One of the few poems I have an actual date-of-creation for. IT doesn't have a proper title and the one it does is there merely for archiving purposes.
=*=
What's this?
slowly unfolding in this static darkness,
sweet difusion, intoxicating, a cloud, like a blanket,
falling, enveloping;
makes nonsense this plaything of the senses.
Spins nebulous yarn
from ethereal thread;
a throw,
a scarf,
all the colours of the unseen
lost between the pavement cracks,
crushed underfoot in velvet sighs.
Want to hold it in my hands
like sand, but cannot;
the sensation slipping
through my fingers.
It's the closest you can get to touching.
(c) Adam Cheshire 20/02/2007
12 March 2007
makes nonsense, this plaything of the senses [poem]
Posted by
Cecil B. Demented
at
12:49
|
Labels: intoxication, lockedinabox, poem, poetry, romantic, sleep
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
blinkenlighten [ poem ]
This poem doesn't really have a title yet, but I had to call it something. Ho-hum.
=*=
When will this end?
sick of standing, button pressing
blinkenlighten hypnotising
too much thinking got me sinking, need a sliff
those stinking kids have got my temple pounding,
what's the time? Shit, can't this thing go any faster?
wires have been crossed,
events set in motion.
Can't let myself get caught in the combine, that would be foolish.
Apathy is so passe,
like recycled water,
wish I had a bit of control.
This life is killing me.
I'll be dead before I'm 27 if I can't screw this head on properly.
Should try more painkillers, maybe some tai chi, run away
and live on a mountain smoking a pipe.
There has to be something more fufilling
than register fiddling.
I must of been very bad in a past life to deserve
all this neverending bullshit.
© Adam Cheshire 2007