I Do My Own Mowing
I did not solicit your attention.
Your threats of me not getting more of it,
Suits me fine.
I just do not like the constant warnings,
Placed on my answering machine.
And that is why I called the police,
To remove you from my lawn!
And no,
Officer!
I do my own mowing.
And did not hire a gardener.
Especially one in heels and hotpants!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Answering Machine
We flew here to see you
My feelings and I
I looked down on the city
From up in the sky
The sun was reflecting
From the roofs and the water
Spring had come early
In the parks and the old town
I came with a mission
To patch up a dream
We walked and I talked and my words were absorbed
Into the answering machine
I came two thousand miles
Just to take a look at you
But you were broken and frozen
A heartbreak of a statue
In the bullet-proof mirrors
Where your eyes used to be
I stared at myself and I called for some help
Into the answering machine
The day slipped by and I tried and tried
You took me home and you said
"Goodnight, Sleep tight"
On the floor by the bedroom door
I watched you sleep and I left before first light
The bugs don't bite
The bugs don't bite
The bugs bite
From the land of the frozen
To the land of the low
We journeyed together
But we were always alone
So if I should come calling
Best not pick up the phone
Cause I'm no good for you and you're no good for me
Let me talk to the answering machine
I can cope with the answering machine
I'm a friend of the answering machine
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Answering Machine
We flew here to see you
My feelings and i
I looked down on the city
From up in the sky
The sun was reflecting
From the roofs and the water
Spring had come early
In the parks and the old town
I came with a mission
To patch up a dream
We walked and I talked and my words were absorbed
Into the answering machine
I came two thousand miles
Just to take a look at you
But you were broken and frozen
A heartbreak of a statue
In the bulletproof mirrors where your eyes used to be
I stared at myself and I called for some help
Into the answering machine
The day slipped by and I tried and tried
You took me home and you said goodnight. sleep tight.
On the floor by the bedroom door
I watched you sleep and I left before first light
The bugs dont bite
The bugs dont bite
The bugs bite
From the land of the frozen
To the land of the low
We journeyed together
But we were always alone
So if I should come calling
Best not pick up the phone
Cause Im no good for you and youre no good for me
Let me talk to the answering machine
I can cope with the answering machine
Im a friend of the answering machine
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Fire and Hire
Got this nuggets
from an old sage of mine
in the then promising youthful times
(thinking I would be soon a fire-and-hire officer but not)
Be cautious of fabulous cv/resume
be aware of glittering diplomas
overload certificates
overqualified is also disqualified
and not all of these are
fitted for the hire
how would you hire
to avoid mis-hire? (a barrier for a long-term goal)
Weed not out
those who would adapt new tricks
in a fast changing work place
they are a handful if not few
How?
I believe in your instinct;
my intuition says
poem by Rommelmarkmarchan Best Poems
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Ch 08 On Rules For Conduct In Life - Maxim 78
The padshah is to remove oppressors; the police, murderers; and the qazi to hear complaints about thieves; but two enemies willing to agree to what is right will not apply to him.
When thou seest that it must be given what is right
Pay it rather with grace than fighting and distressed.
If a man pays not his tax of his own accord
The officer’s man will take it by force.
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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My Garden
I guard my gardener
Who is me, and just me.
Opening a lawn is
To grow grass with seeds alone.
My thinking is safely
Being thought by the roots
And the plants seem to be
A lot of pleasure then.
Hosing is fine this time
As well as watering.
My garden skills are best
But is my gardening
Any good, or all bad?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Asking questions is an essential part of police investigation. In the ordinary sense a police officer is free to ask a person for identification without implicating the Fourth Amendment.
quote by Anthony Kennedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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
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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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Whispers From Bones
THE WAR MACHINE
IS QUITE OBSCENE
THE WAR MACHINE
IS QUITE UNCLEAN
BUT
THE WAR MACHINE
WILL NOT STOP
BECAUSE
THE WAR MACHINE
MUST BE FED
THE WAR MACHINE
MUST HAVE BLOOD
THE WAR MACHINE
MUST HAVE DEATH
THE WAR MACHINE
MUST HAVE LIFE
THE WAR MACHINE
MUST HAVE STRIFE
THE WAR MACHINE
MUST BE FED
THE WAR MACHINE
LOVES THE DEAD
THE WAR MACHINE
WILL NOT STOP
BECAUSE
THE WAR MACHINE
IS ANGRY MAN.
poem by M.L. Squier
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No police department should hire more quickly than they can assimilate the people that they bring in, and we did. I take responsibility for it. It was the first opportunity I had to hire, and I wanted to do it, and I take responsibility.
quote by Daryl Gates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well, mines was a sub machine gun. That was my personal weapon with being the first person in the patrol. I used to lead the patrol. Used to have a leading scout, a second scout and then the officer. The officer would be third. As I say, it was educational.
quote by David Walker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet, Sweet Baby
(a. bell / v. clarke)
Attention!
