I am a little drummer. I sit in the soft, green grass hitting a tan hide covered, hand made drum. Rump, rump, rump. I don’t make anything but noise, but it makes me happy. I like being happy. I get up and start marching. I march the way I see them do on TV. I am a little rusty, but I am a drummer in my mind.
I am not a drummer but I think those that can drum are cool. I am a drummer up of business. I drum up new relationships with realtors and lenders in my line of work. I don’t want to work, I just want to drum on each other all day. I don’t know what more I can write about drumming. :)
Brandi
I watched the drummer
who was also a runner
but i didn’t like his beat
nor the shoes on his feet
so that was a bit of a bummer.
Steve O
Drummer.
D-r-u-m-m-e-r.
That is correct.
I just moved on to the next speling bea round.
LOL!! :D
Jaedon Howells
One of the holiday movies I’ve always hated was the Little Drummer Boy. My mom was a fanatic about Rudolph and my brother and I were particularly big fans of the Heatmiester, Mr. Hot for short, but none of us were ever stricken by that tan little boy and his annoying song you could never understand.
Paige B
We are true leaders
Drummers of our own music
though none may follow
We defy old stale,
may set, but never follow
pure novelties and trends
We hate mere dreamers
and those that say hold to dreams
merely one’s ideas
We’re fewest of few
dreaming only to better
make reality
“Dreams that one holds on to are failures, mere thoughts.They haven’t been made Reality. Realities and Realizations are successes. So I don’t want dreams. They are useless, except as a first step to achieve better people, actions, and things.” -Apotheosus
! Haiku-Man !
She walked to the beat of her own drum. She was her own drummer, her own person. Everything she did was to her own drum. She was unique and powerful. She was you.
By the light of the day, she woke with a sense for a new adventure. She was adventurous. By nighttime, she sat on a stage. She was a drummer.
little boy drummer fell down a well he really liked to see the moon from his viewpoint as he banged his drum from inside the well
“help me!” he cried out.
“who dares disturb my slumber?” a voice sneaks out from the darkness. the little drummer boy froze in fear.
“please dont hurt me!”
Savanna
The drummer held onto his clandestine invisible plastic gloves, and his mom’s 5th grade portrait during all of his concerts.
his turf was the eastest of the west, in a town he deemed best,
Springfield, Illinois,
a rosey cheek he always dove with
never had parentals to enter groves with
chucky
was his name
his own frontal cortex inculcated his unflinging passion for an open stage
selling more new fans on his work than stepahn myer sold books around 2000
first glimpse, first ear lended
worship bended
have a cocktail and land your car’s cock in another car’s tail
a motto underminded amid our day and age
chucky braved through it all
played his brakes like bids on game day
my cousin is a drummer. my husbands best friend is a drummer. vance. i love double bass. fake drums in edm is good too especially when its drum n bass. music is something i really enjoy and drums are the backbone. i cant really think of anything else to write except that i miss the jam shack sometimes
jay dee
Hm bummer it’s drummer. They all drive a Hummer, behind them: a runner. Who else is a punner?
The drummer beats. The drummer plays. My dad was a drummer. He spends his time drumming, drumming away. Drumming on the wheel, using his dishes. He feels the beat, he feels it with his soul.
I used to be a drummer. I used to be the one who sat in the back of the classroom and made sure everyone knew the beat. Now, I’m not a drummer. Now I look back on that experience and understand that being a drummer had a different meaning. I was the heart in the body that was the band. I kept the band coordinated. Everyone needs a drummer in their life. Someone who keeps them coordinated and on rhythm. Find your drummer and march to your own beat.
Ryan B
Go with the drummer.
He knows what it’s like to be the butt of a joke,
his body is lean,
it’s just not advertised front and center, or above a low slung guitar.
Front men need the love of every last
groupie.
If you must, go with the drummer.
Better yet, go with the lighting engineer.
kim
The heavy hands pounded relentlessly upon the taut flesh of the rune-worked skin. THRUM. THRUM. THRUM. THRUM. The monotonous tone banged into her ears like the ringing song of her own blood, her own body the dance that moved in sync to the drummers’ powerful sound.
The drummer ratatata tat on his drum until the drum broke and inside he found that there was a genie. Instead of being in a lamp this genie was in a drum.
I am a little drummer. I sit in the soft, green grass hitting a tan hide covered, hand made drum. Rump, rump, rump. I don’t make anything but noise, but it makes me happy. I like being happy. I get up and start marching. I march the way I see them do on TV. I am a little rusty, but I am a drummer in my mind.
I am not a drummer but I think those that can drum are cool. I am a drummer up of business. I drum up new relationships with realtors and lenders in my line of work. I don’t want to work, I just want to drum on each other all day. I don’t know what more I can write about drumming. :)
I watched the drummer
who was also a runner
but i didn’t like his beat
nor the shoes on his feet
so that was a bit of a bummer.
Drummer.
D-r-u-m-m-e-r.
That is correct.
I just moved on to the next speling bea round.
LOL!! :D
One of the holiday movies I’ve always hated was the Little Drummer Boy. My mom was a fanatic about Rudolph and my brother and I were particularly big fans of the Heatmiester, Mr. Hot for short, but none of us were ever stricken by that tan little boy and his annoying song you could never understand.
We are true leaders
Drummers of our own music
though none may follow
We defy old stale,
may set, but never follow
pure novelties and trends
We hate mere dreamers
and those that say hold to dreams
merely one’s ideas
We’re fewest of few
dreaming only to better
make reality
“Dreams that one holds on to are failures, mere thoughts.They haven’t been made Reality. Realities and Realizations are successes. So I don’t want dreams. They are useless, except as a first step to achieve better people, actions, and things.” -Apotheosus
She walked to the beat of her own drum. She was her own drummer, her own person. Everything she did was to her own drum. She was unique and powerful. She was you.
By the light of the day, she woke with a sense for a new adventure. She was adventurous. By nighttime, she sat on a stage. She was a drummer.
Pulsating in my chest a solitary drummer tap tapping its way out through my skin into the red, theopenair
Me, its who I am
I am a drummer
I am the keeper of time
My heart, my soul, my profession
It is me, it is who I am
I am the drummer
little boy drummer fell down a well he really liked to see the moon from his viewpoint as he banged his drum from inside the well
“help me!” he cried out.
“who dares disturb my slumber?” a voice sneaks out from the darkness. the little drummer boy froze in fear.
“please dont hurt me!”
The drummer held onto his clandestine invisible plastic gloves, and his mom’s 5th grade portrait during all of his concerts.
his turf was the eastest of the west, in a town he deemed best,
Springfield, Illinois,
a rosey cheek he always dove with
never had parentals to enter groves with
chucky
was his name
his own frontal cortex inculcated his unflinging passion for an open stage
selling more new fans on his work than stepahn myer sold books around 2000
first glimpse, first ear lended
worship bended
have a cocktail and land your car’s cock in another car’s tail
a motto underminded amid our day and age
chucky braved through it all
played his brakes like bids on game day
my cousin is a drummer. my husbands best friend is a drummer. vance. i love double bass. fake drums in edm is good too especially when its drum n bass. music is something i really enjoy and drums are the backbone. i cant really think of anything else to write except that i miss the jam shack sometimes
Hm bummer it’s drummer. They all drive a Hummer, behind them: a runner. Who else is a punner?
The drummer beats. The drummer plays. My dad was a drummer. He spends his time drumming, drumming away. Drumming on the wheel, using his dishes. He feels the beat, he feels it with his soul.
I used to be a drummer. I used to be the one who sat in the back of the classroom and made sure everyone knew the beat. Now, I’m not a drummer. Now I look back on that experience and understand that being a drummer had a different meaning. I was the heart in the body that was the band. I kept the band coordinated. Everyone needs a drummer in their life. Someone who keeps them coordinated and on rhythm. Find your drummer and march to your own beat.
Go with the drummer.
He knows what it’s like to be the butt of a joke,
his body is lean,
it’s just not advertised front and center, or above a low slung guitar.
Front men need the love of every last
groupie.
If you must, go with the drummer.
Better yet, go with the lighting engineer.
The heavy hands pounded relentlessly upon the taut flesh of the rune-worked skin. THRUM. THRUM. THRUM. THRUM. The monotonous tone banged into her ears like the ringing song of her own blood, her own body the dance that moved in sync to the drummers’ powerful sound.
The drummer ratatata tat on his drum until the drum broke and inside he found that there was a genie. Instead of being in a lamp this genie was in a drum.