Best Drumroll Poems
I want to ride a zebra
and race the rays of radiance
through heat-waves’ sailing gradients -
a folly wild - a mood untamed
elated hands in bristled mane
unbridled veins uncorked champagne...
yes! elevate sedate heart rate
I WANT to ride a zebra
stripes yin yang oasis sweet and
whimsy rules a drumroll beat as
gallop sways euphoric roughness
crossing plains of dreamy lushness -
steed’s exotic tender toughness
pacing thrills in state of luscious...
yes! animate to sate my wait
I want to RIDE a zebra
savanna grass a grand expanse
a lion’s roar - hyena's rant
amuse myself with peril’s speed
adventure sows romantic’s seed... so
gestate date with fancy’s fate
YES! I want to ride a Z E B R A !
The mind eternal lies before us always.
Less pure in tone, we come to it drenched with life;
Fearless companion in our hour of days.
A purity not withstanding breadth of knife.
Away! Away! succubus death,
much less a breach than I.
How many not mislaid in breath,
In priceless toll, said duty to be paid.
No field of honored memories
they preach without belie.
Captured each, and each with closed fist shouting;
Me or not, Cold or hot, we stand between as choice;
all for desperate screams grown silent.
Pastoral in the presence, of one solitary voice,
Whose form of words so hesitantly mouthing.
Whence came we witness to the stream.
Whose eyes are these that hold our field a-view?
Memories whose touch a solid scream;
Form ignored and glory gored of few.
We are not the man.
No animal or simple word defined.
We pause, we pleasure, we perform,
With speck, and all our mind deform;
Our fingers will one day unfold.
Our torrid tortured tale be told.
Yours, mine, ours,
Drumroll spam-like dance,
Become the gist of one more fist
To smash against the sand.
A lonely wind tells me its secrets
Treats me to its scented memories
Apologizes for its inconsistencies
While hiding in a slow rising fog
She claims she is but a pawn
Held hostage by the sun and sea
Warm vapors stir the forming clouds
Icy waters chill the air below
The battle sweeps her into its path
Spins her in a tornadic dance
An unseen sun calls the devils tune
A drumroll as warming waters roil
And yet her sister lifts a falling leaf
Sets it gently on a chilling lawn
Riffles the marching rows of corn
Colors the cheeks of school bound children
Thus, she bids a hurried farewell
For stillness is the harbinger of fate
On leaving blows an icy kiss
As friends arrive in hoar frost coats
don't be afraid to be foolish and stupid (Heroditus)
When I first met her
I knew there was something
she gave me
a spontaneous drumroll
ascending to creative spirit
she gave me
passion petals
potential riddles
and irrasistable dreams
a hallelujah in my heart
could she hear it?
she gave me
hopefull hump into the night
always delivered
with style
like jousting with a flying kite
wholding energy all the while,
she gave me
supernatural second sightings
continual cocktail lightenings
whirling dizzying dance exclusions
all leading to this conclusion:
I was half - glass empty
bored
drunk and crazy
when she appeared,
I was darkly deep
down where there is only silence
I was alone personified
until our alliance
Alone with just my dog
and weekend child
So simple a life, so mild
I never would have guessed
she was to be my wife
An exotic beauty with twinkle
and belly dance
of fine gratuity
she soaked me entranced
like a sponge in the
starving Sun
(I had truly thought She was the ONE!!)
she gave me
wringing hands around
midnight,
bottleneck bands
of anxious light,
everfalling hourglass sands
seemingly never hitting
bottom,
burried under legless hands
and an empty drawer
full of condoms,
she gave me
superflous frustration
rafting hills of insecure persperation
nervous to even be
alone
with my solitary self
atop my pre determined destination
on Susana's Shelf
Angel on hindsight
Foul on an area of light. A vanishing monk.
A living stalk. A living hen.
Drumroll - please.
Hence we fly, I dry.
What do we say, quiet please.
I fly like an eagle. I walk like the empty spirit.
Ecstatic Bombastic Flying.
Bravo my friend, you are welcome to heaven.