Set your atom transmittor at 0-3-5.
You are my sweet, sweet baby.
You are my sweet, sweet baby.
You are my sweet, sweet baby.
You are my...aou!
Aou!
Attention! ships computer to bridge.
You are my sweet machine.
You are my sweet machine.
You are my sweet machine.
Baby, you are my love!
Aou!
Aou!
Did you know that I really liked this?
I must disengage your recreational music.
You are my sweet, sweet baby.
You are my sweet machine.
You are my sweet machine.
Baby, you are my love!
How did you know that I really liked this?
Attention! ships computer to bridge.
Attention! ships computer to bridge.
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just A Machine
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Four wheels that travel from A to B.
Why worship this idol that you see,
That’s pretty silly, don’t you agree.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Costing a fortune, must keep its shine.
Had to have it, this knockout design.
Thought it simply something so divine.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Depreciates in so quick a time.
Won’t last long, rusty, bang goes its prime.
It certainly won’t be worth a dime.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
A car that travels from A to B.
Not an icon, no god this taxi,
Merely moulded plastic, with a key.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Daisies
In the great green park with the wooden palings -
The wooden palings so hard to climb,
There are fern and foxglove, primrose and violet,
And green things growing all the time;
And out in the open the daisies grow,
Pretty and proud in their proper places,
Millions of white-frilled daisy faces,
Millions and millions--not one or two.
And they call to the bluebells down in the wood:
'Are you out--are you in? We have been so good
All the school-time winter through,
But now it's playtime,
The gay time, the May time;
We are out and at play. Where are you?'
In the gritty garden inside the railings,
The spiky railings all painted green,
There are neat little beds of geraniums and fuchsia
With never a happy weed between.
There's a neat little grass plot, bald in places,
And very dusty to touch;
A respectable man comes once a week
To keep the garden weeded and swept,
To keep it as we don't want it kept.
He cuts the grass with his mowing-machine,
And we think he cuts it too much.
But even on the lawn, all dry and gritty,
The daisies play about.
They are so brave as well as so pretty,
You cannot keep them out.
I love them, I want to let them grow,
But that respectable man says no.
He cuts off their heads with his mowing-machine
Like the French Revolution guillotine.
He sweeps up the poor little pretty faces,
The dear little white-frilled daisy faces;
Says things must be kept in their proper places
He has no frill round his ugly face -
I wish I could find his proper place!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The police are the public and the public are the police; the police being only members of the public who are paid to give full time attention to duties which are incumbent on every citizen in the interests of community welfare and existence.
quote by Robert Peel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mowing
The clock has struck six,
And the morning is fair,
While the east in red splendor is glowing;
There’s a dew on the grass, and a song in the air—
Let us up and be off to the mowing.
Wouldst know why I wait
Ere the sunlight has crept
O’er the fields where the daisies are growing?
Why all night I’ve kept my own vigils, nor slept?
’Tis to-day is the day of the mowing.
This day and this hour
Maud has promised to tell
What the blush on her cheek was half showing.
If she waits at the lane, I’m to know all is well,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.
Maud’s mother has said,
And I’ll never deny,
That a girl’s heart there can be no knowing.
Oh, I care not to live, and I rather would die,
If Maud does not come to the mowing.
What is it I see?
’Tis a sheen of brown hair
In the lane where the poppies are blowing.
Thank God! it is Maud—she is waiting me there,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.
Six years have passed by,
And I freely declare
That I scarcely have noticed their going;
Sweet Maud is my wife, with her sheen of brown hair,
And we had a good time at the mowing.
poem by Samuel Hawkins Marshall Byers from Harper's, Volume 59, Issue 350 (1879)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mexicans
Why is it that when a police officer sees a group of white friends he smiles, waves, and even stops bye to say hello, But When he sees a groups of brown people playing soccer he stops gives a fake smile and leaves, but after a while he comes back and checks on them ask what their doing or why there there he suspects of them more than anyone else he hides and stares he looks at every play he wait till everyones gone while the group of white people laugh, making the browns feel like criminals, so when everyone leaves the officer gets down from his poloce car and checks for any drugs so....why is it that when police sees a white group he smiles and stops to say hello when at the browns he stops and says whats going on? ..suspecting
poem by Yazmin Flora
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