"deputies" poems
**** the Police
Coming straight out the underground
Young brother got it bad
Cuz I look Mexican and I'm brown
Can't forget to do diarrhea
on the sheriff deputies
Cuz you wear a uniform and a badge
think you deserve respect like a G
Biggest violaters of civil rights
in the ******* land
take advantage of everybody
cuz you think we're stupid and you can
Where are you going? What's your name? Are you on Probation?
California is not a stop and identify state
How about I cuff your ***
Take you to an alley and let out all my frustration
Am I under arrest?
Or am I free to go is what I ask
Boo bop & slit your throat
come up from behind with a ******* Chucky mask
I'm the worst ******* nightmare
there ever has been
A conscious, Chicano, 5 percenter
Moorish American free national citizen
How about next time you **** one of us
We hunt you down, home invade your family
and launch you all of a cliff in a bus.
Quick to leave a pig bleeding left for dead in a ***** ditch
***** sewed to your mouth, you wanna be me punk *** *****
Or we'll cut your head off
and stick it to a thousand foot pole
start the vampire nation, count Vlad's idea yea I stole.
14th amendment, 85 percenter
corporate security guard
driving a big *** truck with your undersized *****
and you think your all hard, you ******* ******
You're obvious and pathetic
I got no time to play
We don't die we multiply and the movement is here to stay.
Get off me stupid I ain't signing no autographs
Che Guevara reincarnated now who has the last laugh?
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 6:48 PM UTC
as a dreamer, in a particle splits the path of thought,
like mud under my fingernails and crystal shells.
Arkansas is driving me insane
come one come all she's the
fare-st if you fall.
neck burned as a fingerprint, itches sore in trash days,
conspiracies and deputies
looking still more strange.
can determined minds build a staircase of reason?
up to a future, teasing
me out in the open
with your temper words.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 3:04 PM UTC
1252
Like Brooms of Steel
The Snow and Wind
Had swept the Winter Street—
The House was hooked
The Sun sent out
Faint Deputies of Heat—
Where rode the Bird
The Silence tied
His ample—plodding Steed
The Apple in the Cellar snug
Was all the one that played.
2.1k
I am not an outlaw, but I'm a gambler.
Loaded my ole Colt, then closed my Henry's bolt.
I'll rescue Sally and roam as a rambler.
First, I'll shoot the sheriff and rob his bank volt.
Ride into town, guns blazin', deputies die!
Blow the safe, grab the girl, get shot in the thigh.
Sally starts shootin', kills the corrupt sheriff.
Posse's chasin', a cowboy's love life if rough.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
I do not know that man, but he looks like an enemy of the people.
Not the strangest of strange assertions
I had ever heard uttered in these sessions,
And normally I may not have even looked up
To identify the speaker,
But as the voice belonged to a woman,
I chanced to raise eyes upward
Just in time to see an arm fully extended,
An accusing finger pointed at myself.
Understand, I had seen more than one of my peers
Dragged from these chambers
Without regard for decorum or ceremony,
And, in a state which was at least close kin to panic,
I saw visions of myself whisked away to a fetid Butyrka cell
Or thrown, bound and gagged, onto some Siberia-bound cattle car
When I heard a voice something like my own spit out
*I do not know that woman, but she looks like a ********** to me.*
My accuser blanched and sat down
To a chorus of catcalls and derisive whistling,
And one or two deputies in possession
Of sufficient power or powerful friends
Actually waved handfuls of rubles in her direction.
It may not have been grace under pressure,
But there are situations where chivalry
Is more indulgent than admirable.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
the sheriff's deputies
are on duty everyday
they tune into see
what people may say
if it doesn't follow
the sheriff's law act
instantly those folks
are thrown out of the tract
the sheriff's deputies
are an eagle eyed crew
they keenly observe
what others may spew
reports to the sheriff
they note in his log
then he evicts those
non law abiding dogs
the sheriff's deputies
are ever alert and on guard
their line of work
is to keep neat the sheriff's yard
so be warned the deputies
are watching with diligence
and they pass onto the sheriff
all of their intelligence
the sheriff's deputies
are always in the know
they make it their business
to tidy up the show
we need to be prudent
in what we put on air
as the sheriff won't condone
any form of illicit fair
the sheriff's deputies
are thorough at their jobs
they stand by the edicts
that the sheriff lobs
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
April 24 2010 there was a Boy Scout display in the parking lot North of Mickey Ds and by the Imagination Station. Tony was fascinated by many of the displays. The Sheriff’s Office was well represented with several displays. Tony got to climb up on the rescue boat, the one we see going by our house frequently in the summer to fish someone out of the river. The two Sheriff’s Office Deputies in charge of the boat were really good with the kids. About 15 minutes later Tony bent over the bow of the boat, I was on the good ole solid ground, and said to me, “These guys are really COOL grandpa.” I said, “yup, they are.” and looked over at one of guys. I ask, “Did you hear that?” With a big grin he said, “I sure did.” He had a big grin on his face for a while. Tony debarked and headed to new territory. I have to have speedy shoes on to keep up some days. I wish I could find a pair of those.
