Darkness NZ's blog: "Poems i like"

POLICEMAN'S PRAYER The policeman stood and faced his God, Which must always come to pass. He hoped his shoes were shining. Just as brightly as his brass. "Step forward now, Policeman. How shall I deal with you? Have you always turned the other cheek? To my Church have you been true?" The policeman squared his shoulders and said, "No, Lord I guess I ain't, Because those of us who carry badges Can't always be a Saint. I've had to work most Sundays, And at times my work was rough, and sometimes I've been violent, Because the streets are awfully tough. But I never took a penny, That wasn't mine to keep, I worked a lot of overtime When the bills just got too steep. And I never passed a cry for help, Though at times I shook with fear. And sometimes, God forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears. I know I don't deserve a place among the people here. They never wanted me around Except to calm their fear. If you've a place for me here, Lord It needn't be so grand. I never expected or had too much, But if you don't, I'll understand." There was silence all around the Throne Where the Saints had often trod. As the policeman waited quietly, For the judgement of his God. "Step forward now, policeman, You've borne your burdens well. Come walk a beat on Heaven's streets, You've done your time in Hell." Unknown

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 spec on this order? A peace 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 his uniform. "He has 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. "He has to be in top physical condition at all times, running on black coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has 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 he asks, "May I see what's in there, sir?" (When he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting job.) "Another pair here in the side of his head for his partners' safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, 'You'll be all right ma'am, when he knows 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 peace 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. He 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 peace 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. Anonymous

The Last Cowboy By Brenda Seymore- Riley (AKA Smthgwked6 & Cowgrl6666@AOL.Com) This poem is dedicated with love and respect to themen and women of Law Enforcement~ I am grateful for what you do, and this is my way of saying thank you. Be Safe~ The world is a better place because you're in it~ I only wish I could give you more for the sacrifices you make on my behalf~ Brenda Alone he patrols the night, while the world is asleep It's safety he is sworn to keep He made a promise to protect and Even though danger is around every curve Hated and feared by the predators he stalks Disliked and mistrusted for the job he's been taught Some jeer at him and call him a "Pig" as he guards the mean streets in his Black and White rig He grits his teeth and turns the other cheek You can't be a Cop. and let them see you are weak Everyone he meets tells him their lies As he looks at them with knowing eyes There isn't much he hasn't seen He knows nothing is ever as it seems He listens and tries to understand the pain inflicted by man's inhumanity to man He is the "Last Cowboy" Standing proud, standing true On his Black and White Pony An Angel in Blue The one in the white hat No matter where he is no one really knows where he's at Hard to love, harder to hold as warm and as passionate, as he is cold Courage and determination against insanity and damnation. He gives his job his best, his promises he keeps He never rests, for crime never sleeps He pulls into an all night diner Dinner is usually late, he's dead on his feet He walks in so weary to get something to eat But before he had a chance to take and even breath A call comes and he must go, as the city is visited by death Gang violence, drive- bys~ robberies and rape Women beaten, dead babies in trash cans gagged with tape > Children killing children, 12 years olds that are armed Every call a call of alarm Psychos, Killers, Car thieves, and Pushers drug dealers, addicts, a young girl the victim of torture Every night is the same, of this he is sure Sometimes it is more than even he can endure Drunk drivers, victims trapped in burning, twisted steel this is a Cop's life, this is what's real As screams of pain cry out for help, he risks his life, You say he doesn't feel? Do you think this is right? A teenage boy aims and fires, to kill a Cop is the fame he aspires The Cop fires back, not knowing who is at the other end of the violence he's found What happens to a Cops heart, when he has to put a child in the ground? How does he face it? When no one else can? No one sees the pain in his eyes Life for him is no longer a surprise The things that he sees each day are no longer a shock To survive he has had to harden his heart to a rock Or he couldn't face and fight what the rest of us fear His eyes reflect a world's cruelty and pain, like a mirror How do we put a price on the sacrifices he makes? Who holds a Cop at night when he's alone and he shakes? With the agony that he's seen, he is washed in it's blood as his dreams are lost in a merciless flood of the evil that men and women do with only this Cop between it and you He stands alone in the violence and then sometimes he forgets where it all began His wife has left him, his kids are ashamed of the things people call a Cop and for the things that he's blamed Like it or not, he is married to the street a shepherd that protects the sheep He longs for a peaceful home for his heart and now he's lost her, as they grew apart Does anyone know cost to the soul of a Cop? Of the things he has lost, for the things he has fought? Does anyone care that he is a target for death? That his courage never fails him, even as he draws his last breath? Does anyone know the nightmares he dreams? Who responds to a Cop when we wakes up and screams? Who holds him and protects him and kisses him goodnight? Does anyone care if he is all right? Does anyone understand that if a choice had to be made That his family, friends is the cost that he paid? So when you see a black and white as it drives by What would it hurt to smile and wave Hi? To show him that you know what he gives everyday and that you know and appreciate the price that he pays If you get caught speeding and he stops you Don't say "why are you harassing the one who pays your wage?" Or you will feel his frustration and rage Isn't he doing what your taxes pay him to do? Remember the law he serves is also for you~ If you break the law, however small No matter who you are, a crime is a crime after all~ He is sworn to uphold it and he doesn't have pets For if he's behind you, you deserve what you get It won't matter what color your skin In the eyes of the law, a sin is a sin The excuses you make to justify your wrong Will be drowned out in his siren's song He is fierce, he is strong, his heart is brave And he will be a Cop until he goes to his grave Honor him and the sacrifices he gives For the quality of life you live is because of him