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.
In the dimmed theater, the stage is set
not for a play though, yet a performance
one of baton, brass, notes, timpani
the performance I have waited for has come
As the stage lights grow brighter like sunlight
the theater grows dimmer yet, almost dark
but for the brilliance of the stage lights
then out you come with French Horn in hand
Along with thirty of forty other musicians
you take the stage, you are first chair
therefore you must be at your best tonight
and I know that you will be, you've practiced
The Conductor arrives on stage and announces
Welcome to the Black Hawk County Honor Band
I am sure you will be pleased with our selections
The Conductor takes the podium, opens his arms
With baton in hand he signals instruments ready
You raise your horn along with the others
ahhh the sound is fervent with excitement
the theater is alive with Parker in G flat
I can pick your horn from all the other instruments
you are playing the best you have ever played
you are caressing your horn like a fine jewel
and it sparkles in the light brilliance unimagined
Like your brother the writer of poetic beauty
you also have talent, musical talent like I
you now can hear a song and play it, by ear
like I you are learning the guitar, teaching yourself
The next song, Bach, such beauty to my ears
you and your fellow musicians have mastered the master
two years you have played, it sounds like many more
I film the whole concert, to preserve the moment
The concert ends with a Beethoven, in B how lovely
again you played masterfully, never missed a note
You even hit high G, and you thought you couldn't
well done son and it's all on tape, and in my memory
Red faced you leave the atrium, you worked so hard
I hug you and tell you how proud I am of you
all you want is a drink of water, you drank and
the redness is leaving your face, well done I hug you again
I wish your Brother could have been here to see and hear
he would have been proud too, and would have hugged you
You see, talent runs in our family, Me, you and Jared
all have it, So I guess it's in the gene pool, must be for you see
The Nuts fall close to the tree !
BASS CLEFT SIGN HOLDER....RATTIA TAT, RATTA TAT TAT!
I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHERE SHE'S AT.
tREBLE CLEFT SIGN HOLDER........rOUX BULL SAY YE. OF LOVE TO SUPPER.
DOES SAY SHE IN LOVE WITH HER LOVER
TO MOON THE HONEYS OF OTHERS.
fRENCH HORN PLAYER... WHUR, WHUR, WHURR! SPEAKS THE LOVE OF LOVERS
BASSOON PLAYERS SAY....LOVE OH LOVE OH LOVER,
WHICH CONCERNS US IS LOVE!
pERCUSSIANING AND AND WAITING FOR THE FLUTER, TO START THE SECOND VERSE. SHE MUST ADMIT SHE'S UNDER THE INFLUENCE, OF SOMEONE WHO WISHES SHE'D LOVE. SHE ACTS FOOLISH AND SIMPLE, TO MAKE HIM WISH FOR HER TOUCH. HER GREETINGS ARE SHORT AND SPEAKS RARELY TO HIM, BUT ASK FOR MONEY AND SUPPER STILL. HE MUST ADMIT HE'S BEING RUNG THROUGH THE THRASHER. BUT HE REALLY LIKES BEING IN LOVE.
tHE FLUTIST....DAMNDEST THEE WHO KNOWEST, i PLAY HIM FOR A FOOL. HIS BROTHER, COUSINS AND UNCLES, ARE MY LOVERS, DON'T ACT LIKE THAT AIN'T COOL. HE'S ANGERED AND IN FRUSTRATION, SHE APPEAZZES THOSE WHO WILL HEAR. THAN SLEEPS WITH THERE LOVERS TO DIVIDE THEM, AND SUDDENLY DIS APPEARS. YA'LL KNOW TRICKIN AINT THAT SIMPLE, YOU GOT FIND FAULT TO EXPLOIT. BUY HEELS TO MAKE YOU LOOK TALLER, TAKE THEM OFF WHEN YOU NEED TO BE SHORT. LOOK MAN i DON'T NEED TO BE BEGGING, THE OTHERS WILL GET THINGS FOR ME, I JUST WANT YOU TO BE MY SUCKA, SO THE STORY TELLER CAN EXPLAIN IT SIMPLY. WHY YA'LL ASK HIM THE QUESTION, i AM THE STAR IN EVERY VERSE. TAKE MY DIRECTION IT'S THAT SIMPLE, i AM WHO CAME LAST AND WHO THAT COMES FIRST.
CLEAR THE NETS FROM THE AND TRUMPET THE FLUTER, SHE ALL SUCH AND SUCH. SHE MAKE WAVES IN THE SAND, AND HOLDS STONES IN HER HAND, AND TURNS THESE STONES INTO GOLD. MAKING SUMTHANG OUTTA NUTHANG, BABY I DO MY CHORE, HE LACKS SUCH CONCERNS UNTIL IT'S HIS TURN, AND I WHINE UP LOOKING LIKE A WHORE. BUY THE RINGS AND ASK ME, i BREAK YOUR FOOLISH HEART, AINT NOTHINK LIKE THAT, i KNOW WHERE IT'S AT,
SOMETHING YA'LL FOOLISH PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW!
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
------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
A is for Accordion, squeezing air with bellows
B is for Banjo, five strings plucked by bluegrass fellows
C is for Clavichord, keyboard with a metal sound
D is for the Drums which percussionists will pro-pound
E is for the English horn, using a double-reed
F is for a brass French horn, three valves is all you need
G is for Glockenspiel, metal bars arranged in rows
H is for Harmonica, both in and out she blows
I is for Ingoma, on which skins or hides are drummed
J is for Jinghu, just two strings that are bowed not strummed
K is for the Keytar, keyboard guitar held upright
L is for the Laser harp which plays on beams of light
M is for Maracas, their rhythm shaken by pros
N is for Nguru, Maori flute blown through the nose
O is for the Oboe with a mouth-piece that looks bewitched
P is for the Piccolo, a half-sized flute, high pitched
Q is for the Quena, a notched flute from the Andes
R is for the Rattle, maracas for the babies
S is for the Shofar, a Jewish horn hard to blow
T is for the Tuba, largest horn and tough to tow.
U is Ukulele, four-string Hawaiian gee-tar
V is Viola, a fiddle tuned a bit deeper
W is the Washboard, just for rhythm, understood?
X is a Xylophone, a glockenspiel made of wood
Y is Yotar, a guitar with four strings grouped in threes
Z is Zither, played on the table or cross your knees
This alphabet of instruments just breaks through the top
The're hundreds more to know, but Z's a good place to stop.
March 11, 2013
Allright Poet's ABC Poetry Contest
Mrs. Lightfoot had taught music at Talbot Elementary School for years.
A couple of her pupils excelled in music but most became engineers.
She sat at her desk to muse upon the past after another trying day,
Recalling events that had contributed to the 'dyeing' of her hair gray!
She remembered concerts when the cacophonous din made her wince,
And Mrs. Lightfoot approached such musicals with foreboding ever since.
But beaming parents saw their prodigies destined for musical acclaim.
(Only one she knew strummed a banjo at the VFW with a modicum of fame!)
Tubby Aruba wrestled with his tuba, ever out of step in the marching band.
Sissie Pyaner tried to emulate Liberace but she battered the concert grand.
For some reason one of the valves on Clyde Crumpet's trumpet always stuck,
And the trombone players could never harmonize - such was their bad luck!
Pat Claret could never adjust her clarinet reeds to eliminate the squeaks.
'Tyke' Biddle fiddled with the bull fiddle but never mastered its techniques.
Hubie Crums thought he was Gene Krupa and went crazy on the drums.
And when it came to playing the French horn, Sydney Corne was all thumbs!
Many times Mrs. Lightfoot thought she'd chosen the wrong speciality path,
And oft' wondered if she should have majored in history or maybe math.
In a couple of years she could lay down her baton one last time and retire,
To reminisce about fatal concerts, bleating horns and inharmonious choir!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
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.
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.
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
On my computer
I
play
songs of the late 1970's
My seed time
as it were
ELP, Yes, and King Crimson
Perhaps I will pick up a recording by
Nice
they did a great version of "America"
from West Side Story
or perhaps I shall return to the fold era
or flip on some Dvorak
Music and poetry
enables us to touch unreality
but only if we let it
Some recommend Beethoven and Bach
Others Chuck Berry and James Brown
Attempted to play the French horn when I was younger
what a gorgeous sound that instrument can make
The Beatles and the Rolling Stones used ti
So did we at Midwood High
AS we marched down the football field
Cool autumn days
remind us
of leaves turning color, football
and the beginning of the school year
I remember those days
As age creeps in
I attend poetry
readings
and volunteer at Poets House
read a lot of verse
Poets House has Israeli, Afro - American, Chinese, Puerto Rican poetry
and much more
The world needs poetry and song
And so doe we , friends
I sit here at two in the morning
with pencil in hand
for the poem I am penning.
The lights are low
save the one on my desk.
In the ashtray
a cigarette is burning.
Gentle spring breezes blow
cool but not cold
wafting scents
of a lawn freshly mowed.
The sheers at the french doors
billow and dance
as the wind puffs and blows.
In the background
the music softly plays,
cascades and flows.
A clarinet, violin, french horn,
and now an oboe
fill my ears
as the fire in the fire place burns low.
Smells of the cookies I baked
nearly an hour ago
still linger and mingle
in and about each nook of the room.
The Jack Russel at my feet
lightly snores
as the cat stretches and circles
for a nap on the hearth floor.
For my public,
what shall I write for them?
What is in store?
Then Bam
a book falls to the floor
and I am jolted from my nap of dreams.
You see
nothing is always quite
what it seems !!
This poem is part of a series including Sunset Reverie, An Evening by The Lake,
Days End, On Comes The Night and Tiny White Canoe