Long Squad Poems
Long Squad Poems. Below are the most popular long Squad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Squad poems by poem length and keyword.
Joshua Nkomo fought the white man
Who had come to Africa, taken the land
The whites ruled Rhodesia, though we should note
Toward the end they had one man one vote
Which meant that blacks and whites
in that respect had equal rights.
Nkomo saw his fight as one of racial liberation
Mugabe, his rival, also fought for a black nation.
Mugabe was a Shona, Nkomo a Ndebele
Neither of them were what you'd call a nice fella,
Russia supported the Ndebele, the Shona had China there
North Korea trained Shona too, a reason to beware
Mugabe became leader but not by winning the fight
He got elected, Shona voters had more might
White rule ended, and all lived happily ever after
Actually, not true, what happened next was a disaster
Mugabe unleashed the Five Brigade
They had trained in North Korea, time for Ndebele to be afraid
So what can we learn, I don't have a dog in this fight
I don't think colonial rule was right
The Ndebele tribe were now killed en masse
Vast numbers of corpses under the African grass.
The lesson as I see it is that the violent liberator
May resonate with you, but he can be a hater
When he gets into power, to keep power he kills
While the sympathizers close their eyes to the blood that spills.
Let’s apply this lesson to leftists in the Hamas tent
A few brave Gazans point out Hamas doesn't like dissent
One dissident's first day in jail haunts his dreams
He can't forget listening to his colleagues’ screams.
Hamas members won an election, made logical moves
They consolidated power, threw rivals off roofs.
Again, both rivals weren’t all that nice
Even if you like their cause, there is a moral price.
You can find justice in many a cause, but that doesn't mean
Those who take up arms are worthy of your esteem.
In the 90’s radicals might wear a Che Guevara t-shirt
But beware, when with communists you flirt.
Che liked witnessing executions by firing squad
He’d shoot the bullet too, so admiring him is odd.
Some Cubans learned the hard way, Joshua Nkomo did as well
You can leave Purgatory and still end up in hell.
Know this, my friend, and don’t look back,
Be you white or brown or black.
Freedom’s more than a rebel’s name,
It’s how you treat folks once you’ve won the game.
I’d rather be a realist than an anarchist
I’d rather be a hammer than a nail
I’d rather be an artist than an activist
I’d rather be the water and bread than the jail
With whom do you identify?
Which side are you on?
Will you be left at the station
After the trains have gone?
I’d rather be a satirist than a philanthropist
I’d rather be a Titan than a god
I’d rather be the patient than the therapist
I’d rather be the blindfold than the firing squad
What do you know
When the ship don’t go
And the winds won’t blow
Just rocking to and fro
On the sea of contradictions
I’d rather be the angel than the archon
I’d rather be the pauper than the prince
I’d rather be the tissue than the hardon
I'd rather I didn’t dirty the world
with my useless fingerprints
With whom do you identify?
Which side are you on?
Will you be left in the harbor
After the yachts are gone?
I’m on my way to the big time,
But first, a road trip with my friend.
We’ll drive through the desert, rain or shine
And make memories that’ll last ‘til the end.
I know exactly where I’m headed,
Straight to the city of Dallas.
Change is what I’ve always dreaded,
But my new life begins in Texas.
I have no clue what to expect,
But I am very excited.
If I make the squad, I’ll earn respect,
But first, I have to be invited.
It isn’t even a dream of my own,
To be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.
I’d rather just stop in San Antone,
Where my friend will, and stay with her.
I guess I’ll give it one real shot
Because someone (I can’t name) insists.
He just thinks the other girls are hot.
Oh, what the hell – his name is Chris!
Well, now you know my little story.
It’s a tale I’ll tell again and again.
I can’t wait to make some memories
With Michelle, my very best friend.
Hit 'em up! Hit 'em up!
Up, out and away
Singles, doubles, triples
and of course, the Big Bombay!
Snitker stoically managing from
the dugout
Ron Washington on third and Eric
Young, Sr. on first helping runners out
Strider, Morton, Elder, and Fried leading
the way
Chavez, Minter, Mchugh, and Iglesias closing
the day
D'Arnaud and Murphy guiding and protecting
home plate
When it's their chance in the batter box good
hitting they aptly demonstrate
Acuna Jr., Albies, Arcia and Harris II
applying the spark
Olson, Rosario, Ozuna, and Riley bomb blasting
making the park go dark
Hit 'em up! Hit 'em up!
Up, out and away
Braves win!
Hip Hip Hooray!
Happy New Year, Dear Friends!
September30, 2019
Ah, apples with honey.
Clipped or spiraled or Round Challah,
so yummy!
And prayers for a sweet year.
Oh, such a treat.
For both eternal souls and for
human tummies.
But better your prayers to Hashem
be filled with gratitude,
You know these fruits are His plenitude.
This poet honors all Jews and
Israel your great nation!
Which your enemies are always
planning for your devastation!
It just pains me to see anti-Semitism
on the rise now.
Even in our Congress!
As the very far left,to The Squad,
disgustingly has now cow-towed.
I would volunteer in Israel if
only I could.
Israel will stand strong despite
the multiple snakes,
That have tried to destroy your
country and you.
These vile. perverted, evil snakes!
So keep your traditions and do
have a sweet year!
