My father was an accordion player, Dutchman with a squeeze box on his knee.
Silver Bells, Buffalo Girl and Franky Yankovich polka tunes poured forth. I sat nearby, his side kick, soaking in the music and longing for a blessing.
I play an accordion in this circus; everyone laughs at things I do and say. They see my big, red smile and assume that it’s a real smile. They think that underneath all my makeup, I’m actually happy.
I picked up the accordion with gentleness from the floor. I hugged it against my chest, against my pain. Tears flooded. Oh, Marco. You left so early in life and all I have is your link to love.
I don’t like the sound of an accordion. If I see/hear one while watching TV, I’ll rush to find the remote in order to hit the MUTE button. I like the sound of most instruments, but the accordion violates my ears!
I looked out the window to see who was sitting on the bench. This is my version of reality TV. I was not disappointed (or surprised) to see a boy with an accordion sitting there, munching Fritos with one hand and running his fingers lightly over his unusual instrument.
The accordion shrunk and grew, expelling music that was skillfully played. The man played it moved his body back and forth to the rhythm, the dance spreading to the crowd around him.
The accordion can make impromptu music so enjoyable. It can be transported anywhere and can make any boring situation a bit more lively. Although often associated with Western European love ballads (as particularly seen in the Disney classic Lady and the Tramp), it ought to be incorporated into other genres of music as well to encourage serendipitous music-making.
I went to Prague and crossed the Saint Charles Bridge, and on the bridge was an old man playing an accordian with his monkey, it was priceless. It felt like I stepped back in time.
I really dont want to write about this word accordion…it seems like this site keeps the same word up for a couple of days. I always wanted to learn to play an instrument but the accordion was not one of them
What can I really write about an accordion? Maybe I could write about how much it offers; so many different tunes and sub-instruments in it, but atlas, not many choose to play one.
It offers so much but people don’t see it as something very special. So valuable but still thought of as nothing. And the few who do see it as it is are alone. It is called a one-man band.So, anyone who does choose it will most likely be alone. And who wants to be alone?
“Es ist ein hässliches Instrument. Man kann so viel Böses damit tun. Mein Liebes Kind, überleg dir das bitte noch einmal. Du bist nicht wie Schorsch. Guck dir den doch mal an: Lederhosen, schütteres Haar, einen Schnurrbart. Willst du so werden wie der?”
trying to figure one word out. can you believe it doesn’t work in interet explorer? I think accordion’s are old fashioned but interesting looking. I haven’t ever seen one played before only on movies. I see pictures of them in Italian restraunts. I love itlaian restraunts.
She gazed in wonder at the world around her. From the ancient, cobble-lined streets to the tiny shops filled with exotic treasures, she couldn’t believe she was finally here. Where to go first? The scent of a hundred flowers whafted through the air to a melodious tune played by the man with a giant accordion. This was the place to be.
That thing my grandpa used to play before I was born. People in funny hats. From Europe? Grandpa is. He’s polish. He played it in elementary school. Somewhere that he had to. Catholic school?
The little mouse stood astride the folds of the accordion as it was played. Sometimes, he was positioned across the folds, hind paws on one and forepaws on another: this worked his abdomen, strengthening his core. Other times, his left legs were on one fold and the right on the next, giving him the strange feeling as the accordion opened that he was a sandwich being pulled apart to get at the ham or remove an offending slice of pickle.
i have never played one, he thought to himself. is it a little like a harp? no, it is one of those strange instruments played in restaurants. by small men with twirly black moustaches. i have never heard one and perhaps i should. he pulled out his Ipad and thought about googling it and about whether google was making him complacent. and then she walked in.
a type of instrument that i dont know how to play i think it is a funny looking instrument and it looks like a purse i dont know who invented it but they had to have some imagenation to invent that.
The accordion is a cool instrument. I like how it changes it sounds with a simple in and out with it’s bellows,….and you can do a lot of cool polkas to the music that is pro
The accordion music only dampened his spirit. It had been fun to watch Hayley run free and begin dancing; generally she pulled him with her.
