Long Daredevils Poems
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Good, bad or otherwise it is so interesting when we discover one of our ancesters is famous.
'Daredevils over Niagara' was written to showcase people who have attempted to dominate the Canadian Horseshoe Falls. While reading this book I came across one name that stood out. Though not so long ago, a mere 70 years in fact, one of these daredevils was found to be my relative. The book has both written and photo information that echos so many of the adventures over the brink. Both men and women attempted to outwit the roaring turbulance of this great falls. Surprisingly it was a woman by the name of Annie Edison Taylor in 1901 who apparently started this craziness that went on occassionally till 2003. Annie was one of the lucky who survived the thunderous drop over the falls. A total of forteen have made thier attempts with 5 dying or seriously disabled.
One of these people was none other than my distant cousin "Red Hill Jr."
In the summer of 51' he ventured out on the waters in a contraption made of inner tubes. He was hurled over the mighty falls to his death. He perished August 15 at the age of 35.
George Bailey, though not from the movies but rather a local author from Niagara Falls, has written several book on and about the Falls. A few include
Daredevils over Niagara, The Magic of Niagara, and Niagara Facts, Figures and the Famous. Working for the Niagara Parks Commission as Duty Manager gave him opportunity to actually be present when Trotter, one of the barral daredevils was helped out of his vessel. George has also accompanied the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Christopher Reeves, Princess Diana and her boys William and Harry while they were in Niagara. A photo he had taken of the boys and thier mom grace his livingroom. George also mentored me. He helped me to have the confidence to approach people to do interviews with. He showed me what it takes to write articles and guided me so I was able to have two articles in print and be paid for them. He gave me these books so I would alway remember what he taught me. Sadly he is ill now and can't do the things he did but he will always be a very special person in my life and he will never be forgotten by me or I doubt by anyone who has met him.
As I gaze through the window, I see birds jumping and flying from branches on the trees, landing on the overhead wires, swinging back and forth, each with a different song coming from it's throatSome gather in groups and some sing on their own, each with a melody of it's very own.Some are on the ground looking for food ,hoping it's found, as I gaze through the window watching them as they hop around , sometimes pulling a worm from just below the ground as I gaze through the window.It's such a beautiful sight, watching them building their nests, I look through the window, and after a while I see little heads popping just above the carefully woven twigs, looking through the window I see the birth of new life, I see fresh starts, and through the window, I see future being born and I am thankful for being blessed with my view through the window.Through the window I see newly budding trees and shrubs, and some new growth coming from the beds, looking through the window I don't know in what direction I want to turn my head.Through the window I see squirrels running along the ground, playing and shaking their tails, going up and down the trees and frolicking around.Through the window I see red ones , black ones and some grey ones to.Through the window sometimes I hear the noise of their sounds and wonder what they are saying as my ears strain to catch the sound, through the window.Through the window I hear the sounds of dogs barking, and can imagine their size by their voices I have found, some are deep and some have a definite squeak, that bothers my ears when they speak.Through the window I see rabbits running like little daredevils crossing the street, I always pray that no tires they will meet, as they run along kicking up the heels of their feet.Through the window I see dogs walking their people, dragging them down the sidewalk, towards other people.Through the window time passes by.Looking through the window I sometimes sigh, and looking through the window I sometimes cry.
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.
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
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.
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
This morning, remembering the end of times is not that far off
I sampled my cinnamon and sugar toast glad I did not have a cough.
The timer on the oven was showing me I had gotten up pretty late.
It was too late to do most anything, but time is frankly not my fate.
Words are all we offer as proof we existed, we poets and writers.
We come across as passionate, as big brave dope fighters.
In actuality, we are more frightening on paper, if you want the truth.
We can become pilots, astronauts, daredevils, and sometimes Babe Ruth.
I can write about kitchens, pirates, dragons, elves, and other crazy things.
A pear, its moisture sucked dry and wearing a lei of succulent apple rings.
I take down six pens in a row, but the ink is all dry, making me mad.
I am scribbling on empty, several times. It is irritating and sad.
Box of desire opened under the futility of trying to get something to write.
I throw down the pens and walk outside to encounter my garden and daylight.
The morning is salvaged when I see the butterflies flirting and flitting.
It is a fantastic day to sit and admire my yard. A day for porch sitting.
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©
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.