Beautidul mountains, the sun is slowly setting on the yellowed horizon. There are lambs running across the rolling green hill, the daisies are blowing in the wind, and an accordion is heard whispering in the winds
An accordion reminds me of a squashed car. This word has been often used to describe anything squashed. It also reminds me of a clown. Some clown dolls have accordions.
A musical instrument. Starts with an A ends with a N. I’m really bad at these. I hate accordions they are boring. Packers are playing today. They better win!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GO PACKERS!.<333
-Elizabeth<3
there once was a german man. he thought that he could never play an instrument. he found one that sounded good. it was an accordion. he starting playing it and became the best accordion player in all of germany. his name was franz.
Brother-in-law Stan played a mean accordion, even though he was not the brightest bulb in the box. Oh how original is that one. He was also fond of attempting to fondle his wife’s teenage sisters, making him a talented creep. Accordion music reminds me of polkas.
I ran as fast as I could up the steep hill. Leaves and mud mixed together to help trip me up. I grunted as I fell, grabbing at a nearby rock to keep from slipping. I let my knees touch the ground, immediately feeling the wet slime filter through my jeans. I regained my stance and spotted her hair on a nearby branch. He was taunting me; I knew he was near. A few minutes later, I heard his wretched music. She lay there in a heap while he played his accordion with the biggest grin. It took all my might not to give myself away. I wanted to slit his throat there and then.
The sound accordioned through the hills, bouncing off of the mountainsides and being absorbed by the rush of the waterfall. It was loud and terrible, a roar that could only stem from the deepest pain a human could feel – the pain of losing the one you loved.
If one was to listen closely, they could perhaps deduce that the sound was in fact name.
I listened closely as the noise slowly approached. Coming into focus, I realized it looked like a ventilation bag. Was that a piano I heard? Nope. Just an accordion. I’ve never thought of it as a serious instrument before; I guess I’d never had the chance to hear it like this. So clean, enlightening.
He was holding an accordion like there was nothing more important in his entire soul. He held onto it, the way she wished he would hold onto her. But there was nothing in his head that gave him any insight to what he should of been doing.
oh, accordion! on my first visit to paris, the last day of my sojourn, i walked along the seine and heard an accordion. what a romantic scene, very much like paris. the city really embodies fantasy.
I heard him play the song for the first time on his accordion, and I winced because quite frankly, he plays very, very badly. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. If my mother hadn’t told him, then who was I to do so?
But inside when my dad began to sing along to his screechy playing in a voice that was off-key enough to make the windows groan, I died a little. Or maybe just scrunched up, the way his instrument did as he squeezed the screaming free.
I always picture those men that stand along the streets of big cities. The ones with the monkeys that dance around and climb onto people’s shoulders. What a strange instrument. I don’t really understand how it works or how it’s played,but the music is soothing.
Frank played the accordian in my Grandfathers band. I don’t even know if the band had a name. He played the violin and they called him the canary. I never thought about how he must have felt, a musican, to have a Deaf son.
The elderly man picked up the dusty accordion, brushed its keys off, and began to play a slow, lilting folk song from his homeland. A lone tear trickled down his wrinkled face as he recalled the last time he had played. His audience today consisted of a bright-eyed, pigtailed girl, a far cry from the dark-haired beauty who he had once serenaded. His granddaughter, though, he loved just as much as he had that woman.
This is the third time I’ve gotten accordion in three tries. This is the second time I’ve written about it.
What the hell, man. What the hell.
This instrument makes my ears bleed.
I stole your accordion.
By stealing it, I do a good thing, preventing someone from playing the accordion.
By stealing it, I do a bad thing, by, well, stealing something.
KARMIC BALANCE IS NEUTRAL
Problem, heavenly judgement? Celestial juries everywhere are confused now.
The incredible noise and clamor had developed into an annoyance long ago. Now Dave could only focus on the boy’s dexterous fingers brushing against the keys of the instrument. The horrendous sound continued to emit from it, and John compassionately ignored the others dissonance.
