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My poem about guitars

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  • My poem about guitars

    wrote this for my english classes.


    The Place Where The Magic Happens

    In my music room,
    Where the amp heads sleep,
    Upon four by twelve cabinets,
    Loaded with Celestion Greenbacks,
    But these heads are special,
    A JSX and an old Marshall,
    Real tube power that everyone talks about.

    But next to that stands the utility drawer,
    Where a guitarist’s dreams come true and more,
    Packets of fresh strings as far as the eye can see,
    And packets of new guitar picks,
    To replace the blunted ones on the floor,
    Spare whammy bars and Dunlop fret board cleaner,
    Along with string cleaner and body polish,
    Next to the electric tuners that aren’t used anymore.

    In the drawer below is cable land,
    Full of instrument cables and speaker cables,
    All tangled in a ball, a problem that needs to be fixed.

    The lowest layer is the pedal box,
    Where all the effects are,
    From flangers to delays,
    To reverb and choruses,
    And the world renowned wah,
    Distortions and overdrives,
    With phasers and octavers,
    All of these are tools of the true guitar master.

    With all these effects you’ll have a blast,
    But turn that JSX up,
    And you’ll get a kick in the ass,
    With a guitar loaded, with EMGs,
    They make your tone hot,
    And as fat as can be,
    With a sound this good,
    You can’t help resist,
    But to turn it up louder,
    Until the neighbors get pissed.

    Please tell me what you think!
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