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Jenish Feb 13
Sun scatters splendid splendors in utter silence
Flowers shed their pure fragrance without any aim
Never once they never trumpet their excellence
Real wisdom, real merits acquires great fame

The moon maps her magic hue in silent midnight
Wind swept in melodious tone scenting surprise
Ever did they ever boost their mettlesome might?
Never fool can ever shine bruiting his own praise.
Maddie Nov 2019
Tootle toot boy
Why don’t you take those strong hands
And hold me tight?
You marched right into my life
Now why don’t you just be the drum major
Over my beat-beating heart?
H A Vitatoe Aug 2019
Moving through
with no restraint
are the haters
& the saints

is a man
Gods hand

Not one
to out run
The truth
that is
to come

With cheers
far away
As the Trumpets
to Play
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
I just joined band this year and it's only been 6 days and I already feel at home.
Midnight Locke Apr 2019
There is a word or two
A cartographer if we go in one piece
There's prose and it's about to get long
It can get opaque and you see the scenery
THere's no place to change who are you and if you left him
Did you break your heart or your leg
If he got you in the midriff is this the best you should expect
Men can be nasty teasers
Fighting for you
The stance on the women and the experience of how paintings still feel.
Thespians are taking over is the feeling of millennial pie in the old English millennial idiom
There's a nasty stranger reading a novel far away
There's a chance that the place you're at is a violent storm
There's a right you have kept
It's the rendition of a short story of Jack Kerouac
Beats me how the place hasn't changed with such green spin on everything
Breathless by the imaginations of long prose, captivate them by the lines
Present a story and bring them to the end of a very poetic journey and protect that it's that last journey you're going t have with them
Some busy people know by now
There's a prettier character in the other person
You'll realize you've ****** them both in the end
A simple end of to a prose
How could you?
There begs the question if there should be storylines in the poetry
Or write novels on free platforms
"To have a little recognition, that is very nice, you dig." - Dexter Gordon
Poetress2 Apr 2019
One day I'll have a happy home,
somewhere among the Heavenly host;
I'll feel no pain, no quilt lies there,
and Love in abundance, is free to share.
I wonder what my Mansions like,
I'm sure it is a miraculous sight;
Walking on the streets of gold,
where people would trade, for their Souls.
I'm sure I'll talk to men of old,
Abraham, Paul, Jacob and Job;
I wonder what they will be like,
I'll have the best time of my life.
I also know Christ is my Lord,
and I'll go up when that Trumpet blows;
But for now, I'll live my life,
anticipating when I'll see Christ.
Ylzm Apr 2019
The sixth day began bright,
Sun’s fire, on earth, lighted;
Prophecies trumpeted,
Brighter, hotter, fires burned.

Eight, but one, ancient, kings
Ruled the day; If agree,
All in their hearts shall be;
The stars, Man's destiny.
Lily Feb 2019
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
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
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!!
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