Initially charged with assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest I was held for 36 hours, was beaten by cops and made to stand spread eagled against the cell wall for 12 hours with no food or water, until I collapsed. Everyone was strip searched on the way in.
quote by John Blair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Is All About You
1 hour unity,
2 hours peace,
3 hours playing,
4 hours sleeping,
5 hours smiling,
6 hours living,
7 hours trusting in your muse!
For this river is mine and yours foeevers;
And, i want to be close to you always.
1 hour smiling,
2 hours learning,
3 hours thinking,
4 hours with your muse,
5 hours teaching,
6 hours working,
But, the 7th hour comes for me to sleep with you;
Because, this love is all about you! !
And, i want to be with you always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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What's In A Name
What’s in a Name?
Jesus had been thrown out of the café, he tends
to get laud and argumentative after wine.
Water into wine not a good idea.
Outside, he upended a few plastic tables, police
were called they drove him to the local station
put him in a cell at the back.
A cold cell after a few hours he was shivering
and they let him out he had a long walk home
to the cottage he shares with his mother
Jesus is a good lad, they all say so, and no one
but me is intrigued by his name, in this part
of the world it is a common forename.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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My father was a police officer before he retired. One of my brothers is also a police officer, and I think they kind of expected I would do something along those lines, like become a fireman or something.
quote by Ryan Reynolds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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7 Hours
Today's a sunny day
And there's a lot of time to go with it
For me
I want to celebrate and have fun for 7 hours
So ladies and gentlemen
Make the food
Fill up the drinks
It's going to be a fun 7 hours
I'll bring my poems
Maybe my photos
Perhaps even show the ladies a dance I know
7 hours
And the time is ours
Full of nice memories
Full of good times
Full of new friendships
Full of whatever we want to make of it
These 7 hours
These 7 hours of perhaps stress free and
drama free
These 7 hours to be what we want it to be
poem by Justin Gildow
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Old Boy Racer (Fun Poem 132)
While driving home one day
my old car blew up on me
and the transmission went kaput.
Upon getting another car,
I chose a smaller one,
the kind boy racers own.
Suddenly I became a speed demon
driving down the motorway doing a ton
with the wind ruffling
through the remaining hair I had.
One day while really pushing it,
blue lights began flashing behind me.
The cops told me to pull over,
which at once I did.
An officer approached my car
with me crammed behind the wheel.
'What speed do you think you were doing? '
'I don't know officer I couldn't see the speedo.'
'I clocked you at doing a 110.'
'Really! ' I said
as he wrote me out a ticket.
'I'd advise you to adjust your seat
so you can see the speedo.'
'Yes officer I will do that.' I replied.
I sat there for a moment;
a smile crept across my face.
My son will no believe it
when I show him the ticket.
He'll probably say
the Police had it wrong,
the ticket was probably for going slow.
I drove off after the Police had gone,
my foot to the floor again.
Back into my boy racer mode,
but in my case now
it was an old boy racer mode.
25-26 April 2012
poem by David Harris
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It is made the duty of every Commanding Officer in the Department, to arrest and send to these Headquarters, under guard, every officer or soldier who may be found absent from his command, without the regular leave in writing, prescribed by Regulations and General Orders.
quote by John H. Morgan
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The Third Witness
he said instead of the warrant of arrest
the police officer aimed a gun at him
and so he looked at the sky
called upon God and then he closed his eyes
and bowed and knelled on the ground
and kissed the sands
and then he ran away
to nowhere.....
he did not know what happened next.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Just One More Cigarette...
It is evening they take him out of his cell and into
the walled court yard. An officer offers him a fag
he accepts, and smokes it slowly inhaling deeply.
The officer says, “don’t worry it will soon be over. “
Then they tie his hands behind his back, blindfold
him and place him against a pockmarked wall.
The officer asks if the prisoner, has a last word,
a message to the world or his family. The damned
shakes his head, a long silence, and a volley of fire.