Figuratively tack one hundred
and eighty degrees away...
where joie de vivre underscores
poetic theme, no matter every day
brings gut wrenching tearful tragedy,
thee attention for heart warming
(powdered milk biscuits
of human kindness)
doth shyly beg to gussy
esprit de corps with elan
evoking a reddit ting, snapchatting,
or twittering blue jay
mood, cuz most everybody
(including your truly)
dislikes constant emphasis on may
hem, sans mindless
violent murderous sprees,
nor natural disasters Earth quake
king, viz flooding,
out of fires burning, et cetera
thus, a concerted effort
(minus con vol fluted
schmaltzy arpeggio piano play,
drumroll, or trumpet blaring),
where pomp and circumstances
(composed by Edward
Elgar) try to stay
bull eyes euphoria kvetching,
and uttering oye vey
spin upside down
with a yippee yawping yay
plus countenancing
only gloom and doom
will conclude myself tubby
a cynical secular nihilist
making the ghost
of Missus Muir, Friedrich
Nietzsche, and David Hume
come to life (at least
in my imaginary presence),
and render a meta
physical/ philosophical loom
by expostulating their
respective profound Kant
mind bending room
min nations, even prophesying
after a body becomes deceased
(whoops a slight
non lethal faux pas)
cremated or buried
(with victuals for the after life)
encrypted within a tomb.
Where lips crave praise, teardrops dangle on lower lash,
Unabashed smiles, like the seawaves of haven’s cache.
Found in communion, where robust hymns reconvene —
A sanctuary, my consecrated place, sans dummy screen.*
Chalice dips in river of delights — Bread of Life, my desire.*
Bottoms warm on pews, hearts kindled — a passionate fire.
Like a helium-filled balloon, my folded hands blossom, float,
high and higher. Grateful for God, breath suspended in my throat.
I could sing of his love forever and forever I will. In congregation
a scrap of heaven, multihued beautiful faces — no segregation.
The celebration of host and wine not in time with our liturgy.
We imbibe crackers and grape juice, at home — low-key.
Nevertheless we have knowledge that same-time friends likewise eat
and drink, the body and blood of Jesus Christ, holy-sweet.
Proverbial church bells resound - Ancient of Days replies.***
His voice thunders, lights up, astounds — words to the wise.
A braided cord is my apparel, a sanctuary crown.
Now you understand that the church is my hometown.
8/20/2020
Contest: Sanctuary
Sponsor: Silent One
Notes:
*dummy screen - the façade of a television screen.
**They feast on the abundance of your own house,
you give them drink from your river of delights. Psalm 36:8
The root word for the Hebrew word, “delights,” ...drumroll…EDEN...wow! It is also a feminine noun with sexual connotations of pleasure and delight.
Bread of Life - Mannah, Jesus
***Ancient of Days - God
Night time rituals, that little space of time,
Cathartic relief, along with sweat and grime,
Tribulations of the day wash away, too,
Pool down the sink hole, tomorrow starts brand new.
Night time rituals, bring with them repose:
Weary souls long their weary eyes to close.
Strange to remember, I once felt that way,
Now pain too hard to overcome must still be kept at bay.
So, from night time rituals and sleeping I abstain,
Wild is the gallop of a mind that's slipped its reins.
Sleep is when it gets me, I run for my life,
Run from myself, dreams twisting like a knife.
Drumroll in my ears
Signal danger nears:
Like an arrow I am off,
No spluttering nor cough,
Scaling each fence,
I revel in my strength,
But the faster I go
More obstacles grow.
Hidden in tall grass,
Bold as brass,
I'll rip him asunder
The hunted now the hunter.
Exhilarating chase across a ravaged mind
Preyed upon so long, soon now I shall find...
A bench so familiar, leers into view,
"A wooden resting bench" but now there’re quite a few,
Important, sure, to someone, but that person is not me,
Misfiring neuron in my psyche
I wake up happy, I love to push my body,
Even in dreams, I'm proud of my dexterity.
Doubts creep in, so stealthily at first,
Recalcitrant swimmer who slowly must immerse
In waters so freezing she could die from shock
Can't bear it any longer, I'm diving off the block.
First hits dread
Limbs made of lead
Wasted muscles
Unsteady shuffles
Rasping breath
I'd rather death
Than be pushed around
Wheelchair bound.
Cruel apparition
Subconscious admission
That from my dream those benches
In reality, are trenches,
Where bloodied I fall
No further steps at all,
Scrambling up a battle
My body just will not tackle.
But my own will grown so strong
I'm toldl I’m hearing wrong,
That I won't mend
I cannot, will not, comprehend.
The drumroll, too heavy for May
rumbles on ... abruptly halts
Cadets at attention rigidly
silently, duty-bound ...
In measured tones, a psalm floats on
a breeze made limp by heat
Taps screams out, the flag is lowered
to its echoes, a box sinks down...
