The noises just wouldn’t stop. No matter how hard I tried, they persisted. Each second became louder than the last. And as if I had blaring trumpets between my ears, my thoughts were completely drowned out.
Sounding out triumphantly the trumpets made their debut. Ta Da! They were magnificent and she gloried in their sound. Then she rolled over in bed and covered her head with her pillow. Yuck! Another day at work and she did not want to get up!
When all is said and done
The trumpets sound and I have won
It is no matter what you may think
For the only thing that matters is I, the mink
Your stupid games were no match for me
And now I’ll spend my days lost out at sea
None of it matters now
And I’m happy somehow
For all of the absurdity has all gone away
It’s the end of the world, the end of today
I wonder how some people really like to blow thier own trumpets. Misconstrued facts, hidden truths, and plain gibberish all in an effort to create a hype around them. This behavior to seek mass attention, and or proclaim alpha male status is more funny than musical
As the trumpetd sounded, I walked down the aisle and decided this was it. I was finally king. It was a big moment for me, I mean not everyone becomes king, you know. But I kind of brushed it off of my shoulders.
The sound of the trumpets blared in my ear. So loud. They won’t stop! Boom! Blare! Blast! Blast! BLAST! Trumpunich the trumpets? Blah! More like deadly. The sound of Satan himself. The call of the devil. So loud. What a headache I have.
The trumpets sounded with raw arrogance at the arrival of the king of Samshire. He was indeed a humble man, but his Court felt it necessary that he appear to be the opposite.
One day the trumpets will blare and all will fall dead. That is what they teach us. At least, that is what they taught me, when I was younger and in school. Live for that day, because everything before isn’t real. There isn’t anything scarier than when the trumpets are blown by the angel who here goes by the name Raphael. B
The Christmas music blared with trumpets in the background. As I sat alone in my new apartment I wondered, is this really all life has to give me? Am I really going to sacrifice my happiness to work towards my lifelong dream and goal? Sometimes, without the answers it is hard to carry on. Someday, maybe once I reach this dream, misery won’t be my only companion.
The dump truck backed up to the canal and beeped in a shrill tenor. The whirring hydraulics pushed out a long alto moan and the old hinges of the hopper groaned in baritone. A pile of old instruments shifted with the gravity, shuffling like soft brushes on symbols. In a staccato rhythm they splashed into the water. The rushing air from their fall pushed through them and was molded into the faintest hum, heard only by nearby dogs. Then, in the silence, they sunk to the bottom.
I used to love playing the trumpet. But something’s changed. Everything changes, I guess. But this was different. It was like, everyone expected me to play the trumpet and I liked it at first. But then, I just fell out. But, everybody still expected me to be the best. But I can’t. Because I just don’t want to.
Trumpets sound from castles and temples. How is it that the Mormons are the inheritors of all things fantasy medieval, outside of literature, in America. Although fiction is apparently their forte in many respects.
my son Nolan plays the trumpet. I do not consider myself to be a big fan of the brass family, but I sometimes really enjoy the sound. Today, while running I consciously thought how much I enjoyed this trumpet in a rap song of all things. Anyone who can play it, is
Trumpets, ruddy trumpets. They were all consuming, the fanfare erupted into the silence of the village. It was a summer evening and the birdsong would have been sweet but trumpets consumed it, gorging on the empty space and filling it with it’s obtrusive cadence. Sarah was sick of trumpets.
All she could hear was trumpets, all she knew was trumpets, if the brass band couldn’t stop soon she wasn’t sure how she’d survive the night. This was supposed to be her wedding, what idiot had agreed to her father playing? It’s not even like he’d been playing the trumpet for that long. She couldn’t believe her mother would allow it. But, there you go, whenever it would inconvenience Karen her Mother would embrace the nuisance.
“And the trumpets shall sound, and the millions will rise from their slumber, and revolt against the order of things. So the world shall see a fierceness it has never known, and chaos will reign: And this day shall be known forever as “Black Friday”
The roaring sound of trumpets is not the only thing he remembers. He remembers the smell of blood, he remembers the cries of those fallen men, he remembers the brutality.
I was greeted with a fanfare. As I held my arms wide to the sky, opening myself to my subjects, I smiled. It was a serene smile; I knew my place and accepted it wholeheartedly. Worship me, my people, and you shall be rewarded for your loyalty.
