The air is clear up there, they said.
Big becomes small, drama left behind, they said.
But what of the terrified child,
the one who’s never done this before?
But what of the foreigner,
the one who needs deodorant, like right now?
But what of the business man,
the one who’s talking over the safety spiel?
But what of the obese man,
the one who’s rattling my brain with his walrus tongue?
But what of the distracted stewardess,
the one who’s hips slam my not-so-funny bone?
And closer to home, what of the two boys, the ones arguing
for technology with rolling eyes like Vegas slot machines?
Charlie Brown’s teacher mumbles something, then we descend.
Wheels search, then grab, pavement. I crave coffee. Its embrace
obliterates the lousy flight, and instantly I’m grounded once again.
C. L. Swinney (c) 2015
Crushing Tin chap book Release! http://ow.ly/O29GT June 22, 2015. How many cops do you know writing poetry?? This is blue collar poetry and prose and I guarantee it will shock you. You may even get emotional from the words…
This chap book made #1 on amazon for inspirational poetry. To celebrate, I’m gifting ten paperback copies. I’ll sign all of them. Here’s how to get involved:
Check me out on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/grayghostotp
Share the Facebook link for one entry, purchase a copy and post a review on Amazon for two more entries (for a total of three entries).
BOOM. MAKE IT HAPPEN.
**EXCITING NEWS- I’m going to publish my first piece of work and I’m looking for SUBMISSIONS FROM COPS OR RETIRED COPS. Let me explain. I want to collect poetry, short stories, and prose from the point of view from an officer. I want the stuff that makes you think, solicits strong feelings, and is REAL. So, if you’ve ever wanted to see your name in print, contact me via email, email@example.com, and I’ll discuss the particulars. **I will not accept submissions simply because you are a cop. I need top-shelf work. If I think we can clean up your submission or it already rocks, boom, you’re in. I’ll do my best to work with all submissions. Timeline I’m looking at is May or June 2015.
Blood and other miscreants
struggle to move through capillaries.
A faux-wood kiosk shields
the bevy of people lined up
like candy bars in a vending machine
anxious to be selected.
Lifestyles clustered in a tumbler
seek purpose and motivation to face
the grind stone, rough and unrelenting.
A loud gum-chewer smacks and twirls
surveying tempting pastries.
I grovel with sullied thoughts.
The machine infuriates my needs,
clamors, but not for me.
Finally I reach another like me.
My heart palpitates seeking true weakness.
Caffeine, and whatever I adulterate it with,
is stirred, always clock-wise,
immediately drawing every sense erect.
Cautiously, I cradle the tin cup
up to my lips and tip ever so slightly.
-C.L.Swinney COPYRIGHT 2014 by CLSWINNEY
It happened again last night. A little boy, well behaved and brave, shed only a single tear as he kissed his father in handcuffs good bye…it’ll be years before he gets out. I had to turn away because my eyes were misty. I’d be devastated if I was in his shoes. The pain I feel for the child is crushing. I’m supposed to serve and protect. But I can’t, not this time. I can’t scoop up the little guy and take him home. He’s not a puppy, he’s an innocent child, born into the wrong situation, and now, after it’s all said and done, he’s ushered off with his backpack and very few belongings to a relative’s house. He won’t have a father figure in his life, and it’s gonna take a miracle for him not to end up like the man in handcuffs. His formidable years will be wasted. You can’t raise a child through jail visits and letters. When the little boy turned and looked at me, asking me with his eyes why I was doing what I was doing, I had to turn away again. It’s that look that makes me question why I continue. I let down a three year old child tonight, and it hurts. Try dealing with this guilt. Try putting on a badge and see what it’s really all about. It will haunt you.