Diaries left open and letters framed,
chronological ink waving from a horizon, gone.
Clothes hung to recreate a wedding, a dance, a touch –
enclosed in glass cases to trap the scent inside.
There’s a recording of his voice that skips
back through time. Her handprint in clay, cracked.
That first glass of wine, now cobwebbed, stained red,
next to teenage car keys rusted.
A prescription acts as evidence I tried.
Sawdust forms a path between pets
and my Walkman makes youth balk;
to them my VHS collection is alien.
Postcards curled from saltwater offer perfect snapshots
years before we scrolled for one.
A mortarboard on display alongside a bus pass, front door key and bank card.
A blade of Sefton Park grass pinned down like the wings of a butterfly.
Receipts of apologies. Candleholders waxed in missteps.
Maybe, one day, there’ll be a travelling exhibit where I finally get to meet you.
And the curator will add you, title card and all, to this museum of me.
snowstorm related
she drowned trying to glide across the lake
violets are thrown in the center
her favorite perfume still lingers in the air
i remember her transistor radio
i remember her potable 8 track player
i remember her walkman
i remember her thingaamabobetta to play 45s on
my favorite was her hidden collection of vintage 78s
rainstorm worn
she drowned while trying to float while breathless under the lake
lilacs are thrown leftmost symbolizing her specially talented hand
here decorated wheelchair is now a landmark of upliftment
i remember her collection of needles
i remember her muilfaceted threads and yarns
i remember her 'brown sugar drawings'
i remember her baby blue sewing machine
my favorite was here hidden collection of vintage quilts
the Mostly Appreciated Parts were the pleasure of their company's inspiration
i sit indian style in loving memory of Them Both.....
Barbie, Atari, He-man
Batman, She-Ra, Ronald Reagan
Indiana Jones, and landline phones
The Dark Crystal and around 5.2 billion people
Andre the Giant’s Honeycomb commercial
Rainbow Brite, Jem, and Rose Petal
Welcome to the Jungle, Cheers! Metal
Mike Tyson, Debbie Gibson, Teddy Ruspin
And the best Christmas carolers are Gremlin
Taxi, the DMV Scene, "What does the yellow light mean?"
Young Guns, Russians, Charlie Sheen
Sony’s Walkman, Michael Jackson, and Tom Cruise
What was fake news or social media reviews?
Reebok, Converse and Keds shoes
Glo Worm, Nintendo and playdough
The Burbs, Rambo, and Willow
KB Toys, Sam Goody, And Gemco stores
Return of the Jedi and Disney’s Star Tours
Floppy disk computer and Punky Brewster
The Family Ties and spoiler alert Optimus Prime dies
Updated 5/14/2019
That record player my older sister tried to hide,
with Foreigner, The Bangles and Madonna intensified.
Me only ten, yet in love with the sexy New Kids,
remember Z. Cavaricci pants and oversized Lids?
My journaling started; I couldn’t put my pen aside.
Scrunchies in every color for the girls to wear,
with fresh cut bangs and long permed hair.
A lunchroom mom my mother was in school,
I was unpopular and lame, called “uncool.”
For those “After-School Specials”, I didn’t care!
I was too old to love Care Bears and Rainbow Brite.
My first boyfriend made a mix-tape just right.
For Christmas I got a Walkman to jam those tunes,
and watched “Facts of Life” and “Silver Spoons.”
Folding notes in school when in another girly fight.
OHHH! The frustration with darn phone cords,
and for chores I would receive fifty cent rewards.
Do I wish to forget the eighties when in my youth?
I loved every second of it to tell the God honest truth.
Like I said... I won't forget those Madonna records.
Remembering the 1980's Poetry Contest
October 26, 2018
percussion hailstorm
my ears no longer bored
daydreaming about oceans
mixing memories
during power outage thoughts
an escapade my uber sunshine
nodding my head with eyes closed
to some rare 90s hip hop
candy sunglasses tastes like cinnamon
watching lightning threaten me
as i sit under a tree
remembering things like the fiddlers three
now the wind is a flute
from a funky 70s jazz song
my emotions floating on air
now its day 17
the sky has turned purple
paper thin has turned to quick thick
i find myself smiling fully
for good ole music i am a bully
now i push the Good Weight to the Pulley
Your Boot
I sleep in the back of your car while you drive
around the block to the shop.
Doze off as you park up for the night
and go to your bed—
mine is in your car on a piece of old sack
for a blanket and oily foam for my pillow.
Not too bad when a tramp has a box.
How did I become stuck here?
All I can do is sleep or dream of escape
when your key opens the lock.
When? Got a car jack jammed
against my ass and a spare tyre as a bed companion.
I doze for a time, fall into a deep comfortable sleep
to dream of enclosed spaces, of how I love them,
always get into predicaments like this.
Seven hours later I awake, switch on
the inner light and have a strong beer
I nicked in yesteryear.
Got four more strong ones to follow.
I turn on my old Sony Walkman cassette player
and listen to the Bangles and have a real good bop
in my your dirty old car boot.
Must get a chick and do this with a girl!
In a boot with a girl, what fun.
Imagine the positions.
When will it be the day, is this dark
place warming up – daylight?
You come and open the car and away we go.
Where will I go?
A shallow grave or another cooped up day?
two cookie shakes on sunday
is all i can afford
an old 1988 walkman blasting oldies in my ear
is my la-z-boy recliner
offensive and stinking....halitosis while thinking
is the norm of my current existence
yet i know one day i will find an escape that will reshape
my life etched in permanence
the bargain movie is about to start
i better head on over to the theater before somebody takes my favorite spot
tears never fall
i never bang my head against any type of wall
for i know there will be hope because i always claim it
i guess i will head to the driveway of my Mother's house around 10:30 or 11:00
she is usually asleep by then
as the moon tells me a bedtime story as i lay facing her in the backseat of my old ford taurus, not one tear falls
however, an uncontrollable smile appears
i think about those two cookie shakes....MAN WERE THEY GOOD!
The bakelite disc revolved at seventy-eight
To end up in shards shattered, an inevitable fate
Heavy and brittle and full of opera
Was replaced with a vinyl at thirty-three
With covers a delight to see
Light and supple full of she loves you, yeah
And then came the cassette from nowhere
And pretty soon the Walkman walked
And less and less and less teens talked
But nodded heads as they made their beds
As Billy-Jean was not their lover
They were soon to discover
Shiny discs of digital delight
And very soon car tape decks were out of sight
But oh so quick the mp3 stick
And iPod player with iTunes click
Took over the world
And we were lost
As the pace of progress counted the cost
And the Bakelite discs became collector’s items
And the vinyl’s came back as the nightclub dims
And eight track stereo was attracted to rims
And yet we are not done, as no-one has won
But we all seem to have lost
The times that we had
When it was still turning
At thirty three
And seventy eight
I see homes without men,
am courage but feared,
I can see and yet it's dark,
and now that I play my piano,
why am deaf of it's sound.
time has come by,
with picture fashioned and passion by;
I go and who is coming with me
I no way on, who is that for me.
for heavensake
i love my tapes
and i play
in everyway
everyday
on the way home
with my headphone
i puge in
WHILE run for fun
in
my
WALKMAN
for heavensake
i love my tapes
and i play
in everyway
everyday
on the way home
with my headphone
i puge in
WHILE run for fun
in
my
WALKMAN
Tonight I sleep in solitude, every thought is filled with you;
And yet you would not believe the magnitude of the desire I have for you..
Tonight as I think about the comments you made,
I realize I haven't wanted a woman so bad in over a decade!
Tonight I put my pen in hand and wrote a rhyme.
About me being your man and you being my sunshine.
Tonight I wondered about the color or your eyes.
Even the curves in your hips and the thickness of your thighs.
Tonight as I layed back listening to my walkman.
I imagined you were Jane and I was Tarzan on a tropical island.
Tonight I let my imagination run free;
Of all the possibilities if you were here with me.
Tonight although I could not see your face, I created an image of profection.
You took my hand and we embraced in this heavenly connection.
Tonight is the night you will feel every inch of me.
So close your eyes and inhale the energy of my spirituality....
*14th Place Win in "Breathtaking Love" Contest
sponsored by A Rambling Poet 2010
"I don’t know where to go.
I just search for a friendly place to live.
The only things that I know to make are:
To love,
To feel,
And to walk.
I still search for my place.
Till I find it I have to walk.
The old walkman…"
Copyright Constantinos Grigoriadis © All rights reserved
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