The Drummer

1

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud

     as he beats of humanity wrapped in a shroud.

Well he beats of the rape and the killing of war

     and the mind mangling sorrow we blithely ignore

          and he beats of combatants who’re dying deceived

               while the merchants of murder count profits received.

And he beats of civilians so savagely slain

     and of bundles of bodies cast off in distain,

          and he beats of the butch'ry that's feeding the flood,

               clogging drains with our flesh, filling swamps with our blood.

And he beats of cadavers, by famine defined

     that has ravished and plagued since the dawn of mankind,

          and he beats of big biz letting oranges decay

               while a child suffers scurvy and passes away.

He beats and he pounds till our consciences gnaw

     and his fingers are battered and bloody and raw

          and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

2

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud

     as he beats of abuse that we try to becloud.

Well he beats of the barons and princes and kings

     who have broken broad backs with their clubs and their slings,

          and he beats of the toll of divine royal rights 

               when the droit du seigneur sullied white wedding nights.

     And he beats of the bribes that the powerful make

          to the pale politicians who wax in their wake,

               and he beats of the waifs bound by chains to machines,

                    and of slaves sporting nooses, and other such scenes.

And he beats of the tyrants in clerical garb

     who have tortured with f*****s and thumbscrews and barb

          and he beats of decrees claiming all men are free

               while ignoring cowed thralls and their agonised plea.

He beats and he pounds till revealing the flaw

     and his fingers are battered and bloody and raw

           and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

3

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud

     as he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud.

Well he beats of the spirit the rack couldn’t break,

     and the fragrance of flesh that was burned at the stake,

          and he beats of gray witches submerged in a pond,

               being swum to nirvana and even beyond. 

And he beats of the minds that could never be chained

     by the faith that was living while ignorance reigned;

          and he beats of bold battles when Spartacus rose        

               having tired of shackles and slavery’s woes.

And he beats of bent women who’ll fight to be freed

     and will never give up till they finally succeed,

          and he beats of their progress, belying the jeers,

               overwhelming the pessimists' fatuous sneers.

He beats and he pounds till we stand back in awe

     and his fingers are battered and bloody and raw

          and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

4

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud

     as he beats of the sights that he’s seen from a cloud.

Well he beats of the passion when lovers have lain

     with their bodies entwined midst a field of fresh grain;

          and he beats of the joy when a mother has smiled

               while she’s nursing a baby, her newly born child.

And he beats of the sorrow upsurging inside

     leaving shadows and ruins when loved ones have died.

          Then he beats of an image that looms as a dream

               of a time when compassion and love reign supreme.

And he beats of lush meadows pale yellow and green,

     shining lakes in a woodland, a river serene.

          Then he beats of a planet that dies in a sweat,

               and of smirks of the dullards denying the threat.

He beats and he pounds till we see what he saw

     and his fingers are battered and bloody and raw

          and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

***

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud

     

     And he beats of humanity wrapped in a shroud

          And he beats of abuse that we try to becloud

               And he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud

                    And he beats of the sights that he’s seen from a cloud.

     And he beats and he pounds till our consciences gnaw

          And he beats and he pounds till revealing the flaw

               And he beats and he pounds till we stand back in awe

                    And he beats and he pounds till we see what he saw.

And his fingers are battered and bloody and raw

     And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

          And his hands are all

               broken 

                   and bleeding

                        and raw.

Reviews

[AliciaB]

This is one of the most incredible and beautiful poems I have ever read. The historical allusions are gut-wrenchingly powerful, as is the repetition of the image of the drummer's hands. The rhyme scheme and rhythm are excellent - you can almost hear the beats of the drum in the cadence of the words. The last few stanzas and the way they tie everything together is also amazing - especially the last line. I am absolutely blown away by this poem. Excellent, excellent work.

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, Alicia... you are very kind, and I'm happy you enjoyed it!
Terry

[Christian Bonoan]

This poem is very beautiful! This inspires me so much! I love every line of it! very moving! Congrats! and Thanks for sharing this one!

and this poem goes directly to my favorites :D

-Christian

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, Christian,,, you are very kind!!!
... to your favorites! I am veryflattered and happy you enjoyed!!
Terry

[jesserose99]

This hit me in a powerful and meaningful way. Well done. Very profound.

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you for reading and your kind words!!

[Valentine]

A very deeply thought out and well written piece. Valentine

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, Valentine!

[Coyote Poetry]

Powerful and good words.
"And he beats of Humanity wrapped in a shroud
And he beats of abuse that we try to becloud.
And he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud.
And he beats of the sights that he’s seen from a cloud."
You made your point in the words. Many are beating the drum of hope. Few are paying attention. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, Coyote!

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome.

[mattavelli]

This is great. It flows smoothly and the repetitions don't lose their strength. I'll save this to my library. :)

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, Mattavelli!

[andrew mitchell]

The beats out loud signal a warning in a great piece

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, Andrew!

[jeannemarie coulter]

we are capable of so much good...why do we not learn and do better...good thought provoking write

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you,Jeannemarie!

[Relic]

A rhythmic wordsmith is here at WC and this proves it. Amazing!

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, Relic!

[....................]

I wonder why does it take so much pounding of our earth and ourselves to see what we are doing to the planet and to each other? This is such a wonderful write, Terry...you have a great way with words...

[Terry O'Leary]

Thank you, FT... you are very kind...
Yes, I too wonder why...