Boom boom boom i feel like a cowboy with meh accordionnn….accord is a nice car dion is the last name of a famous singer actress sing i like fruit in my accordions lets hope that says accordion because if not i would feel like a idiot the time is almost over ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
A silly little instrument that bends and moves to make imprecise sounds. Lady and the tramp liked it, the Italian restaurant near my house loves it! Whaaahahahaa
I used to love the accordion and the musical sound that comes from it. But now, I don’t know, I don’t remember. Ever since that accident I haven’t heard it…and I think I wouldn’t ever dare to hear it ever again!
Sometimes, I feel like an accordion. My body is being pushed and pulled, all in an effort to please others with my music. But the sound, its sad. Its anything but beautiful. Its the sound of a broken, tired instrument. An instrument that is so desperately tired of pleasing everyone but herself.
He was walking like an accordion now. Flopping this way and that. They stared. Wondering how a man that well dressed was that crippled. He stepped up to the podium with a quiet confidence. The stirring people halted. Like reeds in a stream.
The folds are soft and lovely. While the mountains dance in the twilight, I curse my self for the insecurities. Bellow to the moon, and before it is too late! My life is a spiral – too confusing to follow.
My boyfriend plays the accordion. I can never spell accordion, but he can play it. He likes to play the Purdue fight song a lot. That pisses me off,since I went to IU.
I think his playing the accordion was one of the things that first attracted me to him. It was quirky.
he played his accordion with passion
pushing and pulling the large instrument easily
as if he were guided by an other-worldly force
to most he looked ridiculous
cradling this monstrosity in his arms like a baby
but the look on his face
and the life that radiated in his eyes
spoke of his need to create
his melodies
smiling, our spirits connected
he knew that I understood
Her mother’s bag flapped open again. She looked at it, tired of it. Tired of all the people around. Tired of all the condolences. It felt like nothing would ever be the same again. Like after a day is over, you never get that day back. She looked at people talking, about how it was such a tragedy. Such a good man. What a loss. The purse flopped open again, the folds like an accordion in the wind.
Sometimes I think accordions are the coolest instruments ever. I mean, it’s like a slinky and a keyboard combined. Explosion of childhood. How could you not love something like that?
Never had a childhood? That’s fine. Just acquire your accordion and everything’s going to be alright. Peachy keen.
the accordion is hidden in the darkest corner of the basement. i wouldn’t go down there if i were you. it’s covered in dust and you might get bitten, or the man in the wall might finally escape and grab a hold of you. why are you interested in that silly little toy anyway? don’t you remember what the man did to the young girl the night it was last played?
I propped my banjo against my knee and grinned, plucking away at the strings. It was always fun to eavesdrop on the American tourists who thought we all played flute and fiddle. Donal wove the accordion around his hands like a stretching tapestry, playing a melody as colorful as the rainbow.
It’s funny, how some things work. I thought I had signed up for fitness classes, yoga or something… maybe it was a bit presumptuous of me not to have read past “do you love hot women? Do you love to stretch things? Do you enjoy polka?”
Darn! At least now old people like me; my boss gave me a raise.
I stared through the window and looked.
“Can I have that one?” I asked pointing to the left hand corner. My uncle looked at me in surprise.
“You want me to buy an accordion?”
“It’s for my birthday though.” I accused him “You promised anything I wanted.”
my grand dad used to play the accordion. i have an old photograph from the ’30s of him smiling and playing. this was how he would eventually learn to play the piano. this was how he would eventually teach me the art of the “boogy woogy.” this was how i would learn to groove.
Beautidul mountains, the sun is slowly setting on the yellowed horizon. There are lambs running across the rolling green hill, the daisies are blowing in the wind, and an accordion is heard whispering in the winds
An accordion reminds me of a squashed car. This word has been often used to describe anything squashed. It also reminds me of a clown. Some clown dolls have accordions.
classic music on a sunny day in ireland the country is greena dnd beautiful with rolling hills a man in a kilt plays the accordion
i like this instrument. It’s real nice. If I had one, I would play it at Bar Mitzvahs.
