#trumpet
buzz, ****
doit, mute
hustle first
then bustle
screamin' chops
tired lips
crimson ties
broken blues
closed circles
open arms
wag the dog
book the gig
call the cab
hit the beat
play the set
chew the fat
sell the axe
make the rent
let the next
be the last
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 7:20 AM UTC
Start now knowing joy,
that’s an order,
overcome a deepening solitude.
Like a bee at a bugle
or me at the deli
on Third Avenue.
I said to Joe when do you think this weather will break?
He jokes, April.
That’s no joke. Weak creatures die and the strong barely survive.
Half a year goes by
another cancer checkup.
Cheer up. Any weather’s
better than no weather at all.
There’s always governance
even when there is no government.
My candidate drops out
after Iowa. Why do I always lose
at politics and poker?
Peace at last!
No lawnmowers, no leafblowers.
Big comfy couch.
Meditate on this: Do what has to be done.
Find your lover gazing at the moon
and take your garbage to the dump.
Your web site evaporates
and your possessions are thrown in the dumpster
except your trumpet which finds its way to a future trumpeter.
Jun 8, 2021
Jun 8, 2021 at 6:38 AM UTC
When air becomes breath,
Love submits to valves pounding.
Horn sounds, soul music.
Sep 22, 2020
Sep 22, 2020 at 11:59 AM UTC
As the trumpet screams
In my face
I transport myself
To a better place
I keep the rain
Behind the glass
No one will see
If no one asks
The volume of the trumpet
Makes me want to crouch down
But I know if I don’t stand tall
I’ll never wear the crown
So though internally I fall
I keep a strong face
Drying up the rainfall
In a record pace
Although I love the trumpet
It’s making lots of noise
And this time I will not fight
I’ll just listen to its voice
To stand tall in the loudness
Will be hard at first
I know that in the end
I’ll see what its worth
I need not be frightened
For I’ve faced the trumpet before
And I know that though it hurts,
Soon I’ll open the door
So, as the trumpet screams in my face
I wait for it to be over
And unlike all the others, this time
I keep my composure
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 7:58 PM UTC
One and the other of us had a mission
That only God can gave
Perceptibly that you can execute it
For He is our Life and saviour
God acquiesce to navigate our procedures
Coherent in haphazardly to be set
To effectuate His words on this world
For His kingdom comes on earth
Individually of us has an end
A term of life back to grime
In heaven we will exult
For His eternal love for us
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 1:17 PM UTC
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.
Feb 12, 2020
Feb 12, 2020 at 11:33 PM UTC
Hey
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?
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC
Moving through
with no restraint
are the haters
& the saints
Standing
is a man
guiding
with
Gods hand
Not one
able
to out run
The truth
that is
to come
With cheers
from
far away
As the Trumpets
begin
to Play
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 5:53 PM UTC
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.
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 11:19 PM UTC
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
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 2:19 PM UTC
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.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC
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.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 2:08 AM UTC
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
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 10:00 AM UTC
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 hard on 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.
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
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.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
A shout. A cry of triumph and all is silent.
The blast rings back through time and foreword to the end.
The chaos of battle, the order of music.
Beside me are others. The breath erupts through us and we shout or sing through pipes of brass.
Triumph.
An end, a beginning, and all comes together
Now glad in song, now fierce in battle.
Triumph, alarm, and a final blast
From when I have said enough at last.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
And like that.
She eased the piece into the groove.
Nestling it close to her lips.
Suddenly her eyes closed,
That horn came to life.
Wide-eyed and bushey tailed.
Stretching it's yawn.
It walked around, journeying to the closest city.
Taking a mid day drive,
Wiping sleep from it's eyes.
It's twelve day noon.
Vocalizing it's croon.
The conflict of working long hours.
Two jobs, a mother of one.
Getting out the bed late.
Trying to remember if she's paid this month's bill or not.
The debate of taking the day off.
Sealed inside it's case.
To sleep the day away.
This weary horn.
With the kid off to school.
She has but a minute.
A loud yawn, the release of stress from a demanding boss.
Every croon loud and long.
A testimony of deep long sigh.
The valves pressed by weary fingers.
A mother of one finds deliverance
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 10:55 AM UTC
Every single time I am so sad,
And
Whenever your memories bring tears,
How
I distract myself from crying
Is
A simple technique.
I just remember the
Name
Of the most powerful man
And
It makes me guffaw a tummy tuck,
As
I can't really imagine a Trumpet blowing **Donald Duck**!
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 12:39 PM UTC
Click clack click
We left the comfort of the amethyst curtain
Onto the stained wooden stage
The room is wide and filled with echoes
I stare into the red seats where identical faces sit
They show no emotion and I want them to feel
Feel anger, joy, sadness, something
My instructor paces across the stage towards the microphone
Hello
Suddenly the words that were to follow turn into muffles
All I can hear is my heart beat
They sound like quarter notes
The muffles end once my instructor is back in my sight
He exhales and smiles
The burning lights make him look like a god
He raises the baton and I forget everything
1...2...3...
We play the keys robotically but we breathe humanity
The notes trace our fingers and play your heart strings
Our slurs curve your lips into a smile
We want you to feel joy
We want you to remember childhood memories
It's not just kids with instruments
There are stories being told
We put our life into the instruments
We remember being called fools
And how we were wasting our time
We tell you our stories through these notes
Hoping you will feel what we felt
But we'll never know until the final note
When the baton goes down and we bow to the crowd
It's exhilarating
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
On spread palm fronds, wind
trumpets monsoon's onset loud,
await fireworks soon!
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 8:22 AM UTC
Puffs of thistledown
floating in the air.
Lovely lady
dark blue plums
and the tracery of lace.
'Toot' says a trumpet
to the cry from a clarinet.
Tinkling piano notes
flowing
lilting, rippling, fleeting
fleeing.
Bows, strings and violins.
Echoes of yesterday
fading into grey.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
Ambrose
Ah-kin-
MOO-sir-ee
Lifts a trumpet to his mouth.
Deep breaths blow notes
at right angles
into space.
The sound is worn denim.
The sound is Lauren Bacall.
The beat is urgent and syncopated
just like his last name.
Ambrose
Ah-kin-
MOO-sir-ee
Rests a trumpet by his side.
Reverb:
Ambrose interprets the persistence of sound;
reflections build up and decay
until the sound is absorbed
by the surfaces of this space.
Inhale.
Ambrose,
pulls the trumpet
To his mouth
once again.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC