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Lily Feb 16
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
Josh Jan 9
10
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
make
this
place
home.
happy double digits
Lily Oct 2018
When I hear the words “marching band”,
I think of 4 am’s eating donuts on the bus,
Piled in big heaps to conserve warmth,
Not caring who we were laying on.
I think of lips on fire,
Sectionals that drag on and on in
The scorching sun, and staying
At attention for longer than you can bear.
I think of impossibly quick changes into uniforms,
Asking your friends to zip you up,
Band moms wiping off bibbers and shoes,
And when you’re all ready, realizing you didn’t put on your mic.
I think of falling on turf during
25 mph wind gusts, hearing the hail smash your instrument,
Not being able to feel your face,
But knowing you have to play on just the same.
I think of eating at weird times,
Breakfast at 4 am, lunch at 10 am, and supper at 10 pm,
But knowing that when you get you get a chance to eat,
The band dads have got you covered.
I think of laughing so ******* the bus
You’re crying, sobbing even, sprawled across
Your best friends, and you think you’ll never calm down
Enough to ever play your instrument again.
I think of the drum majors’ voices yelling
LEFT LEFT LEFT
Over and over again until the freshmen finally understand.
There’s always that one that never does.
I think of the moment of utter agony
Before they announce the last place in your class,
And you’re squeezing your eyes shut, praying
That at the very least, you won’t be last.
I think of that moment of utter relief
After you hear the last place in your class,
And it’s not you, and your prayers have been answered
That at the very least, you were not last.
I think of the last competition of the season,
When the seniors are bawling and it seems like
Your entire world is crashing down,
And nothing will ever be right again.
This poem could go on forever,
But finally: finally.
When I hear the words “marching band”,
I think of that triumphant moment right
As your show ends for the last time,
That last horns down,
And you know you’ve given it your all,
And no matter what your score is,
You feel in your heart that you have put everything
You have out there,
All the music, the drill, the blood, sweat and tears,
Out there on that football field.
And that moment, you can get no where else, but
Marching band.
The last band competition of the season was a couple weekends ago, and the last song of our show was Feel This Moment by Pitbull ft. Christina Aguilera.  I couldn't pass up the opportunity to write this poem; I love marching band so much!!
Lily Aug 2018
Friday night lights,
Yelling fans,
Sweaty football players,
Peppy cheerleaders,
And the marching band.
It smells like popcorn,
And the breeze blowing across
The field is pure October.
It feels like anything can happen.
So I take a chance on this gorgeous night
With the full moon out, and as the Hey song
Rings through the air,
I take your hand and pull you away,
Behind the bleachers,
And pour my heart out to you.
The pounding of the drumline matches
The pounding in my chest as I
Declare my love for you.
The cheerleaders finish their cheer, and they fall into the
Waiting arms of their teammates.
Smiling that dorky grin of yours,
You bring your hand to my cheek,
Gently brushing my dimple that I hate.
As your lips touch mine, the star running back
Runs into the end zone,
And the band begins the fight song.
The adrenaline in the stadium is electric,
But it's nothing compared to the lightning
That strikes my heart at your touch.
I fold into your open arms,
Marveling at the comfort you bring me.
I breathe deeply, soaking in the
Friday night lights,
Yelling fans,
Sweaty football players,
Peppy cheerleaders,
And the marching band.
It smells like popcorn and
Your soft scent of peppermint,
And the breeze blowing across the field
Is pure October.
It feels like anything can happen.
Lily Jul 2018
Please tell everyone your name, grade,
And what instrument you play.
We’re just going to go over some basics.
You can have a break in ten minutes.
Band, ten, HUT!
HUT!
Come to set!
Attention!
I said come to set!
Heels together, toes apart.
Check your posture!
Guide to your left!
No, your other left!
Your steps are too big.
No, now your steps are too small.
You have to stay at set for three minutes;
If anyone moves, we start again.
Restart the time!
Restart again!
Get your feet in time, freshmen!
Section leaders, I need to see you.  Now.
Your water break is still ten minutes away.
Drum majors, go get more batteries for the met.
First competition guys, good luck!
I don’t care if it’s late, we need to learn the drill.
Someone go run and turn on the field lights!
You’ll thank me later.
First football game, good luck!
Drumline, did I say you could put your instruments down?
Trumpets, get your horns up!  To the press box!
You’ll get it, don’t give up!
Last competition guys, congrats!
Give it your all and don’t look back!
Guard, don’t **** anybody with your flags.
GUARD!
Last football game, congrats!
Somebody please let the bass drums through!
Everybody give me your plumes!
Do NOT set your uniform on the ground!
I expect all of you back next year.
Thank you for giving me your best.
I apologize for when I was at my worst.
I love you guys.
Appreciation is showed for the marching band by how many horns are honked while cars drive by on the nearby road
Or almost stepping on small baby Toads on the walk to your car
In the middle of the night
Sleep deprived
It's okay, we wouldn't want it any other way
Steve Jul 2015
He's the drummer in a marching band
With the flick of his wrist and the speed of his hand
Like rifle fire he sets the beat
To the swirl of the kilt and the stomp of his feet

He keeps the time
He pounds the skin
He fires the snare
He cracks the rim

He beats the drum
He sets the pace
The pipers march
With amazing grace

He's the drummer in a marching band
With the flick of his wrist and the speed of his hand
To glory and back without retreat
The swirl of the kilt and the stomp of his feet.
My Father-in-law was such a drummer.
My sanity flies out the open window
My courage spills out of me
To dissipate under the seats
Music my true hope
Bus' full of people who care
No one cares where you're from
No one cares of your past
All that matters is that you're there
Wake up before the dawn
Crowd on to the yellow sardine can
Find that one you want to sleep on
More hours than you care to count
Crushed spaces
With old crushes
Realizations of truths
You love them all and they love you
Hard work in the sun's heat
First time of many
You mess up completely
Even though
Applause surrounds you
And all of you feel invincible
Drama can't **** the happiness
You walk away
Find others to accept you
Three is better than one
More work but it's fun
Now watching you see things
Things that amaze
You learn so much
The heat goes out
Now you are freezing
There is a smile frozen on your face though
Smushed between great people
Watching through new eyes
You're nervous now
Going up with the other two
You stand tall and prepare
How unprepared you were
So much acceleration runs through you
Shoulder to shoulder
You place
You knew this
He accepts and you salute
Later you are ambushed
You feel such a sense of belonging
You all swarm out
Back to the buses you go
Changing in front of them all
You don't care
Neither do they
You once again find the one to sleep on

— The End —