Long Grinders Poems
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Remember your Creator
In the days of your youth,
Before the evil days come
And the years draw near when you will say,
“I find no pleasure in them.”
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before the sun and the light,
The moon and the stars grow dark,
And the clouds return after the rain.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before the day when the keepers of the house tremble,
And the strong men bend low.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before the grinders cease because they are few,
And those looking through the windows grow dim.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before the doors to the street are shut
And the sound of grinding fades;
When one rises at the sound of birds,
And all the daughters of song are brought low.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before people fear what is high
And dangers are in the streets.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before the almond tree blossoms,
And the grasshopper becomes a burden.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before desire fails,
Because man goes to his eternal home,
And mourners go about the streets.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before the silver cord is severed,
And the golden bowl is broken.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
And the wheel broken at the well.
Remember your Creator.
Remember your Creator,
Remember your Creator,
Before the dust returns to the earth as it was,
And the spirit returns to God who gave it.
Remember your Creator.
In New York City- Nineteen thirty-six,
the crowds had gathered for a final show;
none playing the next day- no more to see
of organ grinders coming to their streets.
Throughout the city, all those places where
they came around to play- silent would be.
The citizens protested- with no win;
Mayor LaGuardia- ruled they must leave.
Renew their licenses, he would not do-
that radio and concerts were enough.
A nuisance, these musicians he declared;
he did not want them on the city streets.
As poor Italian immigrants, for them
their talent was the means to live and earn
a pittance from the coins left in their tins;
as songs, the sadness of their lives, unveiled.
On this last day, the organ grinders came
to greet their waiting fans and play for them.
When done, all waved goodbye with teary eyes
as the musicians gathered up their things.
With monkeys in their arms, they walked away
to leave their lifetime art of playing songs-
as each last organ grinder bid farewell;
to dwell as history from New York's past.
Light is sweet and good for the eyes to see the brightness of the Sun,
For if someone lives a thousand years, may they rejoice in all of them.
But let us remember, for a thousand years in the sight of the LORD are but as yesterday when it is past, or as a night watch in the night time and that the days of darkness are many and everything comes to vanity.
Rejoice, O you young one, in your youth, and in your early years may your hearts do you good, walk in the path of your heart and the desire of your eyes;
But know that in all these things God will bring you into judgment, that you may remove the anger from your heart, so that distress may leave all your parts.
Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come and the years arrive when you say, "I have no pleasure in them"; before the sun, light, moon, and stars are darkened, and the clouds leave after the rain; in the day when those watching the house tremble, and the strong one are bent over; when the grinders cease because they are few, and those looking through windows have dimmed eyes, and the doors on the street are shut, and the sound of grinding is low, and one rises up at the sound of birds, and all the daughters of song are brought low, when they are frightened of heights, even the terrors along the way, and desire fails, because you may go to your eternal home, and the mourners go about the streets.
So remember your Creator before the cord of silver is snapped, or the jar by the
spring is broken or the wheel at the cistern crushed.
The dust returns to the earth where it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.
Remember who you are and who's you are in your youth before it all becomes vanity in your sight.
Reincarnated, I will come back as a mustached and bearded Italian organ grinder,
I will live in Rome, Italy and play my home-made barrel organ in the streets,
My pet spider monkey, Shark, will happily grab up silver coins, as a reminder.
And we will make the beautifully-dressed Roma gypsies jump and laugh and squeak.
I will grind out the best songs, and Ellen will discover us and want to put us on TV.
Shark and I will be flown to America, where we will be applauded and approved.
We will play romantic music for everyone, and be as obnoxious as we can be.
We will be a hit with no one on that plane, people who are boring, and not easily moved.
We will be offered millions of dollars, to leave our wonderful streets of Rome.
But we will make our escape, not caring about the fame or the money,
For spider monkeys and organ grinders know the beauty of being in their home,
And we have a cozy nest, with our llamas and our elephant, named Honey.
We are pelted daily on television by some brassy tout,
Hawking useless stuff we're told we can't survive without!
"Not available at your local store - the price cannot be outdone;
Order now and I'll send you two for the price of one!"
A pastime as American as baseball, barbeque and punkin pie,
Is touring yard sales! Mercy! The myriad of junk you can buy!
Neighbors hold sales displaying useless gimcrackery,
To rid themselves of whatchamacallits and other knickknackery!
Antique stores are a haven for cast-off falderol galore.
The shelves sag with stuff folks have no use for anymore.
It doesn't make sense to clutter my attic or spend my dollars,
On such stuff as antique coffee grinders or old horse collars!
Even my computer is not immune from spewing bodacious bunk,
Displaying a litany of unsolicited emails called "junk!"
Some guy in Liberia promises millions if only I'd send some cash.
Others with deals too good to be true - Lord, spare me this trash!
Alas, our house is crammed with stuff bought over the years,
At flea-markets, yard sales and from babbling auctioneers.
Most of it is useless, collects dust and takes up space.
Come to think of it, a yard sale might be my saving grace!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
~ To the tune of:
'Where Have All the Flowers Gone?' ~
Where have all the comics gone
Long time passing
Milton Berle and Alan King
Long time did their thing
Where have all their insults gone
Long time passing
Don Rickles and Groucho Marx
Echo in empty parks
Where has all the slapstick gone
Long time passing
Larry, Moe, and Curly Joe
Gave way to milquetoast shows
Where have all the tap dancers gone
Sammy Davis, Donald O’Connor
Bumpers and grinders of today
Do the greats a dishonor
Where have all the comics gone
Georgie Jessel and George Burns
Gone the way of Romantic poets’ poems
~ Like Keats’ ‘Ode to a Grecian Urn’
Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers don't grow deaf,
they become deeper, more blunted,
like mallets.
His apartment is disorderly,
tools and equipment
are hidden in Dresden figurines,
in elderly Delftware,
ball-peen hammers crammed
into the whittled stems of goose quills.
Augers, grinders and rotary tillers
are rendered into themes and motifs.
Wrecking crews hum and stamp,
tables thump out allegro dissonance.
Into this din and demolition
plows a heavy sonata
the hard-nosed 'Hammerklavier'
bulldozing its trenchant path
into the cramped streets;
where in the absence of safety barriers,
a defiant deconstruction
has begun.
The street organ grinder was a musical novelty popular in the 19th century.
It consisted of a barrel organ strapped to the body, it was heavy, and had a
stick to stand it up, a crank wheel moved a cylinder inside to create music.
It was usually a repetitive song. The poor quickly saw it as a way to make
money, it was like begging, but they gave music. It was common to use
animals in the act, like cats, dogs, parrots and cute capuchin monkeys.
The public responded well with dancing and singing along, children loved it.
Nowadays there are still organ grinders around but they do not use animals
but stuffed toys instead. A lot of cities outlawed them as it was against the
law to beg on the street, and the repeating music could be quite annoying.
The police would receive many complaints. Grinders would move from block
to block playing their music and accepting money. There are seldom seen on
the streets but sometimes at fairs and places like that. In 2023, we still have
barrel organ grinders but I fear that they will be the last as it is fading away.
come hear the music
dance a little jig with friends -
leave a few coins please
Beethoven smashes one piano after another.
He shears through keyboards,
a peasant scything hay.
The composer's fingers listen
through touch,
they become deeper, more blunted,
a vibration of mallets.
Frown the brow,
push the plow
make music drive a steamroller.
His apartment is disorderly,
tools and equipment
are hidden in Dresden figurines,
in elderly Delftware,
ball-peen hammers crammed
into the whittled stems of goose quills.
Augers, grinders, and rotary tillers
are rendered into themes and motifs.
Wrecking crews hum and stamp,
tables thump out allegro dissonance.
Into this din and demolition
comes a heavy sonata
the hard-nosed 'Hammerklavier'
bulldozing a blunt pathway
into cramped 19th century streets,
where in the absence of safety barriers,
all but one turns a deaf ear.
I took my periodic stroll through the local antique store today.
I stumbled over things and stepped 'round clutter to make my way.
I looked for clocks, found none, but saw many things I could do without,
And those are the things that I propose to tell you all about.
There was an old buggy wheel - I could see no use for that.
I saw horse collars, washboards and someone's stuffed Angora cat.
On the wall was a photo of a Victorian guy glaring back at me.
Also displayed was a chamber pot and a scraggly Christmas tree!
What use have I for a manure fork or hubcaps for a '47 Dodge,
Or a shaggy buffalo robe or shriveled scalps from an Indian lodge?
Displayed were coffee grinders and old Prince Albert tobacco cans,
A portrait of Napoleon and a hood ornament for a '37 Mercedes Benz!
Hanging on a clothes rack was an old soldier's moth-eaten uniform.
I have no need for a hornet's nest that once held and angry swarm.
Though I found many things I could do without, not so my spouse!
She bought a cart full of gimcracks and trumpery to clutter up the house!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
First Place in Black Eyed Susan's "Antique" Contest - May 2014