Long Brass band Poems
Long Brass band Poems. Below are the most popular long Brass band by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Brass band poems by poem length and keyword.
I just can’t wait till Christmas
I just can’t wait till Christmas
With thoughts of ice and snow
And Santa in his bright red suit
Shouting ho ho ho.
Flying with his reindeer
With presents on his sleigh
Delivering them all by midnight
For us on Christmas day.
We put lights and bobbles on the tree
We do it every year
And a sign post in the garden
That says Santa please stop here.
He comes right down our chimney
With presents in his sack
And we leave him milk and cookies
So he can have a snack.
I wonder what I`ll get this year
As I know just what I’d like
I hope I get a scooter
A skateboard or a bike.
We`ll dress our dogs like reindeer
In little reindeer suits
Put little antlers on their heads
And four black shiny boots,
Listening to our favourite songs
Played by a big brass band
As we take a trip to Edinburgh
Through the winter wonder land.
Hats and scarves and gloves on
As we wrap up nice and tight
With the markets lights and funfair
It`s really quite a site.
Merry go round and rollercoaster’s
And a ride on the Christmas train
The big wheel and Santa`s grotto
Then we do it all again.
Everyone’s on holiday
And their faces all aglow
Their worries left behind them
Like footprints in the snow.
Crepe`s and chocolate pancakes
And strawberries on a stick
Sweets and treats and doughnuts
And I get to take my pick.
But my favourite is the great big tree
That`s too big for my home
And it really smells like Christmas
As we go inside the dome.
With lights and decorations
Like you`ve never seen before
They`ve travelled the world just for a glimpse
And they`re queued right out the door.
With winding vines of holly
Around the pillars it does grow
And no matter what the weather
They always have some snow.
Then Christmas day is best of all
With presents under the tree
There is some for mum and some for dad
But most of them for me.
Unwrapping all my presents
And nothing has been missed
I got everything I wanted
On my Christmas list.
Everyone comes for dinner
And dad fills up his belly
Then snores for an hour on the couch
As were watching Christmas telly.
Now I just can’t wait for Christmas
As I count the days and pray
But mum just shakes her head
And says its only boxing day.
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"
Things Have Changed
By Robert (Bob) Moore
When I was young, the doctor, came around if I got sick
gave me a pill, or needle, and that would do the trick
but thing have changed, and now we ring, his receptionist
who tells us, “you can come next week. I’ll put you on the list”
So you go round, the next week, sit in a little room
full of germs and sick folk, the air so full of gloom
yes he says, you’ve had the flu, his hand upon my brow
just stay home, don’t catch a chill, he says this to me now.
And then there was the milkman, came round every day
you can catch up next week missus, if you couldn’t pay
leave money on the doorstep, the empty bottles too
nobody would touch it, ‘cause everybody knew
Everyone was battling, just to make ends meet
nobody was richer, than the others in the street
we’d try to help each other, in any way we could
we may not have had very much, but life was pretty good
The breadman was the next to go, now he delivered to the shops
you had to go and buy your bread, with your bacon and your chops
that’s if you could afford to, things were getting very dear
you tried to keep your chin up, things could be better by next year
Then there was the paperboy, on street corners he would stand
yelling out the headlines, didn’t need no big brass band
“GET YOUR PAPER HERE” he’d cry “WHATS HAPPENING TODAY”
but I hardly even read the news, now he has gone away
or the boy who had the barrow, on a Sunday he would go
up and down the streets, and his whistle he would blow
he knew you might still be in bed, but he would wait outside
knowing as a regular, there’d be a bob or two on the side
Then there was the mailman, he would whistle too,
especially, if he had left, important mail for you
the internet, and social media, have dealt him a deadly blow
and that is why I’m pretty sure, he will be the next to go
We wait for his coming and ask:
When will he come?
How will he come?
Where will we find him?
And how will we know him?
Will we find him being celebrated with a marching brass band or a marquis with flashing lights; where paparazzi clamor for a photo op? Or waving from a decorated float, in a parade, while sanctimonious dignitaries honor him, with speeches of praise.
Will we find him in the breaking of day, in the slowly rising sun, gently pausing in the cradle of the horizon, before ascending on its diurnal journey?
Will we find him in the light, in the womb of undeniable innocence, where lays the seed of creation?
Will we find him in the teeming market place, or in the haunting faces of the homeless?
Will we find him on mossy rolling hillsides, giving way to sprawling fields of wheat and grain, surrendering to lakes and rivers, manifesting the force of the sea?
Will we find him in the resplendent forests and majestic snow covered mountains, monuments to the power of the deity of life?
Will we find him in a raging hail storm, pelting the fire below, ignited by the decadence of humanity?
Will we find him when we open our doors of kindness, to those in need, extending a helping hand?
Will we find him in the kaleidoscopic celestial stars, juxtaposed to the waxing and waning moon, under the crown of night?
As Christians we believe he will come again. As we wait, we reflect, repent, and renew our faith, with the hope of salvation.
He was always dressed in fashion
And as he walked down the street
Not many people noticed
That he’d got both left feet
He wore wide flared long trousers
Boots with very square toed ends
They caught on in clubs
The latest fashion trend
He could have had many lovers
He’d never ever have to beg
But he was conscious of
Also having two left legs.
When he’d put his human suit on
Just before he’d left his little ship
He’d not really bothered
It fitted badly at one hip
It was the first time he’d worn it
His first visit to the human race
And he was far too busy
Admiring his human face
He had to adopt very dark glasses
When he’d found to his surprise
Very few of the natives
Had different hued eyes
And he wasn’t being really very picky
After all he was just a very junior erk
But he did think it bad
One arm didn’t work.
It was an ill prepared mission really
But he stuck it for a full earth week
Only giving up when he
Found he couldn’t speak
It was poorest of mission preparations
Couldn’t be really classed as bad luck
That the human race
Really didn’t cluck
So they forged all the reports
Lied for all they were worth
Nothing worth having
From the Planet Earth
Then they’d hidden in the asteroid belt
Watching hot films he’d stolen in Rome
Until it was that time
To proceed back home
They’d received a hero’s welcome
Reception with a large brass band
And were declared
Heroes of the land
Because of that stupidity
We have the currrent situation
Where Earth remains a backwater
Not joined the Galactic Federation
The fake isolation of the island insinuated the fostering of remnants;
remnants of religious fervor, close knit seafaring families, and rugged farmers;
remnants of power past and present.
A fog shrouded canvass awaits the onslaught of August revelry.
And, where widows walked the peeks of robber barons manses, the elementals now play.
Tomato red fire trucks ring the seaside green. Throngs of , oh so, polite W.A.S.P.S
and multicultural couples dot the lawn in precise groupings.
The squeal of stroller strapped toddlers echo across ocean
and down alleyways lined with painted ladies
Gay blades and saucy sisters saunter unharassed through the crowds of young families.
Prosperously retirees with salt and pepper hair in pink and green golf shirts line the porches
of the gingerbread homes ringing the green.
In the gazebo a brass band plays John Phillip Souza and closes by belting out
the American anthem, after dark, no flag wave, yet random patriots stand.
Their forms silhouette upon the gray fog like their intentions
mocking the holiday aire with their reminder of war….
those raging on in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan.
and fade with the crowds roar to “Sit down your blocking the view!”
And as the elite, and privileged meet and greet chatting in wonder over the multiple sightings
of airforce one choppers and past President Clinton.
The three times the worlds average wage is spent on FIREWORKS, frivolously,
for the entertainment of the richest citizens of the planet. God Blessed America.
