Best Drummed Poems
I walked in darkness along the shore
seeking only solitude and nothing more
Thunder drummed from somewhere far away
like foreboding timpani as clouds began to play
They competed with the roar of bally waves
crashing to the beach in rhythmic laves
Everything was out of reach for me
the moon, the stars, the depth of the sea
Echoes of a nocturne were swirling in my head
Lyrics left unsung, but spoken instead
My soprano continued; the falsetto stopped
Too weak to stand, on my knees I dropped
My footprints had been erased by an ebbing tide
No longer able to run. I chose not to hide
Blind in the darkness, my loneliness daunting
a flash of lightning, then another more taunting
I lifted my eyes to the sky, to the falling rain
its sting delivered in a medley, staccatos of pain
On the edge of the sea, I waited for the end of me
My tears an ensemble, an elegy in requiem plea
I ignored the orchestra when I heard the ocean call
louder than kettle drums or the storm's howling squall
No encore would this night be able to reprise
When the flowing tide encroached, I closed weary eyes
A chorus of waves crashed like cymbals in concerto
stealing the baton from the hand of the Maestro
The moon and stars were out of reach for me
I wept as I was swept into the depth of the sea
August 28, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 13 Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Categories:
drummed, beach, emotions,
Form:
Elegy
Slowly the curtains parted a head peeps out
Dressed as a small child so lifelike
Can see the strings working the arms
In a disjointed fashion
But the eyes.....
the eyes looked dead
The puppet danced.
Drummed...played keyboard
So lifelike it was scary
The show had been running about half hour
When the strings slumped
The puppet slid effortlessly to the floor
Legs askew and arms folded
The puppeteer, made some comment
Slid the curtains closed something made me look
To my horror, could see the man
Slapping the puppet shouting loudly
Then the puppets eyes opened
He looked straight at me
Could see the pain in its eyes
The pleading for help.
When the police arrested the puppeteer
They found this dwarf figure of a man
He was the puppet.
Locked away were half a dozen more
Drugged into a deep sleep.
So next time you watch a puppet show
The puppets may look lifelike
Take a closer look, cos it just might be
They are.
Categories:
drummed, imagination, drug,
Form:
Verse
Seize the day
This Diwali night is the Festival of Lights,
A spark lend to dull and monotonous lives,
Living without friends is as if in a desert,
Souls chasing mirage, getting badly hurt,
Dr. Sonia created a group on whatsapp,
Eleven of us invited to join the app,
Sand dunes as if vanished in air,
How quick did we regain our flair,
Old days flash in memories afresh,
Precious moments getting subtly dressed,
Heart beats drummed, showered gold,
Emotional outburst is ready to unfold,
Murmurs in rhythm are ready to dance,
Joys abound attained in a stance,
Seize the day today, it's a worldly meet,
Never to part, future longing to greet !
Written October 26th, 2014
For our magnificent group 'elegant eleven'
Inspired to write by Dr. Shabnam on our reunion
For contest sponsored by Regina Riddle
Awarded 6th place
Categories:
drummed, blessing, feelings, joy,
Form:
Carpe Diem
Dreams herein, our progeny, still birth sometimes inside,
blind and rigor twisted, formless foetuses upon
the terrace steps where innocence bled and occasionally died
screeching for salvation when every shred of hope was gone.
Yet also soared in glorious flight, monstrous span
of righteous flapping wings in the stadium sky,
drummed thunderclaps, exultant fear insurgently began
inflaming souls and lifting living spirits heaven high.
Externalised, the primal chants and streaming scarves,
the goading, cheering, praising adrenaline infusion,
the fluid rush of gameplay, of two dovetailed halves
painted on an emerald canvas with fleet of foot profusion.
In a cloud of air horn banshees and muddied leather vapour
where studded feet slap pigskin like a hated face
spins a salt and vinegar smudged result newspaper
telling tales of holy triumph or damnation and disgrace.
Abused patriotism, the easy asylum of the scoundrel cur
whose omnipresent wield of slick wet Stanley blade slashes
carves desired resurgence of the way that things once were,
for Nazi flags, stiff arm salutes and pencil black moustaches.
Yet overriding all, the team and the game, the beautiful game
and the chasm rift between each side as deep and wide as forever,
the team is all, all is the team and will always be the same
and whatever divides team from team let no man draw together.
Categories:
drummed, passion, people, philosophy, sports,
Form:
Verse
Once there was
a tiny tree,
who wished itself
a lofty, wide-spread
oak;
longing to have
on him song-birds light...
to share a tune
to strum some beams
on full-moon night –
but the cat was
about, with a silent
foot...and the birds
knew Whiskers
like they wrote Grimms'
book – so the tiny tree
never got a second look –
but an angel up high
shrank deceptively small
and with a purposeful
stall, settled on the dwarf's
most prominent, yet near
ground branch
introducing herself
as a lost parrot
named Blanch –
and they sang
and hugged all the long day
only stopping at times just
to briefly pray (gratefully pray)
– and the cat,
quite lonely, for also a stray
made a fiddle of its whiskers
drummed with its tail
tapping a rhythm beat
on an old discarded pail –
Categories:
drummed, cat, happy, humorous, music,
Form:
Free verse
Gourmet Spider
Please, please, please don’t eat me
I am so tiny
Not a meal at all
Eight spindly legs and no abdomen to speak of
So please, please, please don’t eat me
I have tapped and drummed on your web
To soothe your voraciousness
Now let me crawl stealthily to the back
Move aside your spinneret
And copulate
But please, oh please don’t eat me
I am not a meal you would call worthy
Of those ferocious mandibles
And the glinting cold gems of your myriad eyes
Please, please don’t eat me
Not this time any way
And if you like I will promise to be a ready meal
Just add water
And you will eat your fill
But not this time
Ok
Not this time
This time let me escape
The deed done
I impregnate
You
And as I scramble over the treads of sticky silk
The panic in my heart
Is a treacherous mistake
For she looks always for the perfection in her lovers
ESCAPE !!!!!!!!
AAAAAGGHHHHH !
What was that
Oh no……
You beautiful …………………………………… cold…………………..
………………………………voracious……………… Bit………………………..
Categories:
drummed, animalsme, time,
Form:
Free verse
It’s been drummed into our heads,
ever since we were little males:
Boyz to Men don’t cry
But Jesus wept
Seeing my grandmothers crying at night,
sitting on their beds,
made me feel so sad and helpless inside
I wanted to wipe the tears away
from their damp, moist eyes
Why they were crying was a mystery to me,
all they ever did was make me feel happy
Society said a man had to be strong,
show no weakness, no wet display from pain
Keep intact his macho respect
But, I would come to learn real men do cry:
Even the bravest man ever, Jesus wept
As an older man,
I now better understand
why people cry
Not always necessarily from physical pain,
it’s deep emotional hurt
that prompts the tears
So many scars on the soul,
from so many falls suffered over the years
Disappointments, unrequited love ...
Acts of hurting others, bereavements and such
These are some of the reasons why real men cry,
watering the bed where sorrows slept
I’m not ashamed nor deny
that I often cry, for I was taught:
Even the only man without sin, Jesus wept
Categories:
drummed, cry, jesus, spiritual, truth,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Do you recall the fields of flowers, that swayed and shifted their stance
as the wind swirled around them?
Do you recall the leaves that floated in such stillness upon the puddled rain?
Their orange and yellow glow contrasted against the gray cloud reflections..
Do you recall the racing heart as it's beats drummed rapidly
knowing that lips would soon be surrendered and savored..
Do you recall the night that called out?
Inviting lovers to explore under the sparkling brilliance
Melting as one as the new day sun, painted pink the sky, with it's arrival..
Do you recall the dreams that filled head and heart?
The dreams that fell from fingers, no longer held..
The dreams that chase slumber from the night..
These things I recall, as I sit in quiet contemplation...TAH
Categories:
drummed, desire, dream, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
It All Started With A Parade
All walks of people crowding the streets
Like moving vessels of a mighty fleet.
Jolly Diana, a wake-up call at dawn;
A throng is gathered down the town.
Cadets go marching, called the corps;
Gutsy kids are watching from above the roofs.
Steps are drummed to a cadence;
As marshals yell to the human stream.
Big brothers joined in uniform
They are soldiers, the kids assumed.
With ecstasy without disguise,
Pride and innocence seen in their eyes.
Some beat the drums and others blow horns;
A gal is leading with a baton.
with Flags of colors and banners too;
To a festive town around they go.
Church bells tolled and clergies joined,
And so the teachers and policemen.
The politicians and constituents;
The village folks are coming in.
The air is filled with festivity
There's so much fun all through the day.
From one entertainment to another it leads;
But it all started with a parade.
Date and Time of Writing:
March 01, 2012
10:14am - 10:48am
February 28, 2012 is the 40th anniversary of Barangay Liburon in Carcar City, Cebu, Philippines from being a Sitio of Barangay Can-asujan to an independent *Barangay. Being new to the community, I had the curiosity of how the community people conducted the celebration. I have the honest comparison of my ecstasy being a 3-year old kid in 1974, having the first consciousness of a parade in commemoration of Sogod, Southern Leyte annual town fiesta that was then held every 15th of December (later moved to December 21st). As a sort of reminiscence, and how it differed to what I observed of the present kids observing the parade, led me to the writing of this poem.
* In Philippine political setting, the Barangay is the smallest administrative division. It is a community of about 800 square hectare more or less, subdivided into smaller villages called Sitios. The Barangay is headed by an elected Barangay Captain with a counsel composed of eight counselors.
Categories:
drummed, anniversary, children, people, community,
Form:
Rhyme
A is for Accordion, squeezing air with bellows
B is for Banjo, five strings plucked by bluegrass fellows
C is for Clavichord, keyboard with a metal sound
D is for the Drums which percussionists will pro-pound
E is for the English horn, using a double-reed
F is for a brass French horn, three valves is all you need
G is for Glockenspiel, metal bars arranged in rows
H is for Harmonica, both in and out she blows
I is for Ingoma, on which skins or hides are drummed
J is for Jinghu, just two strings that are bowed not strummed
K is for the Keytar, keyboard guitar held upright
L is for the Laser harp which plays on beams of light
M is for Maracas, their rhythm shaken by pros
N is for Nguru, Maori flute blown through the nose
O is for the Oboe with a mouth-piece that looks bewitched
P is for the Piccolo, a half-sized flute, high pitched
Q is for the Quena, a notched flute from the Andes
R is for the Rattle, maracas for the babies
S is for the Shofar, a Jewish horn hard to blow
T is for the Tuba, largest horn and tough to tow.
U is Ukulele, four-string Hawaiian gee-tar
V is Viola, a fiddle tuned a bit deeper
W is the Washboard, just for rhythm, understood?
X is a Xylophone, a glockenspiel made of wood
Y is Yotar, a guitar with four strings grouped in threes
Z is Zither, played on the table or cross your knees
This alphabet of instruments just breaks through the top
The're hundreds more to know, but Z's a good place to stop.
March 11, 2013
Allright Poet's ABC Poetry Contest
Categories:
drummed, 11th grade, music,
Form:
ABC
My Grandmother had a sage saying,
she would regale us with, many times.
With various nouns for exchanging.
But, the meaning rang clear like a chime.
"Pretty is as pretty does".
If, as a diva, on of us girls was heard.
She would hit us with that saying because,
she knew actions spoke louder than words.
Being of a religious nature,
she deplored and showed her discontent,
of those that would shout out their own praise,
then would go about doing ill intent.
"Christian is as Christian does".
Grandma did guide us down that path.
She drummed into me that saying because,
she knew actions speak louder than words.
For the contest : In Other Words
Hosted by: Joe Flach
Placement:6th
** This poem was inspired by the wise sayings
of my Grandmother who raised us. This one means...
Actions speak louder than words.
Categories:
drummed, philosophygrandmother, grandmother,
Form:
Rhyme
In opposition they criticize all that is wrong
and all that is good, according to their agenda.
They put clogs in wheels, aided by defiant unions
and often bringing the country to a standstill
with senseless strikes and organized protests.
Mud is thrown at government and individuals;
much of it sticks; the end justifies the means.
During the run-up to elections they use the media
to their advantage; the message drummed over
and over during house visits and heated mass rallies
rousing the rabble with heartfelt oratory.
They promise transparency and accountability;
fair sharing of wealth, help to the homeless and
to the needy; curbing favours to friends of friends
by resorting to the ideal concept of meritocracy;
lowering taxes and bills and introducing new social
benefits that would put all on an equal footing.
Most of all they harp on the eradication of corruption.
They hold roadmaps to solve all the country’s woes.
They promise heaven on earth; they promise Utopia.
Glittering manifesto is presented with much fanfare.
The gullible, switchers and uneducated are brainwashed.
As expected, election produces the desired results and
the party in opposition gets in power...on promises!
Promises that cannot be kept. The devil wants his due.
He grins, pointing to the small writing on the manifesto...
The majority had failed to notice it. It reads...SUCKERS.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: I Can’t Breathe
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Placing: 1st
Categories:
drummed, political, power,
Form:
Free verse
Ama you are a father
Father my father
Whose basket of fishes
Sweetened my mother’s dishes
Whose naked feet danced
The jungle drum you drummed.
I remember
Father I still remember
Those joyous days
When like brooding hens
You employed your hands
To shield the offsprings
Those several bodies
O! the little bodies
That clung to your bare wide chest
Like the eaglets unto their nest!
I remember
The sun-burnt days of the hunted panther
When the full moon-light chimed
The rhythms of jungle drum drummed
Rhyming with the story told
By the white-haired.
Then your roaring march
Along the prime paths of the forest
Then your rustic touch
Touching the weapon-hilt
Making carcasses of beasts
Making fresh clan feasts.
I still remember
The raw feasts of the drummer
Which strewed this universe
Like young Mbari warriors
Taking the spear from several clans
Turning their crowns into tributes!
Ama, you are the drummer
Whose communal tongue echoed
From the hidden chambers of the Niger
The drum of your conquests echoed
Everywhere in the universe
Like the gusto of the Sheik
Confiscating my land from the Sahara
In her eternal desiccation.
You are the royal father
Whose royal eyes woo the moon
Whose black hairs detain the sun
Like Joshua at Gibeon
Even in the deep valleys of Ajalon
Bringing the heavens to abrupt halts
When their course possesses progress.
O, Ama! you are a noble father
And like the gold-laying eagle my Africa
Your natural pocket flowers gold
Which fills the coffers of the household.
O Ama! you are our race
The clan greets her farmer
The tiller of my earth
The earth of the ancients
The ancients of my blood
The blood of my race.
The clan is still drumming
On the drum that now is a mere echo
Of the eternal rhythm of your drum
Ama, you are still our clan’s song;
O, you are my song
The song my jungle
The jungle of my blood
The blood of my race:
A race
Waiting
Now and ever
In a forlorn clan
Awaiting
A return of the drum?
Categories:
drummed, nostalgiafather, father, universe,
Form:
That day in the October sun
The British they marched along
Across Mater Barber’s wheat field
A force in red, quite strong.
The drummer drummed, fifers they played
We heard their martial song,
And we leapt out to meet out foes
To break that scarlet throng
When the British came along.
From our guns, hot fire leapt
Trumpeting the fray,
The lobsterbacks, down they went
Not long here cold they stay.
Another volley and they broke
Then turned to run away.
We pushed at them in hot pursuit
Our hearts intent to slay
Our guns trumpeting the fray.
They ran headlong that afternoon
To earthworks and redoubts,
Denying us the pleasure
Of a quick and easy rout.
We charged the wall repeatedly,
To club and kill those louts.
They repulsed us so many times,
They knew how to build stout,
Those earthworks and redoubts.
Then a general a cabin saw
His name shall not be said,
For crimes committed later on
That nearly cost us our heads.
He saw a weak-point in the line
His troops that way did tread,
A strike to turn the tide that day
He left those British dead.
But his name will not be said!
The line it broke, the British ran
The minutemen gave chase.
Paste their camp, they took the plunder
Capturing many in haste.
Redcoats ran to Old Saratoga
A frightful, desperate race,
And settled in to lick their wounds
Hoping hard to hold that place,
But the minutemen gave chase.
But John Bull face an arduous task
Oblivion did Burgoyne see
Outnumbered by a tough, game foe
Who surrounded everything.
His Hessians broken, bloody, sore
Sheltered only by some trees.
He came out and laid down his sword,
In those woods of victory.
In a wood called victory.
Categories:
drummed, america, freedom, history, independence
Form:
Narrative
Whom should I compare her to! I look around
I think a lot, but I find none
She is my god~ ~ ~ ~my small god
Worthy of praise without a pause
Each time I look at her
and see her grayish hair,
"I am heavy with countless thoughts
that clog my breath"
As the day arrives like a crow in a cornfield
each person draws to his end.
This sadtruth makes me wail as a child.
She carried me in her womb for months
while some terminated theirs.
There were days she found it hard to sleep
when she had those false alarm labor cramps.
Took care of me from cradle till I grew up
and in those days she became a singer
and an acrobatic dancer
without a drum drummed for her.
With lullabies she sang through the night,
just to comfort me in till morning light.
There were times I fed on her
while her belly was empty as air.
There were days she bore the blame for my fault.
There were days she cried for me
and days she went without
just to have me wear something new,
and said, "You're my future, my need."
Her fruits has now begun to yield
but, her days seem to speed
I wish I have a catalytic spell
to morph her back into a young girl
so that I can take care of
her for as long as I want.
I wish I have the elixir of life to make her live
for days seem to be just a single night.
Only God is unending;
But my love for her is a sea
that will never dry.
Categories:
drummed,
Form: