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Personal Note:

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Poem

I think we are all drummers – 
of course, drum musicians know
that drumming is not just pounding
on the skins (well, vinyl these days) – 
there is also, soulful brushwork, and
finessing of symbols...not everyone a crash; 
drums breathe -- all parts -- from outer
shells to inner resonance; influenced
also by surface temperature, humidity
of the room, and the echos of their
wall enclosure or freedom –  not so
different from the maker: our hearts
are echo-chambers...especially our
minds, the garbage in the garbage out – 
we echo love or the discourse of the
environment – we are beat spirited
rhythms, shuffles and stomps of feet – 
tasteful entrees and all that a desire
can eat – seeming devils at times,
that only our surrender to God can
defeat – Yes! God is a drummer: no
moving instrument of being without
its core sound – a universe of timpani,
some quite square, but really, all is 
round – the universe a lively Topsy,
a swing and a shout – we leap and
twirl in time – knowing time, not 
gravity, keeps us down, shuts us
in, or keep us up and highly
out. Even at my age, more apt
to honestly, sweat-fully gig, than play 
under any, pretentious, perfumed
wig.

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