He struck the tambourine three times in a row, and then ran down the street singing “I Want It That Way” at the top of his lungs while stark naked. Truth or Dare was the worst.
Tambourines. The sound of them reminds me of old time mornings, filter coffee and dosas on sunny mornings. Temple bells in the distance. Whose memories are these? Are they stolen from a book? Was I a Tamil maami in my previous life?
I love tambourines, for some reason. They’re not really drums, they’re not really symbals, which is kinda cool. I wanna thank whoever invented the tambourine.
The Partridge Family was very popular when I was little and I decided I wanted to be adopted into their television family. One of the sisters played the tambourine, so I thought maybe I could play the triangle.
She claps her hands in the air, slapping the skin bound tightly to the tambourine. The ribbons flutter in the wind and grace the air with their lilting colors. Men in the crowd hear the tambourine and come pushing through to see the girl with the tambourine.
Stiles glares at the circular instrument like it had cursed his family and ate his children.
He actually wouldn’t be surprised if it did.
Beside him, Derek is snorting and smiling behind a clenched fist. Stiles whirls on him and points at him accusingly.
“You cursed the fucking thing to fall on me didn’t you?” he says.
“Not my fault it decided it wanted to defy basic rules of gravity and hug your face,” Derek smirks.
Stiles groans and rubs a hand over his face.
“Fuck you,”
I love to play the tambourine. I remember getting my first tambourine. It was shiny, and round, and made lots of noise. I got it from my grandmother. She loved music. This is my most prized possession.
The tambourine played loudly, almost as if it was in time with all of our heartbeats, and together, we sang and danced, and for a moment, everything in time stood still, and we were all one and happy and together, and maybe it wasn’t perfect but it was pretty damn close, and i took his hand and felt infinite, like nothing could tear me down, nothing could hold me back. I just remember that I wanted to stay that way forever, I wanted to repeat that moment for as long as I was allowed, because never in my life have I ever felt more whole than I did that day.
It’s the instrument of back up dancers or people who don’t actually know how to play anything. That’s what I thought about tambourines before I held one in my hand. The jangle of the small golden cymbals against my hand. I loved the feel.
“I don’t even know how to /play/ the tambourine!” I protested.
“Oh, come on,” she pouted, waving the instrument distractingly in my face. “What’s there to learn? You shake it.”
“I have a terrible sense of rhythm! And /stop messing with it/, anyway, it’s not ours -” I made a grab for the tambourine.
We fought over it for the next 15 minutes, making such a terrible noise that it was surprising we hadn’t been discovered sooner. Maybe somebody thought there was a murderer in the building, and there was a delay as they fetched the guns. Since they did indeed seem to have guns.
Her hips swayed like the waves and I couldn’t take my eyes of her wondrous gymnastic stunts. The gypsy caught my eyes and twirled over, smirking as she wrapped her silk scarf around my neck. I just looked at her with the only thing I knew of how to handle such a thing. I kept expressionless.
My tambourine was my only prized possession. Handed down to me from my grandfather, the best Soul player in all the country. This tambourine had special red leather and the the actual sound making devices were gold plated. My only connection to my grandfather, and it was a beauty. This tambourine meant the world to me
My neighbours play the tambourine. I hear the sound coming from their kitchen sometimes. I wonder if they play the tambourine while they work in the kitchen.
I saw her over there with a sad smile on her face. I didn’t know why she was here, all alone, but we locked eyes, and for once I felt something within my heart. I almost cared for once. She tried to wave to me, but thought better of it, and brushed it off as playing her tambourine instead. I hate music sometimes.
Her hair flew in a wave as she turned, her skirt whirling around her smooth thighs. Tiny bells at her ankles tinkled merrily in time to the tambourine she tapped with her hands above her head. The sun dappled through the trees surrounding the courtyard, catching her eyes as she turned like blasts of sapphire light.
i played the tambourine in a band; my boyfriend was the guitarist; then i became a dancer so that makes me a chorine who had once used a tambourine — ha ha — aren’t i the witty one.
My doggie would like to play the tambourine — but he has to sniff it first; then he will shake his booty and the tambourine too.
what an annoying instrument. it sounds on the hip of a woman who has no idea about any kind of music. is there sheet music for a tambourine? I would not assume so.
Play me your jingle-jangling sound,
Kick up your feet in an upbeat jig,
That I may throw my cares away,
And twirl all around
The stage, while life courses throughout the day;
Serve me a cup of love, a swig
Of laughter chased by a shot of tears,
That I may live the memories
Of our past present, pleasant years;
Tell me not that our dates are brief,
In ye old Bardic style,
Too well I know how true that truth –
It lingers in my broken smile
That struggles now to keep upright
And stay aglow amidst the gloom,
Now night has come, and brief day passed;
Come, dance with me, as if we were,
In the silent comfort of our room;
Lively, messy, all our own,
Come know that this won’t be the last
Our happiness is known;
Come realize, even apart,
The heart remembers well,
Don’t mourn the ending, love the start,
Your journey is still to tell.
Hey mr tambourine man
I’ve got nothing to say
La de da de da de da
There’s a giant giraffe in front of me
and two babies on the floor
and my husband is making pizza
and my uterus hurts.
Maybe I’m carrying our third child.
I’ll be carrying that while I carry our first or second.
My life has become very heavy.
I think that’s the best way to describe it.
Heavy.
The babies have a cousin named Leight.
There’s a lot of weird names in our family,
so say the Jehovah Witnesses when they visit.
Dancing around the fire, she flashed a smile up at him, her eyes reflecting the flame’s life. She shook her tambourine to the music, and soon the instrument was the only thing he heard, as it it was a story of it’s own the words constant like the fire’s heat.
a sentence rings like a tambourine,
the adjectives are the shallow drum that beat its thrum,
the conjunctions intertwine its metal disks on the side of it,
then the verbs circumvent the echoing volume that plows up into a musician’s ear canal!
The subects and predicates are the linings holding together the edges,
one mistake is the precursor to a great song,
one lap around the park only sees trees and bushes,
but behind it, there is a playground, squirrels, feathered city birds,
the first lap around a masterpiece takes patience, but the second a persevering eye!
a sentence rings like a tambourine,
the adjectives are the shallow drum that beat its thrum,
the conjunctions intertwine its metal disks on the side of it,
then the verbs circumvent the echoing volume that plows up into a musician’s ear canal!
So I listen, I heed, down beneath the beat and the rings, until I put together the perfect chorus of words,
hesitation is the criminal of my masterful work, one recording or trial, is only a draft,
a second lap around the park makes the trees behind the playground be seen.
I was in a cult once. It was like a family of sorts. We used to travel around and sing trance-y, folk tunes when we went around preachin’ “love is all, all is love”. It was a pretty sweet gig. Lots of freedom to live like little bohemians. I played the tambourine and sang back up, I was happy just being another wife in the small entourage of harem women the group had been thoughtfully collecting. What can I say, I fell in love with the drummer and his knack for keeping time – and, ok, those eyes, brassy like twin cymbals. After him, I moved onto the lead singer. And it was much, much easier shacking up with a man who knew how to harmonize too. But then I ended up “cult married” to the bassist. We also had a “sister wife” and a “brother husband,” she played a flute and he was, shocker, the lead singer. What can I say, a little harmonization can go a long way between friends and lovers alike. Maybe I was just married to the life style. Anyway, I’m divorced now. I’m on my own and I don’t play music with anyone else.
She first lays eyes on her at the folk music festival, eyes warm and smile wild as she plays the tambourine to no particular beat but her own. The wind catches her hair like it’s doing it on purpose – and a heartbeat later she meets her eyes, and the music stops, and everything is electric.
i feel the metal pieces near my fingers and i just know that the sound is mine. my shaking hands are scary but this is what it means music to me. i hear my fingers.
He struck the tambourine three times in a row, and then ran down the street singing “I Want It That Way” at the top of his lungs while stark naked. Truth or Dare was the worst.
She swayed on the stage tamping the tambourine on her hips to the beat of the band as she sang an old song of the South.
Tambourines. The sound of them reminds me of old time mornings, filter coffee and dosas on sunny mornings. Temple bells in the distance. Whose memories are these? Are they stolen from a book? Was I a Tamil maami in my previous life?
banging, clanging,
clinking, crashing,
oh how I love my tambourine!
ever changing,
always fighting,
but I’m always happy with my shiny tambourine!
I love tambourines, for some reason. They’re not really drums, they’re not really symbals, which is kinda cool. I wanna thank whoever invented the tambourine.
The Partridge Family was very popular when I was little and I decided I wanted to be adopted into their television family. One of the sisters played the tambourine, so I thought maybe I could play the triangle.
She claps her hands in the air, slapping the skin bound tightly to the tambourine. The ribbons flutter in the wind and grace the air with their lilting colors. Men in the crowd hear the tambourine and come pushing through to see the girl with the tambourine.
Stiles glares at the circular instrument like it had cursed his family and ate his children.
He actually wouldn’t be surprised if it did.
Beside him, Derek is snorting and smiling behind a clenched fist. Stiles whirls on him and points at him accusingly.
“You cursed the fucking thing to fall on me didn’t you?” he says.
“Not my fault it decided it wanted to defy basic rules of gravity and hug your face,” Derek smirks.
Stiles groans and rubs a hand over his face.
“Fuck you,”
Tambourines can be very loud and noisy.
I love to play the tambourine. I remember getting my first tambourine. It was shiny, and round, and made lots of noise. I got it from my grandmother. She loved music. This is my most prized possession.
The tambourine played loudly, almost as if it was in time with all of our heartbeats, and together, we sang and danced, and for a moment, everything in time stood still, and we were all one and happy and together, and maybe it wasn’t perfect but it was pretty damn close, and i took his hand and felt infinite, like nothing could tear me down, nothing could hold me back. I just remember that I wanted to stay that way forever, I wanted to repeat that moment for as long as I was allowed, because never in my life have I ever felt more whole than I did that day.
It’s the instrument of back up dancers or people who don’t actually know how to play anything. That’s what I thought about tambourines before I held one in my hand. The jangle of the small golden cymbals against my hand. I loved the feel.
with each tap
the rhythm grew
until dancing
was all we could do
“I don’t even know how to /play/ the tambourine!” I protested.
“Oh, come on,” she pouted, waving the instrument distractingly in my face. “What’s there to learn? You shake it.”
“I have a terrible sense of rhythm! And /stop messing with it/, anyway, it’s not ours -” I made a grab for the tambourine.
We fought over it for the next 15 minutes, making such a terrible noise that it was surprising we hadn’t been discovered sooner. Maybe somebody thought there was a murderer in the building, and there was a delay as they fetched the guns. Since they did indeed seem to have guns.
Oops.
I love tambourinest they are fun.
boom chicka boom chicka boom boom.
lol i dont know nothing about tambourines…. but i like tangerines…..
TANNNN… GERINESSSSS
she uses TANNNNNNN…… GERINESSS
Her hips swayed like the waves and I couldn’t take my eyes of her wondrous gymnastic stunts. The gypsy caught my eyes and twirled over, smirking as she wrapped her silk scarf around my neck. I just looked at her with the only thing I knew of how to handle such a thing. I kept expressionless.
The sound of green zucchini sizzling on the grill is like music to my ears. Flip, flip, pop, pop.
shadi
al karaki
trhght;rmost important thing in thr life
some thing we used to make a nice voice or dancing
My tambourine was my only prized possession. Handed down to me from my grandfather, the best Soul player in all the country. This tambourine had special red leather and the the actual sound making devices were gold plated. My only connection to my grandfather, and it was a beauty. This tambourine meant the world to me
My neighbours play the tambourine. I hear the sound coming from their kitchen sometimes. I wonder if they play the tambourine while they work in the kitchen.
I saw her over there with a sad smile on her face. I didn’t know why she was here, all alone, but we locked eyes, and for once I felt something within my heart. I almost cared for once. She tried to wave to me, but thought better of it, and brushed it off as playing her tambourine instead. I hate music sometimes.
Her hair flew in a wave as she turned, her skirt whirling around her smooth thighs. Tiny bells at her ankles tinkled merrily in time to the tambourine she tapped with her hands above her head. The sun dappled through the trees surrounding the courtyard, catching her eyes as she turned like blasts of sapphire light.
i played the tambourine in a band; my boyfriend was the guitarist; then i became a dancer so that makes me a chorine who had once used a tambourine — ha ha — aren’t i the witty one.
My doggie would like to play the tambourine — but he has to sniff it first; then he will shake his booty and the tambourine too.
feel the beat of the tambourine
its beautiful sound against all these
dissonance.
what an annoying instrument. it sounds on the hip of a woman who has no idea about any kind of music. is there sheet music for a tambourine? I would not assume so.
Play me your jingle-jangling sound,
Kick up your feet in an upbeat jig,
That I may throw my cares away,
And twirl all around
The stage, while life courses throughout the day;
Serve me a cup of love, a swig
Of laughter chased by a shot of tears,
That I may live the memories
Of our past present, pleasant years;
Tell me not that our dates are brief,
In ye old Bardic style,
Too well I know how true that truth –
It lingers in my broken smile
That struggles now to keep upright
And stay aglow amidst the gloom,
Now night has come, and brief day passed;
Come, dance with me, as if we were,
In the silent comfort of our room;
Lively, messy, all our own,
Come know that this won’t be the last
Our happiness is known;
Come realize, even apart,
The heart remembers well,
Don’t mourn the ending, love the start,
Your journey is still to tell.
singers tug of war over who gets everyone’s tambourines. Too pretty a word for there to be more than one and ultimately screwed over by bad bells
t o all those motherfers
a ll you motherfers
m otherfers
b ack to the den
o r
u can get on my level
r ight now
i ma do me
n obody
e ver said this.
Hey mr tambourine man
I’ve got nothing to say
La de da de da de da
There’s a giant giraffe in front of me
and two babies on the floor
and my husband is making pizza
and my uterus hurts.
Maybe I’m carrying our third child.
I’ll be carrying that while I carry our first or second.
My life has become very heavy.
I think that’s the best way to describe it.
Heavy.
The babies have a cousin named Leight.
There’s a lot of weird names in our family,
so say the Jehovah Witnesses when they visit.
Dancing around the fire, she flashed a smile up at him, her eyes reflecting the flame’s life. She shook her tambourine to the music, and soon the instrument was the only thing he heard, as it it was a story of it’s own the words constant like the fire’s heat.
a sentence rings like a tambourine,
the adjectives are the shallow drum that beat its thrum,
the conjunctions intertwine its metal disks on the side of it,
then the verbs circumvent the echoing volume that plows up into a musician’s ear canal!
The subects and predicates are the linings holding together the edges,
one mistake is the precursor to a great song,
one lap around the park only sees trees and bushes,
but behind it, there is a playground, squirrels, feathered city birds,
the first lap around a masterpiece takes patience, but the second a persevering eye!
a sentence rings like a tambourine,
the adjectives are the shallow drum that beat its thrum,
the conjunctions intertwine its metal disks on the side of it,
then the verbs circumvent the echoing volume that plows up into a musician’s ear canal!
So I listen, I heed, down beneath the beat and the rings, until I put together the perfect chorus of words,
hesitation is the criminal of my masterful work, one recording or trial, is only a draft,
a second lap around the park makes the trees behind the playground be seen.
I was in a cult once. It was like a family of sorts. We used to travel around and sing trance-y, folk tunes when we went around preachin’ “love is all, all is love”. It was a pretty sweet gig. Lots of freedom to live like little bohemians. I played the tambourine and sang back up, I was happy just being another wife in the small entourage of harem women the group had been thoughtfully collecting. What can I say, I fell in love with the drummer and his knack for keeping time – and, ok, those eyes, brassy like twin cymbals. After him, I moved onto the lead singer. And it was much, much easier shacking up with a man who knew how to harmonize too. But then I ended up “cult married” to the bassist. We also had a “sister wife” and a “brother husband,” she played a flute and he was, shocker, the lead singer. What can I say, a little harmonization can go a long way between friends and lovers alike. Maybe I was just married to the life style. Anyway, I’m divorced now. I’m on my own and I don’t play music with anyone else.
my breath makes the tambourine shake. and however invisible i feel, it’s something that makes me be. the sound is a sign i’m here.
She first lays eyes on her at the folk music festival, eyes warm and smile wild as she plays the tambourine to no particular beat but her own. The wind catches her hair like it’s doing it on purpose – and a heartbeat later she meets her eyes, and the music stops, and everything is electric.
i feel the metal pieces near my fingers and i just know that the sound is mine. my shaking hands are scary but this is what it means music to me. i hear my fingers.
m,.mn,.mn,.nm,.mn,.mn.,mn,mn,.mn,.mn,.mn.,m
the tambourine is quite an interesting instrument, it has definite pitch and sounds great when played without organization.
tambourine is a musical instrument introduced to students. i have never seen it but do know that it is part of a musical assemble.