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Vic Aug 2019
I made a Queen/Freddie joke at dinner with my family today

They didn't understand

Peasants
A "poem" every day.
Haylin Jul 2019
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
trumpets and tubas

I look up at my family
none of which are related to me
yet they
make
this
place
home.
I just joined band this year and it's only been 6 days and I already feel at home.
JT Nelson Jun 2019
Instrumentation selection
Was a big step in our lives
Choices made in fourth grade
Would stay with us through school
To the end
If we stayed in band

So many choices
Brass or woodwind
Big or small
Loud or louder
Percussion as an option too
What would be the perfect fit

Did we take advice from mom or dad
And play the instrument that they played
Or maybe a brother or sister
Or one of their cool friends
A lot of impressions molded
Our decision on the path that we went down.

I selected, with a few of my friends,
The long and shiny brass trombone
Touchy slide that perfecting
Lubrication with silicone proved tricky
And dumping the spit from the valve
Proved essential and gross.

It took years to become adequate
Enough that the notes flowed like spit
All the way through my senior year
Until I put the parts away in the black case
That one last time then sold it
To the parents of a fourth grader.
Lily Feb 2019
Stinky, crowded, sweltering
Dedication
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 2019
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 2019
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 2019
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.
Casey Jan 2019
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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