Police Poetry                                      

The following poems have been published/copyrighted. They may be reprinted/reused as long as no alterations are made and credit given to the author R.E. Sharpe


What does this have to do with hot sauce? Nothing at all. Just a bit of philosophy about common police situations.

Drunk Tree - No Deposit, No Return                                     


Travel the states and you will see,

Drunkard conventions at the “unemployment tree.”

Haggard looks surpassed by breath, various stages of cirrhosis death.

It may be known by many names, “the hill,” “the spot” or other such fames.

Surprising just who you’ll find here, around burn barrel with cheap ass beer.

In spite of their looks, they’re not all zeroes, former management, sports stars and war heroes.

Fanciful stories round go plenty, forty-ounce, vodka pint and “Mad Dog 20/20.”

No dress code, wear whatever duds, loose knit club of cigs and suds.

For the most part you’re among some friends, till fisticuffs and party ends.

A fiesta locale that never stops, lest wallet empties or come the cops.

This activity some call sin, they’ll be back tomorrow to do it again. 



Statutory Sickness                                     

You never know when you make an arrest, what dangers lurk or nerves may test.

They might fight or try to flee, but the one that has always gotten me,

after “cool” act fails and attempts to be slick,

the “hail Mary” pass “I can’t go to jail because I’m sick!”

An hour before they were smoking crack, but upon arrest - fake heart attack.

It’s BS we know the drill, call EMS for claim of ill.

A waste of money and precious time, faking malady when caught in crime.

There’s the chance it could be real, but it didn’t stop them when they tried to steal.

We’ve all dealt with criminal slouch, when backseat cruiser becomes casting couch,

an Oscar performance you better not scoff, convincing enough they might get off.

I find it funny the things they try, they might drop names or even cry,

the only real ailment is severe halitosis, but when handcuffs go on becomes “malingering incarcerosis!”



Naked Truth                                     


Sometimes police work is just not fun, headaches and reports before the shift is done.

Every situation is potential doom, but nothing quite compares to the jail strip search room.

Shedding of clothes one piece at a time, is there more here than the original crime?

Professional endeavor done without shame, a single player strip poker game.

The average person would find it hard to conceive, what’s hidden where is hard to believe.

Pull back that, spread out the folds, who knows what the next part holds?

Oh wow, that looks like pain, protruding from orifice - clear cellophane.

Skillful concealment some have the knack, now I know full well why the drug is called “crack.”

Walking the streets without a care, then once caught “how’d that get there?”

Some things once seen you just can’t un-see. Dude does that hurt? “Only when I pee.”



Crown of Fools                                    

For the many years  I’ve been a cop,

Seems  like some things just never stop.

Blended Canadian whiskey with regal name,

Logo and accessory remains the same.

Purple velvet many feel, placed inside it will conceal,

illegal drugs, ill-gotten cash, drawstring fortress the perfect stash!

Under the seats or in a glovebox, pours out weed or cocaine rocks.

Sometimes unhidden without a care, surely the cops won’t look in there.

Can’t they see that it’s a red flag?  We’re going to check the Crown Royal bag!

A criminal myth - like the Tooth Fairy or Cupid, are they just that dumb or do they think we’re that damn stupid?



Lament of The Liquor Cycle                                        

I make stupid decisions, but I’ve got pride.

I’m the king of the road when I ride.

Basic needs, ain’t got no class, sixty miles on a gallon of gas.

Don’t swear at me for what I do, I may be slow but I’m ahead of you.

Thirty-five is not that fast, but to me it sure is haulin’ ass!

Center of gravity what does that mean? I flail my legs when I lean.

Navigation, hard to steer, quick mart trip for forty-ounce beer.

You may be cool but this I bet, you can’t touch the backward hat and cigarette.

You stare at me in disbelief, a gold tooth display or complete lack of teeth.

I found myself in a DUI pickle, thank the lord for this liquor-cycle!

In a collision I might wind up dead, but that doesn’t scare me off my moped.

No license needed nor common sense, don’t need no helmet cause my head is dense.

What happens to me is what I get, playing this game of two-wheeled roulette.



Lifter's Creed                                        


I’ve got money but I’m not gonna pay, I do it quickly and then move away.

Shopping for hours not buying a thing, my clever quickness a bounty will bring.

I take these things whatever I feel, on my person I can conceal.

Hundreds maybe thousands, the inventory won’t dent,

It’s all profit, no overhead I’ve spent.

It’s not my first, I do it all the time, get out the door and yes it’s mine.

I perform magic, think I won’t? Now you see it, now you don’t!

Makeup, cigars or any type of goods, think I wouldn’t? Oh yes I would!

