Drum Poem by Martin Byrne

Taking my seat before you all
Some sit low, some sit high above
All wait for my strike.
The executors of my will
Grasped in my firm hands
I make love to you.

My snare is quick but pungent
Like the slowly growing smell from dinner
The sensation slowly permeates to my brain
Forcing it’s presence on my mind
“I’m here and you can’t ignore me”
That’s what you say without saying
What great curves.
What a great drum roll.

Ah, the deep soul of the bass!
You go straight through my physical
Engross yourself upon my heart
Take a peek at my eternity through your mahogany skin
Your vibrations match mine
Beat for beat, wave for wave, peak for peak
Your vitality is enticing
My hammer creates your harmony
The answer to my pedal is a boom straight to my spine

Cymbal! Cymbal!
Rich, graceful, smooth
Be the yin to my yang
I beg for your finality
Your rush of air and then
The quite fade of strength
Everywhere I strike you is a new sound
A new experiment, a new execution
Your size belies your sound
You rush straight up to my face only to recede
With an alluring rhyme.

God I love you drums.
Unlike your softer counterparts
I can play with all of you at the same time.