"firefighting" poems
It’s a firework holiday,
so let’s light up the night,
wave the stars and stripes,
eat barbecue and drink bud light.
We’ll celebrate the liberties
that SCOTUS says we’ve got
it appears they’ve all been bought
and before their terms are over
they’ll resurrect Dred Scott.
Watermelon, hot wings
we’ve even added new things,
like smash & grab lootings
and frequent, random shootings.
Some Republicans want to break away
to form a less perfect union
can you form a successful nation
based on the politics of illusion?
There used to be parades
I’m told, that featured local
things, like firefighting brigades
I guess we’re just to fractured now,
to sashay in such displays.
I bet those were the days.
Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 12:21 PM UTC
It was raining on us, like a cartoon,
just us, and it was hard to hide
when we got outside, as it dumped.
Yet still, no one noticed— which was nice—
when we were sitting
soaking wet in class.
Clear the little storm cloud from your head.
The world doesn’t work that way,
but as sure as water— vapor or droplet—
falls from the laws of physics,
the pilot of a helicopter
could park his firefighting *** right on top of us.
I couldn’t blame him, we burned like wildfire,
but I can still hate him for shouting,
“Told ya it wouldn’t work out!”
Mar 30, 2011
Mar 30, 2011 at 8:30 PM UTC
In truth, I know naught. Why I am so sad?
It worries me; you say it wearies you.
In lieu of times much simpler much happier;
sandbox wars, creaking swings, afternoon swims
we’ve essays, tutorials and internships,
then sales meetings, social events and the
occasional blind date. Entwined by work
and a distinct loneliness, we clutch at
fragile things, irrational whims; silence
rings a mutual suffering. So bring me
back to bygone days, revisit the ways
you raced me to the pool, we crafted sand-
castles, walls higher than Jack’s bold bean-
stalk, we tried coaxing winds to whistle as we
reached our toes to touch the sky, to dream of
walking the moon, firefighting, saving
animals, or even following Tom
Sawyer into his cave in search of gold.
So, darling, take me back to the past, what
gilded sands of time cannot quite bury,
to reclaim the lost innocence of a
spotless mind, to relive a time when life
was not measured by schedules, to regret
ever saying: “I can’t wait to grow up”
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC