The Old Cop

The old cop died and to St. Peter he went,

not sure of the direction he was about to be sent.

St. Peter Said, “What have you done to go up from here.”

Old cop said, “I was a Marine once. I stood straight and tall,
then that Asian war came along and now one liked me at all.”

 St. Peter said, “Did you elect to turn the other cheek?”

The former Marine said, “No, I just beat that long haired, dope smoking freak.”

 St. Peter responded, “That’s not good. Tell me a little more

and we’ll see if we can’t find a way through that precious door.”
Old cop said, “I went to college and became an officer of the law. My peers liked me.
Some said I was a good cop. But the problem was I never missed a shot.”

 St. Peter stopped right where he stood,

“You mean you killed a man? That’s not good.”
Old cop replied,” Well, there was only one or two.”
You could clearly see St. Peter now turning blue.

 St. Peter sat down and quietly said, “Even God would understand one bad guy being dead.”

Old cop looked worried because he didn’t want to lie.
He said quickly, “I think only one of them died.”

St. Peter now annoyed. We’ve got a problem and I don’t know what to do.

You came highly recommended from all you’ve been through.

St. Peter reached in his pocket and retrieved his little black book.

It says here your wife was as pure as the wind driven snow.
Old cop said, “Yes. The first one was and then she asked me to go.”

St. Peter said, “How many wives have you had?”

Old cop replied, “More than one and the rest weren’t half bad.”

St. Peter now exhausted and the line was getting long.

I gotta put you somewhere, but I don’t know where you belong.”
The old cop now trying to help St. Peter out, “I have to be honest.
I never could make that good turn about.”

So just send me to Hell and when I get there

I can tell all my friends St. Peter’s damn fair.

 

 

Gone Again

By Norman Mike Nelson

A tear slowly rolled down my face

as I said goodbye to my son.

Far away there was a war

still waiting to be won.

My grandson holds tightly

to his father's hand and says slowly,

"Papa will this war end

before I am a man?

My throat is tight.

I can hardly breath.

How can I answer my little man

who has such a need?

My grandson and I have been here before.

This is not the first time

we've watched his father

leave for war.

This is my son's third trip

to the Middle East.

I pray each day and ask you Lord,

"Why do we keep providing you such a feast?"

He does not answer

just keeps taking my son.

I am starting to believe

this war will never be won.

How Many Times Must I Go

By Norman Michael Nelson

How many times must I go until you see my walk is slow.

It’s not the movement of my legs, its my mind that needs the time, I beg.

 

You have quit on this war and you’re deaf to a nation’s fears.

A nation that has waited for years.

 

This war will not end as long as you keep

 treating our enemies as our friends.

 

My buddies and I lie here in this ditch.

Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall, we never bitched at all.

 

Instead of help like tanks and planes.

You threw on our lap a shooting policy that reads like crap.

 

There’s nothing left except bad memories and good friends.

At least they’ll be here if I feel the end.

 

We do not see what has happened yet.

But we feel the bad like all good soldiers have.

 

It’s all around and the only comfort is this hole in the ground.

The earth, we caress its bosom, and pray we only see the top.

But even as I lay here the shooting never stop.

Your Words

By Norman Mike Nelson

There are only words that hold me in place.

Not the sound of your voice or the glow of your face.

You see only words help us carry on

when someone special is gone.

Words are memories, good ones I say.

They give you direction and help us walk away.

Some people forget quickly and some never will.

Why? Who knows because it’s better than a pill? 

Think of the nights when you can’t sleep

And that quick prayer to God that runs so deep. 

We know God can’t help us all the time,

But there’s comfort in those words that don’t seem to rhyme. 

Like the “Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want,

He leadeth me beside the still water.”

It is at this point that the words hold you.

Not to a place, nor a time, nor a space. 

They hold you because words last forever.

They come from love, from your heart, and from the Lord above.