Best Squadron Poems
Based on a quote from Watership Down:
"He fought because he actually felt safer fighting than running."
His experience in fighting battles
had been friendly games of Monopoly
Rolling dice across a colorful board
after shaking, to hear them rattle.
Those were serious acts of aggression
and hotels were POWs, taken in possession
Weapons were a top hat, thimble or boot
Men built houses, not blew them up
Winner, the one accumulating the most loot
Snake eyes moved him two spaces forward,
instead of sniper eyes on roofs of Park Place
resulting in blood dripping from a man's face
He wished he was only playing a game
But shots were fired from somewhere near
Bullets seeking men to kill and maim
War is fought with emotions of courage and fear
It was time to clear his squadron out
That kind of move is what wars are about
With rifle ready he led the charge
Run through a mine field, though weary and tired
He heard a man cry out, "I've been hit, Sarge!"
Without a free space they could'nt stop to rest
No Short Line Railroad upon which to ride
No fox holes dug, in which to hide
Amid shots fired, he passed down the word, "GO!"
only stopping to collect dog tags of his dead men
This time the battle was fought and won
From a shrapnel wound his blood took flow
It was never bravery that he lacked
It was being interred with a bullet in his back.
When asked why he hadn't turned to run,
knowing his platoon was badly overpowered,
He sighed and replied, "I'm not a coward,
So I rolled the dice and landed on Chance.
The top card said Be brave and attack!
So we fought until we took our property back."
Bend your eyes and ears around
the sights and sounds of a
world at peace.
A squadron of oak trees on
a hill, laughing and playing acorns
with unsuspecting travelers below.
A phalanx of bison, wind whipping
tired eyes, conquer prairie after
prairie, victory assured.
Dozens of purple martins, dive
bombing this way and that,
enjoy a dinner flight.
A herd of underwater manatees,
precisely pinging echo-location,
submarine in unison, towards
their night grove.
Shooting stars, without targets,
celebrate our celestial
hope,
Our
Celestial
Hope
07/18/13
© All Rights Reserved
Squadron leader to his Sergeant.
Another fatality Felicity,
another regimental letter of commiseration,
another space to type in with a name a rank
another space to enter our lives,
on this the darkest of days.
He was my friend Felicity,
an old school chum; we joined up together
for the cause; for dear old Blighty
naively for the thrill.
Here, the earring he wore around his neck
soon to be reunited with the one
his sweetheart holds most dear,
her tatty old airline ticket, also soon to be reunited
with his the one she holds, a memento
of their first meeting on a flight to Paris ‘38’.
Sergeant! Empty your ashtray it’s disgusting.
© Harry J Horsman 2014
BUSH CAT KILLERS
Lions hunt anything,
They hunt all the while,
They approach their prey,
With incredible guile.
Their plan is strategy,
When they attack,
And like a squadron of
Soldiers surround their
Prey in a pack.
Lions have a reliable nose,
And with their sharp hearing,
This leads to a kill,
And the whole pride
Will enjoy their fill.
Their young are taught to stalk
With co-ordinated precision,
And together one day,
Will form a formidable coalition.
Their stealth and power,
Is a fearsome might,
They have spotted their,
Their kill,
And execute at their will,
Under the cover of night!
Often, opportunity
Knocks at their door,
As an old exhausted
Elephant falls at their feet,
On a stony river bank floor,
And provides an abundance
Of food, attracting drifters,
Like a crocodile!
Lion and crocodile stick to their
Boundaries In an uneasy truce,
Until the territorial
Hippos appear
And come near,
And the Lions then run,
Churning river sand loose!
They leave the elephant carcass
In the lost and found,
Swiftly running for
Higher ground!
It’s time for them to not
Be a hero,
As one hippo bite,
Can zip them to zero!
This poem has been removed for publishing on Amazon in WW II in Poetry: Veterans Stories in Poetry, including my late father's who was a Spitfire pilot in the Nigeria Squadron. As it says at the end, "For free speech".
https://smile.amazon.co.uk/WW-II-Poetry-Veterans-Stories-ebook/dp/B07DGLF33G/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1528537495&sr=8-1&keywords=Rhoda+Monihan
"The Liberation"
When your home
is torn out from underneath you,
like a rug or a tablecloth,
nothing of value is left standing
on the surface, except silence.
life implodes for a while,
you’d think the vessel empty.
however, eventually,
what burns inside
is enough to fuel
an atomic missile;
you think better of that
and turn your efforts towards
other higher-level new worlds
and your escape mission.
a bid for life at all costs,
you take survival
and run with it,
igniting the benefits
of universal Love,
blasting off
from the nucleus
with the courageous
winged warriors
locked in, seated;
from the front
you turn the
ignition key,
squadron leading
The Liberation
platforms
like it's
some kind of baptism
by fire,
like it's
some kind of rebirth,
like it's
some kind of suicide mission
you smile, and
settle for,
Thanks Giving Season.
mission accomplished,
you've become ungrounded,
you're finally leaving
Earth
Women and children
first
(LadyLabyrinth/ 2022)
They stood poised to rise like sons
A collective of kindred spirits to wars
From this squadron pose they chose
They rose to face their foes
Arise like thorns from bulbs arose
Thrust their blades into their souls
Of war cries and the songs of idols
Their fears worn like sculls on spears
Prayers like a kite to the heavens
Courage like feathers to the winds
Crows poke at their startled eyes
Disappear with their gaze like a haze
Fake alliances and poor strategies froze
In this battle defeat is reward for the skeletons
To dowse forever their ignited fuse
Refuse their mummies escape from the killing fields
To amaze the masses arrested in the maze
Kaizer shooting instructions like fireballs
The enemy retaliates by clipping our feathers
The Glamour boys simply regroup their wings
They were nearing LaGuardia Airport when the pilot felt a sudden urge.
He told the copilot to grab the yoke saying his bladder he must purge!
He left the cockpit and wended his way to the lavatory in the rear.
Thus, a series of events unfolded, some of which remain quite unclear!
Things 'flowed' along nicely until the pilot attempted to exit the john!
Alas, the door was jammed and he mused, "Is someone putting me on?"
When he tried to escape from his predicament he discovered a catch;
He was alarmed to find that the doggone door had a defective latch!
In the cockpit the copilot was growing very uneasy about their plight.
The tower called to say they were 50 miles out and were cleared to alight!
To add to his consternation, some jerk was pounding on the cockpit door,
Yelling with a foreign accent - a serious situation he dare not ignore!
The tower operator, just to be certain there would be no later regrets,
Wisely called the Air Force and they alerted a squadron of their jets!
The copilot proffered a prayer saying, "Lord, have mercy on us please!
Help, Lord! Landing this bird alone will test my fortitude and expertise!"
In the meantime good Samaritans helped the pilot to escape his cell!
He scampered to the cockpit to take charge and all turned out well!
This mortifying escapade will be long remembered in airline lore,
About the pilot whose wings were clipped by a faulty lavatory door!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
(Based on an actual incident that occured on a flight from Asheville, NC
to LaGuardia Airport, 16 Nov 2011. Written with just a tad of embel-
lishment!)
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
in Grandma's loft I found, the week after we
laid her to rest next to her slain husband.
He was only twenty four yet a squadron leader
when his spitfire was shot down over France.
Mother was only three at the time and my uncle
a babe in Grandma's arms. How awful yet how
familiar those sad stories were then.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
when Grandma would tell us of Grandfather's
gallantry in the face of an evil oncoming foe.
Those stories now came flooding back as I
rummaged in the attic of her cottage with
a candle to guide my way, tears smarting as I
imagined myself as Mother then, missing a father.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
"You son of a biscuit!" That's me being clean.
I call others a "son of a biscuit"
when I'm in the prescence of children especially,
when I really want to say, "You SOB!"
I get some pretty weird looks from they I "curse out,"
in front of children regularly,
but this approach can backfire as I discovered unfortunately,
soon you'll have a squadron of children calling everyone,
a "son of a biscuit" eventually.
Kids seem to think my "son of a biscuit" is very funny.
AND THE MOTHERS WEEP
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
A young lanky sod buster with no place to go
Thought things would be better in San Antonio
Joined some of his Texas patriots at the Alamo
To declare freedom from a tyrannical foe
He and his friends were all destined to die
All slain. Giving rise to a sacred battle cry
“Remember the Alamo”
The fathers swear, and the mothers weep
A bright young man with a future to share
Awoke one cold morning at Ypres, over there
Fixed bayonets, following orders to prepare
Innocent of the burdens they will bear
Existing the muddy trench, charging en masse
They all succumbed, victims of mustard gas
“It’s a long way to Tipperary”
The fathers curse, and the mothers weep
A recent collegian learned to aviate
Totally innocent of the awaiting fate
Sailed into the pacific on the USS Enterprise
Trap is set, catch the enemy by surprise
Torpedo squadron raced to the scene that day
No members of the squadron survived “Midway”
“Lets Remember Pearl Harbor”
The fathers wrathful, and the mothers weep
A day in June the world arose to a horrific hell
Invaders from the north crossed 38th parallel
The lightning attack caught the south asleep
The slaughter was constant, the invasion deep
Pusan, the stronghold that stopped the attack
The price paid for by 58,000 that never came back
“Not War, a Police Action”
The fathers enraged, and the mothers weep
Mothers weep (2)
Moist and dense jungles, once known as Indo-China
The tragic battlefield producing murderous drama
58,000 paid the price, more than half million deployed
Napalm burned villages, ancient temples destroyed
Saigon once called the Paris of the orient
The Hanoi Hilton’s prisoners now absent
“Hell no, I won’t go”
The fathers bitter, and the mothers weep
Erect a stele to all women in a public place
On it etch the painful notices they may face
It will be a warning for those yet unborn
The unending years, that they will mourn
The fathers filled with vengeful cries
Seek retribution with watery eyes
The mothers turn and toss unable to sleep
And the mothers weep, and the mothers weep
The enemy has young men they want to keep
And the mothers weep, and the mothers weep
Sunderland N for Nuts 461 Squadron
Sunderland fought alone the Battle Of Biscay in.1943
Big old seaplane Sunderland, fought in the Battle Of Biscay
Had 4 engines, would she float, would German cannon make her pay?
Aussies put in belly guns, 2 old machine guns Vickers. fired only .303 bullets
Poms might laugh about this deed, the Germans didn't snicker
Only 8 of these Ju88s attacked, to shoot a Sunderland down
Aussies cut the crutch out of German might, with the Vickers caused a frown
Sunderland like a Swiss cheese, had so many holes left in it
5 ju88s went into the sea, 3 ran for home that minute
Germans said it wore heavy armour plate
And it fired a 37mil cannon?.....
Said bullets bounced off it mate?
Its death were still a planning
So she waddled back to the British coast
And landed on the beach at Cornwall
Aussies got sausages, tea and toast
Brave Sunderland then did fall
Don Johnson
Moral:Don't fight with the Aussies they might give you a touch up.
The fight by Sunderland N/461 against 8 JU88s on 2nd June1943.
One man died on the Sunderland Ted Miles a Lewis gunner,
most of the men were injured. All 8 ju88s were hit by the Aussies.
When a fighter/bomber ju88 started firing the Sunderland went into a
corkscrew move, to evade cannon shells each time,
during the twenty attacks made on it.
Sunderland had been a pre war 4 engined sea plane,
the current Jumbo Jet of its day. The bullet riddled old warhorse carried
them home to England.and broke up on the beach
http://www.australiansatwar.gov.au/stories/stories_war=W2_id=67.html
Friday 13th August in 1943 their luck ran out 6 more Ju88s attacked
Sunderland DV968 eight of the earlier surviving Airmen
from the deadly Nuts Flight disappeared
[email protected]
Brisk beach winds spray
Specks of sand in the air
Perched in regal pose patiently
A squadron of Royal Terns
Take their posts in the
Bird formation on whisking sands
Orange beaks point in unison
Cutting through flowing air
Breezes bristling crown feathers
Gently patting grey and white bodies
As they waft while at
Standing attention ready for
Nature's orders
Some think we're deigned to order nature
Or is nature destined to order us
Watching their orderly routines
Beautiful designs so soothing
When they take to the sky
Something deep within us appreciates it
And who knows why
4/11/2018
A long time ago in a galaxy
far far away. . . .
There was a Dark side,
and an equally Light side,
With the Force of Universe!
We have Klingon on our tail
Captain!
It is illogical to assume their
intention as hostile,
Chief Engineer full power to
shields and Phaser
torpedoes...
To go into battle where no
man has done before.
Viper Squadron to Galactica
we have multiple Ceylons
approaching. . .
Deploy all gun turrets and
Battlestation everyone,. . .
Send out Red and Blue Viper
Squadrons. . .
Sorry Commander we only
have the Mark II squadron on
standby. . .
Stardate 201184 we are now
entering Prison colony sector
Alpha31,
Prepare for landing and recon
Marines,
We have an intruder on
board the ship, an Alien form,
Do not kill it! I want this
creature alive. . .
Humans have been to the
point of extermination,
And Skynet has control of the
whole planet except a few
rebels,
And their fearsome leader
one John Conner,
But the T2000 Terminator will
be back!
I
“Charge!” they said and charge they led
from out of a dry desert wadi.
Every man of the Light Horse Brigade
across the desert thundered -
their pulsing veins, their loosened reins,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
II
In gallop stride they fought and died
on mighty Walers champing.
Every man in the Light Horse Regiment
faced a foe greater numbered -
with rifles cocked, their bayonets locked,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
III
Again and again the Lighthorsemen
the Turkish lines outflanked.
Every man of the Expeditionary Force
of horse and rider wondered -
their squadron raid, in great crusade,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
IV
And across the sands into their hands
the Ottoman guns fell silent.
Every man in the Desert Mounted Corps
the battle trenches plundered -
with martial force, on valiant horse,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
V
With God they rode and victory owed
with emu plumes in their hats.
Every man of the Light Mounted Infantry
sat his saddle or lay sundered -
like Gideon of old, their trusty fold,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
VI
On horizon’s red light an heroic sight
in clouds of smoke and dust.
“Charge!” they said and charge they led
when enemy lines blundered.
The legend tells of Beersheba’s wells,
how the march on Jerusalem
to glory led all eight hundred!
Written: November 2010