Long French horn Poems
Long French horn Poems. Below are the most popular long French horn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long French horn poems by poem length and keyword.
Sweet so sweet just like candy corn.
When we kiss with candy kisses I am airborne. Every morning start the day with candy kisses so I can feel reborn. Every evening end the day with candy kisses so I can blow my french horn.
The years pass by with our many candy kisses so we will never morn.
Date Written: 10/30/2021
Note: Acrostic Rhyme
4 Place
1. Sweet
''S'' Contest, New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
When I first heard the demo
I paid more attention to what the background was
saying.
I knew If I were gonna have ah decent career in sound, song and Music
I would need to sing the song to impress those new to me and this sound.
When"When I 40 I want the sound to be same as when
I'm 22.
At 2;33 seconds into the demo I heard
'the background and it sound like they were
saying
" I sorta Blah
but please love me
Baby please love me"
Cause Iam sorta Blah!
So please love me
I need you to
love me!"
I told my manager I wasn't gonna sing nothing like that.
ZHe told me to listen to the next lines maybe it would change my mind";
thendo you see me like I see you
do you need me like I need you
Are you gonna be someone
for me
( I sorta Blah__ but please be
someone for me!)
I said I'd do it but I was reluctant.
He wanted a full orchestra and full vocal
some ooh's and ah's.
And I do do;
Cause I love yous.
I was un inspired so he found out
the type of men I liked( she said)
the night we were gonna start rehearsal these guys came in shiny clothes
and a boombox. when the pants hit the floor
I was flabbergasted and befuddled.
Four woman and the damn fool in here. after that show, This damn fool asked me to marry him.
We had a problem Honey!
Two days later We began recording and it showed up in the song.
It became one of me biggest records.
By Female Songstress Croise Crug
Music Music Sound and Soothing
Grooves.
Yvetta entered the forest quietly, barely making a noise.
She saw some pixies and elves getting out mischievous toys.
They noted her harp and wondered what she was about.
One of them made a tiny squeak, to them, probably a shout.
Yvetta sat down next to a cove on the roots of an oak.
Her melodious harp playing was serious, in no way a joke.
Within a few notes, a catfish swam down to listen.
Water stirred up by guppies, soon began to glisten.
Before the concert was finished she had butterfly and snail.
Hummingbird, frog, opossum and a raccoon with a hurt tail.
Weasel showed up along with a handsome white unicorn.
A snake slithered by asking if they had a French horn.
Turtles and faeries came along with brownies wearing tan.
A fawn showed up with white spots, along with rat from Japan.
Yvetta was thrilled that so many were excited with her sweet harp.
She played wonderful notes said butterfly, none of them sharp.
Lily Valentine
By Franklin Price
5/19/2019
I'm here to tell a timely tale
Of lovely Lily Valentine
It may be slightly slanted
She's a relationship of mine
She's the daughter of my daughter
She has great talent in her voice
Since her early days of childhood
Music always was her choice
Was the lead in most the musicals
Was Drum Major of the band
Sight reads all the music notes
I just barely understand
Plays piano and the French horn
Maybe others, that's her game
Directs an a cappella group
Gemini Boulevard its name
They compete with other college groups
Awards for her are quite a few
She's been named the best soloist
And the best arranger too
Tried out to be professional
Was just the other day
For Musae, an a cappella group
Here are some words they had to say
We loved the way you interviewed
The way you used your voice
The way you copied Windex
Hands down you are our choice
Now she's on another branch
To climb the music tree
I know she has no bigger fan
Than her pop pop, that is me
"French Horn Overtones"
"They are watching me now
They watch all of us
I distorted my voice so
They don't know it's me
They said it came from
B$$$$$$tro but we knew
It didn't.
Code word is Cing of the Forest "
I don't feel like being bothered, sounds
Great but I wanna do it later. Hiding in that
Robe with a voice disguiser is cool, what
Ya'll doing later on?
Hey I gotta go, we will talk later!
"Bassoon is ah wait tis time we starts
the Thing-ah Jig, you'll know the words
To the following." Said the interrupting
Loud speaker. I have your kazo, I will be
In contact.
Yeah all right than the guy answered
As he walked away.
For real man why she so weird said
Strangs, I don't know but she some kinda
Phatt dough!
Don't change that one I like it
Like that, you heard what I said
See I love that one, I like this one too.
It rare when you like something and
Others like it too.
Maybe you don't know nothing bout that
Cause folk geek you out,
I ain't bragging, but sometimes that's what
It's about!"
A Harvest of Music
The orchestra gathered under the dome
Audience awaiting the pure joy to come.
Descending silence alerting the senses.
Arrive the maestro, and magic commences.
Trombone and trumpet burst forth with feeling.
Explosion of sound, set senses reeling.
Tuba and French horn now adding their voice,
Uniting as one to delight and rejoice.
Soft music flowing, a leaf in a stream,
Catching the ear in a heavenly dream,
Rising and soaring, empowered of wings,
A dream maker's touch and violin sings.
With long curving bow caressing the strings,
Hair hiding her face, an angel, she brings
The music of angels, rafters invading
Haunting blue notes from cello cascading.
Clarinet cadenza, clear fluid tones
Tugging the heartstrings, embracing the bones.
Filling the dome, ethereal splendour
Fading away, celestial wonder.
Percussion take hold, no longer hidden
Cymbals and side drum do as they're bidden,
Crashing and booming, sound finding its berth
Pulling the listener back down to the earth.
Thunderous applause with standing ovation.
The crowd full of rapture capture elation,
A feast for the soul, a prayer with no word
A harvest of music, to honour the Lord.
Man Sang" Lonely is a Man Without Love"
Tuba and french horn say...
Whump, whump, whumpah-lumpah, whump, whump!
---Engelbert Schmid-------------------------------------------
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They got off topic brainstorming for a song. They had know thing, not even a sound. The lead singing began talking and the trumpeter and French horn player began mocking her.They recorded the Muse and studied it to see if anything was there.They promised to be committed to what they had begun and got into discussing the relationship using words that some eager gossiper would want to hear.Brainstorming for a song involves generating ideas for lyrics, melody, and overall concept: they often feared speaking these things as some might take it a being sincere.Beleiving in what you do is key to the success of a project. Relationships external to the project can be sensitive to whats going on. Romance and musiic. Have divided amany people.
Forging an understanding beyond just dating
Meaningful and collaborated affords to speak
of each other as a unit
the cornerstone of intimacy
deep and intimated meaningful conversations
lighthearted banter
sharing memories and creating memories
not at the expense of others or to make a spectacle
of others
exploring dreams, fears and aspirations
a strengthening a bond between lovers by
fostering understanding
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Tyhey were dancing around
and got all sweet and stuff
I told them people don't like slow love songs
but they won't listen.
People want popular sounds and lighthearted subject
happy stuff
not that ole fool folly yucky sweet Gobe junk.
He got mad cause he said he was insulted as a musicain.
I said so what, that's the truth.
Morning dew dripping from my eyelids
doors banging at the center of my heart
as the symphony gets ready to start.
the flute begins with a champion song
while the listless crowd jeers merrily along.
brass, rhythm and base
my lips tremble with sadness,
and I could not escape this emptiness.
The sound increased,
but the pain did not cease.
Tump
thump
lub-dub
ba- bum
chanting sounds from the congo drums
reduced me to crumbs.
The violin ushers in,
and the vibrating trumpet sound begins
The chords get louder and louder
exploding emotions in the air,
leaving me cold,
empty and bare.
The manipulative trombone echoes through my ears,
and the deceiving guitar tune appears,
in one second everything was said
and I scrambled hopelessly to my bed.
It rips up my innate passion
while they look upon me without compassion.
I waited for an answer
but he was entwined with the belly dancer.
The symphony increase,
every beat exposed
the daunting rhythm to my piercing soul.
they appear one by one,
raging without control
Tubo, trombone,
French horn and bassoon
harps ,tiako and bamboo flutes
made their speechless debut,
heartbeat telling me the truth.
©2013 Christine Phillips
An off-day for the quill: I’m channel surfing
from a carpeted beach beneath beveled
canopy. My legs haplessly dangle flung
overboard crossing a comfortable
black leather partition provided by Sears.
On CNN there’s a bow legged French horn
wearing white face apologizing for American
abundance above the ticking measures
of Cold War success. Spare me, Christiane.
Thirsty, I have the maid fetch me a fresh Coke
and resume my voyeuristic voyage downstream
through high-definition static and spoken
saturation. Eddie Cummings flips a knowing wink
then sweeps the tulips from a chimney’s dream.
4/27/17