May you all be written in the
book of Life!
Have no fear!
La Shanah Tova!
Love and joy be yours!
Panagiota Romios
I did it, I really did it, something got passed,
Nancy and I succeeded at last,
What a huge pain convincing my team,
When all I could do was silently scream.
The Squad were blackmailing,
The media loud blaring,
Republicans laughing while doing high fives,
My only solution to hide and dodge knives.
But now it's all changed, back on my horse,
Steering the country without fear or remorse,
My path controversial but who gives a bean,
They'll all get the message that I say what I mean.
I want kindness and peace, fairness far all,
My social ambitions unashamedly tall,
What do I care about finding the dough,
That's for bean-counters, the ones that should know.
I remember a story while riding a train,
The details are fuzzy but I'm racking my brain,
This Gal said to me "you're Uncle Joe,
That guy from DC, the father of Beau",
I smiled and just answered yes I'm the one,
She went on to say, "If not for me then your son,
Make your time count, bring us relief,
As too many of us are living in grief;
All kinds of big bills piling on high,
Nowhere to turn, just left out to dry,
The rich getting richer, the rest of us stuck,
Flailing and wailing in ankle deep muck";
Wages too low, options too few,
You must find a way to this country renew.
I gave her a smile, patted her hand,
Made her a promise that I'd make a real stand.
So to that special Gal whose name I don't know,
This for a start is what I can show;
For the rest of my goals I'll fight night and day,
To prove I will do and not merely say.
Your arms gripping the iron walls
This chamber consumes your neurons
Feeding on your eye's wells of salt and iron
Your name has been painted in platelets
The serpent whispers of leaders grow dark
A young man with a heart of darkening dusk
Spared from a squad of his peers with rifles
Yet his heart still played a diminuendo
Skies painted redder than roses and regalness
Neck gripping to its faith in structure
They say he sold his life to El Diablo
Over nights of rendezvous with rebellion
But you grip the pen which jots your path
Oceans of stench won't confirm your hypoxia
For you are the nominee of Father Democracy
Holding the sword of our voices sky high
One last feast for your closest comrades
Lovers and mothers and brothers alike
They wonder if the sunrise will grow dark
With each crackle of your vertebrae
Gunpowder and dust, fumes of chlorine
They made sure you were dead, modern Rasputin
Not a savior or saint to those in the capital
But a teen with demands above these shaky lands
Slip from your corpse, never our ideas
For men shall die, but ideas never do
Young sir, the workers hold you dear
You are their compass, the sea of our morals
More than a boy with a yearn for reform
Dead at seventeen from a radical's gun
The martyr buried in our land's rich soil
Heart of blinging sapphire, brain of fortified steel
When nephrite pierced my sky
breath relished then shortened
in a rhythmic verve swept by
it was there within the secrets she kept
close to her ample bosom
where skin and earth tumbled along,
that freedom was found
facing the hands of the firing squad
covert, I found my way
and she spied along
a mafioso queen
intoxicating but not seen
our lust tied down
and held hostage
we ran amid the ruins
liberation tickling the senses
as we knew the ropes
Paris seduced our nights
we thought we would never get away
but she was on a mission
and surely wouldn't let us
die another day
Time ticked until the stroke of ten
before descending its wrath on men
And at that hour it escaped its cage
Pendulum chiming with total rage
Humans are in chaos as they await
time to restart. In its hands, their fate
Does this mean heartache will not heal
until once more bells ring out in peal?
Ongoing wars, a pandemic to battle
Earth warming; earthquakes that rattle
Everything seems to be in such upheaval
We need relief from these days of evil
Woe to those with little hope and belief
who see only doom and wallow in grief
who no longer have faith in their vision
and chide others with scorn and derision
Don't condemn a country or it's leaders
after having four years of bottom feeders
Humans are imperfect. We're all flawed
but you hold a gun in the firing squad
You write of patriotism, but have none
wielding your pen as if it were a loaded gun
You roughshod America with seditious words
like mad cows running in stampeding herds
Remember, "Time and tide wait for no man,"*
Tragedy has struck those living in Afghanistan
Blame Biden, but include Presidents in the past
so reprimand them, too when you lambaste
Time has no power to stop of its own accord
Its hands keep moving and will not be ignored
The world has problems that must be rectified
by the coalition of nations it will be allied
Call me a dreamer. "It'll never happen," you say
that may be a reverie, but come what may
When the times comes God will raise His hand
and at that time, the world will understand.
*Geoffrey Chaucer
Some years from now
the Devil throws a banquet –
In hell, of course – where he alone
unquestionably rules:
A banquet table plated for
greedy fools: to his right,
Barack seated; with Hilary at
his heated left; Bidden,
unable to tell where he is –
so after a brief, delirious spell,
decides himself quite content
with just the odious, strangely
familiar smell – Hunter doing some
cooking – agents told to shy
from looking – ordered not to
allow lawful booking:
Pelosi and Schumer,
for the first time
realizing themselves entirely
powerless...yet, hopelessly
addicted to procuring votes,
hotly plot how to send
the Squad copious
asbestos notes – His Majesty
offers them, another plate of
hot coals, with a side-dish of
charred souls – some fur lined
totes, to go with stylish
Arctic coats –