A musical instrument. Starts with an A ends with a N. I’m really bad at these. I hate accordions they are boring. Packers are playing today. They better win!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GO PACKERS!.<333
-Elizabeth<3
there once was a german man. he thought that he could never play an instrument. he found one that sounded good. it was an accordion. he starting playing it and became the best accordion player in all of germany. his name was franz.
Brother-in-law Stan played a mean accordion, even though he was not the brightest bulb in the box. Oh how original is that one. He was also fond of attempting to fondle his wife’s teenage sisters, making him a talented creep. Accordion music reminds me of polkas.
I ran as fast as I could up the steep hill. Leaves and mud mixed together to help trip me up. I grunted as I fell, grabbing at a nearby rock to keep from slipping. I let my knees touch the ground, immediately feeling the wet slime filter through my jeans. I regained my stance and spotted her hair on a nearby branch. He was taunting me; I knew he was near. A few minutes later, I heard his wretched music. She lay there in a heap while he played his accordion with the biggest grin. It took all my might not to give myself away. I wanted to slit his throat there and then.
The sound accordioned through the hills, bouncing off of the mountainsides and being absorbed by the rush of the waterfall. It was loud and terrible, a roar that could only stem from the deepest pain a human could feel – the pain of losing the one you loved.
If one was to listen closely, they could perhaps deduce that the sound was in fact name.
“SHERLOCK!”
I listened closely as the noise slowly approached. Coming into focus, I realized it looked like a ventilation bag. Was that a piano I heard? Nope. Just an accordion. I’ve never thought of it as a serious instrument before; I guess I’d never had the chance to hear it like this. So clean, enlightening.
He was holding an accordion like there was nothing more important in his entire soul. He held onto it, the way she wished he would hold onto her. But there was nothing in his head that gave him any insight to what he should of been doing.
Accordian playing in the background. My heart pumping blood. My eyes searching, searching, searching for something… you.
oh, accordion! on my first visit to paris, the last day of my sojourn, i walked along the seine and heard an accordion. what a romantic scene, very much like paris. the city really embodies fantasy.
I heard him play the song for the first time on his accordion, and I winced because quite frankly, he plays very, very badly. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. If my mother hadn’t told him, then who was I to do so?
But inside when my dad began to sing along to his screechy playing in a voice that was off-key enough to make the windows groan, I died a little. Or maybe just scrunched up, the way his instrument did as he squeezed the screaming free.
in fact all you ever have is-
when the newsreels ticker off
the end is all accordions
clamoring together in a
wheeze.
I always picture those men that stand along the streets of big cities. The ones with the monkeys that dance around and climb onto people’s shoulders. What a strange instrument. I don’t really understand how it works or how it’s played,but the music is soothing.
Frank played the accordian in my Grandfathers band. I don’t even know if the band had a name. He played the violin and they called him the canary. I never thought about how he must have felt, a musican, to have a Deaf son.
The elderly man picked up the dusty accordion, brushed its keys off, and began to play a slow, lilting folk song from his homeland. A lone tear trickled down his wrinkled face as he recalled the last time he had played. His audience today consisted of a bright-eyed, pigtailed girl, a far cry from the dark-haired beauty who he had once serenaded. His granddaughter, though, he loved just as much as he had that woman.
This is the third time I’ve gotten accordion in three tries. This is the second time I’ve written about it.
What the hell, man. What the hell.
This instrument makes my ears bleed.
I stole your accordion.
By stealing it, I do a good thing, preventing someone from playing the accordion.
By stealing it, I do a bad thing, by, well, stealing something.
KARMIC BALANCE IS NEUTRAL
Problem, heavenly judgement? Celestial juries everywhere are confused now.
The incredible noise and clamor had developed into an annoyance long ago. Now Dave could only focus on the boy’s dexterous fingers brushing against the keys of the instrument. The horrendous sound continued to emit from it, and John compassionately ignored the others dissonance.
Boom boom boom i feel like a cowboy with meh accordionnn….accord is a nice car dion is the last name of a famous singer actress sing i like fruit in my accordions lets hope that says accordion because if not i would feel like a idiot the time is almost over ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
A silly little instrument that bends and moves to make imprecise sounds. Lady and the tramp liked it, the Italian restaurant near my house loves it! Whaaahahahaa
I used to love the accordion and the musical sound that comes from it. But now, I don’t know, I don’t remember. Ever since that accident I haven’t heard it…and I think I wouldn’t ever dare to hear it ever again!
Springs. Springs which move back and forth. Looks like breathing. Inhale then Exhale. Sustaining life. This is what creation looks like.
The accordion rubbed against my fingers in the old vintage shop. I wish I knew how to play.
Sometimes, I feel like an accordion. My body is being pushed and pulled, all in an effort to please others with my music. But the sound, its sad. Its anything but beautiful. Its the sound of a broken, tired instrument. An instrument that is so desperately tired of pleasing everyone but herself.
While growing up I watched Lawerance welk and him playing his accordion. I have always thought this is an interresting instutment.
He was walking like an accordion now. Flopping this way and that. They stared. Wondering how a man that well dressed was that crippled. He stepped up to the podium with a quiet confidence. The stirring people halted. Like reeds in a stream.
The folds are soft and lovely. While the mountains dance in the twilight, I curse my self for the insecurities. Bellow to the moon, and before it is too late! My life is a spiral – too confusing to follow.
My boyfriend plays the accordion. I can never spell accordion, but he can play it. He likes to play the Purdue fight song a lot. That pisses me off,since I went to IU.
I think his playing the accordion was one of the things that first attracted me to him. It was quirky.
He never plays it anymore.
he played his accordion with passion
pushing and pulling the large instrument easily
as if he were guided by an other-worldly force
to most he looked ridiculous
cradling this monstrosity in his arms like a baby
but the look on his face
and the life that radiated in his eyes
spoke of his need to create
his melodies
smiling, our spirits connected
he knew that I understood
Her mother’s bag flapped open again. She looked at it, tired of it. Tired of all the people around. Tired of all the condolences. It felt like nothing would ever be the same again. Like after a day is over, you never get that day back. She looked at people talking, about how it was such a tragedy. Such a good man. What a loss. The purse flopped open again, the folds like an accordion in the wind.
Sometimes I think accordions are the coolest instruments ever. I mean, it’s like a slinky and a keyboard combined. Explosion of childhood. How could you not love something like that?
Never had a childhood? That’s fine. Just acquire your accordion and everything’s going to be alright. Peachy keen.
Ancient musical instrument with strings produces a high frequency sound. Instrument of the gods
the accordion is hidden in the darkest corner of the basement. i wouldn’t go down there if i were you. it’s covered in dust and you might get bitten, or the man in the wall might finally escape and grab a hold of you. why are you interested in that silly little toy anyway? don’t you remember what the man did to the young girl the night it was last played?
“He plays the accordion?”
“Yep.”
“He plays the accordion!”
I propped my banjo against my knee and grinned, plucking away at the strings. It was always fun to eavesdrop on the American tourists who thought we all played flute and fiddle. Donal wove the accordion around his hands like a stretching tapestry, playing a melody as colorful as the rainbow.
It’s funny, how some things work. I thought I had signed up for fitness classes, yoga or something… maybe it was a bit presumptuous of me not to have read past “do you love hot women? Do you love to stretch things? Do you enjoy polka?”
Darn! At least now old people like me; my boss gave me a raise.
I stared through the window and looked.
“Can I have that one?” I asked pointing to the left hand corner. My uncle looked at me in surprise.
“You want me to buy an accordion?”
“It’s for my birthday though.” I accused him “You promised anything I wanted.”
my grand dad used to play the accordion. i have an old photograph from the ’30s of him smiling and playing. this was how he would eventually learn to play the piano. this was how he would eventually teach me the art of the “boogy woogy.” this was how i would learn to groove.