Fire Poems

WHAT IS A FIREMAN?

He’s 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’s a guy like you and me with warts and worries and unfulfilled dreams.
Yet he stands taller than most of us.
He’s 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’s a man who saves lives because he has seen too much death.
He’s a gentle man because he has seen the awesome
power of violence out of control.
He’s responsive to a child’s laughter because his arms have held
too many small bodies that will never laugh again.
He’s 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.

Who Can Our Kids Look Up To?

Our heroes of yesterday have lost their luster.
Almost daily the headlines remind us how unwise it is to put our faith in sports legends. Or movie stars. Politicians. Or captains of industry. So where are the role models today for our sons and daughters?
We have a suggestion. There is a group of people we tend to take for granted. There is no special day set aside in their honor, that we know of. No organized national recognition of their importance to every community in the world -- big and small.
Without fanfare, they do their job. Sometimes putting their lives on the line in the process. There is much to admire about these men and women. From part-time rural volunteer to full-time big city professional. From trainee to Chief. From the fire fighter to the fire marshal.
To even qualify for this difficult and demanding work, they have to be physically strong. Dedicated. Intelligent. Resourceful. Highly motivated. And, yes, unselfish. Because they're certainly not in it for the money.
At a time when many of us bemoan the lack of heroes, we suggest all of us look down the street to the men and women who protect you and your neighborhood from the ever-present dangers of fire.
Those models for our kids? They've been there all along.
God bless the fire fighters of America.

"One White Rose"

 A call for help goes out at three, Setting off pagers all over the town, Somewhere, an unknown 1050(PI) And the dispatchers cannot calm down.  Rescuers leap out of their beds Leaving with no backward glances They can only guess what's ahead As they leave in fire trucks and ambulances  The ambulance departs the station As the diapatcher repeats the address "The injured require extrication, And most of all, ALS."  Inside, they feel so empty, Not knowing what awaits. Also, unsettling urgency-- They're responsible for other's fates.
Dread reaches out icy claws As they hear the latest news. Officers are requesting the "Jaws" And even more back up crews.
Firefighters are also on the way-- Hearts racing, a touch of fear. "Jaws of Life, what's your ETA?" Less than a minute, now they're here.  The police were first on the scene Controlling and directing traffic And updating the rest of the team (Although the sight makes them sick.)  The scene is a wicked nightmare, Broken glass and plastic litter the ground. There's
twisted metal everywhere And the odor of "ETOH" all around  The images are horrifying grotesque Lit by red and blue flashing lights. Worse than anyone had guessed-- It will haunt them for many nights.  One young man, on his way home, Didn't see the stop sign. The mini-van he T-boned Couldn't move in time.  20 years old - too young to drink He'd said he was sober-- it was a lie. He left the party, his friends didn't think That he'd be DUI.  Crushed and slumped against the wheel Was the driver of the van. Dead of injuries he didn't feel, An innocent family man.  Crumpled against the passenger door Lay his broken and battered wife Her cries faded and were no more As she passed out of this life.  A scream echoes on the icy breeze From out of a shallow grave Despite the efforts of the EMT's It will be a third life they cannot save.  Curled up in a heap The child is discovered in the wreck. He may have only been asleep-- Except for his broken neck.  The young driver staggers from his car, Bleeding from a cut on his arm. He watches the scene from afar As he's suffered no major harm.  An officer sees him standing there And gives him a breathalyzer test. Ignoring the boy's glassy stare Says; "Son your under arrest."  When hopes of survivors were almost gone And it seemed pointless to try They heard a sound that drove them on-- A weak and scared child's cry.  She looked like a porcelain doll With pale hair and a button nose. Skin so white, body not hurt at all-- Like a lonely white rose.  They pulled her free and began care Of this child of only three. Fortunately, she was unaware That she'd lost her family.  Hours later, the street is clean-- All traces of tragedy gone. Rescuers slowly depart the scene But memories don't fade with dawn.  The boy is taken to jail, Where he beats his fist against the tile. His mother cannot afford his bail, And so he'll remain until his trial.  His mother, with eyes downcast, Had tried to leave but he'd caught her. "Whats wrong? what is it?" he'd asked. She cried and said "Vehicular Manslaughter."  For seventeen years, the man had cried Consumed with guilt and sorrow. At times, he wished he had died So he wouldn't face another tomorrow.  t last, he was being released From years and years in hell. The pain of the accident
never ceased And never would, he could tell.  As soon as he was out, he found the graves Of the people he had killed. Their deaths haunted all his days And left a void that couldn't be filled.  He is laying flowers on the ground Next to each headstone. He hears a voice and spins around And discovers he's not alone.  Behind him is the one he didn't kill. He shares the anguish she knows. Drawn to her
against his will, He gives her 'One White Rose'.
-Janna Scott & Shaun Eisner
Bangor Fire Dept., Michigan
 

The Last Alarm

My father was 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 sometime the next day.
But the thing that bothered me the most
was the thing's 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."
When I first heard these words
I was 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 kissed us all goodbye
but little did we realizes
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 risk his life
for someone he did not 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 fireman.
He may save the one's you love.

The call was toned out in the middle of the night, as so many calls before.  A fully involved structure fire, so we knew what was in store.  But this run would be different, as each of us would find.  It happened many years ago, but remains fresh in my mind.  As dispatch confirmed entrapment, we felt our blood run cold, two little girls were in the home, just 1 and 4 years old.  As each of us responded, we found the time to pray, “Please God, help them hang on, ‘cause help is on the way.”  As we drew nearer to the scene, a nightmare filled our eyes, an all too familiar glow was lighting up the sky. The fire had already vented, and was streaming from the door, flames showing from every window, from ceiling to the floor.  All the crews turned to their work, on rescue and attack, each giving their very best, to turn the fire back.  We charged headlong into the fire, oblivious to the heat, determined not to falter, refusing to admit defeat.  But despite of our best efforts, all traces of hope were gone, and God had shown his mercy, by calling two angels home.  We sat upon the steps of the trucks, men so tough and brave, and shamelessly shed tears of grief for the girls we could not save.  I asked God to watch over them, to give them peace and rest, and to please tell each one of them we did our very best.  I carry their memory with me. I think of them now and then, and ask for strength of body and mind, to keep this from happening again.