Long Drum roll Poems
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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...
Fight to the death
From sword to fiery ash, from honor to tale engraved stone
That they did until their final breath
Oh, the places that they'd roam
From soul to eternity in the abyss, from the crack of every bone to the life they had always known
And the tasks they'd undergo
To finally find that place called home
Listen, to the tale that their loss would bestow
From glory to the shadows, from the bash of every shield
To the meaning that they yield
From victory to loss, from their deaths to the banner waving in the breeze
To their burning corpses consecrating this bloody battlefield
Still to this day if you listen to the wind you can hear them cry in agony as the drum roll beats echoing beyond the trees.
Write from your heart and give from your soul
And hope to cajole a smile and or a drum roll
You play with your words watch them words roll off your pen
Making new rhymes that will you'll only use once then never again
And hope to cajole a smile and or a drum roll
So please check out this poem, to see if it rhymes have been stole
Making new rhymes that will you'll only use once then never again
Just please remember writing a good poem is your main goal today
So please check out this poem, to see if it rhymes have been stole
those rhymes and the lines don't fall foul of the rules
Just please remember writing a good poem is your main goal today
so please try this form, its very rock and roll
those rhymes and the lines don't fall foul of the rules
You play with your words watch them words roll of your pen
so please try this form its very rock and roll
Write from your heart and give from your soul
Autumn's changing colors beckon me,
as I follow a spunky squirrel scampering into the woods.
Nature welcomes me as an old friend
that hadn't visited in a long while;
triggering a release of endorphins that fuel my smile.
My excursion gets noted by a jaunty woodpecker;
tapping out a distant drum roll, as I navigate
through a shifting sea of crisp, crunchy leaves, obscuring the trail.
The air feels nippy, chilled by a brisk breeze,
tickling scarlet, crimson, and cerise leaves;
till they laugh and fall from the trees.
A chatty chipmunk scolds me
as I trespass through its territory, paying it no heed.
And I smell the subtle, spicy scent of earth and decay
while I wander through Fall's tapestry of color,
woven with threads of yellow, amber, orange, and vermilion.
Autumn's beauty holds the power to heal the soul;
and Mother Nature is its custodian.
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!
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
When you live on a farm and hear cockadoodle-doo
What do those words mean to you?
They mean pretty soon you'll hear moo,
and you'll have lots of work to do.
After a while, the horse will neigh,
and, before you know it, you are bailing hay.
I wished that rooster hadn't made a peep,
so I turned over and went back to sleep.
What if the animals were a musical team?
I thought to myself and started to dream:
Hey everybody, clap your hands
and listen to the Animal Good Time Band!
It's got animals of every kind.
Their grunts and snuffles are in 4/4 time.
Animals from Africa and Australia -
Reptiles, birds, and mammalia.
Rat-a-tat tat, let's have a drum roll
Man, the elephants and zebras are outta control.
Thump, thump, thump goes the bass guitar.
McCartney? Hah!, the walrus is better by far.
Time to kick back, get in the groove and relax,
and listen to the ostrich toot and wail on sax.
Their new lead guitarist is all the rage.
Yep, the orangutan out-twangs Jimmy Page.
That mournful cry of the violin's trill -
Ain't nobody bows it like a gorilla will.
Hear the monkey smash that thang.
Bwaaangg - the cymbals crash and bang.
That ain't no monkey, that's my mother
Huffing, "get up and work, you and your brother".
thinking back
pulling out
putting on
vynil dressed in
a comfortable
coat
static free
stylistically
always came
with let me
roll up my sleeves
rummaging through
my own ancient
history believing
this is what i grew
up on and so
tapping my arm
finding a vein
i put the needle
on and within
me shoots
hot
things
forgotten
(my Mum always
twisting the knob
randomly to
today's station
[drum roll]
jazz
and
so we
would take
it in
not by
nose sniffing
but a russian
roulette of what
was played around
sometimes
symphonic
or r&b
whatever
i got my
kicks
off) and
follow
me
to the depths
if deeper
seeing
through my eyes
an album cover
more then
for me ****
at a young
age
Form:
I dived into the cauldron of magic potion and... Poetry Contest
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I dived into the cauldron of magic potion
in hubby's best interest
... and, drum roll, mine also
You see, well there's nothing to see
And that's the point
... for this point of contention
only touches the surface
Where his plumbing could use some work
... sigh ... a lot of work
We tried all the gimmicks
... and unfortunately
All the gimmicks laughed at us
We tried the blues, greens, and lotions
And his rowboat remains docked
… In the parting seas
With eagerness, we look at the cauldron
For some magic
Something … like something to hold onto
A rabbit's foot ... hum that might work
Even a lifeboat … only for me
So cauldron what say you
You have a bone to pick … ha, ha
Imagination is the key Trixie whispers
Follow your bliss. Be an artist. For you already are.
Be winsome. Be incredible. Be us.
A purple dragon doctor with shiny glistening silver scales
Lights down on the desk next to my typing fingers.
She is wearing a red cherry colored tam.
Are those bagpipes? I ask, hearing the Scottish melody.
Knowing the butterscotch brownies will taste fabulous
Trixie rolls her eyes. Adding a drum roll, and the dragon disappears.
Today has a glorious sparkle. There is a feeling of happiness.
“We’re back!” someone whispers. It must be Trixie.
I feel grateful, satisfied and enthusiastically invincible.