THE FIRST INVOICE
HAD A PURCHASE FOR
12 TRUMPETS
5 TUBAS
10 FRENCH HORNS
7 CLARINETS
10 BASSOONS
8 OBOES
5 FLUTES
4 SNARE DRUMS
2 BASS DRUMS
2 KETTLEDRUMS
15 VIOLENS
5 CHELLO'S
2 TRIANGLES
1 XYLOPHONE
2 BASS GUITARS
2 ACOUSTIC GUITARS
IN THE NOTE AREA WAS A QUOTE
IT SAID
A HUSBAND MIGHT SIT AND HEAR THE WORDS OF A SINGLE MAN
AND IN HIS WORDS MIGHT SPEAK THRU A CONCERN
OF HIS OWN REFLECTION.
BUT HE ONLY KNOW'S THE SUCCESS OF BEING ACCEPTED IN
PROPOSAL: HE LACKS THE ABILITY TO SPEAK FROM DISPAIR
MIGHT SHE SAY NO, HIS WORDS MEAN KNOWTHING.
IF SHE SAY'S YES HIS WORDS ARE PROVERB AND WORTHY OF SPPEAKING OF.
WHICH LACKS CONCERN IS THE POSITION OF BEING
RIGHT
THAT HE THAT ASK MIGHT BE CONSIDERED WRONG
IF SHE HAS ANOTHER.
Clarinets, bassoons, oboes, ugh.
Flutes, oh, yes, Native American flute music please.
Violas. Don’t be prissy!
Cellos. Ha. Ha. Who wants to carry one to school?
First and second violins. Too stringy. Twangy. Hurt my ears.
Trombones and tubas. Oh, yes, please.
Now for my all- time favorites besides the guitar.
Drums
Cymbals.
Bam.
Crash.
Boom
Bam
Give me percussion or do not give me any music at all.
Enormous eggplants peppered her Easter hat.
They were a bit heavy, but purple and exact.
However did you find them, and what fun!
The old biddies said, when they saw her in the sun.
Why thank you, she said, pleased as all get out.
Her children had gone on, one with a little pout.
They were dying their eggs, with dye all over their hands.
They were playing their tubas, in their Sunday noon bands.
Rhe sat in the gazebo in her lovely dress of green.
She was the loveliest ghost many had never really seen.
Her delight was apparent, biddies gone away for now.
Her dancing was beautiful; her face was a wow.
She was the best dreamiest dream I had ever had.
She was big and beautiful, buxom busy and bad.
She was her own person, danced to drums of long ago.
Prancing into my head and she did not move slow.
Where did you find her? The fuddy duddies soon asked.
Hilarious, and funny, in her humor I basked.
She’s part of my imagination, I claim her as my own.
So naysayers, go away, you are not part of this poem.
Encore
Cold metal touches my lips
Breathe
Fingers extend
Breathe
Chatter from the audience
Fills my ears
Breathe
Lights from above
Blind me
Breathe
Baton
Moves up
Breathe
Up
Down
Breathe
Tempo
Dit-Dit-Dit
Breathe
Drums sneer at me
Breathe
An explosion
Of sound
Fills the ears
Breathe
A harmony
A symphony
Breathe
Tubas
Low and booming
Breathe
Trombones and Trumpets
Extending each
Note with ethereal beauty
Breathe
Clarinets
Blessing the note
With delicacy
Breathe
Flutes
An island of paradise
Enters with the grace
Of a dove
Breathe
Swooning
At the pitched
Mountain of sound
Breathe
Waves
Hit the audience
With the delicacy of a mother
Breathe
Enveloping them
With the evolving mood
Ominous
To Joyous
Crescendo
Breathe
Clapping booms
In my ears
Stamping of feet
Deafening
Yet craved
Yet beloved
Baton rises
Once more
Once again
Symphony
Overwhelms
All thoughts
All emotion
Breathe
brilliant brass tubas
with ears pressed to the heavens
~ illumination
the uplifting performance ~
five and their wind-borne angels
5/2/2018
Natures bugle call to action
Daffodils trumpeting springs arrival
Bluebells sprout from hidden tubas
Spring is playing us its symphony
Battling banjos played on sunny porches
as the sun sets you can imagine a cello recital
or guitars played by camp fires
summer times Renaissance
The years clock is beating out on a tin drum
Leaves falling softly making the sound of a tambourine
played softly by the ghost of Karen Carpenter
Autumn drops on us like a drum roll at the end of a song
Lift your voice at winters arrival
sing carols to your god and celebrate his son
a choral celebration of the years end
sing songs of the seasons
comp entry 03042016
We were there for th wind ensemble,
There was where I met you,
My senses traversed through
' ` th geography of your body,
Then, th first song.
In th expanded moment,
Tubas transformed into windmills,
Trumpets moan and yearn,
My senses never left
' ` your cotton-covered hills.
Golden canaries flew out of clarinets,
As bell flowers bloomed from th horns,
I glanced to you when it was th solo sax,
And imagined children when
' ` th percussion frolicked and fawned.
Then, the last song wrapped.
Encore! Encore!
Just one more: One more, I begged.
Plants need water; stamps need glue.
Bricks need mortar; hair: shampoo.
Cars need gas; food needs spices.
Technogeeks need new devices.
Dogs need leashes; letters: stamps.
Folks in wheelchairs need nice ramps.
Zoos need visitors, so do shows.
Igloos wait for Eskimos.
Bands need tubas; singers: mics.
Hiking boots help out on hikes.
Laundry needs detergent; church needs sinners.
Marathons need runners, with some winners.
Teeth need toothpaste; dentists: drills.
Roller coaster riders require thrills.
Tattoo artists must have ink.
Skaters need a skating rink.
Gyms need trainers; schools need teachers.
Stadiums require bleachers.
Beds need pillows; sailboats: sails.
Hammers must desire nails.
Symbiosis sees us through,
Which explains why – I need you!
"It happened at dusk, on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head
Whistles and pattering, octaves outstretched
Violins wailing and tubas distressed
Starlight shone into my window in white
heaving my breath with this musical sight
leaving my features and shadows in grey
while the melody mastery started to play
First all the strings, then came the percussion
Brass building stamina, with no discussion
Drums most determined and then all at once
the notes of the piano, fortissimo jaunt
Lights popped and fizzled and wrinkled in time
Walls bending backwards a musical rhyme
Bass like a heart beat moving the air
all in the blink of an eye, I was there.
My skin soaked and battered, my eyes shining bright
all concentrating on motion, on flight
After they slowed I beamed with devotion
and stood on my tiptoes, a standing ovation
I've packed solidarity into my chest
to tell you this story, to truly impress
for it happened at dusk on the eve of my bed
a series of symphonies out of my head"
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