Best Daredevils Poems
We the People
Will disagree
On taxation and prosperity
On liberty and duty
We the People
Are every color of Christianity
Every Jewish prayer, every song of Islam
The puritans, the atheists and the Amish
Are neighbors here
We the People
Are Jamaican and Japanese
Swedish and Samoan
Cuban and Cherokee
Moroccan and Mexican
The Irish and the Inuit
And all shades of Africa
We are country hills and cityscapes
Suburban parks and downtown fire escapes
We are singers and stutterers
Daredevils and diplomats
Renegades and redeemers
The leaders and the lone wolves
The suits and the sarongs
We are the gun owners for gun control
The justice for unjust loopholes
We are the hands that struck the iron
And the backs that laid the tracks
Of trails of rails connecting
Sea to shining Sea
We are protesters and poets
The soldiers without peace
The nurses without sleep
We are the straight arrows and the skeptics
The gay and the god-fearing
We are Black Lives Matter
And we are the badges in blue
We the People
Are complicit and complicated
No freedom gave
To chains of slaves
We have conquered and colonized
Sacrificed and stolen
Pillaged and planted
To naturalize a nation
We are teachers of tenacity
Prophicies of pioneers
And the children of second chances
We the People
Speak for our land’s legacy
In every tongue, from every rung
On each stumbled stair, each crumbled chair
We demand democracy.
8/21/20
Poem of the Day
August 23, 2020
A Psalmody of Psalm Ninety One
God is our refuge, He is our shelter
Kept safe from demons are those who’re blessed
Beneath wings of the Almighty that cares
Spared from the snares of unwanted foul quests.
Fear not nightmares or terrors of darkness
Under presence of angels we’re redeemed
Freed from toxic perils that come by day
All being as seen in heavenly dreams.
Our God sees everything below the sun
The wicked face trial before one’s eyes
What goes around comes back around it’s said
Evil ways will always be recognised.
Those who love as the Lord said we all should
Will never become trampled underfoot
By any human man, woman or beast
Daredevils who tried would land up as soot.
Our dear Lord saves those seeking salvation
Call God by His name and you will be found
The shepherd will always find his lost sheep
From that day on one shall be glory bound.
26th September 2021
You may call me harsh or even wicked
But I am more than it because I am crooked.
I may look self indulgent or resentful,
But now I am transformed into someone more powerful.
Fearless! I call me,
Fearless I say
I am not afraid of anything,
No more aloofness,no more hearts to slay.
You may call me forceful and obstinate.
But I am someone more passionate.
Clinging or touchy is not in my performance,
Neither I am superficial or tactless
But I am the grudging pirrahna!
Yes! I am contrary and intractable,
Perversity is my nature and you may call me unpredictable.
I don't like flattery neither do I shallowness.
Being inconsistent and tense only leads you to loneliness!
Fearless! I call me,
Fearless! I say.
I adore spontaneity and daredevils are my prey!
Dynamic and shrwed is my nature.
If you don't like me I will not butcher.
Just speak your heart and live life in grandeur,
Because there are speculative ventures opening their vivacious door.
Sweet and wonderful the memories of childhood,
Painful, oh staggering to recall, Raddle-Dazzle, I would forget- if I could.
Endless, endless the days we spent riding in the magnificent wild,
Calm and peaceful your nature with this young dreamy child.
Tangled were those fantastic woods where we rode each day,
Adored and loved, I never wanted you to go away.
Carefree spirits, me and you, we were daredevils seeking thrills,
Utopia for us was riding over the highest, farthest, most splendid hills.
Labyrinthine trees- rippling streams- a breathtaking leap,
And aching, aching is my heart, I thought I had you to keep,
Raw, the death of my sensational, amazing horse, that I still weep.
_________________________________________
January 12, 2016
Poetry/Acrostic/Spectacular
Copyright Protected, ID 16-743-903-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Spectacular Contest
sponsor, John Hamilton
Fourth Place
Cascading water that never seems to end
Going over the falls ever single day
The roaring of the water crashing down
A torrent that no one can stay
It draws a crowd of people far and wide
Who come to see its awesome view
Some have even tempted fate in ways
That one should really not attempt to do
A few have won a battle with the falls
Gaining fame and fortune from the duel
Many others have come because
The wish to celebrate a life with two
From honeymoons to wars daredevils to disasters
This place where heaven and earth seem to meet
Has captivated both one and all I'd say
Someday I hope to see this place so sweet
Words have become such
naughty little daredevils
turning my thoughts
inside out,
and up-side down
in order to have their own way
Using sentences
as jump ropes,
while snickering at verbs
Who think it's attractive
to dance around
like,
nonsensical cheerleaders
Sometimes . . .
it gets very maniacal in here,
but i find it extremely hard to resist
this side of art
___________________
Something playful :)
~ Holding so much Truth ~
I love Skittles and This Side of Art
Written on January 26, 2020
By Gail DeBole
Drink up daredevils!
It’s not a joke.
The human toe in your drink
Is not just taking a soak.
It’s challenged many drinkers
And many have exclaimed,
“Ewwww, What’s going on?
And who has been maimed?”
But there are the hearty
Who take up the call
To be close to the toe
Soaked in some alcohol.
Yes, the toe is plunked in
If the bar patron says, “Sure!”
To the challenge of swigging
A toe-drink that allures.
But one of the patrons
Who couldn’t live without
Made a home brewsky
After his wife heard a shout.
Before he put on his bandage
His wife could not look
At the painful outcome
Of the action he took.
Now he is satisfied drinking
And doesn’t mind his nine toes.
He has daily Sourtoe cocktails
And now everyone knows!
That he’s not a toe-totaller.
He has a daily drink
And must have his cocktail
While he takes a deep think.
And if there is an error
Of swallowing the toe by mistake
He plans to live comfortably
With toes numbering eight.
Disclaimer: This poem in no way condones the actions of this fictional character.
Note: For the facts that inspired this poem, go to https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/sourtoe-cocktail. This is based on truth with a few gulps of poetic license.
The white of the eye
Holds a dark centre
Our souls behind a tinted window
Dare to let me see what sins you hide...?
The face of an angel
With the heart of a demon
‘cos we’re all immortal
On the faces God’s tattooed onto our skin
I move to your lips
Every syllable articulated
Your kiss’s a quantum leap
But with every word your love tightens I'm suffocated
I submit my heart
To all your expectations
Here tear it apart
Then let me watch you perform open-heart surgery
So what if God is vane
Clearly He was showing off
He created our very souls
But confession of sin ensures we’re not his equal
Above the rainclouds
Your feathers tickle my...
My freewill wears a disguise
‘cos every time I ring your bells...angel you sing
Illuminating the skies
Like a bolt of lightning
Crashing on a broken wing
Yeah that’s how daredevils fly...not afraid to die!
The face of a demon
With the heart of an angel
‘cos we’re all beautiful
On the faces God’s tattooed onto our heads
The Balancing Act
It is as though I am constantly in a balancing act
I envy those that seemingly do not go through
This process of weighing things in my mind
Those like poker players that can go “all in”
Shove their chips into the middle of the table
As if there wasn’t even a fore thought involved
No, my mind has to go through “the process”
Is this a good decision or bad
What will be the consequences
Why am I doing this
What are the odds of something bad happening
How will the results affect my life
I look at the homeless who wander my streets
Judgment floods my mind
But is there jealousy at the heart of it
Is theirs a conscious choice
To have no bosses, no one to account to
Are they free from the balancing act
What of the daredevils that navigate Niagara falls
Who leap to peril, do they juggle their decision
Or is there absolute clarity of the mind
Pros and cons
Ins and outs
Good or bad
Happy or sad
Mad or glad
The balancing act
Andreas Simic©
dive deep... daredevils
lanternfish... eels... vampire squid
darkness... luminesce
April 18, 2018
faded roses on the wallpaper
leaves bent back in an imagined wind
fingerprints of a thunderstorm cling to the wet image
she says it was a lovely thought that gave birth to such beautiful drawings