Today, after being told by my doctor I’m an idiot,
I have stopped smoking.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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I Hate Germs
i hate germs
they're nasty things
they're spread by kissing
and mozzie stings.
so i don't kiss
nor go outside
i sit at home
with the door shut tight.
i cook my food
for hours and hours
i avoid preservatives
and wheat and flour.
it really is quite boring
and i'm not happy
but those nasty germs
they don't get me.
poem by David Keig
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The Wrong Question
this morning
you cry and with sobbing you report about
a child being mauled by the police
at the dead end
of Del Pilar street near the
municipal cemetery
the child was running away from
five policemen who kept on chasing him
and they caught him
and asked his age, his name, his father, his mother
and he said he is 19, Kiko, his father is Pepo, and his mother Karing
his father a fisherman and his mother a vendor
and he is from the far mountain
and just arrived to the city
and since he is frail and pale and looks like a sick child
he reaped the suspicion that he is a drug addict
and they mauled him almost to death
and he was hospitalized and charged
resisting arrest
Someone asks, not bothered at all by an imagination
of blood and broken bones and abuse of authority
'But why did he run away, in the first place? '
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Flight Delays (Life Poem)
Sympathyless disbelief when I complain again,
Delays are the balance for the glamour of flying.
Nine hours in Sao Paulo while the ATC strike,
Eight hours in Vienna while new wheel flies in,
Seven sins would be justified by this purgatory,
Six times six hours from CBB to DUB last week,
Five hours sweating in Port au Prince plastic chair,
Four hours for rain in Miami seems not so bad,
Three hours in Shannon for bomb threat search,
Two hours sitting in Seattle with mad dash in Kennedy.
One would be happier walking, swimming or driving.
poem by Ian Beckett
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where did I park my car?
1
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
had a coffee at the center
caught up with some friends
watched a movie
and bought some stuff for home
and now I can’t find my car
though I’ve searched past 10 minutes
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
no, that’s not mine
that’s a Mercedes;
that one’s too shiny;
and maybe it’s this one
- no, mate,
we won’t go any nearer
this car is too clean
mine will look like
it’s not been washed since Noah
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
2
well, yes, help me look out...
it’s an old Nissan
blue faded into white;
no, nobody ‘ll steal that
and the only people
who’d give it a second look
will be the traffic police
who’d wave as if to say:
Pull over, Sir;
let’s have a look at
your rego and front tyres
now, where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
well, damn,
I’m sure it hasn’t moved
it’s not that sort with smart technology
self-park, self-drive or with sensors;
it’s like an old useless dog
completely lost without its master
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
now that we’ve looked
about 30 minutes or more
I’m not sure if this is the right level;
Oh, did I stop at Yellow Level
or Blue or Green or Pink?
was it level 1 or 2 or 3 or 9?
it’s completely out of my mind
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
ah, there it is
that old boneshaker;
thanks mate, for helping me look
You were saying you want a lift –
yes, come - I'll dropp you…no trouble…
yes, it’s just on the way…
Hey…Where you going?
What? Don’t want a lift?
You’d rather walk home?
Hey, what’s wrong with my car?
OK, suit yourself…
at least I found my faithful car…
where did I park my car?
it was Level 5, Yellow Sector
Lot 125
all the while
and that beauty was here each second
an old helpless dog, waiting for its master
poem by Raj Arumugam
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In the Sante
I
Before I got into my cell
I had to strip my body bare
I heard an ominous voice say Well
Guillaume what are you doing here
Lazarus steps into the ground
Not out of it as he was bid
Adieu Adieu O singing round
Of years and girls the life I led
II
I'm no longer myself in here
I know
I'm number fifteen in the eleventh
Row
The sunlight filters downward through
The panes
And on these lines bright clowns alight
Like stains
They dance under my eyes while my
Ears follow
The feet of one whose feet above
Sound hollow
III
In a bear-pit like a bear
Every morning round I tramp
Round and round and round and round
The sky is like an iron clamp
In a bear-pit like a bear
Every morning round I tramp
In the next cell at the sink
Someone lets the water run
With his bunch of keys that clink
Let the goaler go and come
In the next cell at the sink
Someone lets the water run
IV
How bored I am between bare wall and wall
Whose colour pales and pines
A fly on the paper with extremely small
Steps runs across these lines
What will become of me O God Who know
My pain Who gave it me
Have pity on my dry eyes and my pallor
My chair which creaks and is not free
And all these poor hearts beating in this prison
And Love beside me seated
Pity above all my unstable reason
And this despair which threatens to defeat it
V
How long these hours take to go
As long as a whole funeral
You'll mourn the time you mourned you know
It will be gone too soon like all
Time past
too fast too long ago
VI
I hear the noises of the city
In the turning world beyond me
I see a sky which has no pity
And bare prison walls around me
The daylight disappears and now
A lamp is lit within the prison
We're all alone here in my cell
Beautiful light Beloved reason
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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What to Say?
When he has been a celibate for ten years,
since his wife fell ill, and if she asks,
' Would you stay celibate if I died? ',
what he can say to his faithful wife.
When a non-alcoholic is on the wheels,
if a policeman in booze stops him
and begins to breathalyse him,
what he can say to him.
When a corrupt officer with greased palms
advises an honest clerk to keep away from graft,
what he can say to him.
When a forest officer colluding with loggers
for smuggling the valuable timbre, lectures
before the tribals not to denude the forests,
what they can tell him.
When the cops arrest the users
rather than the dealers of drugs,
what we can say about the system.
When a bag-lady is at the fag end of life,
after facing ups and downs all through,
if the astrologer makes predictions for
receiving money, love and luck,
what she can say of it.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Coloured Hours
GRAY hours have cities,
Green hours have rhymes
Of hearts grown loving
In old summertimes,
But the white hours have only
A cloud in the sky
And a star, bright and lonely,
To remember them by.
Gold hours have laughter,
Red hours have song
Drawn from lost fountains
Of beauty and wrong.
But the white hours,–O, tender
As rose-flakes they lie,
With youth's fallen splendour
To remember them by.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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That was my childhood. I grew up with the monks, studying Sanskrit and meditating for hours in the morning and hours in the evening, and going once a day to beg for food.
quote by Satish Kumar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Wonders
Let it go,
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in,
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you
And i don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by,
It's the heart that really matters in the end
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But i can not forget
The way i feel right now
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away but these small hours
These small hours, still remain,
Still remain
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These little wonders still remain
poem by Tiana Webb
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House Arrest
Well there's gonna be a party gonna make some noise
Yeah we're invitin' all the girls - invitin' all the boys
There'll be dancin' on the tables dancin' on the chairs
Ya there'll be dancin' in the parkin' lots
And up and down the stairs - alright
Close the windows - lock the doors
Turn it up now - pack the floors
Cops are on the outside - landlord's on the phone
Quick turn out all the lights
Pretend there ain't nobody home!
It's a house arrest - everybody run
I gotta plead guilty havin' - too much fun
This is a house arrest - up against the wall
We can't stop rockin' justa havin' a ball - One and all
Won't you come around to my place
Don't cha know it's overdue
You gotta bring your little lady wear your dancin' shoes
Get a Yellow Taxi - take a limousine
You gotta get there - it's gonna be a scene
it's too late can't wait - get out while you can
It was fun while it lasted let's do it all again
It's a house arrest - everybody run
I gotta plead guilty havin' - too much fun
This is a house arrest - up against the wall
We can't stop rockin' justa havin' a ball
One and all
We bin wakin' up the neighbours
Bouncin' off the walls
Hangin' off the ceilings
We'll be dancin' in and out of the halls!
This is a house arrest everybody move
Gotta plead guilty gonna raise the roof
This is a house arrest...!
song performed by by Bryan Adams from Waking Up The Neighbours
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four hours of makeup, and then an hour to take it off. It's tiring. I go in, I get picked up at two-thirty in the morning, I get there at three. I wait four hours, go through it, ready to work at seven, work all day long for twelve hours, and get it taken off for an hours, go home and go to sleep, and do the same thing again.
quote by Peter Sarsgaard
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It's a shame that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day is work. He can't eat for eight hours; he can't drink for eight hours; he can't make love for eight hours. The only thing a man can do for eight hours is work.
quote by William Faulkner
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