Do we all hear the rumour? A funeral draws near.' A spectacle is intended I think that much
Is real clear.' There will be black gloves and the
Muffled drums, that measured tread..Somber
Theater spun.' Staged to draw compassion from those (who might come?) The cornet may sound? Majestic..But I think we all know
What's the come..'
That vic-pols funeral is marching in the shadows here thrown long.'
Under the sun, As many narratives un-ravel.. That they still try to grow.' So will the
Blinds be drawn upon them? Will the windows
Stare out blank.? And also will True Blue Victorians 'about-face?' And here I shall be quite frank! Leave
Them to realise.? What a mess they have banked.! Heaped up like those mountains.'
When (they turned on their own?) Yet I think its not Victoria.? Nuh..Thats not where their
Love; and loyaltys are sown.' May they well listen.. And deeply' to that winds lone lament and moan.'
In a broken-hearted city.' Where they once did strut.! Its recorded and shown
To posture and enact such wicked anger, to vent, Yes I see, And saw
For me it has stuck deep in my heart, and in my gut.To remain reminder forevermore.'
HARD TO SWALLOW
Last summer I bought an ice cream
But although the taste was supreme
While eating my cornet
I swallowed a hornet
When I think about it I scream
Muses are seen as a source of inspiration for writers of poetry. They guide the poet and form his or her words. Often seen as mediators between the spiritual and sensual aspects of poetry.
***
Place me on a pedestal and take me to the stars
enrich me with linguistic words of honey sweet
Fly me to the moon on wings of butterflies
dear muse, let your pearls resound inside this golden cornet
conduct in me a symphony with all the colors of the wind
inside this poignant writer's heart, there will always be a place
for you
So let us ruminate, reflect and contemplate together,
you and I side by side
floating high above the sky.
Climb the ladder of success with me, take me to Venus
so I can dance with the sun and cha cha with the moon
fly like a water ouzel and swim like a Mermaid
you and I side by side
for all time...
Jan 3 2023
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
Contest Name My Muse
Ice cream cornet sounds
Ottowa freedom lovers
Human sleeping warm
I once knew a lad who played the cornet
Tooted ‘til he broke out in a cold sweat
He met a strumpet
Who liked his trumpet
He is blowing his heart out for her yet
June 3, 2021
We called ourselves the Heptcats
known on the ice as rink rats
Thomas, Don, Stephen, and me
and the Gardner bothers three,
Clark, Andrew, and Little Joe
to the arena, we’d all go
and shinny till supper’s call.
By high school, shinny was lame
us Heptcats sought music fame
Tom on guitar, Don on drum
Steve fiddle, Joe bass did strum
Andy cornet, Clark trombone
me on the accordion
Kings of the Plains Polka scene.
While some say seven brings luck
fame’s fortune never us struck
after school we moved away
Tom and Don in new bands play
Steve, Joe and Clark went to city
More school for Andy and me
Heptcats now forever gone.
Silver tongue money sign blow
bellow ballast
moral bankruptcy notes
Reprobate shekel vocal chords
toot the $eductive $ound of the crafty coin jingle —
Filthy lucre windpipes
utter-ly craving more and more
Tainted dross lips blare grifter bluesy groans,
lover of the honk heist Tap scale shrill moans
Pied piper pickpocket player (such a theft bar clone)
blow an Iscariot number
with a snatched purse pirate dirge Ag cornet tone
Argentum coffer con-duit
continuously ear play the bandito music,
that Gehazi leer song
Let the pilfering notes fill the covetous air
with a subtil silverware sound ...
