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Lily Feb 26
60 days.
After these 60 days,
I will never see you at your locker again.
I will never go the long way through the halls
Just to give you a smile as I walk by.
After these 60 days,
I will never tousle your hair in the morning,
Or compliment your outfit,
Or check to make sure your car is in the parking lot.
After these 60 days,
We will never sit together in band,
Always a second away from laughter,
Your tickle fights surprising me still.
After these 60 days,
We won’t make music again together,
At least not in the same way we once did,
Inside these four band room walls.
So in these 60 days,
I will cherish each moment,
Each tickle fight,
Each note that our trumpets play together.
Because after these 60 days,
That will all be gone.
My best friend Kylar is graduating, and I don't know what I'm going to do without him.
Lily Feb 16
Stinky, crowded, sweltering
Laughing uproariously
Bouncing up with every Michigan pothole
Falling down into the laps of our friends
Riding to yet another competition
Frantically checking to see if we have gloves and gauntlets
The band bus
Timber Jan 30
Sticky, molding floors,
Flies buzzing around the sink,
Not a single paper towel in sight.

The busy, hussle and bussle,
The shines and glares coming from everything in site,
No space,
No feeling,
No compassion.

You’re ears are bleeding
Mine are too
Freshman band *****
Honors is okay
Zuzanna Jan 24
I can't sleep
I'm left aching
All the time, I
See a man on the
Floor with a bullet
In his head, out cold
And dead. Mamma had
Said. He's not same man
She used to know, he is
The devil kind she goes
To church to pray for, in
Fear Beelzebub put a devil
Aside for me she cries seeing
Seeing a silhouette of a man
Who man ought to be my ghost
This is my Bohemian Rhapsody tribute.
I love the song, the movie and Queen. I
have become a big fan of the band, Freddie
will always be a star- he was, is and always
will be a star burning bright.
laura Jan 10
During the first month
of band class,
You can’t even make a sound,
You get tired, frustrated,
And you ask yourself why you even did it.

During the third month
Of band class,
You are at the point,
Where you get so excited
When you can play twinkle twinkle,
Without missing a note.

During the fifth month
Of band class,
You feel like it’s going pretty well,
You still know you ****,
But you still think you might want to stick with it.

The first year has gone by,
And you are definitely doing it again.
The year finished strong,
And you feel great.

Then middle school goes by,
You think you’re all that,
So you go onto high school.

During the freshman year,
In marching band,
Things get hard,
But you learn that it’s kind of like a family,
You stick together through thick and thin.

During the senior year,
In band,
you realize that you made it,
No matter how hard things got,
And you are so glad you didn’t quit.

After you graduate,
You think back all to of the
Cold, rainy, football games,
The gross band competitions,
And you know that if you were told,
To go back and perform with them again,
You would.
I know I haven't quite gotten to the end of band yet, but I have a feeling I'll stick with it through anything. If any of you play an instrument, I'm telling you, don't quit no matter how terrible you think it's going.
Josh Jan 9
I step through the door
of the place which feels
more like home than my house

My ears fill
with sounds of drumsticks on drums
mallets on marimbas

My eyes fall upon flutes, clarinets
saxophones and tubas

I look up at my family
none of which are related to me
yet they
happy double digits
Haylin Jan 9
I am in the Guard
Tis where I belong
There is no other
Group or throng

All I know
Is twirl this dance that
And I do it all
With the grace of a cat

I thrive on flags
Rifles and poles
Bruises and bumps
Adorn my skull

Guard geek I am
Stand proud and tall
Nothing I wouldn't do
To give my all

To give my all
And then some more
Is the only way
To enter that door

At Perfection's door
I knock and plead
I aim for its glory
I sweat and bleed

I am a Guard
This is my creed
To have that card
of Perfections breed.
Ren Jan 9
My turn to go up next.
The teacher glances toward me and nods.
I grab my instrument and walk to the front of the room.
A chair and stand awaits me.
I set the sheet music on the stand and take a seat.
"Whenever you're ready," he says.

I lift the french horn to my face and pause.
I remember the people before me who went,
eyes full of fear.
Hoping with every ounce of their soul
that they won't mess up.
My chest constricts tightly.
I struggle to take a breath, then begin.

The first note is perfectly on pitch.
So far, so good.
The phrase flows smoothly.
The piece goes well,
until I take a risky glance around the classroom.

A knot forms in my stomach.
Everyone is looking at ME.
Expecting ME to do well.
My fingers fumble as I miss a note.
I panic and rush the rhythms,
not caring if I miss the pitch.
I just want this TORTURE to be over.

Their gazes are icy.
The piece ends and I swiftly let my instrument down.
I hang my head low.
The ones before me look grim.
Surely I had disappointed them

The director says nothing.
The silence is KILLING me.
I feel my face flushing red.
The room is getting warmer.
"Next?" He asks, prying that I should take my spot.
I get up and take my things,
then do exactly that.

The next person plays perfectly.
I applaud with tear-stained hands.
They are praised well as they walk to their seat,
beaming in glory.

Who am I to pretend
that I understand this madness
called success?
Playing your solo for the class is never fun.
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