POEMS
A FIREFIGHTER'S GLOVES
A firefighter's gloves hold many things,From elderly arms to a kid's broken swing.
From the hands they shake and the backs they pat,
To the tiny claw marks of another treed cat.
At 2:00 a.m. they are filled with the chrome,
From the DWI who was on her way home.
And the equipment they use to roll back the dash
From a family of 6 she involved in the crash.
The brush rakes in spring wear the palms out,
When the wind does a "90°" to fill them with doubt.
The thumb of the glove wipes the sweat from the brow
Of the face of a firefighter who mutters "What now"!
They hold inch and three quarters flowing one seventy five,
So the ones going in, come back out alive.
When the regulator goes then there isn't too much
But the bypass valve they eagerly clutch.
The rescue equipment, the ropes, the C-collars,
The lives that they save never measured in dollars,
Are the obvious things firefighter's gloves hold,
Or, so that is what I've always been told.
But there are other things firefighter's gloves touch,
Those are the things we all need so much.
They hold back the rage on that 3:00 am call.
They hold in the fear when your lost in a hall.
They hold back the pity, agony, sorrow.
They hold in the desire to "Do it tomorrow".
A glove is just a glove till it's on a firefighter,
Who works all day long just to pull an all-nighter.
And into the foray they charge without fear,
At the sound of a "Help!" they think that they hear.
When firefighter's hands go into the glove,
It's a firefighter who always fills it with love.
Sometimes the sorrow is too much to bear,
And it seeps the glove and burns deep "in there".
Off come the gloves when the call is done,
And into the pocket until the next run.
The hands become lonely and cold for a bit,
And shake just a little thinking of it.
And we sit there so red eyed with our gloves in our coats,
The tears come so fast that the furniture floats.
We're not so brave now; our hands we can't hide,
I guess it just means that we're human inside.
And though some are paid and others are not,
The gloves feel the same when it's cold or it's hot.
To someone you're helping to just get along,
When you fill them with love, you always feel strong.
And so when I go on my final big ride,
I hope to have my gloves by my side.
To show to St. Peter at that heavenly gate,
'Cause as everyone knows,
FIREFIGHTERS DO NOT WAIT!
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
Brother when you weep for me
Remember that it was meant to be
Lay me down and when you leave
Remember I'll be at your sleeve
In every dark and choking hall
I'll be there as you slowly crawl
On every roof in driving snow
I'll hold your coat and you will know
In cellars hot with searing heat
At windows where a gate you meet
In closets where young children hide
You know I'll be there at your side
The house from which I now respond
Is overstaffed with heroes gone
Men who answered one last bell
Did the job and did it well
As firemen we understand
That death's a card dealt in our hand
A card we hope we never play
But one we hold there anyway
That card is something we ignore
As we crawl across a weakened floor
For anyone that might be there
So remember as you wipe your tears
The joy I knew throughout the years
As I did the job I loved to do
I pray that thought will see you through.
The last alarm
My father was a fireman.
He drove a big red truck
and when he'd go to work each day
he'd say "Mother wish me luck".
Then Dad would not come home again
'til some time the next day.
But the thing that bothered me the most
was the things some folks would say,
"A fireman's life is easy,
he eats and sleeps and plays,
and sometimes he won't fight a fire
for days and days and day's".
When I first heard these words
I was to young to understand
but I knew when people had trouble
Dad was there to lend a hand.
Then my father went to work one day
and he kissed us all goodbye
but little did we realize
that night we all would cry.
My father lost his life that night
when the floor gave way below
and I'd wondered why he'd risked his life
for someone he didn't know.
But now I truly realize
the greatest gift a man can give
is to lay his life upon the line
so that someone else might live.
So as we go from day to day
and we pray to God above
say a prayer for your local Firemen.
He may save the one's you love.
A FIREFIGHTER'S PRAYER
When I am called to duty, God,
Whenever Flames may rage
Give me strength to save a life
Whatever be its age.
Help me embrace a little child
Before it is too late
Or save an older person from
The horror of that fate.
Enable me to be alert
And hear the weakest shout
And quickly and efficiently
Put the fire out.
I want to fill my calling
To give the best in me
To guard my friend and neighbor
And protect his property.
And if according to my fate
I am to lose my life
Please, bless with your protecting hand
My children and my wife.
What is a fireman?
He is the guy next door - a man's man with the memory of a little boy. He has never gotten over the excitement of engines and sirens and danger.
He is a guy like you and me with wants and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He is a fireman.
He puts it all on the line when the bell rings.
A fireman is at once the most fortunate and the least fortunate of men.
He is a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.
He is a gentle man because he has seen the awesome power of violence out of control.
He is responsive to a child's laughter because his arms have held too many small bodies that will never laugh again.
He is a man who appreciates the simple pleasures of life - hot coffee held in numb, unbending fingers - a warm bed for bone and muscle compelled beyond feeling - the camaraderie of brave men - the divine peace and selfless service of a job well done in the name of all men.
He doesn't wear buttons or wave flags or shout obscenities.
When he marches, it is to honor a fallen comrade.
He doesn't preach the brotherhood of man.
He lives it.
"Can We Make It On Time"
The pagers go off, calling us out.
The dispatcher gives the address, with a loud shout.
I jump out of bed as fast as I can.
Grab my shoes and my keys as they page us again.
I go out to my truck, plug in the dash light.
Cause somewhere in town is a fire I must fight.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I see a bright glow in the distance.
A policeman yells over the radio "Code 3, I need assistance"
He said there is screaming, coming from inside.
I think to myself, someone is trapped, but alive.
The pain they must feel, I can't imagine the scare.
I see the station up the road, the chief's already there.
I pray to God "Please let us get there in time,
To save an unknown life, Lord if you must, instead take mine."
I speed up a little faster, but still driving safe.
Still praying to God that I won't be too late.
I finally get to the station, put on my turn out gear.
The chief starts the fire engine and yells "We're outta here!"
The sirens sound off, the red strobe are so bright,
I pray once again, "Lord watch over us tonight."
I suit up for action putting on the S.C.B.A.
The chief makes the comment "Boys the Devil wants to play!"
We arrive on scene, not ever thinking one time,
"Why am I doing this?" or "Why do I put my life on the line?"
As we observe the silence and think "this person is dead."
All of a sudden I see the shadow of a small head.
Looking real hard, trying to figure out what it is.
Oh dear Lord, it can't be. It's just a small kid.
Then all of sudden the head moved, "this kid's still alive!"
So I try to reassure her by yelling "Everything's gonna be alright!"
I always said "I'd die if it would save another life."
But never once did I think that it could happen tonight.
I run to the front door, Kick it open and run in.
Praying once more, "God, we can't let the Devil win."
Crawling on the floor, moving slowly toward the crying.
I noticed a strong smell and loud hissing. Oh No! It's a gas line!
I knew I had to hurry so I got up and ran towards the cry
I found that little girl, she could barely open her eyes.
The smoke was thick and very hot and getting ready to flash.
I took off my jacket, wrapped her in it and gave her my air mask.
I heard a firefighter outside say, "The roof's coming down,
if they are getting out alive, they better get out right now."
I grabbed the young girl as if she were a football,
tucked her in close and ran to the window.
The chief ran up and took her from my arm
My other one's broken, but at least she is out of the way of harm.
Then I remembered the gas line. So I too climbed out the window.
And sure enough, that gas line did blow.
The explosion knocked me down, but I got right back up on my feet.
Took no more than 3 steps, then I hit my knees.
Through my blurred vision, I watched that little girl,
with her mom and dad all crying, having a face with a smile.
She then walked over to me and grabbed me by the hand.
She said in a soft sweet voice "Thank you Mr. Fireman."
We put out the fire, got ready to go home one more time.
I helped roll the hoses, thanking God that nobody died.
And thank you Dear Lord for letting us be on time.
