Best Foolhardy Poems
"Happiness and sorrow ebb and flow like waves upon a beach,
and I am but a grain of sand."
by poet
I think of myself as nothing more than a sunflower
who, at the hint of first light, turns to face due East
Respectful of dawn, through God's glorious power,
morning stirs my spiritual need, and upon it I feast.
It's not a shortcoming to be generous and humble,
nor a weakness in my character, a burden to bear.
I'm never too proud to ask for help when I stumble
for if I humbly ask for His hand, it will be there.
Defiantly, pride seems to take control before a fall
Arrogance is a foolish trait that becomes a liability
ending in dishonor when the foolhardy hit a wall.
Humility can be a saving grace; but not a disability.
I am just a tiny grain of sand, washed upon a beach,
a speck of dust on Earth, the size of a mustard seed.
I believe by being modest, happiness is in my reach
Content with what little I have, not tempted by greed.
Integrity is an admirable quality in an altruistic mind
Benevolence and compassion are gifts to be lauded
By living an unassuming life, my worth will be defined
without need to be rewarded, praised, or applauded.
November 3, 2021
Your Own Philosophy Statement Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Words can be whimsical, a merry-go-round
They run in a circle, they bounce up and down
They play hide-and-seek, until they are found
Look how quickly the little ones grow!
Words can seduce like a scandalous dance
They'll perplex the complex, if given a chance
They're as sincere as England, as sexy as France
As reckless as the caution they throw
Words can get tipsy if taken too much
The pretentious go on-and-on about such-and-such
The brutish ones can bail you out in a clutch
The foolhardy don't know they don't know
Words can be tacky, tongue wagging gabs
Words can be lavish and leave you the tab
Words can covertly steal and grab
Their smile is only for show
Words can impulsively issue a dare
Words can react with extravagant flair
But words must always be handled with care
When timing's too slow, for words on the go
Look how quickly the little ones grow!
As reckless as the caution they throw
The foolhardy don't know they don't know
Their smile is only for show
When timing's too slow
For words on the go-
8/7/18
There is no power greater than the Lord's, but there is a powerful lesson to be learned by not stumbling off on a fool's errand. That idiom is a phrase that explains the undertaking of a futile effort to find or prove something that is an impossible task. Thus, the effort becomes a waste of time and a fool's game to play. It is doomed to succeed from the start, even if the journey taken is by one with a good heart. The goal will never be reached when shrewd ones preach one thing and hand out rose-colored glasses to disguise words they speak but never practice. They tickle the ears of all who will listen, but the truth is what the naive ones will never hear. The real fool's errand is trying to unveil the fools who in spite of all efforts to conceal it, reveal themselves when the truth will out.
it's a waste of time
to go on a fool's errand~
fruitless endeavor
The phrase itself implies that it would be an unproductive effort and a lesson in futility such as Sisyphus rolling a boulder uphill only to watch it roll back down again. So, don't allow yourself to be disappointed, nor disjointed when the foolhardy in the world ..."don't know how to get along, yet, they pretend they've done nothing wrong."* It would be much wiser to avoid engaging with those who are always caught up in the throes of what they haughtily impose upon unsuspecting others. Excuse these added idioms, but they will help make the point about not getting a nose out of joint thinking a fool's errand is 'not my cup of tea.' Or, I'd rather 'call it a day' then chase a fool whose life has gone astray. Don't 'shoot yourself in the foot' by being a fool on an errand that will only prove to be 'a wild goose chase.'
in a world of fools
don't be duped to prove them wrong~
prove yourself wiser
* Sandra Feldman in her poem: 'Foolish World'
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
I am the environmentalist in love with wine,
my shoulders carry and reside in the cutting edge side of life,
the establishment craves to be the human race
while I stroll the memories of “Sailor fields”
amongst ancient Jurassic stone.
Is this! The only way for me?
My saline tears run freely now a days,
it’s time that governs one’s sentiment,
no doubt the plague of waiting relates to this.
What! Of the future,
hey , i want to forget about futuristic wars,
may be the media are in gross error of judgment?
I’m told I’m only a little man, at last now I know why I’m the
one that society chastises every day,
Why this mortal flame in constant combat becomes
life’s tomb stone around my neck.
To feel freedom, another swig so my lacklustre eyes again become stimulated
as the view overcomes my immobility and bids farewell, to the great lady
that glides portly on the outgoing tide.
Curse this elemental wind
that curls in from the east,
“Mother” i cry
“Is this the clarity of our beginning.” the start of all this crap,
as astringent thoughts flow through my urban bucolic mind,
seeing or feeling nothing of the moment, only a repeat of the actions of many insensitive men,
those that flourish, those that sentiment cannot stain those that walk tallest amongst men;
because they were hungry for appurtenance.
I remember well , in the far off lea of my mind,
down on the farm thousands of miles away across the Pacific,
where enamel clashed against concrete
there , where foolhardy dreams were dashed,.
when the heart pursued
the warm flesh , she that gave her
reflection to the swan song
of an innocence.
Alas should one be compelled to expire
as one would, a chardonnay basking in the hot sunshine?
Should one fall foul of a politically correct society
that , outside of one’s comfort zone,
because one feels , want , in choleric veins?
Even the sullen white cross, dotted upon the highways
become burning embers, a constant reminiscence,
an emotional monument to many inhibited memories.
Yet I beg this deportment shows me a realization,
that death is imminent,
so why this perpetual waiting, this constant urge,
for this vein dependency to be infringed upon ???
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Axe the old Don, a trump peter n piper
of incredulous hellish crud - be gone
ha air brushed pompous ****
Sunkist in Macy's window
then like a jackal hound, he doth run
after public outcry yelps
for his hide leaving
proletarian discord re: pyrrhic victory won.
Donald Duck Trump ™$ - a pompous ass
makes war with his big brass
knuckles and bucket of crass
maligns vis a vis character assassination
while kissing thing kith
darting forked tongue sharp as bro kin glass
inciting banal deathly hallowed
expletives toward lass
sees – especially Fox Television
news anchor woman Megyn Kelly
(quite so many ill mannered indiscretions ago)
inducing said personality
to bear the brunt of brutish mass
of vitriolic n vile insults sacrilegiously
maliciously, noxiously, opprobiously
incriminating, hellaciously,
desecrating opportunistically as hiss oh piss
so…NO amp pull VOTE of confidence from me
(thus far ohm host halfway to 2020 election
toward such a volt char quite rude, snooty
arrogant simian with sass.
I van (terribly hard pressed)
to describe while sitting on me rump
how he oh bomb in lee rages
gnashing false teeth
Wilma backside doth slump
still blasting Democratic nomination
(pa hill a reed) as sham –
from special interest bro and sis turn pump
he, the epitome of
crass bloviation, a malignant lump
whose rants,
sans presidential outcome a shame
bullying with his millions beds this,
that and another woman to bareback jump
disseminating gene pool
birthing more Quakers
and additionally doth hump
the mass media as some foolhardy charade
and caricature of a frazzled grump
this arboreal clothed ape erected Taj Mahal
phallic symbol, where players dump
and gamble away hard earn cash
for his kitty, as if that cachet
to grind and bump
lambasting with maniacal
like "Stormy Dan" yells
leering oafish ill pout
while hair rum
(of red follicular) bulls ad hocks
atop his bulbous aerosol sprayed locks
resemble a flock
of bronzed sea gulls mocks
heady measly shaped Muppet Ox
dis eased cranial hologram shocks
of a cretaceous, facetious tocks
(sic) exogenous, insidious, and obstreperous vox.
The risks to most were far too high
Much too much daily effort needed.
As for the course itself, a death trap
particularly for anyone too inexperienced.
Each fence had to be riden correctly
otherwise the too wide turn catches you out.
Leaving you many yards behind some race on,
The weak pull up their race is done.
The field now halved leaves more room
and some foolhardy people go for the gaps
to find themselves brought down hard
they had over jumped and paid the penalty.
The remaining few were far apart
yet most soldiered on hungering
for the prize, the acclaim and title
Until next year they sit at the top.
She drives that wobbly car
Stacked to the roof with goods
Squalor taunts her thus far
As she hides under hoods
Her babe cries behind bags
Baubles of plastic sneer
Purpose chokes on ball gags
When spending serves to steer
Tears well in her bright eye
While she struggles with rent
How will her child get by
On cash already spent?
She bats those long lashes
As she stands at my door
Wounded bird with gashes
Maybe she’ll need to whore
I long to comfort her
To regulate her pain
Emotions tend to blur
When yanked by Cupid’s chain
So foolhardy with joys
At discovery’s gate
I shed some unused toys
To help her mournful state
I’ve learned to live on crumbs
With circumstance’s ebb
All billionaires and bums
Depart this fateful web
Conjured visions of us
Tease my eroding mind
Intentions won’t cause fuss
When paid forward in kind
Yet her concept of friend
Surely differs from mine
Manipulations end
Alliance once divine
Wounds either kill or cure
What I am meant to be
Yet one truth shines for sure
Love keeps consuming me
the heart is always right
unless this time it’s wrong
and this time is not like all the others
this game he must not lose
too much at risk
no room for error
is it worth the risk
has he hit the point of no return
is it really worth the venture
if it’s a go
execution must be meticulous
indeed the stakes are high
this gamble must be calculated
pros and cons be tallied
well thought through in every detail
arsenal of charm and tactics
gone out on a limb
a joyride down a slippery slope
jeopardizing the crown
winner take all
in pursuit of the gauntlet
ripple effect of a backlash
a chain reaction
hanging in the balance
this sort of entanglement
not for the foolhardy
it’s no sitcom for buffoons
at the slightest hiccup
fallout could be disastrous
will he roll the dice
at what point does
temptation become obsession
and seriously cloud all judgment
precarious and unpredictable
impetuous and highly flammable
the repercussions for frivolity
the high cost of capricious reverie
its longterm aftermath
risky business
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~CITYLIGHTS~ 2021
Read on air by invitation ~ August 13, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on August 2, 2021 for A BRIAN STRAND YOUR CHOICE POETRY contest sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
January has pocketed frosted dreams
Firmly tucked away, hidden under her black ice
Her treacherous blizzards torment the foolhardy
Many driving too fast on her hills should know better
In a heavily prayer-scented car
A risk-taking older cigar-smoking woman twirls around on the ice
Finally landing with a splat, slamming into a steel embankment
Her days on earth over now
bitterer than any rejected suiter, the incredible storm picks up
The woman's Ford is covered in mounds of wet heavy snow
This is a desolate road, people do not see the wreck for hours
Nine One One is called, but it is too late.
This smoke has words that escape me actually
The EMT says, as he reaches the scene
I see no smoke, his unaware partner replies
Not seeing the haze that is taking the lady’s soul to heaven
FOOLHARDY
free
to
follow-
or deny
then to wonder why
JEOPARDY
free
to
follow-
much to late
then,to wonder why
ECSTASY
free
to
follow-
in rapture
then,with wonder cry
Inspired by John 8:33-36
trees dilly-O sing.
mellow skies surmise —
they’re not quite blue, white nor gray.
knocking in front and back —
pileated woodpeckers, shockers
with crests, crafty
to home owls and bats,
like royal courts of yore
dillydally the enemy within
mine walls.
the oaks shade their eyes,
press into my panes,
scratch during a storm,
rain on my parade.
yet, I can’t help...but adore
the pines and oaks,
ivy that wraps serpentine around bark,
wild flowers ready to leap
on ballet toes,
touch my nose with romantic scent.
so Spring,
the sachet of hidden things,
like a freeze game come to life
with intrigue, potentiality
of pairings — doves, robins,
crows and the like.
what if i could climb the tall trunk
high, below the unseen clouds —
easy does it.
my hair sailing like a pirate.
my grin foolhardy.
my heart doesn’t know what it needs.
it needs trees.
2/27/2021
DATE ON BIKES
rented bicycles
our wobbly legs
older now
couldn’t carry us
to that paddy’s day bar
when you're young
the winds at your back
red-faced jubilation
legs pumping
wheels going round and round
like the sun spinning
hurling toward sunset
and God smiled at us that day
knowing of us foolhardy folks
of all the persons on the base
zillions and zillions
our friend, karen and brother
would carry us home
she packed in the back
short and stinking drunk
between the spokes
what fun we had
tipsy tired
little lassie
with glasses
so sweet
cheers to that year
so long ago
hope you feel the warmth
the glow
kisses spinning in the air
or if you’d rather
four leaf clovers
kim rodrigues © 2017
The Life we now live seems but a deceitful drain
Rules abound that keep us all in chains
When will our saviour show us
We are in his favour
Blessed are the rich for they can afford the price rises
Essentials are so far out of reach for us already on our knees
We constantly pray
For what we gravely need
Blessed are the police for they can do as they please
They trample us in their lustful hate of society
Despite claiming to be our big brother
Blessed are the artful for they will dodge anything
And pay an unfair share of taxes
By buying government policy
Blessed are the bankers for they have ruined the day
Lending to us who could not control our spending
But now have to face reality
Blessed are the politicians for they always know what not to say
And lie at election time so convincingly
That we foolishly believe their comedy
Blessed are the immigrants
For they at first appear foolhardy
Working long hours for less money
Till they realise they have rights like everybody
Blessed are the celebrities
For they have distracted us well
From the day to day hell in which we dwell
Blessed are the peaceful for they are useful after a riot
And can calm some but only for a short while
Till the government causes a decline in the economy
Blessed are the rioters for they know the value of greed
And covet an unpaid for flat screen TV
That was too overpriced if bought legitimately
Blessed are the gangs for they rule the streets
And act like feral cats
Till they end up six feet under
Blessed are the silly for they believe the news
And have a forgetful countenance
And will always blame somebody
Blessed are the over-spender
Who keep the internet in boom
Even though it’s unaffordable credit card spending
That will cause future misery
Blessed are the middle classes for they take all the school places
And the jobs and all the cream
And anything they can carry
Blessed are the reporters
For they know how to fan the flames of discontent
With their distilled forgetful hate
That shows gross prejudices
Blessed are the simple folks who the world passes by so quickly
And who seem so unfairly happy
Long may they remain cloaked in insanity
And finally blessed are the people for they will rise up eventually
Another day
When despair can’t be held at bay
Amongst myths and legends shadow realm,
Dwells an ancient evil.
Beneath temples walls, and shattered ruins,
Beware mortals of what lies within the,
Burnt offerings wreckage.
In a hushed stilled silence, a figure lingers,
On the outer edges farthest fringes,
In the dark recess of humanity's night terror,
Lurks a demon a demonic priestess,
Called Medusa.
Reptilians fork tongue of darkness’s,
Grand design,
Listen not be deaf to her sweet melodies
Enchantment.
She slithers side by side as a rattle snake,
Moving in for its killing strike.
A hooded cobra lies behind emerald green eyes,
Laughing with sheer fiendish delights pleasure.
Deadliest of Lucifer's mistresses, she alone.
Waits for her next victim to enter,
This dead mans trap.
Frozen in that last tangible moment of existence,
Life depictions stone guardians, seemingly alive are
Poised in eerie poses.
Cement warriors with swords drawn and
Shields raised remain in battles stance.
A chilling realization is fears last expression,
Daring fools whom see death's reflection
Staring right back at them in the dark.
Fleshes accursed immortalized within
These statues of stone.
Fortune does not favor the foolhardy,
It punishes them by tortuous means.
A doubled edge blade placed in mortal,
Hands does not always yield a hero, or
Conqueror.
Step ever so lightly, keep all weapons,
Close at hand.
Heroic deeds deny you this adventurous tail.
For in the hollows depth no spirit escapes,
In her garden most evil,
Beware the wrath of Medusa.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN