Best Drum Roll Poems
Marriage is a great institution, but I'm not ready for an institution.
A dame that knows the ropes isn't likely to get tied up.
Every woman knows, an ounce of performance is worth pounds of promises.
When I'm good, I'm very good. But when I'm bad I'm better.
Every man I meet wants to protect me. I can't figure out what from.
Save a boyfriend for a rainy day - and another, in case it doesn't rain.
Ten men waiting for me at the door? Send one of them home, I'm tired.
When they say boldly go where no man's gone before, they don't mean the kitchen.
Honey when I said I wanted something to hang my hat on I didn't mean THAT!
Any port in a storm is a good way to divorce court dearie!
Titillating is not an excuse for going to girlie bars.
Anyone got a buck I could sure use one?
Grab a piece of **** will you, it may be the last thing you ever grab.
**** retentive? You don't say!
Lip service now there's a concept.....
*Listen for the drum roll!
TEMPEST
Twin limestone tors thrust up through valley floor
Like isles or icebergs in a calm flat sea
Deep green save where shear rock can hold no spore
To spawn in fecund niche a vine or tree
Midday and all is calm untroubled, still
In tactile heat, all movement paused, restricted
No hint of ought that might disturb our will
A landscape placid, as in paint depicted
But look to sky the seeds of change are sown
There, signs portend a transformation near
Those gentle clouds mere cumuli have grown
To cumulonimbus, thrust t'ward stratosphere
And therein is enormous might enclosed
Stored energy, that soon must be released
Unleashing primal power unopposed
The laws of Nature never to be breached
Now lightning flickers o'er far mountain peaks
Faint thunder echoes round steep valley walls
The breeze accelerates and chills to speak
A warning of the fast approaching squall
The charge in air: has swallows energised
To move from circling low ‘tween tree and house
Their flight plans now are recklessly revised
To helix soaring t'ward the threatening clouds
A steady light drum roll on roofs - sound train
Starts gently then crescendo ends the prelude
Announcing clear the now impending rain
Prodigious splashes transformed to a deluge
The waves of rain traverse our panorama
Gauze curtains drawn by cosmic stage hand's might
Relentless, recasting features as of dark drama
Familiar scenes are shrouded, hid from sight
Now random electric arcs flare bleak view scanned
Cacophony of thunder rules all sound
Awesome darkness and confusion on the land
All visual anchors cast in shade spellbound
But in this world each cycle must be ended
Perhaps reverse events that had us unmoored
The drama, soon is played out and expended
Peace, light and order gradually restored
Known reference points can once again be seen
The twin rock peaks come clear through rain-washed air
Clouds make fine-spun white wraps for hills now green
We're reassured by prospects known and fair
Is this chronicle an allegoric tale
Of human life not granted free of strife
Would we choose bland existence without travail
Or fain confront the magnificent storms of life
Holiday Humor- Limerick Set Poetry Contest
Tania Kitchin
It's Christmas in Hawaii tomorrow
And the blue skies be bright with a rainbow
Santa gets in a grass skirt
And a red Aloha shirt
He makes his way from each home's patio
He'll island hop a surfboard and skateboard
And path his gifts free of all disaccord
Perhaps stop at a luau
And devour some native chow
Santa's Hawaii trip was a reward
When Santa returned home to the North Pole
His starved reindeer met him with a drum roll
To each of his dears a dish
... Hawaiian poi and fish
His trip sans charcoal and snow leis role
I drumbeat your heartbeat
Sweat beating off body heat
I red dye your blue sky
With thunderbolt electrify
Play until my fingers numb
The fine hairs of your eardrums
And rapture into a new verse
Onto your flawless miss universe
My voice caresses the airwaves
All I want is for you to believe
When you hear the love part
Of my serenade in your heart
I don’t know why I lose control
But something deep in my soul
Fine tunes to your signal
‘cos babe my soul is rock-and-roll
And when you hear the drum roll
It’s just my stomach babe gal
Feeling your butterfly effect
Bracing for a powerful impact
When you charge onto the stage
‘cos even rock stars come of age
Hope to still pull your heartstrings
Through your earpiece when I sing
So I drumbeat your heartbeat
Sweat beating off body heat
I red dye your blue sky
With thunderbolt electrify
Play until my fingers numb
The fine hairs of your eardrums
And rapture into a new verse
Onto your flawless miss universe
08-20-2015
The wind rustled through the trees
forming a whispering melody
the higher pitches made a whistling sound
while the lower pitches were soft moans
as the wind intensified and released
in harmony a song was created that
only nature understood
it continued with a definite rhythm
now accompanied by a drum roll
as hands of thunder joined in
they both took a deep breath
started their harmony
enjoying a night serenade.
I will not write a poem today
I won’t – I won’t – I won’t
I’ll defy the metered merriment
Declare the thymes – all crimes
My challenge to the metaphor
An inky gauntlet on the floor
I wlll count no syllables
As I ride the “silly” bus
Nor sound the drum roll of
Repetitive alliteration
For words, like pizza slices
Are the best of poetry’s devises
And yet, it seems, a single phrase
Emerges from the dark through greys
Of lifting fog and dancing haze
Revealing fields where poets graze
I will not write a poem today
The poem will write itself…
Hello Friends... I suffer from Severe Bi-Polar Disorder and this submission was inspired by
actual events that occured during one of my especially critical manic episodes. Be sure and
read Part 1 first so as to get the true gist of the poem and leave your comments here on the
Part 2 submission. Thank you for allowing me to share my pain for pain shared is pain
diminished.
Me, Myself, and I... (continued)
“Your, (Or “Our”), symptoms seem to intermit
And the fact that “You’re,” (“We’re”), a hypocrite
Tis no wonder we’re having such problems with diagnosis”
Then “I” had an idea so grand
To dispense with this at my own hand
A self-inflicted coup de grace would be my prognosis
So while the “Me” and the “Myself” squabbled
With courage newly cobbled
“I” spotted the dresser drawer and made my run
With fingers fiercely fumbling
Whilst they continued grumbling
“I” produced from the depths of the drawer a shiny gun
And now my life, though ill-fated
Was soon to be vindicated
This would affect us all equally the same
Would be no myself or me
No you, him, us, or we
But an inclusive all would be to blame
It took me a moment to figure
Out the safety on the trigger
Then “I,” (or “Us”), prepared to do the dirty deed
Then the barrel found my temple
And as it settled into the dimple
A still small voice did my “selves” choose to heed
Hence a moment of clarity
Harkened me to posterity
And I thought what a legacy to leave behind
“Can’t we all find a way
To save this miserable day
And avoid a broken body for someone to find”
And then deep within my soul
I felt and heard a simple drum roll
And the differing sides of me just subsided
And with my mind now as one
I worked to get this all undone
The whole business of this stuff I derided
And tis now true of fact
That I survived this ordeal intact
And lived to raise my face unto the sky
And here now as it ends
I find I’ve made good friends
With the “Me”, the “Myself,” and the “I”
Thank you for taking the time to share in my poetry. Please feel free to leave your thoughts
or comments here on this page.
J. Scott Burns...
Room 5 – that’s where it starts
It is always 14 minutes from being nowhere
You can settle in for liquid cocktails
Ordered up by an oncologist and pharmacist
The mixologist has 10 years experience delivering the Red Devil
No mucking about. She knows how to get you where you are going
And get you there in one ragged piece of your self.
You’ll walk out but your mind and muscles are punked out pieces of meat
It’s like going ten rounds with Ali. Punch drunk from a float and jab
You will watch his feet float like a butterfly and his jab sting like a bee
But you are always 14 minutes away from being nowhere
People will speak, their mouths will move like slow motion action
You will see the spittle and the tongues wagging wildly but again you are still 14
Minutes away from being nowhere
No one understands
They all care
Or at least they say they do.
Drum roll please!
Strike the drum smartly Ed.
Lower it to the ground
Room 5 – is always where it starts.
And it damn sure is 14 minutes from being nowhere.
Natures bugle call to action
Daffodils trumpeting springs arrival
Bluebells sprout from hidden tubas
Spring is playing us its symphony
Battling banjos played on sunny porches
as the sun sets you can imagine a cello recital
or guitars played by camp fires
summer times Renaissance
The years clock is beating out on a tin drum
Leaves falling softly making the sound of a tambourine
played softly by the ghost of Karen Carpenter
Autumn drops on us like a drum roll at the end of a song
Lift your voice at winters arrival
sing carols to your god and celebrate his son
a choral celebration of the years end
sing songs of the seasons
comp entry 03042016
A STORMY DAY IN THE SOUTHERN ALPS
An environmentalist in love with his endowment, cast an eye upon the defender
of nature’s delicate balance, she the soul queen of conservation, together the two assimilate like the prevailing hurricane lock horns as the beast would in battle.The vibration rattles the old tin roof of our cabin, while the black possums scarper
clouds ejaculate
far below blank out the sun
Aoraki smiles
The tempest cuts through the backwoods far beyond the horizon, deep
in camouflage torments the deanery of elementary life forms. Flashes
of lightning waver through the gloom become centre stage, thunder
rumbles on, a drum roll an intro to a symphony of hail harmoniously
pounding the diverse depth of the valley
drowning in colour
the forest canopy yields
Kakapo declines
© Harry J Horsman 2017
OK fellow soupers, sit back and relax;
I'm about to smash this "SAMURAI" with the "AFRO."
So with this POETIC ANTHRAX,
watch how I poison him with my sick FLOW.
dakarai your slams are for the city dump.
I wouldn't dare get beat by no poetic chump!
dakarai open this surprise envelope,
and enjoy what I now have to say.
I'm picking up that "SOAP,"
and I'm throwing it back your way!
"Inmate this" and "inmate that"
Your slam was a hit and miss for I'm a Poetic Acrobat!
