coffeecore trumpetrock [poem]

The following three poems were written during a feverishly creative time over my friends Darko/Stew/Pete's house, stoned and tweaked on Dr pepper. Its a really good enviroment, with Darko and Pete working on their surreal mini-series and Stewart thrashing away on his beloved guitar, everyone toking away with gleeful abandon. The house has recently attained a music room, what with the loss of fellow housemate Aareon to the seductive pull of the big smoke, which currently contains an ancient casio, a kick ass korg synth (borrowed), a couple of acoustics, a left handed acoustic (mine), a few fucked up french horns and some bongos. Oh yeah, and a couple of tiny lickle amps. Its beautiful man.

Its the only one of the three with a proper title.

=*=


This afternoon I got tweaked at this girls house
who I'd met the night before in a bar;
she sang songs of tequila heartache and emo rock,
lost on memories and laughing.

We play dice on the kitchen counter,
smoking goldern virginia.
shivering with the backdoor open
we listen to cake
and drink coffee.

She's going to teach me how to juggle.

© Adam Cheshire 2007

something missing [ poem ]

sat in my friends Aaeron's room after he'd packed up his stuff ready to move to london was a strange experience. Gone were the turntables, gone were the scultures, paintings, and pictures that adorned the walls. It made me feel kinda sad. I was sorry to see him go. Again, this didn't have a title yet but I had to call it something.

=*=

this room has no soul no more
bare boxed, stripped and packed
just a shell now; canvas stacked all abstract against the wallpaper
CDs stretch babel-like.

I find myself falling down a k-hole of nintendo bleeps and whitenoise
chasing the white rabbit with some malt liquor,
don't I have someplace to be?

© Adam Cheshire 2007