Soldier Blue

I'm not the man you think I am There's more than what you see My love is yours conditional No gift is ever free The pieces of my broken heart Are oh so loosely bound With strings of hurt made by the words Carelessly tossed around So choose your words wisely When anger cries within For vengeful words echo in minds And cause a soul to sin

Barren trees out window day Winter in its peak seems stay Brisk the sun no warmth its glow Hallowed prayers for summers foe Skies of gray with hints of blue Broken promises won't do For just when warmth appears to come Winter commandeers the sun

Chapter 3 Shiver Me Timbers to a Watery Grave      I had never seen it so cold before. Even winter survival in the Army wasn't this cold. It was about 18 degrees and the wind whipped briskly across the four miles of the water of the James and slammed ashore, literally taking away your breath. At least I had the option of a warm police car most of the time. I had my long johns, scarf, and jacket on but that was barely enough just to keep the shakes at bay. My gloves weren't the best. They worked for the short term, but if I needed to get to my weapon for any reason I had to cast them off. Forget about working the police radio, or anything with small buttons for that matter. I don't even know what was available back in those days, but I'm sure I didn't have the money for it anyway, and the department wasn't going to buy it for us; just as well.           It was after midnight and I was patroling in the dimly lit industrial area of the city. It'

Chapter 2  I was Better but I Got Over it         Supervising the Robbery Unit as a Detective Sergeant was probably the most fun you could have with your clothes on. The best thing about Robberies is there's always a witness. Some are better than others, but everybody sees the bad guy, or at least some portion of him and can assist in their own case as much as they are willing. Believe it or not, many report being robbed and then shut the door on the case when the detectives start asking questions they didn't anticipate. It happens.. just sayin'. Some alleged victims are just wolves that got out wolfed.   At times we would get the occasional request to assist another jurisdiction searching for a robbery fugitive. Such was the case this day when we got a call from the New York City Police Department.       It was July and it was freakin' hot. I answered the phone about 9 o'clock that morning in the Robbery-Homicide Office and spoke with the detective su

  Chapter 1 You Can’t Ride a Bicycle on a Dirt Road   How many people ever get the opportunity to try to ride a bicycle on a dirt road? My guess is not many. Let me tell you, it’s more effort than result. The tires bog down in the loose sandy ruts and if you do get going a bit, you probably won’t stay upright for very long. The front wheel sinks into the soft sand in places and won’t turn. It becomes impossible to pedal and what happens is you get off the bike and push it more often than ride it. The bike was there to take away the burden of walking, and make the trip faster by covering more ground quicker. The result is that you ended up pushing the bike through the soft sand and walking anyway, doubling your workload. How often do we try to do things that just don’t fit with who we are? Forcing situations that don’t feel normal usually have bad results. Was the bike the proper tool for this job? Was it the best choice? Apparently not, since all I did was to

Perdition Road Woody Boswell Forward Chapter 1 - You Can’t Ride a Bicycle on a Dirt Road Chapter 2- I was Better but I got Over it Chapter 3- Shiver Me Timbers to a Watery Grave Chapter 4- No Tell Motel Chapter 5-   This  Isn't  the End of the World, but you can see it from Here Chapter 6- It’s as cold as a Mother-In-Law’s Kiss in Here Chapter 7- There’s more than One Way to Skin a Cat besides Cutting of his Tail Chapter 8- Is that Daylight, or the Train? Chapter 9- If Brains were Dynamite that Boy  Couldn't  Blow his Nose Chapter 10- He’s got more Problems than Carter’s got Liver Pills. Forward      I remember as a child, sitting on the front porch of my mother’s home with my sister on Sunday afternoons waiting for our father to pick us up for our weekly visitation with him. I was 8 and she was 6 when my parents divorced. We wore our school clothes usually, which were a bit nicer pants than jeans and a pullover sh