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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Related quotes
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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Where Will I Be
(daniel lanois)
The streets are cracked
And theres glass everywhere
And a baby stares out
With motherless eyes
Under long gone beauty
On fields of war
Trapped in lament
To the poets core
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
Met an indian boy in ottawa
He laid me down on a bed of straw
Said dont waste your breath
Dont waste your heart
Dont blister your heels
Running in the dark
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
Yeah I like the heat
Of your body laying under me
May your wild lip get you where your going
With your inventions your intentions, your laughter
Your forever yearning
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
I walked to the river
And I walked to the rim
I walked through the teeth of the reapers grin
I walked to you rolled up in wire
To the other side of desire
Oh where oh where will I be
Oh where oh when that trumpets sounds
Oh where oh where oh where when that trumpet sounds
Oh where oh where oh when that trumpet sounds
Well the heart opens wide like its never seen love
And addiction stays on tight like a glove
Oh where oh where will I be
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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I Love Trumpets
Are you up tonight?
I think you wait for a miracle
If it came would you accept it?
I don't think so
The meek and gentle need love
World tomorrow is a hard sell
Do you believe in preserved bodies
I seen one in Rome
In a catacomb just laying there
Waiting for the trumpet
Do bad girls hear trumpets
I am from both sides my dear
You can be a woman with me
I love trumpets
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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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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Perhaps Today
Perhaps today, in the open sky above beyond the oceans gentle shore,
Perhaps today, from the clouds above we will hear that Blessed horn.
For the Church will hear the angel shout and the trumpet call of God,
And all alive in Christ will be lifted from this earth's lowly sod,
Perhaps today, we'll see the very one who has been Eternally Adored,
Perhaps today, up in the clouds we'll meet our Glorious Blessed Lord.
For those who died in Christ shall rise first at that Glorious sound,
Their bodies to be resurrected as they're extracted from the ground.
Perhaps today, through His Mighty Power and His Loving Eternal Grace,
Perhaps today, with all who went before us we'll see His Loving face.
When we hear the trumpet we know that we are at the end of the race,
We will share the prize and see The Author and Finisher of our faith.
Perhaps today, when the Glorious Trumpet of our God above resounds,
Perhaps today, with all of our loved ones we'll be up in the clouds.
Regarding the rapture we shouldn't stay quiet according to The Word,
Paul says encourage one another and share with all who haven't heard.
Perhaps today, in the twinkling of an eye we'll see heaven's portal,
Perhaps today, this earthly body will be changed into one immortal.
As you long for His return and you ponder for the right words to say,
The words in your heart will burn as you openly reply Perhaps today.
Through the branch net [Prin a ramurilor mreajă]
Through the branch net, all along,
One can hear a charming song
Fondling all the ears that lie
By the linden old and high...
Through the leaves, when dies the day,
Tries the moon to make its way,
It's so beautiful and bright
And sheds down its gleams of light.
Start the trumpets to sound soon;
As the disk of the sweet moon
Passes over glades and trees,
Trumpet notes flow with much ease.
The green woods will answer then
And my soul gets lost again,
Grieved, but also filled with grace,
When I think of your nice face.
And the birds will sing above
Showing all their care and love,
Chirping in the woods and thus
Laughing at or... pitying us.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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The Death Of Aliatar
FROM THE SPANISH.
'Tis not with gilded sabres
That gleam in baldricks blue,
Nor nodding plumes in caps of Fez,
Of gay and gaudy hue--
But, habited in mourning weeds,
Come marching from afar,
By four and four, the valiant men
Who fought with Aliatar.
All mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
The banner of the Phenix,
The flag that loved the sky,
That scarce the wind dared wanton with,
It flew so proud and high--
Now leaves its place in battle-field,
And sweeps the ground in grief,
The bearer drags its glorious folds
Behind the fallen chief,
As mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Brave Aliatar led forward
A hundred Moors to go
To where his brother held Motril
Against the leaguering foe.
On horseback went the gallant Moor,
That gallant band to lead;
And now his bier is at the gate,
From whence he pricked his steed.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
The knights of the Grand Master
In crowded ambush lay;
They rushed upon him where the reeds
Were thick beside the way;
They smote the valiant Aliatar,
They smote the warrior dead,
And broken, but not beaten, were
The gallant ranks he led.
Now mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Oh! what was Zayda's sorrow,
How passionate her cries!
Her lover's wounds streamed not more free
Than that poor maiden's eyes.
Say, Love--for didst thou see her tears:
Oh, no! he drew more tight
The blinding fillet o'er his lids
To spare his eyes the sight.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
Nor Zayda weeps him only,
But all that dwell between
The great Alhambra's palace walls
And springs of Albaicin.
The ladies weep the flower of knights,
The brave the bravest here;
The people weep a champion,
The Alcaydes a noble peer.
While mournfully and slowly
The afflicted warriors come,
To the deep wail of the trumpet,
And beat of muffled drum.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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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 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 Captive Knight
The prisoned thrush may brook the cage,
The captive eagle dies for rage.
Lady of the Lake.
'Twas a trumpet's pealing sound!
And the knight look'd down from the Paynim's tower,
And a Christian host, in its pride and power,
Thro' the pass beneath him wound.
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'I knew 'twas a trumpet's note!
And I see my brethren's lances gleam,
And their pennons wave by the mountain stream,
And their plumes to the glad wind float!
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'I am here, with my heavy chain!
And I look on a torrent sweeping by,
And an eagle rushing to the sky,
And a host, to its battle-plain!
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'Must I pine in my fetters here?
With the wild wave's foam, and the free bird's flight,
And the tall spears glancing on my sight,
And the trumpet in mine ear?
Cease awhile, clarion! Clarion, wild and shrill,
Cease! let them hear the captive's voice–be still!
'They are gone! they have all pass'd by!
They in whose wars I had borne my part,
They that I lov'd with a brother's heart,
They have left me here to die!
Sound again, clarion! Clarion, pour thy blast!
Sound! for the captive's dream of hope is past.'
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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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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