Best Accordion Poems
In Ordinary Cups
The blades of winter grind into the ice
like blood on a bitten lip
two lovers spin and twirl
The days pass from teacup to teacup
in the peaceful silence of a solitary nest.
From gentle easy sunrise through sheer white
to the subtle fall of accordion night.
The echoes of childish laughter tremble
across the cracked surface of plaster walls.
Random squeaks in oaken floors return
the footfall of father, coming and going.
Long lost cat's paw prints impress carpet
dragons from Shanghai with ghostly ease,
and every loved and loving one returns
in peace, to rest beneath the tapping fingertips
upon a porcelain cup of tea from China.
11/9/10
Re-formed for Roy the Verse BELOW
The Teetotaler
The blades of winter grind into the ice, flirting
with the rosy cheek of puppy love, snow-crusted mittens
cling, like chapped skin on bitten lips; scarfs twirl; they spin.
As steam rises from the cup, reminisce, the first kiss,
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping
with the rosy cheek of puppy love; snow crusted mittens
cling. Black hair, fair skin, Irish-eyed, he cajoles a grin.
In the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping;
they spin. Assam seeps in porcelain, another cup
she pours. In an empty nest the cup clinks saucer,
in the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him.
From sunrise through fall of white, she sees the mist
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory.
She pours. In an empty nest, the cup clinks saucer.
The recollections of youthful laughter cut, tremble,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory.
Random squeaks in the oaken floors recall returns,
these images mist swirl from the tea-of family,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls.
A long lost cat walks shrouded through silent the scene
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips
these images mist-swirl from the tea-of family,
Every loved and loving one returns mist-born
within a porcelain cup of tea from China;
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips.
3/21/15
Categories:
accordion, memory,
Form:
Terzanelle
In open space free
Steel and glass enclosure
A small moving space confined
My possession of pride
Momentum propelled by young drive
A companion of trust.
The wingless bird
Tunneled timid air
Dust trailed the motion
Distance to sunrise horizon
Contracted like an accordion
Music under the bonnet.
Tread of twenty turning years
Took abrasive toll on patina of past
My adored Fiat Padmini senile
Rusted in immobile inertia
Old jalopy’s journey to junkyard
Raised the last dust
From the debris of my heart.
Written : July 22, 2019
May 19, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice L
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Categories:
accordion, analogy, car, old,
Form:
Free verse
Moonlight tango
It was a Saturday night, in Buenos Aires, 10:30pm, to be exact. It was a hot summers night, and you could see, and feel, the steam rising from the cobblestone street, here in La Boca barrio*. This is where it all began over a hundred years ago, and you can still see pictures of tangos faded heroes of yesteryear hanging on the walls.
The tango hall was packed with caballeros* in their suits and suspenders, and the damas* dressed in their red dresses, and stiletto heels. Still feels like the roaring 20's fedora hats and all! With a glance, and a flick of his baton, the orchestra leader motions to the bandoneon* player to begin, and so he starts dum dum dum, dum dum, dum dum dum.
The men tilt their fedoras slightly to one side, and stride ever so elegantly across the hall to pick their partner, and together they glide over the black and white checkered marble tile dance floor. The moonlight filters through the skylights, illuminating the smokey haze, that permeates the Milonga* hall.
The dancers have their gazes fixed on each other, and they move and glide to the incessant syncopated rhythm of the bandoneon. The violins and cellos join in with their plucking sound matching the tempo of 2-4 time. The dancers are dancing chest to chest, and then cheek to cheek, moving and gyrating, in time to the beat. As the tempo picks up the pace, arms and legs entwine, and then separate and entwine again. Spinning and twirling, strutting and whirling, they dance into a frenzy, at a frenetic speed, all the while staring with a look of love, (or at least of passionate desire) and what else would you expect to see dancing the moonlight tango?
* La Boca barrio- downtown neighborhood where tango was born
*Caballero(s)-gentleman(men)
*Damas- Ladies
*Milonga- tango dance hall
*Bandoneon- Small accordion style instrument.
John Derek Hamilton
February 07,2017
Categories:
accordion, dance, desire, men, moon,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
~
There are legends I've heard, old songs in the dark
of the old folklore tales, and the old gypsy trails,
where traveling caravans of rugged old wagons
still echo, with longing, in valleys below...
Where each treasured belonging,
was packed in a hurry
all the stories, all the worry, all the heartache would travel
all the sunshine, and the sorrow, celebrations to marvel
and dreams of tomorrow, were kept on the road....
The trail was a friend, and the loam was their home
Their needs were quite small,
They didn't expect, to be wealthy or rich.
All the riches they had, were scarce and so few...but they knew
that happiness could be the sun on your back, or a sky, wide and blue...
Not much to expect, and not even respect...
would be theirs to be owned.
As the twilight would come, under a red setting sun,
with the fragrance of loam, and the tired walk done...
they would bed under trees where the heather was strewn
they would burn a small fire, and prepare a warm meal,
with smoke in the breeze, while the whippoorwill's song
and accordion tunes, would drift by the face of the moon
On their heels was the dust, in the noontime sun
They rose with the dawn, and the gold of the past,
wearing the colorful hope of tomorrow's new task
Working wherever a meal, and dollar would come
Then moving again with their band until dusk
over, and over and over again...
Some called them tramps, or small petty thieves
But the heart of the matter, was the love of the sun,
the love of the life that came from the moon,
from the stars, and the grass, and the rust of the leaves
For those who encountered, and who gave them a chance
could learn many things by watching them dance,
and learn many things by hearing them sing,
and pay close attention to how much they knew
that fortune is something that comes from inside
It comes with the pride, of knowing what matters
The tattered, lost life of the old gypsy tribes ....
might be the saddest of stories, or loneliest song...
a song that has faded,
that has dwindled and died....
_______________________________________
5/18/12
101 in a ROW contest - 12
Sponsored by PD
Categories:
accordion, life, love, old, people,
Form:
Epic
I am unsure if there's some general word I am going for, but it best fits into the mix, and that would be, 'inspiration.' Having that said ... straight to the heart of the matter ... my mom.
Self-driven, accomplished, multi-talented, advocator of The Word, loving daughter, sister, cousin, wife, mother, aunty, grand and great-grandmother, and lastly, not a stranger to people kind of a person, more like, "Is she your mom!", kind of a people person, ... and kind too.
Her talents beyond The Word were in music. She plays any musical instrument, from a tambourine to an accordion, and the organ to the drums. Practically everything in between like a harmonica, but her ace was the ukelele and guitar.
She composed hundreds of songs, wrote all the lyrics and accompanying medleys.
Today, her compositions grace many churches in the country, besides Hawaii, since she traveled a lot being an Evangelical minister.
If it wasn't for poetry, I'd be a 60's year-old kid who never had a mom.
Categories:
accordion, appreciation, beautiful, bible, inspiration,
Form:
Free verse
Alligator with fierce but captivating eyes sometimes red glare
The Man with a title given by the High Priest of his Tribe
A man gifted at Birth for the World to be entertained by.
Though much more then the Entertainer inside ~
This Man a poet , a man of wisdom and power
Playing his cordless accordion or Guitar on the tiny Bar
Powerful stares , people dancing crazy underneath a moonlit sky
His trance , a spell on others , not to be denied
A Force stronger then you will know , be dared to reckon with
His name was given at birth for a reason , A Scorpio
Legacy throughout Europe and deep woods in the Bayou
Alligator loved by many , playing Jimmy Hendrix to Zydeco
Alligator , the man on fire , women can not help but desire
In Monterey Bay, California, he plays , magical surprise
be warned if you go with date to see him "Alligator "
At the end of your dancing to Zydeco and blues
your date will be in Trance , one glare into his eyes
she will be wanting He at the end of the night , your demise.
Categories:
accordion, birth, celebrity, culture, dance,
Form:
Epic
A is for Accordion, squeezing air with bellows
B is for Banjo, five strings plucked by bluegrass fellows
C is for Clavichord, keyboard with a metal sound
D is for the Drums which percussionists will pro-pound
E is for the English horn, using a double-reed
F is for a brass French horn, three valves is all you need
G is for Glockenspiel, metal bars arranged in rows
H is for Harmonica, both in and out she blows
I is for Ingoma, on which skins or hides are drummed
J is for Jinghu, just two strings that are bowed not strummed
K is for the Keytar, keyboard guitar held upright
L is for the Laser harp which plays on beams of light
M is for Maracas, their rhythm shaken by pros
N is for Nguru, Maori flute blown through the nose
O is for the Oboe with a mouth-piece that looks bewitched
P is for the Piccolo, a half-sized flute, high pitched
Q is for the Quena, a notched flute from the Andes
R is for the Rattle, maracas for the babies
S is for the Shofar, a Jewish horn hard to blow
T is for the Tuba, largest horn and tough to tow.
U is Ukulele, four-string Hawaiian gee-tar
V is Viola, a fiddle tuned a bit deeper
W is the Washboard, just for rhythm, understood?
X is a Xylophone, a glockenspiel made of wood
Y is Yotar, a guitar with four strings grouped in threes
Z is Zither, played on the table or cross your knees
This alphabet of instruments just breaks through the top
The're hundreds more to know, but Z's a good place to stop.
March 11, 2013
Allright Poet's ABC Poetry Contest
Categories:
accordion, 11th grade, music,
Form:
ABC
I am not all happiness.
I am not as bitter as your smile
and I have no lips to make me sense -
to curve around my name and give
me more depth than the air,
than the dust I rise from
like the moon, night after night
chasing sunlight across the sky.
I am the antediluvian scrap of flesh
in the corner of my grandfather's eye.
When he laughs, I feel myself folding
with him into my own skin,
into the held-breath slip of sky
I inhabit, into this
airless gap of eternity
where we live solemn together,
my body like an accordion and
his skin crinkling with all
the mirth of his years seasoned
with every war he encountered
and the salt that scarred welts
into his corneas
time and time again.
He touches my face, and I purple with the bruises
the sun inflicted on the flaking-parchment
knowledge of his skin.
We are love.
We are birthday-cake candles
half blown out before
the wish has time to develop.
We are hand-in-hand soldiers
and accidental splotches of red,
blood on lovers' lips.
We are a pattern woven through history,
sporadic and relentless
and beautific in inevitability.
And so we smile for each other,
secretive and mournful and gloriously
wise,
and we laugh at words that
have yet to materialize.
**For my Grandpa Clyde... your stories always made me sad and happy at the same time. I
longed for adventure like yours, and I ached for the pain you had to go through, and I loved
and love you very much. I hope you never feel lonely again.
Categories:
accordion, family, loveme, time,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
A Sunken Pink Camaro
Tropical fish.
swim in and out of the windows
of a sunken pink Camaro.
I dive, leaving a rainbow stream
of billowing bubbles
Above on
the timber pier, someone
with a piano accordion
plays chiming French music,
while nearby old fishermen
swap vivid fish stories’.
Through ripples,
of clear water I see,
children dancing to tin drums
beaten by a lively,
ivory- toothed Jamaican.
I surface,
with a turquoise-tailed
mermaid, perched on
my left shoulder.
Some how,
I have rescued her
from a sunken pink Camaro
Suzanne Delaney
For P D’s & SKAT's Women write about Car Contest
Categories:
accordion, car, fish, happy, irony,
Form:
Free verse
Happy Happy Birthday Nikola Tanaskovic
To the extraordinarily excellent Freelance Accordion Player
with the most
evangelical performance
let me say
happy happy birthday to you
i lift up my glass with a
LYRICAL Toast
just as measured style
and bellows-driven
as to say to you
i hope you have a
happy happy birthday
that only a
beloved Accordionist
like you can do
happy happy birthday
to a influential performer
AS premierly wonderful
as Nikola Tanaskovic
THE Great
aka:lyricvixen
Categories:
accordion, april, birthday, celebrity, hip
Form:
Bio
I decend from rock royalty.
On a local Irish level.
My Dad rocked around the clock.
At night in local dancehalls.
And daily in his chemist shop.
Accordion strapped on tight.
He begat three singing sons.
And four fine singing daughters.
At his funeral we seven sang his
favourite hymns and Danny Boy.
There was not a dry eye as
we all wished him goodbye.
Now, his eldest son rocks on.
Drove all the way on my wedding morn.
To rock my wedding night away.
With The Stunning, up from Galway.
Lead guitarist with fingers flashing.
Brewing a Storm, husband head banging.
Fitting poem for today, Elvis's anniversary.
I admit rock and roll is my forte.
Rhythm courses through my body.
I cannot sit when good music plays.
I simply must get up and sway.
Please take my hand...let's dance.
16/08/2016
Categories:
accordion, appreciation, dance, music,
Form:
Verse
She reunited with her lover
He has been away from home
For millennia
She waited alone
In the isolated cold and space
But she did not want the children
To think about their father
She as both mother and father
The duties and responsibilities
Were left to her
How could she denied them
Angelic faces that recalled
Her lover and husband
She went to her empty bedchamber
Every night with thoughts of him
On darken nights
None to warm her
She had her suitors
Men both great and small
Passerby and casuals
They would hang their members
On the walls of her home
Like Winter Solstice stockings
She would cut them down
One by one
Hurt by their pride
But nonetheless for the wear
More than 26,000 years
Preceded her longing
For her lover
Her patience greater than Job
Her steadfastness out last the face of the Sphinx
But on the fifteen day of December
Her lover returned back home
From a dangerous odyssey
Through comets
Quasars and black holes
And light years of distant
Galaxies
She had listened to more than a 1,000 tales
End of time stories that heralded his coming
But when she saw his divine countenance
She laughed uncontrollably
He was really home this time and
For good
She rushed into his arms
Then gently caressed his face
And kissed his tendered but broken lips
Followed by their children
Who embraced him around his legs
Venus Mars and Mercury
Raised their light quotients
In accordion
As the children lay in bed
Sleeping with crescent moon shaped
Smiles
She entered their bedchamber
With him by her side
She was now with her lover
Her lover was now with her
She was now the moon
Her lover was now the sun
And with this great solar return
She fertilized the sun
The earth and the moon
And with this great celebration story
She brought life forth to
Saturn
Jupiter
Uranus and Pluto
And the nearby Pleiades constellation
And with this galactic marriage
And sacred union
There was love and joy
And with this Hieros Gamos
And the triangulation
Of the Milky Way’s core
There was love and joy
The seeding and initiation
Of a new and great beginning
An event horizon
Let us begin
Categories:
accordion, inspirational, light, light, love,
Form:
Free verse
"But Motek, it's Hanukkah!
You MUST be with the FAMILY on HANUKKAH!!"
(Ok Mom, sure Mom, right away Mom, I'll come home)
"Rabbi Grossman DOES do such LOVELY services!
Every Jew in Suffolk County will be there!
Challah Bread! Matza Ball Soup! SONGS on the ACCORDION!"
(Merry, cheery, Hava Nagilla surface tension happiness...)
"Smile everyone, and I'll take a picture!!!"
(CHEESE!!!!)
"Motek... I DO wish you spoke with him already...
I mean, it's been over a YEAR now...notta WORD!
It BREAKS my heart to see you two like this..."
(I'm sorry Mom)
"I mean honest to ELOHIM!!
Brothers should LOVE each other!!!
How can you be so NONCHALANT about this???
Breaks my heart."
(Your answer lies right in front of you Mom,
You just need to know where to look...and where not to)
Categories:
accordion, holiday
Form:
Narrative
I will start with a word
Not knowing where it will take me
"inconsistencies"
No never mind
Forget that word
Oh **** I can't think of a word
What kind of a poet am I?
I'll sit here and scratch my head
Until the blood comes
Hoping it will flow with inspiration
Fortunately my nails aren't sharp
But apparently neither is my mind
I feel like I am wielding a stick instead of a sharp sword
So with my stick I will poke you
Like you are a bear
Perhaps I can get your attention
Why do I want your attention?
Honestly I don't have a clue
I guess I have always been a bit clueless
It seems to work for me in some odd way
My friend tells me she marches to the beat of her own accordion
I think I'll stick with drums because I'm a bit tone deaf
I guess that is one of my own inconsistencies
There it is I'm back to that word
I guess it's not such a bad word after all
Maybe I should have given it more thought
"Maybe"
Now there's an interesting word
Maybe I should quit while I'm behind
I really like the view from back here
Let everyone else quit while their ahead
I can still see them so in the end did they really get that far
What exactly did they want?
I have never really wanted what they want
Wanting sometime hurts
Who needs hurting
It's not to say that I don't want
I just want differently
I want in a quieter way
And to be honest
That's just the way I like it
"Besides"
Another good word
I think I'm going to go in another direction
The road less traveled
Not the road not traveled
After all I do enjoy company from time to time
Even if you
Whoever "you" are might think I'm crazy
After all we're likely to be on different roads anyway
I think in the end
If it is the end
I think
That it should be could be fun!
"fun" another good word.
This was weird and fun!
For John Lawless's "Don't fight it write it contest.
Categories:
accordion, adventure, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
As your wicked fingers crawl onto the tightened metal,
I feel myself loosing control, reminiscing my presence
as if it is the holy lord's forbidden prayer,
That is toxic, yet it shows me the unknown fantasies...
As those pointed fleshes thrush onto the keys,
I dissolve in the waves of tunes
I give up on morals, logic,
I dance to the hymns of the unholy man...
As your wicked fingers dance around the accordion,
I see the ghoul of dust surrounding my skin
Naked then, to the music, I feel myself
The unpracticed pain relieves my heart...
The unsought melodies you play pierces my heart,
Beyond light, air or fluids, I see an aurora
In the aurora, I float and swim
I become whatever you make of me
Playing with my mind are those holy doomed fingers,
which I'll never resist, I would play on with the actions it does...
Reconsidering my existence to your tunes
I feel your beats becoming more and more cryptic, by the time
I want to see the enigma hidden behind those notes
As if you persuade me to do so with those masters you use to create magic...
Let me listen more, it soothes my ears
Let me feel more, it brightens my gloom
The glory must'n be lost, as it abides in the skies of the dukedom of its own
Millions live there, in a universe of passion and aggression
Let me seep in, let me see through
Let me watch it grow inside me
Let me become it, let me sow more
Let me be where I am right now
Let me fathom those wicked fingers...
-Adhyatmika Tripathi
Categories:
accordion, addiction, dance, fantasy, guitar,
Form:
Free verse