Stories/Poems/Writings for Veterans, Police Officers, and Americans
Last updated - March 18, 2009
All writings on this page have been gathered from numerous sources,
credit is given when possible.
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What Is A Vet?
Untitled
Supporting The Three
Your Daddy Wore A Badge
The Other Side
Policeman's Prayer to St. Michael
The Soldier's Night Before Christmas
The Young Dead Soldiers
A Part of America Died
When God Made Cops
The Final Inspection
Cops On The Take
A Police Officer
Re: Flag Burning
The Rookie and The Chief
Policeman's 23rd Psalm
Policeman's Prayer
The Peacemaker's Creed
Tears of a Cop
A Police Officer Speaks
Guardians of the Night
Motor Officers
How To Make A Police Officer Cry
To Our Absent Brothers
In Your Honor
The Star Spangled Banner
Everywhere In America
The Grinch Who Stole Last Week (or The Binch Who Tried)
Faces
The Roll Call
Some Still Call Him Pig
America Cries
Two Thousand One, Nine Eleven
In Flanders Field
No, Freedom Isn't Free
Just A Cop
I'm Just An American
Could You Be That Brave
I Am a Soldier
Just Another Man
The Hero in the Night
A Soldiers Thanksgiving
Untitled
A Tribute to Veterans
Beholding Beyond Words
The Things They Carried
Eulogy for a Veteran
When the Good Lord Was Creating Vietnam Vets
Just a Common Soldier
Forgotten Fighter
Veteran's Day Tribute 2
I Am . . .
Untitled #2
When a Veteran Retires
Proud to be an American
A Hero's Heaven I am the Officer Soldier's PoemWHAT IS A VET?
Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a
jagged scar, a certain look in the eye.
Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together,
a piece of shrapnel in the leg - or perhaps another sort
of inner steel: the soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity.
Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America
safe wear no badge or emblem.
You can't tell a vet just by looking.
What is a vet?
He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating
two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel.
He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose
overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the
cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel.
She - or he - is the nurse who fought against futility and went to
sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang.
He is the POW who went away one person
and came back another - or didn't come back AT ALL.
He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat -
but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and
gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs.
He is the parade - riding Legionnaire who pins on
his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand.
He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by.
He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns,
whose presence at the Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the
memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor died unrecognized
with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep.
He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket -
palsied now and aggravatingly slow -
who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long
that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come.
He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being -
a person who offered some of his life's most vital years
in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his
ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs.
He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness,
and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on
behalf of the finest, greatest nation ever known.
So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country,
just lean over and say Thank You.
That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean
more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded.
Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU".
Author Unknown
UNTITLED
A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home
after having fought in Vietnam. He called his parents from San
Francisco."Mom and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor
to ask.I have a friend I'd like to bring home with me."
"Sure," they replied, "we'd love to meet him."
"There's something you should know the son continued,
"he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped on a
land mind and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else
to go, and I want him to come live with us."
"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find
somewhere to live." "No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live
with us." "Son," said the father, "you don't know what you're
asking.Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible
burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we
can't let something like this interfere with our lives.
I think you should just come home and forget about
this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own."
At that point, the son hung up the phone.
The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later,
however, they received a call from the San Francisco police.
Their son had died after falling from a building, they were
told. The police believed it was suicide. The grief-stricken
parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city
morgue to identify the body of their son. They recognized
him, but to their horror they also discovered something they
didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.
Author unknown
SUPPORTING THE THREE
"I am the Infantry, follow me
Not a foot soldier, we're much more you see
We'll take the fight to the enemy
I am the Infantry, first of THE THREE"
"I am the Cavalry, follow me
A modern horse soldier in an APC
Charging straight forward to the enemy
I am the Cav, most daring of THE THREE"
"I am the Armor, follow me
The arm of decision I'll always be
When the going gets rough, call on me
I am Armor, the best of THE THREE"
Armor, Cav and Infantry
Rush headlong into the melee
Breaking the lines like an angry sea
Deep into enemy territory
"Approaching a crossroads, what do we see
The are secured by two lonely MPs
Directing us forward, how can this be
How long has he been here waiting for me"
"What a crazy person an MP must be
He has no firepower or armor like me
And I thought everyone followed THE THREE
Armor, Cav and Infantry"
"I am the MP, don't follow me
You don't want to be where I will be
Guarding a crossraod, waiting for THE THREE
Just my pardner, a sixteen, a sixty and me"
"With the objective taken, wait and see
No one will remember the lonely MP
Who held this ground so they could run free
But that's my job, supporting THE THREE"
SGT Allan L. Perkins
YOUR DADDY WORE A BADGE
Your daddy wore a badge, she said
So cry your grieving tears,
Then dry your eyes and lift your head;
He lived to lessen fears.
He wore a badge with pride, she said,
And justice was his dream;
He lived to serve and serving died,
And though it may not seem
That one cop's death could make this land
A better place to be,
His life was where he took a stand
And forced the blind to see.
So dry your tears and lift your head
And make your daddy proud;
Be strong in heart, for he's not dead--
Just lost amid the crowd.
His dream lives on in you, my son
(the widow softly spoke).
She squeezed his hand,
Then sorrow won;
I watched as her heart broke.
Then something changed;
A sigh half-sighed escaped her lips unfinished.
She straightened up;
Although he'd died, his life was undiminished.
Your daddy wore a badge, she smiled,
be proud of who he was.
He did his job, (she hugged her child)
Because, my son, because...
Lisa K. Borchers
January 16, 1986
THE OTHER SIDE
At first there was no place for us to go until someone put up that Black Granite Wall.
Now, everyday and night, my Brothers and my Sisters wait to see
the many people from places afar file in front of this Wall.
Many stopping briefly and many for hours and some that come on a regular basis.
It was hard at first, not that it's gotten any easier,
but it seems that many of the attitudes towards that war that we were involved in have changed.
I can only pray that the ones on the other side have learned something
and more Walls as this one, needn't be built.
Several members of my unit and many that I did not recognize have
called me to the Wall by touching my name that is ingraved upon it.
The tears aren't necessary but are hard even for me to hold back.
Don't feel guilty for not being with me, my Brothers.
This was my destiny as it is yours, to be on that side of the Wall.
Touch the Wall, my Brothers, so that we can share in the memories that we had.
I have learned to put the bad memories aside and remember
only the pleasant times that we had together.
Tell our other Brothers out there to come and visit me,
not to say Good Bye but to say Hello and be together again,
even for a short time and to ease that pain of loss that we all share.
Today, an irresitable and loving call comes from the Wall.
As I approach I can see an elderly lady and as I get closer I recognize her.......
It's Momma!
As much as I have looked forward to this day,
I have also regretted it because I didn't know what reaction I would have.
Next to her, I suddenly see my wife and immediately think how hard
it must of been for her to come to this place and
my mind floods with the pleasant memories of 30 years past.
There's a young man in a military uniform standing with his arm around her......
My God!......It's has to be my son.
Look at him trying to be the man without a tear in his eye.
I yearn to tell him how proud I am,
seeing him standing tall, straight and proud in his uniform.
Momma comes closer and touches the Wall
and I feel the soft and gentle touch I had not felt in so many years.
Dad has crossed to this side of the Wall and through our touch,
I try to convey to her that Dad is doing fine and is no longer suffering or feeling pain.
I see my wife's courage building as she sees Momma touch the Wall
and she approaches and lays her hand on my waiting hand.
All the emotions, feelings and memories of three decades past
flash between our touch and I tell her that it's alright.
Carry on with your life and don't worry about me......
I can see as I look into her eyes that she hears and understands me
and a big burden has been lifted from her.
I watch as they lay flowers and other memories of my past.
My lucky charm that was taken from me and sent to her by my CO,
a tattered and worn teddy bear that I can barely remember having as I grew up as a child
and several medals that I had earned and were presented to my wife.
One of them is the Combat Infantry Badge that I am very proud of
and I notice that my son is also wearing this medal.
I had earned mine in the jungles of Vietnam
and he had probably earned his in the deserts of Iraq.
I can tell that they are preparing to leave
and I try to take a mental picture of them together,
because I don't know when I will see them again.
I wouldn't blame them if they were not to return
and can only thank them that I was not forgotten.
My wife and Momma near the Wall for one final touch
and so many years of undecision, fear and sorrow are let go.
As they turn to leave I feel my tears that had not flowed for so many years,
form as if dew drops on the other side of the Wall.
