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Police Poems
Each one sheds a new light on that of the officer.

     
I ASK

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





When God Made Police Officers . . .

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 muder 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.







"I'M A POLICEMAN"

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.





TEARS OF A COP

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?





THE HEART BEHIND THE BADGE

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

Understand....There is a heart

There is a person we all think we know,
We see him no matter where we go.
He is there to protect us and keep us from harm,
Sometimes from evil, and other times when there seems to be no alarm.
He sees all that we choose to wear blinders to.
When he pulls you over, he is protecting others, and yes, even you.
Keep in mind when driving by that accident with a sheet,
He is the one with tears in his heart, standing in the street.
He is the one that walks into a family's home,
where he finds a battered child, holds his anger and minds his tone.
He sees the woman that has been beaten until she bled,
Knowing that next week, another tear, this woman will shed.
He is the one that goes to work on the streets full of guns and drugs,
while praying he makes it home to his wife and childerns hugs.
This man is expected to see these things and stay polite,
To tolerate abuse from both sides of the law day and night.
Some say he is there to harrass others with his power.
He is actually there to protect us hour after hour.
Yes, he did know that these things came with the job he chose.
But he is human, and having a badge did not able him his heart to close.
Many ask , "Then why did he choose this job to do?"
He chose it hoping to help; he chose it for me; he chose it for you.





The Start of Every shift

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.





Justice

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 .
Goodby little angel 'til next we meet
When God calls us from that final sleep





Worth Fighting For

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
 
 
  MERRY CHRISTMAS OFFICER

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE.
IN A ONE-BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY, WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST "WHO" IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE
NO STOCKINGS BY THE FIRE, JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND.
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF HIM WITH A FRIEND.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS.
A SOBERING THOUGHT SOON CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, UNLIKE ANY I'D TOPPED.
THIS WAS THE HOME OF A POLICE OFFICER, A COP.

I'D HEARD STORIES ABOUT "THEM". I HAD TO SEE MORE.
SO I WALKED DOWN THE HALL AND PUSHED OPEN THE DOOR.
AND THERE HE LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE.
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN HIS ONE-BEDROOM HOME.
HE SEEMED SO GENTLE, HIS FACE SO SERENE.
NOT HOW "I" PICTURED A PROTECTION MACHINE.
WAS THIS THE HERO, OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP IN HIS PONCHO, A FLOOR FOR HIS BED?

HIS HEAD WAS NEATLY GROOMED, HIS FACE WEATHERED TAN.
I SOON UNDERSTOOD, THIS WAS MORE THAN A MAN.
FOR I REALIZED THE FAMILIES I SAW THAT NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE PEOPLE, WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON AROUND THE NATION, THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWN-UPS WOULD CELEBRATE ON A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED PEACE, EACH MONTH AND ALL YEAR,
BECAUSE OF OFFICERS LIKE THIS ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY PATROL
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE, IN A LAND CALLED THEIR OWN.
JUST THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE.
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND I STARTED TO CRY.

HE MUST HAVE AWOKEN, FOR I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE.
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE.
MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY PARTNER, MY FORCE."

WITH THAT HE ROLLED OVER, DRIFTED OFF INTO SLEEP.
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I WATCHED HIM FOR HOURS, SO SILENT SO STILL.
I NOTICED HE SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.
SO I TOOK OFF MY JACKET, THE ONE MADE OF RED,
AND COVERED THIS OFFICER FROM HIS TOES TO HIS HEAD.
THEN I PUT ON HIS JACKET WITH BADGE SILVER AND GOLD,
WITH THE WORDS "POLICE OFFICER" EMBLAZONED SO BOLD.
AND ALTHOUGH IT BARELY FIT ME, I BEGAN TO SWELL WITH PRIDE.
AND FOR ONE SHINING MOMENT, I WAS AN OFFICER DEEP INSIDE.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE HIM SO QUITE IN THE NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
BUT HALF ASLEEP HE ROLLED OVER, AND IN A VOICE SO CLEAN AND PURE,
SAID "CARRY ON SANTA, IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL'S SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, MY FRIEND, TEN-FOUR, AND GOOD NIGHT.





The Badge
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 seperates you from the crowd.
It is a second family of which you are proud.
Author unknown






Standing in the Line of Duty
by Mike Birkes

You try to do what you know is right,
Protect and serve; fight the good fight.
Duty calls when you get the call.
For what you do, we thank you all.
We thank you all for the risks you take,
Becoming targets daily, for our sake.
We thank you all for watching as we sleep,
For waking every day, your watch to keep.

Standing proud in the line of duty,
Courage calls the brave to arms.
You wear the badge that marks your heart.
Standing in the line of fire for the call of duty.

You have our thanks, though silent we may be.
It takes some time for the secure to see.
Your presence makes us feel safe to walk the street,
Without fearing the people that we may meet.
For that we are forever in your debt;
You, our protectors, though we may never have met.
We thank you all for what you do,
And know that we have pride and respect for you.
We thank you all for watching as we sleep,
For waking every day, your watch to keep.

Standing proud in the line of duty,
Courage calls the brave to arms.
You wear the badge that marks your heart.
Standing in the line of fire for the call of duty.

January 30, 1998
(Written in the memory of Officer Colleen Waibel, Portland Police Department, killed in the line of duty, 1-27-1998)



WHAT ARE POLICEMEN MADE OF?


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.

UNKNOWN AUTHOR

{SUBMITTED FOR POLICE WEEK 1998, PENNSYLVANIA}



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."
 
   
POLICEMANS PRAYER

Walk with him tonight
Dear Lord
Along each darkened sreet
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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