I finger the valves. They are cold and uninviting to the touch. I take a breath. My lips form an embouchure. I blow. At first there is noise, Much noise, Then the music starts. It flows through my veins, Coursing through my body. I play from the heart. I love it, No, Need it. Music is me, I am the music. I need it, I want it, I can’t get enough, I play until my heart swells And my body sways. I feel it in my bones, I feel it in my toes, I reach deep, And pull the music from me. It keeps coming, I play the notes. But they aren’t just notes. It’s a beautiful, swirling music. It’s a loud leaping leopard, And a quiet mouse, It’s for everyone, It’s for me. It fills my room, My valves are fluid. My fingers dance across them. Another melody, It sounds like a trundling tortoise, Marching home. It goes high, It goes low, My lips never slow. I breathe in, And out. In and out. The music ripples like a river, Creating smiling pools of pleasure in my heart. I can’t let it stop. I won’t let it stop. Music is me, I am the music. Leah Berger, 12Shelburne, Vermont
Poetry-Music-and-Dance
Sneeze!!!
Everyone was startled at the Loud BBBLLLAAAGGGHHHH sound. I had just sneezed Into my trombone! Instantly, most of the class turned And looked my direction. What awkward timing! We were all in the middle of playing a song. I felt kind of embarrassed. I knew that was one thing I wouldn’t do again. But I let out a chuckle, As the band class Paused for a moment. The moment passed. The band played on. Jonathan Hall, 12Granger, Iowa
Bass Clef
A curiously-shaped case, elongated ebony Buckles, that when opened reveal gleaming gold Nestled in velvet, radiant brass glints in twists and turns Narrow pipes widen to a vast bell Pieced together with knobs and screws What will this clanky contraption do? Blowing begins, a sound like an old man coughing Spit settling in the pipes, clogging and choking Frustration, tantrums, dismantling is in sight Walk around, wait a while, at last it calls me back With pursed lips and perseverance An astounding melodious sound echoes, ringing through the room Note after note, the slide swings My hands and mouth laboring in unity At last I feel connected to this once awkward hunk of brass It’s no longer just an instrument, but a portal To my joy of music Elliott McCloskey, 13Eagle, Idaho
