Short Percussive Poems

Serge

Mad Musicians

Mindful/less music moves mad musicians
      save/lift/elevate
Shreds of Song

Diatonic drones dancing on the digital drums
      vibrate/move/inflate
Fragments of Folly

Percussive pianos punctuating points of peace
      inflate/inspire/infuse
Elements of Exultation

The Rain's Came

The early spring rain pounds the earth
washing sleep from the eye of dawn
conducting percussive rebirth.
The early spring rain pounds the earth
bringing the pattering of mirth
as awakened the violets yawn.
The early spring rain pounds the earth
washing sleep from the eye of dawn.

Echo

Echo is a horse on gravel
muted and resounding
like God stepped sostenuto
e una corda

Hooves bouncing off and on
like a baby in
    the crib
       that outlives him

rattle. Break.

Slowly rock your empty belly
asleep. A percussive mantra rings
        echo. echo. hollow

Summertime

I.

Ta da, ta da, flip,

like cards in bicycle spokes,

percussive shoe, flop...



II.

Long spaghetti straps,

full circle twirly skirted,

sundress in warm breeze.



III.

Morning sand dune climb,

woven basket, cheese, red wine,

noon apéritif. 


-Edlynn Nau
©April 17, 2019

Power

Black diamond, fools gold,
overpriced and undersold.

Falling vices, rising prices,
and all the things that we are told.

Percussive concussion, concussive percussion,
endless discussion.
 
A round of applause for revealing your flaws,
your sin serves to feed them their spin.
If you had our fears, if we gave you our hopes,
we'd devour ourselves from within.

Something To Grieve

Facing an imminent 
onslaught of apparitions, I 
wanted an excuse,
to write a poem.

Staying raw, 
in this dark, can I see your particle 
face ? Drop by drop you 
moved away. Between –

you and me was a blue 
lake. Shall I undo your 
percussive existence, brutalizing 
the wings, the peaks ?

An Aryan pride ? Why 
not we walk back home 
hand in hand, under the black 
sky and a summer moon.


Satish Verma

Xylophone

Xanadu may exude such percussive bliss
Youthful romps and a coy stolen kiss
Lightly tapping in jaunty melifulous splendor
Orpheus muse prances playfully tender
Pounding with swift light jazzy flourishes
Heart and soul the xylophone nourishes
Oblivious to troubles I cannot stop my feet
Notions of love brightly swing to the beat
Each crisply chimed note a gift beyond sweet

June 6th

the old men, now totter on aged cane
think and remember, when were boys, again

now lips shake from the memories
of the percussive shock waves hit

and grizzly duty shelled eyes and lives
friends, brothers for their mothers cried

long fields of well-lined stone they gate
to entrenched squalor and bravery relate

reality returns like the day it occurred
unspeakable is spoken, by tear and word

any day so etched into history
seems a dream, but to old men's memories

© Goode Guy 2013-06-08