The policeman isn't there to create disorder; the policeman is there to preserve disorder.
quote by Richard J. Daley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The police are not here to create disorder, they're here to preserve disorder.
quote by Richard J. Daley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Policeman
Everyday he wakes up
As his bare feet hit the floor
Grabs a cup of coffee
Straps his magnum on once more
Feeds the cat he lives with
Since his wife walked out the door
In nine years hell retire with a pension
Everyday he suffers
cause he sees all kinds of pain
Sometimes feels helpless
In a world thats gone insane
Then he wins a battle
It restores his faith again
Its only human kindness he is after
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
He is a policeman, you know
Every night he comes home
With a sixpack all alone
Feeds the cat he lives with
He picks up the telephone
Needs to talk with someone
But the only love hes known
Was lost forever, he is a policeman
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stop Thief!
Policeman, policeman,
Help me please.
Someone went and stole my knees.
I’d chase him down but I suspect
My feet and legs just won’t connect.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Career Changing Incident
The policeman helped
arrest a man and put him
in the squad car.
The man's dog, mad with fear,
ran behind the car, mile after
mile. He was hit at an
intersection. Subsequently
he was healed, but the incident
caused the policeman to resign
from a job which did not allow
him his own conscience.
poem by Saiom Shriver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Basic Psychological Terms for Contemporary Poets
1) biological-social-psychological
2) culture-bound syndromes
3) diathesis-stress-disorder
4) mood disorders
5) unipolar disorders
6) unipolar depression
7) bipolar disorder-major depression-mania
8) anxiety disorder
9) social phobias
10) obsessive-conpulsive disorder
11) childhood disorders
12) dementia
13) eating disorders
14) personality disorders
15) paranoid, schizoid and schizotypal
16) antisocial-narcissistic, histrionic, and borderline: disorders
17) psychopaths
18) vallians
19) paraphilias
20) impulsive-control disorders
21) antidepressants
22) mood stablizers
23) electroconvulsive therapy
24) lobotomies(no longer practised)
(From the book'The writer's guide to psychology' by Carolyn Kaufman, Psy.D.) (2010)
Entropy
Well its a force of nature to be recognized
In the various equations of the social kind
We look to our left, Then turn to our right
Always taken back when the heat starts to rise, rise.
No one will tell you
Nobody will tell you
Its a measure of disorder
A matter of time
Were living in an entropy.
Well its random reaction thats divided by rage
A single handed effort in the escalade
The static will clear as the masses evolve
A loss of information as the message fades away, away.
No one will tell you
Nobody will tell you
Its a measure of disorder
A matter of time
Were living in an entropy.
Rise. And no one will tell you
Rise. And nobody will tell you
Its a measure of disorder
A matter of time
Were living in an entropy.
song performed by by Kelly Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Particular Crime
A disorder is a particle of crime,
The largest one is in this time;
Painted by the artists that mind,
It is disorder criticizing the blind.
May we return to the instrument,
Yokes of an egg are abhorrent
When you crack them, these cells
That require abandonment from bells.
Clay needs to set to make our body
Talk to resonance and good insecurity.
There are some distinctive shapes
We map on our heads as apes.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Billy's Policeman
I knew a policeman once
And this is true as it ever could be
Who made me feel an awful dunce;
'Cos I lost my dad, and it frightened me.
He came and took me by the hand
'Well, now,' said he; 'young fella-me-lad,
No need to cry, I understand.
You'll soon be back with mummy and dad.'
I knew the big policeman well
Before he'd talked the teeniest while.
Such a lot of things he had to tell;
And he had the cheeriest, merriest smile.
I've got a nipper at home like you
So high, young fella-me-lad,' he said.
And all at once - as true as true
I forgot to cry, and I laughed instead.
And then the big policeman said:
'Ho, that's the stuff for the troops, old son!'
The funniest things came into his head;
And I laughed and laughed at every one.
And when they found my mummy and dad,
And he patted my head and said good-bye.
Somehow or other I felt quite sad;
But I knew he'd be sorry to see me cry.
I know that all policemen now
Are just like that, and it's silly to think
They frown and bully and make a row,
Why, you ought to have seen my merry one wink!
And when I pass where he has his beat,
When I'm out for a walk with mummy and dad,
I wave to my big friend in the street,
'What Ho,' says he, 'young fella-me-lad.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everything between us is black
A black sleep near to death
surrounds me and everything between you and me,
while police patrol cars
with flashing lights and sirens
are parking outside the yard
and you are at your lover’s house.
They are here to lock handcuffs around my wrists,
send by the lies that you trumpet forth
and when I only allow one policeman
to come into the yard
while your white policeman lover with the others
have to wait outside the yard
the lot of them are raging mad
as I threaten
to take legal action against them
and that one black policeman
finds your drugged out child
where he is sleeping,
learn from him
that they have come in vain
and that you are making arses of them and me,
he searches through the house
and I send the whole lot of them to hell
where they can go and crawl back in
and there’s death
like a deep dark grave,
where at a time
I had love for you
and my memory fades, about our gloomy story
of which now nothing remains
but for the realization
that your departure was my actual salvation
and between us everything is black,
all meaning has been wiped out eternally.
[Reference: Un grand sommeil noir… by Paul Verlaine.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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H.F. Verwoerd
Today you are seen
as the designer
of a beaconed off existence;
of rending, disorder and hatred
but as the leader of a country
you wanted to bring forth order from disorder,
give an own chance to everyone,
as separate cultural groups and entities.
Now your image, you insight
and wisdom is barren and destroyed,
while we are living in a hodgepodge way,
where the government is destroying
everything that is our own,
pulling the centre out of religion, language
and culture
and putting everything
into a big witches’ brewing pot
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Policeman's Lot
When a felon's not engaged in his employment,
Or maturing his felonious little plans,
His capacity for innocent enjoyment
Is just as great as any honest man's.
Our feelings we with difficulty smother
When constabulary duty's to be done:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
A policeman's lot is not a happy one!
When the enterprising burglar isn't burgling,
When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime,
He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling,
And listen to the merry village chime.
When the coster's finished jumping on his mother,
He loves to lie a-basking in the sun:
Ah, take one consideration with another,
The policeman's lot is not a happy one!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The City of Sleep
Over the edge of the purple down,
Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town
That is hard by the Sea of Dreams--
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away,
And the sick may forget to weep?
But we--pity us! Oh, pity us!
We wakeful; ah, pity us! --
We must go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!
Weary they turn from the scroll and crown,
Fetter and prayer and plough--
They that go up to the Merciful Town,
For her gates are closing now.
It is their right in the Baths of Night
Body and soul to steep,
But we--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!--
We must go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!
Over the edge of the purple down,
Ere the tender dreams begin,
Look--we may look--at the Merciful Town,
But we may not enter in!
Outcasts all, from her guarded wall
Back to our watch we creep:
We--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!--
We that go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Eating Disorder?
eating disorder, or is it?
it's eat or be eaten, you can't miss it,
that's the order of the disorder, border to border,
you're hooked to a food chain, hooked on a food train.
you come into this world, cut from a chord,
made from food, your overlord,
As decades roll by, food becomes you,
because you got to refuel to do what you do.
so you keep eating till you die,
(you just couldn't stay away from that last french fry,)
But don't you worry about who, what and why,
it's the cosmic menu, so don't cry.
poem by Richard Jarboe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New World Disorder
Our culture, our culture,
our culture has been lost.
how many, how many,
how many lives are at cost?
will you survive,
will you survive and watch other's die?
you have no chance, you have no
chance if you want to remain alive
new world disorder
as far as I can see
new world disorder
no hope for you or me.
our system, our system,
our system no longer exists.
scream, yell louder no one will help
they helped before it was their job
well they got paid. money gets health and power.
and ceased the other day.
oh
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everyday Faces
Everyday faces that say hello
Everyday faces that come and go
Everyday faces that stay the same
Everyday day after day
There was a day
When all everything changed
People all came
Stood in the rain
They ain't got a cent (they not the same)
Policeman walked in
The statues all waiting (???)
They wanted a change
Everyday face
Was a time all we could do was try
Was a time when we could say goodbye
Now you find you never do a thing (the same)
Does today feel the same way
Cos there was a day
When all had been changed
People all came
Danced in the rain
They ain't got a cent
And a policeman walked in
The statues all wait (??)
All the same
Everyday face
There was a day
When everything changed
The people all came
Danced in the rain
They're in pain
A policeman walked in
All the statues are waiting
They wanted a change
From an everyday face
Now you're looking at me
Like I'm so passe
I'm a disgrace
Just an everyday face
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunk & Disorderly
I've got these Winter blues
That crept upon my being
The nights are dark and very cold
So cold I keep on peeing
This seasonal disorder
That sneaked up very quickly
Makes one feel so very low
And even sometimes sickly
These dismal, dark and gloomy nights
Cause a miserable facial expression
They make one want to stay in bed
Gives great feeling of depression
I think I'll now take to my bed
My brains gone all defective
Apparently I'm suffering ‘SAD'
A disorder that's affective!
So now I'm going to hibernate
Lie in a dormant state
Wake me when the Sun comes out
By then I'll be feeling great!
Harry the Wu
What can I do, Harry the Wu,
A policeman will come
And ask questions of you,
He'll pull out his book
And his pencil, too,
And look very sternly
At Harry the Wu.
Oh, Harry the Wu, what did you do,
While I was in bed
Going down with the flu,
I didn't get up until
Half past two,
And you're so impatient,
Harry the Wu.
I knew there was something that
I had to do,
I had to get up and feed
Harry the Wu,
That bowl in the fridge of
The left-over stew
Was meant for your dinner,
Harry the Wu.
Oh what can I do, Harry the Wu,
They'll probably lock you
Away in the zoo,
And then you will miss me
And I'll miss you too,
Life is a tragedy,
Harry the Wu.
I thought that you knew,
Harry the Wu,
That there are some things
You are not meant to do,
Now all that is left is
The Postman's shoe,
His hat and his bag
You have eaten them too.
What can I do, Harry the Wu,
You've ripped off the policeman's
Trousers, too,
You'd better go hide in
The chimney flu,
Stop wagging your tail at me
Harry the Wu.
13 April 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Is 16 And The Other 18
the police officer arrested them
last night while they were strolling on the park
and this is the story:
he asks for their names and they say they have none
he asks from where they come from and they say
they do not really know
he asks them where they are going and they tell him
they are still undecided
he asks them what is in their bags and they say they are just nothing
he asks them some more and they say
they have nothing to say of themselves
they come from nowhere
and they are heading nowhere
and the police handcuffed them
these vagrants
these potential terrorists of this rural place
where the people still love peace
and this afternoon the police officer brings them all to me
and he tells me about the whole story
about his questions and their answers
and i am looking at them and they look at me
straight in my eyes
with dignity and without shame
with all pride
that they are telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth
that this one whose age is 16 and this other one whose age is 18
are simply talking about
themselves
and about us
and about the policeman himself
and surely, i agree
we have no names, we do not know where we come from and we do not
really know where we are going
we are all like that, in the strictest sense of the word, except
for our little pretensions
and so i ordered the policeman to release them all
and let them be
themselves
and let them go in peace and finish their journey with all ease
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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435
The Police Officer Arrested Them
Last Night While They Were Strolling On The Park
And This Is The Story:
He Asks For Their Names And They Say They Have None
He Asks From Where They Come From And They Say
They Do Not Really Know
He Asks Them Where They Are Going And They Tell Him
They Are Still Undecided
He Asks Them What Is In Their Bags And They Say They Are Just Nothing
He Asks Them Some More And They Say
They Have Nothing To Say Of Themselves
They Come From Nowhere
And They Are Heading Nowhere
And The Police Handcuffed Them
These Vagrants
These Potential Terrorists Of This Rural Place
Where The People Still Love Peace
And This Afternoon The Police Officer Brings Them All To Me
And He Tells Me About The Whole Story
About His Questions And Their Answers
And I Am Looking At Them And They Look At Me
Straight In My Eyes
With Dignity And Without Shame
With All Pride
That They Are Telling The Truth, The Whole Truth And Nothing But The Truth
That This One Whose Age Is 16 And This Other One Whose Age Is 18
Are Simply Talking About
Themselves And About Us
And About The Policeman Himself
And Surely, I Agree
We Have No Names, We Do Not Know Where We Come From And We Do Not
Really Know Where We Are Going
We Are All Like That, In The Strictest Sense Of The Word, Except
For Our Little Pretensions
And So I Ordered The Policeman To Release Them All
And Let Them Be Themselves
And Let Them Go In Peace And Finish Their Journey With All Ease
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You'd never have a motorcycle policeman out on the Indian reservation.