Poems about accordion

Ripples in time, wrinkles of fluff.
One more memory, not enough.
Diffuse the thoughts, rebundle them up.
Empty the bottle, fill the cup.
Pour it back and forth, in and out.
Sincere recollections, without a doubt.
Residue builds, the layers form.
Peel them away, reveal the worm.
Squirming side to side, to and fro.
Little Wormy, where to go?
Jump to the left, then the right.
Play that accordion night by night.

Her eyes droop so low, so low to the ground
When the accordion plays

All her dreams are left untouched, but not defined
When the accordion plays

She clings to the ground, holding on tight
When the accordion plays

Nothing disturbs the accordance of the scene
The girl is untouched, but not defined

Her mouth painfully sighs, so loud, yet so soft
When the accordion plays

All her past lives, come back to life
When the accordion plays

She turns on her back, lifeless
When the accordion plays

Nothing disturbs the accordance of the scene-
Except for the girl's past lives coming back to life

She stands in the doorway
Of his mind
Blocking access
Casually,
He can not wait;

Not for psychology
To lock itself out,
Psychologically;

He wants to find things
Like the tooth paste
In her mouth,
Goals maybe
Sensum, hope
Maybe some humility,
Or match books
Or destiny involved,
Opening gates
Of engagement
Seeing frames that
Come up
From peoples minds
Streaming from the
Paranormal den
Doin' it, getting
In their face.

But he didn't,
Cut her off
Did he?
Not the way you wanted
Not the way
A garbage disposal
Grinds to wake you up
In the mornings
With responsibility
Every minute
A destination,
A demand...

One blink
Into the next,
A continuance,
Every ache
A breakable cord,
Tired but tethered
To her accordion heart.

No matter how hard you shatter
My lyrical batter badder
Any beat Thats put up
I'll eat it up without
The need of ketchup
Emcees need to catch up
Get with the times
I'll runnin' up like city fines
Cast from heaven
Genuine
I'm outta line
Like behavior black savior
Rhymes to beats flavor
Trim the game I be
The lyrical. tailor
Cuss like a sailor deep cuts
From my razor
Sharp rhymes for ya mind
Sounds of the flat line
From the nine
That stopped
Yo shine none could grind
Harder than me regardless
Solo or team
Who's sparrin' this
You to me is like watermelons
To pumpkin brisk
Plant a fist to ya
Mouth ya kiss higherin' risk
For those that try to diss
Genesis to finishes
My lungs replenishes
From projected images
Makin' lower percentages
Of those in advantage
No more voyages
I be the distinctive gargoyle
Flyin' over ya head
Mentally layin' soils
Til ya heads start to boil
Over 200 degrees
Accordion soundin' nice with
Keys
Shreddin' emcees
Like graded cheese better believe
Its doom once you consume
From the lyrics that bloom
All over ya body sonic boom
Guile addin' mucho pile problem child
Like Junior Miles
Everybody shut hell up
Once I lay my cut
Roll Over ya careers like Mack trucks
Ya shit is flatten on the island Staten
Flows so cold
They had be patent
From the ink my rhymes tattin'
On the paper egos high as a skyscraper
I got rhymes to heat
So I need a baker
Get it Anita baker
Best flows ya ever heard
Black Sheppard
Moving the herd
Traces of herb to my nerves
Fools say they straight
But I'm see em in a curve

The French man looks up toward the sky,
Cigarette puffs mocking the minute traces
Of clouds above.
Each puff transient like his youth
Long since sunken,
Immersed in sand and snow.
He plays his accordion,
A forlorn and saggy tune,
One that he had learned in his ancient youth.
A tune with no words,
No meaning.
A love song,
A battle hymn?
As the old hands wove the song together
Only three people noticed.
A woman who was walking alone
Suddenly began to cry
For her lover who had abandoned
Her with child.
A Polish grandfather just across the street
Cradles his young grandson in his lap,
Telling him stories about his
Experience on the battlefield,
Much to the boy's enchantment.
Granddaughter leaning against his side
Dreaming.
And the old accordion man,
Dejected and forlorn
Continued to sing his song
While the rest of Paris was asleep.

Tanned, fierce face tamed.
Slender, chivers sender
Agile, moments afire
Musical, figure Muse-ical

I never stopped to ask her why she stole the sky or
Hung my scalp upon her belt
But I felt the sadness of the day when
My life became more dark than grey.
Some
Would say, I was to blame for playing such a
Deadly game with her
But Some would say that anyway
Wouldn't they?
She took the sun and popped it in my eyes and
Tied my feet to the autumn breeze,
' an easy man to please', they say, but
They would say that.
For
Some the world is black and white, no day or night
No wrong,
Just right and that world seems so flat to me,
I'd sooner be
A loser
Occasionally.

The monkey agrees with me and hands
The hat 'round in order to be
Sociable.