Best Trumpeters Poems
I have claimed to be apolitical but there are times
when the crop is ready for harvesting, so I put fuel
in the John Deere, ink in my pen and wrote...
He'll get millions of votes for that nicked ear
The vengeful narcissist people should fear
Picasso President
With malicious intent
He should be given the famous Bronx Cheer!
It looks like the graffiti on the wall
Four more years and America will fall
Trump will blow his own horn
Guilty of loving p.o.r.n.
And the rape of all the women he's mauled
There's another Trump, Junior's daughter, Kai
Brought a tear or two to dear grandpa's eye
It was her intention
During the convention
To convince people that he's a good guy
Melania was there but just for show
Since he paid off Stormy... well uh, you know
She has kept her distance
Abhors his existence
She can't be with him since he's had a ho
His Trumpeters may be humbled one day
Those who will vote for him and have their say
Those who are so headstrong
Thinking he's done no wrong
The beast who led America astray
He hasn't made the US great again
He's torn the nation apart... friend from friend
Time will tell the story
But there'll be no glory
Picasso President is no Godsend.
Trump toadies must be in a state of bliss
When his venom spews like a snake, hiss, hiss
They praise the dictator
The alienator
His villainy too baleful to dismiss
I've never liked saying, "I told you so"
But D J Trump is a jerk and a schmo
He's a divisor of men
When he's elected again
His tyranny will reign like a deathblow
I've read a few posts about Trump and yet
Not one comment did I write to upset
Another poet's view
I expect that from you
Without hostility or epithet
Categories:
trumpeters, how i feel,
Form:
Limerick
Penelopina Teena had a birthday today,
in faerie years she's a whopping 9008!
It's such a celebration as you have never seen
was held for this tiny white petite faerie queen.
A firefly has gifted her with the finest moon dust,
for faerie magic it's such powerful fine stuff.
Faerie chef Bengali Blue made fluffy cupcakes
with Venetian icing white, pink and blue all fresh baked.
An amethyst mirror gifted by Lil'miss Teak Breeze
was framed in the finest of gold and Elvin antiqued.
Jiminy Jack presented her with great berries gold,
from his orchard full of candied sweetness, full and bold.
Faerie Wa'di de Pella, a kindly fella
brought her a fine cookbook of treats rich with vanilla.
Dragonflies came with some light homemade Sliverene cream
for which to polish Teena's fine elemental wings.
A spider played Happy Birthday on its' web of silk,
while faerie Frank Fennell poured all, coconut milk.
A band of pipers and trumpeters played in bird nest;
all offerings were presented with such joyous zest.
Birds and bugs of all species danced throughout the whole night
to mesmerizing music, such a superb delight.
As the moon bid adieu to the late partying crowd,
the celebrants vanished in a crystal mushroom cloud.
Categories:
trumpeters, children, fairy, myth, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
Dreamers dream
Scoffers scoff
Thinkers think
And droppers drop
Artists create art
Writers will write
Beware of biters, yes they will bite
A smiler will smile
Still sometimes they'll frown
Although mostly happy
There are times they feel down
Laughers may laugh
Other time they will cry
Life ain't so easy
That's why tryers try
Stinkers will stink
Comforters will comfort
Listen to trumpeters
They really do trumpet
Listeners will listen
Talkers will talk
Movers will move
It's hard for them to stop
Shakers will shake
Steppers will step
You wouldn't be surprised
If a sleeper slept
Circles will circle
Back to the start
A dreamer dreaming
Creating his art
Dusted off for SKAT's contest.
Categories:
trumpeters, journey,
Form:
How popular is the big attraction today
By all accounts, it's “The Trumpeters Ballet”
It's classified first-rate
Though a bit overweight
His followers too, southern cooking on a plate
Categories:
trumpeters, dance,
Form:
Limerick
One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care
Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand
Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground
Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap
Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared
Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"
Categories:
trumpeters, death, dog, fear, mystery,
Form:
Narrative
Opening my eyes after a night long rest
I cuddled in my soft cushiony bed
And looked outside my sunny arched windows.
The glorious king was lazily greeting
My cottage garden laden with white garden chairs
Around the green lawn glistening with the night's dew.
My heart warmed and a smile curled up my lips
To see my burgundy and yellow allamandas
Rioting my curved casements.
After devotedly worshipping their sun's majesty
They embrace the fresh monsoon breeze
To gently swing to its tune.
My blooming buttercups wait rapturously
For me to potter around and rest
Beneath their intoxicating fragrant bowers.
Then full throated they blow
Scrolling open their gold and purple trumpets
Towards the glowing eastern horizon.
The frail winged butterflies
And the feathery curved billed sunbirds
Welcome their invitation to excavate
Their juice filled syrupy tunnels
Prepared overnight for their little creamy bellies,
Thus keeping the trumpeters continuously obliged.
I lay out my table with my pearly lace tablecloth
Pull my white garden chair to watch
Blissfully the honeysuckles joining the guests
As they pop in and out their beaks sipping their nectar
While I sip my aromatic coffee from freshly ground beans,
Life meant no past, no future, just the present to behold.
December 22, 2015
Contest: Theme # 2 Flowers
Sponsor : Skat A
Categories:
trumpeters, bird, flower, garden,
Form:
Idyll (Idyl)
let’s remember the ancestors
the ancestors of the clan –
the infamous and un-kingly kings
celebrate their inglorious libations
all over my land, my clan –
but, my clansmen
let not the clan forget the famous
foundations of the nri kingdom –
let’s remember the ancestors
the ancestors of the clan -
let the name of agaja trudo
be on the marbles of dahomey finest artists
for ’tis nothing infamous
for mansa musa to be versed
upon the new urns of the mali kingdom –
let mai ali ghaji be greeted
with the finest literary trumpeters!
let osie tutu sit seat-to-seat
with nelson mandela –
my clansmen
new are our horns today
let not the old horns of africa
be cut off in the zest of the artists
for my ancestors shall not be
mere spectators, mere winds
flying the history of my clan!
Categories:
trumpeters, dedication, devotion, passion,
Form:
There's something different about speechless encounters
When the rain pours and we're soaked from the days work,
my legs tremble and my eyes water
With the buds of pain dripping from my eyes
It has been a lifetime since I promised myself forever
And today seems to be as hopeless as yesterday
But it is not long
Before your arms are draped around mine
And it feels as if we're locked within a trance
Smiling feels less of a chore now
If moments could last forever
If I could choose
I'd choose this moment; our speechless encounter
Categories:
trumpeters, addiction, beautiful, beauty, childhood,
Form:
The bugle calls and the drums they roll.
The trumpeters, now making the big policy calls.
The american nation have gone and elected an internet troll.
and a president that loves gold, put as no soul,
Who wants to build walls and will pay for extra border patrols
If your born of ethnic origin you may need to hide in a foxhole.
And I can see this planets going to get an even bigger ozone hole.
This mans on the banks and big businesses payroll.
I really wish with all my heart and soul.
that his mum and dad, had used birth control.
Categories:
trumpeters, political,
Form:
Free verse
Exultant joyous voices
magnify the God of glory
Triumphant midst sustained
hymns of Gospel story
Radiant countenance of church singers*
vanquishes misery…
Jubilant choir members** are they
enraptured with divine victory.
Greatness of the Lord reverberates
along their songs of praise
Kindness from heaven they declare,
devoid of flat notes’ trace
Blissfulness reigns in their medley,
championing mercy and grace…
Faithfulness exuded by Christ anchors
their music ministry commitment-brace.
Exalted is the loving Saviour
in their thanksgiving chorale rendition
Spirited worship marks melodious notes
sung upon faith expression
Delighted souls are drawn
toward joyously earnest adoration…
Granted service-blessings
blend with their harmony’s perfection.
*2Chronicles 5:13 It came even to pass, as the trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the LORD; ... saying, For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever: that then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the LORD.
**Choir Members of the Christian Bible Baptist Church, San Pedro, Laguna, Philippines
November 22, 2019
1st place, "Your Favorite Artist" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 11/26/2019.
Categories:
trumpeters, appreciation, blessing, christian, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
old truth unrefined
had a louder sound
than a thousand trumpeters!
Categories:
trumpeters, philosophy,
Form:
(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was
buried June 24, 2011)
Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and liquor make the journey
Eat, make Epicurus laugh double for once
Holiness! Is it not about angels and fruits
Eden has grapes and bitters
The tempters line the trees
And chirpy birds blow the flutes
The tempers with long tales and the dragon
There is a golden chair and a golden crown
And a bsket of flowers waiting to waive you in
There the master's table you'll see in the morning
Ulcer and glaucoma have no role to play
So you must eat, launch
And lunch to roost
There Grace waits for his owns
If indeed in the father's house there are many mansions
Why could Richman not easily find a room
Sone, from the master's table think
Analyze, princilpize, study and report
Stone, think as you walk around the dais
Analyze as you sleep. Principlize
Sleep and Sleep
Then look back, look to the corners
Look at the dome and compare with heavensgate
Take note the colors of the priests here and compare
See the dark waters, you did not see there before
See your scions on the front seats
See me, Franco, with the cross of attrition
Flung on me by brothers and sister
See the masquerades, musketeers
See my men dressed in raffia for this Elizbethan epic
See the men of the nights and those of the days
Filed on the right and on the left with Infant Terrible
See the near monks minus opportunity
Hiding their faces and long ghoulish tales
Rolling out muted laughter or pardon
Singing accustomed sonorous tunes for the great
See our uncles sibblings whose finest tears I never saw until now
See the candor and the incenses that have prevailed
Are these not enough comets that the Lord rewards
Yes. So then, the sound of the trumpets
The trumpeters are your seeded three clans
Charging the heavens in swaggers
Blazing forth, in pomps celebrating life
Dancing this same song of homecoming
For Stone, the cornerstone of many parts
Cargo of our latest argosy
Berthed at the Terminal. Farewell mum.
Categories:
trumpeters, funeraljune, men,
Form:
(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was
buried June 24, 2011)
Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and liquor make the journey
Eat, make Epicurus laugh double for once
Holiness! Is it not about angels and fruits
Eden has grapes and bitters
The tempters line the trees
And chirpy birds blow the flutes
The tempers with long tales and the dragon
There is a golden chair and a golden crown
And a bsket of flowers waiting to waive you in
There the master's table you'll see in the morning
Ulcer and glaucoma have no role to play
So you must eat, launch
And lunch to roost
There Grace waits for his owns
If indeed in the father's house there are many mansions
Why could Richman not easily find a room
Sone, from the master's table think
Analyze, princilpize, study and report
Stone, think as you walk around the dais
Analyze as you sleep. Principlize
Sleep and Sleep
Then look back, look to the corners
Look at the dome and compare with heavensgate
Take note the colors of the priests here and compare
See the dark waters, you did not see there before
See your scions on the front seats
See me, Franco, with the cross of attrition
Flung on me by brothers and sister
See the masquerades, musketeers
See my men dressed in raffia for this Elizbethan epic
See the men of the nights and those of the days
Filed on the right and on the left with Infant Terrible
See the near monks minus opportunity
Hiding their faces and long ghoulish tales
Rolling out muted laughter or pardon
Singing accustomed sonorous tunes for the great
See our uncles sibblings whose finest tears I never saw until now
See the candor and the incenses that have prevailed
Are these not enough comets that the Lord rewards
Yes. So then, the sound of the trumpets
The trumpeters are your seeded three clans
Charging the heavens in swaggers
Blazing forth, in pomps celebrating life
Dancing this same song of homecoming
For Stone, the cornerstone of many parts
Cargo of our latest argosy
Berthed at the Terminal. Farewell mum.
Categories:
trumpeters, funeraljune, men,
Form:
Last 2012 Friday
Sitting here
Friday night
Feeling so hopeful
Jazz horns blaring in my ear
Feeling light headed positively
Bartenura positively without a care
naive kind of silliness
Wanna jump up and start lindy hopping
Don’t know how to lindy hop
Ready to greet this New Year
Promising to fill each day
Constantly dwelling in Possibility
Conquering what may come head on
Thankful always for the opportunity to proceed
Packaged gifts unwrapped with glee
Inside layered with the things most desired
Love, love, love and more love
As I enjoy the ride in this journey of life
I’ll disperse these gifts
unable and unwilling
to meet with negativity
at any juncture
Its all good
Its all God
As we make these life decisions
Resulting in life consequences
Jujitsu-ing pessimism
Jazz horns blaring
Swivel ribbons dancing erotically
Over head
Neck swaying
Head grooving
As I type prose and poetry
Loving the way this life has been packaged
Not so pretty
Unlaced in designer paper
Un-bowed un-name branded
Perfectly wrapped for me
Shinning with an accepting kind of love
enjoyed in pure form
I’m some kind of crazy lady
I smile
I’m fine with that
Jazz horns blowing
A rhythmic rippling through my head
Seeing past that outside shell
Straight inner core
inhaling
bold faced grinning
at the truth in underlying beauty
That true beauty
Un-Skin depth-ed
un-shallow-ed
Exhaled
I’ve had enough of you
Jazz horns blaring
Dancing trumpeters heel toe-ing
Through and out of existence
Categories:
trumpeters, happy,
Form:
Blank verse
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLMVB0B1_Ts
Aaron Copeland's "Fanfare for the Common Man"
Drums play
ears listen
Visions display
eyes glisten.
The quiet burns
as freedom yearns.
Trumpeters announce
man's every ounce.
Distant thunder sounds
love should abound.
Embrace the words, the message
of life's echo, its solitary vestige.
Here we live and proudly stand
the everyday un-common man
Struggling to live well from birth
before we leave this hallowed earth.
In looking back who we are, what will we see
the good people we struggled so hard to be?
What will or should be mankind's epitaph
as God separates us from the weed and chaff?
In the end, money, prestige and power will be undone
and individual lives forgotten in the rising and setting sun.
Yet in the shadowed past something might remain
purpose and presence in release of these chains.
Play soft and loud the song to be unsung
and silence the words and lies of tongues.
We are people born once to being honest and sincere
where are we now from promises - far off or closely near?
Sound the instruments and play the song
man has made his mark loud and strong
Last farewells may quickly come
as self centered dreams succumb.
In his final and departing absence
comes return of nature's balance.
In the end
we are simply men.
Categories:
trumpeters, humanity, obituary,
Form:
Rhyme