The Coward
O these drums so bold in triumph
You are dumb and deaf as drums
Your drumming is charming and sweet.
This war-ground
At whose hidden craters sits a house of horror
Charms my throat and not my ears.
When he appeared on the field of frost
In this war I call death and destruction
I left my generals quaking like bombs
And fled to the arena of safety
Frozen by him, caught over the action
As deadly as Azreal, he warned me.
They are war-like with heaving,
They are against us
So they scorn and they jeer
To defeat us.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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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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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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Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye
WHILE going the road to sweet Athy,
Hurroo! hurroo!
While going the road to sweet Athy,
Hurroo! hurroo!
While going the road to sweet Athy,
A stick in my hand and a drop in my eye,
A doleful damsel I heard cry:
“Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
“With drums and guns, and guns and drums,
The enemy nearly slew ye;
My darling dear, you look so queer,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
“Where are your eyes that looked so mild?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are your eyes that looked so mild?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are your eyes that looked so mild,
When my poor heart you first beguiled?
Why did you run from me and the child?
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“Where are the legs with which you run?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are thy legs with which you run?
Hurroo! hurroo!
Where are the legs with which you run
When first you went to carry a gun?
Indeed, your dancing days are done!
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Hurroo! hurroo!
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Hurroo! hurroo!
It grieved my heart to see you sail,
Though from my heart you took leg-bail;
Like a cod you’re doubled up head and tail,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
Hurroo! hurroo!
You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
Hurroo! hurroo!
You haven’t an arm and you haven’t a leg,
You’re an eyeless, noseless, chickenless egg;
You’ll have to be put with a bowl to beg:
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“I’m happy for to see you home,
Hurroo! hurroo!
I’m happy for to see you home,
Hurroo! hurroo!
I’m happy for to see you home,
All from the Island of Sulloon;
So low in flesh, so high in bone;
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums, etc.
“But sad it is to see you so,
Hurroo! hurroo!
But sad it is to see you so,
Hurroo! hurroo!
But sad it is to see you so,
And to think of you now as an object of woe,
Your Peggy’ll still keep you on as her beau;
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!
With drums and guns, and guns and drums,
The enemy nearly slew ye;
My darling dear, you look so queer,
Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
poem by Anonymous English
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Hidden Charms
Her lips are sweet
Her legs are big
Her looks can make you
Dance the jig
Her touch is so soft
Her heart is so warm
What knocks me out
Is your hidden charms
Her voice is so soft
Her love is so true
I think about her
Thats all I do
Shes weak and wanton
In my arms
What moves me darling
Is your hidden charms
When I hold you
In my arms
Brings out all of your
Hidden charms
Her kiss is so pure
As the morning dew
A real gone love
Is exciting too
Her eyes that talk
They say cmon
What kills me baby
Is your hidden charms
When I hold you
In my arms
Brings out all of your
Hidden charms
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So now I don't have time to practice drums. It's been five years since I've touched the drums.
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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The drums of war are the drums of hunger.
South African proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sound Of Drums
I hear the sound of drums on a melody
I hear the sound of drums
Well, singing the names above in the city
Yeah, revolution for fun
I feel the time has come like a remody
I feel the time has come
Were shaking the spear of love in the city
Yeah, I hear the sound of drums
Yeah, can you feel the love for me, yeah yeah
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums
I hear the sound of drums on a melody,
Calling me to return
Well, I laugh and catch the sun
cause its gonna be revolution for fun
Yeah, can you feel the love for me, yeah yeah
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums..oh oohh...
Well, I feel the time has come with the melody
I see the golden one
Well, Im not the only one with the remedy
Im not the only one
I feel the time has come
I hear the sound of drums
song performed by by Kula Shaker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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England In Egypt
FROM the dusty jaded sunlight of the careless Cairo streets,
Through the open bedroom window where the pale blue held the
palms,
There came a sound of music, thrilling cries and rattling beats,
That startled me from slumber with a shock of sweet alarms
For beneath this rainless heaven with this music in my ears
I was born, and all my boyhood with its joy was glorified,
And for me the ranging Red-coats hold a passion of bright tears,
And the glancing of the bayonets lights a hell of savage pride.
So I leaped and ran, and looked,
And I stood, and listened there,
Till I heard the fifes and drums,
Till I heard the fifes and drums,
The fifes and drums of England
Thrilling all the alien air! —
And 'England, England, England,'
I heard the wild fifes cry,
'We are here to rob for England,
And to throttle liberty!'
And 'England, England, England,'
I heard the fierce drums roar,
'We are tools for pious swindlers
And brute bullies evermore!'
And the silent Arabs crowded, half-defiant, half-dismayed.
And the jaunty fifers fifing flung their challenge to the breeze,
And the drummers kneed their drums up as the reckless drumsticks
played,
And the Tommies all came trooping, tripping, slouching at their ease.
Ah Christ, the love I bore them for their brave hearts and strong
Ah! Christ, the hate that smote me for their stupid dull conceits —
I know not which was greater, as I watched their conquering bands
In the dusty jaded sunlight of the sullen Cairo streets.
And my dream of love and hate
Surged, and broke, and gathered there,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
The fifes and drums of England
Thrilling all the alien air! —
And 'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,'
I heard the wild fifes cry,
'Will you never know the England
For which men, not fools, should die?'
And 'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,'
I heard the fierce drums roar,
'Will you always be a cut-throat
And a slave for evermore?'
No, I shall never see it with these weary death-dim eyes,
The hour of Retribution, the hour of Fate's desire,
When before the outraged millions, as at last — at last they rise,
The rogues and thieves of England are as stubble to the fire!
When the gentlemen of England, eaten out with lust and sin,
When the shop-keepers of England, sick with godly greed as well,
Face the Red-coats and the Red-shirts, as the steel-ring closes in
And hurls them, howling madly, down the precipice of hell!
But O, I knew, that hour,
Standing sick and dying there,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
As I heard the fifes and drums,
The fifes and drums of England
Thrilling all the alien air!
And 'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,'
I heard the wild fifes cry,
'It is time to cease your fooling;
It is time to do or die!'
And 'Johnnie, Johnnie, Johnnie,'
I heard the fierce drums roar,
'It is time to break your fetters
And be free for evermore!'
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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My son now is 22 months old, he's been playing since he was 12 months old and he gets standing ovations on the drums. He's been with us since he was 10 weeks old, he's been on the drums. He's got blisters on his fingers before he can even talk.
Drums of Endoscopy
Figures are dancing in the enigmatic darkness.
Words·blushing notes,
rest in the music stave of loneliness.
Feelings keep quite· shy kids
lurk in the forest of Nothing.
Insecurity·mad sound flirts with irony-drums.
I 'am afraid of the sobs of silence tonight.
Those misspelled words
lived in melodic pages of immortality,
So...
I close the monstrous ears of Humanity...
(From the poetry collection 'Medical Press of the World'-Bulletproof Publications)
poem by Lydia Lavda Drums Poetry
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I always tell people that to be the funny person in a Steve Martin movie is like getting a call that Keith Moon wants you to play drums on his record. He should be playing drums on his record.
quote by Jason Schwartzman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beat Goes On
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Wait till you have reached the age
Blah blah
History has turned the page
Blah blah
We still want to hear a brand new thing
Uh huh
We still need a song to sing
Uh huh
And the beat goes on (6x)
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Love is a thirsting, lasting on my mind
From tomorrow until the end of time
And the beat goes on (4x)
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
And the beat goes on
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
We still move to a rhythm just like this
We still dream of sharing our first kiss
And the beat goes on (4x)
Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain
La-dee-da-dee-dee
La-dee-da-dee-da
Well our kids are turning faster everyday (everyday)
We still want to dance the night away
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on
And the beat goes on...
(to fade)
song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anticipation, October 1803
SHOUT, for a mighty Victory is won!
On British ground the Invaders are laid low;
The breath of Heaven has drifted them like snow,
And left them lying in the silent sun,
Never to rise again!-the work is done.
Come forth, ye old men, now in peaceful show
And greet your sons! drums beat and trumpets blow!
Make merry, wives! ye little children, stun
Your grandame's ears with pleasure of your noise!
Clap, infants, clap your hands! Divine must be
That triumph, when the very worst, the pain,
And even the prospect of our brethren slain,
Hath something in it which the heart enjoys:-
In glory will they sleep and endless sanctity.
poem by William Wordsworth
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From The Italian
AS a little child whom his mother has chidden,
Wrecked in the dark in a storm of weeping,
Sleeps with his tear-stained eyes closed hidden
And, with fists clenched, sobs still in his sleeping,
So in my breast sleeps Love, O white lady,
What does he care though the rest are playing,
With rattles and drums in the woodlands shady,
Happy children, whom Joy takes maying!
Ah, do not wake him, lest you should hear him
Scolding the others, breaking their rattles,
Smashing their drums, when their play comes near him--
Love who, for me, is a god of battles!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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On the desert
On the desert
A silence from the moon's deepest valley.
Fire rays fall athwart the robes
Of hooded men, squat and dumb.
Before them, a woman
Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles
And distant thunder of drums,
While mystic things, sinuous, dull with terrible colour,
Sleepily fondle her body
Or move at her will, swishing stealthily over the sand.
The snakes whisper softly;
The whispering, whispering snakes,
Dreaming and swaying and staring,
But always whispering, softly whispering.
The wind streams from the lone reaches
Of Arabia, solemn with night,
And the wild fire makes shimmer of blood
Over the robes of the hooded men
Squat and dumb.
Bands of moving bronze, emerald, yellow,
Circle the throat and the arms of her,
And over the sands serpents move warily
Slow, menacing and submissive,
Swinging to the whistles and drums,
The whispering, whispering snakes,
Dreaming and swaying and staring,
But always whispering, softly whispering.
The dignity of the accursed;
The glory of slavery, despair, death,
Is in the dance of the whispering snakes.
poem by Stephen Crane
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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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An Example
They were two deaf mutes, and they loved and they
Resolved to be groom and bride;
And they listened to nothing that any could say,
Nor ever a word replied.
From wedlock when warned by the married men,
Maintain an invincible mind:
Be deaf and dumb until wedded-and then
Be deaf and dumb and blind.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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