentleman. And of course he will have to be a genius, for he will have to feed a family on a policeman's salary.

Author Unknown


Near Summer's End

All dressed in her Sunday best,
Sun shines upon her auburn curls.
Her shoes are small and worn,
as is her faded cotton dress.

The little girl walks down the lane
As a breeze whispers through the trees,
Arched over the dusty road
protecting her from eventual rain.

A caterpillar inches through the dirt
As she bends down to watch
Touching itıs furry softness
Taking care that it not be hurt.

So white, so sweet,
Daisies line the road.
Beside a carpet of fallen leaves,
Which lays still in the summer's heat.

Shadows in the fields across the way
Of clouds floating softly by.
Crickets in the grass sing sweet melodies
yearning for a longer day.

To make their winterıs nest
Starlings gather moss
They fly aloft to trees up high
Where they finally come to rest.

At the thought of summer's fold
Her little smile fades.
But summerıs memories she will keep
In her tiny heart of gold.

Halsey


For the Rookie Police Officer

RESOLVE:

To Be Tender with the Young, Compassionate with the Aged, Sympathetic with the Striving, and Tolerant with the Weak and the Wrong. Sometime in Life, you will have been all of these.

Author unknown


For the Ride

With the wind in my face,
and the world racing by,
and my arms 'round your waist,
I was sure riding high.
It was over too soon,
but I'll do it again
some night in some dream,
where the ride never ends.

For that time, for that ride,
I was finally free to fly
on the Gold Wing of an Eagle's song,
we touched the nighttime sky.

Then I was back down on the ground
and like a bird, you'd flown,
but I rode the wind, again and again
in my mind, on the long ride back home.

For the ride, years didn't matter
and fears didn't get in the way.
The cares of the day just faded away
and for once, I was satisfied.

The least I can do
is thank you
for the ride.

Debra Littlejohn (Shinder) 1991


Wild and Free

I love the night, when everything is quiet and the creatures who aren't seen by day come out to play.
I love it when the moon shines on my hair; I never did care too much for the sun.
In my heart, I love the ones who love the dark -- I hear them when they call to me;
I love to watch them run.

I love the wolves, the way they roam,
without a home but not alone.
I love the way their voices join in mournful, joyful harmony.
I love the songs they sing to me
about a love that's always wild and free.

I love the eagle when she flies,
the way she knows she owns the skies.
I love her prey, the way it cries
for worlds and times it never knew
and things that it will never do
and there is something wild and free inside of me
that loves what's wild and free inside of you.

I can heal you.
Let me feel you touch the part of me
that's still in touch with what is wild and free.
There always has been something in the heart of me that can't be satisfied with this mundane reality,
something deep inside that cannot hide
from what will always be my destiny:
the thing that's wild and free inside of me.

Don't you know if you let yourself go
and feel what's real here in the dark,
I could cut the chains of pain
that bind your mind and confine your heart - but first you must believe in things
you thought could never be;
first you must believe in fantasy.
And then you have to dare to share the dreams you thought could not come true.
First you must trust in what's in me
and in what's wild and free inside of you.

Debra Littlejohn (Shinder), 1992


Our Fallen Brother

As I held him close,
I began to cry
Wondering and hoping,
our friend would never die

I could see the whites of his eyes,
as he held me tight
The wind wisped through his hair
as we saw the light

He cried no more
as we fell to the ground
His one single tear,
Would never be found

Cry not my friend,
God will take you on home
The Angles in Heaven
shall not be alone

You're safe and well,
as a child to his mother
You will always be remembered as...
OUR FALLEN BROTHER

Robert Lightfoot (as written in the C.O.P.S. magazine)


Violence

Someone once said to me, "The trouble with people today is that we don't touch each other enough."

Violence is all about touching; not the longing, friendly or loving touch, but the short, sharp blow, delivered with power so as to cause maximum hurt. This is the worst trait of all exhibited by the human race. Nothing - except perhaps, love - causes so much pain and destruction. Nothing generates so much suffering, not only for those on whom the violence is inflicted, but those around the victims or even those who just witness the act directly or second hand. How different it could be if, instead of a short, sharp blow we delivered a caressing touch.

Unfortunately, my friend was wrong; we do touch each other enough, just not in the right way.

Garry Neesam


A Distant Star

As a star in the distant night I feel very little, In a universe so big and A world so small.
I will always be here As a tiny reality, But my soul travels on In a flicker of life.
The ghosts of the past Eventually catch up to me. Running, running Finally, I breathlessly stop.
Before me I see A forest of a thousand trees. And there stands a child Beckoning for me to take hold.
Together we enter the darkness And look into the night so black. I asks of the child,"Which path of many, should we take?"
A twinkle of the star Can barely be seen Leading the way, Through the tangled maze.
She takes a firm grasp of my hand, And points the way down a path
With the star to guide the way. At the sounds in the still night Of the unknown, unseen Fear enters my heart
And she takes tighter hold. My fear begins to leave me And is replaced By a feeling of inner peace.
As we struggle on together I again look up at the night And see that my star Is starting to glow brighter
Shedding light on the path Of my life, With my child to guide the way.

P. Platt


We Remember the Officers

We remember the officers who changed our lives,
The men and woman who protected us day and night,
People who respect for their dedication to the cause,
For when faced with danger, they never even pause.

We remember the officers who always stood true,
Whatever the color of uniform, brown gray or blue,
With pride and integrity they say "To serve and protect",
For the giving of their life, we offer our respect.

We remember the officers who we never really knew,
Persons strong enough to answer the challenge are few,
With heavy hearts we mourn the officers in eternal rest,
There's more to these people than the badge on their chest.

Brad Miller


The Monument

I never dreamed it would be me,
My name for all eternity,
Recorded here at this hallow place,
Alas, my name, no more my face.

"In the line of duty," I hear them say:
My family now the price to pay.
My folded flag stained with their tears;
We only had those few short years.

The badge no longer on my chest,
I sleep now in eternal rest.
My sword I pass to those behind,
And pray they keep this thought in mind.

I never dreamed it would be me,
And with heavy heart and bended knee,
I ask for all here from the past:
Dear God, let my name be the last.

Sgt. George Hahn (LAPD-Ret) - Carved on the base of the Police Officers Memorial in Sacramento California.


Guardians of the Night

Trust in me my friend for I am your comrade.
I will protect you with my last breath
When all others have left you
And the loneliness of the night closes in,
I will be at your side.

Together we will conquer all obstacles,
And search out those who might wish harm to others.
All I ask of you is compassion,
the caring touch of your hands.

It is for you that I will unselfishly give my life
And spend my nights unrested.
Although our days together may be marked by the passing of the seasons
know that each day at your side is my reward.

My days are measured by the coming and going of your footsteps.
I anticipate them at every opening of the door.
You are the voice of caring when I am ill.
The voice of authority when I've done wrong.

Do not chastise me unduly for I am your right arm,
The sword at your side.
I attempt to do only what you bid of me.
I seek only to please you and remain in your favor.

Together you and I shall experience a bond
Only others like us will understand.
When outsiders see us together
Their envy will be measured by their disdain.

I will quietly listen to you and pass no judgment,
Nor will your spoken words be repeated.
I will remain ever silent,
Ever vigilant, ever loyal.

And when our time together is done and you move on in the world,
Remember me with kind thoughts and tales,
For a time we were unbeatable,
Nothing passed among us undetected.

If we should meet again on another street,
I will gladly take up your fight,
I am a Police Working Dog and together
We are guardians of the night.

Found in Texas K9 Association Magazine (author Unknown)-Submitted by D. Nelson


In Remembrance

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.

Author unknown

Submitted by: Bob Dent


The Waiting

A woman understands
home fires burning
lamps in windows
porchlights.

Her patience forgives
dinners spoiled
sleep interrupted
parties she goes to alone.



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