Poems about drum


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№ 1178233

The Vibrating Ear Drum

The vibrating ear drum
Gave birth to music

The wiggling tongue
Loves hearsay

The eyes forever watch
Judge, jury, executioner

The vibrating ear drum
Loves secret whispers.


drum,  ear,  vibrating.

Author: nivek
+0-
Date: 09/03/2020


№ 1171090

The Bell at the Drum Circle

It was All Hollow's Eve.

From all around people were coming to the south eastern seaboard to pay homage to the full moon, and beseech the moon to bless them in the upcoming harvest season.

As was customary, the people brought their bongos to attract the attention of the moon. The drummers settled across the length of the beach in many little groups and began drumming their rituals. They drummed for many reasons.

To this ceremony came a young boy.
He was a quiet boy from a tribe of very meager means. He did not have with him a bongo, ornate and with a bold resounding rhythmic thump. All he had to bring to the ceremony was a single tiny bell and a sounding rod with which to strike it. The bell, when struck, would render a soft, high pitched ring.

The boy knew it was a drum circle and not a bell circle, but he wanted to be a part of the evenings events.

The sun was beginning to set and the drummers had begun.

The boy with the bell joined a group of drummers who drummed to ask the moon that the breeze would be cool and gentle, instead of savage and destructive. The boy was feeling the rhythm, and when he felt he was found the place, struck the bell with the sounding rod.

The drummers stopped drumming. One of the drummers, an older boy around the outside of the circle shooed the young boy with the bell away from the group.

The young boy felt sorry. He hoped he had not been to much of a disturbance to the circle. He walked down the beach a little way. The faintest sparkling of a few stars could begin to be noticed in the sky. The sun had nearly set.

Another circle of drummers drummed so that the moon would intercede with the vast ocean and ask that the tide be gentle instead of large and destructive to the crops in the field.

The small boy liked the rhythm made by the various hands rapping on the tight skins and the sides of the bongos. He could hear in his mind how his bell might fit in with this rhythm. He was patient. He waited. When he felt it was just the right place, the boy struck his bell with the sounding rod.

The drumming ceased. Many drummers scowled at the young boy with the bell from a far off village. One of the drummers waved for the boy to go away from this circle. He pouted a little and left.

The boy did not mean to cause a disturbance. He had only wanted to join the ceremony.

The sun had long since set. The moon and stars illuminated the sky like a silvery blanket. The boy felt the love that was on the beach deep in his chest. He began to smile.

The boy was drawn in by the rhythms of another circle of drummers who were drumming to ask the moon that the crops be plentiful with fruit, the goats to yield plenty of milk, and the chickens many eggs.

The boy thought he might try one last time to find a place for his soft, highly pitched bell tone. He was hopeful because a few of the drummers were rapping and shaking beaded pottery. Surely this circle would be open enough to allow the boy with the bell to join in and help beseech the moon.

He waited and listened. When he felt that he had found the right place in this rhythm, the young boy struck the bell with the sounding rod.

Once again, the drummers stopped. A man wearing a frown pointed sternly with an outstretched muscled arm and sent the boy further down the beach where there were no more circles of drummers.

His head hung low, and with nobody around to see, the young boy with the bell who had been sent away from all the drumming circles on the beach let heavy and hot tears roll down his face and drip from his round cheeks.

"Do not cry, Young One, " the boy heard a soft voice say.

The boy took a breath and the raised his head. Standing before him was a woman in silver robes fettered with strands of fiber shimmered like stardust. A soft mist surrounded her.

"The tone of your bell was most pleasing to me because it was possessed of a sincere gentleness and simplicity that was unique among a multitude of sounds that all bore a similarity to each other. By the time they reach the heavens, they are all the same.

Because your bell was different, it got my attention.

Because you rang your bell with the first circle of drummers, the wind will be gentle. Because you rang your bell with the second circle of drummers, the ocean will be calm. Because you rang your bell at the third circle of drummers, the crops and livestock will produce a plentitude. "

The young boy could barely believe what the beautiful woman had said. She seemed to be cloudy through his lingering tears. The boy brought his palms to his face to wipe them from his eyes. When he looked back up to see her clearly, she was gone.

The round full moon was brightly shining in the midnight sky.


bell,  circle,  drum.

Author: Cecil Miller
+0-
Date: 02/03/2020

№ 1166575

Drum Beat Prayers

Born the war drum

I was beat until the cries became the sub-audible pounding of a thousand marching feet birthed of beatings.

Truant was I to the current flowing like the wind that leaves the leafs chasing that end from which they've stemmed, rather moving to the inner drum beating out my doctrines engraved on skin, a prescription through inscription it allowed me to see through jade eyes and experience my near life experiments. The temple trapped within I tore the doors off of to find the one I could love, only to be left with hands stained of (His/her) blood. Bleeding the gods of Din and (w)Reck on in(g)sides work against the world I'm in, the perception deceptive eluding the corrections of that War Drum originally beat, the per(cus/sua)sive force of that forced message left lessened in the face of realities newly perceived, though still accepted in universal truth. The heart beats new root, a tie-in to every action bourne of a falling hand drumming out that beat of every thousandth fallen feet.

And I am left to (Him/her), that hidden god of Din, and I am left without that temple once held within so I may decipher that left upon my skin, that forgotten prayer I begin,

"forgive me father, for i am sin..."


beat,  drum,  prayers.

Author: T Zanahary
+0-
Date: 27/02/2020

№ 1089938

Bang the Drum Slowly

"I meant to ask you how to fix that car
I always meant to ask you about the war
And what you saw across a bridge too far
Did it leave a scar?

I meant to ask you how to plow that field
I meant to bring you water from the well
And be the one beside you when you fell
Could you tell?

Gone now is the day and gone the sun
There is peace tonight all over Arlington
But the songs of my life will still be sung
By the light of the moon you hung"


bang,  drum,  slowly.

Author: saige
+0-
Date: 20/12/2019


№ 1089686

Bass Drum (Haiku)

Bass drum meets heartbeat

I embrace the energy

Everything is right


bass,  drum,  haiku.

Author: Kittridge James
+0-
Date: 20/12/2019

№ 1087146

Sinan (Drum)

They say, in the wheel of life, you'll spend half your years rising to the top and the other half tumbling to the bottom. I guess they got it all wrong. I believe life is a crooked tire that can never roll up and down. Pretty sure, it is nailed to the ground where weeds could grow to entangle it forever. Until now, what they keep trying to say remains a puzzle to me. Perhaps I can never understand what they mean. Or maybe I just won't. Why? Because from the moment our eyes opened for the world, we're already stuck down below and I'm afraid we're trapped here in this limbo for all eternity.

We're just simple people living an ordinary life. Like every family who seeks refuge from the storm, we do have a place we call home although it's not much of an architectural delight. However, for some reasons, I find our roof appealing like a real work of art. Patches of cardboard embellish the underside while a combination of tarpaulin and ad posters works in harmony to provide an extended shelter. On bright mornings, we'll wake from the sunbeams piercing through its many gaps. On rainy days, however, the sound of raindrops falling from the gaps down to our water containers serves as our wake up call.

To jumpstart ourselves for another day's challenge, we could either eat breakfast (if there were any), or just sing our skipping meals away and spend the rest of the day with sacks of scraps and rubbishes on our back hoping to make a good deal with Mr. Gomez, the junk shop proprietor. He reminded me so much of my father but without the alcohol problem and violence, though. During nighttime, we bring with us our drum to sing carols on the lonely streets. If our feet become too weary to walk, that's the time we head home. We rush all together, eager to count the coins we've collected that night. We make sure to put a plastic cap underneath two of our table's feet so that it won't lean uncontrollably and spill the tiers of ten, five and one peso coins we've dedicatedly piled over. Then the next part does the trick. A portion of our collection for the night goes straight down a big jar and joins in the many others which fill more than half of the container. The remaining part is used to buy supper to save our hungry tummies from
Shrinking again. However, during slack nights when drivers and busy people decided to become miserly, we're fortunate enough to have a pack of noodles for supper. But if we ran out of luck, we just set our untidy beds ready and drown our raging stomachs to sleep. I know there's not pretty much but this is where our lives revolve. And as they say, life must go on no matter what.

Together with the three most important persons of my life, I continue the journey for a better living. Along the way, we try to search for the good things out of life's bitter truths. We never let misery kill our hopes and dreams. Instead, we work harder and tougher. Take Islay, for example. She's cheerful,
Clever, aggressive, talented, a model of hard work. She's got most of everything. Well, except for height, probably. I wanted to be a doctor so I could help the needy. Islay dreams of becoming an elementary teacher. She said she really likes kids and teaching them would surely be a more exciting thing to do.

Then there's Nova. Her looks may require you a little more time to think and consider, but she has a good heart. However, she gets a little, uhhm, what term do we use for an unsociable person? That's it! She's a bit of a Killjoy!

Islay and Nova caroled a store swarmed with drunkards. It was always Islay who'll find every creative idea and propose it convincingly to Nova, who in turn hesitates and rejects it but then ultimately respects it in the end. Islay always has the winning edge. Maybe that's one of her abilities. Her convincing power deserves a credit to the list.

The two didn't mind the booze that welcomed them. Inside her mind, Nova asked herself how many people could waste their money on a doze of liquid or spirit that can poison their mind and bring them to imminent danger. If only they have given it to the poor and needy, they could have saved a lot of lives instead of ruining their own.

But Aling Nena, the wicked storeowner, unleashed her witchy wrath to the two. She looked at them with eyes of contempt, of prejudice and disgust. She accused the two as jinxes and blamed them for the
Store's unprofitable end. If only she could look at herself and discover a chest of shimmering blame, she might shrink into shame. Islay and Nova ran off not because they were afraid of Aling Nena or the drunken men but because of what Aling Nena said to them. They cannot defend themselves from such
An attack. How could they when they were surrounded with eyes of ridicule?

And of course, there's my dearest sister, Juaning. We've only got each other since our mother's death. It has been months already. Juaning was still 15 when mama left us. She's 16 now. It's been quite a while and I know she misses mama a lot like I do.

And so they fought life's bitter realities. They begged and implored to the unconcerned passers-by, almost falling to their weak knees for one very important thing - to live. But even if the three of them were sitting, lying, and rolling down the cold pavement, these people with more graces just pass by without even sparing a glance of concern. Wouldn't it be happier if they shared their God-given blessings? But as the day continues, they have to endure the hunger, the contempt. Because other than filling their
Hungry stomach, they have a sibling, a friend to support.

That's my part of the story. It has been months now since I caught a serious illness which bound me
To this bed, flat on one's back, weak, inutile, and useless. Every time they come home, I wish I was with them to taste the sweet and feel the pain, not just a good listener to their stories of survival and moments of friendship. Someday, I'll become strong again, and this curse of a disease shall be gone.

I woke up to the longing for water. I've never been this thirsty before. I called out their names but my voice just echoed deep in the four dark walls of our crooked house. With no one to help me, I summoned my strength and decided to get a glass of water by myself. But my legs aren't as strong as my will. And as I attempted to stand, they betrayed me. I collapsed and plodded down the floor. Luckily Islay came and helped me get back to bed. She scolded me for being careless. I cried. I can't help it. I pitied myself all
Over again.

The cold evening wasn't a problem for Islay. Seeing me cry like that crushes her heart. I know, as a friend and a part of our family, she wishes the best for me. And that's why she's still out there in the middle of the night, working late to earn more for our better future. She ignored the chills and the exasperation. She knows she has to work harder and she's more than determined for it.

But something happened to me while she's away from home. I cannot move my body, not even my mouth. Tears just fell from my weary eyes. And before it's too late, Juaning caught me unresponsive and paralyzed. My sister cried for help. Nova sprinted to get the jar. Juaning told her what to do. And wasting no time, Nova rushed to the nearby pharmacy to get me some medicine, and most probably to save my life.

But Nova's effort was in vain. Prescription drugs cannot be bought that easily. The pharmacist closed down the only lining of hope for me. The security guard felt pity on Nova and he suggested her an alternative decision that will change our lives forever.

Islay was still busy serenading the busy streets with her chants of joy and sweet hums. But the clouds become unwelcoming. And by the sound of the thunder, big droplets of rain started pouring down the highway. She ran as fast as she could and sat on a corner where she thought of something deeply. She hugged the drum that she was carrying for five hours or so and tried to remain calm in the presence of the bad weather.

After half an hour, Nova came back with a pouch of medicine on her shaking hand. She handed it carefully to Juaning whose faith and hope were hanging to the tiny bottle of miracle.

Days gone by and my condition wasn't going any better. It turned out that my medicine was consumed to the last drop. Still I remained immobile and my hands are going number by the days. Slowly I was losing hope. I wish they weren't mad at me. I'm trying my best to live on. That's why I'm still here. But Nova shared something worth listening to. She revealed how and where she got the medicine.

It was from a quack doctor on a stall put up on the corner of Rizal Avenue. She said he was well versed and very convincing. And that she spent all of our savings for a bottle of deception. But we can do nothing about it. We did not have formal education. We were fortunate enough to meet kind children on
The streets who would try to teach us something they have learned from school. We would attempt to read newspapers and the description in the carton boxes we spread beneath the Badelles overpass.

Nova cried in guilt and shame. Islay was still angry at her, and it can be understood. My sister, Juaning, comforted Nova with a promise that everything will get better in time.

December 27. It was my birthday. And more than anything else, what I wish is for the four of us to be happy. Nothing in this life is more important than seeing everyone you love smile with absolute
Happiness. Juaning never forgot her job and that's to buy me a cake. Every year, they will try to surprise me with every creative possible way. But that's how their surprises become predictable with my age.

They sang me a birthday song. But this time, they were the ones waiting for a surprise. As my sister was about to hand me the cake waiting for me to blow the candle, she noticed something she was least expecting for. My lips are pale and my eyes are shut from the light of the world. I caught my last breath and before I gave it away, I left a smile on my face that can never be changed forever. That is how I want them to remember me. Not that heck of a frown clown whose audiences are stricken with sadness.

They say, in the wheel of life, sometimes, you'll spend half of your years rising to the top and the other half tumbling to the
Bottom. Maybe they were right. It was then that I've come to understand what they were trying to say.

Our life's wheel revolves around things way beyond just money, food, and shelter. It is about the moments you spend with your loved ones, friends and family that will be forever carved in your heart. We can never know when our life here on earth will be over. So let us cherish every bit of it. And for me, even if we skip breakfasts and eat only noodles for supper, I have realized in these last fleeting moments that my life has always
Been on the top of the wheel after all.


drum.

Author: Larry Potter
+0-
Date: 17/12/2019

№ 1083636

Heart beats like a drum

My this
My that
My every thought.
From here
There
And everywhere.
For this.
For that.
My heart beats like a drum.


beats,  drum,  heart.

Author: CGW
+0-
Date: 14/12/2019


№ 1082838

Death Be A Drum Major

Death
Be
A
Drum major
That wander
Through
And
From
The
Earth


death,  drum,  major.

Author: Stu Harley
+0-
Date: 13/12/2019

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