Later we were at a different car on display. The people there were young intern or trainee types wearing the Sheriff’’s Office shirt and hardware. Tony had bailed out of the armored car where he had been playing for 20 minutes and was standing next to me watching the young group yucking it up. They were loud and horsing around some… with out the horse. All of a sudden he got a scowl on his face and said in a rather loud voice, “Grandpa, those are NOT real cops. Why are they wearing uniforms? They should not do that.” Well that was hard to explain and I was hoping “they” did not hear what he said. We left rapidly.
I guess he thought they were not acting the way officers should act. At least not like the COOL guys at the boat. I suppose that comes from trying to instill respect in the uniform of peace officers. The lesson is one each of us needs to remember. If we say we are (fill in the blank) then we had better act the part or we can lead an impressionable young mind astray. So lets be COOL.
That’s my story and I am sticking to it.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
He was a brawned and ugly gun-slinger, and he came from the wild west;
He had the names of six dead Texan boys, tattoed on his chest;
His hat was 15 gallons tall, his long-coat midnight black;
He wore his holsters mighty high and he said his name was Jack.
He rode a palamino horse on the day he came to town;
Three deputies were in the street, and he shot those suckers down;
Dismounting by the sheriffs door, he hollered out a cry,
*"Get yer no-good chicken *** outside, today yer gonna die."*
The sheriff boldly stepped outside, a shotgun in his hand,
*"You'd best be coming quiet son, or your life aint worth a ****
Jack tipped his hat and curled his lip, he turned his head and spat,
"You shot my brother, sheriff, and yer gonna pay for that."
The sheriff paused to ponder, then he slowly shook his head,
"Your Jimmy robbed a stagecoach and he left the driver dead."
Jack grimaced at his brother's name, and his hands twitched by his side,
"You can call it how you like", he said, "But I'm gonna have yer hide."
The sheriff put the shotgun down, and they faced off in the street,
His hands were poised above his guns, he was sweating in the heat;
He waited till he saw Jack flinch, and his hands flew lightning fast,
His trusty colts were smoking as they fired their deadly blast.
For a moment they both stood stock still, then Jack fell to the ground,
His face was full of shocked surprise, but he never made a sound;
The sheriff felt a tinge of pain, and he saw his badge was bust;
As the blood came seeping from his chest, he fell into the dust.
The townsfolk still recall the day, when Jack rode into town,
And every year they say a prayer, on the day they both fell down;
They were buried up on old Boot Hill, their graves were side by side;
The sheriff renowned for killing Jack, with the man who took his hide.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
The ladies with the initials M,T,N and G
Keep a good eye on all the postings they see
Should they sight anything which is crook
They immediately put it into the chief's book
Luckily some have escaped the place
And now parade in a less controlled space
They can express themselves more openly
Without the strictures of the chief and his deputies
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:21 AM UTC
Bootleggers on Sunday evening , a little pink house on Kelleytown Road ! Waiting by the cattle gate , taking money , calling back to the house via radio ! Waving customers through , one by one , driving by the shack without braking once , trunk wide open , in goes the whiskey , slammed shut , out the back gate , and off they went ! Sheriff Donald didn't seem to have a clue , alcohol sales on late Sunday afternoons ? For forty odd years this house became a legend , Councilmen , Deputies and Mayors knew of it's existence ! Cars from distant counties all over the state , flying up dirt roads leaving dust in their wake ! It was surely without doubt , the entire county convinced that the Sheriff drew a months salary on Sunday evenings !
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
Always thresholds
/everywhere
To the world
/to be alive
Surviving people
/everywhere
Chance, above all
/everywhere
Angel of Farewell, get lost in love
/Pass me, pass me by
Angel of Betrayal, get lost in friendship
/Pass me, pass me by
Angel of Conceit, get lost in attention
/Pass me, pass me by
Angel of Pettiness, get lost in freedom
/Pass me, pass me by
Angel of Destructive Jealousy, get lost in generosity
/Pass me, pass me by
Angel of Impatience, get lost in order
/Pass me, pass me by
Angel of Brutality, get lost in harmony
/Pass me, pass me by
But you, won't you pass by?
/You, yes you
please seize the day with me
/come and
take and give and share
/and
eat and drink with me!
Angels of Fatigue, kiss the mighty
/Hear me, see me, help me
Angels of the Tempests, kiss the vicious
/Hear me, see me, help me
Angels of Reluctance, kiss the manipulators and tormentors
/Hear me, see me, help me
Angels of Neglect, kiss the hangers-on and profiteers
/Hear me, see me, help me
Angel of Mistakes, kiss the hypocrites and deputies
/Hear me, see me, help me
Angel of Myopia, kiss the liars and imposters
/Hear me, see me, help me
Angel of Indulgence, kiss the bitter and frustrated people
/Hear me, see me, help me
And you, won't you pass by?