They slowly move away with only a glance over their shoulder.
My son suddenly stops and slowly returns.
He stand straight and proud in front of me and snaps a salute.
Something makes him move to the Wall and he puts his hand upon the Wall
and touches my tears that had formed on the face of the Wall
and I can tell that he senses my presence there
and the pride and the love that I have for him.
He falls to his knees and the tears flow from his eyes and I try my best
to reassure him that it's alright and the tears do not make him any less of a man.
As he moves back wiping the tears from his eyes,
he silently mouths, God Bless you, Dad ......
God Bless, YOU, Son......
We WILL meet someday but in the meanwhile, go on your way ......
There is no hurry.......
There is no hurry at all.
As I see them walk off in the distance,
I yell out to THEM and EVERYONE there today,
as loud as I can,
THANKS FOR REMEMBERING
and as others on this side of the Wall join in,
I notice that the US Flag that so proudly flys in front of us everyday,
is flapping and standing proudly straight out in the wind today.
THANK YOU ALL FOR REMEMBERING
APVNV Pat (Beanie) Camunes
POLICEMEN'S PRAYER TO ST. MICHAEL
St. Michael, Heavens glorious Commissioner of Police, who once so neatly
and successfully cleared Gods premises of all its undesirables, look with
kindly and professional eye on your earthly force.
Give us cool heads, stout hearts, hard punches, an uncanny flair for
investigation and wise judgement. Make us the terror of burglars, the friend
of children and law-abiding citizens, kind to strangers, polite to bores, strict
with law-breakers and impervious to temptations.
You know, St. Michael, from your own experiences with the devil that the
policeman's lot on earth is not always a happy one; but your sense of duty
that so pleased God, your hard knocks that so surprised the devil, and your
angelic self-control give us inspiration.
And when we lay down our nightsticks, enroll us in your Heavenly Force,
where we will be proud to guard the throne of God as we have been to guard
the city of men .
Author Unknown
THE SOLDIER'S NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
'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 stocking by mantle,
Just boots filled with sand,
On the wall hung pictures
Of far distant lands.
With medals and badges,
Awards of all kinds,
A sober thought
Came through my mind.
For this house was different,
It was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier,
Once I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping,
Silent, alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle,
The room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured
A United States soldier.
Was this the hero
Of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho,
The floor for a bed?
I realized the families
That I saw this night,
Owed their lives to these soldiers
Who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world,
The children would play,
And grownups would celebrate
A bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom
Each month of the year,
Because of the soldiers,
Like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wonder
How many lay alone,
On a cold Christmas eve
In a land far from home.
The very thought
Brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees
And started to cry.
The soldier awakened
And 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 country, my corps."
The soldier rolled over
And drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it,
I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours,
So silent and still
And we both shivered
From the cold night's chill.
I didn't want to leave
On that cold, dark, night,
This guardian of honor
So willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over,
With a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "Carry on Santa,
It's Christmas day, all is secure."
One look at my watch,
And I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my friend,
And to all a good night."
Written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan
THE YOUNG DEAD SOLDIERS
The young dead soldiers do not speak,
Nevertheless they are heard in the still house.
Who has not heard them?
They say: whether our lives and our death were for
Peace and new hope, or for nothing.
We cannot say: it is you who must say this.
They say: we leave you our deaths.
Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say.
We have died. Remember us.
Archebald Macleish
A PART OF AMERICA DIED
Somebody killed a police officer today
And a part of America died.
A piece of our country he swore to protect
Will be buried with him at his side.
Somebody killed a police officer today
It happened in your town and mine.
While we slept in comfort behind our locked doors
A cop put his life on the line.
Now his ghost has the beat
On a dark city street
And he stands at each rookie's side.
A cop answered the call
Of himself gave his all
And a part of America died.
Author Unknown
WHEN GOD MADE COPS
When the Lord was creating cops, 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.
Author Unknown
THE FINAL INSPECTION
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 talk 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 . . .
Though I worked a lot of overtime
When the bills got just 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 judgment 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."
Author Unknown
COPS ON THE TAKE
First he takes . . . the oath.
Now look at all he takes:
He takes . . .
it in stride when people call him pig.
He takes . . .
time to stop and talk to children.
He takes . . .
your verbal abuse while giving you a ticket
you really deserved.
He takes . . .
on creeps you would be afraid to even look at.
He takes . . .
time away from his family to keep you safe.
He takes . . .
your injured child to the hospital.
He takes . . .
the graveyard shift without complaint
because it's his turn.
He takes . . .
his life into his hands daily.
He takes . . .
you home when your car breaks down.
He takes . . .
time to explain why both your headlights
have to work.
He takes . . .
the job no one else wants--telling you
a loved one has died.
He takes . . .
criminals to jail.
He takes . . .
in sights that would make you cry.
Sometimes he cries too, but he takes it anyway
because someone has to.
If he is lucky, he takes retirement.
He takes . . .
memories to bed each night that you
couldn't bear for even one day.
Sometimes, he takes a bullet.
And yes, occasionally he may take a free cup of coffee.
Then one day he pays for all he has taken,
and God takes him.
Please remember that the "he" in all this represents all police officers,
both men and women who have served and are serving
our cities and their citizens we have all sworn to protect.
Author Unknown
A POLICE OFFICER
If you can practice tolerance
when all around you are objects of intolerance.
If you can deal in human filth
without letting part of it rub off on you.
If you can wash a victim's blood from your uniform
and treat it as the dust of your profession.
If you can take the broken body of a child from a screaming mother
and hold back emotion.
If you can see the citizens of your community convict you without a trial
and still believe in human rights.
If you can helplessly watch the courts dismiss a known criminal
and still believe in justice.
If you can see your children belittled by their friends because you are a 'cop"
and still treat them as friends.
If you can guarantee rights to all, while they are denied to you,
and still believe in the "Bill of Rights."
If you can accept oral praise rather than a pay raise
because it is politically popular and not complain.
If you can attend church with the same people that curse you on Saturday nights
and still see good in all people.
If you can accept a salary less than most welfare cases
and still support your family.
If you can accept all these things my friend . . .
and not become bitter . . .
you are a "POLICE OFFICER".
Author Unknown
RE: FLAG BURNING
For those who want to light Old Glory on fire, stomp all over it,
or spit on it to make some sort of statement, I say let them do it.
But under one condition: they MUST get permission from three sponsors.
First, you need permission of a war veteran . . .
perhaps a Marine who fought at Iwo Jima? The American flag was raised
over Mount Surabachi upon the bodies of thousands of dead buddies.
Each night spent on Iwo Jima half of everyone you knew would be dead tomorrow,
a coin flip away from a bloody end upon a patch of sand
you their mother couldn't find on a map.
Or maybe ask a Vietnam vet who spent years tortured
in a small, filthy cell unfit for a cockroach.
Or a Korean War soldier who helped rescue half a nation from Communism,
or a Desert Storm warrior who repulsed a bloody dictator
from raping and pillaging an innocent country.
That flag represented your mother and father, your sister and brother,
your friends, neighbors, and everyone at home.
I wonder what they would say
if someone asked them permission to burn the American flag?
Next, you need a signature from an immigrant.
Their brothers and sisters may still languish in their native land,
often under tyranny, poverty and misery.
Or maybe they died on the way here, never to touch our shores.
Some have seen friends and family get tortured and murdered by their own government
for daring to do things we take for granted every day.
For those who risked everything simply for the chance to become an American,
what kind of feelings do they have for the flag when they Pledge Allegiance the first time?
Go to a naturalization ceremony and see for yourself, the tears of pride, the thanks,
the love and respect of this nation, as they finally embrace the American flag as their own.
Ask one of them if it would be OK to burn the flag or spit on it.
Last, you should get the signature of a mother.
Not just any mother.
You need a mother of someone who gave their life for America.
It doesn't even have to be from a war.
It could be a cop. Or a firefighter. Maybe a Secret Service or NSA agent.
Then again, it could be a common foot soldier as well.
When that son or daughter is laid to rest,
their family is given one gift by the American people; an American flag.
Go on. I dare you!
Ask that mother if you can spit on her flag.
Away from family, away from the precious shores of home, in the face of overwhelming odds
and often in the face of death, the American flag inspires those who believe in the
American dream, the American promise, the American vision.
Americans who don't appreciate the flag don't appreciate this nation.
