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Notes About The Poem

The Paradiddle of Being —
Book Three: Just Be

Daniel Henry Rodgers

 

"We are sheet music written in staves of flesh and steel the rest is improvisation. Civilization's clave patterns three steps forward, two heartbeats lost. The paradiddle of consciousness a right-hand reason, left-hand dream. We are flams waiting to happen just one layer of skin, one layer of soul. Each protest chant contains the herta of extinction
with a quick, quick, slow, gone."

- Poet

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The Paradiddle of Being - Book Three: Just Be

Listen to poem:

IX.

In the ICU, machines create their own songo—
ventilator, heart monitor, IV pump—
forming an accidental orchestra
the clutch of machinery holding time
like a hi-hat choking its own decay.

Underneath the electronic rhythms
the human body maintains its own
stubborn organic tempo—
proving that even at the edge of existence
we are fundamentally
musical beings.

The climate protestor's chant
becomes a militant clave pattern—
Save our planet! Save our planet!—
3-2, then 2-3, the rhythm shifting
as urgency demands variation—
the drumbeat of activism
learning to match the accelerating
tempo of ecological collapse.

X.

And you—yes, you reading this—
your eyes move across these lines
in their own syncopated pattern
saccading left to right in measures
of meaning-making.

Your brain creating brushed hi-hat patterns
from the friction of thought
against the snare drum
of language.

Your heart, that most faithful percussion section
has been playing the same basic rock beat
since before you drew first breath—
occasionally throwing in jazz fills
during moments of terror or ecstasy
herta bursts—three quick, one slow—
when joy demands irregular verbs.

Sometimes slowing to ballad tempo
when love finally finds the groove
you didn't know
you'd been keeping.

What moves without memory is noise—
but rhythm with ache is defiance.

XI.

This is what the drums have always known:
existence is collaborative improvisation—
we are each other’s rhythm section
the paradiddle of human connection:

reach out, pull back, reach out, reach out—

pataflafla of overlapping voices
where no one plays alone.
The fundamental pattern
underlying all philosophy, all theology
all attempts to make sense
of this beautiful, broken symphony.

The single-stroke roll of days
becomes the buzz roll of years
becomes the eternal silence
that gives meaning to all sound.

But in between—in the sacred space
between one beat and the next—
we have this: the chance to play
our part in the grand composition
to add our own ghost notes
to the ongoing improvisation
of being human.

XII.

So when you wake tomorrow
to the shuffle rhythm of morning routine—
remember:

You are both drummer and drum,
both striker and struck—

creating ripples in the fabric of reality
with every decision, every breath
every moment you choose to accent:
love over fear
connection over isolation
rhythm over silence.

The world is waiting for your solo.
The count is: one, two, three, four—
….

Play

Ratamacue—Ratamacue—
Paradiddle-diddle, Flamadiddle—
ghost notes flickering between heartbeats
syncopation staccatoed through lungs
your hands conjuring patterns
no metronome could predict.

Crash cymbal of intention—
splash cymbal of hope—
cross stick of hesitation
clutch of breath before the downbeat.

Every rudiment you call out
is a memory made audible—
a story in the language of rhythm.

Flamacue, pataflafla, herta—
let impossible syllables
tumble from your palms
like prayers, like declarations
like the secret names for joy
and to be and becoming.

The song is unfinished.
The sticks are in your hands.

You are the drum that cannot be stifled.

So play—
and let the world answer
in ratamacues of thunder
in paradiddles of rain
in the space between beats
where everything waits
to be heard.

Play on.

Please Login to post a comment

Bill Baker Date: 7/23/2025 5:17:00 PM Thank you for your encouraging words, Daniel. They resonate with each of us in a different way, but that do add to our understanding of the whole. We never know if our thoughts are actions are the key to another person's understanding of the life. A single thought shared could be the one that changes noise into music for us or someone else. We are all part of the problem and the solution of humanity; we each must be our authentic self to bring reason to the chaos we call life. Thank you, BB Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 7/25/2025 7:20:00 AM Dear Bill, you say it perfectly: we misunderstand because we’re tuned to the wrong station, mistaking static for silence. But when we adjust, when we listen with the soul we find the rhythm again. It’s an honor to have you walking this path alongside me, drum in hand, heart open. The sticks are in our hands. Let's keep playing. Summer Blessings, Dear Bill, Daniel

Mike Bayles Date: 6/15/2025 8:30:00 AM Play on, Daniel. I like the drum part as a metaphor of life. I can see from your poem that rhythm is a big part of life. Login to Reply

Paige Hind Date: 6/11/2025 6:00:00 PM eyes "saccading left to right in measures of meaning-making." - "when love finally finds the groove you didn't know you'd been keeping." this is going to my favs, Daniel. Intense, and with strength. Login to Reply

Paul Willason Date: 6/11/2025 4:51:00 AM Hi Daniel, You take poetry into quite original territory, though in a way you are rediscovering and educating the reader on the ancient roots of the art...the rythms of language and existence in general. I was challenged at first...I ingested through the eyes...your poetry must be recited aloud. Brilliantly done...a treat for the mind by crafting words into meaning and a gift to the ear. Your poetry is to be studied and not subjected to just a casual read. Gives ample dividend for the effort. Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/11/2025 11:17:00 AM Hello Paul, your words mean more than you know. You saw what I was reaching for and not just verse, but voice, rhythm, soul. Thank you for reciting it aloud, for listening with your whole being. I write for readers like you, who don’t skim, but enter. Grateful for your insight, your generosity, your poetic spirit. Blessings, My Friend, Daniel

Anne Winter Date: 6/10/2025 5:14:00 AM Dearest Daniel, how brilliant your mind is to write such a masterpiece! "Play on" I'm going to remember this poem forever, if there is a forever or until I exist. This poem is truly impactful. It is truly brilliant that poetry can make you see something very beautifully creative even in a serious place like ICU. The way you've written this poem shows dedication and creativity. Very inspiring, my dearest friend! With love and respect always, Anne Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/10/2025 10:46:00 AM Dearest Anne, Your words wrapped around me like a warm shawl and a cup of tea, so comforting, affirming, and deeply felt. To know that my poem might linger with you “if there is a forever” is a gift beyond poetry. You always see the heart behind my lines, even in the sterility of an ICU. Thank you for your love, your respect, and your friendship. I treasure you, truly my poet friend. Blessings, My Dear Anne, Daniel

I Am Anaya Date: 6/9/2025 4:05:00 PM Blood pressure is much like rhythmic drums, when taken in between beats- Thumpity--thump thump, or a heart murmur. lol "We are sheet music written in staves of flesh" i love how you've woven poetry with rhythmic sounds, so profound. I loved everything about this and it feels freeing. I can hear the snare drum pssaw! Poet, you are creative, innovative and edgy! "You are the drum that cannot be stifled. So play" how generous of you to give us courage to express. Ty for sharing, shall you be adding audio? It really is a nice voice, lucky~ Happy Retirement Daniel! ;D Login to Reply I Am Anaya Date: 6/10/2025 8:19:00 PM What a nice recital, "reach out! " Great energy, ha I like the paradiddles funny word. Amasing,. Bravisimo! That was nice, Daniel, and fun~ ty Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/10/2025 5:09:00 PM Dear Anaya, I recorded it just because you asked and so here is to you My Dear Friend! Blessings, Daniel Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/10/2025 10:44:00 AM Dear Anaya, Today, your words filled me with such warmth and joy and I thank you. You heard the breath beneath the poem, felt its rhythm in your bones, and spoke to it like only a true poet-friend could. I’m moved by your kindness, your energy, your pssaw! You gave my lines back to me with even more life. I'm truly grateful, and smiling wide. Blessings, My Dear Anaya, Daniel