Come on dude I expected something new.
Show some "gratitude" that I'm even "slamming" with you!
Soupers know you "bit" off "P.D.,"
because she first mentioned the "SOAP!"
Where's the originality?
Let me just tell you your horoscope...
Today is the day that you have extreme bad luck.
For you're finally being hit by a poetic MACK TRUCK!
I see I have you mad,
because I said you and Chris like to dry-hump!
I'm crash landing on your heliopad -
You poetic chump!
You mentioned "G.I. Joe,"
A 'cartoon' - go figure!
You say you're "Rambo,"
But why am I pulling this trigger?
"Boy," you don't "shine," I've distinguished your "shark."
So you FRANKENSTEIN, enjoy the dark!
You say you "blessed my soul" like the "Pope" in Rome.
Give me a drum roll as I take these shots to your dome!
You say "My pen moves too slow"
Chump I focus on other stuff too.
I'm getting Billy-the-kid to shave that afro,
because I'm not soley thinking about you!
I'm leaving your "writing hand" a bloodied stump.
I wouldn't get beat by no poetic chump!
Ok forget "slam," we can ask soupers who's the better poet - you or me?
They can have a poll for the Romeo and Troll (who writes the best poetry!)
6/6/12
I begin spinning
Watching the top spiral, winning
The consistancy leaves me grinning
The top still goes
Round and round, alone
When it stops, no one knows
Interesting enough it goes out of control
My heart races in a strange drum roll
The craziness of life has taken its toll
All ablur, it's hard to tell
If I'm on earth, heaven or hell
It's wobbling lively, spinning pell-mell
Slower, yet it runs off course
The consistancy is getting hoarse
What is faulting me, the pain of the force?
It is really sad now, this top
Losing all of its flair, in a single drop
Something in this life has made it completely stop
And the air of it all, the gravity
It is clear to see
That the top, when it stops
Is always pointing back at me...
Drum rolling down Africa's paradigm
A symphony begins at the edge of a cliff
To kiss the feet of Mount Kilimanjaro
To meet defeat into a crashing concerto...
Bursting into life echoes that sing wall to wall
The mighty mountain unmoved still...standing tall
Ancient, ever rising facing her uncertain future
Of tributaries that are now free to overrun
Waves carry them on prevailing winds
And leave her land drained of their young minds
Of their love, of their fleeting feet like gazelle’s
Of their laughter, their boisterous chanter like angels
The mountain recalls the grasp of their hands
As they hugged her bosom to the summit
The sound of their footsteps...as they marched to the top
And their jubilation on her crown shared freely
Her profound sigh can be seen rolling down her face
Covering the land below in a gloomy mist
Her disenchantment visible as she boils boulders
Her once cool head losing control - not lactating
She cannot to be moved...they’re spoiled and lost
They’ll return overseas to find her still proud and stern
Her heartache will destroy her like an earthquake
And she will erode into the ocean trying to find them
Her dormant volcano will rumble into a chorus
And the drum roll that gave birth to their rhythm
Will dissipate her melody into a silent grave
Kilimanjaro - Africa's breast - where flows your milk?
The great ball of fire spills into a puddle
Only empty souls consider this subtle
A masterpiece, none other than God could achieve
For dreamers and poets to gladly receive
The fiery sphere starts to descend
The heat of the day begins to leaven
A miracle, extraordinarily feasible
God takes time out, to prepare his easel
Once over the hill, eye candy takes control
Mother Nature begins her drum roll
With every stroke, the sky becomes art
An exquisite sight, finish and start
The sun takes on assorted hues
Starting with yellows and ending with blues
The most magical color with miraculous power
Gold with a hint of red, known as the golden hour
Beating drums mark his last march and fifes play lowly, a breeze blows on blackthorn blossoms,
Raised high above on hardened shoulders for the mourning march, that slowly glides him along,
A hero, a name carved in precious polished stone, this is his last the most important journey,
The drums roll, bearers sway quietly with each step, a fife plays sadly bringing burning tears.
Winter, its hard wrinkled face and rough horny hands froze men to death stuck in no mans land,
It has no friends in this evil hated war and happily takes wounded men, a trophy to its might,
Thick mud is sometimes frozen and is like granite as the brave settle waiting for the whistle,
Some died with honour, their bravery hard to understand, bearers proudly shoulder such a man.
The parade stops at a grave, they lay their comrade down on planks of wood covering the hole,
The innocence of sweet youth taken away, living with bitter hating men, fear drives them on,
This boy was different he believed in the cause and he died for that sacred belief, honour,
The drum roll stops and a bugle plays the last post, men with their head bowed pray for help.
At home all are working in their gardens, a father mows grass, turning earth fresh and mellow,
Young flowers spring up in his boarders they have a delicate, poetic beauty a snow drop grows,
His boy, in fields far away, just as delicate as these new flowers when he took the shilling,
A father stops, can he hear the drums slowly and fifes playing lowly as his boy is buried into the ground.