At one point in time, the trumpet was used to declare love for some. A man (or woman) would play a beautfiul tune in an ttempt to attract the opposite sex. This is how it used to be. But now a days, any person in the world will use a ‘trumpet’ to attract anyboy they can in order to have sex.
There was no fanfare; no trumpets announced their return, nor did any people throw up their hands or cheer.
The four of them waded their way through the heavy silence of the onlookers. The crowd of hundreds pressed up against each other to move out of the way of the slowly approaching group of ragged adventurers.
Norine’s skin went hot. She felt needles pin their way up her neck. Her wrist twitched for her bow, a defensive reaction.
Amelia led the triangle shaped posse through, her burning glare never leaving the eyes of the Archduke at the top of the Hundred Steps.
(Trumpets)The metal was cold against my lips as I tried to keep in time with the rest of the band. I’d practiced way too often to mess up now. How could this be happening? My conductor gave me the eye, the one we often teased each other about, and I tried to catch up. Didn’t work.
The trumpets let out a loud bellow as the princess delicately walked outside. She smiled a sweet smile, deaf to their blow. Ever since she was four she’d been deaf. She simply couldn’t hear. The people were non the wiser.
When I was a lad I liked to play trumpets. I lived in germany and wore cable knit sweaters even though I could have dressed better I played trumpets because they were my only friend. Until I realized that this was the end. I know this all sounds sad but I was just a wee lad.
The flowers were trumpet-shaped. It seemed like they were calling, their lavender petals taut and folded back, all the better to scream, but they were silent and still.
A chorus of trumpets greet us as we emerge from the tunnel. The sound richochets around us and I smile. The sun warms my skin and I squeeze his hand in mine. The green of the field, the blue and white of the bleachers, the good of the trumpets. It’s as if every sense in my body is heightened and expanded. It’s as if I’m in a dream.
And as the trumpets blare again I can’t help but remember how you used to sing when we were happily sharing a life for the first time. I remember the music you used to play as I begged sleep to take me once more, but you never seemed to give me up before you had the chance to call me beautiful or angel once again as you whispered sweet dreams my love. And now I have to ask where you have gone and what the trumpets’ song makes you think of.
All I could hear as I walked through the school courtyard was the blare of the trumpets as the senior band practiced. I envy them that simple privilege… to be allowed into the inner sanctum of a group… to be included in an activity with others because we share a common interest. I’ve seen so many friendships formed here – to be united with another… what a simple joy.
Trumpets sounded on the day you entered Heaven. You were missed on Earth but souls awaited your presence for much longer than you realize…. Much longer and much more than you missed them, which I know seemed like eons.
Fuck that
if you hear the trumpet
you best polish your innards
because the air will flow through you in the passing way
its going to burst out to the adjoining wall
clear your soul this way again
your man has already gone mad
if.
The trumpets sounded as the procession of knights came forth from the castle. They were covered in blood. The battle had taken days. The sun struck them and they looked eerily like a river of blood flowing among the living.
“Three,” the conductor replied. “One for each part.”
“But the script demands a whirlwind of trumpets!” the director cried out, flailing his arms. “How the Hell can we concoct that sort of sound with a mere trio?”
“You don’t understand,” said the conductor, smiling as she adjusted her bowtie. “These three women will give you a sound that not even a dozen horns can replicate, even on their best night.”
The trumpets roared. It was finally time!
We started walking, firmly. Unsheathing our swords and pointing them to the sky, the sun rays glimmering on their tips and leaving our opponents squinting. We had no chance, we knew it.But we kept walking together, heads held high.
The past decade brought us together and now it was time to show the meaning of a fellowship as high hopes and spirits kept us in our lines, together.
Together we were brought once, together we were now and henceforth together we would stay. Forever. Whether we perished on the battlefield or we let the trumpets roar again, as a sign of victory.
It was time! It was the time to love.
The trumpets burst into the sky with their noise and the musicians played them like they were their souls.
The noises just wouldn’t stop. No matter how hard I tried, they persisted. Each second became louder than the last. And as if I had blaring trumpets between my ears, my thoughts were completely drowned out.
Sounding out triumphantly the trumpets made their debut. Ta Da! They were magnificent and she gloried in their sound. Then she rolled over in bed and covered her head with her pillow. Yuck! Another day at work and she did not want to get up!
When all is said and done
The trumpets sound and I have won
It is no matter what you may think
For the only thing that matters is I, the mink
Your stupid games were no match for me
And now I’ll spend my days lost out at sea
None of it matters now
And I’m happy somehow
For all of the absurdity has all gone away
It’s the end of the world, the end of today
I wonder how some people really like to blow thier own trumpets. Misconstrued facts, hidden truths, and plain gibberish all in an effort to create a hype around them. This behavior to seek mass attention, and or proclaim alpha male status is more funny than musical
As the trumpetd sounded, I walked down the aisle and decided this was it. I was finally king. It was a big moment for me, I mean not everyone becomes king, you know. But I kind of brushed it off of my shoulders.
The sound of the trumpets blared in my ear. So loud. They won’t stop! Boom! Blare! Blast! Blast! BLAST! Trumpunich the trumpets? Blah! More like deadly. The sound of Satan himself. The call of the devil. So loud. What a headache I have.
The trumpets sounded with raw arrogance at the arrival of the king of Samshire. He was indeed a humble man, but his Court felt it necessary that he appear to be the opposite.
One day the trumpets will blare and all will fall dead. That is what they teach us. At least, that is what they taught me, when I was younger and in school. Live for that day, because everything before isn’t real. There isn’t anything scarier than when the trumpets are blown by the angel who here goes by the name Raphael. B
squeaky. brassy and louder than you’d think. High school marching band. obnoxiously pleasant, kind of.
The Christmas music blared with trumpets in the background. As I sat alone in my new apartment I wondered, is this really all life has to give me? Am I really going to sacrifice my happiness to work towards my lifelong dream and goal? Sometimes, without the answers it is hard to carry on. Someday, maybe once I reach this dream, misery won’t be my only companion.
I was in band class one morning and the trumpets were fouling up again. Why don’t they practice like the rest of us?
The dump truck backed up to the canal and beeped in a shrill tenor. The whirring hydraulics pushed out a long alto moan and the old hinges of the hopper groaned in baritone. A pile of old instruments shifted with the gravity, shuffling like soft brushes on symbols. In a staccato rhythm they splashed into the water. The rushing air from their fall pushed through them and was molded into the faintest hum, heard only by nearby dogs. Then, in the silence, they sunk to the bottom.
I used to love playing the trumpet. But something’s changed. Everything changes, I guess. But this was different. It was like, everyone expected me to play the trumpet and I liked it at first. But then, I just fell out. But, everybody still expected me to be the best. But I can’t. Because I just don’t want to.
Trumpets sound from castles and temples. How is it that the Mormons are the inheritors of all things fantasy medieval, outside of literature, in America. Although fiction is apparently their forte in many respects.
my son Nolan plays the trumpet. I do not consider myself to be a big fan of the brass family, but I sometimes really enjoy the sound. Today, while running I consciously thought how much I enjoyed this trumpet in a rap song of all things. Anyone who can play it, is
Trumpets, ruddy trumpets. They were all consuming, the fanfare erupted into the silence of the village. It was a summer evening and the birdsong would have been sweet but trumpets consumed it, gorging on the empty space and filling it with it’s obtrusive cadence. Sarah was sick of trumpets.
All she could hear was trumpets, all she knew was trumpets, if the brass band couldn’t stop soon she wasn’t sure how she’d survive the night. This was supposed to be her wedding, what idiot had agreed to her father playing? It’s not even like he’d been playing the trumpet for that long. She couldn’t believe her mother would allow it. But, there you go, whenever it would inconvenience Karen her Mother would embrace the nuisance.
“And the trumpets shall sound, and the millions will rise from their slumber, and revolt against the order of things. So the world shall see a fierceness it has never known, and chaos will reign: And this day shall be known forever as “Black Friday”
The roaring sound of trumpets is not the only thing he remembers. He remembers the smell of blood, he remembers the cries of those fallen men, he remembers the brutality.
I was greeted with a fanfare. As I held my arms wide to the sky, opening myself to my subjects, I smiled. It was a serene smile; I knew my place and accepted it wholeheartedly. Worship me, my people, and you shall be rewarded for your loyalty.
At one point in time, the trumpet was used to declare love for some. A man (or woman) would play a beautfiul tune in an ttempt to attract the opposite sex. This is how it used to be. But now a days, any person in the world will use a ‘trumpet’ to attract anyboy they can in order to have sex.
