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
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Related quotes
Louis Armstrong playing trumpet on the Judgment Day.
quote by Al Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High Society Calypso
(Cole Porter)
Louis Armstrong - 1956
[Armstrong]
Just dig that scenery floating by,
We're now approaching Newport, Rhode I.
We've been, for years, In Variety,
But, Cholly Knickerbocker, now we're going to be
[All]
In High, High So-
High So-ci-,
High So-ci-ety.
[Armstrong]
I wanna play for my former pal-
He runs the local jazz festival.
His name is Dexter and he's good news,
But sumping kind of tells me that he's nursing the blues
[All]
In High, High So-,
High So-ci-,
High So-ci-ety.
[Armstrong]
He's got the blues 'cause his wife, alas,
Thought writing songs was beneath his class,
But writing songs he'd not stop, of course,
And so she flew to Vegas for a quickie divorce
[All]
In High, High So-,
High So-ci-,
High So-ci-ety.
[Armstrong]
To make him sadder, his former wife
begins tomorrow a brand-new life.
She started lately a new affair
And now the silly chick is gonna marry a square
[All]
In High So-,
High So-ci-,
High So-ci-ety.
[Armstrong]
But, Brother Dexter, just trust your Satch,
To stop that wedding and kill that match.
I'll toot my trumpet to start the fun,
And play in such a way that she'll come back to you, son,
[All]
In High, High So-
High So-ci-,
High So-ci-ety.
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
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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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
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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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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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My uncle gave me a trumpet, but I loved the Louis Armstrong sound and the Harry James sound and I played by ear and I played always soulful or very direct from the gut.
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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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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Don’t Leave Your Teeth on a Tray or the Cat Will Play with Them (Fun Poem 44)
This is a cautionary tale,
but I must add that it is true.
Last week my wife after eating an evening meal
decided to remove her bottom plate and put on a tray.
It seemed that it was rubbing against her gums.
Our next-door neighbour came in
and she and Vera retired to the kitchen
to play a game of cards.
After a couple of hands they heard
our youngest cat Charlie playing with something,
they thought it was just one of her toys.
It wasn’t until the next morning
when she went to put her teeth in
that she realised that the toy
Charlie was playing with
were actually her bottom teeth.
The moral of this story
is if you have false teeth,
always put them away
or some passing cat might think
they are a new toy
to have a game with and play.
(12 November 2007)
poem by David Harris
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I started playing the trumpet when I was about eight.
quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Reality
The first trumpet was sound'
shaking all those belonging to the ground
the fire, blood and hail hurled earth's dwellers
one out of three of the ground burned
The second trumpet was blown
A similarity of a huge mountain though unknown
deprived life a third of the sea dwellers
as a third of the latter, into blood it turned
He sounded the third, the angel who firmly stood,
falling the great star, blazing like a torch, The worm-wood
many people died of the streams' bitter waters,
the worm-wood made the bitter, they learned.
A third of the sun was struck,
the moon and 1/3 all the constellations were dark
this is the tribulation of the forth angles trumpet
He cried woe! woe! woe! for three though more to be blast
The fifth angel sounded the trumpet,
and the woe! it beholds is unbelievable,
a star fell and opened abyss shaft
and an enormous smoke emanated
blackening the sun and all the stars
out of the smoke came locust
causing grief to humanity, and for 5 months they'll last
to punish whom the seal of God away they'd cast.
they were comparable with war horses of the old
having coverings like crowns made of gold.
they had faces like that of human
their hair was like the hair of a woman,
teeth like lion's, breastplates of iron not to spare any man
they had tails that sting like scorpion
very deadly than anything on earth.
yet two woes were to come.
revelation tells more.............
poem by Marbet Daniel
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I've always wanted a C trumpet on top, to have that same kind of facility without shouting.
quote by Gerry Mulligan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Colour Me
Colour me with your love and take me into your arms,
And like once upon a time on your lovely bed;
For true love harms no one and it needs to be matured.
My heart is like the ocean's peace and,
Don't put jealousy in your tracks;
And do emulate positive attitudes at all times.
Try to listen to the heart beats of your friends and,
Play the trumpet on this love;
For you are mine and i will play the flute of love!
And when the night falls, people will run from bed to bed.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Conflicting Influence
Conflicting influence
Hearing silence my old man does when he slowly dance around
the kitchen floor thinking he’s alone. When I sit still I can hear
silence too. Noises and voices Louis Armstrong’s trumpet and
the drumbeat of distant wars. Some of them fought and some
waiting to be fought. And I hear the righteous defending a war
where millions will die and our way of life will forever be scared
by shame. People have lost their voice, because it drowned in
the cacophony of conflicting messages that seep into our mind
day and night. Overload, fuse gone, apathy. And my old man will
never hear the good silence again.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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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Blue Notes
All you players
who play the blues
play, play
play the sad news.
The minor chords
will take you down low.
Let the sax wail
and the trumpet blow.
Listen and lament with
that licorice stick,
all you lovers
sad and heartsick.
Let it all out boys.
Play, play, play.
Those tearful lovers
hear what you say.
They hear those blues
and they feel it too.
It will let their tears fall
like no other notes can do.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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