A rusted brass skeleton
Sleeping in a leather sarcophagus
Echoes of a symphony
Escape into my ears
Yearning to be played
To have breaking, bloodied lips kiss it once more
Soured by time
Decades of silent slumber
Coins, artifacts of a lost world
Collect in the dust and nicotine-ed air
I find myself humming along to our songs
Destined to lose their rhythms and notes
Two moments in history
Soon to be forgotten
this tofu combo is quite spicy.
it would be a bit much for lovers of poetry.
my grandmother could neither read nor write,
but she knew what to do with dead bodies.
at my son's football, a friend's mother is telling me about her start-up company
i ask how it's going
"it's too early to tell."
"like the french revolution?"
but the absolute brass neck of the perpetrator
who could have orchestrated such a terrible crime?
i wonder if the victim has got a percussion
maybe it's a cymbal of things to come
i'm in a homemade hamster wheel
trying to cross the ocean
Going solo is no fun
when you are the only one
playing alone on your own
so show me your saxophone
and you may hold my trombone
then if I feel the need
I'll finger your keys
to vibrate the reed
'til my slide retracts
as we're a match made in heaven
quite the catch in fact
a musical marriage
and that's not all
we'll make beautiful music
yes we'll have us a ball
and altho' yours is woodwind
I have the itch to make a pass
so here's my pitch
you can kiss my brass
My grandson’s in the band this year;
He’s playing the trombone.
We wondered how he’d handle it
Or get those deep notes blown.
The instrument within its case
Seems hard for him to schlep,
But we watched as he assembled it
To practice, step by step.
He played the notes of “Hot Cross Buns”
(We couldn’t really tell)
With sounds that he produced emerging
From the trombone’s bell.
He recognized mistakes, but then
He’d have another go,
Remaining calm and focused
‘Til the notes began to flow.
How wonderful to witness
The beginnings of a skill
Which may grow or not, but currently
Gives all of us a thrill.
The calendar’s already marked –
There is a concert date
To hear the 4th grade band perform
And we can hardly wait!
Music notes of my son's trombone
Sneak out from the front door
Flow into our front yard,
I Follow them
To find fireflies every where;
The stage is set
Crickets singing like bells
Shades of leaves dancing in the background
Whistling of a distant train
Thunder gives a baritone accent;
Then and there
An elegant deer appears
Very cautious,
the second to come to
this one night concert;
We stared at each other
for a while among hundreds of fireflies
He turned back then, a dark arabesque
among the dancing shades of the leaves;
I turned myself back too
into the house where the trombone
music bounded from walls cheerfully
then another wilderness sound,
the unknown audience applauding
A human fart can be as loud as a trombone
Let one go at a school concert, sounded like a baritone
People were embarrassed
Not me, it was one of my rarest
It set off alarms, twas the biggest fart ever known
I better take my trombone lessons serious
Not for fun or fame, neither for leisure
A prophesy I wish to help see light from the Bible
“At the judgment day Angels will blow their trumpet
But forgot trombones will also match
The quality of the sound that will blow
I will surely render my service for free
(After all God loves a cheerful giver)
And hope to receive the blessing of salvation
To find my way to the segmentation of the sheep
How lucky I will be. That faithful day,
If the Angels blow their trumpet, I will take out my trombone
And proudly blow my trombone.
If Angel Michael blows his old trumpet,
I will blow my new trombone.
Today she was the lady in blue and oh did my heart skip a beat.
When we all sing I hear her voice in the mist of all the others;
And she is the one I saw myself singing in heaven with.
I the man wishes it could have been me she shared this life with;
But this seems beyond the now or any personal gratifications
Perhaps it’s a combination that projects the harmony of our souls.
But I am ecstatic there might be a place for me in the hereafter
I am beyond myself that I was shown this in my darkest of hours
But standing next to her singing our praise as a part of one voice
Far outweighs anything that couldn’t be for me in the here and now.
.
Inspire me
fiddle fiddle
trombone
flute
trombone fiddle flute
my heart mimics
the cartoons dance
to the trombone
fiddle
and flute
And off my mind goes
with the gentle whisper
of the baton
And with the just for a
moment
gentle stroke through
the air
my eyes close
and I disappear
to the
trombone
fiddle
and flute
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