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The Beating Song OF The Drums
The beating song of the drums
The beating song of a beating heart
The love lust of the beating blood
Overfills a dam just like a beating flood
Crashing through everything
Never ever beating apart
The beating love for a beating heart
Just like a beating heart
Always together never ever apart
We’re here for each other
Our beating hearts
Play the song of the beating drums
The song of the beating drums we’re never apart
The Song Of The Beating Drums We’re Never Apart
The song of the beating drums we’re never apart
Overfills a dam just like a beating flood
The beating love for a beating heart
The beating song of a beating heart
Play the song of the beating drums
The love lust of the beating blood
Always together never ever apart
The beating song of the drums
Crashing through everything
We’re here for each other
Never ever beating apart
Just like a beating heart
Our beating hearts
The Drums of Battersea
They can’t hear in West o’ London, where the worst dine with the best—
Deaf to all save lies and laughter, they can’t hear in London West—
Tailored brutes and splendid harlots, and the parasites that be—
They can’t hear the warning thunder of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Misery—
Beating from the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
Where the hearses hurry ever, and where man lives like a beast,
They can feel the war-drums beating—men of Hell! and London East.
And the far-off foreign farmers, fighting fiercely to be free,
Found new courage in the echo of the Drums of Battersea.
More drums! War drums!
Beating for the free—
Beating on the hearts of men—the Drums of Battersea.
And the drummers! Ah! the drummers!—stern and haggard men are those
Standing grimly at their meetings; and their washed and mended clothes
Speak of worn-out wives behind them and of grinding poverty—
But the English of the English beat the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of agony—
The big bruised heart of England’s in the Drums of Battersea.
Where in fields slave Englishwomen, Oh! the sound of drums is there:
I have heard it in the laughter of the nights of Leicester Square—
Sailing southward with the summer, London but a dream to me,
Still I feel the distant thunder of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of Liberty—
Rolling round the English world—the Drums of Battersea.
Oh! I heard them in the Queen’s Hall—aye! and London heard that night—
While we formed up round the leaders while they struck one blow for right!
And the old strength, that old fire, that I thought was dead in me,
Blazed up fiercely at the beating of the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
They beat for victory—
When above the roar of Jingoes rolled the Drums of Battersea.
And where’er my feet may wander, and howe’er I lay my head,
I shall hear them while I’m dreaming—I shall hear them when I’m dead!
For they beat for men and women, beat for Christ, and you and me:
There is hope and there is terror in the Drums of Battersea!
More drums! War drums!
Drums of destiny—
There’s hope!—there’s hope for England in the Drums of Battersea.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Shortie 2: Turn Your Hate Around
there is so much hate in you
it is too tiring to feel
much tiring to think beneath
this drums of despair
turn it around like a clock
finish the night
with one revolution of the
hands of time
get done, dance the reggae
or the waltz with me
be fed up, be guilty
time for change
open that fist.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Drums of Ages
Drums of all that’s right and wrong—of love and hate and scorn,
And the new-born baby hears them and it wails when it is born.
Drums of all that is to be, and all that has gone by,
And we hear them when we’re dreaming, and we hear them while we die.
Drums of martyred innocence and drums of driven guilt
Beating backward from the future when the first rude town was built;
Beating louder through the slave days and the dark and hungry nights,
While the hovels filled the valleys and the castles crowned the heights;
Beating louder while the mansions shifted east from miles of slums—
Don’t you hear them? Don’t you hear them? Don’t you hear the alley drums?
Drums of human sacrifice and drums of war at home—
While the Romans conquered nations they were beating loud in Rome.
Children heard them through the ages, mothers paused and glanced behind,
Madmen saw and heard the drummers, but the rest were deaf and blind.
Peasants starved on fields of plenty, workmen rotted in the slums—
Till the drummers came to Paris and the nations heard the drums.
Drums of hope and bursting hearts—the drums of Westward Ho!—
From the homes of generations and their native land they go.
’Groom and bride and grey-haired mother, bent old men who go alone—
Fleeing bitter persecution for the terrible unknown:
Seeking freedom, rest, or justice—and the peace that never comes—
And the wilderness was conquered when the pilgrims beat their drums.
Drums of Greed that followed fast where men had made the way,
Waking drums of stern rebellion when the exiles turned at bay,
Spreading death and desolation, breeding old-world hells anew,
Until England lost a nation for the blindness of a few.
Still the dirty Jewish talon reached from palaces and slums
Till a hundred thousand English died to stop the farmers’ drums.
Drums of tortured hearts o’ men—the drums that never ceased—
Throbbing through the British Empire from the heart of London East;
Growling louder still wherever, in the wake of those who lead,
Comes the murmur of the board-room and the stealthy steps of greed;
Growling through the Southern cities, murmuring in the Western gums,
Till the Empire falls to pieces at the beating of the drums!
Drums of all that’s right and wrong—of love and hate and scorn;
And the new-born baby hears them, and he wails when he is born.
Drums of all that is to be, and all that has gone by—
And we hear there when we’re dreaming, and we hear then while we die.
poem by Henry Lawson
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When Brain Throws Frisbee
writing all day speeds tiring
tiring eyes minds eye dizzy
when brain throws spin frisbee
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dead Soldiers, And Bones!
dead soldiers...
beating on tin drums
with bones,
that used to wear faces!
small children singing,
songs of coming and going,
leaving the eerie taste
of things forgotten.
the field fresh plowed,
drowned by morning rain,
waits for the bodies
that seed the future.
while priests chant
neath stained glass windows.
the sun weary with bringing,
finds its way on the path.
the fresh dug graves
mourn with the ache,
longing for the thrust
of love's denial.
and dead soldiers march
across fog driven plains,
beating on tin drums
with bones,
that used to wear faces!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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That Beating Of The Bush
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I have this 'thing' about honest and truth.
And those who become offended,
By declaring them too harsh to accept!
There has not been an experience I received,
I regretted with a wish to forget!
And those attempting to live their lives,
In pretense to deceive believing this is not deception...
Will always escape with excuses and alibis to make.
Charading as if...
No one recognizes,
Who is in masquerade.
And who amongst them fakes!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
An honesty and truth spoken,
From deceivers is rare.
Those who deceive perceive...
Those who are direct and honest,
Are insensitive and do not care!
With a sharing of this mentality...
To those empathetic,
In a keeping of delusions...
Spared from despair!
But I know I'm not the only one...
Who elects to see,
Dishonesty from all people get up and leave.
I can't be!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The most persistent sound which reverberates through man's history is the beating of war drums.
quote by Arthur Koestler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beating the drums for Hawaii is not hard to do... the place just grows on you.
quote by James MacArthur
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All I ever wanted to do was play the drums; I felt good about myself when I played the drums. So I worked anywhere and everywhere I could lug my drums in.
quote by Max Weinberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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D Is For Drums
JL: Hey John.
JF: Oh, hey John.
JL: What's going on?
JF: Man, I'm confused.
JL: You're confused? Why?
JF: I'm no good at remembering stuff.
JL: Really?
JF: Yeah.
JL: Like what?
JF: I can't remember what 'D' is for.
JL: You can't remember what 'D' is for?
JF: I think it's for an instrument that you play in a band.
JL: I'm surprised you can't remember what 'D' is for.
JF: I can't remember there's too much noise.
JL: Put your Thinking Cap on John, I'll give you a hint.
JF: See, I can't find my Thinking Cap.I think it's lost.
JL: John, come on, tell me. 'D' is for what?
JF: 'D' is for something that you play with sticks.
JL: That's right, that's right. You're getting close.
JF: 'D' is for drums!
Both: Yes, 'D' is for drums!
'D' is for drums!
Yes, 'D' is for drums!
JL: Well, I'm glad we got that straight.
JF: Hey John.
JL: Yeah.
JF: I need some juice.
JL: I got some juice.
JF: Well, let's go to your house.
JL: Okay, I'll meet you over there.
JF: Okay.
'D' is for drums! 'D' is for drums!
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Giving Hope A Chance...
we are assured about the sound
of drum beats
from all the continents of the world
so assuring
that hope has given birth to more children
of hopes
the women dance and the men beat the drums
the children watch for a while
and liking the sounds of these drums beating
slowly then wildly and then
contagiously exciting
the children begin to clap their hands
and step their toes
sway their bodies
and sing the songs of hope
again
the world spins
the universe sways and gives birth to another star
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Drums Of The Islands
(words & music by polynesian cultural centre - tepper - bennett)
Drums of the islands youre beating in my heart
Youre with me no matter where I roam
If ever I wander if ever were apart
I know that you will lead me home
If I should journey across the deep blue sea
Ill never forget these coral shores
Drums of the islands I hear you calling me
And Ill return forever yours
I love each valley each grain of sand each hill
The flowers the music of the isles
These are the things I love and always will
Though I may roam ten thousand miles
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's drums - Ears
ears they are drums
god plays in this realm
eyes they are lenses
he places to magnify
his creations
tongue are channels
to his kingdom - adam
missed the right apple
and lost his right to an eternal home
my nerves are rivers
god fashions to help me
sail in his world to admire him
my mind, his inspiration as
to how extensive his creation is
you cannot reach its end nor beginning
my soul a repository for god to wine and dine
when his drums stop beating, lenses were covered
riverway closed and the mind waned in a mortal frame
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sadistic
Sadistic diversity,
Of the brain drain;
Outlined,
Reviewed,
And like an agenda of an exercise duty! !
But, stop beating the war drums and,
Let us have peace around us always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Circle
Of fog enchanted dawns
Starry nights alone
Of sunsets going on
Into forever
Lovers lying silent
Hearts beating together
Beating as one
....a poem is born
To have and to hold love
Fragile as the rose
To the past memories
On going thereof
Mothers holding babies
Hearts beating together
Beating as one
The circle is done
October 27,1996
poem by Midnights Voice
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Two Hearts Beating As One
Magical moments of pure sweet passion
Flutters within my hearts devotion
Two hearts beating they know it's just right
The beat grows stronger then fades in the night.
Hungry for your heart beating with mine
Longing to be with you all the time
The miracle of the beat drawing us closer
Two hearts beating within one another.
You saved me a place within your heart
Letting me stay never to part
Two hearts beating strong and true
Two hearts beating as one, not two.
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Twenty Four Years Today
The cold hard past called on me today-
It came beating down my door-
Bent on destruction and living in the past...
Beating its drums of vengeful war;
Conclusion 'tis that sleeping dawgs always bark-
And they never forget a mistake...
Coming with the verity of a deep saber bite-
Digging up the Earth at a grave fully awake;
Why do these dawgs want to hold on and not forgive?
Are they indeed more rightous than God?
Who has forgiven all-who confessed and repented...
From their life of sins upon this sod;
Twenty four years have come and gone-
And He found me along my wrong way...
No longer lost in what alchohol caused...
New reality has been mine twenty fours years today;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Still
I still hear my heart
Beating loudly like drums
Calling you at every instant
Searching for you
From place to place
Lost in time and shadow
Traveling through
A never-ending path
That leads to nowhere...
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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