FINGER STUBS AND MY RECKONING WITH CHOPIN

Chopin cut off all my fingers because of the noise I made,

He said no amount of his lessons would give my talent aid,

Now, with just my 10 finger stubs,

I work at the gym giving rubs,

I fixed Chopin; the last lesson he gave me, I never paid.

THE BAT AND THE TOY PIANO MAKE BLING

There is a little bat that likes to loudly sing,

After eating some bugs, he will do his sing thing,

He will belt out in soprano,

While I play on my toy piano,

Since we've been on YouTube, we've been showered with bling.

LIVE AT THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND BAR, GRILL & TAKE-OUT

I went to the "Country of the Blind," where the one-eyed man, he sings,

But, he didn't sing for nothing, and you had to pay with blings,

So, all my golden jewelry including my piercings and my rings,

I gladly turned it over, and the one-eyed man sings things,

The one eyed-man sings country western, while on tiny bells he dings,

Lastly, the one -eyed man walked off stage, and on his bag of gold, he clings.

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CRUSHED DREAMS OF THE CELLIST

My cello was run over by a sports car,

It's destroyed, now I won't be a cellist star,

I thought it wouldn't get injured,

So it was never insured,

I went from concerts, to tending a dive bar.

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WAGNER AIN'T NO BRAHMS

I went to the Symphony to hear me some Brahms,

When I get really stressed out, the Brahms music calms,

But, as the Valkyries roared,

My blood pressure soared,

Both armrests got all wet, from my tight gripping palms.

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CONCERT AND DINNER DATE MUSIC

Ferris played masterfully, an ancient instrument, called the harpsichord,

The elegant music was comforting, enchanting; a good soul's reward,

The enchantment was fleeting,

When Ferris finished, we went eating,

The music tape played at the restaurant, made my ears and taste buds, dead board.

I WRITE ETUDES FOR DUDES

I took some time to write some trumpet etudes,

They are used for practice by trumpeter dudes,

Separating men from boys,

They sounded like noise,

As controversial as museum art nudes. 

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I KNEW A BANJO PLAYER NAMED CLAY

I knew a banjo player named Clay,
And, boy could that hillbilly play,
From Mozart to Bach,
From Bluegrass to rock,
His music had something to say.

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DEAD DREAMS

I loved playing my dad's trumpet, and hoped a musician, I could one day, be,

When dad died, we moved to grandma's house, and she said my noise made her head dizzy,

Mom took my trumpet away,

She sold it cheap, on eBay,

The one activity I'm allowed, is watching soaps with grandma, on tv. 

BOURBON SAILING DID NOT END WELL FOR ME

My beautiful, brand new sailboat was seven meters long,

I named her after a punk band, The Seven Meters Song,

Because of bourbon and tea,

I was lost out on the sea,

And, ended up on the island where they worshiped King Kong.

I BLEW MY HORN AND NO ONE CAME

I played a trumpet solo at a theatre in Western Maine,

No audience showed up, so I felt intense, rejection pain,

The concert tickets were free,

If no one showed up, it's me,

What's more, there is a raging snowstorm, and I must catch a plane.

THE JAZZ BAND

I rocked out with tones on my electric guitar,

In a jazz band that played at a hillbilly bar,

We had a great base,

His solos were ace,

Our drummer was so poor, he lived under my car.

WITH TONE AND CONE, I WON FIRST BONE

I auditioned for the local orchestra, to play 1st chair trombone,

I played a song called "Om Papa", with my bone muted by a mute cone,

It took a little while, 

For my " Om Papa" style,

To captivate the judges, with my interpretation, style and tone.

MY FLUGELHORN PAID FOR RENT AND FOOD

All I want for Christmas is a brand new flugelhorn,

A truck ran over my old one, and made my horn unborn,

I play my horn at the corner and get tossed one cent,

When I get enough pennies, I go and pay my rent,

If I have money left over, I can sup on canned cream corn.

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BROTHER BRAT

My trumpet notes are really flat,

Since my brother beat it with a bat,

He beat my oboe on the floor,

And slammed my trombone in ma's truck door,

My big brother is a bully brat.

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UNHINGED TRUMPETER

Tory the 1st chair trumpeter, became quite unhinged,

Because on Johann S. Bach, all night she super binged,

Her lips were sore,

Her tongue was tore,

She started Toccata and Fugue, and her fingers cringed.

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THE ROCK NESTERS

I listened to the band, Rock Nesters, when I was a tween, rage boy,

They were an aging birdie band, but they sang of true love and joy,

The Rock Nesters Band, 

Toured across the land,

They should have lasted longer, but each loved their manager,

 Coy Roy.  

MY PICCOLO VS A TRUMPET CARILLON

A trumpet carillon played all through the night,
They kept me awake which started a fight,
But their brass horns hit true,
Making me all black and blue,
And, up my nose my piccolo fit real tight.

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MY TRUMPETER'S LULLABY SAID, "NIGHT, NIGHT", LONG AGO

I stored away my trumpet, for the last thirteen odd years,

I got it out to play, but it just made noise to my ears,

My lips are all soft blubber,

And my tongue, solid rubber,

I did sound much better after I drank one million beers.

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THE CHOIRMASTER

I directed the local, township choir,

For each tunes perfection, I did aspire,

If the notes sounded extremely bad,

I sent email, with emoji, sad,

And did a check of each piano wire.