Firefighter Poems

I saw a lonely cloud one day.
It looked small beyond the Bay.
I tried to find a second and failed,
even though I looked each way.
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Introductory Poem:

It's October 29th and I'll stay up late to share with you
several P-H poems I've enjoyed, not just one or two.
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Jeffrey Boyle was a real fireman.
I wish to it clear to you that you would understand;
Jeffrey was a fireman when he off duty being a fireman.
Jeffery, a 25 year-old veteran of Chicago's Fire Department, was an arsonist.
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Mother, mother,
You are the wonder.
Mother, mother,
You are there
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don’t ask me what’s it all about
no platonic ideals about love
and birth of love in myths and fables;
or discourses about marriages made in Heaven
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Merry Christmas
Shoppers, and
Poor women and poor men
With wallets
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I am remembering holding this book I am holding now,
reading this poetry book I am reading now, and remembering
how I would read this poet in college. Occasionally, maybe rarely.
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The firefighter's stories hold many sad memories
The lives that they save is immeasurable in value
They work round the clock to save the nation
And they do their best to protect us from tragedies
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As a firefighter is my mother,
She might climb my ladder,
To fight my fire by water.
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Skunk From No Where
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Matt came home after a 72 hours camp, he was tired,
He throw his bag a way, ding…dang…Dong, …it felt on the bed

He said: mom, what do we have for lunch?
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I been looing all around
trying to loose my brain,
been looking for all sorts of love
to just say im crazyin love
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Robert Portella is a cherished hero
Everyone certainly agrees
He is a New York firefighter
And takes his job very seriously
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I went to work.
Just another day.
I didn't know it would be my last.
Remember me.
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The firefighter was my husband and he was of the best.
He was great, he was loved and I was truly blessed.
I was a stay at home mom who took care of our infants.
Who got great gifts and felt so loved every day and more for birthdays and christmas.
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Poem on Twenty third of April Kids day in Turkey

Though there is a huge sunset everywhere
Our stars grow each day shiner than ever
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And the most ostentatiously excruciating thing is
watching and feeling the social justice executive director
give sex, love, affection, parental trust and social accommodation
to the gang style kill thrill murderer! And the false accuser of rape.
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Nothing changes your personality like identifying the killer in a news clip and then watching
while it becomes an officer and a firefighter vis a vis its transgender status. Nothing.
Nothing changes you like turning an exact whereabouts profiling of Osama Bin Laden into the FBIwithin six months of 9-11 and knowing the FBI has done NOTHING about it, while it takes them another nine years to get him while you were one hundred and ten billion percent certain it was him. It could have been a typical arrest. Not a trillion dollar war.Nothing.
Nothing makes you hate so intensely and so severely. Nothing makes you hate people and how clueless and blessed they get to be so much. Nothing.
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I hope to see you sometime soon
Try not to miss me too much
I hope you still wish upon the moon
Times are so tough without your touch
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Alarms are puncturing
Alarms via firefighter
Firefighter from the way
Firefighter under fire burning
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Introductory Poem:

It's October 29th and I'll stay up late to share with you
several P-H poems I've enjoyed, not just one or two.
...

I wasn't called to be like you
Or to be like my sister Sue,
I wasn't called to be like my twin
Only to look like my kin,
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Now playing harmonica, a firefighter, musician extraordinaire,
a celebrity in our lives, establishing the entity of all beauty
as it floats and drifts into clouds trailing above.
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Over there in the trenches stands a medic and a nurse
They have seen the bad and the worse,
They have been kicked, punched and also cursed
While help and comfort they have faithfully dispersed,
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Poem on Twenty third of April Kids day in Turkey

Though there is a huge sunset everywhere
Our stars grow each day shiner than ever
...

Go tell them that ought to have given you light
That no matter how much a time they change their names
They remain to us a symbol of deep acrid darkness
Wolves in sheep clothing will always be wolves
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911 Emergency
Alarms puncturing
Lights illuminating
A fire, burning up the way
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I feel more
relaxed when I
write
I'm happy with
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I am remembering holding this book I am holding now,
reading this poetry book I am reading now, and remembering
how I would read this poet in college. Occasionally, maybe rarely.
...