MAESTRO
He knew all along that it would be pressure
Not just to conduct but bring out the best
This brass band from a mining community
Trying to keep it alive, almost their duty
An almost forgotten tradition, going west
But not just their talent by any measure
The leader, hailing from a nearby village
Himself originally a bass trombone player
Remembering their fight for a living wage
Now to stand there proud upon the stage
A few years older now, and much greyer
To win the contest, something to pillage
It’s a complicated arrangement, this piece
This year’s selection appears almost cursed
Skills needed for this critical interpretation
And far too early to plan any celebration
Summoning the best, avoiding the worst
His steely stare reminiscent of a cockatrice
It starts well, with all in time and in tune
The melody soars, and the audience gasps
He even smiles at the perfect performance
This band a fine example of transformance
And such distinctive play the judge grasps
One last movement and it’ll be over soon
It ends on that tearjerk of a major chord
And then sudden silence from the crowd
Slowly waking with thunderous applause
Being on top form today, the main cause
The band’s supporters, cheering out loud
A maestro’s contribution can’t be ignored
Saturday Dawn
Yesterday was a holiday, I want my
readers to know.
First time off in 11 months from PS.
I tell you, typing with one finger is slow.
It still is an accomplishment with 900
poems almost..
But doing this is worse, than a job, 9
hours a day!
Please...call the Holy Ghost.!
I love the true, blue friends I have
here.
And a genuine thank you to all who
have Soupmailed me.
I don't want nor have a parade nor
brass band following me.
Just a few cherished and true hearts
that make me smile.
Encouraging folks all, who have kept
me believing in myself each poetry mile.
Life is more than just poetry!
It requires love and honest to
goodness humanity.
We can all the prizes gain and a cadre
of followers have.
Or be number one on all the charts.
With replies so short and insincere,
they feel like darts.
But when in the madness of getting to
the top of the Community Chart,
It matters not, the human heart??
I say it does, we in a sense create the
world we live in.
Each playing a small, significant part.
So please don't let poems go unnoticed.
Do love each poet and not abuse them.
With premade replies, it just deludes
them!
11/9/2019
~Panagiota~
Today's Sounds
Music rolls off the banjo, bluegrass
Active cheery sound, gland it’s around,
Folk music in little town passed down by word of mouth;
Family remembers and other people too, and songs abound.
Symphony sounds dynamic notes through the grand hall,
Aria Nessun Dorma rapturous great joy emotion,
Opera transports to a lofty feeling, heavenly classical,
Piano music and classical guitar uplifting feeling locomotion.
Listen, echoing 14th century chant cathedral music,
Hymn captivating, baroque music alive to this day,
History’s not historical, it’s not even past; and organ rolls on,
Waltz smoothly wafts across the air through the dance hall bay.
Ice cream parlor music cheerful tunes with hot fudge sundae,
Oldies music reminiscence rock ‘n’ roll, jazz, country and western feeling,
Big band dance music, rhythm and blues, brass band thrill,
Gospel music, spirituals, and blues, highland healing.
Motion picture music score jumps high fidelity positive
Enjoyment, touching stereo button to instrumental music roll,
Relax in the day, easy listening music comfortable rest,
Sound waves motions ear drums, people listen alive soul.
Can you still remember the first time we had our valentines day?
The day when you asked me to come to your brass band practice?
The day you first claimed me to everyone?
The day when everyone thought that there's already an us?
Can you still remember the feelings?
The feelings that's full of those romantic excitements?
The feelings that started from a simple infatuation?
The feelings that now turned into real love?
The feelings that still binds us together?
Can you still remember the struggles we've been through?
The struggles that causes us too much pain?
The stuggles that's pulling us down?
The struggles that's trying to tear us apart?
The struggles that no matter what it does to us, still we keeps on fighting?
Can you still remember how much we love each before?
I hope you do.
Because looking back from the moment we've learned that we love each other;
It constantly deepens the love I'm feeling for you as seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years passed by.
I love you so much dhie to infinity and beyond.
We'll never back down I promise you that.
#You'reAlwaysBeMyForever
#AljeaToInfinityAndBeyond
#7thValentinesTogether