Trumpet you are loud, you are special, you make all our memories filled with questions.
You sing and blow your trumpet, making others feel emotion swirling with each blow on your trumpet.
You are fun, you call many, we listen and hear your call, you have a way of making us listen, and making things seem smooth and pleasant.
Trumpet you are the one, with a great ability, to call the many and make us proud, continue on with your sound, we are all listening, as you put us in the mood.
Trumpet you are so strong to withstand such pressure, the many times that you fell under, you got back up blowing on your trumpet, you make us laugh with exhilaration We love your trumpet, keep on blowing, sing and make all our days filled with cheer.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Adversity rarely enters a life with a Trumpet
It doesn't come loud
It doesn't come bold
It doesn't come systemically
With brass horns ablaze
Like some headlines twinkling.
Nah- Adversity is crafty
It slides in sideways, quiet as a hum
With the nerve to reposition your peace
Without clearance.
It tests your patience, lugs at the rim of
Your faith, tries to see if your backbone is
Made of loaned strength. Or the kind you
Bootleg in the dark.
When nobody was clapping
But you-
You rise like your spirit has muscle hindsight.
You rise like the storm forgot who it was
Rustling with.
Adversity comes unannounced, but you answer
The door with a steady glare, a steady breath,
A steady validity.
You are not easily moved
You are not easily shattered
You are not easily incomplete
And every quiet clash becomes another loud
Achievement in the story you're still writing
Penmanship
She is free with no love to keep,
Has the time to dress up and live her life.
Feels like she is meant to be this way.
All failures have made her believe this is her truth.
Her heart feels the mourning of her past,
Makes her wonder if she needs more time to think.
Being looked at and knowing they only see her as
a distraction or to make sure they still got it.
Is she not pretty enough or skinny enough to be
loved for who she is?
Being compared and knowing that he thinks she is the better option.
She has no choice but to accept the solitude in her life.
Being challenged by her morals, will she be the hidden flower?
When the moon and stars come out, she will open her petals.
Letting herself be loved where no one can see.
The world is a different place and many don’t know how to function in it.
To find a love that was designed for her and hers to keep.
Someone to choose her until her last weep.
To be chosen seems like a dream come true,
Something not possible in this day and age.
When that person finally arrives, she will hold him with open arms.
Cry and ask what took him so long.
A silent trumpet signals reveille’s call
Shadows play liars poker
Amid the stone
Sunshine tiptoes past
The grey mourners
Forgotten flags
Offer a tattered role call
A sad wind stiffens in salute
As a silenced trumpet weeps
for a long, long
“walk in the woods.”
It has been raining all day.
Ben is 11,
and he has become
the bane
of my existence
when we are stuck
inside together,
all day.
He is hyped up
on his plan
to start an irrigation
system in the backyard.
God, help me.
When I told him to
clean his slovenly
corner, which he calls
a bedroom,
out blasts the trumpet
in a blaring note behind me,
scaring me senseless,
and making Mark laugh.
That damn thing is heading
straight for the thicket
if he keeps this up.
I think I’ll move
to the garden shed.
You had opportunity
The trumpet sounds
Thunder cracks
Lightning flashes
The Earth is shaken
Day of redemption
Judgement on the Earth
Punishment in wrath
Final cries
The books are opened
Seal of everlasting in behold
Fire of Hell
Confessions beyond belief
Predicted years ago
Time and moment at hand
Earth with an enriched newness
Many Souls will witness
Pity not
Heaven has spoken
You chose to disobey
Now Earth will play
There ae no further words to say
Eternity has risen
Darkness prevails
Ready or not is just too late
Earth’s fate
This is the precise date
The trumpet has sounded
Judgement time hour
Words of comfort can’t save you
Now is Heaven’s time to pursue
There’s nothing more Earth can do.
flitty butterfly
circling around asagao
life's morning glory
Speaking out about what
he does not know
tho' saying it long and loud enough
will never make it so
and by the size of the sound
of the flute he toots
(or, is it his trumpet he blows?)
this Cockwomble's too big for his britches
he's way too big for his boots
as for he who shall not be named
for all the world to see
someone should pull out the rug
from under Mr. T.
take him down a peg or two
cut him down to size
as he lies then denies
it could be his downfall
it would be his demise
If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor – Desmond Tutu
The Trumpet of Parrots
Patriots rally to the trumpet sound,
its blare echoes the lies that bigots breed.
Perched in power, pipers, in pretence gowned,
their hatred spreads, disguised as noble creed.
They stoke the tribal fire in ancient scars,
while hissing hypes to mask the stench of greed.
Their chorus of lies taints Venus and Mars,
who like pawns follow blindly the king’s lead.
Their victims vilified and ridiculed.
Protesters branded as dregs of the state,
by troops of diehards loathsome and unschooled,
As crony capitalists preach their hate.
So, mark the flock that flaps where conscience sleeps:
A nation full of parrots gently weeps.
Conch shell sea gem and sea snail
Horn held tone gyrates the tritonis trumpet
Note blown ending battles on a splinted scale
Epitome depictions make cameo’s regret
Emergent higher seas, onward this ship shall sail
Tidal wave warnings of an uprising onset
The sky remains silent, the clouds remain still,
The mountains still stand and the seas remain filled.
The saints clothed in white ask the Lord how much longer?
Will your world remain broken and this evil grow stronger?
This babe in the manger came to conquer and save.
How long till you take back this world that you made?
The angels sing Holy, Lord righteous and true
But the only ones that hear them are those who love you.
Jesus stands up, with his arms open wide,
He looks to the Father with tears in His eyes.
He asks can we go? can we get them today?
but the father says no Son, there are still ones to save.
But we will go soon, and do what you came to do.
we will gather our children, and make this world new.
the trumpet will sound, and Our people will rise.
And oh what a reunion there will be in the sky’s.
The sky will turn dark and the mountains will crumble,
the seas will spill over and the heavens will rumble,
oh hallelujah the angels will sing,
that babe in the manger is our conquering King
Donald ate beans to full capacitance
Added pitted prunes for extravagance
He courted the town strumpet
She said, Put down your trumpet
All Donald could produce was flatulence
________________________________
Entry in 'Open Poetry 9 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
May 22, 2024
THE TRUMPET SOUNDS
A tall person with a large following
For electoral success, the least worst
Yet recently in court, was wallowing
Some do believe he could be cursed
World famous for a deep artificial tan
With red necktie at least a yard long
And often tried to prove he’s a man
Those with doubts may not be wrong
A New York office and Florida home
The former appears covered in gold
The latter with stored files to comb
A white toothed smile, but is still old
Hey say that pride comes before a fall
But does influence always buy the vote
And we know he wants to build a wall
A second time round, just make a note
Poetry to me is my legacy
Poems I write to live on endlessly
So like it or lump it
I’ll blow my own trumpet
And leave them to historic supremacy.
From afar a sound of "Blues" so tender
Like Satchmo strumming his trumpet
His loud voice calling us together
Makes me in verses break into yesterday
Oh Louis...raise your voice to everyone
Make the trumpet's call sound loud
Chase away the fears of the crowd
And those outside who think they're alone
Oh Louis... now release the husky voice
Nice and slow, neither hot nor cold
Let it come in that bittersweet jazz
That speaks of the wonders of this world
Alberto Secama 15 May 2020
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