And those who appreciate this nation appreciate the American flag.
So if you want to desecrate the American flag, before you spit on it
or before you burn it, I have a simple request. Just ask permission.
Not from the Constitution. Not from some obscure law.
Not from the politicians or the pundits.
Instead, ask those who have defended our nation so that we may be free today.
Ask those who struggled to reach our shores
so that they may join us in the American dream.
And ask those who clutch a flag in place of their sacrificed sons and daughters,
given to this nation so that others may be free.
For we cannot ask permission from those who died wishing they could,
just once . . . or once again . . .
see, touch or kiss the flag that stands for our nation,
the United States of America.
Go ahead. Ask.
Author Unknown
THE ROOKIE AND THE CHIEF
The young man came forward, his face drawn and sad.
And he held out his hand, displaying his badge.
The old chief rocked slowly and put his hands on his lap.
And shook his head gently and said, "what is this crap?"
The young cop sniffed, and from his eye wiped a tear.
"I've given you my best for almost one year,
but I make no difference, as I once thought I could.
There is far more evil out there than there is good."
The old chief stared up into the young rookie's eyes.
And tried to recall something clever and wise.
"Tell me", he said to the once eager young cop,
"How many DUI"s in a year have you popped?"
"Forty-two", the rookie replied with great pride.
"And had you not, how many more might have died?
It's not how many are arrested, now, is it?
It's how many less accident scenes you must visit."
The kid hung his head, and flexed his strong hands,
"But, sir," he said softly. "You don't understand.
We're greatly outnumbered, the drugs are the worst,
the schools are like hell, and the streets, they are cursed.
Dealers are like damn roaches.
On the kids, they all prey, and even when arrested,
they are out the next day."
The old chief set his jaw, and tapped a red finger.
And on the young cop, his eyes sadly lingered.
"If one little kid cannot get connected,
if one pregnant junkie finds the strength to reject it,
if one lousy addict decides he can beat it,
if one crack head in a million says, "just don't need it"
then you have removed his greatest temptation,
and wars are not won by those who say, "Screw It!"
They are won by the men who decide they can do it."
The rookie pulled up an old wooden chair,
and running a hand through his stock of brown hair,
"But what about the children and the poor battered wives?
Why can't we stop it and fix all those lives?"
"Each time you set foot in that same run down house,
each time you go back to bust the same dirty louse . . .
for the children and the wife the violence has ceased,
if only for a few hours . . . you offer them peace."
"You cannot dictate their sad chosen path,
you cannot stop his booze-laden wrath,
you can't pack their belongings and cart them away.
But you can prevent murder for just one more day."
"But sir," he said, his heart heavy like lead.
"I know there are dirtbags and scum who wish I were dead.
But the public, the press, the politicians fling mud.
And who says thank you' when we shed some blood?"
The chief pursed his lips, his answer unknown,
for he knew it was this pain that hurt to the bone.
"There are no easy answers for the ache that you feel.
But appreciation and praise just ain't part of the deal.
The respect, gratitude and admiration too . . .
will not come from people who cannot do what we do.
You ask for a sense of honor and pride, my advice,
my son, is to look deep down inside."
The young cop stared down at the badge in his hand.
And he knew he would not resign as he had planned.
For he saw the badge now as not just something he does,
It was not just a symbol . . . It's what he was.
Author Unknown
POLICEMAN'S 23rd PSALM
The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,
His comforting hand reduces fear to naught;
He makes me walk through streets of crime,
But He gives me courage and peace of mind.
He leads me by still waters in the path I trod,
And He says in Romans I'm a "minister of God,"
He leads me in righteousness as He restores my soul,
For His name's sake He keeps me whole.
When I walk through death's valley, right up to the door,
I will fear no evil, for He comforts me more;
For Thou art with me every step of the way,
As thy rod and thy staff protect me each day.
He prepares a table, especially for me,
As I work daily among life's enemies;
He gives me authority to uphold the law,
And He anoints my position in the midst of it all.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me,
Each day of my life through eternity;
As I long to hear Him say, "Well done . . . ,"
When I lay down my life, my badge, and my gun.
Author Unknown
POLICEMAN'S PRAYER
When I start my tour of duty God
wherever crime may be,
as I walk the darkened streets alone,
let me be close to Thee.
Please give me understanding
with both the young and old,
let me listen with attention
until their story's told.
Let me never make a judgement
in a rash or callous way,
but let me hold my patience,
let each man have his say.
Lord, if some dark and dreary night,
I must give up my life,
Lord, with your understanding love,
protect my children and wife.
Author Unknown
THE PEACEMAKER'S CREED
I am superior to no one,
I am subordinate to everyone.
I am not the master of all,
I am the servant of all.
I am not at the top of the hill,
I am at the bottom of the hill.
I am not above the law,
I am subject to the law.
I seek not personal comfort,
I seek comfort for society.
I stand with you not against you.
I dispense compassion freely,
exert force reluctantly,
and cherish freedom.
I am the peacemaker;
loved by many,
feared by a few
and needed by all.
Author Unknown
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?
Author Unknown
A POLICE OFFICER SPEAKS
Well, Mr. Citizen, it seems you've figured me out.
I seem to fit neatly into the category where you've placed me.
I'm stereotyped, standardized, characterized, classified,
grouped, and always typical.
Unfortunately, the reverse is true. I can never figure you out.
From birth you teach your children that I'm the bogeyman, then you're
shocked when they identify with my traditional enemy . . . the criminal!
You accuse me of coddling criminals . . .
until I catch your kids doing wrong.
You may take an hour for lunch and several coffee breaks each day,
but point me out as a loafer for having one cup.
You pride yourself on your manners,
but think nothing of disrupting my meals with your troubles.
You raise hell with the guy who cuts you off in traffic,
but let me catch you doing the same thing and I'm picking on you.
You know all the traffic laws . . .
but you've never gotten a single ticket you deserve.
You shout "fool" if you observe me driving fast to a call, but raise
the roof if I take more than ten seconds to respond to your complaint.
You call it part of my job if someone strikes me,
but call it Police Brutality if I strike back.
You wouldn't think of telling your dentist how to pull a tooth
or your doctor how to take out an appendix,
yet you are always willing to give me pointers on the law.
You talk to me in a manner that would get you a bloody nose
from anyone else, but expect me to take it without batting an eye.
You yell something's got to be done to fight crime,
but you can't be bothered to get involved.
You have no use for me at all, but of course it's OK if I change a flat
for your wife, deliver your child in the back of the Patrol car,
or perhaps save your son's life with mouth to mouth breathing,
or work many hours overtime looking for your lost Daughter.
So, Mr. Citizen, you can stand there on your soapbox and rant and rave
about the way I do my work, calling me every name in the book,
but never stop to think that your property, family,
or maybe even your life depends on me or one of my buddies.
Yes, Mr. Citizen, it's me . . . the cop!
Trooper Mitchell Brown of the Virginia State Police
The author of this article was killed in the line of duty
two months after writing the article.
GUARDIANS OF THE NIGHT
Trust in me my friend, for I am your comrade.
I will protect you with my last breath
when all others have left you.
The loneliness of night closes in,
I will be at your side.
Together we will conquer
all obstacles and search out
those who might harm others.
All I ask of you is compassion
and the caring touch of your hands.
It is for you that I will unselfishly give my life.
Although our days together may be
marked by the passing of seasons,
I know that each day at your side is my reward.
My days are measured by your footsteps.
I anticipate at every opening of the door.
You are the voice of caring when I am ill.
The voice of authority when I am wrong.
Together we shall experience a bond
only others like us will understand.
Outsiders see us with envy.
I will quietly listen and pass no judgment,
nor repeat your spoken word.
I will remain silent and ever loyal.
When our time is done, you move on in the world.
Remember me with kindness and that nothing
passed among us undetected.
If we should meet again on another street,
I will gladly take up your fight.
I am a Police Working Dog.
We are the guardians of the night.
Author Unknown
MOTOR OFFICERS
It sounds like thunder far away, but the skies are blue and bright . . .
And soon they crest the hill nearby, and ride into our sight.
They shake the ground with powerful sound, and they make some hearts beat fast . . .
They look so proud and noble, like Knights come from the past.
Side by side, they always ride, and seem to move as one . . .
From early in the morning light, to the setting of the sun.
And children point and wave to them, from cars that pass them by . . .
And young ones ask their parents, why the men have mirrors for eyes.
They ride the roads, and fight for good, and defend small ones like you . . .
They ask to ride, and do with pride, and sometimes they are few.
Like men of steel, on Silver Wings, they sparkle in the light . . .
then with a roar and rumble, they ride out of our sight.
Sometimes when one has fallen, never to ride again . . .
You can hear the others calling, like thunder on the wind.
Side by side, they slowly ride, and their thunder is a mournful sound . . .
And the mirrors hide their eyes from us, when teardrops fall to ground.
So if you see one riding, and you look into his face . . .
You see your reflection in his eyes, you know that you are safe.
For motormen are a special breed, they love to ride the wind . . .
And when you hear the thunder boom, the fallen ones ride again.
Author Unknown
HOW TO MAKE A POLICE OFFICER CRY
Would you like to see him bury his face in his hands, bawl like a baby
and slam his fist into the side of his patrol car? It's easy.
Start by refusing to listen to your wife when she suggests that she drive.
Don't be a whimp. Assert yourself. Say, "Aw heck, I can drive better
with a few beers under my belt than you can cold sober."
Twenty minutes later you are standing in the dark on the side of the highway with
broken glass and spilled gasoline around. Your wife is screaming, pinned beneath
the jagged edges of twisted metal.
Your two year old daughter is silent. Your six year old son
is sprawled face down 30 feet away.
The Officer smells the alcohol on your breath when you try to explain,
and he's not gentle as he pushes you into the patrol car and tells you to shut up.
Then he turns his attention to what's left of your family and your car.
Congratulations. You've made a Police Officer cry.
Author Unknown
TO OUR ABSENT BROTHERS
They finished a fine noble monument in our town the other day.
It glistens bright on the village green, in prominent display.
It's a grand and noble structure raised by a grateful land.
Yet I recall a simpler one of steel and wood and sand.
I kept my eyes on our point man. He was the first to go down.
I saw how the bullets spun him and slammed him to the ground.
That night seemed to last forever, but it finally came to an end.
And no longer were some strangers, for each was the others best friend.
I looked over at the captain, and he silently answered me.
And he took my arm and nodded, then turned so I couldn't see.
So I walked back to our point man, to the place where I saw him fall.
For dawn had brought with it a quiet, with the peace of God and all.
And I covered him with a poncho, and then to be sure he'd be found,
I fixed bayonet to rifle, and shoved it in the ground.
There wasn't much more anyone could do. My tribute seemed a trifle.
So I picked a battered helmet up and placed it on the rifle.
Long years have passed since I saw him fall that cold and frightful night.
Now his name is carved in marble, but something didn't set right.
The helmet on the rifle seemed a far more fitting shrine.
For the rifle was my brother's, and the helmet, it was mine.
Author Unknown
IN YOUR HONOR
Unselfishly, you left your fathers and your mothers,
You left behind your sisters and your brothers.
Leaving your beloved children and wives,
You put on hold, your dreams your lives.
On foreign soil, you found yourself planted
To fight for those whose freedom you granted.
Without your sacrifice, their cause would be lost
But you carried onward, no matter the cost.
Many horrors you had endured and seen.
Many faces had haunted your dreams.
You cheered as your enemies littered the ground;
You cried as your brothers fell all around.
When it was over, you all came back home,
Some were left with memories to face all alone;
Some found themselves in the company of friends
As their crosses cast shadows across the land.
Those who survived were forever scarred
Emotionally, physically, permanently marred.
Those who did not now sleep eternally
Neath the ground they had given their lives to keep free.
With a hand upon my heart, I feel
The pride and respect; my reverence is revealed
In the tears that now stream down my upturned face
As our flag waves above you, in her glory and grace.
Freedom was the gift that you unselfishly gave
Pain and death was the price that you ultimately paid.
Every day, I give my utmost admiration
To those who had fought to defend our nation.
Author Unknown
THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER
Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Francis Scott Key
EVERYWHERE IN AMERICA
Not somewhere in America but everywhere today,
Where snow-crowned mountains hold their heads, the vales where children play,
Beside the bench and whirring lathe, on every lake and stream,
And in the depths of earth below, men share a common dream -
The dream of our brave forefathers had of freedom and of right,
And once again in honor's cause, they rally and unite.
Not somewhere in America is love of country found,
But east and west and north and south once more the bugles sound,
And once again, as one, men stand to break their brother's chains,
And make the world a better place, where only justice reigns.
The patriotism that is here, is echoed over there,
The hero at a certain post is on guard everywhere.
O'er humble home and mansion rich the starry banner flies,
And far and near throughout the land the men of valor rise.
The flag that flutters o'er your home is fluttering far away,
O'er homes that you have never seen, the same impulses sway
The souls of men in distant states, the red, the white and blue,
Means to one hundred million strong, just what it means to you.
The self-same courage resolute you feel and understand
Is throbbing in the breasts of men throughout this mighty land.
Not somewhere in America, but everywhere today,
For justice and for liberty all free men work and pray.
Edgar A. Guest
THE GRINCH WHO STOLE LAST WEEK
(OR THE BINCH WHO TRIED)
Every U down in Uville liked U.S. a lot,
But the Binch, who lived Far East of Uville, did not.
The Binch hated U.S! the whole U.S. way!
Now don't ask me why, for nobody can say,
It could be his turban was screwed on too tight.
Or the sun from the desert had beaten too bright
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
But, Whatever the reason, his heart or his turban,
He stood facing Uville, the part that was urban.
"They're doing their business," he snarled from his perch.
"They're raising their families! They're going to church!
They're leading the world, and their empire is thriving,
I MUST keep the S's and U's from surviving!"
Tomorrow, he knew, all the U's and the S's,
Would put on their pants and their shirts and their dresses,
They'd go to their offices, playgrounds and schools,
And abide by their U and S values and rules,
And then they'd do something he liked least of all,
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small,
Would stand all united, each U and each S,
And they'd sing Uville's anthem, "God bless us! God bless!"
All around their Twin Towers of Uville, they'd stand,
and their voices would drown every sound in the land.
"I must stop that singing," Binch said with a smirk,
And he had an idea - an idea that might work!
The Binch stole some U airplanes in U morning hours,
And crashed them right into the Uville Twin Towers.
"They'll wake to disaster!" he snickered, so sour,
"And how can they sing when they can't find a tower?"
The Binch cocked his ear as they woke from their sleeping,
All set to enjoy their U-wailing and weeping,
Instead he heard something that started quite low,
And it built up quite slow, but it started to grow -
And the Binch heard the most unpredictable thing . . .
And he couldn't believe it - they started to sing!
He stared down at U-ville, not trusting his eyes,
What he saw was a shocking, disgusting surprise!
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any towers at all!
He HADN'T stopped U-Ville from singing! It sung!
For down deep in the hearts of the old and the young,
Those Twin Towers were standing, called Hope and called Pride,
And you can't smash the towers we hold deep inside.
So we circle the sites where our heroes did fall,
With a hand in each hand of the tall and the small,
And we mourn for our losses while knowing we'll cope,
For we still have inside that U-Pride and U-Hope.
For America means a bit more than tall towers,
It means more than wealth or political powers,
It's more than our enemies ever could guess,
So may God bless America! Bless us! God bless!
Author Unknown
FACES
When you look at a police officer, how many faces do you see?
Is it only the face of authority, the one that says you broke the law,
when you looked at a police officer is this the face that you saw.
Did you see the face of a concerned parent,
when they help a lost child so frightened and alone,
or a loving spouse when they assist someone stranded far from home.
When you look at a police officer how many faces do you see.
Have you looked into an officers face when they are called to a family dispute,
did you happen to see a friend, trying to calm the anger,
and make things right for the both of you.
When you look at a police officer how many faces do you see?
Do you see a caring son or daughter when they help the elderly find their way.
And do you see the face of everyone that cares,
when some take the time to ask, officer how is your day?
And when they look at death I wonder if you are aware,
your pain and sorrow that they too will share.
If you would look into an officers face you will see it written there.
When you look at a police officer how many faces do you see?
The face of authority is the one that most are aware,
but mothers, fathers, and sons, husbands, wives, and friends are also there.
They have many faces you will agree,
they are a part of you, part of me, and part of the community.
Now when you look at a police officer which face will you see?
Officer Eddie Croom
USAF Retired
Informational Resources Section
Honolulu Police department
Used with express permission of the Author -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
THE ROLL CALL
DEDICATED TO THE FALLEN
Today we read the roll, the names will all be called.
An anthem that brings pride and dignity to us all. We gather as a family,
a devoted family of blue, to honor those that have fallen,
memories both old and new. The names are different,
but all the same each with a heritage of courage that will always remain.
4 score and 10 years the first name was read,
dedicated, selfless effort, and sacrifice was the words the monument said.
But it is not their sacrifice that we should remember this day.
If we could but ask, they would not want it that way.
It was their dedication to duty and justice,
to their fellow man, and to their God that we should bring to mind,
and their legacy of service that will last for all time.
This is a tribute to those, who earned our devotion and praise,
In the line of duty the most precious gift they gave.
For them there was no other way,
they faced the challenge and kept the oath they made.
They have forged a foundation we each must uphold,
In the line of duty, the lawless we must forever oppose.
Hear the names as each is called, feel the pride,
feel the honor that inspires us all.
And if for one brief second, their voices could be heard,
perhaps they would leave us with these final words.
Feel not sorrow, and question not what has come to be.
For Just as darkness must follow the light,
for the good of the many For my family,
For my Brothers, For my God, My Life . . .
Officer Eddie Croom
USAF Retired
Informational Resources Section
Honolulu Police department
Used with express permission of the Author -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
SOME STILL CALL HIM PIG
11 September 2001
A cop died today, and some still call him Pig.
He died trying to help others escape from a stricken building,
yet some still call him Pig.
He did his job, giving the ultimate sacrifice, and for what?
Money? Respect? Power? Prestige?
No, he did it because he was needed,
and some still call him Pig.
All over this great Country, Police Officers are called
upon to perform duties no one else wants to do.
They enforce traffic laws,
only to pick up the bodies of those who violate them.
They are called upon to be family counselors, and are
cursed and sometimes injured by those who called them for help.
They see battered and abused children,
and are told not to let it bother them.
They see the worst our society has to offer,
and are asked to go home to a normal life after their shift.
A cop died today, and 78 of his brother officers died with him,
yet some still call him Pig.
Soon, in another city, in another state,
others will don the uniform and badge for the first time.
They will go forward with high expectations to Serve and Protect.
They will be called upon to do what every other cop has
done before them, yet some will call them pigs.
A cop died today, and a small piece of America died with him,
yet some still call him Pig.
Bob Fraser
Used with express permission of the Author -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
AMERICA CRIES
With tear stained faces, America cries . . .
For Every person lost and for each hero that dies . . .
After the smoke clears and all the dust has settled . . .
America still stands, despite all the debris and the metal . . .
As we rally together, United we stand . . .
Reaching out to a stranger and holding their hand . . .
With courage and faith - we shall not bend . . .
To the terrorist that have taken a family member or friend . . .
I have found that heroes aren't born - heroes are made . . .
Risking their lives in spite of being afraid . . .
We thank all the Rescue Workers for being so brave . . .
Running into a burning building, hoping to find a life to save . . .
To all those people who have lost someone they love . . .
May God be with you and send you blessings from above.
Author Unknown
TWO THOUSAND ONE, NINE ELEVEN
Two thousand one, nine eleven
Five thousand plus arrive in heaven.
As they pass through the gate
Thousands more appear in wait.
A bearded man with stovepipe hat
Steps forward saying, "Lets sit, lets chat."
They settle down in seats of clouds
A man named Martin shouts out proud
"I have a dream!" and once he did
The Newcomer said, "Your dream still lives."
Groups of soldiers in blue and gray,
Others in khaki, and green then say
"We're from Bull Run, Yorktown, the Maine"
The Newcomer said, "You died not in vain."
From a man on sticks one could hear
"The only thing we have to fear"
The Newcomer said, "We know the rest,
Trust us sir, we've passed that test."
"Courage doesn't hide in caves,
You can't bury freedom, in a grave."
The Newcomers had heard this voice before,
A distinct Yankee's twang from Hyannisport shores.
A silence fell within the mist
Somehow the Newcomer knew that this
Meant time had come for her to say
What was in the hearts of the five thousand plus that day.
"Back on Earth, we wrote reports,
Watched our children play in sports,
Worked our gardens, sang our songs,
Went to church and clipped coupons,
We smiled, we laughed, we cried, we fought,
Unlike you, great we're not."
The tall man in the stovepipe hat
Stood and said, "Don't talk like that!
Look at your country, look and see,
You died for freedom, just like me."
Then, before them all appeared a scene
Of rubbled streets and twisted beams,
Death, destruction, smoke and dust,
And people working just 'cause they must,
Hauling ash, lifting stones,
Knee deep in hell, but not alone.
"Look! Blackman, Whiteman, Brownman, Yellowman,
Side by side helping their fellow man!"
So said Martin, as he watched the scene
"Even from nightmares, can be born a dream."
Down below three firemen raised
The colors high into ashen haze.
The soldiers above had seen it before
On Iwo Jima back in '44.
The man on sticks studied everything closely.
Then shared his perceptions on what he saw mostly
"I see pain, I see tears,
I see sorrow - but I don't see fear."
"You left behind husbands and wives,
Daughters and sons and so many lives
Are suffering now because of this wrong.
But look very closely. You're not really gone.
All of those people, even those who've never met you,
All of their lives, they'll never forget you.
Don't you see what has happened?
Don't you see what you've done?
You've brought them together, together as one."
With that the man in the stovepipe hat said
"Take my hand" and from there he led
Five thousand plus heroes, Newcomers to heaven,
On this day, two thousand one, nine eleven.
Author Unknown
IN FLANDERS FIELD
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
John McCrae
NO, FREEDOM ISN'T FREE
I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
And then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
With hair cut square and eyes alert
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.
I heard the sound of taps one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That taps had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.
Author Unknown
JUST A COP
The funeral line was long; There's an awful lot of cars.
Folks came out of the restaurants; They came out of the bars.
The workers at the construction sites, all let their hammers drop.
Someone asked, "What is all this for?" And they said, "Aw, just a cop."
Some chuckled at the passing cars, some shed a silent tear.
Some people said, "It's stupid," all these dumb policemen here."
"How come they're not out fighting crime, or in a doughnut shop?
Sure is a lot of trouble, For someone who's just a cop."
They blocked the intersections, they blocked the interstate.
People yelled and cursed,"Man, this is gonna make me late!"
"This is really ridiculous!" They're making us all stop!"
"It seems they are sure wastin' time, on someone who's just a cop."
Into the cemetery now, the slow procession comes.
The woeful Taps are slowly played; There's loud salutes from guns.
The graveyard workers shake their heads; "This service is a flop."
"There's lots of good words wasted, on someone who's just a cop."
Yeah, just a cop to most folks. Did his duty every day.
Trying to protect us, until they took his life away.
And when he got to heaven, Saint Peter put him at the top.
An angel asked him,"Who was that?" And he said, "Aw, just a cop."
Author Unknown
I'M JUST AN AMERICAN
I'm the little boy that gives up his favorite teddy
bear so that a stranger may be comforted.
I'm the single mother who has been trying to
teach her child to sleep in their own bed,
who holds them tight long into the night,
thanking God it wasn't her child that died.
I'm the old man, angry and resentful that his
military doesn't want him because of his age.
I'm the teenaged girl that spends hours cutting ribbons
for others to wear as a symbol of remembrance.
I'm the young man who doesn't understand why his father
was running up the stairs as the building fell, trying to
save just one more person, instead of saving himself.
I'm the old woman who will never see her grandchild again.
I'm the little girl, playing with her doll, who can't understand
when someone screams hateful things at her because
of where her family is from.
I'm the police officer, trying to keep idiotic reporters
safe when his wife is still among the missing.
I'm the fire fighter that called in sick that day,
only to discover that someone else died in his place.
I'm the man who survived the falling building only to learn
that his sister and baby niece were in the plane.
I'm the secretary, angered by the seemingly
callous response of those around her.
I'm a spelunker, who is climbing down into the remains
of a building, hoping to find someone still alive.
I'm the dog handler, searching for bodies,
that has to comfort my animal when only death remains.
I'm the woman who stands in line for five hours in order
to give blood, hoping to help strangers in need.
I'm the man who gets up and goes to work every day,
in spite of the tragedy because he still has a family to feed.
I'm the first passenger to get back on a plane even though
I'm terrified because I know somebody has to be first.
Who am I?
I'm nobody special.
I'm just an American.
Author Unknown
COULD YOU BE THAT BRAVE
How I sometimes wonder, how brave he must be,
He lays his life on the line to protect you and me.
I wish sometimes I could just understand,
Why people don't reach out more, or lend a hand.
I could never imagine to face what he does everyday,
A child abused and crying to not be taken away.
A drug dealer on the streets again,
Knowing he sold drugs to his friend.
A drunk hits the side of another car while running a light,
The drunk was fine, but that family saw their last night.
There's a shoot out, his partner and friend is down, after many years,
He just says, "You'll be OK!" Knowing he sees the truth in his tears.
Then his day finally comes to an end,
And he goes home to family and friends.
How was your day, they always want to know,
He just always smiles, and says same ole, same ole.
He knows they really care and want to know,
But, it's not a place many people could go.
He knows the job has to be done,
He fights the fight that must be won.
He takes pride in what he chose to do,
To serve and protect me and you.
So, next time you get mad or feel he earns his pay,
Ask yourself, "Could I be as brave as him for a day?"
Author Unknown
I AM A SOLDIER
I am a soldier. My blood permeates the soil of many countries.
I have gasped my last breath on many a desolate stretch of beach.
For you . . . all of you, the children who play in the parks,
the mothers who watch over them, the fathers who struggle to sustain them.
There are those here who have belittled and reviled me,
who have made a mockery of me and what I stand for.
You, also, have I suffered and died for.
I withstood heat, insects and disease
so the right to dissent would be yours.
I endured the pain and terror of battle and the maiming of my body
to ensure that you might worship as you please.
I died in agony in order that you, no matter who or what you are,
have the freedom to choose your own destinies.
And I would do it again.
Because I believe in the ideals that made this country what it is today . . . free.
I love her with a deep and abiding love that transcends mere physical pain.
I am a soldier.
Pray that I will always be there,
for if I disappear from this country,
so will you.
Author Unknown
JUST ANOTHER MAN
He looks in the mirror every morning and night,
Does he see what I see, it would be nice if he might.
He sees a rude man as he stands there,
I see someone who needs someone to care.
He sees a mean man, because he has to be tough,
I see someone who deals with more than enough.
He sees how he tries not to cry and feels he has no heart,
I see someone who has to keep his feelings and work apart.
He sees a murderer because he shot someone last night,
I see someone who saved someone else from a fight.
He sees a failure because he did not arrive in time
I see someone who did his best and needs peace of mind.
He sees just another man as he enters the day,
I see a special man who does his best in every way.
For all the years, he has put on the uniform of blue,
He has never realized how much he protects me and you.
But, as he starts the day again, I just wish he could see,
What he really is and how much he means to you and me.
Author Unknown
THE HERO IN THE NIGHT
Next time a cop stops you because you are driving too fast,
Remember he saved you from that day being your last.
When you think he's picking on someone,
Why not think of what they could have done?
Next time you call him a name,
Would he have called you the same?
How would you feel to see a child beaten black and blue?
And knowing there is not much you can really do.
You can arrest them and hope they stay in jail,
But, too many times it doesn't work that well.
To see the face of someone right before they die,
When he can't but all he wants to do is cry.
To break up a fight, knowing later it will be worse,
And from his help, all that came was him being cursed.
To know that people don't respect what he chose to do,
But day after day, he's out there to protect people like you.
To see drugs sold to a child younger than his own,
Makes his heart ache and long for his home.
The job has no glamour, doesn't even pay well,
He does it because he cares for more than himself.
He cares for you and he cares for me,
He's out there hoping we will all see.
He took a path not many would take,
And he chose it for our sake.
He's a remarkable soul, a Hero in the Night,
When all is well, he's not in sight.
But, if you ever need him, he'll be right there,
Not just because he's a cop but because he cares.
Author Unknown
A SOLDIERS THANKSGIVING
Families gather around the table
Turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie
No thought given to those who fight and die
Laughter and trips to grandmas
Red noses and snow flying
Warm fires and love abound
Soldiers somewhere, sleeping on the ground
Plenty of food and lots of friends
Prayerful thanks for all we have
Freedom and plenty
Heads bowed in prayer
Kids playing in the snow, without a care
Soldiers cold and hungry
Gather around a burning tire
Roasting a marshmallow from a care package from home
Sharing what little they had
Fighting for the freedoms that we all have
Rockets and bombs light up the sky
They say their prayers of their family's lives
Love of God
Love of Country
They give their all for YOUR Thanksgiving
Blood and death
Prayer and thanks
Freedom for all
A soldier to thank
Steve Newton, Retired Chief
Used with express permission of the Author -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
UNTITLED
The embers glowed softly,
and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room
and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep,
her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me,
angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell,
a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard
to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree,
I believe,
Completed the magic
that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy,
my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded
by love I would sleep
In perfect contentment,
or so it would seem.
So I slumbered,
perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud,
and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes
when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough,
I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps
outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble,
I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door
just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold
and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood,
his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled,
some twenty years old
Perhaps a Marine,
huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark,
he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me,
and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?"
I asked without fear
"Come in this moment,
it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack,
brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home
on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment
I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold
and the snow blown in drifts,
To the window that danced
with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said
"Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice.
I'm here every night"
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask
or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here
like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl
on a day in December,"
Then he sighed,"That's a Christmas
'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch
in the jungles of 'Nam
And now it is my turn
and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son
in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures,
he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent
and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red white and blue...
an American flag.
"I can live through the cold
and the being alone,
Away from my family,
my house and my home,
I can stand at my post
through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole
with little to eat,
I can carry the weight
of killing another
Or lay down my life
with my sister and brother
who stand at the front
against any and all,
to ensure for all time
that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said,
"harbor no fright
Your family is waiting
and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do,
at the least,
"Give you money," I asked,
"or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little
for all that you've done,
For being away
from your wife and your son."
Then his eye welled a tear
that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us,
and never forget
To fight for our rights
back at home while we're gone.
To stand your own watch,
no matter how long.
For when we come home,
either standing or dead,
To know you remember
we fought and we bled
is payment enough,
and with that we will trust.
That we mattered to you
as you mattered to us.
Author Unknown
Submitted by John Kirk, Spc USAR, 172nd Med Log BN.
He received this while serving in Iraq.
A TRIBUTE TO VETERANS
In Vietnam, Korea and World Wars Past
Our Men Fought Bravely so Freedom Would Last
Conditions Were Not Always Best They Could Be
Fighting a Foe You Could Not Always See:
From Mountain Highs to Valley Lows
From Jungle Drops to Desert Patrols
Our Sinewy Sons Were Sent Over Seas
Far From Their Families And Far From Their Dreams
They Never Wrote Letters Of Hardships Despair
Only Of Love, Yearning That One Day Soon:
They Would Come Home, They Would Resume
And Carry On With The Rest of Their Lives
The POWs Stood Steadfast
Against the Indignities And Cruelties Of War
They Could Not Have Lasted as Long as They Did
If They Had Relinquished Their Hope That Some Day:
They Would Come Home, They Would Resume
And Carry On the Rest Of Their Lives
Medics, Nurses, and Chaplains Alike
Did What They Needed To Bring Back Life
They Served Our Forces From Day Into Night
Not Questioning If They Would Survive:
They Mended Bones And Bodies Too,
They Soothed the Spirits of Dying Souls
And for Those MIAS, Who Were Left Behind
We Echo This Message Across the Seas
We Will search For as Long As It Takes
You re Not Forgotten And Will Always Be:
In Our Hearts, In Our Prayers,
In Our Minds For All Time
A Moment of Silence, a Moment of Summons
Is Their Deliverance of Body And Soul
To a Sacred Place That We All Know
Deep In the Shrines of Our Soul:
In Our Hearts, In Our Prayers
In Our Minds For All Time
Gold Star Mothers grieve: endlessly, endlessly, endlessly . . .
These Immortalized Soldiers Whose Bravery Abounds
They re Our Husbands, Fathers, and Sons
They Enlisted For the Duty at Hand
To Serve the Cause of Country and Land:
They Had Honor, They Had Valor,
They Found Glory That Change Them Forever
Men Standing Tall and Proud They be
A Country Behind Them in a Solemn Sea
So Let the Flags of Freedom Fly
Unfurled in Their Majesty High:
In the Sun, In the Rain
In the Winds Across This Land
Years of Tears Has Brought Us Here
Gathering Around to Hear This Sound
So Let the Flags of Freedom Fly
Unfurled in Their Majesty High:
In the Sun, In the Rain,
In the Winds Across This Land
In the Sun, In the Rain,
In the Winds For All Time
Jerry Calow (copyright 2003)
Used with express permission of the Author -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
BEHOLDING BEYOND WORDS
Beholding Beyond Words To Our Servicemen And Women
Stationed Around The World In Far Away Places
There's Not Much We Can Say To Thank Them Enough
For What They Go Thru Each Day In The Rough
But: Give Them Our Thanks
Give Them Our Love
Give Them Our Regards
For a Safe Return
We Praise and Raise Our Hands To You
That Earned the Honor That We Now Bestow
We Salute You For A Job Bravely Done
And Applaud Your Courage In The Face Of The Unknown
Defending Freedom
Defending Liberty
Defending Peace
At Home And Abroad
For The Past, Present, And Future Generations
Duty Will Always Be An Honorable Citation
To Stand The Ground That Freedom Upholds
To Endure Engagements Where Ever They Unfold
Defending Freedom
Defending Liberty
Defending Peace
At Home And Abroad
For Those MIAs, POWs,
Fallen Soldiers, Who Gave All They Could
We Will Search For As Long As It Takes
You Are Not Forgotten And Will Always Be
In Our Hearts
In Our Prayers
In Our Minds
For All Time
These Immortalized Soldiers Whose Bravery Abounds
They Are Sisters, Brothers Heroes Profound
They Enlisted For The Duty At Hand
To Serve The Cause Of Country And Land
They Serve With Honor
They Serve With Valor
They Serve With A Pride
That Will Change Them Forever
To Our Forces Standing Tall And Proud They Be
Our Country's Behind Them In A Solemn Sea
So Let The Flags Of Freedom Fly
Unfurled In Their Majesty High
In The Sun
In The Rain
In The Wind
Across This Land
These Are The Things Our Country's Made of
These Are The Things We Cherish And Love
So Let The Flags Of Freedom Fly
Unfurled In Their Majesty High
In The Sun
In The Rain
In The Winds
For All Time
Jerry Calow (copyright 2003)
Used with express permission of the Author -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
THE THINGS THEY CARRIED
They carried P-38 can openers and heat tabs, watches and dog tags,
insect repellent, gum, cigarettes, Zippo lighters, salt tablets, compress
bandages, ponchos, Kool-Aid, two or three canteens of water, iodine
tablets, sterno, LRRP- rations, and C-rations stuffed in socks.
They carried standard fatigues, jungle boots, bush hats,
flak jackets and steel pots.
They carried the M-16 assault rifle.
They carried trip flares and Claymore mines, M-60 machine-guns, the M-70
grenade launcher, M-14's, CAR-15's, Stoners, Swedish K's, 66mm Laws,
shotguns, .45 caliber pistols, silencers, the sound of bullets, rockets, and
choppers, and sometimes the sound of silence.
They carried C-4 plastic explosives, an assortment of hand grenades,
PRC-25 radios, knives and machetes.
Some carried napalm, CBU's and large bombs; some risked their lives to
rescue others. Some escaped the fear, but dealt with the death and damage.
Some made very hard decisions, and some just tried to survive.
They carried malaria, dysentery, ringworm's and leaches.
They carried the land itself as it hardened on their boots.
They carried stationery, pencils, and pictures of their loved ones
- real and imagined.
They carried love for people in the real world and love for one another.
And sometimes they disguised that love: "Don't mean nothin'!"
They carried memories for the most part,
they carried themselves with poise and a kind of dignity.
Now and then, there were times when panic set in, and people squealed
or wanted to, but couldn't; when they twitched and made moaning sounds
and covered their heads and said "Dear God"and hugged the earth and fired
their weapons blindly and cringed and begged for the noise to stop and went
wild and made stupid promises to themselves and God and their parents,
hoping not to die.
They carried the traditions of the United States military, and
memories and images of those who served before them.
They carried grief, terror, longing and their reputations.
They carried the soldier's greatest fear: the embarrassment of dishonor.
They crawled into tunnels, walked point, and advanced under fire,
so as not to die of embarrassment. They were afraid of dying,
but too afraid to show it.
They carried the emotional baggage of men and women
who might die at any moment.
They carried the weight of the world.
They carried each other.
Tim O'Brian
Author's name submitted by Jonathan E.B. Lewis, MIDN/3rd Class
EULOGY FOR A VETERAN
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the Gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the mornings hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.
Author Unknown
WHEN THE GOOD LORD WAS CREATING
When the Lord was creating Vietnam veterans, He was into His 6th
day of overtime when an angel appeared and said
"You're certainly doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."
And God said, "Have you seen the specs on this order?
A Nam vet has to be able to run 5 miles through the bush with a full
pack on, endure with barely any sleep for days, enter tunnels his higher
ups wouldn't consider doing, and keep his weapons clean and operable.
He has to be able to sit in his hole all night during an attack,
hold his buddies as they die, walk point in unfamiliar territory known
to be VC infested, and somehow keep his senses alert for danger.
He has to be in top physical condition existing on c-rats and
very little rest. And he has to have 6 pairs of hands."
The angel shook his head slowly and said, "6 pair of hands . . . no way."
The Lord say's "It's not the hands that are causing me problems . . .
It's the 3 pair of eyes a Nam vet has to have."
"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel.
The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees through elephant grass,
another pair here in the side of his head for his buddies, another pair
here in front that can look reassuringly at his bleeding, fellow soldier
and say, "You'll make it" . . . when he knows he won't.
"Lord, rest, and work on this tomorrow."
"I can't," said the Lord. "I already have a model that can carry a
wounded soldier 1,000 yards during a firefight, calm the fears of
the latest FNG, and feed a family of 4 on a grunt's paycheck."
The angel walked around the model and said, "Can it think?"
"You bet," said the Lord.
"It can quote much of the UCMJ, recite all his general orders, and
engage in a search and destroy mission in less time than it takes for his
fellow Americans back home to discuss the morality of the War, and still
keep his sense of humor." "This Nam vet also has phenomenal personal
control. He can deal with ambushes from hell, comfort a fallen soldier's
family, and then read in his hometown paper how Nam vets are baby
killers, psychos, addicts, killers of innocent civilians."
The Lord gazed into the future and said, "He will also endure being
vilified and spit on when he returns home, rejected and crucified by
the very ones he fought for."
Finally, the angel slowly ran his finger across the vet's cheek,
and said "There's a leak . . .
I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model."
"That's not a leak", said the Lord. "That's a tear."
"What's the tear for?" asked the angel.
"It's for bottled up emotions, for holding fallen soldiers as they die, for
commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American flag, for the
terror of living with PTSD for decades after the war, alone with it's
demons with no one to care or help."
"You're a genius," said the angel, casting a gaze at the tear.
The lord looked very somber,
as if seeing down eternity's distant shores . . .
"I didn't put it there," he said.
Author Unknown
JUST A COMMON SOLDIER
(A Soldier Died Today)
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And tho' sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?
A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.
It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.
A. Lawrence "Larry" Vaincourt (Copyright 1987)
Used with express permission and
may not be duplicated without such permission.
Visit the author's website at Larry Vaincourt's Rhymes & Reflections"
FORGOTTEN FIGHTER
"In World War II," he whispered,
"I was wounded by a blast."
As he began his story,
Reminiscing of his past.
"I was just a boy back then,
I lied about my age."
"To get into the army,
And . . . fight for the U.S.A."
"I love this country very much,
It's still the very best."
"And I would fight, to keep it free,
And safe from foreign pest."
"We won that war, and I came home,
My wounds had healed enough,
To re-enlist with other men."
"The army made us tough."
"Then a major flare up,
In Korea called us out."
"A threat against our freedom,
Spreading fear without a doubt."
"There I caught a bullet,
When I tried to save a friend."
"Another wound, for Uncle Sam,
They sent me home to mend."
"Soldier, have you had enough?
My sergeant said to me."
"Or, do you want another tour,
If ever there's to be?"
"We would train and fight again,
If ever . . . it need be."
"Because we love America,
We'll fight to keep it free."
"It didn't take too long,
Before my boys were off again."
"We were shipped off to a war,
We thought would never end."
"I didn't understand it much,
If it was wrong or right."
"But . . . I was a U.S. soldier,
And my country said "Go fight."
"I never questioned orders,
That were sent from up above."
"I did it for America,
The country, that I love."
"I fought to keep my country safe,
Again, in Viet Nam."
"Then, wounded I came home again,
A victim of napalm."
"My fighting days were over now,
And I had given all."
"But some had given more than me,
Their names are on a wall."
"I am now, well up in years,
A soldier old and worn."
"I could only sit and pray,
As I watched Desert Storm."
"So proud of our boys over there,
Who stand for what is right."
"Freedom is the battle cry,
The reason why they fight."
"Young soldiers fight for liberty,
Protecting freedoms bliss."
"Old soldiers dream of by-gone-days,
While fighting loneliness."
"We were heroes in our day,"
He said, and then he sighed.
"Forgotten in some V.A. home,
And all my friends have died."
"I never ask for anything,
Just wanted to live free."
"But if you write this story,
There are many just like me."
"Who fought to keep our country,
Safe and free from every foe."
"Only to come home again,
And have no place to go."
"Sadly, when the limelight fails,
Heroes fade away."
"Some men fight the silent battles,
Till their dying day."
"Please . . . remember what it took,
And what we had to pay."
"And join with us remembering
On this Memorial Day."
"Memorial Day is special,
It is not just summer's start."
"The reason that we have this day,
Should be etched on your heart."
"Lives were lost, and young men died,
To keep this country free."
"So take a moment on that day,
To meditate with me."
"Remember all those valiant men,
And women who fought for,
The lifestyle that you now enjoy,
Because they went to war."
James A. Kisner (Copyright 1998)
Used with express permission of Fleeting Moments Publishing -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
You can also request permission by writing to
Fleeting Moments Publishing PO Box 38, Brunswick, Ohio 44212.
VETERAN'S DAY TRIBUTE 2
If someone has done military service,
They earn the title "veteran," and more;
They earn our deep respect and admiration;
That they are special no one can ignore.
They sacrificed the comforts we enjoy;
The list is long of all the things they gave;
Our veterans are extraordinary people;
They're loyal, dedicated, true and brave.
When terror and invasion were real threats,
They showed us they could handle any storm.
We owe our freedoms and our very lives
To our veterans, who served in uniform.
Our veterans should be celebrities;
They're exceptional; no other group compares.
We're grateful for the many things they've done;
They're always in our hearts and in our prayers.
We owe our veterans support and friendship;
Let no one ever question what they're worth.
These men and women served us and our country;
Our veterans--the very best on earth.
Joanna Fuchs
Used with express permission of the Author -
may not be duplicated without such permission.
For more information go to www.poemsource.com.
I AM ...
I am the officer, follow me.
Preserving the peace is where I will be.
I am the torch that lights the way.
In darkness my courage will never sway.
Leading the others, that is me.
I am the officer, guiding the three
I am the fire fighter, follow me.
Into the flames is where I will be.
I am he who battles the beast.
To protect that on which it would feast.
Lending strength to others, that is me.
I am the fire fighter, supporting the three.
I am the medic, follow me.
Easing the pain is where I will be.
I am the one who helps them survive.
Lifting the fallen to keep them alive.
Treating the others, that is me.
I am the medic, healing the three.
I am the dispatcher, don't follow me.
Agony and chaos is where I will be.
Working in obscurity, this forgotten place.
not death but insanity is the danger I face.
Answering the plea for help, that is me
I am the dispatcher, protecting the three.
Author Unknown
Submitted by Jonathan E.B. Lewis, MIDN/3rd Class
UNTITLED #2
You are a father, a son, a mother, a daughter, a lover.
You speak law, common sense, truth.
You posses strength, intelligence, bravery, sincerity, integrity.
You see violence, abandonment, neglect, injustice, blood, death.
You hear thanklessness, obscenity, thoughtlessness, hatred.
You feel disrespected, unheard, underpaid, unimportant, useless.
You get yelled at, spat at, hit upon, stabbed, shot and killed.
To most of them you're "pigs", "fuzz", "po po's", "5_0."
You are Law Enforcement.
You are my best-friend, my colleague, my brother, my sister.
My respect, my concerns, my heart, my soul, my thoughts,
my worries, my prayers are with you.
When you see, hear, feel and experience the blunt realities
of your world, know I care.
You may have faults, but there are people like me
who will always honor you.
I will be there for you, when you need me.
Just as you are there when I need you...
Author Unknown
WHEN A VETERAN RETIRES
When a good Veteran leaves the "job" and retires to a better life,
many are jealous, some are pleased and others, who may have
already retired, wonder if he knows what he is leaving behind,
because we already know.
We know, for example, that after a lifetime of camaraderie that
few experience, it will remain as a longing for those past times.
We know in the Military life there is a fellowship which lasts long
after the uniforms are hung up in the back of the closet. We know
even if he throws them away, they will be on him with every step
and breath that remains in his life. We also know how the very
bearing of the man speaks of what he was and in his heart still is.
These are the burdens of the job. You will still look at people
suspiciously, still see what others do not see or choose to ignore
and always will look at the rest of the Military world with a respect
for what they do; only grown in a lifetime of knowing.
Never think for one moment you are escaping from that life. You are
only escaping the "job" and merely being allowed to leave "active" duty.
So what I wish for you is that whenever you ease into retirement,
in your heart you never forget for one moment that "Blessed are the
Peacemakers for they shall be called children of God," and you are
still a member of the greatest fraternity the world has ever known.
A veteran - whether active duty, retired, or national guard or reserve - is
someone who, at one point in their life, wrote a blank check made payable to
"The United States of America," for an amount of "up to and including my life."
Author Unknown
PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN
If tomorrow all the things were gone I'd worked for all my life,
And I had to start again with just my children and my wife.
I'd thank my lucky stars to be livin' here today,
'cause the flag still stands for freedom and they can't take that away.
And I'm proud to be an American where as least I know I'm free.
And I won't forget the men who died, who gave that right to me.
And I'd gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.
'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land God bless the USA.
From the lakes of Minnesota, to the hills of Tennessee,
across the plains of Texas, from sea to shining sea,
From Detroit down to Houston and New York to LA
Well, there's pride in every American heart,
and it's time to stand and say that
I'm proud to be an American where as least I know I'm free.
And I won't forget the men who died, who gave that right to me.
And I'd gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.
'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land God bless the USA.
Lee Greenwood
Song Lyrics. Despite repeated attempts, have not been able
to get permission or denial of use. Please contact webmaster
if there is a problem posting this here.
A HERO'S HEAVEN
There is a place called Hero's Heaven
Only the bravest get to see
Reserved for those who gave their lives
For love of liberty
A special place of respect and honor
For those who paid the price
Who gave their lives to preserve our freedom
The greatest sacrifice
We salute you brave and gallant soldiers
For the sacrifice you made
The love you showed for God and Country
And for the selfish way you paid
Your sacrifice has given meaning
To this truth we hold dear
Our freedom is a sacred birthright
To defend and to revere
To you we owe this highest honor
For your love and dedication
No greater love could any show
Than you who died for our nation
For you there is a Hero's Heaven
Only the bravest get to see
In the hearts and minds of a grateful nation
Who preserve your memory
Author Unknown
I AM THE OFFICER
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 have done for you.
I am the person 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'm just a person, just like you.
And through the years I've come to see,
That I am not always what you ask of me;
So, take this badge . . . take this gun . . .
Will you take it . . . will anyone?
And when you watch a person die
And hear a battered baby cry,
Then do you think that you can be
All these things you ask of me?
Author Unknown
SOLDIER'S POEM
For all the free people that still protest. You're welcome.
We protect you and you are protected by the best.
Your voice is strong and loud, but who will fight for you?
No one standing in your crowd.
We are your fathers, brothers, and sons,
wearing the boots and carrying guns.
We are the ones that leave all we own,
to make sure your future is carved in stone.
We are the ones who fight and die,
We might not be able to save the world,
Well, at least we try.
We walked the paths to where we are at
and we want no choice other than that.
So when you rally your group to complain,
take a look in the back of your brain.
In order for that flag you love to fly
wars must be fought and young men must die.
We came here to fight for the ones we hold dear.
If that's not respected,
we would rather stay here.
So please stop yelling, put down your signs,
and pray for those behind enemy lines.
And then when the conflict is over and all is well,
be thankful that we chose to go through hell.
Author Unknown
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