Best Derring Poems
In the meadow a frosty morning chill
Greets a lazy, rising autumn sun until
Warming rays melt the remaining dew
Heavily-clad, I shall think of you,
As I start my morning walk to the hill.
The path is slippery, requiring some skill
I am especially careful not to take a spill
In these moments, I shall remember you
In the meadow.
‘Tis hard not to notice the cold-snap kill
Since I love the meadow, it’s a bitter pill
All that remains is the heartiest feverfew
With crystalline hints of bold derring-do,
Strolling along, I shall think of you still
In the meadow.
EIGHTH PLACE WINNER
Written October 29, 2022
Submitted to "2022 Marathon Mile 19" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Stranded in war torn Sudan,
Dreading yet another dawn.
In Wadi Sayyidna town,
Hopelessness was weighing down.
Men and women, young and old,
Watched the civil war unfold.
Homeless, desperate, full of fear,
Longing for their near and dear.
Then on 27th April night,
A C-130J took flight.
Manned by pilots skilled and brave,
Tasked to rescue and to save.
They were flying almost blind,
No navigation aids would they find.
Degraded strip, no landing lights
In the darkness of the night.
Infrared sensors scanned the ground;
No inimical force was found.
Using goggles for night vision,
Thay carried out their tough mission.
An enthralling tale had begun;
Six score passengers and one
Shepherded onto the plane.
Headed for their homes again.
Valor of the highest kind,
Audacity was redefined.
The Hercules and its brave crew
Achieved a feat of derring-do.
India's vaunted military might,
Wrote another chapter bright
In our valiant history;
There for all the world to see.
Written by Colonel Ramanan Duraiswami
AMC,Rtd
29th April 2023.
'Twas spring and time for one wee lad to choose
Just what would be his brand new Easter shoes
Now tight inside them, white and tan and laced
Gloss saddle shoes had found him happy-faced
So, not one moment would he waste to muddle
Then headed he, straight for his fav'rite puddle!
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Six Lines Of Cheerful Rhyme" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
William Harrison Hardy
1823 - 1906
I believe a fair introduction is in order here.
Not that a handshake from me could ever take place anytime soon.
I was Captain Bill Hardy:
Proud Indian fighter!
And celebrated toll road builder!
I was the one who built the big road
From San Bernardino to Prescott Arizona!
And it was I, Captain Bill Hardy,
Who founded old Hardyville in Arizona
On the sandy banks of the cool Colorado.
Back when Lincoln was still warm
And the blood of Gettysburg was still not dry.
Back when the old west was coming alive
With wagon wheels and railroad ties.
Growing as a child would
With intrepid enterprise and such derring-do
The likes of which few eyes have seen since!
I came out west from New York
As Captain of a California-bound wagon train
And found a fortune in gold in Placer County.
But it was in the Arizona Territory where I later
Made my mark, and lost my fortune.
Oh my friends. I found out.
Found out what plain hard work can accomplish
And I learned of its resultant riches.
I found out.
Found out what plain greed and dishonesty can accomplish
And I learned of its resultant poverty.
Alas, I was but a survivor in life,
And that was my final legacy.
My friends, have you ever stared death straight in the face?
Have you ever seen the eyes of a wanton murderer
Only an inch away from your own eyes?
Nothing is more frightening and more sobering than that!
But I, Captain Bill Hardy, at your service please,
Experienced it first-hand that day in the scalding desert sand.
That Indian devil was right there!
His nose next to my nose!
But I got away!
Ran away from that place and lived to tell about it!
My friends, next time you come to Clark Cemetery in Whittier,
Go to the eastern fence by Dorland Street,
At the corner there, you will find my little plot of land.
It is a far cry from having an entire city named after you!
But it is a fine and restful spot.
Come closer and lean down to me.
I wish to extend my firm handshake to you all!
Yonder comes the messenger
Forging thicket and thistle;
A young postal carrier
Known as Israel Bissell.
It began in Watertown,
This bold tale of derring-do;
Bearing news of Lexington,
He would get the message through.
America’s call to arms
Was his burden to carry.
Because of its importance,
Israel did not tarry.
The lad set out that morning,
Driven like a man possessed,
To alert the colonies
Of America’s unrest.
By noon he’d reached Worchester,
Though his steed did not survive.
A fresh mount and two days more,
In New Haven he arrived.
Every town along the way,
Heard his voice sounding alarms.
Our war of independence
Has begun! To arms! To arms!
He entered New York City
For another two day ride.
Then was on to New Jersey,
Without rest, or break in stride.
On to Philadelphia,
He reached Independence Hall.
Five days would be his journey
In delivering the call.
To arms, he warned the people,
Every American son,
For the British are coming,
And the war has just begun.
So if you can remember,
When a tale, you first did hear,
Of a legendary ride
And a man named Paul Revere;
Perhaps you might consider
How a hero gains his fame.
Sometimes all it comes down to,
Is the more heroic name.
But tales will still be written,
Full of bluster and bristle.
While true heroes go unsung,
Like young Israel Bissell.
On Wall Street there's a statue
Of a mean and charging bull.
The tourists love to pose
As his cojones get a pull.
But lately, that same sculpture's
Facing off with someone new -
A saucy girl in bronze
Who's very full of derring-do.
With hands on hips and knowing grin,
Defiant in her stance,
She seems to pose a challenge
Like, "Hey Bull, you wanna dance?"
The message rings out loud and clear -
Though men once ruled the world,
You'd better make some room because
Our female flag's unfurled!
Eight inches of snow saw no hat on his head
an act of derring-do, my father said,
He ascended the steps
the eyes of the world upon him
An orator attacking the lectern
~ Camelot, out to shatter Babylon
The glare of the sun no match
for the glint in his eye
Brisk winds no challenge
to the stylish coif he held high.
He measured the moment
took a deep breath
Out came an aria
~ nary a shibboleth
Tall and straight, he stood
erect as a soldier
firing words like bullets
targeting the mind's heart, to pull it
jabbing the air with his fist or his finger
pausing ever so briefly
~ he let the message linger
He moved us, he touched us,
lifted a nation's heart
without sham or deceit
~ only truth from his lips
did ever depart
He proposed the Peace Corps
to inspire the young--
For those older and wiser
he combined graciousness
with toughness
in a diplomatic
sharp-edged tongue
To Nikita Krushchev, the Soviet,
baring his claws,
Our leader's barbed-wire message
surely gave pause:
"Let us remember...
...sincerity is always subject to proof
Let us never negotiate out of fear.
But let us never fear to negotiate."
And to all 180 million Americans watching
in person or on the tube
~ He issued this challenge
destiny ringing, resonant rendezvous:
"Ask not what your country can do for you
ask what you can do for your country."
It's now 55 years later
and America's not seen
a President like Kennedy
~ to inspire us to dream
"Darling, where have you been, Iv'e missed you so!"
"Oh darling, I'm tewibbly sowwy, I forgot to tell you
Where I went! I hijacked a lowwy; just told him to go
Which he did. Awft to the bushes and went to the loo.!"
"Oh darling, that must have been so tewibbly awful
For you. Did the dwiver run away or did he stay?"
"The dwiver stayed honeybun, though he did stall
The engine twice before we dwove away all a fway."
"And where did you tell the dwiver to dwive to my
Dearest darling Nell.? Oh what scandalous pitch
And how naughty you are; what derring do and joy!"
"Yes darling, beside himself he called me a witch!"
"Oh praise indeed darling for a witch is what you are!
But do tell me darling Nell, did you twavel vewy far?"
" Indeed darling. We dwove awound the woundabout;
We heard lots of people sound their horns and shout!
So being qwite afwaid, we went and joined the A1
Which as you know darling is a vewy stwaight woad.
The dwiver didn't mind at all at my holding a gun
To his head! He consigned himself and just followed
My orders as what to do next. I felt like an icecweem;
Stwabewwy and cweem icecweem. It was yummy.!"
"Oh dear Nell, what a gas! What a fabulous scweam!"
"Yes darling. I'm so chasse! so cool! and so uppity
Am I not?" " Oh indeed you are my darling Nell. Tell
Me, where is the dwiver whom you so tewwified
Out of his wits?" "Well, I have to say he did rebel
Somewhat so I had to let him go. He was petwified!"
But I am such a wonderful girl as you know so well
My dearest darling Berti; please don't get too shirty
Because I let him off the hook." "Oh what a crook
You are dear Nell. Welcome home. Was that the bell?"
Now please read out loud with a posh English accent; it will make a difference and you may even laugh at yourself reading so. Edward
They delight in wearing women’s fancy dresses
Intricate wigs fashioned as highly coifed tresses,
Padding in places gives them feminine curves
Appearing like that would shatter my nerves.
Entertainers par excellence, they can lip-synch
While dancing in a line together all in sync,
Laughing and joking, sometimes in a crude way
One hardly ever sees them in the light of day
Exaggerating in fashion of the highest couture
Experts in the arts, the world of pop culture,
What leads them to take up this type of show
Female impersonation, I guess I’ll never know.
I do admire their abilities, their derring-do --
Becoming sensational entertainers like Mama Ru,
Money in bras, they laugh all the way to the bank
I am happy being a man; I have God to thank!
Written November 17, 2022
When i share my hopes and ambitions,she gives me a derisory laugh.
Her dereliction,as my better half,of supporting my strides,worry's me.
Not fulfilling her desiderata of comfort,sinks my ego below the sand,drags my dreams against the sylvan of this island of dissatisfaction.
Money vindicates time from the poor.
That's a minatory statement from a deranged lover.
I'm not a derring-do in an animated dote story,am as real as the sole of a terrapin.
I descry your desiccated heart.
No more fear,no sympathy,zero tolerance.
Vicissitude of covalent romance is at threshold.
Your bolder than ever,saying wise things of truth that shake me.
I act tenaciously to keep us together,then you utter another tentative sentence.
I pause and remember,Responsibility is de rigueur in a family union.
By M.O.O aka Carswell evoL
Dotty doggy duo, daily derring-do,
descending leaves decorating yard,
Beau-black as coal,
brown-eyed batty Gus,
barking brazenly, bounding,
both bonkers?
a boisterous, "You betcha!"
Kings of calamity-
canines of chaos,
squirrels scurry for sweet sanity,
scolding silver September
acorn gatherers,
sedulously seeking sedatives!
In my old age
I thought I’d have such yarns to tell,
of derring-do when I was hale and hearty.
Looking back, I wonder now just what befell
me in those years
and did I miss the party?
Distant echoes further fade
as all the days slip by.
An aproned lady combs my hair
and tells me I should try
once more to do the jigsaw,
but I really don’t know why.
They tell me I have new friends now,
sitting in a circle, wiggling toes,
or neatly slipper-clad, arranged in rows,
we sing “We”ll meet again”
at bedtime with our cocoa,
smoothing out the pain.
But well we know, when it’s time to go,
it’s our “au revoir” refrain.
I Stare in the Mirror
I stare in the mirror and what do I see?
An old man with rheumy eyes looking at me.
Who is this old codger, this balding old shell,
Who cannot remember what it’s like to feel well?
Where is the vibrance, the get up and go?
Why are his movements so painful and slow?
Who stole his glowing skin, his dark flashing eyes,
His derring-do, courage, his sense of emprise?
What happened to big ideas? Future? Ambition?
Why do his joints fight a war of attrition?
Why can he see clearly adolescence long past,
When he cannot remember the thing he ate last?
It doesn’t make sense, I don’t recognise him,
With his belly and baldness and weakness of limb.
No! That mirror’s a liar, whatever I see.
Whoever that old man is, he can’t be me!
In days of yore a lady's heart was won
Through chivalry and deeds of derring-do.
If swain proved false, she'd bid the knave be gone,
Adjust her cap and look for someone new.
By age fifteen a maid was in her prime,
Her window for a spouse a narrow slit.
She could not pule and pine for love sublime,
And oft as not would take what she could get.
When knight set out to win his lady fair,
Through joust or other mortal combat act,
He knew that love for him she would forswear
Lest he prevailed with manly parts intact.
Today true love is not so much a chore,
And less dramatic than in days of yore.
Man About Town… Richly – Renown
The Duke Of Derring – Do
Part Of His Fame… Debonair Dames
Saved From A Distress Or Two
Handsomest Face… Ladies Chase
All – Over The Place… For His Embrace
What’s A Gel’ To Do?...
For The Duke Of Derring’ – Do…
Chivalry And Gallantry
He Wears It, Like His Clothes
Right- On Cue… Tailored – New
All The Ladies Sigh… Oooh!...
What Do They Say… There’s A Day
A Maid May… Take His Breath Away!
… Take It As Your Due…
Duke Of Derring’ – Do!...
The Duke… Of… D e r r i n g’ – Do!