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Just Grace Jul 1
Hollow
Doesn’t have to be a bad word
Hollow
Doesn’t have to mean “empty”
And “missing”

When I listen
It means there is a container
Wrapped tight
And taut in something warm
The hide of a once wild
and free animal
is now a fate reverberated
as another passionate, wild being
Strikes it
Sparks the potential aflame
Into a sprout of a heartbeat

Or it is
The fog
Once aimless and reaching
Until it finds a lighthouse
Its beam also reaching for it
So when light strikes the micro droplets
Each effervescent molecule
Is lit in the turn of the path
In each passing round
An orchestra plays

That is the word
“Hollow”
To me
Tryniti May 31
Turning the tides of war
Hear the kettledrums beating
Won’t take it anymore
And I’m so through with pleading

Tie me up or chase me down
Now I have the will to fight
Standing up, sticking around
Finding my way through the night

Stepping forward I face my foe
A shiver runs down my spine
I need to try, I need to know
I’m willing to take what’s mine

The outcome is uncertain now
And I’m sometimes fighting blind
But I won’t break, nor will I bow
I’ll win the war in my mind
Written on 01.31.2020
Duet, Minor Key
by Michael R. Burch

Without the drama of cymbals
or the fanfare and snares of drums,
I present my case
stripped of its fine veneer:
Behold, thy instrument.

Play, for the night is long.

Keywords/Tags: Duet, minor, key, cymbals, symbols, drums, fanfare, snares, instrument, play, ***, night, long, strip, ****, naked
Aiden Hand Dec 2019
Do you hear the sound of the beating drums?
It beats and plays all day long
Do you hear the sound that always comes?
It’s sounds fill the air with song

Do you hear the sound of the dying drums?
It tries and tries to be what it was
Do you hear the sound of what has become?
It’s sounds stop with one last pause

Do you hear the sound of the drums now gone?
The sound that freed the people from their chains
The sound that once was used as the world’s pylon
The sound that removed all the people’s pain
The sound that once kept the world spinning on
The sound that will never ever be heard again
Let the Truth guide you.
Haylin Jul 2019
I step through the door
of the place which feels
more like home than my house

My ears fill
with sounds of drumsticks on drums
mallets on marimbas

My eyes fall upon flutes, clarinets
trumpets and tubas

I look up at my family
none of which are related to me
yet they
make
this
place
home.
I just joined band this year and it's only been 6 days and I already feel at home.
Isabel May 2019
The Native American man
Is combing his hair outside Primark
With his eagle feathers and his pipes and drums
Waiting in a cardboard box
Waiting
For the concrete to disintegrate
Greggs and Marks and Spencers crumble
To the beat of the drums
Waiting
For green to creep across the face of Waterstones
And bilberry bloom at the bus stop
And a moss carpet pad the safety barriers with velvet
Waiting
For the beat of the drums
For those feathers to soar over forest
And the silk of his hair fly free in the wind
This was a vision that came to me one morning on the way to work. The man did have the most beautiful hair!
Andrew Oct 2018
Do you hold me in your memory?
Or did all the mementos flee
Once you no longer heard from me?
My intention was not to abandon
But joy played elsewhere so I had to run
To it; thinking I could leave crumbs
To find my way back to you
Now you found your path more true
And I am just a time you rued

I wish you would remember me
Even if in the distance like fading drums.
A beat begot by the love you lose
A rhythm that holds memory
That weeps now at what it will next become
A trance to track the my next muse
This is a poem I wrote to honor my first love, the one that taught me how to
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