Victrola Poems | Examples

You Know Who

He had a big schnozzola
and sang with bold hat and smile.
Heard on the old Victrola,
one of his tricks to beguile.

It was fo, lo, dee, oh, do,
in old New Orleans city.
But that was ages ago.
Then, a new little ditty.

It's expressed something like this:
Ink a dink a dink a doo!
Does it mean I want a kiss?
A way to say I love you?

Now you should have won the game
by the funny lyrics shared.
You should have surmised the name
and the middle stanzas spared.

Good night Mrs. Calabash,
wherever you are.

Rca Victor

when RCA acquired Victor Talking Machine
this included rights to the iconic nipper, his master’s voice
they sold the first electric Victrola in 1930
and introduced the long playing record

Victrola

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

The Nowhere Floor

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

Rhapsody

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

The Attic

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.

Bourbon High Cola

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.

Vitality of Tongue

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

I Once Had a Home

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

Brahms' Lullaby

BRAHMS’ LULLABY*

A funeral dirge
Victrola dies mid-sentence
Edison tinkers

Kim Rodrigues © 2017


*Brahms’ Lullaby by Johannes Brahms

Child In the Shed

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.

Smoke Dreams

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.

Past Forward

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?

Old Time Neighborhood

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

Old - Past- Over (Triple Tanka)

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

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