Drumming Without Sticks. Poem by Miki Byrne

Drumming Without Sticks.

She doesn't wear jewellery when she drums.
No rings on the fingers or the thumb.
Gone are bracelets that hang and dangle.
Wears no silver or plastic bangle.
Won’t have fabric that rumples up
and rolls the sleeve or turns the cuff,
to expose her arm from elbow to nail.
To allow the flex and controlled flail
of the skin.

She keeps her hands free and poised,
stripped down to create that rhythmic noise
and of course, she likes to sit,
no need to carry the weight of it.
So a skirt that flares in gypsy fashion
uncovers her legs for drumming action
and bare thighs grip and feel the hum
that courses through the living drum.

With Jembe placed between her knees,
she gives that drum a gentle squeeze,
tips it slightly off the ground,
to open it up, magnify sound.
Then sitting in a Cellist stance
she taps the drum, makes the dance.
As skin on skin impact like kisses
primitive rhythms bring trance-like blisses.

Skin of hands and skin of thighs
both cradle and beat the drum as it cries.
Then at the end of tempo and beat
when blood has flowed making body heat,
and hands that tingle from friction and slap
lie quietly now upon her lap.
She feels that giving up fashions style
has been so good, very worthwhile.

For her skill made the quiver and thrum.
coaxed the language from her drum.