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Plea bargain
I hear half a beat
of drum to serve time
have half a hope
in the meantime praise God
for this confusion
Poemas sobre el tema: drum
Poemas sobre el tema «drum» en Poets.by.
Public servant
I go forth
in my coat and sword
to drums and other drums,
a vulgar audience
making ugly faces,
not knowing the wine
where I kill the clock
that talked on
about business.
Stranger
“Tell me, stranger,
what love should be called.”
The stranger preached the whole book
then went into court.
A drum came by, beating
a strange manner of beat—
now and then a single stroke.
I wondered at what I saw
but did not speak.
percussive function
love lies in those beheld,
and with it, you also find love.
it exists in the insignificant;
in the gentle grinding of the mallet
on metal keys, in the incessant
rumbling of wood on the carpet,
in the glistening sweat beaded
on drumsticks and the bleary-eyed
stares at those scores with
just-too-many-notes-and-rests to count.
it lies hidden in the musty scent
of the paths walked by generations,
the residue warmth and comfort
remains dormant in its essence -
in the conjoining of scrapes and blisters,
in the aching wrists and forearms,
* * *
Now in the gloom the pulsing drums repeat,
And all the night is filled with evil sound;
I hear the throbbing on inhuman feet
On marble stairs that silence locks around.
I see black temples loom against the night,
With tentacles like serpents writhed afar,
And waving in a dusky dragon light
Great moths whose wings unholy tapers char.
Red memory on memory, tier on tier,
Builds up a tower, time and space to span;
Through world on world I rise, and sphere on sphere,
To star-shot gulfs of lunacy and fear—
Black screaming ages never dreamed by man.
Was this your plan, foul spawn of cosmic mire,
To freeze my soul to stone and icy fire,
To carve me in the moon that all mankind
Fantasy in Purple
Beat the drums of tragedy for me.
Beat the drums of tragedy and death.
And let the choir sing a stormy song
To drown the rattle of my dying breath.
Beat the drums of tragedy for me,
And let the white violins whir thin and slow,
But blow one blaring trumpet note of sun
To go with me
to the darkness
where I go.
The Drums
A village wrapped in slumber,
Silent between the hills,
Empty of moon-lit marketplace,
Empty of moving life--
Such is my quiet heart.
Shadowy-walled it rests,
Sleeping its heavy sleep;
But sudden across the dark
Tingles a sound of drums!
The drums, the drums, the distant drums,
The throb of the drums strikes up,
The beat of the drums awakes!
Then loud through the little streets,
And strange to the startled roofs,
The drums, the drums approach and pound,
And throb and clamour and thrill and pass,
Fiesta
The sun dances to the drums
With Cottonwood boughs
On head and ankles.
The moon steps softly
In a turquoise tablita.
The stars run to pick up
The eagle feathers
Dropped by the dancers.