Poetry “The Calmness of a Warrior”

I never intended on writing this poem.  It is pretty sensitive in nature, but I feel it is necessary.  I guess I will just let it speak for itself.  There are many who will understand, probably more that will not.  I am hoping you do.  I also hope you like it.

The picture was my rig.  I wanted a photo with me in it so bad.  When the opportunity arose, another soldier snapped the picture.  I didn’t realize it would be a silhouette.  I was really disappointed.  Looking at it today, I don’t think it could have turned out any more perfect.

This is for my brothers and sisters that had to deal, and still do, with situations similar to this. Thank you for your service.

Thank you for taking a look at “The Calmness of a Warrior”.  It means the world to me.

The Calmness of a Warrior

Answering the call, giving it little thought,

Honor your country are the values he was taught.

 

His blood pump red, skin white, and mind blue,

Like generations before, this is what he was made to do.

 

From a child when he would hold his father’s hand,

Now patrolling a dangerous road, surrounded by hot sand.

 

Committed to freedom, honorably serving with others,

This, now his family, both sisters and brothers.

 

Each day, each mission on paper often look the same,

Moving out in the morning, before the sun becomes hot as a flame.

 

Was it a flash of lighting followed by deafening thunder,

Or something more sinister, making him wonder.

 

This day, this moment, there was a different feeling he did not share,

Time stopped for just a moment, as he was flown into the air.

 

His mind took him to church, where he was taught to do no harm,

And early Sunday dinners on his grandparents farm.

 

He thought of high school and wondered what his friends would say,

Making jokes and asking him, did you kill anyone today?

 

He thought of his dog, no matter what stood by his side,

If he were here, would have been next to him, begging for a ride.

 

Remembering homecoming and every high school dance,

Asking out all the girls when he knew he didn’t have a chance.

 

He thought, then forgot, eyes jarred open as he met the ground,

Metal torn from his vehicle was scattered all around.

 

He could see but not feel, move or hear,

Next to him lay his torn bandolier.

 

What he saw ,he knew, but did trust to believe,

The destruction before him was his vehicle hit by an I.E.D.

 

His body now slowly moved, but still could not stand,

Reaching for his leg and putting his pistol in his hand.

 

If you come for me to see if I am dead,

I will take this pistol and put a bullet in your head.

 

Confusion turned to rage, and fear for the others,

What drove him now was to check on is brothers.

 

From a gash in his forehead where his red blood bled,

Calling to his friends, not sure if out loud or in his head.

 

Every bit of energy crawling to once was their car,

It felt like miles, but he didn’t move far.

 

Where are you all, I need to know if you are hurt,

Hot blood dripped slowly onto his tan shirt.

 

None of this made sense, they drove a Humvee not a car,

And the roads here are made of sand, not concrete and tar.

 

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around,

Pistol in hand, leveled his sights and drew down.

 

We are going to be late if you don’t wake up soon,

Wide open eyes, realizing he is in his own room.

 

Before him stood a smiling wife,

Another dream, a nightmare, of a past life.

 

So many years had passed between now and then,

But the years were like minutes, reliving it all again.

 

This woman, she cared for him, walking together a path to heal,

Uncontrollable horrors persist but together, learning how to deal.

 

Those days had made him something he was not,

The simple details of life were often forgot.

 

Once trusting others that they would have his back,

Was erased over time and bright days had turned black.

 

This woman, she also saw and felt the change,

Receiving the most fire from being directly down range.

 

Admiring her patience and trying to understand her love,

Explaining that so many visions, down deep he would shove.

 

She said I know, I am a volunteer too,

Remember the promise made when I chose to marry you.

 

I want you back, we will do it together,

These memories will always be there, but we can make it better.

 

Always on edge, instincts sharper than ever,

Feelings that can switch like a quick shift of a lever.

 

The flashing pictures and memories now being organized in his mind,

Always a soldier, now husband and father, learning again to be patient and kind.

 

Searching for peace, these dark memories have become inferior,

Stronger than ever, now the calmness of this warrior.

 

DTH 2018

Poetry “Judgment Bridge”

When I got my first tattoo, I though my family would freak out. In some cases that might be accurate.  As I have aged, I have collected several.  Now my first tattoo is merely something I consider a cute little spot of ink.

In a way, I guess I covered some my scars with ink.  That ink runs up and down both arm and on to my back.  Even in this day and age of acceptance of tattoos, I still get the judgmental looks.  Don’t think for a second it bothers me one bit.  I am proud of my ink and the scars that they cover.

Many police departments require their officers to keep their tattoos covered.  I guess that is their decision. If it were mine, I would say put them out there, let people know that behind that badge and under that uniform is still a human being.  That is what inspired this poem.

This photograph is taken about three miles from my house.  A small one lane bridge where the local artwork changes on a weekly basis.  I love everything about that. The hardest thing about this poem was whether to spell Judgement or Judgment.  Obviously I chose the later.

I can not thank you all enough for taking a look at Judgment Bridge. If you keep reading I will keep writing, good, bad, or indifferent.  Either way, I am having a blast!

Judgment Bridge.jpg

 

Poetry “Heart of Stone”

Heart of Stone

The sounds and faces that one could not save,

These dark thoughts come in, wave after grueling wave.

 

There is no rhythm to how often they appear,

Too proud, too strong, thoughts far away as they are near.

 

Haunting memories seem to persist, not leaving done to be done,

A cylinder click breaks the silence from a freshly polished gun.

 

Broken is to  feel pain rather than nothing at all,

The heart beats faster with each chest rise and fall.

 

Happiness is a mere word, put all upon oneself,

Awards bravely earned are boxed up, taken down from shelf.

 

All interest has left in wondering how or why,

No feelings towards life, or when something has to die.

The armor has dents on both front and back,

Put down that pistol, move forward, don’t look back.

 

The time has  come to lower the guard,

Climb this mountain, each footstep forward will be less hard.

 

When the mountain is climbed at the top will be found,

Its heart made of stone, symbolic and profound.

 

Care for others, and oneself too,

Allowing to love again, love like its brand new.

 

Take care and choose wisely the words that are spoken,

Because even a mountain made of stone can have its heart broken.


It doesn’t matter where you come from, who you are, what you look like, we all have that space inside of us where we push stuff down and don’t let it out.  Maybe it was a bad relationship, a car accident, or just words that tore into your very soul.

This poem is about just that.  Like a bank, these ideologies are stored in a vault.  The problem we encounter, again like a bank, you get charged interest.  What I mean is that the memories of whatever the situation, recur and compound, just like interest. The way I see it, it is easy to become consumed by these thoughts and memories because they build up over time.

Understanding that you push these thoughts away, instead of learning how to manage them, is literally killing you softly over time. Whether you lock them up to avoid them or because it is just too much to hold, like a teenager, they will sneak out of your house and do their thing.

I took this picture in Utah while hiking up Capital Reef.  I was amazed when I got to the top to find this huge boulder, cracked the way it was.  I didn’t think much more of it at the time.  Recently, while going through my pictures, I re-discovered this photo.  I love it more now than I did then.  Maybe because life was trying to tell me something then, but I just wasn’t listening.

Thank you for taking a look at Heart of Stone!

Poetry “The Five Foot Table”

I don’t know about you all, but to this day, we make most of our life’s decisions around our dining room table.  If this table could talk, it would tell the story of our life.  Often times overlooked as a simple piece of furniture, I see it as so much more.

I don’t know how my wife will feel about me sharing a picture of our table, but I am pretty certain she will think it is “pretty okay”.

Thank you for taking a look at The Five Foot Table.

Five Foot Table

Poetry “God’s Farmer”

I am not what would be defined as a religious type person, however faced with adversity and the curve balls in life, I find it amazing that we call out to God. Whether it be in a moment of terror or ecstasy, we tend to start our sentences with “Oh God”.

Growing up on a small farm in the middle of really nowhere, I found myself searching for somewhere.  I saw and felt the tribulations and trials of trying to make a living on a small farm.  The weather, commodity prices, and other factors threatened our very existence.

This poem is about just that.  Calling to God when you are at the end of path, not realizing there is a door open, waiting for you to walk through it.

Thank you for taking a look at God and His Farmer.

God's Farmer

Poetry “Fires in Life”

Fires in Life

Fires in life will rage, destroying much in their path,

Scorched souls and destruction in the aftermath.

Attacking you from the front with no remorse,

The intentions are known  and with blatant discourse.

It seems too much, too fast, too real,

Picking up what is left of which one must deal.

What was once beauty was erased in a scorching flash,

Consumed by this fire, it is left to ash.

Life has left this place, nothing left to repair,

The spirit is seeming vacant, the ground cold and bare.

But this fire could not consume the soul or resolve,

Life concurs tragedy and begins to evolve.

Fires burn hot, consuming all prey and in time go out,

Erasing what it created, hopelessness and doubt.

Spring rains and warm summer, the seasons they jump,

The spirit of life finds a way to start over, out of a burnt stump.


So many people, no matter where you are from, have struggles that they have to face head on.  These struggles are a lot like a fire.  They sweep in quickly, destroy things in their path, the burn out.  I have had this happen, and I certain it will happen again.  The thing to remember is that a fire is temporary.  Whether we like it or not, the spirit of life will always prevail. That is why I wrote this poem, Fires in Life.

As I stared at this photo, the words just seemed to come to me. I remember snapping it a couple of years ago.

Take care of yourself, and let your spirit guide you. Thank you for taking a look!

Poetry “Garage Band”

Garage Band

Who you are doesn’t matter, they come to hear,

                Some high on life, others drunk on beer.

Sit and enjoy, there is no need to pay,

                A group with little practice is about to play.

               

People in lawn chairs scattered all over the yard,

                They begin to cheer when they hear the first chord.

Duct taped wires and oil on the floor,

                The opening song leaves everyone wanting more.

When the last song is played, and the music is done,

                People start to leave at the first light of sun.

This group packs up, until next time they disband,

                There is nothing greater than a garage band.

 

 


Therapy, like people, come in all forms, shapes, and sizes.  It doesn’t matter where you come from or who you are, a hobby of some sort can be an excellent therapy. I have always said that music is a universal language.  This includes raw music.  I found that playing guitar, drums, and doing a little singing has been one of my greatest outlets. Are we any good? I would say probably not, but we don’t care.  Is it some of the most fun I have ever had? Absolutely it is. Thank you to my wife for the picture.

I wrote a little poem about a garage band.  Music, good or bad, has been both therapeutic and one of the best things in my life.

 

Poetry “The Same Sky”

Working nights while in the desert, there was often an numbing calm.  For a moment or two, looking up at the sky, I would speak to my wife, hoping she could some how hear my words.  Living in close quarters with several others, privacy is at a premium.  For that one moment, in that one place, I would silently speak to the sky, hoping that my wife was also looking up at the sky.  It’s funny how the sky looks the same, not matter how far away you are apart from loved ones.

Thank you so much for taking a look!

SameSky.jpg

LEOetry “Out The Door”

Out the Door

 

The dispatch phone rang when you called for help today,

You needed us there, but didn’t have much to say.

 

You called because you knew it was time,

The journey up a difficult ladder you have started to climb.

 

You had enough, and called for the help of a stranger,

            To protect yourself from anymore danger.

 

We have never met, but many times I have seen the same pain,

            Your tears run down that blackened eye like tiny drops of rain.

 

You have tried to leave before, but were promised it would never happen again,

            Praying to God that it would be true, with a sincere amen.

 

I have a lot of questions that will be hard for you to answer,

            About the hell you have been living, growing like cancer.

 

I received this call from others so many times before,

            So many like you praying to walk out that door.

 

I am listening to every single word that you say,

            Hoping that this will be your liberating day.

 

I want you to know that what happened fills me with rage,

That I can not show, keeping it in my cage.

 

Please understand there is much more I wish I could do,

            I will not say this, because it will not help you.

  

I promise I will place my piece perfectly in this chain,

            I wish, but cannot, take away your pain.

 

Be strong, be wise, and leave, you have committed no sin,

            The room becomes silent, I could hear the drop of a pin.

 

I could see that your lifetime was running through your head,

            Taking in our words, and thinking of what had been said.

 

Thank you for listening, can I give you a ride,

            That is when I saw something in you stir inside.

                                   

Your eyes meet mine, as you pick your bag from the floor,

            Turning with a smile, as you finally walked out the door.

 


As a former patrol officer, domestic violence was all too common.  The victims extended to children. Every now and then there was a victory in that darkness.  I am not an expert on this topic, and my only wish is that I had a magic wand to erase these terrible situations, but I do not, but I have a keyboard and a blog. 

This is what drove this poem.  Thank you for taking a look.

 

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