that any child could see many adventures to be
in such lovely daydreams
a place where the child of her heart could run free
decorated with faded roses
celebrated by teddy bears and tea sets
on long summer afternoons in the beautiful sunshine
while brothers and others chased firefly's
like days of old aeroplanes
dogfighting daredevils in the forever blaze of glory
swashbucklers that save the day and win the girl
ride off into the sunset
tv screen fades to black
faded roses on the wallpaper are all that remain
sunbaked in the passing years
a lovely thought that gave birth to our childhood
a swift dream
faded away
Ariel
"With the eyes of a child I stare in awe, a wondrous sight I take in all
Angels flying without wings, hurling through the air, spinning and twirling without a care
People moan and gasp as they pass, praying the next move will not be their last
For daredevils they are one and all, but there is no net in which to catch their fall
Suddenly, the signal is given - Quiet now Quiet, all eyes aloft, for the final act is here so we draw near
With synchronous harmony they let themselves fly, swinging and looping high into the sky
Spinning like tops they make a final pass, reaching hands grasp hands in this Ariel dance
Bows are taken and the crowd erupts in raucous roars, we toast to the high flyers - May They Soar Forever More"
-Jon Jones
In the world of fallen angels
The other kind of daredevils
Seeking the world’s attention
Competing for world domination
This is the moment to believe
In something more, to be brave
When life is a misty blair
Uncertainty stifles the air
Under such immense pressure,
To defend what we treasure
Try hard not to sweat
Swallow hard to wet the dry throat,
This is a ticking time bomb
Sensitivities brushed with a fine comb
My thinking starts to clear
Amidts memories that brings a tear
Sitting on a potential disaster
A sociopathic monster
I must get away from here
I look for the nearest door
I walk with fear in my heart
A 'can’t help myself feeling’ I’m bait
I know it’ll only drive us apart
I see my anthropology in his hate
I yell out, “Foreigner”
But he’s no stranger
Although he acts alien
I choose to call us brethren
I believe in the science
More than the obvious sings
Of peace coming forth
To desolve this mammoth
Back to the undesirable past
And move forward together fast
That I must do my part
To help set right the fight
I’ll take the first step
To bring this to a stop
And reach out my hand
To make an enemy a friend
The teacher was irritated, using her angry voice.
He yelled at me and hurt a kindergartener.
She wanted me to do this that and the other.
Things I never do as the counselor.
I am not punitive, and do not discipline anyone.
I try to discover where the pain is coming from.
He is a delight. Knows much more than any first grader I know.
Tells me about his family – six boys from age four to eighteen.
He is hurting because his brother broke his foot in karate yesterday.
He knows this is why he was angry.
He was trying to help the kindergarteners break up a fight.
Because he helps his four-year-old twin brothers.
They were not fighting, he tells me, but I thought they were.
I tell him to let the teachers handle it next time.
He says he will try.
His stories are delightful – all boys in his family are daredevils.
I ask, “Is your mom a daredevil?” Oh, yes!
She has tattoos all over, one is a skull with wings.
Sounds lovely I lie.
Dad’s not a daredevil, he says. But he used to be.
How do you know?
He had a mohawk and played rock and roll on the drums.
Dad has a new job at Target. They can get free things now.
Do you mean a discount?
No. I mean free things.
I do not go any further into this story.
Because he has switched to tales of animatronics and theme parks
We live at Lake Turtle Mouth, he says.
The theme parks there are under the water.
The last thing he tells me is “This is my second time in first grade by the way.”
He says it matter-of-factly.
His confidence is impressive.
Our story is wild style graffiti
’We fell in love then we fell in love again.’
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity;
We could write legal but chose illegally,
bombed the building with expression;
Our story is wild style graffiti;
Inspired by Love’s rebellious personality
etched a passionate confession;
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity;
Fairytale of daredevils painted artfully
a legend spoken of now and then;
Our story is wild style graffiti;
Writers personify nonconformity
relishing a dangerous artistic break in
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity;
Masterpiece matching soulmates intensity
may have our tag on a spot up in Heaven;
Our story is wild style graffiti
thrown up on an urban wall for eternity.