Saturday, August 14, 2021

The Accordion Man

 
 

 
 The Accordion Man


He stands in my head
where the music once lived
like a tongue in a bell
when the ringer is dead,
corroding a little bit more every day.

He came down from the crossroads
with a small spotted dog.
He plays in my ear
til my dreams turn to fog.
The dog wags its tail and then runs away.

His shoes are like blimps.
His face is like claws;
his hands push the buttons
that work the bonesaws,
to slice out a song no one wants him to play.

He won't ever go.
I know that by now.
He plays in my head
and it chirps like a crow
his accordion clatter of skulls on a tray.

He chants all my names. He adds seventy to nine;
but the worst is
his eyes
are sadder than mine.
I could watch them all day.




~August 2021







posted for Fireblossom
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Image © Guido Vedovato   Fair Use
 
 
 

13 comments:

  1. First of all, I love the form. But that last stanza is just killer fine. Every word.

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  2. Oh wow. The song that chirps like a crow....and the eyes sadder than mine. So good.

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  3. Brilliantly done that last stanza...He chants all my names. He adds seventy to nine;
    but the worst is
    his eyes
    are sadder than mine.
    I could watch them all day"

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  4. What could be more unsettling than the dead ringer, the fogged dream, the hand working a bone saw ~~~ your poem feels first person, like you lived it .. then composed it.

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  5. I want to start with the fact that I love the label, that is why I don't date musicians. This is rich with humor, feeling, and stellar lines Joy! The last line is deeper than the blue eyes in the image itself! A wonderful wonderful poem indeed!!

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  6. A poem to weep to and welcome in its merciful sadness.

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  7. We both read the same expression from his eyes

    Good Sunday

    Much❤love

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  8. I love the ambiguousness of the poem, where one is simultaneously drawn to and repelled by. He has the feel of an enchanter who has been subconsciously summoned by the listener to reveal something important to them. Wonderful word-weaving!

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  9. "He chants all my names. He adds seventy to nine;
    but the worst is
    his eyes
    are sadder than mine.
    I could watch them all day."

    love that exit, you have a way of working up to your impact, or i guess i could say "bringing it home" your singing clown is well detailed, i feel your revolt and empathy towards him, and in the end the recognition and even compassion for him. the poem is very tight, but you've always had a way with forms, enjoyed this very much joy, and always glad to see a new poem from you!

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  10. dang. the opening couplet grabbed me by the throat, and the final verse drew blood. or deeper. ~

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"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats