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Notes About The Poem

The Paradiddle of Being — Book Two:
The Becoming

Daniel Henry Rodgers

 

"What we call disorder might only be an unfamiliar time signature.
Grace does not erase the rhythm of grief—it composes
around it for there comes a time when survival itself
must learn to dance. The hands remember what the heart
cannot say where pain becomes pattern,
and pattern becomes prayer." 

- Poet

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The Paradiddle of Being - Book Two: The Becoming

Listen to poem:

VI.

We are all metric modulations
of our former selves—changing time signatures
mid-measure, learning to count
in odd meters when life refuses
to conform to 4/4 expectations
finding beauty in 7/8 existence—
the off-kilter cadence
of becoming.

The teenager tattoos pain across her skin
in sixteenth-note flurries—
razor crescendos marking flesh
rimshots echoing in a locked room
her body a snare absorbing
what no one will hear.

But the counselor reorients her strikes—
guides her hands to ghost notes
tapped on the edge of possibility
showing how silence can carry rhythm
how grief, redirected, becomes texture—
not erased
but transformed into syncopation.

Teaching her flamacue and ratamacue—
rudiments to rebuild rhythm
from fracture.

In meditation halls, the brush technique
of breath against awareness
sweeps circular patterns
across the snare drum of consciousness
each revolution revealing
the interdependence of all sounds—
how silence gives meaning to music
how emptiness gives shape
to form.

Even after forgetting—
we are the drum that cannot be silenced.

VII.

The mother with Alzheimer's forgets words
but remembers the shuffle rhythm
of her grandmother's feet
on kitchen linoleum forty years ago—
proving knowledge lives
deeper than language, that love
is stored in the muscle memory
of tempo, in the bone-deep knowing
of when to accent
when to rest.

The war veteran's PTSD manifests
as explosive snare hits in quiet moments—
his nervous system stuck in double-time
every car backfire a timpani roll
announcing danger that exists now
only in the echo chambers of trauma.

Slowly, therapy teaches him
to play his pain in slower tempos—
cross stick replacing gunfire’s crash cymbal,
finding the spaces between beats
where healing lives.

VIII.

The street musician's tabla bols
create community from strangers—
ta-ka-ta-ki-ta becomes the common language
that transcends the babel of urban isolation.
Each coin in his case a vote
for the radical proposition
that beauty matters more than efficiency—
that rhythm is prayer
accessible to all faiths
all doubts.

The autistic child constructs cathedrals
from polyrhythms—three against two
four against three—
tiny wrists parsing the paradox
of a world too loud to understand
yet perfectly timed beneath its chaos.

Each strike a syllable in a language
her flam paradiddle-diddle hands
dissecting chaos into latticework
unspoken but truer than speech.
Her fingers discovering order
in the latticework of syncopation
where logic and wonder
share the same downbeat.

She does not fidget—
she improvises.
She does not escape—
she listens deeper.

And in her palms
the world becomes percussion—
finally speaking in a dialect
her heart can follow.

==================

The Final Book 3 is coming.....

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Bill Baker Date: 7/23/2025 5:05:00 PM Another beautiful poem, Daniel ... I'll be going to Book 3 next. I too believe that all circumstances in life can be handle if diluted to the proper level that is in harmony with the heart and soul of an individual. What seems impossible is overcome as we surrender to the will of our Creator and listen on His wavelength. We misunderstand because we are listening on the wrong frequency or listening in physical language instead of the universal language of Love. Blessings, Bill Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 7/25/2025 7:18:00 AM Dear Bill, your reflection sings in perfect harmony with the spirit of Book Two. You have such a gift for distilling big truths into quiet grace, and it means so much that you felt this rhythm with me. I’m humbled, truly. Book Three is waiting and I’ll carry your blessing into that one. Thank you, dear friend. Daniel

Paige Hind Date: 6/11/2025 5:52:00 PM This is so brilliant, Daniel. Has such mind-boggling metaphors and examples. Login to Reply

Victor Buhagiar Date: 6/7/2025 2:04:00 AM Dear Daniel, don't silence the drum. Keep its rhythm, its deep thoughts that I had to read twice. You're a master of poetry. Well done. A poem to be remembered. Waiting for part three. Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/10/2025 10:52:00 AM Dear Victor, Your words hit like a steady beat strong, grounding, and full of heart. Thank you for reading deeply, for listening twice. That means more than you know. Part three is posted, and I’ll carry your encouragement in every line. Grateful for your presence and your friendship, always. Blessings, Dear Victor, Daniel

Panagiota Romios Date: 6/6/2025 11:56:00 AM David, a breathtaking penned creation. I am not gong to pretend I understoog all of it! But to write this intricate poem must be saisfying tou your soul, so keep it up. Your care for others I sense in your poems. That lat four lines is a description of me.)) but I have learned to rise above the clamor of humanity demanding I be other than who I am. Poent Pangie)) love your audio!! Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/10/2025 10:50:00 AM Dear Pangie, Your honesty and heart just shine, and I treasure both. I smiled so big reading your words and thank you for embracing the poem even when it twisted and turned. You are beautifully, powerfully you, and I’m honored to walk this poetic path with you. Grateful for your spirit, your eyes, and your ears! Blessings, Dear Pangie, Daniel

Mystic Rose Rose Date: 6/6/2025 11:17:00 AM wow, I bow to your brilliance here, so much wisdom and understanding in every word Daniel Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/10/2025 10:48:00 AM Dear Rose, Your words, so few, yet they carried the weight of oceans. Thank you for seeing not just the poem, but the heart behind it. To be received with such grace and reverence by you means more than I can say. I bow right back, my friend, with gratitude and deep affection. Blessings, My Dear Rose, Daniel

Anne Winter Date: 6/5/2025 3:29:00 PM Dearest Daniel, the second part is very deep and thought-provoking. The first stanza opening with this line “We are all metric modulations....”honestly hits right in the heart. This poem is breathtakingly beautiful! You've woven together a deep understanding of rhythm and music to create a masterpiece. The way you've explored the intersections of trauma, healing, community, and beauty is truly moving. Each section is a gem. Cannot wait to read part 3. With love and respect always, Anne Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/6/2025 6:47:00 AM Dearest Anne, your thoughtful and heartfelt response means more to me than words can fully express. I wanted to convey the heartbeat that connects us all through trauma, healing, and the beauty we find in community. Thank you for being such a cherished companion on this creative journey. Spring Blessings, My Dear Anne, Daniel

Paula Goldsmith Date: 6/5/2025 11:01:00 AM WOW!!! What a wonderful write/story you have here. Great Quote... Love your line, "Even after forgetting—we are the drum that cannot be silenced." So True... Have a lovely/blessed day writing away.......... Login to Reply Daniel Henry Rodgers Date: 6/6/2025 6:44:00 AM Dear Paula, Your words touched me deeply and thank you for embracing the heart of my poem with such warmth and insight. Your encouragement is a blessing on my writing journey for these rhythms we carry within us persist beyond memory, beyond time. May your days be equally filled with inspiration and gentle grace. Blessings, My Dear Paula, Daniel