Best Drums Poems
Jungle Drums
Well known was Molly by gossips
Words fell so easy from her lips
They always found ready ears
Revered was she amongst her peers
A casual meeting Molly made
Good conversation she displayed
Invited then to mothers meeting
Where received a rapturous greeting
For all the ladies gathered there
Knew Molly had a tale to share
About the folk at forty eight
Procured across a garden gate
Passed along tongue to tongue
It must be right, it can’t be wrong
Second hand, thrice removed
Each time the details are improved
Behind her curtains, Mrs Rose
Who sees all that comes and goes
From her shadowy oasis
Offers Molly on the basis
What she tells her will be treated
With respect and not repeated
Knowing only far to well
Molly cannot wait to tell
Everyone she knows
All she’s gleaned from Mrs Rose
And Peg the paper shop assistant
Said “It’s true”, she was insistent
She had heard the news confirmed
By Mrs Smith, who had learned
About the tale and of course
From a most reliable source
It’s not hard to understand
How she holds them in her hand
Like ducklings on a pond to feed
Molly delivers to their greed
Her listeners are now captivated
By her words uncomplicated
Said with such simplicity
Masked by dark duplicity
Who would believe, ill intent
From a face, so innocent
Having spilled out all her news
Others offered up their views
Ever wilder each new claim
Fending, proving, placing blame
Then Ginger Adams put her spoke in
“ I had heard, “She’s done her bloke in”
With a glare from Molly’s eye
Ginger just wanted to die
For she had not learnt quite yet
Where the sights they should be set
Which appears to be somewhere
Between uncaring and unfair
With no way to recognize
Which be truth and which be lies.
Please forgive the implication that this behaviour is
exclusive to the fairer sex, it is simply for the purposes
of this write. I have known men that easily equal any
woman in this sphere of life, and be just as catty, hahahha
Amazon mist and rainy mornings green as the day God made them
dropping from a moist sky full of even grays and sheltering light
peaceful music playing from the spheres of a dense forest dream
we are all little humans in a big big giant cave, .... the rain
Pitter patter drops on thirsty tree in a world that is evened once again
sheets of rain fall from my window and I click click click and glean
a slow memory of old, photographs of mom and dad inside the garden
we were small and happily drinking in the scene .... the rain
A Sentinel watches from a soldiering evergreen, I lived there before
the white washed walls of peace and the age old chanterelle dance
as raindrops settle in my soul, I compose a poem about the downpour.
Petrichor scents permeate my living space as I listen to ... the rain
Rainsticks and drums Native chants and Pagan dreams of old, I remember,
Lady Gianne and her healing chants, how she lifted her face to the winds.
"Heal me now and make me whole" * " Bring peace and love forevermore"
As nature creates pathways to equity, the rain loves US,
again and again and again. .... the rain.
We have always been careful,
Avoiding conflict,
Shunning hostility,
Confronting squabble,
But none of us were prepared when the elders called:
“Sound the drums!”
Discord erupted,
No one was certain of what to do,
So we scrambled to the dusted weapons our ancestors had left for us,
“Those are for warriors!” a villager cried,
“Not for simple minded farmers and shepherds like us!”
But still we fought.
Through the battle,
The chaos,
The endeavor.
Some ran,
Some ran far,
Far away.
Many were lost,
Many forgotten,
And the ones who ran remembered,
When they called:
“Sound the drums.”
My ancestors walking in the night
using oil lights and moonlight for guides
while being instructed to Wade in the Water
to camouflage their scents like disguise
The Sweet Chariot awaited
so they could ride away
Harriet was a soldier
and it wasn't an option to be caught during the day
That's the same mentality Nat Turner had when he sang
Steal Away
They would follow the drinking gourd
so all were in accord to go north
The Gospel Train was coming
and at the end of the journey
was a fine reward
Freedom was coming
and it was a long time coming and
they walked until they heard freedom bells ringing
and I still hear their tired footsteps running
Thinking of My Darling Nelly Gray
Stolen from my arms a random September day
and eliminated our chances to run away together
No family ties, no love, no strength says the oppressor
Then I hear the drums beat in the darkness
giving me the hope of finally being free
Maybe I'll follow them this time on faith
on bended knee
There must be a place for me among the light
of this darkness
Among oppression, thieves, evil-doers
no thought on their conscience
Thank goodness for the safe houses that
supported our traveled distances
and for the conductors who bore witnesses
and may God have mercy on the souls who
were against this
and on those who chose to forget this sh@!
I still hear crying in quilts of safety
because I know that the burden was heavy
to be at the mercy of nature and patrol men
catching run-away slaves for money
Some did it bare feet with freedom ahead of this
loved induced journey and they made it
So all that bull about how your life is hard
just stuff it in an envelope and save it
SONIDOS DE LOS TAMBORES DEL RÍO
COMO EL SONIDO DEL BEAT VA, TUM, TUM, TUM
A medida que el sonido del tambor late boom, boom y boom
Corriente de las aguas del río fluyendo;
Bajando los valles gritando.
Fluyendo donde puede tragar;
Las aves descienden, picoteando los cuerpos de peces que emergen ahora flotando;
Las olas gritaban los nombres de los que se alejaban, se escapaban;
Olas de las aguas aguas poco profundas turbulencia aguas agitadas;
Evita que la premisa diga
Corriendo por la corriente corriendo contra los troncos contra las orillas del río
En voz baja oímos los tambores de las olas que golpean en sus orillas;
En silencio oímos los tambores tum, tum, tum, boom, boom boom;
Tum,
Tum,
Tum,
El sonido de los tambores de río;
Hacer peaje
Los sonidos de los tambores de río, llamada;
Están llamando nuestros nombres;
El sonido de los tambores de río;
Beat tum, tum, tum;
Los sonidos de los tambores de río;
The sounds of the river drums;
1/16/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
Listen to the Conga drums speak
Drench my soul with the spirited beat
Break the chains from around my feet
And sprinkle some rum on the street.
Listen to the conga drums speak
Penetrating mystics’ way out in the deep
Electrify the sleeping dead
Exhume innocent bodies and balm them again.
Listen to the conga drums speak
Stand up and dance to the rhythm and beat
Fling your hands way up in the air
And swing your bodies without fear.
Listen to the conga drums speak
Telling legends and tales over the years
Hearts exploding with gladness
When they hear the conga drums beat.
Take off your shoes and Join the circle
And listen to the conga drums agonizing thump
Transcend with me to the top of the mountain
And unload your heavy burden.
The Gods are calling me to unite the spirits
And seek peace in the holy mountains.
Listen to the conga drum’s cry
Lamenting the souls who have gone by
I can feel the tempo gushing through my vein
making land fall at dawn and igniting with
quiet sprits feasting on top of the mountain.
Listen to the conga drums speak
Spread out in the open meadows
Form a big wide circle around the fields
And dance out the turbulence in the pastures.
Listen to the conga drums speak
Observe every car on the busy street
Rolling vans and busy men
Camouflaging dark secrets
in old grave yards and pumpkin farm.
Listen to the conga drums speak
Catapulting rhythm under my feet
Laughter and tear romancing in the air
Mankind is blind yet making life sublime
Listen to the conga drums speak
Dance and submit to its hypnotic beat.
©2015 Christine Phillips
Like a strong heart beat, sends out a warning signal
The natives are restless, they know that danger is near
Mothers grab the little ones as they play
Fear fills every bone in their bodies from the call
Every eye watches, if he should appear
Slowly and quietly, he stalks his prey
With spears in hand, the village guards are tense
He is invisible, but they know that he is out there
They pray that the drums will drive him away
Sometimes that is their best defense
The hungry eyes of the Lion looks everywhere
For the weakest one he will slay
The Sun is like a furnace, the breeze is still
Monkeys swing from vine to vine, the birds sing
Jungle animals play in the river water
Slowly and determined the lion moves in on his kill
With lighting speed and a single leap, he has the poor thing
Scared animals flea, the river run bloody water
Another page has turned in the jungle book, life goes on
The lion is full, return to the ocean of tall grass
The villagers rejoice, that they were not his prey
Will he return at another dawn?
They will continue to look for his movement in the tall grass
Tomorrow, what will the jungle drums have to say?
thunder drums loudly
the black angels all tap dance
God is really mad
The ceaseless beating of a drum,
fast marks our days ‘til we are done.
Our time will come, our time will come.
Listen, listen, can you hear it?
Growing louder as you near it,
as men of courage, cowering, fear it.
A distant, daunting, haunting hum,
vibrations of a tympanum,
of time to come, of time to come.
Strings of the cosmic tympanum,
vibrating ‘branes as they are strum,
keep perfect time ‘til we are done.
Drum beats of infinite duration,
a cosmic tintinnabulation,
God’s multiversal modulation.
In resonance the yogis “OM”
harmonics of the cosmic thrum,
that marks our days ‘til we are done.
The poets and the prophets pray
their words of warning will convey
why we should cherish every day:
Blake wrote with vision, somber, sour,
“Eternity in just one hour.”
Just long enough to smell a flower,
before the beasts of time devour.
Look, to the stars, where we began,
now turn around and you are old.
Go, smell the flowers, while you can,
soon you’ll be buried in the cold.
For the ceaseless beating of a drum,
fast marks our days ‘til we are done.
Our time will come ... my time has come!
For the ceaseless beating of a drum,
fast mar …
Submitted 6-8-2020.
Eight Years Old
I’m eight years old, nearly nine
But I’ll never get there
There’s not enough time
I’m a delinquent youth
Trapped in an old body
I’d still love a trainset
Though I am a fuddy duddy.
Clothes at Christmas, but
I feel slightly miffed
I wanted a gadget
For my Christmas gift.
New headphones, or
A new guitar, set of drums
You’re right it’s really bazaar.
My wife understands
She married a boy
Who has grey hair
And prefers a toy
I’m sixty-six next month
It seems unreal
Fifty-eight years older
Than I feel
David Cox 02/01/2023
Pulsating rhythm
Fiery beating of drums
Repetitive enchantment
a seducing deep aum
An ancient language
for those who can hear
disestablishing illusion
relinquishing fear
Perception transmutes
in timeless trance
each soul now-imprisoned
within the freedom of dance
Beating loudly
Men with spears,
Loin clothes.
Women
Breasts bare
Tribal dancing sunset,
Golden.
Paint a picture-7 Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
24 September 2020
Are the drums of peace really beating?
But there is no peace coming.
Look around you across the world
Bombs, missiles and guns fired all in line
Come and see the blood on the streets
Our fellow humans having no clothes, bed or even a sheet
A 4 year old is crying, his mother dead
Hiding under some debris is a little girl, scared
Why, I wonder, do you kill?
And make others live on the pill?
Don’t you have people you love a family?
Then why do you make others suffer daily?
Let everyone live in peace,
Be friends with others; hug and kiss
Stop the war, I say,
Oh God! Make them stop the war, I pray
In the pitch black night
The forest, an orchestra
A jungle drum beats
RIVER DRUMS
Past the galloping city by road
The wilderness quietly comes.
See the crooked pine tree bow,
Hear the mighty river run,
Beating out it’s rhythm
On the rigid rocks she drums
Like our ancestral Crees
Echoes of smokey tom-toms.
Missinaibi, Missinaibi,
Ripples off the tongue.
Missinaibi, Missinaibi,
Hear the mighty river run.
Winding through the mystic woods
Where rapids speak their tongue
And in those raging waters
What holy purging comes ?
Feel the mighty river run
Thunder as she comes.
Many drum yet all are one,
Feel the heartbeat drums.
Missinaibi, Missinaibi,
Ripples off the tongue.
Missinaibi, Missinaibi,
Hear the mighty river run.