“Daddy, look!” cried Sophie, tugging on his hand and pointing eagerly at the musicians. Jake frowned, a stab of pain entering his heart. “Can we go closer?”
“Not now, Sophie,” Jake muttered, and he pulled his daughter away.
Reminds of things that are European, and foreign. I’ve never really been in contact with one, but I’d like to try play it. It seems like such an intriguing instrument to me.
The accordion is strange. It is very happy for this time. We all starve yet it plzys on. We are beaten and killed yet they keep the illusion alive. This is my life. This is the new world.
The musician sat on the corner, by the cafe I always went into on my way home. He was dressed as usual, but I noticed he was not accompanied by his usual instrument of choice – a guitar – but by an accordion. I was curious.
The accordion music that played in the seedy saloon did nothing to soothe him. It was not that he was nervous. No, it was the opposite. He was on edge. He downed another glass of whiskey to help himself settle down.
The saloon doors were kicked open and in walked a lanky man, his face concealed by his huge hat and his limbs long and spidery. It was him. The so-called greatest shot in the Martian West.
He slammed the whiskey glass down and reached for his laser pistol. The tall man walked over and took a seat right next to him.
“Too slow,” the main said, pushing him gently on the shoulder.
He fell from his chair, the gaping hole in his forehead still smoking. He was dead before he hit the ground.
It was always the same. I’ve been having this dream since being a little girl. There’s a masked man in the centre of the room playing an accordion. The music gets faster and faster and I’m running around him in a circle. He laughs. Then the walls close in until I can’t move any more. That’s when I wake up.
The man stood on the street corner, hands in his pockets and the accordion laying nearby. A small dog stood across the street and seemed to watch them with sad eyes. Slowly, the man stooped over and picked up his accordion and began to play.
My grampa told me that I had to learn to play keyboards if I ever wanted to graduate to the accordion. I started piano lessons at age 4. Mrs. Hellerth was a strict taskmaster as my fingers slogged across the keys. I’ve been thinking about Grampa and Mrs. Hell-On-Earth often as I write my acceptance speech for the International Polka Hall Of Fame.
I imagine accordions when I think of old men or spagetti factories. Spegetti factory has horrible chicken parm. I fell sick thinking about it. I need to drink more water. I like the sound of bag pipes better.
so i just actually read about this word. turns out its an instrument.. Interesting. the music can be ‘according’ to you mood. What I havent understood is what exactly I am supposed to writes. oh well. this is fun anyway.
I dont really know what that means.. but im guessing it has something to do with being able to comply with something. is it??
Maybe i should look it up. wonder what it really means. odd that i work as a copywriter…
I remember your slim Greek hands holding the accordion, fingers gently depressing the keys and the the gentle swaying of your body as you played the haunting melody.
‘Watch me fly, bet you cannot catch me.’ You said. You smelled of Kouros.
There was once was a man who lived next door. He was a very large man, with a very large smile. As children we were fearful of him. He would stand on the street and play his accordion. He always looked so cheerful but so menacing. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized he was just lonley. We made him out to be the pied piper but the truth was he was just trying to give us something to dance too.
“I just don’t know if I can do this” Sara said as they walked by the man with the accordion. He was there every day, from dawn till dusk collecting spare change. To anyone who had ever walked Limelight Ave the accordion player was a landmark, his music drifting up and down the entire street. He represented the only constant thing in Tom’s life, apart from Sara. And now that was changing. “I understand. I just can’t imagine this happening without you.” I said, wishing desperately that she would say yes.
My father was an accordion player, Dutchman with a squeeze box on his knee.
Silver Bells, Buffalo Girl and Franky Yankovich polka tunes poured forth. I sat nearby, his side kick, soaking in the music and longing for a blessing.
I play an accordion in this circus; everyone laughs at things I do and say. They see my big, red smile and assume that it’s a real smile. They think that underneath all my makeup, I’m actually happy.
I picked up the accordion with gentleness from the floor. I hugged it against my chest, against my pain. Tears flooded. Oh, Marco. You left so early in life and all I have is your link to love.
I don’t like the sound of an accordion. If I see/hear one while watching TV, I’ll rush to find the remote in order to hit the MUTE button. I like the sound of most instruments, but the accordion violates my ears!
I looked out the window to see who was sitting on the bench. This is my version of reality TV. I was not disappointed (or surprised) to see a boy with an accordion sitting there, munching Fritos with one hand and running his fingers lightly over his unusual instrument.
And I broke that stupid accordion so he could never write another love song again.
The accordion shrunk and grew, expelling music that was skillfully played. The man played it moved his body back and forth to the rhythm, the dance spreading to the crowd around him.
The accordion can make impromptu music so enjoyable. It can be transported anywhere and can make any boring situation a bit more lively. Although often associated with Western European love ballads (as particularly seen in the Disney classic Lady and the Tramp), it ought to be incorporated into other genres of music as well to encourage serendipitous music-making.
I went to Prague and crossed the Saint Charles Bridge, and on the bridge was an old man playing an accordian with his monkey, it was priceless. It felt like I stepped back in time.
I really dont want to write about this word accordion…it seems like this site keeps the same word up for a couple of days. I always wanted to learn to play an instrument but the accordion was not one of them
What can I really write about an accordion? Maybe I could write about how much it offers; so many different tunes and sub-instruments in it, but atlas, not many choose to play one.
It offers so much but people don’t see it as something very special. So valuable but still thought of as nothing. And the few who do see it as it is are alone. It is called a one-man band.So, anyone who does choose it will most likely be alone. And who wants to be alone?
“Es ist ein hässliches Instrument. Man kann so viel Böses damit tun. Mein Liebes Kind, überleg dir das bitte noch einmal. Du bist nicht wie Schorsch. Guck dir den doch mal an: Lederhosen, schütteres Haar, einen Schnurrbart. Willst du so werden wie der?”
trying to figure one word out. can you believe it doesn’t work in interet explorer? I think accordion’s are old fashioned but interesting looking. I haven’t ever seen one played before only on movies. I see pictures of them in Italian restraunts. I love itlaian restraunts.
She gazed in wonder at the world around her. From the ancient, cobble-lined streets to the tiny shops filled with exotic treasures, she couldn’t believe she was finally here. Where to go first? The scent of a hundred flowers whafted through the air to a melodious tune played by the man with a giant accordion. This was the place to be.
That thing my grandpa used to play before I was born. People in funny hats. From Europe? Grandpa is. He’s polish. He played it in elementary school. Somewhere that he had to. Catholic school?
The little mouse stood astride the folds of the accordion as it was played. Sometimes, he was positioned across the folds, hind paws on one and forepaws on another: this worked his abdomen, strengthening his core. Other times, his left legs were on one fold and the right on the next, giving him the strange feeling as the accordion opened that he was a sandwich being pulled apart to get at the ham or remove an offending slice of pickle.
i have never played one, he thought to himself. is it a little like a harp? no, it is one of those strange instruments played in restaurants. by small men with twirly black moustaches. i have never heard one and perhaps i should. he pulled out his Ipad and thought about googling it and about whether google was making him complacent. and then she walked in.
a type of instrument that i dont know how to play i think it is a funny looking instrument and it looks like a purse i dont know who invented it but they had to have some imagenation to invent that.
The accordion is a cool instrument. I like how it changes it sounds with a simple in and out with it’s bellows,….and you can do a lot of cool polkas to the music that is pro
The accordion music only dampened his spirit. It had been fun to watch Hayley run free and begin dancing; generally she pulled him with her.
“Daddy, look!” cried Sophie, tugging on his hand and pointing eagerly at the musicians. Jake frowned, a stab of pain entering his heart. “Can we go closer?”
“Not now, Sophie,” Jake muttered, and he pulled his daughter away.
Reminds of things that are European, and foreign. I’ve never really been in contact with one, but I’d like to try play it. It seems like such an intriguing instrument to me.
The accordion is strange. It is very happy for this time. We all starve yet it plzys on. We are beaten and killed yet they keep the illusion alive. This is my life. This is the new world.
When everyone else ooohed and ahh-ed at the sound of the accordion, he shut his ears in frustration. He’d rather be at a punk rock concert.
The musician sat on the corner, by the cafe I always went into on my way home. He was dressed as usual, but I noticed he was not accompanied by his usual instrument of choice – a guitar – but by an accordion. I was curious.
An accordion is a very neat musical interment that i think it would be a neat thing to learn.
She played him like an accordion
From both sides, tapping away
every noise he made directed
by smile above and behind him
The accordion music that played in the seedy saloon did nothing to soothe him. It was not that he was nervous. No, it was the opposite. He was on edge. He downed another glass of whiskey to help himself settle down.
The saloon doors were kicked open and in walked a lanky man, his face concealed by his huge hat and his limbs long and spidery. It was him. The so-called greatest shot in the Martian West.
He slammed the whiskey glass down and reached for his laser pistol. The tall man walked over and took a seat right next to him.
“Too slow,” the main said, pushing him gently on the shoulder.
He fell from his chair, the gaping hole in his forehead still smoking. He was dead before he hit the ground.
It was always the same. I’ve been having this dream since being a little girl. There’s a masked man in the centre of the room playing an accordion. The music gets faster and faster and I’m running around him in a circle. He laughs. Then the walls close in until I can’t move any more. That’s when I wake up.
The man stood on the street corner, hands in his pockets and the accordion laying nearby. A small dog stood across the street and seemed to watch them with sad eyes. Slowly, the man stooped over and picked up his accordion and began to play.
My grampa told me that I had to learn to play keyboards if I ever wanted to graduate to the accordion. I started piano lessons at age 4. Mrs. Hellerth was a strict taskmaster as my fingers slogged across the keys. I’ve been thinking about Grampa and Mrs. Hell-On-Earth often as I write my acceptance speech for the International Polka Hall Of Fame.
Really? Accordion? I wasn’t on the site for 4 month, and you give me this word. Have I missed out on all the good ones, or something? Crap.
May you never look back. It will make time shrink and stretch like an accordion playing to someone elses tune. The player will make you dance.
i love that scene in Lady & the Tramp, with the pasta, and the meatballs, and the accordion; it was very romantic…
I imagine accordions when I think of old men or spagetti factories. Spegetti factory has horrible chicken parm. I fell sick thinking about it. I need to drink more water. I like the sound of bag pipes better.
so i just actually read about this word. turns out its an instrument.. Interesting. the music can be ‘according’ to you mood. What I havent understood is what exactly I am supposed to writes. oh well. this is fun anyway.
I dont really know what that means.. but im guessing it has something to do with being able to comply with something. is it??
Maybe i should look it up. wonder what it really means. odd that i work as a copywriter…
I remember your slim Greek hands holding the accordion, fingers gently depressing the keys and the the gentle swaying of your body as you played the haunting melody.
‘Watch me fly, bet you cannot catch me.’ You said. You smelled of Kouros.
A girl
is kneeling
among the bodies
and ruins
of the street
holding the bloodied head
of the man
with the accordion.
There was once was a man who lived next door. He was a very large man, with a very large smile. As children we were fearful of him. He would stand on the street and play his accordion. He always looked so cheerful but so menacing. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized he was just lonley. We made him out to be the pied piper but the truth was he was just trying to give us something to dance too.
“I just don’t know if I can do this” Sara said as they walked by the man with the accordion. He was there every day, from dawn till dusk collecting spare change. To anyone who had ever walked Limelight Ave the accordion player was a landmark, his music drifting up and down the entire street. He represented the only constant thing in Tom’s life, apart from Sara. And now that was changing. “I understand. I just can’t imagine this happening without you.” I said, wishing desperately that she would say yes.