Strewn on the floor
stacked on a spindle,
my teenage love affairs.
Sometimes lying on my bed,
smile plastered on my face.
Sometimes gliding slowly,
watching in the mirror,
arms hugging waist.
Paul Anka, Johnny Mathis,
Harry Belafonte,
and Fabian too.
That plop-down sound.
Then needle stuck in groove,
spun round and round.
Forty-five RPM respite
from teenage angst.
Black vinyl disks,
I adored thee.
NaPoWriMo starts tomorrow — April is National Poetry Month. The challenge is to write a poem every day. We begin a day early with an early-bird prompt to write a love letter.
lillian the home poet 
Oh yes, swooning over that good ol’ music.
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I really used to love playing my 45s in my bedroom….door closed….a teenager’s escape! 🙂 I actually belonged to the Fabian fan club 🙂
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Groovy..😎😎😎😎😎
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Yep, those vinyl records really were. Somehow the ritual of just stacking them on my phonograph, and watching them drop to play was all a part of it! 🙂
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Again, quite the trippy experience, no doubt. 😎😎😎😎😎
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Over the Easter weekend I was waxing nostalgia to the full townhouse about 45 RPM records and how my little IPOD full of music simply could not be the same soulful romantic experience. AND THEY JUST DIDN’T GET IT! You have expressed it so much better, at a moment I appreciate some understanding. Thank you.
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