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He was a choir faced kid
who never stood still,
hated school, a regular job,
all he wanted was to play the drums
This quiet one, talent pulsing inside.
Possessed with passion to pound those skins
as if he played for his life every drum filled day.
Hooked on music, playing it loud,
making the rounds to beer faced crowds.
He never gave up--still does what he loves
what he'll die doing,

Now thirty years later
I watch him play solo on a darkened stage,
a lion's mane amidst a mountain of drums,
drumsticks rising--they dissapear,
symbols explode in brass rippled air,
base drums quaking--stomping those pedals
like he's putting out flames.
He ramps it up, takes it down,
beats it till he can't any more.

The whistling crowd floods the stage,
addicted to rhythm coursing through veins.
He shakes us, wakes us like a lightning charge,
a surge from God.
This human cyclone raining sweat,
storms our hearts rouses our souls,

blows the house down.

for my brother

I love these lines...'like he's putting out flames'...beautiful

drumsticks rising--they dissapear,
symbols explode in bras rippled air,
base drums quaking--stomping those pedals
like he's putting out flames.

Linda. I played with a band professionally in my younger years. My first set was a birthday present in 1968.

It's easy to become obsessed with music, especially for those of us who are socially awkward .

I think you capture that well.

My son is a professional drummer of modest fame. His band tours with Steve Martin . I forwarded this poem

Linda---

I like the continuous feel of action, a movement.

as if he played for his life every drum filled day.


He was a choir faced kid
who never stood still,--------------------------sure like this open

hated school, a regular job-------------------i'd cut to the next line


all he wanted was to play the drums

This quiet one, talent pulsing inside.-------let me decide about the talent, all we know is his drive to play...


Possessed with passion to pound those skins-------me, i cut the word passion


as if he played for his life every drum filled day.------good editorial comment


Hooked on music, playing it loud,
making the rounds to beer faced crowds.-------------conflicts with the opening use of face


He never gave up--still does what he loves
what he'll die doing,

Now thirty years later---------------------------these 9 lines are the poem
I watch him play solo on a darkened stage,
a lion's mane amidst a mountain of drums,
drumsticks rising--they dissapear,
symbols explode in brass rippled air,
base drums quaking--stomping those pedals
like he's putting out flames.
He ramps it up, takes it down,
beats it till he can't any more.

The whistling crowd floods the stage,
addicted to rhythm coursing through veins.------------------careful, cliche warning....
He shakes us, wakes us like a lightning charge,
a surge from God.-----------------------------------------------God? yipes...

This human cyclone raining sweat,
storms our hearts rouses our souls,---------------OK, he stormed your heart---fine, but i'd stop there.


blows the house down.---------now this an original use here i can support




bernie

thanks Bernie for your line by line critique I will consider some of your suggestions,
but on your second to last ......stormed our hearts.... you would have to be there at a performance to see the crowds reaction,
then you would agree
thanks again
Linda

Hey Ken that's nice to know, then you can appreciate what I was trying to convey and so will your son.
I hadn't seen my brother perform in years and had visited him in NY and caught a performance and was just stunned at what i witnessed, as soon as i reached home while it was all still fresh. in my heart and mind, I wrote the poem.
thanks
Linda

Linda---

just saying, my daughter only responds deeply to ballet, me to Mozart---


i might see a very enthusiastic crowd, but so what. my soul, yours, my daughter, is another matter.

the poem does not rise or fall on the popularity of this drummer, but on the poem written about that individual.


bernie

Hi Bernie, I respond to many types of music, I was an accomplished dancer for many years, then taught using mostly classical pieces for my students yet I can be moved by many types of music.
Poetically, my phrase "" storms our hearts rouses our souls" is just a more dynamic way of saying enthusiastic. in the poem I was speaking of the crowd not the reader.....like i said the crowd was beyond enthusiastic

Thanks for looking in.
Linda