/You, yes you
please seize the day with me
/come and
take and give and share
/and
eat and drink with me!
Apr 17, 2023
Apr 17, 2023 at 2:44 AM UTC
Rained all day and night. Wind blew the window in, had to hold the ol' girl real tight and coo, Coo Coo Kachoo. Everything topsy turvy, wooden benches blown over. Fields flooded and streams form in the valleys and glades. Water on the road. The day before the radio took a break reporting about the virus to speak about the latest genetic editing break through. Restoring sight to the blind they say. In the basement below the Courthouse steps a deputy takes my temperature, pressing a device against my temple, I imagine how many other heads its met in its tour of duty touching Tom, **** and Sally. 98.6 straight down the middle. Turn to the deputy, ask him if he's got an MD, call em Doc. Its all so sudden isn't it? how quickly your local Court visit to file some paperwork becomes more of an ordeal. It used to be you could walk into any door without being scanned, poked and **** but here we are, the sum total of something invasive, the other deputies guarding the other court jokes about ****** exams. I'm not waiting for the snakes.
Brave the flood to drive into the slow muddy river lands. Tell the Judge's assistant I'll make it so long as its passable. She contacts the Sheriffs and suggests a C-curve, I drive it straight through, meet a man with tattoos on his face, stars around the eyes, jump man on the cheek. We say our goodbyes and I drive amongst the cows and flooded roads. Twisting and turning, high water, so fragile, the mud that holds my tire.
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 7:30 PM UTC
Pine embellished by Cassiopeia arched over prone morning. Meadowlark laughed, cougars stalked shadows, crow deputies. Bent creek carried silt of spring, sigh of cedar. Cold mist, feathered cloak marked him of eagle and raven. He took part night, river’s depth in bent cedar boxes along grease trails over walls called cordillera. Distantly ships put into several bays. Raven gave up tricking salmon people, at Rose Spit called out first, men. Who had invented dance now demanded war. What speech there was was lament. Undone morning weeps bloodied. Anger-melted gold fills insatiable mouths, shames what night cannot hide. No more hand set to house front, no more ashlar of jasper. Night casts her spears, we have not even time to die. Flee hands which reach from river, children ghost small starving birds. Rejoice in crow’s carrion cruelty, Owl devour those we cannot smother in our desperate escape.
Look up beaten, complaining, supreme. Reconstruction begins in this torpor, a boredom purring heart cannot abolish. Inebriated with the impossible, go past mission outpost’s Gide and a Kempis to the lineage house of men. Hegel whispers I never did believe. Attar extend gender-inflected zero. In the wrong season glisten with sugary neoprene. Belong to at least two countries, Land of Goshen sours. Break into Quechua, haunt cruel Saturdays, look for amigo. Wheat field marries into lion’s eye. Ayacucho fanfares enclose the wind. White-breasted, black-winged, displace requiem. Recover lost chives, cottonwood’s inerrant perfume, shooting stars on the other side of the river. When mountain burns, Eyes-Are-In-Festival yields turquoise. Let him palmer drink iris dry. Sky falls, camas blooms, then this morning white tail flicker in low aspen, chickadee dee dee dee, chickadee dee dee dee.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 1:52 PM UTC
The truck was crushed and dented
Almost beyond recognition
When the county boys reached the scene
(Though, as one of the deputies remarked,
Having seen the vehicle tottering around town
For virtually all his born days
Still ain’t much worse than when it started)
Apparently having slid off the Stamford Road
Then down the embankment
Where it had made an unhappy embrace
Of a utility pole near the old Ulster and Delaware tracks,
A rather unhappy ending to what had been
An arguably equally unhappy existence,
Though old Doc Benner had surmised
The junkman had probably been dead
Before the truck had made the shoulder,
Or so he had said at the graveside service
(He being one of the three or four in attendance
Feeling that one who’d been a common thread
In the existence of so many for so long
Should not go without some commemoration
In this already frayed-at-the-edged little town)
And he remarked that the old man had once told him,
When the doc noted the old saw
That one man’s trash was another’s treasure,
*The main diff’rnce ‘tween trash and treasure
Is just a matter of expectation*,
And it would have been most poetic if,
After the reverend’s perfunctory hand-off to the Almighty,
The clouds had broken and a thin shaft of light
Had fallen upon the junkman’s stone,
Or perhaps a gentle rain commenced
To heal the disturbed sod,
But the skies remained a slate-gray truculence
As the sexton’s ancient pickup tottered away,
The ropes and shovels tossed higgledy-piggledy
Under an ancient and somewhat watertight old tarpaulin.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC