The trumpet is forceful.
quote by Lester Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Deaf Trumpeter
How long are you going to trumpets
Your sad melody for the Trumpet flower in the Trumpet woods?
Brother! You get trampled one day by the trumpet weeds
And we never hear of you again.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forces
Force is the absence of thoughts,
Inside this pressure is a precious nature.
May forceful men be absent and free,
An obscure effect has been achieved.
Gravity is the abstinence from religion
Since you fall according to it.
Jumping and rolling carries burden
That munched itself, that delivered happiness.
Force is the healthy form of food,
Opening the chest of drawers is forceful
Like the innocent children who delve into magic.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Trumpet Voice
I live to hear my father sing
People come
Far and wide
Gathering like anchovies in a can
To hear his deep, trumpet voice
My father burns a record
Neighbors and friends
Float from their lonely birdhouses
To hear his deep, trumpet voice
My father records a tape
The family sits in the living room
Under the golden chandelier
To hear his deep, trumpet voice
My father has a CD
My brother and I sit in my room
Playing Parcheesi
We open the player
To hear his deep, trumpet voice
I lie on the city bus
One seat for my head
The other for my feet
I turn on my small, silver iPod
And zone out from the world
To hear his deep, trumpet voice
poem by Aury Cecile
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And my dad wanted me to play the trumpet because that's what he liked. His idol was Louis Armstrong. My dad thought my teeth came together in a way that was perfect for playing the trumpet.
quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trumpet Player
The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Has dark moons of weariness
Beneath his eyes
where the smoldering memory
of slave ships
Blazed to the crack of whips
about thighs
The negro
with the trumpet at his lips
has a head of vibrant hair
tamed down,
patent-leathered now
until it gleams
like jet-
were jet a crown
the music
from the trumpet at his lips
is honey
mixed with liquid fire
the rhythm
from the trumpet at his lips
is ecstasy
distilled from old desire-
Desire
that is longing for the moon
where the moonlight's but a spotlight
in his eyes,
desire
that is longing for the sea
where the sea's a bar-glass
sucker size
The Negro
with the trumpet at his lips
whose jacket
Has a fine one-button roll,
does not know
upon what riff the music slips
It's hypodermic needle
to his soul
but softly
as the tune comes from his throat
trouble
mellows to a golden note
poem by Langston Hughes
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A Fish Commissioner
Great Joseph D. Redding-illustrious name!
Considered a fish-horn the trumpet of Fame.
That goddess was angry, and what do you think?
Her trumpet she filled with a gallon of ink,
And all through the Press, with a devilish glee,
She sputtered and spattered the name of J.D.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Well, my sister played trumpet. Can you imagine having a sister blowing the trumpet around the house, Fred? And my brother, he played piano. Everybody was playing some kind of music, so it was natural for me to get into it.
quote by Freddie Hubbard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Who Move Clouds
The throwing of your mental clothes wasnt ever your intention
The malady within your heart has no cure and prevention
There are those who move clouds
Those who move clouds
Heard it murmured in a far off crowd
Those who move clouds
I wish that I could offer you a chance to change direction
But you know that pathways must be followed to near destruction
There are those who move clouds
Those who move clouds
Heard it murmured in a far off crowd
Those who move clouds
There are those who will patronise and compromise your position
They cant feel the forceful hand of
Predetermined destination
There are those who move clouds
Those who move clouds
Heard it murmured in a far off crowd
Those who move clouds
I can feel the forceful hand
And it wont let me change direction no
And theres this hunger inside of me
And it wont and it wont no it wont stop its aching
And I can feel it inside of my head the forceful hand
And it wont let me change direction
And theres this hunger and it wont let me
And it wont let me stop and it wont let me stop this aching no
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Trumpet and Drum
With big tin trumpet and little red drum,
Marching like soldiers, the children come!
It 's this way and that way they circle and file---
My! but that music of theirs is fine!
This way and that way, and after a while
They march straight into this heart of mine!
A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb
To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum!
Come on, little people, from cot and from hall---
This heart it hath welcome and room for you all!
It will sing you its songs and warm you with love,
As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine;
It will rock you away to the dreamland above---
Oh, a jolly old heart is this old heart of mine,
And jollier still is it bound to become
When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum!
So come; though I see not his dear little face
And hear not his voice in this jubilant place,
I know he were happy to bid me enshrine
His memory deep in my heart with your play---
Ah me! but a love that is sweeter than mine
Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day!
And my heart it is lonely---so, little folk, come,
March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!
poem by Eugene Field
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-65
Blue Trumpet Bush
(Strobilanthes tomentosa
Aechmanthera gossypina)
Little eyes look at so many
Little brain eats as many
Yet too little known only
Puzzling blues as are many
My folly'Bluebell, Bluebell'
Yelled my mouth of little
In brain gathered brittle
Ho, but different and subtle
Shrubby bush leafed elliptic
Blue, violet, purplish hectic
Clustered flora trumpet-magic
Tubed raise of an elysian chic
Hunt o' my heart hunt ceaseless
Anyway for blue trumpet endless
Stop, hear her hush relentless
Wonder at the goddess ageless
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Trumpeter
The war was all around
And the city was small.
The doctors laughed at him,
He was not like de Gaulle.
Well, may be the trumpeter?
OK, trumpeter, as a trumpeter!
Being a trumpeter is so good,
At least you don't have to bow.
The bullets whistle over your head,
As the winds sometimes blow.
But why it happened like that?
For a boy the war was a spit.
But once in the autumn rains,
In a strange unknown land,
The regiment was waned,
No one heard the command.
No one was there to be astound.
Come on, trumpeter! You sound!
In smoke and flames he stood,
His lips pressed to the trumpet,
The regiment, like knighthoods,
Followed the trumpeter.
The International they sang,
And the triumph bells rang.
The trumpeter,.. but a real soldier
Was devoted to a peaceful music,
He had to defend the border,
With a trumpet to do the trick.
If you are a man but not a hick,
The trumpet you will pick.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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In smoke
My joy went up in smoke,
It was hard blow and stroke
Someone had tried to blow
To interrupt the smooth flow
I shall go down
May be mistake of my own
She can think and form opinion
Alas! It was short and sweet misinformation
I must confess and not argue
She is right in her view
How can one over look sentiments
She has right for resentment
I shall not see her again
As she has anguish and pain
She may realize soon and think
I had not a word against her to ink
She was best and intelligent
Every word had impact and movement
How best she was at quick grasp?
She had easy go at any task
I may miss her forceful bye
Even though I had desperate and vain try
I know she may be broke and in tears
I too here feel bad and suffer
She represents woman race
Forceful views with support in all the cases
I have seen her making the chase
Plotting it on canvass to look beautiful page
I shall be careful in future
Make it look doubly sure
Why some one should feel bad at all?
We must give away instead of making it difficult as wall
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Perfect Night is minimalistic and that's what makes it so forceful.
A Moon In My Body
There’s a moon in my body,
There’s a moon in my body, but where can I see it?
This planet of worlds shall multiply
With this trumpet and drum,
This trumpet and drum!
Your heart beats according to the sun,
I can’t see it as well as before.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Every wave, regardless of how high and forceful it crests, must eventually collapse within itself.
quote by Stefan Zweig
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Trumpet
A friend fell and smashed up his teeth and jaw,
And ended up in 'casualty' what's more,
The surgeon came to sew up his damaged face,
And put his teeth and jaw back into place.
He asked the surgeon, if he would be able to play the trumpet,
No problem at all, the surgeon said, superbly, that I can bet.
Oh, how amazing, said my friend, Gosh, I must tell my wife,
Because, I've never ever played a trumpet, in my life.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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I can assure you we are all strong-willed, forceful personalities and the president encourages vigorous debate.
quote by Karen Hughes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It struck me that what I'd heard about certain celebrities was true: they had It, whatever the hell It was. Star power isn't a myth; it is tangible and forceful.
quote by Michael Bergin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By the time I became chairman and there was more of a feeling of urgency, there was a willingness to accept more forceful measures to try to deal with the inflation.
quote by Paul A. Volcker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trumpets Blown
The trumpet blew a wand for the real river,
A caliph will show his knowledge afterwards;
On the level of time one sign has been shown,
Demonstrated by the leaders of the world.
This time a trumpet has blown to mock,
To munch away the life of stones and money.
I have ordeals that stretch a lifetime of worry,
Feeding a frenzy is my cup of knowledge.
Understand a fault of mine to understand,
This mighty feat condemns the snow that is a river.
Falling away fast, a snowy monument is a relative
To the mind that thinks along family matters.
One trumpet connects to be me,
One sound has obliterated the only reminder,
It reduces its speed and calls on more sayings
From the fame that brought you near.
A sound from a bugle is cheap and full of it,
Bells are better at chiming forming me as well,
The bells cling to bells and trumpets ask.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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