Cadets as still as statues still
'til cadence soft of drums resumes
Their comrade now interred for aye
eyelids lowered, red the sky
Blustery sky I have read your blotted scroll
Your balmy reams with angry portents roll
A bleary tempest o'er your tranquil plains doth roil
Blackened tenants perch on your billowy shoal
With shutters as dark as night as black as coal
Shading your gilded beams; with menacing shadows troll
From foaming mouths their brackish discharges dole
Stirring your seething pot; bleaching your blithe soul
O'er burnished strand their angry tides stroll
Spewing drops of misery; their boisterous nature to extoll
In thunderous chorus they sound their deafening drumroll
They sear your azure canvas and scorch every silky atoll
Stoke breezes with haunting whispers droll
Oh, blustery sky enfilading torrents seep through every porous hole
Boron fusion, specifically proton-boron-11 (p-B11) fusion, the path to clean and sustainable energy> Advantages is that fusion is safer because it produces no neutrons, only alpha particles, and uses abundant, non-radioactive fuel.
The same Sub-atomic reactions that power the sun and sssssstars.Monitering dust accumulation, using techniques called glow discharge cleaning.
The natural of the beast
in it's creation
one looks toward
its significance
to understand it's value
looking to the future
one would wish to
hasten and rushing
through the frivolous ends
to get to the
main event
the day they
we have achieved
our goals
and maintains then
is the only
obstacle
we are facing
represent the concept of fusion energy
synthesizers, strings (like violins and cellos), and percussion (especially gongs and timpani, a drumroll in introduction.
The leader, philosophical and wise,
Ends his speech after a long silent pause,
His true followers with half open eyes
Responding with admiring oohs and aahs.
Turn up the mic on the silence to hear
A leader's lust for worship and control,
Minds whirring like a quickly turning gear,
'Bout how what he said put them in this hole.
Hear tapping ant feet, a drumroll will grow
Til it reaches a thousand decibels;
But, are they coming to pay tribute? - no!
They're here to eat him with ant mandibles.
Great guru, great king, try this on for size -
A lengthy silence is not always wise.
Here comes judgment day
The day of reckoning
Where fates are decided
And verdicts rendered
Futures lie in the wait
The drumroll of anticipation
Admitting there’s no hope
For submissions that are late
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on March 6, 2019 for contest JUDGE THE JUDGE sponsored by BOBBY MAY - RANKED 2ND
He couldn’t wait,
Not any longer, he’d held out all year.
So he parked the car at Lookout Hill
And nibbled on her ear.
He couldn’t stop.
The drumroll of his heart was deafening,
He laid the seat back and gave her a kiss,
She couldn’t believe this was happening.
She held him close
Within the caverns of her breasts
And couldn’t look into his eyes
While she was being undressed.
She closed her eyes
Trying to shut out what was being done to her
Trying to envision something else, anything
Would have been better than this.
When he was done
He put his seat upright and lit a cigarette.
She got herself together as best she could
But it wasn’t over yet.
He drove her home.
He had found out for sure she had had no other.
His wife met them at the door, and passing her in the doorway
The girl said “Goodnight, Mother.”
Written for a Creative Writing class in 1990, assignment: a court case given to us to reflect in a poem.
Goddamn smartass squirrel goes through a window and starts slapping a plush toy.
Turning it over and over.
"You got jacked, !"
Up on its attention antennae, sealed in clover.
Up for all comers, winters and summers,
Springing into Fall cover.
Wiggle haunch, loose and clean, limber and mean. Mouse on his motorcycle meets mean Joe Greene.
Who's next?
Better get me some treats, sweetums!
Chew for my cheeks to expand a winning smile from.
Or I will have to open up my cute box for some
serious mind control, or nutsack, sodium snack (while you sleep.)
Through your window, balls deep, spread-eagle attack, sa la vie!
Maybe I'm a joker launched by the dealer of air.
Dealing a poker face behind, treeline stairs.
Aces high, rattatatat, fooey.
Watching your reactions the whole time.
Time you lose track of where I'm at in your mind.
(Birds ain't feeling just-safe next to us at the park!
They're picking up tips to get their nut, while playing a part.)
And how you get your nut really is an art.
A breed apart, like cats that squat at look innocent
in the outback at PetSmart.
Yeah, birds of a feather, Woodpeckers
are watching as they drumroll together.
The next sideby of your mind's eye.
By and by
Fluffy tales of banditry and diversion, ensues.
Maybe next time you will slow down on that dirt road, cruise.
You've been nutted by the best my friend.
Peace.
Of mind.
Picnics and youth.
Sideshows of the divine.Send.
Runners of the gathering, enroute,
to where your eyes keep and time spends,
your focus, to mesmerificalcarnivaltrifical-ends,
shaping truth.