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A Police Officer's Wife (version 2) |
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A Policeman's Prayer
Lord, I ask for courage;
Courage to face and conquer my own fears...
Courage to take me where others will not go.
I ask for strength;
Strength of body to protect others...
Strength of spirit to lead others.
I ask dedication;
Dedication to my job to do it well...
Dedication to my community to keep it safe.
Give me, Lord, concern;
For all those who trust me...
And compassion for those who need me
And, please, Lord, through it all; be at my side.
Trying To Understand
"Is daddy coming home soon?" asks a precious little face.
"It's past when he should be here.
Is he working on a case?"
Your dad's not coming home son.
He's working late tonight.
He's a policeman up in heaven, making sure we're all alright.
"But mommy, why'd he leave us?
I miss him when he's gone."
I know you miss him darling, but now we must be strong.
"Who's gonna teach me baseball, and help me fly my kite.
And help me with my homework,
and buy me my first bike?"
Your daddy loved you darling, and he didn't want to leave.
But a bad man took, your daddy, and left us all to grieve.
Be proud of who your dad was,
and how he earned his pay.
Because it's people like your daddy
that keep us safe each day.
"Mommy, when I get bigger, and if it's okay with you,
I'm gonna be like daddy, and be a policeman too."
"In memory of fallen officers everywhere"
by: Daniel T. Dunbar
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When the Lord was creating Police Officers, He was into his sixth day of overtime when an angel appeared and said,
"You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."
And the Lord said, "Have you read the requirements on this
order? A Police Officer has to be able to run five miles through alleys in the dark, scale walls, enter homes the health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle their uniform."
"They have to be able to sit in an undercover car all day on a stakeout, cover a homicide scene that night, canvass the neighborhood for witnesses, and testify in court the next day."
"They have to be in top physical condition at all times,
running on black coffee and half-eaten meals, and they have to have six pairs of hands."
The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands . . . no way!!"
"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," said the Lord, "it's the three pairs of eyes an officer has to have."
"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees through a bulge in a pocket before they ask, 'May I see what's in there, sir?'"
(when they already know and wish they'd taken that accounting job) "Another pair here in the side of their head for their partner's safety, and another pair of eyes here in front so they can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, 'You'll be alright, ma'am,' when they know it isn't so."
"Lord," said the angel, touching His sleeve, "rest and work on this tomorrow."
"I can't," said the Lord, "I already have a model that can talk a 250 pound drunk into a patrol car without incident and feed a family of five on a civil service paycheck."
The angel circled the model of the Police Officer very slowly. "Can it think?" she asked.
"You bet," said the Lord, "it can tell you the elements of a hundred crimes, recite Miranda warnings in its sleep, detain, investigate, search, and arrest a gang member on the street in less time than it takes five learned judges to debate the legality of the stop . . . and still it keeps its sense of humor. This officer also has phenomenal personal control. They can deal with crime scenes painted in hell, coax a confession from a child abuser, comfort a
murder victim's family, and then read in the daily paper how law enforcement isn't sensitive to the rights of criminal suspects."
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the Police Officer. "There's a leak," she pronounced, "I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model."
"That's not a leak," said the Lord. "It's a tear."
"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.
"It's for bottled-up emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American flag, for justice."
"You're a genius," said the angel.
The Lord looked somber. "I didn't put it there," He said.
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I'm a policeman, Oh why? you may ask.
It's not that the pay is well worth the task.
It's something deep down, it's something inside.
It's not just a job where you're there for the ride.
The dangers we face, we know they're for real.
But it's not just a job, it's something you feel.
We're out on the beat, it's late at night.
This is the time when families fight.
Shouting and cursing, then comes a hit.
A loud screaming child, a mad raging fit.
We come on the scene there's not a set play.
We have to assess with our fears pushed away.
There's darting eyes and another door.
Can we see all the people or are there more?
A bang and a crash come from the back.
Is someone else there to take a crack?
We take control but it's never easy.
The mess and the people can make you feel queasy.
We return to the beat and hope it's all right.
But we know we'll be back for the very next fight.
A stop light runner and a simple chase.
But we never know what we may face.
Another bad drunk? A kid on a high?
Or something much worse to give us a try?
We can't take it easy, we can't take a chance.
Always a new tune, always a new dance.
There's racial tensions and rights to uphold.
We have to show patience but yet appear bold.
It's easier to say that "all must be fair."
When you're not on the street, when you're not the one there.
Those feelings of pressure we must put aside.
With our actions up front and keeping our pride.
It's harder on family than it is on me.
Their imagined worst fear are all that they see.
I'm on the job and handling it well.
But they're safe at home imagining hell.
When the telephone rings and it's late at night.
They wake in a sweat with a terrible fright.
But their awful thoughts I must leave at the station.
'Cause they might dull my senses and force hesitation.
So why do I do it? Where is the joy?
There's people who smile, a found little boy.
There's laughter and friendship with people who care.
There's knowing a difference just 'cause we're there.
There's sunshine and sadness and having the nerve.
To get up each morning and say that " I serve."
John T. Sutton, March 1988, Dallas, Texas.
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I have been where you fear to be.
I have seen what you fear to see.
I have done what you fear to do.
All these things I've done for you.
I am the one you lean upon.
The one you cast your scorn upon.
The one you bring your troubles to,
All these people I've been for you.
The one you ask to stand apart.
The one you feel should have no heart.
The one you call the officer in blue.
But I am human, just like you.
And through the years I've come to see
That I am not what you ask of me.
So take this badge and take this gun.
Will you take it?
Will anyone?
And when you watch a person die,
And hear a battered baby cry.
Then so you think that you can be
All those things you ask of me?
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the heart behind the badge
you sometimes cannot see
hidden beneath the surface
comfort to only me
I am sworn to serve and protect
but obstacles get in the way
the heart behind the badge
gives me courage to face the day
talking to an innocent child
chasing a criminal down the road
the heart behind the badge
carries stories that go untold
the heart may be the passion
for the job that is at hand
God shining down upon me
He's the one who's in command
compassion to deal with victims
a strength to combat crime
the heart behind the badge
is there for me each time
a spouse or significant other
a family to come home to
the heart behind the badge
what does it mean to you
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My knight in his blue armor
steps out into the dark.
In search of all wrong doing,
with a hope to make it right.
He carries not a sword,
But a "semi" on his side.
With hopes his training will not fail him,
Should there come a place or time.
And as he settles into his modern day Stallion;
The one with piercing blue eyes
The thought runs through his mind.
"What will I come upon tonight?"
"A speeder, a con, a felon a man who beat his wife?
A pusher, a punk, some other with a knife?"
"Will I have to defend my life,
Or will a fellow man in blue
Be assigned to console my grieving wife?"
And so, with this thought still lingering
through the channels of his mind...
He prays to a God he thinks is there
But still, he is unsure of.
Just then, before he could think twice
The duty he is here for calls
And without hesitation, he radios back "419, I am enroute"
Opens his "eyes" And takes off once again...
Into the dark of night.
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I closed them gently those eyes of blue
and wept inside , for her years to few .
The call came thru as domestic dispute
the father came thru as one of ill repute
Such a little child , so fair of face
an innocent victim of an unfair fate.
As her father was cuffed and put away
I grimly drew a line where she lay .
Where were her angels ? Where was the law ?
A life was stolen without just cause .
I questioned my job , my purpose in life ,
that night I wept over sleeping babies and wife .
And under a sky as blue as her eyes
I swore to my God to stand by her side .
A Mother was weeping over an angel gone to sleep
While her father walked once more the streets .
I stalked him Like a hunter gone after prey
I never forgot him day after day .
A year has gone by and my day has come
To find if my work will be undone .
My heart is lighter as I placed a red rose ,
I think she's smiling beside God's throne.
I've said Goodbye , my heart is at rest ,
I've done my job as I do best .
Goodbye little angel 'til next we meet
When God calls us from that final sleep .
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There is a friend worth fighting for,
the type who cares for glory no more.
The friend who's honest without regret,
who will stand by you and honor protect.
The friend who's name prompts a smile,
who renders support with every trial.
No amount of time or miles deflect
a friendship developed with respect.
The friend that accepts you as you are,
your values and beliefs will never mar.
This is the friend worth fighting for
who's worth o'er shadows riches galore.
This type of friend is a rare treasure!
To BE this friend, a reward beyond measure.
Ann F. Driggs
Oct. 23, 1998
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By Ptlm. D.L.Jones #319
Elkhart Police Department, Elkhart, Indiana
T'was the night before Christmas, and out in the street
All appeared quiet as I drove through my beat.
With my baby at home, tucked warmly in bed
and wishing her daddy was there kissing her head.
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter.
I sprang from my cruiser to see what was the matter.
I realized a crack head had just robbed the store.
He got twenty bucks, what a great score!
I yelled "Stop!" and the chase was then on,
Praying to God that I'd live until dawn.
He pulled his gun, I called 10-78.
We ran down the sidewalk and jumped over a gate.
I made my tackle, and wrestled his gun.
This was a fight that simply had to be won.
I thought of my baby, what would she do?
If I didn't come home, would she miss me too?
I got the perp cuffed, when backup arrived.
Torn up & bruised up, but I was alive.
He went to jail, a report I did write.
While the good people slept, safe through the night.
Next thing I knew, it was time to go home.
But the presents were opened, the eggnog was gone.
I had missed Christmas, but complain I won't do.
It's part of the job, to make it safer for you.
So as you lay sleeping, think of the few.
Think of my brothers and sisters
in blue.
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It is polished and shiny and looks so fine.
Once you earn it you have to tow the line.
The minute you wear it upon your chest
it becomes a symbol that you are the best.
It means honesty, integrity, and fairness to all.
Your life is never your own, but at the publics call.
Night or day, any hour, it makes you a mark.
It doesn't protect you from a shot in the dark.
Over the years the shine starts to fade,
but brighter still is the man its made.
It is often what separates you from the crowd.
It is a second family of which you are proud.
Author unknown
Somebody killed a policeman today, and a part of America died.
A piece of our country he swore to protect, will be buried with him at his side.
The suspect that shot him will stand up in court, with counsel demanding his
rights.
While a young widowed mother must work for her kids, and spend
many long, lonely nights.
The beat that he walked was a battle field too, just as if he'd gone off to war.
Though the flag of our nation won't fly at half
mast, to his name they will add a gold star.
Yes, somebody killed a policeman today, in your town or mine.
While we slept in comfort behind our locked doors, a cop put his life on the line.
Now his ghost walks a beat on a dark city street, and he stands at each new rookie's side.
He answered the call, of himself gave his all, And A Part Of America Died.
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Walk with him tonight
Dear Lord
Along each darkened street
Walk with him tonight
Dear lord
Along his lonely beat
Keep him happy through the night
And please make sure he's warm
And guide him to a sheltering door
In case there comes a time a storm
And let him know
Though he's not here
My prayers are free from fright
Because, Dear Lord ,
I, know so well
You're on his beat tonight
author unknown
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A POLICEMAN IS A COMPOSITION OF WHAT ALL MEN ARE, A MINGLING OF SAINT AND
SINNER, DUST AND DEITY.
LESS THAN ONE-HALF OF 1 PERCENT OF POLICEMEN MISFIT THE UNIFORM.
HE, OF ALL MEN, IS AT ONCE THE MOST WANTED AND THE MOST UNWANTED.
HE MUST BE SUCH A DIPLOMAT THAT HE CAN SETTLE DIFFERENCES SO THAT EACH WILL THINK HE WON.
BUT IF A POLICEMAN IS PLEASANT, HE'S A FLIRT; IF HE'S NOT, HE'S A GROUCH.
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.
HE MUST KNOW EVERY GUN, DRAW ON THE RUN, AND HIT WHERE IT DOESN'T HURT.
HE MUST BE ABLE TO WHIP TWO MEN TWICE 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.
HE MUST KNOW WHERE ALL THE SIN IS AND NOT PARTAKE.
THE POLICEMAN MUST BE A MINISTER, A SOCIAL WORKER, A DIPLOMAT, A TOUGH GUY,
AND A GENTLEMAN.
AND OF COURSE, HE'LL HAVE TO BE A GENIUS - FOR HE'LL HAVE
TO FEED AND CLOTHE A FAMILY ON A POLICEMAN'S SALARY.
All my life, I wanted to be.....
A person who makes a difference.
I dedicated my entire being,
to be the absolute best , at what I do.
Day after day, I see death, I see life..
In its truest form, reality......its brutal.
You're a witty conversationalist, but you bore me stiff at social
gatherings with your vast knowledge of law enforcement.
You call it "Part of My Job" if someone strikes me, but it's Police
Brutality if I strike back.
You wouldn't think of telling your dentist how to pull a decayed tooth, or
your doctor how to take out your appendix, but you are always willing to
give me a few pointers on law enforcement.
You talk to me in a manner, and use language that would assure a bloody
nose from anybody else, but you expect me to stand and take it without
batting an eye.
You cry "Something has to be done about all this crime," but, of course you
can't be bothered with getting involved.
And what about the guy that works all night making sure you didn't forget
to lock up your business or home when you left on vacation?
You've got no use for me at all, but of course, it's okay if I change a tire
for your wife, or deliver your child in the back seat of my patrol car on
the way to the hospital, save your son's life with mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation, or maybe work many hours overtime to find your lost daughter.
So, Mr. Citizen, you stand there on your soap box, and rant and rave about
the way I do my job, calling me every name in the book, but never stop for a
minute to think that your property, your family or maybe your life might
depend on one thing, ME or one of my buddies.
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The funeral line was long. There are an awful lot
of cars, folks came out
of the restaurants, out of the bars. The workers at
the construction site
all let their hammers drop. Someone asked. "What is
this all for?" And
they said, "Aw, just a cop."
Some chuckled at the
passing cars. Some shed
a silent tear Some people said, "It's stupid," "all
these dumb policemen
here." "How come they are not out fighting crime?"
"Or in a doughnut shop?"
Sure is a lot of trouble, for someone who's just a cop!
They blocked the
intersections, they blocked the interstate. People
yelled and cursed!!
"Damn, it's gonna make me late!" "This is really
ridiculous "They're makin'
us all stop!" "It seems they are sure wastin' time
on someone who's just a
cop!!..Into the cemetery now, the slow procession
comes. The woeful Taps
are slowly played. There's loud salutes from guns.
The graveyard workers
shake their heads "This service is a flop."
"There's lots of good words
wasted, on someone who's just a cop!"
Yeah, just a
cop to most folks. Did
his duty every day, trying to protect us, Till they
took his life away. And
when he got to heaven, St. Peter put him at the top.
An angel asked him,
"Who was that?" And he said, "Aw, just a cop."
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The Soldier
"It is the soldier, not the reporter,
who has given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet,
who has given us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer,
who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, not the lawyer,
who has given us the right to a fair trial.
It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who
serves under the flag, and whose coffin is
draped by the flag, who allows the
protester to burn the flag."
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Do you really know what we do?
Keeping peace and sanity just for you.
We go to work and try to keep our minds clear,
Knowing the dangers, yet we show no fear.
You say we look angry and sad all the time,
It's because of the horrible things that play in our minds.
Do you know what it is like every time we close our eyes?
To relive the death and frantic cries?
If only you knew the stress we carry around,
You would continually praise us rather than run us in the ground.
Do you know what it is like to watch a person die?
Or console a battered woman and tell a child not to cry?
You cast your problems on us day in and day out,
We try to help you and show you the right route.
Do you know what we would like to hear?
"I want to congratulate you on your courage and what you see every day".
Written by a 23 year old police officer with the Tiltonsville Police Department in Ohio.
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Take this badge I don't want it back,
I would rather dig a ditch and break my back.
Then go home and try to put it behind,
The terrible things that constantly run in my mind,
If one minute sooner I could have arrived,
I could have prevented it and he would still be alive.
I wanted to help and make difference you could see,
But it seems now the only person needing help is me.
Where is my help, where do I turn,
In this job there is one thng you learn.
You're here to help others and nothing more,
You must always keep your problems behind closed doors.
Your expected to be strong and never show any fear,
To see horrible things and never shed a tear.
Someone has to do it, I thought it could be me,
But now I am scared of everything I come to see.
So, take this badge I don't want it back.
Because when I wear it, a normal life is what I lack.
Written by the same author of the poem above this one. Who also happens
to be getting a promotion to Sgt. the second week of September 2000.
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Used with permission. If you see this poem anywhere without the author's name and copyright information, it is being used without the author's knowledge or consent.
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It is the dawn of a new day,
Which begins a brand new year,
Let us not forget about those we lost,
Who died fighting what most fear.
149 Police Officers,
In the year 2000 lost their lives,
In their wake there are grieving children,
Widowed husbands and widowed wives.
72 died feloniously,
At the hands of evil men,
77 died in accidents,
As they were preparing to defend...
The liberties of the rest of us,
As we seek to be all we can be,
I am humbly reminded,
That freedom is not free.
It is my hope that the year 2001 will be,
A year of fewer Line of Duty deaths,
A year the wind of freedom that we breathe,
Is not the year of an officer's last breath.
Darin L Paul
Copyright ©2001 Darin Paul
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Written
by a Constable with the Ottawa PD
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I REMEMBER FLASHES OF A MAN I BARELY KNEW
THEY SAY HE FOUGHT FOR WHAT WAS RIGHT
AND WORE THE COLOR BLUE
I REMEMBER SILVER IN A SHAPE UPON HIS
CHEST
LOTS OF THINGS AROUND HIS WAIST, A STRONG AND STURDY VEST
I
REMEMBER KISSING HIM AS HE PUT ME TO BED
"I'M OFF TO CATCH THE BAD GUYS NOW"
IS WHAT HE ALWAYS SAID
AND I REMEMBER WAITING AND WATCHING OUT THE
DOOR
FOR HIM TO COME AND HUG ME AS HE'D ALWAYS DONE BEFORE
I'M
STARTING TO FORGET NOW EXACTLY WHAT THEY SAID
THEY WERE HOLDING DADDY'S HAT;
THEY WERE BOWING BOTH THEIR HEADS
HE SAVED ANOTHER'S LIFE THEY SAID AS
MOMMY STOOD AND WEPT
HE DIED FOR WHAT WAS RIGHT THEY SAID AND THEN THEY
TURNED AND LEFT
MOMMY TOLD ME LATER OF THE COURAGE THAT HE HAD
HE GAVE
HIMSELF FOR OTHERS AS HE SIFTED GOOD FROM BAD
HE WANTED YOU TO UNDERSTAND
HE WORE THE COLOR BLUE
TO MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE ESPECIALLY FOR
YOU
NOW I'M LEFT WITH FLASHES OF A MAN I BARELY KNEW
I CALLED THIS MAN
MY FATHER AND HE WORE THE COLOR BLUE.
Written
by a Constable with the Ottawa PD
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In the simple performance of duty,
he pinned on a badge,
checked his gear with a practiced eye,
and kissed his loved ones good-bye.
In the simple performance of duty,
he reported for work,
joked with his buddies at roll call,
and made his last trip down the
squad room hall.
In the simple performance of duty,
he headed for his beat,
doing his job protecting his home from crime,
he stopped cars, and checked buildings for the last time.
In the simple performance of duty,
he answered the call,
to help the helpless, to find the lost,
no matter the danger or how great the cost.
In the simple performance of duty,
he lay down his life,
for those in peril he tried to save,
our brave friend went to his grave.
In the simple performance of duty,
we honor his deed,
as we carry him to rest in a flag draped casket,
long after the world has forgotten, we shall never forget.
Never judge or regret,
what he did,
in the simple performance of duty.
by Sgt. Oscar R. Thomasson II
Sedgwick County Sheriff's Department Kansas
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A special kind of woman: a cut above the rest,
That's A Police Officer's Wife, rating her best.
How many good byes are whispered, joined with a fond embrace?
As duty steals her man, for the danger he must face.
How often have meals been ruined - or tender moments disturbed,
by a call for special duty, sparking loyalty unswerved?
It's a devil of a job, for an angel like this,
Who......for the love of her man, must forsake that kiss,
She can run a garden tractor; even paint a room in need,
How she can stretch a dollar is a miracle indeed.
She's mother, lover, chauffeur and nurse,
A living symbol of: "for better or for worse."
Rich is the man, reaping his rewards in life,
Who chose to be the other half of "A Police Officer's Wife"
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Sometimes I wonder why I do this job ... why it's so important to me, to try to make a difference.
To make a difference in one life or many, it doesn't
matter. As long as I can make a difference.
It's so important, that I would
risk my life for it, risk the life I have made for myself.
So important that
I would die, and leave behind those I love...all for the difference.
And for
what? To know that any day, I'll have to give my life for you.
To know that someday, the drummer will drum, and my life will be over to answer yet one last call, the one of God.
To someday know that the full car barrage will
follow my casket to the grave-site.
To know that several mean of honor, men
of my kind will stand in full dress .. black bands across their badges that
cover their hearts, will stand and salute my memory as the bag pipes wail the
tune of Amazing grace.
To know that my family will stand before my coffin,
draped in the American flag...and grieve.
That my little girls will take
home a folded flag as the only tangible remembrance of me? So I ask
myself
.. are you worth it? Is it all worth it?
Yes ... it is.
- A Trooper
I often heard the statement “you’re just a reserve” when I became a Reserve
Officer years ago. I often wondered if other reserves and I had been misinformed
as to our positions, so I asked myself, “what is the difference between myself, a reserve police officer and Joe Blow,
a regular police officer?”
I can get a recommendation, or be suspended. I can be patted on the back for a job well done, or I can get my ass chewed for a screw up. I can make mistakes and say the wrong things, but never forgetting how to say “Yes Sir.”
I keep my shoes polished, my uniform cleaned and pressed, and once in a while (too often), I tear one of those ninety-dollar shirts in the line of duty. I have had to clean out my patrol car, after transporting the drunk that puked and pissed in it.
I write reports (sometimes the same one, over and over), I can fingerprint, take mug shots, book and release a prisoner, etc… The list is endless.
There is, however one privilege I have as reserve officer that a regular officer does not. I work as often as I am needed and sometimes when I am not. I also never have to worry about overtime or a sudden reduction in pay.
Perhaps my position is better than a regular’s is. Perhaps “Just a Reserve” is actually a special breed of person. Someone who can give freely of his or her time and ask only that you be sure to call if you need another helping hand.
It sounds like thunder far away, but the skies are blue and bright...
And soon they crest the hill nearby, and ride into our sight.
They shake the ground with powerful sound, and they make some hearts beat fast...
They look so proud and noble, like Knights come from the past.
Side by side, they always ride, and seem to move as one...
From early in the morning light, to the setting of the sun.
And children point and wave to them, from cars that pass them by...
And young ones ask their parents, why the men have mirrors for eyes.
They ride the roads, and fight for good, and defend small ones like you...
They ask to ride, and do with pride, and sometimes they are few.
Like men of steel, on Silver Hawks, they sparkle in the light...
then with a roar and rumble, they ride out of our sight.
Sometimes when one has fallen, never to ride again...
You can hear the others calling, like thunder on the wind.
Side by side, they slowly ride, and their thunder is a mournful sound...
And the mirrors hide their eyes from us, when teardrops fall to ground.
So if you see one riding, and you look into his face...
You see your reflection in his eyes, you know that you are safe.
For motormen are a special breed, they love to ride the wind...
And when you hear the thunder boom, the fallen ones ride again.
Unknown Author
In Memory of Sgt. Timothy J. Hunt
the best motorman anyone has ever seen
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Ever vigilant and ever on call
Standing firm and standing tall
Against the tides of fear and hate
And the violence that sweeps 'us up in its wake.
Helping those who cannot help themselves
Understanding the depths to which a spirit can delve
Without letting the violence taint their hearts
They stand firm as knights on a castle's ramparts.
By Mary Drouin
A Protector is a guardian whether their tribe is in a city, county or state.
A Protector is the guardian of the innocent
A Protector comes in many sizes, colors, and shapes.
But when it comes down to it their only true color is blue
And their numbers are always far to few.
For only those with uncommon valor
Step forth to accept the challenge and honor.
Guardians of the innocent, protecting them from pain,
Leaving their families day after day never knowing if it‘s for the last time.
A Protector risks all: Body, mind, and soul daily
Pushing the bystander behind them and shielding them from attack
Never knowing if the one they protect was sent to put a knife in their back.
A Protector is the champion that keeps the demons at bay during the night,
Always prepared and always on call ready and willing to fight the good fight.
A hero's heart dwells within and breaks into pieces time and again,
When the all to human soul that accompanies it cries out in pain
When they are repeatedly confronted with the aftermath of crime
At the site and feel of a body whose spirit left before its time.
God made you Protectors so that we may live our life choices in freedom.
He made them to face the darkness so that we may live our lives in the sun.
God gave Protectors the mind and courage to overcome the evil they must deal with.
And He made them strong enough to carry the weight of the world on their backs.
But He did not leave them to face it alone, he gave them family and friends to help them
Along to steer them through the hazards that would try to destroy their hearts
And when their weary souls have been torn apart by things no one should have to face.
This support gives them the strength to return to the frontlines and resume their place.
For the courage and valor it takes to return day after day leaves us with a debt that we can never hope to repay.
And thanks seem hardly to be enough when faced with the choices Protectors make
To choose a job that is 24 hours a day and accepting the risks they may be forced to take
Sacrificing time with families and friends,
Time with their children that won't come again,
Protecting their tribe regardless of time or place,
Innocents who would not exist but for their diligence and grace.
Grace granted by God to give them the love for their job and their devotion to duty
That allows them to return day after day
When the rewards are too few and the job is so dirty.
The wife of a Protector, I give you my thanks,
For a job well done and for all the risks that you take ,
And a wish that you might realize how much your actions mean,
To those who would otherwise be defenseless and left without hope and without dreams,
And that you know the gift you give us each day by returning to the fight,
Is appreciated and honored by those in whose defense you stand against the night,
And speaks of courage and greatness of heart that cannot be measured and cannot be bought
And that earns undying gratitude from those who share your lives
And a thank you once again, from one Protector's very proud wife.
By Brandi Whitaker
Is that what you say?
I wouldn't have pulled the trigger
I wouldn't have been scared
As you sit there in your Monday morning quarterback chair
It's so easy for you to say
While you are locked in your house safe and away
Away from the crime that goes on while you sleep
As I hop a fence in you backyard to catch a thief
I have a job that could prevent me from coming home
I keep you safe from all the shit that goes on
Ask the families of Ceriale, Camp and Knight
They know there loved ones paid the ultimate price
You can't trust the police?
Then don't call the next time danger is at you precious back door
Call someone you trust
Call you doctor, lawyer or priest
See if the rush over to serve and protect and keep the peace
But YOU WILL call like you always do and we will come to help
and protect you we are the police that's what we do.
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A drunk man in an Oldsmobile
They said had run the light
That caused the six-car pileup
On 109 that night.
When broken bodies lay about
And blood was everywhere,
The sirens screamed out elegies,
For death was in the air.
A mother, trapped inside her car,
Was heard above the noise;
Her plaintive plea nearly slit the air;
"Oh God, please spare my boys!"
She fought to loosen her pinioned hands;
She struggled to get free,
But mangled metal held her fast
In grim captivity.
Her frightened eyes then focused
On where the back seat once had been,
But all she saw was broken glass and
Two children's seats crushed in.
Her twins were no where to be seen;
She did not hear them cry,
And then she prayed they'd been thrown free,
"Oh God, don't let them die!"
Then firemen cane and cut her loose,
But when they searched the back,
They found therein no little boys,
But the seat belts were intact.
They thought the woman had gone mad
And was traveling alone,
But when they turned to question her,
They discovered she was gone.
Policemen saw her running wild
And screaming above the noise
In beseeching supplication,
"Please help me find my boys!"
"They're four year olds and wear blue shirts;
Their jeans are blue to match."
One cop spoke up, "They're in my car,
And they don't have a scratch."
They said their daddy put them there
And gave them each a cone,
Then told them both to wait for Mom
To come and take them home.
I've searched the area high and low,
But I can't find their dad.
He must have fled the scene,
I guess, and that is very bad."
The mother hugged the twins and said,
"Now, how can that be true?"
The boys said, "Mommy, Daddy came
And left a kiss for you."
He told us not to worry
And that you would be all right,
And then he put us in this car with
The pretty, flashing light.
We wanted him to stay with us,
Because we miss him so,
But Mommy, he just hugged us tight
And said he had to go.
He said someday we'd understand
And told us not to fuss,
And he said to tell you, Mommy
He's watching over us."
The mother knew without a doubt
That what they spoke was true,
For she recalled their dad's last words,
"I will watch over you."
The firemen's notes could not explain
The twisted, mangled car,
And how the three of them escaped
Without a single scar.
But on the cop's report was scribed,
In print so very fine,
An Angel walked the beat tonight
On Highway 109.
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They started the day with a stretch and a yawn,
Coffee was downed, long before dawn,
Bacon and eggs, with a side of light banter,
Served straight up with firehouse candor
Out to check trucks, inspect every pumper,
And test all the gear from bumper to bumper.
Amidst conversations and playful jibes,
Came the call, then fast-paced strides.
Quickly manned trucks hit the street,
Not knowing, but trusting, what fate they’d meet.
They rolled from the station, a little before nine,
Soon to grasp horror that would change all time.
On the horizon, stood our towers of trade,
An inferno of hell, and people afraid,
Running for life and crying to God,
Billowing Black Death, where life had trod,
And in go these warriors of such a brave clan,
To rescue and aid every woman and man,
But sadly, for many it will be their last call,
They’ll die with all honor of giving their all.
It wasn’t for money, or glory, or fame,
It wasn’t for vanity, so you’d remember their name,
It’s just what we do,” they’d modestly say,
So remember tonight when you kneel down to pray,
God bless these brave souls, so gentle, so tough,
Lord take them to heaven, they’ve given enough!
By Sharon Frye
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Voices From The Ashes
I hear a hymn of hope
Rising up from sacred ground
And voices from the ashes
Triumphantly resound.
They sing a song of freedom,
That's spreading 'cross our land.
They harmonize in unity,
"Together, we will sta
You can hear their song of sweetness,
Like the wind singing low,
Reminding you so gently
To sing it where you go.
So take this hymn of hope,
Like a prayer wrapped 'round your heart,
Join the echoed anthem,
Each singing our own part.
Join the voices from the ashes,
Rising up from sacred ground.
Lift your voice,
And join with theirs~
Triumphantly Rebound!
10-04-01
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Heroes Of Another Kind
There were many heroes on that day in autumn
Though brave in deed, Death still sought them.
Who could know or ever envision,
The legacy brought by a fateful decision?
And though the Angels, in legions, descended-
Our sorrow remains, so slowly amended.
What of the descendents, of that terrible plight,
Who harbor the pain, they cannot recite?
What of the child who says, "Mommy, I miss you,"
Or the wife who laments, "I wish I could kiss you…?"
When with each breath, their chests only tighten,
Will this burden, for them, ever so lighten?
What of the family, who lost their provider?
Or the mother whose son was a cop or firefighter?
Though the hand Life dealt was cruelly flawed,
Their courage gained has left me awed!
Only thru darkness, did their spirit waiver,
And then emerge so much braver!
So Lord, to you, I bring their need,
Sustain them with Your strength, I plead,
These unsung heroes of another kind…
Guard their hearts and souls and minds,
Guide them on their journey home,
And Lord, never let them walk alone!
By Sharon Frye
2-16-02
I dreamt I sat feeling helpless
My fate decided to be sent to Heaven
My child to be raised without me
Souls sent before me to be remembered
I grew angry; Let's roll
I dreamt I charged the towers
My armor scorched by Hell's laughter
Blessing those who had saved and fallen
I was called home to my father,
He embraced me when I entered the Gates
I dreamt I was reading to children
My nation began to bleed
A cry for vengeance
With prudence I raise my father's sword
I dreamt I awoke from a rested slumber
Only to find a nightmare unleashed
My uniform donned, weapon in hand
Guarding Liberty's streets
I dreamt I was in the darkness of my chamber,
Alone I shed my grief
Staring at twin apparitions standing deifient towards the sky
I am comforted by my son's guarded slumber
Martin Connors
Philadelphia, PA
harp3726@aol.com
I don't know why you chose this path
It was surely not for pay
There's no routine or certainty
That brings comfort with each day
You leave your home and take with you
Silent prayers of family
They know the dangers you will see
They pray on bended knee
Your eyes see more in just one day
Than we do in an entire year
You strive to make our homes a haven
Safe from harms way and fear
You vow To Protect and To Serve
People you don't even know
You treat them all with dignity
Despite the filth they show
The way you serve with care and honor
Reflects your reputation
You wear your badge with such great pride
And it serves as confirmation
You never know with each call you take
If this will be your last
But yet you continue to take each one
And let your doubts just pass
This is your eulogy while you yet live
To wait for your death is sad
How much we need you to keep on going
To survive in a world gone mad
Written and Consent Given By Kate Plourde
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Watching over the masses they stood tallClick here to return to Poem Menu
only
two short years we've overcome.
Please
dry your tears my loving bride
for
I will still be right by your side.
I
know you're young, but you must be strong.
And
don't worry, for we won't be apart long.
I
can't wait to see your beautiful face
and
show you this glorious place.
The
flag today they will hand to you.
They
will dry your tears and salute you, too.
Sorry
I didn't get to say goodbye,
you
know I loved you, you know I tried.
My
job called and I had to go
I
just wished that you could know.
As
I lay dying, I wasn't sad
for
I saw God and he held my hand.
Now
when times get hard,
hold
your head up high.
If
you feel you need to see me,
just
look toward the sky.
Until
we meet again on Heaven's bright shore,
I
just have to tell you once more.
Remember
Sweetheart, make the most of your life-
for
you will always be a
Police
Officer's Wife!
This poem is dedicated to the memory of my husband, Officer Allen W. Gibson, Jr., who made the Ultimate Sacrifice on April 25, 1998. © 2001
The Flashlight
The battered flashlight, the sound of creaking leather,
the shiny gun that once was blued.
The weary eyes colored with sadness, with the look
that has seen tragedy.
The soft, comforting voice he uses to calm the fearful people
and soothe the injured child.
The long hours he spends trying to understand why
the world is like it is, cold,heartless and tragic.
But always finding Hope in the beautiful face of a child,
as they look up wide eyed at him,
standing tall in his pressed uniform and shiny boots,
as he talks to their battered mother.
The sneers and jeers he receives as he talks
to the street rats that impede his earnest attempts
at helping another.
Who, not knowing what else to do has waved him down
as he writes the endless reports that grind him down.
Dropping what he is doing to respond to the scene
of a bloody and mangled innocent lying on the side
of a dusty, hot highway.
Blocking out the images that assault his senses
as he arrives, seeing the innocent shocked face
looking up at him with that pleading why me look
in his eyes, but he can't stop to help,
there are others that need him too.
He rushes to help but realizes he has only
two hands and one heart
Dedicated to all of my brothers and sisters in Law Enforcement.
Written by Michael
MGrnydcop@aol.com
7-17-02
They go to prison everyday
But they’re not doing time,
Just watching felons in their state
Convicted of a crime.
They keep the peace beyond all costs,
Knowing what they do,
Serves the public they protect
and every prisoner too.
So next time you get on your knees
And pray for crime to stop.
Don't forget to say a prayer
For Every Prison Cop.
© 2002 William Heffner P.O. Box 677 Coldwater, Michigan 49036
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Our Fallen Heroes
Their motto is to protect and to serve,
But I wonder today who would have had their nerve.
You can sleep tonight some people say,
Without fear of harm coming your way.
But our fears came true with just two words,
"Officer Down" is what we heard.
We lost one of our finest, we lost one of the brave,
How many more lives could this officer have saved?
The apartment building was burning out of control,
The child on the third floor doomed to be a lost soul.
Until one hero gave his life for this little friend,
One life was saved and one life did end.
Before it's too late to show our hero's your heart,
A call to say thank you would make a great start.
Tell them we need them before it's too late,
We never say it until they meet their fate.
Where would we be without hero's like these?
Those that give willingly without being asked please.
Thank you hero's, both alive and passed on,
For without you all security would be gone.
LilRedWritinHood@aol.com
8-5-2002
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When I was in school we used to say
What will your dad do today?
As I beamed with pride, I could say
My dad will save a family today
that is not what most could say
that is why I beam with such pride each day
I am now the man I want to be
Take the job my father passes to me
the day of trial has come to be
he had his gun pointed directly at me
the choice was then set to be
that I take this life in front of me
The third generation has now come
to take this badge of honor & gun
I know his time of trial will come
of the day he may have to use that gun
I have no doubt he will succumb
for he is the son of my son
By Jodi M. Russell
Dedicated to my Husband, Father in law, & Grandfather in law
Three great California Highway Patrol Officers
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Ashes smolder a tear into my eye.
On the streets a young woman's life
taken by Arson.
A mother and sisters scream deep inside tortured souls
forever.
The pain is all around me as I lend a shoulder for tears.
Another day I cannot give them no amount of money will buy.
We
wear the badge proud to protect and serve,
as God takes us soldiers
through a new battle unheard.
Copyright ©2003 Kimberly Wood
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We walk into all the tragedy that life can
bring.
We see the man in court who shot at
us getting his case dismissed.
After all didn't he miss?
We lock the man up for beating his wife.
He's out the next day and he beats her again,
now he's taken her life.
Another voice silenced as the cry for justice rings out.
All in a cop's day.
Louie, legally blind out walking his dogs.
They say the boys had nothing better to do,
so they chased him down and they beat him to death.
A man who was walking with his friends for what we
didn't know would be the last time.
What a horrific crime.
We know that the police officer could come to our door to say I'm sorry but
your mommy died today.
She won't be coming home with a hug and kiss,
She was shot and killed today.
This time the man did not miss.
All in a cop's day.
Copyright ©2003 Kimberly Wood
