"drummers" poems
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
My younger brother and I heard strange noises coming from the beach again…
We looked up at the ceiling and then the window…
As the voices from outside, in a lively allegro…
Grew softer and louder in repeating crescendos…
We skittered out the door and stared in fascination…
For what we saw must have been our imagination…
The door closed with a creak as our feet hit the grass…
It was at that moment we got a look at the mass…
Of stubby foot, hunchback creatures from which the sounds had amassed…
There was about six of them chanting like a choir…
They danced and paraded around our burnt out fire…
As we looked on, we saw our fire raise…
It got brighter as they lifted their hands in waves…
As light betook the blue beach night…
A crowd of colorfully masked gremlins caught us in their sights!
Their feet slowed to a stop and they quieted down…
They stood still as the fire flickered off their weird wooden frowns…
One reached out his hand in a come-here motion…
They seemed to stand and wait with an encouraging notion…
As the fire crackled and the waves tumbled onto the beach…
All I can remember, is for the rest of that summer…
My younger brother and I served as the drummers…
For that quirky marching band of lake sprites…
With which our burnt out fire we’d reignite…
At an unknown time of night at our cottage in northern Michigan…
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 8:41 PM UTC
(spot the Carol)
These three kings of orient are
unfairly competing with one little drummer boy,
all dashing through the snow for the last boughs of holly
to lay them before the King.
Meanwhile three ships come sailing in
and certain poor shepherds leave their hot chestnuts,
each keen to hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace.
Later,
in Royal David’s city,
there are ladies leaping, pipers piping
and drummers …
drumming, apparently.
The restless cattle are lowing big-time;
no wonder the baby’s awake.
All have come to proclaim the Messiah’s birth;
the king-of-angels baby who out-shines any wondrous star.
A child born of Mary, on this most holy of nights;
born to give us second birth:
This is the Saviour who is Christ the Lord,
come to redeem us all.
‘Come – receive – your - king.’
Merry Christmas.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 3:50 AM UTC
We're all secret drummers,
we all have drums in our chests,
we're all drummers at heart.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
The air is charged with eminence.
Red-bellied birds lose their song in the wind.
Just when will the sky crack open?
When will the screaming turn to tears?
Send the drummers running
and, before their sticks hit the ground,
give face to wide-eyed fears.
I can smell you from my window:
Amalgamation of mushrooms and clover.
Just when will you crack me open?
When will my primal state lie bare?
Strip me of city sophistication
and, before the drummers come running,
wash me well beyond my years.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Christmas Is Here
12.07.10
Bells ringing, people singing
It is the best time of year
Carolers humming, drummers drumming
What a jolly time of year
Snow falling, children calling
What a happy time of year
Christmas trees, chilly breeze
What a lovely time of year
Cookies baking, Santa’s waking
It is the most carefree time of year
Wrapping presents, Christmas pageants
Oh what a glorious time of year
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 9:38 AM UTC
And it was one step closer to the end. I left my apartment with no mind of where to go but I heard him shout “hurry up you don’t have much time until you grow up” so here I am with a pocket full of change and optimism. Down thirty first street the drummers drum thier roll, I step to the beat, I count the patterns with my feet. I still have no mind of where to go or where I am going but, I must hurry before I get old. My favorite coffee shop I pass, the smile of the freckled boy almost lured me in but I felt it’d be best to just walk right past. I hold my head down so no one sees me escaping my past and entering a future so foggy I can’t even find my way. I don’t worry about tomorrow or what the sidewalks will bring for I must hurry before I get old. I pass the sign that tells me where I am headed and it is one step closer to the end
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:31 PM UTC
Two armies face,
Under wild and impartial skies.
Tension, drawn and nocked,
Waiting for the order to loose.
The drummers beat cadence,
Tempo building
Matching my racing pulse.
Clarion call,
Drowning out all thought.
Ground quaking,
With the pounding
Of hundreds of feet.
Battlecries and wordless screams
Split the air.
Alike to the one
Rising in my own throat.
Aug 11, 2010
Aug 11, 2010 at 8:55 PM UTC
Drummers drumming to the beat
of preserving and celebrating
culture
Feel the music
Feel the beat
Start to move
Sway to the rhythm of the
subway train
In the midst of the people
Lose
Yourself
One, two, three
One, two, three
Drummers drumming
One, two, three
One, two, three
Subway swaying
One, two, three
One, two, three
Bodies moving,
Dancing
In
The
Subway
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:26 PM UTC
Can you hear the sound,
Of drummers marching?
Can you hear the pipes,
As the pipers are playing.
Go forth, yon brave men,
Fight for the country today.
March on, march for battle,
The fields will run with blood.
Centuries ago, they fought for country,
Times never change for they fight still.
Guns replace swords, bombs replace arrows,
Go forth brave souls, you are fighting still.
When this battle ends, remember the dead,
They fought with honour, fought with pride.
Be remembered boys, we will not forget thee,
There will be flowers, always, on fields of blood
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 8:01 AM UTC
...---...
...---.... ...---...
...---... ...---... ...---...
my frantic fingers tap the telegraph
tapping tentatively , taking time
to repeat the single word
...dot, dot, dot, dash, dash , dash, dot, dot, dot...
---
tapping away like a cricket with arthritis
sending my signals and sounds into the night...
...dot, dot, dot, dash, dash, dash, dot , dot , dot...
---
but the neighbourhood sleeps quietly
and no one cares for an arthritic cricket
singing its song into the endless radio silence...
because dots and dashes are nothing more than
humble beginnings in 96.09.21
and the life dashes by and flat-lines on
a marble stone
1996 - (pretty soon)
...---...
...---... ...---...
...---... ...---... ...---...
dot, dot, dash, dash, dash, dot, dot, dot
dot, dot, dot, Dash, Dash, Dash, DOT, DOT, DOT
dot, dot, Dot, DASH, DASH, DASH, DOT, DOT, DOT
DOT, DOT, DOT, DASH, DASH, DASH, DOT, DOT, DOT
DOT, DOT, DOT, DASH...-------------------------------------------------------
the drummers pack away their drums, the beat forever fades
the thunder stops to rumble, from now on only clear days
my finger stops its tapping, lies numb across the telegraph
and somewhere outside... and arthritic cricket...
turns silent from its wrath
and the dots and dashes ...
that's been beating all this time...
my hearts stops singing with them...
and ends with one flat line
WvWWvVvv-v-v---------------------------------------------------
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
everything about it
the raising waves of sound
and the pluck of the violin
the fiddling fingers on the mandolin
and the swell of the drums
his voice bows like a singing saw
and curls down into the depths of his own feeling
and art not only in the poetry
but poetry in the very sound
*i want to see the things you see
because i like the way you breathe*
it pulls a soul onto its toes
both of the mind
and of the feet
and sends it dashing down the snowy roads lined by broken corn stalks
and gray buildings
and fairy lights of the city
brings us one with the buskers
and into the hearts
of every other person
who has heard it
my god, it has made us into a pool of humanity
each soul touching
in ways deeper than this
to my dear violins
and violas
and basses
and mandolins
and drummers
thank you for the gift
of sound
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
This is melanin and love and you can't fake this.
Mixing shades of ancestry and bloodlines and pigments that stick to the core.
Somewhere someone peeked in a black woman's ear, straight through to her mind,
Saw a village dancing in her head!
Fires lit, drummers surrounding, same steps synchronized because they were born like this
Nothing but magic how
all the time these drums sounded off in her head
so of course her walk holds steady as a drum
Of course her hips swing with the beat as she steps with the villagers.
Her life becomes syncopated with rhythm
Dancing in all her movements
Never missing a beat
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Live life to live
shape the world and cultivate
away fears of shadows and hate.
Grower's thumbs often build
greener tomorrows, tokes to give
to brothers and sisters of today
always searching for more questions.
What clarity can bring to one
not you, but for someone
who holds the rotten cape
held together by rough black tape
to the bewildered open fields
of opiates and grapes
waiting just enough time
to bend around the vine
that holds together what they are feeling.
Let the world keep spinning
wobble from time to time
stumble off our feet
no chance to meet or greet
the war is on our street
bringing lust greed and pride
for all of us to abide
but all things can be forgiven.
Feel the sunny heat
of the smiles of those you just beat
for all the people are here
lovers, plumbers, drummers,
and this goes on, we run again
on and on we run again
on and on again
we go on.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
I am enraptured,
completely and utterly
caught
in this moment
in you
the beat shakes the air
my heart is stolen
and follows it
time slows achingly
slow enough to catch,
every moment
but not enough to savour,
not enough to appreciate nor inscribe,
fully into my being
yet even still
my heart soars
as now it knows
that it still can.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
Justine whispers in delirium
of Mediterranean summers
of lunar carriages
and pulsating drummers
Where exists rapture
congregates hosts
closing curtains on time
while releasing their ghosts
They who play chess with death
in vineyards of veins
are tangled in torment
and lamented remains
Vessels of reapers
who crucify hearts
host on the gentle
lacerate souls apart
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC
My Religion - Music is Life
Fall Out Boy-
Patrick-God
Andrew(Andy)-Jesus
Joseph(Joe)-Angel
Peter(Pete)-Angel
Good Charlotte-
Benjamin(Benji)-God's left hand
Joel-God's right hand
Paul-Angel
William(Billy)-Angel
Drummers; the 3 wise men
Deano- Past drummer: Chris, and Aaron
Avenged Sevenfold-
M. Shadows-Angel
Synyster Gates-Angel
Zacky Vengeance-Jesus' left hand
Johnny Christ-Jesus' right hand
The Rev (Angel)-Rev. Tholomew Plague or simply Rev. Jimmy
They only equal to what god, jesus, angels, etc would be or are..
Music is my religion.
Let Me Have My Music
and I'll be okay!
No One Can Take
My Music Away!
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 3:31 AM UTC
There's a reckless wind
whipping 'round the
frayed ends of my hair,
its exodus from the sides
of cars blurring by.
Jazz drummers cycle
flurries of taps and nods.
Twitching wrists for dollars,
their cornflower blue suits
rising with the street sound,
becoming a tent for sweat,
reaching for the dangling dark
held up by clouds and the
screams of horns and the
chimes of chatter.
And here I lean, inside a corner
between an entrance and an exit.
My dreams are starting to
last as long as these cigarettes,
I probably spoke into the chainsmoke --
being pretentious and afraid
under the spill of streetlight.
And here I am, harmfully hoping
my friend comes back, that he
didn't suffer, that he is with god,
that god exists, that I grow into
something that would make
him proud, my parents proud,
make me proud.
All the pretty girls trot the walk,
like surreal thoughts with
white converses and high-waisted
jeans holding the eyes of the few
guys and girls going home alone.
There's no proper way to end this
besides for raw *** real violence,
and more money.
My government only cares about me
once every four years.
My bank account controls me.
I can't buy anything unless
it wants to **** me or love me.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
~
We all breathe the same
In whatever way we choose
Dancing to the beats
Of drummers, different in most cases
But breathe just the same
Sometimes we talk
Different mouths, different voices
Still it can ring badly on another’s ears
Complaining, questioning, whining
When all we want is to be understood
Often we fall, hard to the ground
Hardly at all to those passing by
Staring at this writhing body
On the sidewalk of broken dreams
Just waiting to be kicked once more
At times we love
Perhaps too much it seems
Different hearts, different beats, different drummers (again)
Brandishing hope as that marching band
With the new drum major breaks our will
Then we die
Not unlike other’s before us
Lying in a wooden box
Mourners stare exhaling sadly or happily
As they still breathe…in whatever way they choose
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
Maybe, all we need to do
is put our pens down
The poets painted
Maybe, all we need to do
is place our drums away
The drummers danced
Maybe, all we need to do
is lay our shoes aside
The dancers wrote
Maybe, all we need to do
is return our books back
The writers sang
Maybe, all we need to do
is keep doing what we do
The king cried
May 7, 2023
May 7, 2023 at 5:50 PM UTC
I am lulled to sleep by my heart's beat
I awake to a rhythm in my mind
The same rhythm I have been seeking
My soul, a rare drummer
Pounding out a cadence
A call to find that familiar rhythm
One heart beating in tempo with my own
Two drummers - one song
A simple march, a soulmate's march
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 9:16 PM UTC
hey there drummer boy
it’s only been a little over two years
(yet it feels like so much longer)
since we befriended and adopted you,
creating a new musical fam
and look at us now.
same church
same school,
immense musical growth
passion to worship,
new adventures
all year long,
smiles and waves
that remind me of
deeper friendships
that will stand the test of time.
although sometimes i tease and laugh
(and i sincerely mean no offense),
see it’s really because i care
and whether you like it or not,
you’re like the twin brother i never had
but secretly always wanted.
one of my favorite drummers
i easily follow your lead
you are reliable.
one of my closest friends
i never have to worry
you accept me for who i am.
whether it’s the denim shirts and hipster boots
or patagonia tees and baseball caps,
when life gets crazy once again
don’t forget that i’m always here;
i got yo back brotha.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 1:02 AM UTC
I lean against a stucco building
that has a turquoise whale painted
on the sidewalk in front and pop in
a piece of Wrigley’s as vendors
unload eggplant and plump onions,
two women walk past, one isn’t
wearing a bra and the other
should be wearing two,
I see a neighbor listening as three
Jamaican bucket drummers argue over
cigars, my neighbor nods and flips his
Pall Mall into the street, a gal walking
a Lhasa Apso snuffs the cigarette with
her heel, the dog hikes on a crate of
cabbage sitting atop a guitar case;
bravo to you God, a better morning
I could not have lived.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 8:10 AM UTC
chiaroscuro moment
molten chords
in golden glow
titian ringlets cascade
from linen shoulders
as your hands bring liquid color
to idle black and white
chorded words of three parts
Not easily broken
Ebb and flow as breath over water
a shift in timbre
resonant teak fettered in silver
*heady scent of resin and balsam reeds
echoed drones the cantored dance begins
Taking flight the quiet arias rise
coursing low over open moors
Eyes veiled green
a fog shrouded shoreline
We leave transient prints
In damp sand...
Sonorous notes
From kilted pipers
A flash of tartan on thistled field
Drummers pulse the motion of life
You raise the standard
This ancient song is yours
and mine.
Open eyes to desert sky
Burning blue and empty
As fresh pages fall un-inked
on thorny ground
Only the ache of a melody remains
Lost refrains
broken notes in my DNA
Inspiration drifts away
*I used to have a recurring dream of me, and two other friends - in a recording studio with the complete sheets of music in front of us - which we were singing...and when I wake up...I can never remember the song.
03/2008
© 2008 TL Boehm
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC