Stop Banging the Drums of War
stop banging the drums
of war!
war
is
murder,
disguised
under
the shield
of self-agrandizing
political agendas...
war defies morality!
war
never
brings
peace!
stop banging the drums
of war!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Banging On My Drum
Im banging on my drum
Im banging on my drum
Then banging on my drum, boy
And Im having lots of fun
Im banging on my drums, yeah
Im banging on my drums
Im banging on my drum, now baby
And Im having lots of fun
Im banging on my drum
Im banging on my drum
Im banging on my drums, boy
And Im having lots of fun
Im banging on my one, huh, my one
Yeah, my, my drum
Im banging on my one, my drums, my one
Im banging on my drum
Yeah, Im banging on drums, yeah
Yeah, Im banging on drum
Yeah, Im banging on drums, now, now
And Im having lots of fun, fun, fun
Yeah
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Night
Turn it up (ha ha ha)
Flimode (ha ha ha)
Busta Rhymes (ha ha ha)
Another banging niggas (ha ha ha)
Another banging niggas (ha ha ha)
Another banging niggas (ha ha ha)
Another banging niggas (ha ha ha)
[Chorus:]
All night
To my east niggas West Coast and dirty south
song performed by by Busta Rhymes from Anarchy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bangin' On My Drum
I'm banging on my drum, I'm banging on my drum
I'm banging on my drum, boy, I'm having lot's of fun
I'm banging on my drum, Yeah, I'm banging on my drum
I'm banging on my drum, now baby, and I'm having lot's of fun
I'm banging on my drum, I'm banging on my drum
I'm banging on my drum, boy, I'm having lot's of fun
I'm banging on my one, my one, my drum ...
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stop the Bombing
stop the bombing...
just stop the bombing!
murder is murder!
violence never brings peace.
there is no 'God'
who ever justified
one group of people
killing everyone
that is different.
no one people are superior...
hell, no one is superior
to anyone else...
nobody ever has the right
to own anybody!
quit stacking bodies
in the ditches...
stop digging the ditches!
stop the bombing!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Banging On The Door
You know that it hurts
These things that you say
But Ill be alright
Dont lose your faith
Just swallow your pride tonight
God only knows this place is strange
Banging on the door again
Banging on the door thats locked forever
Losing on a lovers game
Winning on the one side and losing forever
The air that we breather hangs heavy tonight
Still I look for your face
Im home all alone again
Some dreams grow old and then they just die
Im banging on the door again
Still banging on the door thats locked forever
Losing on a lovers game
Winning on the one track and hurting forever
Oh your love is a symphony
All this love over all of me
Oh your love is a symphony
Oh sweet love I can feel it
Still banging on the door again
Im banging on the door thats sealed forever
Losing on a lovers game
Winning on the one track hurting forever
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bangin' On The Door
You know that it hurts
These things that you say
But I'll be alright
Don't lose your faith
Just swallow your pride tonight
God only knows this place is strange
Banging on the door again
Banging on the door that's locked forever
Losing on a lover's game
Winning on the one side and losing forever
The air that we breather hangs heavy tonight
Still I look for your face
I'm home all alone again
Some dreams grow old and then they just die
I'm banging on the door again
Still banging on the door that's locked forever
Losing on a lover's game
Winning on the one track and hurting forever
Oh your love is a symphony
All this love over all of me
Oh your love is a symphony
Oh sweet love I can feel it
Still banging on the door again
I'm banging on the door that's sealed forever
Losing on a lover's game
Winning on the one track hurting forever
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The New American Way
quit banging the drums of war!
war was never meant to be
a means of economic survival...
much less profitable....
human lives mean nothing!
freedom and democracy
are a hoax... a drug
administered through the
late night tv news....
we're not trying to liberate anyone,
it's all profit and loss....
profit to the War Machine...
loss... of lives, any sense of morality
and/or human decency.
it's easy to sell....
just tell the people they're
our enemies... that they're
out to get us.
you dont have to prove
anything...
no weapons of mass destruction
needed... just the fear
created by implanting the thought!
profit justifies anything...
the new American Way!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cement
Its funny how I watch the day go by
Im sitting watching tv
Talk shows high
Theres banging on the walls
My head aches
Im drinking out the world
That I hate
I had a big car, new clothes everything
Ive had a watch engraved in switzerland
Today I saw her buying a magazine
Its time to get myself some therapy
How do I stop this, how do I stop this
How do I stop this disease?
Chorus:
Shes got a new dress on (Im in cement)
Sits by her radio (Im in cement)
Shes got those x-ray eyes (Im in cement)
Dont know which way to go
Its funny but I dream for yesterday
Im blistered by the burns that life has made
Im staring out behind the window shade
I see her face across the street again
Im in quicksand sinking in again
Ive got concrete shoes and I cant swim
How do I stop this, how do I stop this
How do I stop this disease?
Chorus
I dont know what to do
But I know that I must pull through
I cant keep watching you
How do I stop this, how do I stop this
How do I stop this disease?
Chorus
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Audio
i cannot stand silence.
so give me the banging of drums,
and the clash of cymbals to scare it away.
i want guitar riffs that rip the air
into shreds leaving the calm in disarray.
i cannot stand silence.
talk, sing, scream or screech me to sleep
anytime if you may.
poem by Chelle Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rock star boy
Rock star boy
With their little toys
Boy he can rock out on the guock out on your guitar
But baby i could rock out with your drums
Rock star boy
Dont you know how banging you really are?
poem by Misty moon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Arrogate Fool
I can’t play an instrument,
Yet, I can bang a warning on a drum!
I can’t sing a pleasant tune,
Yet, I have harmony in poetic form.
I will keep banging a warning, till you hear my song!
Having little money, but rich with friends hearing my cry!
A concert of drums for those in the know and not afraid to die,
Eerie sounds of night drums, at many tribes chants.
A Calvary charge rings out at an arrogant general’s behest.
The arrogant general heeded not the warning,
Of many tribes assembling drum fests.
The general and his men died in a circle,
With many arrows in their chest,
The arrogant general died disgraced,
Left to bleed out,
As his scalp was cut from his head…
poem by Howard Kern
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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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Kitchen jam
Justin sang bass
Shea sang tenor
Jamere and Harold would jump right in
Ricardo was banging them drums
Like an octopus picking up crumbs
kyle and chris were jamming to a rocking tune
Andy hollered a little more cheddar
Babbs said I think I just fed her
In the sky lord in the sky
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballerina #5
I loved your curved little fingers,
But I loved them more on the trigger
And when I was done loving you,
All they found was a canine tooth,
(Drums)
Your hands,
Once elegant and simple,
Are now laying at my feet,
You dance for him,
But you refused to dance for me,
Now those elegant hands,
Are laying at my feet,
You were still beautiful,
While you were crying,
You were still beautiful,
When I was cutting,
I raped you in the woods,
So I wouldn't get caught,
The rape and the murder,
Were all your fault,
(Drums stop)
I loved you,
You didn't have to die,
I put the gun in your mouth,
And in one deep sigh,
(Sigh)
poem by Abby Kimball
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Beat! Beat! Drums!
BEAT! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet--no happiness must he have now with
his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his
grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums--so shrill you bugles blow.
Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities--over the rumble of wheels in the streets:
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers
must sleep in those beds; 10
No bargainers' bargains by day--no brokers or speculators--Would they
continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the
judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums--you bugles wilder blow.
Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley--stop for no expostulation;
Mind not the timid--mind not the weeper or prayer;
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the
hearses, 20
So strong you thump, O terrible drums--so loud you bugles blow.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Your Choice!
stop the senseless killing!
right here, right now!
murder is murder.
nothing you own or possess
is worth the price of a human life...
killing never brings peace!
the bombs you drop
you lack of faith.
the bodies you bury
in the shallow ditch your children.
only God knows the price you pay,
only you know the God you face!
every action brings either
life or death... your choice!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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