Frozen steaks, cans of fish, what’s for dinner? Anything I wish.

Security guard, off-duty cop, my friends and I they will never stop.

A profitable craft when practiced well, if you don’t, better run like hell!

Over the years the charges mount, call it what you will - it’s the “five-finger discount.”


The Rose                                        

Luck of the draw, answer the call,

what comes next will make your skin crawl.

You realize quickly and then abandon hope,

it’s been a while since he’s seen soap.

This dude’s alive but smells like dead,

reality hits hard like a hammer to your head.

Thank God for your hands you have latex,

but no such protection from gag reflex!

Totally clueless like he just can’t tell,

but your olfactory nerve is catching hell.

Now comes the ultimate test,

can you hold your breath to effect arrest?

You’re the winner but still the loser,

now he must go in the back of your cruiser!

Windows down you drive real fast,

upwind reprieve from the smell of raw ass.

The drive to jail extremely tough,

sally port doors can’t open fast enough!

Hours later sure seems queer,

backseat’s empty but dude’s still here.



Criminal Sadness                                    

Lost soul, needle hole, filthy hair, full of despair.

Bloodshot eyes, tearless cries.

Outward bad, internally sad.

Life forsakes, whatever it takes, get the next hit.


Sell my soul, body too, price for all, anything I’ll do.

Empty head, walking dead.

Society’s ghost, demonic host.

Life forsakes, whatever it takes, get the next hit.


Treat the pains, puncture veins, inhale the pipe, memory wipe.

Glimpse of light, endless fight.

Never win, do it again.

Life forsakes, whatever it takes, get the next hit.


Ode to a Crackhead                                   


Oh crackhead, oh crackhead. What dost thou say?

Find a rock and get high today.

Stealing, stealing to buy your dope,

A fortnight past since you’ve seen soap.

Breath from hell, reeking, wrenching smell,

Teeth – who needs them?

Yesterday’s life but a distant dream. Reality in gaps of incarceration.

Crack created a gaping psychic hole, twisted your mind and swallowed your soul.

Oh crackhead, oh crackhead. What dost thou say?

Find a rock and get high today.

Soulless Vacancy                                   


Sometimes large sometimes small, this den of sin has it all.

Multiple stories with numbered doors, cocaine dealers and dirty crack whores.

Marijuana smoke catch a whiff or two, lowlife huffers sniffing glue.

By the week or by the day, a place to sleep if you can pay.

Shouts of terror and gun report, domestic assaults with mirror line snort.

Deviant desires to satiate, perverts of all stripes congregate.

Drugs aplenty, needles and pills, fuel STDs with sexual thrills.

This place of mystery has whatever you need, weirdo sex and crystal speed.

Stolen goods flourish here, cigarette butts and rot gut beer.

At first view “a glimpse of hell” is normal routine at the “no-tell motel.”



Why is it they just can’t see, none of my deeds belong to me?


Racism, sexism or poor childhood. That explains why my actions aren’t good.


Sure I steal, but it’s not my fault, “corporate greed!” I say when I’m caught.


No matter how many arrests, you hear me whine, "the fault to bear isn't mine!"


Obesity is what I’ve got, it wasn’t me – “it was the chocolate!”


You took the time to engage in studies, while I played around and got high with my buddies.


Now you have a decent career, so unfair just listen here!


Effort has never been an inclination, “I’m a victim of discrimination!”


I should be the winner in this game, how could you say that I’m to blame?


Kryptonite are these words to me: guilty, lazy or accountability!


“Victims!” “Victims!” hear the voices, victims only of their own bad choices.

The Albatross                                   



I found the missing piece of life’s great game, now my world won’t be the same.


Just lost a job and my life’s a wreck, what I really need is a tattoo on my neck.


My own name maybe that’s what I’ll get, just in case I forget.


“I love mom” no -  that’s  just lame, what would be better than my girlfriend’s name?


I’ve been in trouble, even quit high school, but looking in the mirror “damn I’m cool!”


A small drug habit, behind on the rent, cursive script - money well spent.


That extra piercing was something small, but this addition says it all.


A bold statement if ever there was, “Why?” you ask, well… “just because.”


Of all I’ve done, this one’s the best. Tripled now my chance of arrest.


Photo line-up I’m an easy pick, identification made real quick.


Jet black ink or blueprint blue, just look at me and my neck tattoo.


A neon sign is what I got, telling the world I’m an idiot.




NCIC for you, NCIC for me.


NCIC so nice, say it with glee!


NCIC will protect you, never neglect you,


Like a lifeboat on the rough sea.




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