Polluted decibel waves b crooked cavalier,
a-plundering thoughts abound —
Fork tongue reed bark paper lust promises;
empty air promissory echoes,
so wallet stolen wrong
A fairly simplistic approach is demonstrated by an individual acute angle and stresses are found in many evenly distributed lines. When the boom of the spray threatens a doctrine then blankets could fall meaning then that the orchestration of fortresses is reduced to a mere symbol plotted on a graphic sheet. Gridlock lines are not goldilocks and no three bears ever enter by a side door nor an exit. Dispite all counter productive odds the journeying migrating wings of many hue still crawl over the skies in a preplanned movement. And what of the ninety foot goldfish. Well he desires to be free and join the world for to watch is not to exist. It is the contemporary contemplation of a clarinet speaking to a cornet. On a very hot elaborate day. Always bask in whiskey, ice cream soda and a pile of gin in a basket. Take care of holes. Always sewing. No leaks then. And in a rhombus a bead speaks. Good. Giving guidelines grafting going gymnastic gnomes. And several skewered pickled eggs giggling in a line. Haha haha now bathe in tea. Hahahaa bananas booming brilliantly xxxx illumination z
When Joey was five or six
Good feelings, she tried to mix
And living colors, a few
Dissolved in the morning dew;
Happy landscape of the world
Of starry heavens unfurled
And birds to fly like angels
All ought to live in pictures:
What we dreams on ancient things,
Eternal play of love with wings
And nights on the way and hopes
In round waves and verdant slopes…
Flowers dance at our feet.
Then, a sweet image I meet:
Joey eating her ice cream,
Keeping from cornet a rhyme;
A luminous smile of joy
Like having in hand a toy:
This empty cornet is big.
I let it for my Guinea pig.
Oh buzz off you crazy crazy hornet
Trying to land here upon my buttock,
Here I am eating my crispy cornet
Lazing naked in my garden hammock.
Tried to coax it with my berry ice cream
But alas it seems unprepared or blind,
Dancing upon an invisible beam
Homing in on me with a one track mind.
Could it be I’ve enhanced the essence air
With a gross wind to further relieve me,
Or is this a mock symphony of flair
Of a Britain’s got talent “Bumble Bee?”
His “The classical flight” winning first prize
In pain my swelling one hell of a size!
© Harry J Horsman 2015
I WAS APPRECIATIVE OF MY CORNET.
(Northern dialect)
I went to the ice cream man on the corner for me, me friend and me Nan.
I got two cornets and a wafer with nougat in, for me Nan.
I remember it being hot that day cause me ice cream melted down me hand.
We sat at front of nans house, me, me friend and me Nan, just watching passers-by, lads playing football on the street, what a day, eeeee, it wer grand.
Me with me cornet ice cream dripping down me hand and me Nan with a nougat wafer which looked massive in her hand.
But me I was appreciative of my cornet, I didn’t begrudge me Nan.
Because when I grow older I’ll have a nougat wafer, and me grand kids will understand.
The attic holds such fascination
I climb the ladder in trepidation.
The attic is a time machine
Most things hidden and unseen.
I lift the hatch and take a peek
The old rocking chair begins to creak.
Dust coats the old wooden chest
The lid embossed with a crest.
All the games of yesteryear
In the corner uncles spear.
Boxes piled high with books and photos
Most containing all my heroes.
Snakes and ladders, ludo, lots of games
They belong to my brother James.
Oh look! my old train set
On the shelf fathers cornet.
A place where I come and dream
Oh! just hit my head on the beam.
Underneath the old guitar
Just found my 007 car.
I think I'm getting rather mellow
I may return again tomorrow.
I descend the ladder and close the hatch
Now I'll go and watch the match.
Leon Bismark "Bix" Beiderbecke
(March 10, 1903 – August 6, 1931)
It was said of Bix
That his Cornet spat out notes
Like shooting bullets at a bell
And his solos sounded as sweet
As a girl saying yes.
Bix Beiderbecke was simply the best
He was at the birth of hot music
His light illuminated
The jazz age
His Cornet accompanied
The roaring twenties
He was a romantic legend,
The young man with a Horn
But in keeping with the character
Of the very best of youth
His flame burned very brightly
But equally it burned quickly
And like the most beautiful star
He burned himself out
All too soon
Bix lived for the jazz
But died for the booze
My stomach is rumbling it needs feeding
I must have my lunch my stomach is pleading
What have I got in my lunchbox hey?
A sandwich, a banana and crisps today
A wonderful feast awaits me this lunch
When I get home I will just have some brunch
So I will have my lunch now then rest a bit
Then back to work again fighting fit
Do I want a chocolate bar from the shop?
Or an ice cream cornet with a flake on top
I might just settle for a biscuit or two
To dip in my coffee, yes that will do
I might read a book or a mag while I am eating
Or run round the block to get my heart beating
I must go now because its time for my break
If I don’t get it now it will be too late to take