#drums
I. The Grave of Craving
We laid our hunger in unmarked red loam
Where drums once warned the careless ear to hear;
The oracle slept, exiled from its home,
Its wisdom priced, its cowries sold for fear.
A river learned to open, then to close,
As if escape were sin the poor must earn;
The sun stood still above unfinished oaths,
While ledgers taught the future how to burn.
A calf arose in robes of borrowed breath,
Its gold absolved by prayer and legal ink;
It fed on hope, then named the feast not death,
And taught the land to bow before the brink.
So craving ruled by sacrament and pen--
We dug its grave, then crowned it king of men.
© Lanre Adebayo
May 6
May 6, 2026 at 10:27 AM UTC
A small fickle flame, embedded deep in my chest. once a roaring fire now put to rest. by the hands of another. my heart, it now beats, a small brass drumbeat always ready to flee. deafening, dampened, quiet.
a sparrow once flying up high in the sky has now been shot down, it's weakened, it died. but the spirit lives on by the sound in the street and all of the people who danced to the beat.
the sparrow lives on, it breathes, it breathes.
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
It's hailing thick ice
bullets and the clouds beat tens --
of thousands of drums.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 4:16 AM UTC
Going on a rock tour
I'll leave you with the beats
in the ground.
Still, I will play for the crowd
Like I know what I am doing.
On return
Will I be home
Or was no one listening?
Cowering in corners
On lead guitar
And solo drums
Jun 3, 2024
Jun 3, 2024 at 10:47 AM UTC
the beat of drums pounded into her heart
releasing signals in her brain to jolt her head up and down to the rhythms.
she sang and screeched and carried on long into the night as she kissed the cheeks of some man who called her cute.
she returned home with his tattooed arm in her coat, clutching onto her for dear life; the way he should have treated his phone on the dance floor.
he flopped on the sofa, slurring his words like a sorority girl; hammered.
he blacked out belligerently drunk on her couch and at one in the afternoon he arose, coughing, residue on his fingers.
his face covered in drool from sleeping dramatically like a madman.
she handed him an advil, a glass of purified water, and her phone to call someone he had had any contact with before.
his face was pale and sickly; she could tell he felt crushed by the weight of his bewilderment.
his eyes, though strung out, were jet blue with a glimmer of teenage angst and a spark of the hopeful nature of a child in a field of dandelions.
he uttered few words and collapsed into the firm motherly hold of the couch, struck from exhaustion.
he gazed up at her, who was half naked since she had only been awake for three hours and had nowhere to go because she was too embarrassed to bare the bruises in the creases of her neck to the public.
but instead of speaking to her, he started gulping down the water after taking 3 pills of advil to make the pain disintegrate.
carefully, he set the chilly cup down and stood up slowly and steadily.
he gasped feebly, but managed to prop himself up on his two wobbly legs.
“you alright there?” she asked as casually as possible, to make him perceive her as less of a threat.
“where am i?” he inquired to this woman he faintly recalled.
“oh,” she giggled, “my house. you blacked out on my couch yesterday and i didn’t want to move you, you looked so peaceful, so i just left you there. hope you’re ok with that.”
“okay with that?” he asked gently.
“well yeah, i’d feel pretty worried if i ended up at a random strangers house on a saturday morning.”
he chuckled.
“well, to answer your question, yes i am quite confused, but i am a free spirit. so this is basically just a new experience i can add to my repertoire.”
she raised an eyebrow. “repertoire?” she pondered.
“well, i write music for a living.” he smiled sumptuously.
“you do?” her cheek bones got visibly higher and her eyes didn’t have the same troubled look to them as they did a few minutes ago.
“yes. i am not a very good musician, but my band and i get by. we play gigs at places. oh right, like last night. we were playing for fun and then...oh! a girl was kissing me. now i remember!” he was quite proud of himself for that.
“well, that’s the funny thing,” she started, “i was the one who was kissing you.” she laughed briskly.
“you were?” he asked, totally perplexed.
“of course. i didn’t know you were playing for that place last night, i thought you were a waiter or a pedestrian or something. ooh, or an alcoholic!”
“ouch.” he grinned delicately.
“no, no offense though.”
“too late, i already took it to my cast iron heart,” he joked.
she laughed.
“well, you were one cute waiter at that,” she stated seductively.
he smiled with his lips pushing into his mouth a little bit.
