Some writings, as requested
We stood in our formation of lines, impatiently waiting for the judges to allow us onto the field. In the bottom of my stomach, familiar butterflies of anxiety fluttered endlessly. Light laughter and nervous chatter assaulted my ears, making the wait worse. I wanted to spin for the audience, pour my heart into my passion.
A big man, wearing impractically formal clothes, approached my band director, Mr. Askew. They spoke briefly and Mr. Askew signaled to the drumline section leader to begin a rhythmic beat on his snare drum. In unison, the band moved forward. Our stage awaited our performance.
As I marched, I inhaled the sweet scent of fresh-cut grass. The ground beneath my feet was firm and well taken care of. My head faced forward, but my eyes were looking for divots or props left from the last band. To my relief, I spotted nothing that might cause a problem during the show. At once, we halted and the assistant band director gave us his words of encouragement: “You know what you have to do. Do it.”
The color guard scattered and I focused my mind onto what needed to be done. As color guard captain, I made sure all equipment was placed in the right spot. I double and triple checked a list of things that ran through my mind. I assured myself that the show would go well. “Do it,” I repeated confidently.
Positions were taken and we waited for the head judge to indicate that all judges were ready. He raised his arm and nodded. “The judges are ready!” The announcer’s resounding voice echoed across the field. “Randy Levine, is your band ready?” I heard a faint chuckle at the mispronunciation of our drum major’s name. He saluted the audience and removed his shako from his head. “Century High School, you may take the field in Championship competition.”
As Mike played the first powerful note of his melodic solo, the show commenced. The audience sucked their breath into their lungs as they waited. Randy raised his arms and began the steady tempo. The voices of the woodwinds enveloped me as I marched backward into the center of the field. The midnight blue and silver silks waved with the gentle, slow motions of the flags. Each simultaneously moved with the others and I prepared to toss mine.
The low brass created a climatic wait as the other girls moved with me to our places. As one, in the high point of the music, we released our flags into the air. They spiraled in unison twice and then came back into our hands with grace and ease. Each of us spun around and then froze in the same elegant position.
Polite claps scattered throughout the crowd and I smiled to myself. The show had only just begun. As the winds and color guard suspended the moment, the drumline tapped a light rhythm on the snares. Sounding like rain on a tin roof, their advance to the front of the field began. The color guard floated to the boundaries of the field like birds while the band stood in their formation.
I switched equipment and felt comforted by the familiar weight of my own rifle. I owned this show. Proving it would be the only thing I had to do. Confidently, I made my entrance back onto the field.
Immediately, the low brass and trumpets belted out a startling string of notes. Combined with the fast pace of the percussion, the quick allegro sound from the mellophones, and the harmonious melody played on the clarinets, the audience felt the rise of the opener. Certainly, this would be our best performance so far in the season.
The four-count hold of sound and movement created the effect of suspense. The instruments came back with a forceful blow that cut the audience to the quick. The rise in the music began again and I prepared myself to make the toss.
With a shrill cry from the lone piccolo, I pushed my rifle toward the brilliant stadium lights. They shone into my eyes, blinding me. Frantically, I thrust my arms into the air, hoping against hope that I might catch the wooden prop. Startled, I knew triumph when the rifle landed squarely into my hands with a snap along with the rest of the rifleline. I felt the rifle and I gripped it as I continued my movements. I glided through the rest of the work and then did my solo spin, signifying the end of the closer.
Most of the audience expected that to the end of the show, but we had one more surprise in store for them. The beat of the bass drum and rap of the tenors started the last section of our performance; the tag. The tempo created a fast and thrilling pace. The drumline moved as a whole backwards toward the band, who was coming forward. We had practiced this for hours on end. Would it be worth it? Would the performance be left in ruins by this very moment?
I concentrated on my body movements, but breathed a sigh of relief as the woodwinds and drumline passed easily through each other. I snapped my attention to my work. Picking up a different flag than before, I began to move it with the rest of the color guard.
The three shades of pale blue mixed together to enhance the fast-paced music. The swish of the flags sounded in sync and I moved with the harsh motions. The ending of our show became strong and powerful in the last thirty seconds. At once, with a signal from the baseline, I, along with three other members, released my flag to the sky while the others stood in their ending stances. With a loud and resounding “huh!” from the members of the percussion, I caught my flag perfectly and the show ended.
The sound of the roaring crowd drowned out the gasping breathes from the members on the field. Sweat and tears of happiness covered my face and when I licked my lips, I tasted the salty mixture. I marched off the field, my heart singing with joy. That had been my best show. I had performed.
♥ ♥ ♥
Dreams Don’t Lie
I'm falling,
the black darkness
envelops me.
watch me,
I'm gone.
disappear
Can't stay.
Won't work.
Can't work.
float away
like feathers in the wind
fade
into invisibility
hate him
love him
lust him
craziness,
confusion
surrounds me
hollow heart
beating heart
beats for him
only him
why wait?
Won't wait.
want him now
bite my lip
tap my foot
shake from head to toe
Won't wait.
Can't wait.
save me now
I'm lost
I'm found
he's mine
mine only
caged heart
closed-off soul
open your mind
set this free.
sleep,
forever,
dreams don't lie.
♥ ♥ ♥
ROUGH DRAFT
Oak Tree
The solid oak tree, a symbol of foundation
towers over me, its limbs reaching, grasping
toward the brillant blue sky.
Thin streams of sunlight dance like little fairies,
penetrating the shade created by the thick leaves.
Slowly, I inhale the scent of the green forest
and am calmed by the musky smell.
This is my haven, my sanctuary.
Please, if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to give them.
A big man, wearing impractically formal clothes, approached my band director, Mr. Askew. They spoke briefly and Mr. Askew signaled to the drumline section leader to begin a rhythmic beat on his snare drum. In unison, the band moved forward. Our stage awaited our performance.
As I marched, I inhaled the sweet scent of fresh-cut grass. The ground beneath my feet was firm and well taken care of. My head faced forward, but my eyes were looking for divots or props left from the last band. To my relief, I spotted nothing that might cause a problem during the show. At once, we halted and the assistant band director gave us his words of encouragement: “You know what you have to do. Do it.”
The color guard scattered and I focused my mind onto what needed to be done. As color guard captain, I made sure all equipment was placed in the right spot. I double and triple checked a list of things that ran through my mind. I assured myself that the show would go well. “Do it,” I repeated confidently.
Positions were taken and we waited for the head judge to indicate that all judges were ready. He raised his arm and nodded. “The judges are ready!” The announcer’s resounding voice echoed across the field. “Randy Levine, is your band ready?” I heard a faint chuckle at the mispronunciation of our drum major’s name. He saluted the audience and removed his shako from his head. “Century High School, you may take the field in Championship competition.”
As Mike played the first powerful note of his melodic solo, the show commenced. The audience sucked their breath into their lungs as they waited. Randy raised his arms and began the steady tempo. The voices of the woodwinds enveloped me as I marched backward into the center of the field. The midnight blue and silver silks waved with the gentle, slow motions of the flags. Each simultaneously moved with the others and I prepared to toss mine.
The low brass created a climatic wait as the other girls moved with me to our places. As one, in the high point of the music, we released our flags into the air. They spiraled in unison twice and then came back into our hands with grace and ease. Each of us spun around and then froze in the same elegant position.
Polite claps scattered throughout the crowd and I smiled to myself. The show had only just begun. As the winds and color guard suspended the moment, the drumline tapped a light rhythm on the snares. Sounding like rain on a tin roof, their advance to the front of the field began. The color guard floated to the boundaries of the field like birds while the band stood in their formation.
I switched equipment and felt comforted by the familiar weight of my own rifle. I owned this show. Proving it would be the only thing I had to do. Confidently, I made my entrance back onto the field.
Immediately, the low brass and trumpets belted out a startling string of notes. Combined with the fast pace of the percussion, the quick allegro sound from the mellophones, and the harmonious melody played on the clarinets, the audience felt the rise of the opener. Certainly, this would be our best performance so far in the season.
The four-count hold of sound and movement created the effect of suspense. The instruments came back with a forceful blow that cut the audience to the quick. The rise in the music began again and I prepared myself to make the toss.
With a shrill cry from the lone piccolo, I pushed my rifle toward the brilliant stadium lights. They shone into my eyes, blinding me. Frantically, I thrust my arms into the air, hoping against hope that I might catch the wooden prop. Startled, I knew triumph when the rifle landed squarely into my hands with a snap along with the rest of the rifleline. I felt the rifle and I gripped it as I continued my movements. I glided through the rest of the work and then did my solo spin, signifying the end of the closer.
Most of the audience expected that to the end of the show, but we had one more surprise in store for them. The beat of the bass drum and rap of the tenors started the last section of our performance; the tag. The tempo created a fast and thrilling pace. The drumline moved as a whole backwards toward the band, who was coming forward. We had practiced this for hours on end. Would it be worth it? Would the performance be left in ruins by this very moment?
I concentrated on my body movements, but breathed a sigh of relief as the woodwinds and drumline passed easily through each other. I snapped my attention to my work. Picking up a different flag than before, I began to move it with the rest of the color guard.
The three shades of pale blue mixed together to enhance the fast-paced music. The swish of the flags sounded in sync and I moved with the harsh motions. The ending of our show became strong and powerful in the last thirty seconds. At once, with a signal from the baseline, I, along with three other members, released my flag to the sky while the others stood in their ending stances. With a loud and resounding “huh!” from the members of the percussion, I caught my flag perfectly and the show ended.
The sound of the roaring crowd drowned out the gasping breathes from the members on the field. Sweat and tears of happiness covered my face and when I licked my lips, I tasted the salty mixture. I marched off the field, my heart singing with joy. That had been my best show. I had performed.
♥ ♥ ♥
Dreams Don’t Lie
I'm falling,
the black darkness
envelops me.
watch me,
I'm gone.
disappear
Can't stay.
Won't work.
Can't work.
float away
like feathers in the wind
fade
into invisibility
hate him
love him
lust him
craziness,
confusion
surrounds me
hollow heart
beating heart
beats for him
only him
why wait?
Won't wait.
want him now
bite my lip
tap my foot
shake from head to toe
Won't wait.
Can't wait.
save me now
I'm lost
I'm found
he's mine
mine only
caged heart
closed-off soul
open your mind
set this free.
sleep,
forever,
dreams don't lie.
♥ ♥ ♥
ROUGH DRAFT
Oak Tree
The solid oak tree, a symbol of foundation
towers over me, its limbs reaching, grasping
toward the brillant blue sky.
Thin streams of sunlight dance like little fairies,
penetrating the shade created by the thick leaves.
Slowly, I inhale the scent of the green forest
and am calmed by the musky smell.
This is my haven, my sanctuary.
Please, if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to give them.