The Drummer ~ Bob Kesh

drumming photo

I’ve collected all the crazy people
and put them in a room,
I took this room up and
put it in a drum,
I beat it when they
call for last orders or
when the sky sits like
a low ceiling and the
streets, narrow sticks
leading low places
where rage and sorrow
try to comprehend eachother
with words they learnt from love,
but love was always
stoned and foolish,
and her words sound
dreadful.
I should have gone to sleep
an hour ago
and left the conversation to dreams
but,
you are
my drum,
and sometimes I might wind you
too tight or
bruise you with me mongreled accents
but, I’m still learning the tune,
and sometimes we sound
like all the good years of our lives,
sometimes,
we sound like
rentboys,
coughing up plums on the East Anglia Docks.
but, I’ve never played what I thought,
always tapped out what I felt,
no solitary tempo,
rage, sorrow and love
have always wrestled on this drum.
whichever wins now
is as much luck as skill,
and the gamble’s grafted on hope
more than facts.
facts ain’t exciting music
unless they’re coloured with bruises
and played with feeling.
just listen,
there are moments,
when truth beats the three
love,
rage,
sorrow.
no exact moment or
beautiful crescendo.
endure fumbling cascades
and false cadence
for a rhythm
that rings true.

bobkesh

A writer and musician from London currently studying at the Faber Academy. Generally nocturnal, he can be found indulging in all the pleasures and pains of the night.

Contact him at bobkesh @ hotmail . co .uk (with no spaces)

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