There was no fanfare; no trumpets announced their return, nor did any people throw up their hands or cheer.
The four of them waded their way through the heavy silence of the onlookers. The crowd of hundreds pressed up against each other to move out of the way of the slowly approaching group of ragged adventurers.
Norine’s skin went hot. She felt needles pin their way up her neck. Her wrist twitched for her bow, a defensive reaction.
Amelia led the triangle shaped posse through, her burning glare never leaving the eyes of the Archduke at the top of the Hundred Steps.
(Trumpets)The metal was cold against my lips as I tried to keep in time with the rest of the band. I’d practiced way too often to mess up now. How could this be happening? My conductor gave me the eye, the one we often teased each other about, and I tried to catch up. Didn’t work.
The trumpets let out a loud bellow as the princess delicately walked outside. She smiled a sweet smile, deaf to their blow. Ever since she was four she’d been deaf. She simply couldn’t hear. The people were non the wiser.
I hear them trumpets way up high
golden notes, deep and loyal
resounding through the valleys and mountainside
calling all the farmers from their toil
What?
What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?What?
Elephants trumpet. Are some more musical than others. Do they teach their babies? Do the babies recognise their mums’s sound?
Trumpets can be shrill at times. They’re best in a brass quartet like the Salvation Army at Christmas time. I prefer the saxophone over the trumpet.
When I was a lad I liked to play trumpets. I lived in germany and wore cable knit sweaters even though I could have dressed better I played trumpets because they were my only friend. Until I realized that this was the end. I know this all sounds sad but I was just a wee lad.
There they are.
Blowing lovesick songs of
desolation and
triumph.
I sit here, still,
listening to broken duets
carried down this broken breeze
The flowers were trumpet-shaped. It seemed like they were calling, their lavender petals taut and folded back, all the better to scream, but they were silent and still.
The bees answered.
A chorus of trumpets greet us as we emerge from the tunnel. The sound richochets around us and I smile. The sun warms my skin and I squeeze his hand in mine. The green of the field, the blue and white of the bleachers, the good of the trumpets. It’s as if every sense in my body is heightened and expanded. It’s as if I’m in a dream.
And as the trumpets blare again I can’t help but remember how you used to sing when we were happily sharing a life for the first time. I remember the music you used to play as I begged sleep to take me once more, but you never seemed to give me up before you had the chance to call me beautiful or angel once again as you whispered sweet dreams my love. And now I have to ask where you have gone and what the trumpets’ song makes you think of.
All I could hear as I walked through the school courtyard was the blare of the trumpets as the senior band practiced. I envy them that simple privilege… to be allowed into the inner sanctum of a group… to be included in an activity with others because we share a common interest. I’ve seen so many friendships formed here – to be united with another… what a simple joy.
Trumpets sounded on the day you entered Heaven. You were missed on Earth but souls awaited your presence for much longer than you realize…. Much longer and much more than you missed them, which I know seemed like eons.
Fuck that
if you hear the trumpet
you best polish your innards
because the air will flow through you in the passing way
its going to burst out to the adjoining wall
clear your soul this way again
your man has already gone mad
if.
The trumpets sounded as the procession of knights came forth from the castle. They were covered in blood. The battle had taken days. The sun struck them and they looked eerily like a river of blood flowing among the living.
“How many trumpets do we have in the pit?”
“Three,” the conductor replied. “One for each part.”
“But the script demands a whirlwind of trumpets!” the director cried out, flailing his arms. “How the Hell can we concoct that sort of sound with a mere trio?”
“You don’t understand,” said the conductor, smiling as she adjusted her bowtie. “These three women will give you a sound that not even a dozen horns can replicate, even on their best night.”
The trumpets roared. It was finally time!
We started walking, firmly. Unsheathing our swords and pointing them to the sky, the sun rays glimmering on their tips and leaving our opponents squinting. We had no chance, we knew it.But we kept walking together, heads held high.
The past decade brought us together and now it was time to show the meaning of a fellowship as high hopes and spirits kept us in our lines, together.
Together we were brought once, together we were now and henceforth together we would stay. Forever. Whether we perished on the battlefield or we let the trumpets roar again, as a sign of victory.
It was time! It was the time to love.