This is in instrument that I associate with high schools band. I do not play this instrument. This is the type of instrument that I think of when I football.
Andrea P.
The band started playing, their voices raised in triumphant praise. Shirley frowned, he really hated trumpets. Well he didn’t exactly hate them, but they did get on his nerves. Especially when they were praising something so silly.
Blaring, blazing–a cacophony of sound in your ears and you recognize it immediately.
Trumpets.
They make your eardrums bleed, make your heart race–you hadn’t been prepared for this, hadn’t been prepared for the memories that this sound would unknowingly bring back.
when gabe came to get me,
i hadn’t showered for four days.
i was in pajamas, and in the middle of
a bowl of ramen that i made too watery.
(it was a cardiac arrest, they’ll find out later,
even though i was too young,
even though the only thing on tv at that moment
were reruns of spongebob.
i guess being unlucky ran in my genes.)
“you want some?” i asked first. he grinned,
shook his four heads.
“do i have to?” i asked second as i stared at myself,
spittle collecting on my collarbone.
“uh huh” he said, tugging at my shirt “don’t worry.
it’ll be fun.”
i don’t want to be rude and insinuate that angels
can be wrong, but he was wrong.
there was nothing fun about hearing you say all the things
you wanted to, but never got a chance to, at my funeral.
there was nothing fun about seeing you wear all-black
when you always whined that it washed you out.
there was nothing fun about finding out that it will be years
and years and years until we can meet again.
nothing fun about realizing that’s enough time
for you to live fulfilled.
enough time for you to forget.
to love people
who aren’t me.
maybe this is selfish – who am i kidding, it is – but
gabe reassures me it’s not a sin.
(i’m dead now, after all.)
and i guess this implies i wish you died with me
instead of having a long and happy life.
think it if you must. it doesn’t matter.
nothing does.
heaven’s not that much better than earth
when you’re all alone.
Carl loved trumpets. He was in his school band, he practiced at home, he brought his trumpet everywhere. People called him a prodigy. He had won 13 competitions with them.
Water Poles
Who would think that a stencil would become a decorating tool…I picked it up…turned in around and combined the letters and I used it to make and outstanding decorative boarder.
Teka
the blaring braying trumpets of Joshua that brings the walls a-tumbling down; the crisp, lead-dog brass of the symphony; my brother; grade-A mainstream instrument choice; the daring, leader of the jazz scene full of
mike
do you hear what I hear, the sound of music as the trumpets blow at Christmas time, imagining the story of the three wise men.
Teka
do you heard what I heard, the sound of music at Christmas time….imagine the story of the three wise men and hearing the sound of the trumpets blowing.
Teka
blared and called to me. the army led by destiny, i fell on my sword to find you and win you back. i loved the red in your eyes and the blue in your hear and the trumpets called to me in the morning and at night
James Whatley
Trumpest are naive, because trumpeters are naive. They are so rumorous but in the end nothing but a snap comes out of them- that’s why trumpeters get mad for nothing and so damn cocky, because they think that when they speak they are actually playing their trumpets and everyone can here them.
Bill
as we sat hand in hand, waiting for the game to come to an end, a fair end, the stadium lights began to dim, with the final over that hung over the team, with every ball hit, my heart raced, and i held onto his hand tighter, as the last ball was thrown, the batsman hit is with a swooosh, crossing the anxious hands of the fielder, towards the boundary line, and it was a 4! as we jumped up in glee, the last trumpet sounded.. ending the game!
The sound of trumpets makes me think of Christmas.
beth
That noise – I know that noise. The trumpets. They were coming.
Mykah
Castiel whimpered as the sound came rushing back to him. All the noise, all the voices of his fallen brothers, the prayers of the humans. He fell to his knees and a single trumpet, clear as day burst through the din: Gabriel’s trumpet called them to battle.
Rachel
The FANFARE OF trumpets is loud and unblockable. Covering my ears does not help so I just go with them and walk in the other direction. Suddenly I realize the trumpets have a rhythm and a tune and a purpose. I shuffle my feet and turn around and walk towards them. Maybe it’s heaven , or maybe it’s just an annoying advert
Shakira
The trumpets heralded in great ceremony the arrival the of the liege. In reality horror trumpeted through the hearts of all those inside the city walls.
James Roy
Trumpets ain’t made of clay yo! They’re maybe not even made of anything – yeah, that’s right, they’re probably just a bunch of ideas.
The trumpets sounded in time with their approach and I felt my heart lurch from it’s place in my chest only to lodge itself in my throat. ‘She’s here, at last,’ I thought, my eyes clouding with tears.
‘She’s home.’
The green and bald stood fully erect, at attention, waiting for the order. The trumpets sound ringing in their ears, building up the sum of all their fears.
richard laperle
As Bryce sat down in his spot after maneuvering and winding through the music stands that threatened to collapse at any second, he took a deep breath and allowed himself a look behind him. It had become a game, you see, for Bryce to make up excuses for himself to oh so casually glance behind and allow his peripherals the pleasure of spotting Angela, the girl who played the triangle.
Angela Kessler
He kept blowing his own trumpet for no reason i could understand because no one else was interested.
Ninad
Somewhere, echoing over the craggy mountains, I heard the grainy call of the trumpets.
I hate trumpets:
the blaring sound of marching bands
where supposedly everyone is a dork
but at my school they were all rich
in order to afford their stupid trumpets
and i hated them especially during the
freezing warm performances.
This is in instrument that I associate with high schools band. I do not play this instrument. This is the type of instrument that I think of when I football.
