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Life is like a trumpet - if you don't put anything into it, you don't get anything out of it.

quote by William Christopher Handy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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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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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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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
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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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Mambo No. 5

Mambo No. 5 (A Little Bit Of ...)
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mambo No 5
One, two , three four, five
everybody in the car so come on let's ride
To the liqueur-store around the corner,
the boys say they want some gin and juice
but I really don't wanna
beerbust like I had last week
I must stay deep 'cause talk is a cheap
I like Angela, Pamela, Sandra and Rita
and as I continue you know they're gettin' sweeter
so what can I do I really beg you my Lord
to me flirtin' it's just like a sport
anything fly it's all good let me dump it
please set in the trumpet
a little bit of Monica in my life
a little bit of Erica by my side
a little bit of Rita is all I need
a little bit of Tina is what I see
a little bit of Sandra in the sun
a little bit of Mary all night long
a little bit of Jessica here I am
a little bit of you makes me your man
jump up and down and move it all around
shake your head to the sound put your hands an the ground
take one step left and one step right
one to the front and one to the side
clap your hands once and clap your hands twice
and if it looks like this then you doin' it right
a little bit of Monica in my life
a little bit of Erica by my side
a little bit of Rita is all I need
a little bit of Tina is what I see
a little bit of Sandra in the sun
a little bit of Mary all night long
a little bit of Jessica here I am
a little bit of you makes me your man
Trumpet, the Trumpet!
Mambo No 5
a little bit of Monica in my life
a little bit of Erica by my side
a little bit of Rita is all I need
a little bit of Tina is what I see
a little bit of Sandra in the sun
a little bit of Mary all night long
a little bit of Jessica here I am
a little bit of you makes me your man
I do all to fall in love with a girl like you
You can't run and you can't hide you and me gonna touch the sky

song performed by by Lou Bega
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is something like a trumpet. If you don't put anything in, you won't get anything out.

quote by William Christopher Handy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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0011 Chet Baker Sings and Plays: a homage

That’s the word we use
for the abrupt suddenness
of the old rubber-squeezed car horn
on the outside, by the driving seat
of the old battered Ford

and unforgettably for the anguished heart,
the bugle on the battlefield
as stretcher-bearers move in gathering dusk,
the final drawn-out, liquid, haunting pa-a-a-rp.... dies away
to pregnant, bloody silence;
death after life; life after death.

and then the sound of the civilian trumpet
in the days of the uneasy, hopeful postwar peace
hitting our eardrums, calling to attention,
stirring our blood
or perversely,
making the silence in between the notes
more silent, more laid back, more significant,
as if to say, how quickly
rest may follow action, action rest,
hot, cool; cool, hot;

So trumpet can be voice; voice, trumpet;
behind them, heart and mind, and mood and mode
sing, even whisper, you’re unforgettable,
that’s what you are; there will never be
another you; that’s how it is;
if you don’t know what love is,
I’ll play it to you; maybe sing..

his husky, boyish voice,
a hint of Oklahoma on Pacific shores,
sang – sings – the standards tenderly
as if they are the given texts for all mankind
of this new day of love; they apply
to him, and you; and everyone; so
he makes no pretence he thought them first; .
yet, in the long pauses in his singing, he's thinking them into now.

then as the line’s still finishing, his trumpet
turns the words to comment, as the cage is opened,
the bird flies out and up, released to joy
in boundless air and space;

as if it were outside the soundproofed recording studio
but recognised the song; and knew itself as free,
soaring high in sad songs or in glad songs,
knowing them the same at heart,
as a trumpet soars its notes
out over the Pacific air as gulls call to the waves,
singing liberty, equality, fraternity -
I’m telling you what love is

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Ye Shall Be Changed

You harbor resentment
You know there aint too much of a thrill
You wish for contentment
But you got an emptiness that cant be filled
Youve had enough hatred
Your bones are breaking (and you) cant find nothing sacred, (but)
Ye shall be changed, ye shall be changed
In a twinkling of an eye, when the last trumpet blows
The dead will arise and burst out of your cloths
And ye shall be changed
Everything youve gotten
Youve gotten by sweat, blood and muscle
From early in the morning til way past dark
All you ever do is hustle
All your loved ones have walked out the door
Youre not even sure bout your wife and kids no more, but
Ye shall be changed, ye shall be changed
In a twinkling of an eye, when the last trumpet blows
The dead will arise and burst out of your cloths
And ye shall be changed
(now) the past dont control you
But the futures like a roulette wheel spinning
(and) deep down inside
You know you need a whole new beginning
Dont have to go to russia or iran
Just surrender to God and hell move you right here where you stand, and
Ye shall be changed, ye shall be changed
In a twinkling of an eye, when the last trumpet blows
The dead will arise and burst out of your cloths
And ye shall be changed
You drink bitter water
And you been eating the bread of sorrow
You cant live for today
When all youre ever thinking of is tomorrow
The path youve endured has been rough
And when youve decided that youve had enough, then
Ye shall be changed, ye shall be changed
In a twinkling of an eye, when the last trumpet blows
The dead will arise and burst out of your cloths
And ye shall be changed

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come to my garden

Come to my garden
when purple irises flower perfectly,
morning glories summit over every thing
and be speechless by the glory
of sunspots that trumpet their beauty purple-blue
and violets that rise up everywhere.

Come to my garden
when purple irises flower perfectly,
see roses from crimson to auburn
and find no words and become dumbstruck
by odours and colours that my plants trumpet forth
and come and look at every thing, come my most precious flower,
come to my garden.

poem by Gert Strydom
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While the angels happily chorus in unison
The trumpet of life sings joyful salvation
Freedom, there’s freedom for the mournful

haiku by Edgar Rendon Eslit
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Bible in Poetry: Revelation 8

1He opened then the seventh seal,
And heav’n turned silent for half hour.
2The seven angels before God,
Were given seven trumpets then.
3An angel, with a gold censer,
Came and stood before the altar.
He had incense to offer much,
With prayers of all the saints,
On the golden altar of God.
4The incense-smoke and saints’ prayers
Went up to God from angel's hand.
5The angel took the censer then,
And filled it with altar’s fire,
And hurled it onto the earth’s face;
There came thunder, rumblings, flashes
Of lightning and an earthquake great.

The Trumpets:

6The seven angels then prepared
To blow their trumpets, one by one.
7 When first angel blew his trumpet,
Hail came with fire, mixed with blood,
And it was hurled down on the earth.
A third of earth was burned up soon,
A third of trees were burned up too,
And all the green grass was burned up.
8The second angel blew trumpet,
And something like a huge mountain
Ablaze, was thrown into the sea.
A third of sea then turned to blood,
9A third of creatures of sea died,
A third of ships were all destroyed.
10The third angel blew his trumpet,
A great star, blazing like a torch,
Fell from sky on third of rivers
And on the earth’s springs of water—
11The name of the star was Wormwood.
A third of waters turned bitter,
And many people died from it.
12The fourth angel sounded trumpet,
A third of sun was darkened then,
A third of moon, and third of stars,
Was turned dark soon afterwards.
A third of day was without light,
A third of night also alike.
13And as I watched, an eagle flew
In midair, calling out aloud:
'Woe! Woe! To earth’s inhabitants,
Because of trumpet blasts about
To come from three other angels! '

Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-16-2007

poem by John Celes
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