“thanks for everything. the couch, the advil, the talk. maybe you should see me another time. i play at bars all around the city. i’d love to see more pretty girls come around and hype me up once in a while.” his grin turned into a beam.
“no problem, i suppose i would like to spend some time around people who are rich and aren’t fun sponges,” she joked effortlessly.
“i can be sometimes.” her little giggles poured out of her mouth.
“well, i’ll see you around. hit those drums!” she called out to him as his uber arrived.
“sure thing!” he waved as he entered the car.
and for the first time in forever, his heart caused him to feel more emotions than his wicked hangover.
Jul 11, 2022
Jul 11, 2022 at 11:43 AM UTC
Each time I hear this
exquisite drumming sounds
you are here present alive
pounding me deep where you
pleasured me too eons ago.
Heart mind soul eternity.
The sounds of your tantric love
✓\✓\✓}✓\rp.a.t.dp.a.t.dp.a.t✓\✓\✓\✓\
✓}✓\✓\✓\__rddbba__✓\✓\✓\✓\
~~~~
We are mighty oak trees
since ever millennia before
Our trunk roots by strong winds
marriage distance bittersweet
can't uproot our bare battered
ancient trunk
tangled pain roots and forest loss
We were fantastic my love interchangeable flame twin souls
the mare sight of you annihilated me:
or birthed me rendering us
as one pure blissful burning fire
and ashes smoke still ignites
In an instant I was you love
and you became me
I can't ever stop loving you
I promise to share this love
of ours while I reign in solitide
with this ****** drumming
thump thump appeasing sounds
I am forever in love with you..
~~~~
Mr and Mrs Andrews
at Karijinbba
Jul 5, 2022
Jul 5, 2022 at 10:57 PM UTC
He takes up his walking stick,
looks up as if surprised to see me there and smiles,
and together we take the baskets, and walk the stairs,
sharing a well-worn joke and a laugh
and we count, we stack, we tally
and we bag the coins, the notes,
all meticulously accounted for,
- another echo of Sundays past with taller stacks
and notes that knew how to behave better
and then after two signatures he takes his stick,
looking to wrestle Cath from her chat,
and go to get some dinner.
He takes up his drum sticks,
doing the count by instinct and,
with a coordination I can only dream of,
provides a dependable back beat, off beat or up beat,
all in a groove you just have to love,
from a throne that’s all his and his alone
behind his well-worn drums,
- all an echo of Saturdays past
with stage lights, later nights,
and delighted crowds,
leaving me to thank God
for servant hearts and patient servers,
for lives lived well and long,
and for John, whose beat goes on,
whether with two sticks and his kit in the sun,
skin deep and soul deep in the same beat,
or holding one stick, with a fresh joke to test run
(or perhaps on repeat), but always laughing
comfortably keeping time, 90 years young,
walking with his King.
Jun 20, 2022
Jun 20, 2022 at 1:12 PM UTC
The music of insanity
plays its song inside of me
The snare does snap and
The crashes crash
Inside the mind of me
The hi hat goes tss tss
And the ride says ting ting
Inside the mind of me
The tom drums role
And bass drum booms
Inside the mind of me
Inside of my chaotic mind they ring
With the hateful opposite of silence
The music of insanity does sing
If you ever ask if I am mad I will
Surely hear ding ding ding!
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 7:37 PM UTC
I can't believe that life is life.
I can't believe we are allowed to dive into this world where we live.
I can't believe I can take a breath every day and come out swinging.
I can't believe that in the future I might capture someone's heart.
I can't believe that one day I will be able to cuddle in close.
I can't believe that one day a touch, a shiver, a model of heavenly love will be next to me.
I can't believe that I am allowed to write about this, that my hands are free to practice their dexterity.
One day I will use them to their full potential.
I can't believe that today is not that day.
My arms will one day reach out for a hand.
A hand to dance close to.
Feeling the movement of the music and using her heart as the beat.
Cheeks slightly flushed from the moment, skin soft to the touch.
A warmth overtaking my body in the knowledge of the present event at hand.
I can't believe that today is not that day.
Lips that slightly part.
An approach going ninety and hoping they receive you and go the other ten.
Lips slightly apart.
Hearts beating a little bit faster, goosebumps cascading over limbs.
Lips slightly apart, waiting for this to be our last first kiss.
I can't believe that day is not today.
Walks hand in hand, listening to the music that we both agreed upon.
Walks hand in hand arguing over what music will be played.
Walking hand in hand making decisions together, making them with Heaven on the mind.
Walking hand in hand in the dark torment of my soul, letting her know I am inside of my head more often than not.
I can't believe that today is not that day.
I can't believe that life is life.
I can't believe we are allowed to dive into this world where we live.
I can't believe I can take a breath every day and come out swinging.
I can't believe that in the future, I might capture someone's heart.
First encounter, movement, bass lines, and drums.
A string quartet for the cheesy one.
Rhythm sections and complimentary instrumentation just going with the flow.
For the mistakes of live music is what makes it beautiful.
And girl when I find you it is going to be beautiful.
Making music and making love.
Tracking the guitars across your abs.
Drinking coffee too late at night.
Sharing the thoughts I'm too scared to tell anyone except for God.
I can judge too much.
I can be set in my ways, and change is hard for me.
I'm going to make you crazy, my anxiety is going to get in the way.
But I can't believe that one day you will be there to handle me.
And I will be there for you.
Video games, and board games.
Movies, music, and tv too.
Reading books together and apart.
Being with friends and enjoying the moments apart.
Coming back together to keep moving past the start.
I can't believe I'm entertaining these thoughts.
I can't believe I'm allowed to doubt.
I really can't believe that I'm allowed to believe.
To believe in love, *** and dreams.
To believe in warmth, security, and truth.
To believe in all the things that make me, me.
I can't believe that life is life.
I can't believe we are allowed to dive into this world where we live.
I can't believe I can take a breath every day and come out swinging.
I can't believe that in the future, I might capture someone's heart.
I can't believe that one day I will be able to cuddle in close.
I can't believe that one day a touch, a shiver, a model of heavenly love will be next to me.
I can't believe that I am allowed to write about this, that my hands are free to practice their dexterity.
One day I will use them to their full potential.
I can't believe that today is not that day.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 7:51 PM UTC
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
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 2:59 AM UTC
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
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
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
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 4:20 AM UTC
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
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 3:44 PM UTC
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.
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 11:19 PM UTC
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
May 5, 2019
May 5, 2019 at 11:59 AM UTC
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
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
my treasure map on your skin
-soft stars and dots,
i connect them with my fingers,
and they become constellations.
and your voice, my fingers,
playing a soft melody,
as i drown in you.
a thousand dancers -we watch them,
and i ask them to dance for you,
they swirl and laugh and then
they disappear.
i wait for the music to start before i say my words,
because then, only then,
maybe then they’ll be worth it.
if only i could convince you to stay,
because you make me feel lonely
-suddenly i can hear the soft moan of the sea,
see the waves dance to it’s voice.
and now i ache,
because as time passes,
your song grows weak.
your voice and my song, it’s being swallowed
among all those other ones,
more beautiful than my call to you.
and now that you’re gone, i hear them
those drums of the sea,
the angry clashes that make the storm that brought me to you.
and now i hear it, the sorrowful moans,
beneath the soft songs that all those lovers sang,
that day we fell in love.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 7:30 PM UTC
it should have been
41 degrees today.
the hottest day of summer.
i prepared.
i wore shorts to work.
it rained like
noah's flood.
i didnt see it coming
but i heard the rumbles
like drums from hell.
i wrote words for jane
and i never thought
id ever show her.
i read her two poems
and she liked the one
that wasnt about her
much more.
it should have been
41 degrees today.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
Sinking
Hit it harder, harder, harder!
Break that, smash that, hit that beat!
Punch it, kick it; make the drum shatter!
This is how the song begins.
When we are lost and in need of guidance,
Music reminds us of who we used to be.
When we are down or surrounded by our friends,
The music gives us a place to sink.
From the gutter to the stage;
Who am I to wish for that?
From the womb to the grave;
The meaning of life is an unknown quantity; an undiscovered track.
Off the rails we crash and burn,
Then we rise up from the dirt.
We find a way to change ourselves
And drag ourselves up from our empty bed;
My place of misery, without her.
Safety in numbers, love is our shield.
Words of a trust broken, never heal.
What are we to become if we have never even tried?
We are sinking deeper into our mind and we have nothing left to feel.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC