Andrew Cheshire
Poetry

THESE FOUR WALLS(1996)

Once inside these four walls do I dare study the right angles which make them be? Or do I as I have done so many times before, choose not to see?

And if by chance, I choose to glance for a moment or two out my window, will I see the willow tree, alive with out-stretched limbs yearning to grasp the endless sky ?

Will the sparkling mosaic of light projected on my wall by a thousand rays of the sun, settle into my consciousness so that it's warmth and beauty will be inside me, even on the cloudiest of days?

Deeper and deeper, my mind drifts out into a vast sea of images. Off in the distance I can see myself walking the red horizon like a tightrope. Suddenly the wind howls ever so eerily. Losing my balance; I fall from the sky into total blackness.

And then it all stops- and there I lie motionless for a moment: my heart beating furiously, my hands tingling. And as a bead of sweat runs down my cheek, I open my eyes and it all becomes so very clear: that no matter how far I travel, this room will always be so very near.

Once inside these four walls I will no longer plunge sadly into this pillow, for I know now the strength of the weeping willow. For the more I stare dreamingly upon the ceiling, the more I begin to get a feeling that I can see what I want to see and be what I want to be, inside these four walls.

TOMORROW IS TODAY(1997)

All secrets will now be revealed. All things will be explained, all problems resolved, all uncertainties will be ended. From this moment on, the answers will be found from within you.

You will not look to the ground, but rather tothe sky. It's time for another view of the universe in which you live. Distant planets like Saturnare not so distant after all.

It's rings are your highway, it's moons are your islands of desire. Once only a dream- visiting the love planet; with it's velvet mountains and oceans of ecstasy, is now a reality.

Look to the sky and when the clouds diverge, you will see the sun singing and the moon playing and you will feel the earth dance underneath you.

All secrets are now revealed. Tomorrow is today.

SEARCH FOR TRUTH(1998)

I found myself, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, wandering these dark, mysterious streets. Uninhabited for decades, this place called to a era-gone-by of bustling piers, warehouses, and factories, all now abandoned. Located within a square mile section of land,and bordering to the south, the Manhattan bridge, to the north, the Brooklyn Navy Yard, to the east, the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and to the west, the east river, this was a place frozen in time.

I walked the cobblestones on Water street singing the morning song. I sung the blues on Dock street, and strange as it it seems, I could hear Dock street singing the blues to me. I visited the Admiral's mansion, and on a cold, wintry day in early march, I painted the portrait of Ellsworthunderneath the Manhattan bridge.

What was this place of unimaginable charm and intrique? Streets of chipped cobblestone and gnarled trolley track, buildings of weathered, wind -worn brick and crumbling mortar. When thunder and rain I begged to hide, rusted, riveted steel elliptical doors lead me to the inside of darkened rooms, whose rotten wood-plank floors and smell of dust and dampness lead me to search for truth. My own truth.

I found my way through to the other side, where daylight pierced through a small hole in a distant wall. I eagerly gazed through to find mist and mildew upon a forgotten bulkhead; damned and forsaken, desolate and debris-strewn. There it stood silent as the water from the east river ripped against it's cracked walls. It had no need for a single utterance for it knew what most had either forgot, or never realized: that beneath it's oxidized steel and decaying concrete, it was still strong, still purposeful, and had never caved in to the immense pressure exerted on it's aging walls by the powerful tide of current. Finding a door, I slowly exited the aged ruin, and followed a narrow path to the bulkhead, where I stood for a while, contemplating both triumph and tragedy. I finally said goodbye, happy in knowing it was a part of our world.

One of these days people will begin to come to this strange urban oasis- an oasis frozen in time; exuding intrinsic charm, and haunting beauty. When they do, I'll be there with them. It's going to be a Water Street Revival!

GUITAR NOIR (2001)

I remember an incident when I was a small boy in which I had awoken in the middle of the night during what must have been a violent storm. It was very windy outside and I could hear a loud whistling sound coming from the backyard. Startled, I got out of bed and went to the back porch and turned on the outside light. As I peered out the window, the first thing I saw was this great big tree: it's limbs bending, it's branches contorting as the mighty wind blew against it sending it's rustling leaves whirling to the ground. After a moment or two, my focus shifted from the tree to it's immense shadow, cast by the porch light. The light hit the tree at such an angle as to allow it to create a negative exposure of stunning proportions. The powerful wind was bending those limbs and branches back and forth with such ferocity that it created a strobe effect in conjunction with the light, producing a natural kinescope of what appeared to be a mighty wooden octopus, with tentacles of timber.

This was of course, was true living noir; a dark and distant facsimile of the gargantuan herbage projected onto an even darker landscape. That montage of wind and rain coupled with shades of blackness are forever etched in my mind. Sometimes when the memories of that night call upon me, I can hear the wind singing, and I can feel the intensity of the fervent rain beating out sheets of it's pervasive and prodding percussion. For this CD, I tried to recreate some of that wind, rain, and darkness. The end result is the musical score for a symphony of shadows. I guess it can be best described as "Guitar Noir."