Best Victrola Poems
They're treasures to me, so I don't mind.
My Aunt Ellie in tow, right behind.
I climb the ladder, lift wooden door.
There are piles of stuff strewn the floor.
She recites the story about Aunt Jean.
How she cursed her antique sewing machine.
Under material, maybe old drapes?
My cousin's old stereo, played 8 track tapes.
There's a carpet remnant, rolls of paper.
Aunt Ellie says the 70s, I think much later.
A box of dishes, perhaps wedding gift?
Not used Thanksgiving, too heavy to lift.
A pile of records, Walt Whitman Victrola
A photo of a young man on Venice gondola.
It was where my uncle asked Ellie to marry.
Damn, I sure miss my late Uncle Harry.
I relish the memories in this dusty loft.
Didn't realize Uncle Harry liked to golf.
Aunt Ellie glances around, teardrops flow.
All she wanted were her Christmas bows.
11/26/2017
Written for Eve Roper
Photostory Contest
Took a 2nd place win.
What better way to spend a rainy afternoon in May,
Than with Grandma in her attic where precious memories lay.
This was her treasure trove, cherished things dear to her heart,
About which she reminisced with us, delightful tales to impart!
She cuddled her yellowed wedding gown with a far-away look in her eye,
And told of Grandpa's tender love for her with a wistful sigh.
From a trunk she took a photo of them taken on their wedding day.
Even from the misty past, deep and abiding love it did portray.
A faded photograph showed Grandpa, so very handsome and grand,
In the uniform of his country, that he volunteered to defend.
She showed us Grandpa's army uniform, pride swelled within her breast.
She shed a tear holding the flag, presented when he was laid to rest.
She fondled a gold pocket watch that she gave him as a bride.
It ran for nigh on sixty years, mysteriously stopping when he died.
With trembling lips she kissed a golden pendant and had this to say,
"It was given to me by your Grandpa on our blissful wedding day."
She played a waltz on the old Victrola and whirled about the room.
Her eyes shone so brightly and her face assumed a youthful bloom.
Grandma is united with Grandpa now, they've ended their earthly quest.
With their love and traditions, our family was truly, truly blessed!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 1 in Constance's "I Am Sending You A Gift Of Poetry, Dear Heart" Contest-Sep 10
Inspired by the poem "Old Trunk" written by Constance - A Rambling Poet
In old trunks and attics are stored many precious memories!
I'm sending you this, my gift of poetry, dear heart, from my trove of poems.
Rain on the tin roof sounded
Lullaby; and I fell asleep
While grandma's Victrola played
"Pharaoh's army got drownded.
O Mary don't you weep";
And I was no longer afraid.
Sweet sound drowned out
My fear and doubt.
VITALITY OF TONGUE
papillae lyrics
sweet, salty, and bitter odes
grammy’s victrola
6/8/2017
Merriam-Webster's definition of "papillae"
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/papilla
Pronounced pa-pill-lee
small bumps on tongue often containing taste buds
There was a young man from Pensacola
Who chug-a-lug a bourbon high cola
Gave it try
Eyes did cry
Head swirled like he was on a Victrola.
A Victrola is a record player that used to spin those old platters, 66, 33 RPM. If you care, you can boot up a picture of one on your chosen website.
BRAHMS’ LULLABY*
A funeral dirge
Victrola dies mid-sentence
Edison tinkers
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
*Brahms’ Lullaby by Johannes Brahms
OLD – PAST – OVER (triple Tanka)
i love those old tunes
played on my old victrola
there’s a needle scratch
but I don’t care it’s times past
all those carefree days that passed
laying by the hour
listening to a simple tune
over and over
dreaming of my comely lass
who’s whispering “i love you”
drigo’s serenade
and by mischa elman played
over and over
i dread this moment’s end
old days old loves over
OLD TIME NEIGHBORHOOD (1934)
Reborn a wrinkled old child
Inhaling the smell of budget
Walking those cracked skated-on sidewalks
Old trees with grainy knothole eyes
standing arm-wrapping round thick so strong
Noisy kids uncaring – knee-patched barefoot Noisy kids carried on a listened-for
breeze
A scrawny let-out-of-doors cat darts dares to
cross the one-way street
Lower middle class?
Yes
But respectfully litter-clean!
No liquor bottles in the gutter - no wretched used
dried-putrid condoms
A Victrola whales from an apartment house window
“I’m confessin’” (that I love you)
And a drunk stumbles home at 8:00 in the morning
Houses with large long porches meant to be
sat upon at sundown on hot days
And
Oh, yes!
There are tears
“Road of life”
She identifies
Poem by: Ken Jordan
Poem: I Once Had A Home
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: April/2017
I once had a home;
a lovely peaceful abode,
quite tranquil - before
the raging storms came -
It had Persian rugs
atop hardwood floors -
Stain glass windows
on all doors -
One could hear
sweet calming music
from an old fashion Victrola -
Life was good before the
raging storms came -
I remember the large shark aquarium
in the living room window,
welcoming everyone who entered
my abode-
But then, the rains came
storming out of control -
From the outside,
my house was heavens garden
of paradise -
White picket fence -
multi colored flowers across
an arbor, with a lusciously manicured
lawn.
It had a wrap around porch,
with a lazy day swing
with a cushion full of fluffy pillows....
So inviting
So warm
Life was good before the
raging storms came -
I once had a home
Copyright (c). Ken Jordan 2017
My grandkids gather around my hearth and think it's so great,
To listen to tales of my youth that to them I love to relate.
They sit with mouths agape and with attentive ear,
As I tell them how it was in good old yesteryear!
"There was no such thing as television or amazing videos,
Tho' we had picture shows and mysterious radios.
The baffling computer was far beyond my generation,
Tho' we had typewriters and ciphered on fingers for calculation!"
"Cars now start with the twist of a key and are so very swank,
But we started our old jalopies with a knuckle-busting crank!
There's even a turn signal now to relay your turn intention;
We hung an arm out the window prior to this invention!"
"We had no fancy phones with touchtone, pictures and such.
Our phone hung on a wall - you turned a crank to get in touch.
Scratchy platters spun on a Victrola, playing music to please.
Today the latest and greatest is boom boxes, DVDs and CDs!"
"We had no comfortable facilitiy nowadays called a bath;
We wended our way on moonless nights down a dark and lonely path!"
My grandkids can't believe it when I tell them all this stuff!
All they can say is, "Grandpa, you sure did have it rough!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired, (© All Rights Reserved)
This melody of yesteryear sounded great.
We would hear it on a record at seventy-eight.
Anybody could play the song on a Victrola.
One listened to it on a juke box by Rock-Ola.
The subject of this song by Jo Stafford of all things,
was about the romantic dreams of smoke rings.
Miss Stafford’s voice was one anyone adores.
Back then, it was no crime to smoke indoors.
When dealing with broken hearts lovers wanted to forget,
they would often sit down and have a cigarette.
A habit of the past many considered glamorous
is now deemed to be offensive and insalubrious.
The song sounded mellifluous and sublime.
Things have changed significantly over time.
I packed my plaid valise
For a journey from the past.
I didn’t know exactly
Just how long my trip would last.
On my feet were comfy saddles,
On my neck my favorite dickey.
I was thirsty so I bought myself
A tall and cool lime rickey.
Though I’d miss my new Victrola,
My transistor was along.
I could listen to the Good Guys
When they played my favorite song.
On the bus ride to the subway,
As my driver gave me change,
I saw he was chewing Sen-Sen
And I thought it kind of strange.
Near the subway I got pizza
At the special lunchtime price –
Just a quarter for a soda
And a dripping-oil slice.
Then I used a dime and nickel,
Got my token for the train;
Caught my stockings on the wicker seats-
Man, is that a pain!
As I started my excursion,
Leaving all I knew behind,
I was filled with awe and wonder
At the future that I’d find.
But a tiny nagging feeling
Made me question my whole trip,
For there might be certain changes
That could make me lose my grip.
Then I settled in, deciding
I would simply wait and see.
After all, it’s just the future,
And how different could it be?
Tear stained cheeks, she paces the room
wondering how to make him happy...
happily ever never....this man's as bad as the last
Moonless sky overcast, she's peering through clouds so grey
praying tommorow is one of his good days
anguish is her surrogate lover, embracing the pain thats flowing
Mistreatment is her normalcy, what a life....
this isn't love! Is this love?
Broken by the pace of this life's broken record
repeatedly beaten, won't this song stop playing?
She's resorted to praying...But the only answers she hears
are those of his yelling down halls
Choking back sobs, she fixates on pleasing him
appeasing his evil, calming his monster
Memories of smiles seem impossibly distant
running barefoot, dirty summerdress
sun-filled days seemed magic and endless
pretending tiaras adorned her...
Mom yelled, diminishing the fantasy...her tears stopped me from running, playing
She pulled her daughter in, gripping too tightly
As if this girl's innocence would shield her
it does....in that she can escape in that genuine feeling
escape from that yelling from down the hall....He's so mad!
What had Mom done to displease him?
She lets go of her daughter...turns to play the old Victrola
that old song!! She remembers that record....she always will
You would have loved the song
the easy flow and rhythm of the melody
soft music that rose to ride on the breeze
as the snow fell soft then quick to the ground.
It was a nature concerto
an instrumental fusion of words waiting to be released
angelic voices humming gentle and sweet
then speaking from the heart to the soul.
It was a secret undersong cantata in solo unison
with the viola and violin playing on the old victrola,
the setup symphony unheard
by only me in the hallowed corridors.
The echoing in a chapel of kept dreams
where you and I prayed and pledged our love
for the heavens alone to hear and bless
in a poetic score of life's lullaby and time's rhapsody.
Andrea & Matteo Bocelli sing Fall on Me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChcR2gKt5WM
Addiction in alleyways
Shadow-shrouded eyes
Withdrawal, vomit and jitters
The end of ecstasy as
Dark dreams sear the spirit.
Bed of damp earth with
Newspaper blanket
Covering a lost soul
Fighting demons of darkness
Beyond the night.
Someone's child strayed from its path
Tossed aside on a street to nowhere,
Life winding down like Granny's
Victrola when it needed more muscle
To grind out the tunes that scratch
On one's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.