The band started playing, their voices raised in triumphant praise. Shirley frowned, he really hated trumpets. Well he didn’t exactly hate them, but they did get on his nerves. Especially when they were praising something so silly.
Blaring, blazing–a cacophony of sound in your ears and you recognize it immediately.
Trumpets.
They make your eardrums bleed, make your heart race–you hadn’t been prepared for this, hadn’t been prepared for the memories that this sound would unknowingly bring back.
It was so moving listening to the band. The music was fantastic and the sound of the trumpets was amazing.
when gabe came to get me,
i hadn’t showered for four days.
i was in pajamas, and in the middle of
a bowl of ramen that i made too watery.
(it was a cardiac arrest, they’ll find out later,
even though i was too young,
even though the only thing on tv at that moment
were reruns of spongebob.
i guess being unlucky ran in my genes.)
“you want some?” i asked first. he grinned,
shook his four heads.
“do i have to?” i asked second as i stared at myself,
spittle collecting on my collarbone.
“uh huh” he said, tugging at my shirt “don’t worry.
it’ll be fun.”
i don’t want to be rude and insinuate that angels
can be wrong, but he was wrong.
there was nothing fun about hearing you say all the things
you wanted to, but never got a chance to, at my funeral.
there was nothing fun about seeing you wear all-black
when you always whined that it washed you out.
there was nothing fun about finding out that it will be years
and years and years until we can meet again.
nothing fun about realizing that’s enough time
for you to live fulfilled.
enough time for you to forget.
to love people
who aren’t me.
maybe this is selfish – who am i kidding, it is – but
gabe reassures me it’s not a sin.
(i’m dead now, after all.)
and i guess this implies i wish you died with me
instead of having a long and happy life.
think it if you must. it doesn’t matter.
nothing does.
heaven’s not that much better than earth
when you’re all alone.
Carl loved trumpets. He was in his school band, he practiced at home, he brought his trumpet everywhere. People called him a prodigy. He had won 13 competitions with them.
Who would think that a stencil would become a decorating tool…I picked it up…turned in around and combined the letters and I used it to make and outstanding decorative boarder.
the blaring braying trumpets of Joshua that brings the walls a-tumbling down; the crisp, lead-dog brass of the symphony; my brother; grade-A mainstream instrument choice; the daring, leader of the jazz scene full of
do you hear what I hear, the sound of music as the trumpets blow at Christmas time, imagining the story of the three wise men.
do you heard what I heard, the sound of music at Christmas time….imagine the story of the three wise men and hearing the sound of the trumpets blowing.
blared and called to me. the army led by destiny, i fell on my sword to find you and win you back. i loved the red in your eyes and the blue in your hear and the trumpets called to me in the morning and at night
Trumpest are naive, because trumpeters are naive. They are so rumorous but in the end nothing but a snap comes out of them- that’s why trumpeters get mad for nothing and so damn cocky, because they think that when they speak they are actually playing their trumpets and everyone can here them.
as we sat hand in hand, waiting for the game to come to an end, a fair end, the stadium lights began to dim, with the final over that hung over the team, with every ball hit, my heart raced, and i held onto his hand tighter, as the last ball was thrown, the batsman hit is with a swooosh, crossing the anxious hands of the fielder, towards the boundary line, and it was a 4! as we jumped up in glee, the last trumpet sounded.. ending the game!
The sound of trumpets makes me think of Christmas.
That noise – I know that noise. The trumpets. They were coming.
Castiel whimpered as the sound came rushing back to him. All the noise, all the voices of his fallen brothers, the prayers of the humans. He fell to his knees and a single trumpet, clear as day burst through the din: Gabriel’s trumpet called them to battle.
The FANFARE OF trumpets is loud and unblockable. Covering my ears does not help so I just go with them and walk in the other direction. Suddenly I realize the trumpets have a rhythm and a tune and a purpose. I shuffle my feet and turn around and walk towards them. Maybe it’s heaven , or maybe it’s just an annoying advert
The trumpets heralded in great ceremony the arrival the of the liege. In reality horror trumpeted through the hearts of all those inside the city walls.
Trumpets ain’t made of clay yo! They’re maybe not even made of anything – yeah, that’s right, they’re probably just a bunch of ideas.
Trumpets were played as I tried to sleep.
The trumpets sounded in time with their approach and I felt my heart lurch from it’s place in my chest only to lodge itself in my throat. ‘She’s here, at last,’ I thought, my eyes clouding with tears.
‘She’s home.’
They blared as walls crumpled, crumbled. Shrill, they forced drums to beat in ears, echoing pulse, heart, breath.
The green and bald stood fully erect, at attention, waiting for the order. The trumpets sound ringing in their ears, building up the sum of all their fears.
As Bryce sat down in his spot after maneuvering and winding through the music stands that threatened to collapse at any second, he took a deep breath and allowed himself a look behind him. It had become a game, you see, for Bryce to make up excuses for himself to oh so casually glance behind and allow his peripherals the pleasure of spotting Angela, the girl who played the triangle.
He kept blowing his own trumpet for no reason i could understand because no one else was interested.
Somewhere, echoing over the craggy mountains, I heard the grainy call of the trumpets.
“They’re close,” she whispered beside me.
trumpets sound like rage.
they breath fire
and warn the innocents.
they celebrate the victories, and mourn the lost masses.
I hate trumpets:
the blaring sound of marching bands
where supposedly everyone is a dork
but at my school they were all rich
in order to afford their stupid trumpets
and i hated them especially during the
freezing warm performances.