Long Victrola Poems
Long Victrola Poems. Below are the most popular long Victrola by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Victrola poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
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.
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)
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.
It's the locked door there
at the very top of the stairs
not quite the attic's humid air
but the secret fourth floor door lead to nowhere.
Children teetered on the creaky steps
fearing the lecture they would get
should they be caught and found out, yet
punished curiosity does not diminish the fear or threat.
Their agile companionship could not be breached
as two young children up the stair did creep
tugging at the locked door suddenly ajar, eyes peeked
screams carried echoes near and far in wild shrieks.
Cobwebs, dusty boxes loomed dark and gray
an old victrola loudly scratched the inner sanctum play
a record pulled from the cupboards back in the day
one dare not move as the ghostly spiders danced away.
Crazy story you may scoff, chuckle as you boldly declare
but when grandma shouted, the children were nowhere
and to this very day, no one has ever dared
to open the fourth floor door to nowhere.
Craig Cornish's contest
The Fourth Floor to Nowhere
9/9/20
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
three little people scampered up the attic stairs
I followed more slowly, almost reluctantly
I am older, and have been here before
Fearful because of what I have felt up there
happy squeals of delight flow down to where I stand
I am about to take my last two steps
I enter cautiously, remembering the killer doll
disguised in blue ruffles and deceiving lace sleeves
Grandma, look at this! Grandma, what is this?
I explain things they have never seen – an iron, a victrola.
Grandma, look at this doll!
I turn.
There she is. The doll that used to terrify me
Staring brown glassy eyes giving me my worst nightmares
She has the same killer smile
I feel as terrified now as I felt sixty years ago
Can we take this stuff downstairs?
I start to say they can
Until one of them reaches for the dol
There is an empty chair where you would sit
on the other side of my dining room table
with the worn finish after fifteen years of use
It was beautiful when I bought it
We would listen to old records I’ve collected
from flea markets and antique shops
the black shellac sort with only one song on each side
Al Bowlly crooning a tune about a ring around the moon
on my Victrola made in 1922
A century old and it still appears almost new
Things were built to last back then
unlike today, everything including people
tossed away into the bin after only a few months or years
After dinner we would drink bourbon and muse
about the meaning of life, if there is any, which I doubt
but maybe you might change my mind
how we came to be who and what we are, a nobody and a star
watching through the window snowflakes floating gracefully
to the ground like a shower of down feathers
finding refuge for a few welcome hours
from a world that loves you too much and me too little
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?