Squads Poems | Examples

The Age of Terror

(“Utopia and Terror Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)

The Age of Terror

It’s a new reign of terror
With demon hit squads roaming the earth
To lurk on roof tops, hedges
And parking lots for their attack
While cowardly anonymous callers SWAT
The unsuspecting next in line.

All the time the voice boxes 
With their silent protest paddles 
And bullhorns call for mayhem and murder,
Blood in the streets 
And resistance in the name of democracy,
All for their deranged minions to do.

As they do nothing but double down
On their insider trading
Planning on the day 
When they’ll be back in the seat of power
Back driving the economy off the cliff
And their adversaries into gulags.

This is the age of terror 
Where nowhere or one is safe,
Where the Death Cult's agenda of greater good
Includes the sacrifice of you and me
By the billions 
In the name of order, security, peace and freedom.

This is where we are today.
Are you terrified yet?
Or are you laughing at their desperation,
As the morning tide continues to rise, lifting all boats
Destroying all 
Their castles made of sand.

(3/12/25)

Summer

You'll regret this summer
As children's bodies hang from branches
Childkill meets all too popular now
Teenage girls kiss their friends and say
I'm going to die/hell now
The mincers are out in clubs
And hell on earth
Seems the clerical assumation
Last I heard they're organising
Murder squads to kill worthless people
Like me.
Come on over sometime.
This is England now.

Protests

In the 60’s we protested
Out on the quads
With our armbands and banners and signs
‘Til the rage manifested
By police riot squads
Put a damper on all our designs.

We erected no tents
And we went home to sleep
But were sure we could orchestrate change.
Yet these current events
Which on campuses sweep
Seem, to me, very different and strange.

Swamp Night

In this dark midnight
In this impure air, you turned around

At the height of the turmoil of confusing thoughts
In a damp and deadly room

Under the relentless barrage of painful thoughts
Repetition of my wanderings from myself

The execution squads of every minute, me for myself
Living in the grave of every moment, me beside myself

You are not there and... the barrage of your memory... is falling again
There is no escape from thinking about you
It is impossible to separate from yourself

It's like I'm sitting next to a swamp
I have washed my hands of everything
A boat sitting on the mud, which broke

I am stuck with "nothing".
The beginning...the end is blocked

It rains absurd seconds after each other
It smells like death every moment

I was always late
A late, early, early time

A pre-event
A line without a starting point

I'm so lost in myself
which is not found

Sometimes I even become you
I go, I get enough of myself
Disgusted.....disgusted.....I'm losing myself
Again.....again.....with your memory
I will start with myself

Just Below the Radar

Mediocracy
          Along the simple path we plod 

                       Bureaucracy
         With a maze of obstacles to trod

                         Autocracy
       Also trying to dodge the hit squads

                         Theocracy
      Steering clear, of banned lesser gods 

                         Plutocracy
     Ride on through, wielding big fat wads

                         Democracy 
  A minefield of all above, behind the facade


04/12/23

Fractured Canterbury Tales

For the benefit of any non-Middle-English
speakers, a literal, word-for-word translation
has been provided beneath each line of
the original:

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote!
  When we've already had enough! of April showers

Whan priketh hem Governeur in oure corages
  Our prick of a governor locks us down in our garages

Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
  Ha, ha! Our goon squads are itching to go on barrages

And smale fowles maken melodye
  And assault thine ears with foul-mouthed serenades

That slepen al the night with open ye
   'Twill fershloft three far aye with mnemonic charades


       
  ~ A special thanks to Middle English translator, Barry Kanter

A Twist In the Tale

No tap water, no electricity
Shut downs, lock downs -the citizens protest
Their crime - possible duplicity
The new (dis) order they must not  contest

Sweaty odors fill the air
Policemen arrest you without a mask
Demolition squads in slums seem so unfair
At the wrong time , wrong place you will be taken to task

Schools shut but we learn our lesson well
Trust not in man made systems; they will fail
Focus on the written word to tell
No straight lines; there’s always a twist in the tale

The First Day

In seventy four we were just lads
They lined us up 
In front of the Drill Hall
All a bit strange to us
Some parents too who looked so proud

The courses marched past
Then someone spoke and instructors bellowed
The squads doubled around the parade ground
The parents all laughed and I smiled

An instructor came and called the roll
Parents said goodbye
And they took us to the Quartermasters store
Khaki cotton and a black balmoral
It was the first year of forty-four.

© Paul Warren Poetry

First day as Police Cadets

Doling Out Dandelions

Faerie children were all a titter
It was spring time no longer bitter
Grandpa Faerie’s dandelion distribution day
They were giddy and happy from far away

They arrived in doubles and triples and quads.
They giggled and wiggled in all kinds of squads
Grandpa Faerie was out with great speed
Recognizing their happiness for this pretty weed.

Grandpa Faerie Distributes Dandelions

Faerie children were all a titter
It was spring time no longer bitter
Grandpa Faerie’s dandelion distribution day
They were giddy and happy from far away

They arrived in doubles and triples and quads.
They giggled and wiggled in all kinds of squads
Grandpa Faerie was out with great speed
Recognizing their happiness for this pretty weed.

Beware the Carnivorous Gods

In dark and light they dwell.
Not in holes, but above ground.
Their smiles and bodies a shell.
Some move without sound,
Others with words astound.
Hearts full of facades,
Us they surround.
Beware the carnivorous gods.

Lies and hate they expel.
For impurity renowned,
Their tongues like fire from hell,
Their crimes abound,
Justice unfound.
Forming their squads,
An attack is inbound.
Beware the carnivorous gods.

In fear, not a soul will tell.
The alarm unsound,
Death will cast his spell.
Reason run aground,
Truth uncrowned.
Mankind at odds,
With hate bound.
Beware the carnivorous gods.

I say, stand your ground!
Bend not to their rods,
Let truth resound.
Beware the carnivorous gods.

Crossroads and Roads

Crossroads prod roads that download and upload quads of queries
Lumped and dumped on our battered bodies by blister berries
Spiced with slices of suppression and subjugation
That in the end neither mend nor amend our conjugation.

Crossroads prod roads that download and upload wads of whims 
Whisked and kicked into reams and streams of our dreams
Spiced with slices of surrender without a defender
To prevent vents and tents that land our glands into a blender.

Crossroads prod roads that download and upload squads of sentiments
Sneaked into tricks that kick our caveats and comments 
Said with the aid of braids of dread and lead
That pound and ground pain within the brain in our head.

Crossroads prod roads that download and upload triads of tribulations
Located to allocate lots, plots and slots of sneeze speculations
Marinated with cellulite, marmite alongside territory termites 
That undulate and perambulate in our tenderness satellites.

Her Happiness Knobs

Today the new coffee machines use only pods
Convenient but soon they'll be sending squads
Who'll come to your house
And satisfy your spouse
No need for you to touch her happiness knobs

On the Origins of the Species Politica Nonsensica

One day the son said to God,
“Humans need a laugh squad.”
“Say what son?”
“You mean fun?”
“Wouldn’t that seem a bit odd?”

“No Dad, I think it’d be cool,”
“Maybe even laughter in school!”
He’s sounding coy,
the silly boy,
thought God, Am I a sour old fool?

Then he remembered the rip
in poor Job’s small ill-fated ship
The sound, like split britches
had them laughing in stitches.
Thought God, “When did my humor get stripped?

God pondered and stroked his long beard.
Cherubs and seraphims peered,
though mystified,
they deified.
Downstairs, the outcast one sneered.

“Tell you what son, let’s give ‘em politics.”
“It’s way more fun than sinking small ships.”
So the laughing squads 
(two teams at odds),
were loosed on the masses with tricks.

Which, coincidently, was fine
with the one who’d crossed the line,
Beelzebub,
became the hub
for political slime in prime time.

Human Rights

Human Rights June 27,2015

Human rights for you and me
 Palestinian children living free
 People free without a tear
 Children playing without fear
 Irish children white, orange and green
 A united Ireland without the queen
 A new Ireland for me and you
 Living in peace with thirty-two
 No death squads in our country
 Make killing is a memory of our past
 First nation people have their land
 No dividing line in the sand
 Mount Rushmore Mountain Time for change
 Those faces on the rock
 Free the people you and me
 First Nations people must be free
 Africa, Madiba’s dream
 Eyes blind to bigotry
 He showed the world the way
 Let the people have their say 
 Black Americans locked in jail
 The justice system did surely fail
 Homeless people, you know what I mean
 Give them a home, the American dream
 Feed the people, ban the bomb
 The politicians got it wrong
 Make our world a better place
 Save our children and the human race
 Human rights for you and me
 Palestinian children living free

Gerrard McGeachy

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