NOTES…….

An argumental poem by Jennifer Bidlingmeyer and Emily Hartman

Tubas are cool,

Bari sax, too,

But the bottom line is,

And to Emily the flute:

NOT!

Your tootling flute

You may think cute,

But as everyone knows,

Brasses are astute.

Who cares about astuteness?

People want cuteness!

But Emily, the point,

(Not the one upon your head)

Is that, without the brasses,

The band would be dead.

Jenni dear, you’re being quite silly

The brasses may provide sound

But the cake would be w/out icing

If the flutes weren’t around!

Emily, you’re on a tangent

And the issue, you’ve obscured.

Brass is best, deserves a medal (metal??)

Silly goose!

If you got rid of flutes,

People would sue!

(No one would come to see brass in their boots!)

That vs. the band,

Flutes are a minority.

So are baritones!

In fact, if there was a fight,

Flutes would come out on top.

We have the majority of might

33 vs. 7 is no contest.

Baritones, but also, too,

Dearie, before you prove

how good the brass are

You need to first go with the groove

And learn that good grammar!

Grammar does not have a place

In music, don-cha-know

The best part of it is the bass,

Without a hope, Without a clue

You bass players would be

With us trebles to guide you!

Without us trebles to guide you!

Your wit is swift, you rhymes are subtle,

I think you should work on your rebuttal

Perhaps a joint

Would loosen your bad ideas

You might finally get the point

And see how great us flutes are

No rhyme, no time,

No meter, either

My final statement is:

You wish!

My final statement is:

You FISH!

Thou cream-faced loon

You’d go to the moon

If it would prove your case.

Too bad you’re wrong!

You rock, you stone,

This seems to be degenerating

Into a quoting war

Therefore, I say,

"He was the greatest Roman of them all!"

(‘cause he played the flute!)

The greatest Roman of the mall?

Who said that? I say.

Well, since you’ve cried "Havoc!"

And let loose the dogs of war!

I’ll have to propose a rumble

Over you the flutes would soar!

And you can wear hats in school.

You idle fools,

Who rant and drool;

Why think you quite the poets?

You, my friends,

must try again,

The End!

You know, dear friend,

I read the poem as I penned,

And at the end,

It says, "Try again."

Shall we?

Heehee?

Of course, the topic

Won’t have to be flutes.

We could talk about men

(the big, lumbering brutes!),

We could talk about carpets,

Or kings or the sky.

We could talk about ferrets,

Or dragons that fly.

We could talk about college,

Or Christmas or rings

Or just about any ol’

Manner of things!

What say you, ol’ buddy,

Ol’ pal, ol’ friend?

Shall we just let this little

Masterpiece end?

Or shall we continue,

‘Til the end of our days,

To make our lives rhyme

In all kinds of ways?

So, Jenni dear,

Rhymes seem like the thing to do

And never have been

Even a bit too-too.

If you will put up

With my awful meter,

Let us surely try again

And watch out for the purple people eater!

There! Behind you!

He comes swiftly in the night

Mumbling, bumbling, not at all

Inspiring Fright.

Quickly, shoo him away

Then let us begin once more

To travel with Puff

Toward the gold-encrusted shore.

When you, dear Em,

Have got a man,

There is no need to fear…

For he’s the man,

And you, the boss,

(Now, wipe away that sneer!)

If you wish to flirt with

Or have lunch avec un man

Who is not your own,

As long as your intentions

Are clear as crystal streams,

And you’ve no thought to roam,

Then flirt, my dear,

Enjoy your life

He should not tie you down.

For if you fight,

Or if you part,

(Heaven strike me down

For suggesting this my dear)

But then you’d be left

To flirt once more

Your skills all rusty and impure

So practice now,

On him, and them,

Have fun and laugh a lot.

As long as you keep your emotions straight

(Or at least…don’t get caught!)