Tag Archives: Sea

She’s Faithful to Her Horse

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 She's Faithful to her Horse   She’s Faithful to Her Horse

The Saddle of Grace calluses under blonde divinity.
Did you miss me?  I’ve returned for the future variety:

I’ll reach into my heart, Babydoll.
And engineer a purpureus rose that sprouts pink heirs.
By the swords swing, or the Dwarf-King,
I’ll cultivate your joy; forever and always, loved and adored.
And dimwitted boys attempt to steal her signature.
But my pseudonym is RAD, and prime defines “one and itself.”
While the Saddle of Grace arouses I, evermore.
While the robotic divas surpass no one, nevermore.

I’ll reach into my heart, Babydoll.
And forge the storm that lights a spring.
When water whistles winter woes, and “Sunshine” strides towards “Beauty” and sings.
By the swords swing, or the Dwarf-King,
I’ll cultivate your joy; forever and always, loved and adored.
And puns perfectly place pictorials in “a”lliterate limelight.
But you’re here:  Once wine is water, purity is divine.
You’re mine:  Everything’s ok.

I’ll reach into my heart, Babydoll.
And reward you with receipts for debts that I’ll pay in time.
While the sea climaxes, or before cotton’s fluff disappears.
In the name of diamonds, emeralds, and many fruitful years.
I’ll overturn the Jack-O-Lanterns sneer:
For the right to be merry and courageous.
By the sword’s swing, or the Dwarf-King,
I’ll cultivate your joy; forever and always, loved and adored.
Please recognize when my eyes gaze fiercely.
Or when chains induce pain like flesh on rain, and depression absorbs intimately.
While black is white, and white is specifically,
The bridge that dilutes dreams, and Tyrone’s piracy.

She’s faithful to her horse:
In the malign sky, where witches brew by the mountainside.
In life, in death, in pain, and her tears create my breath.
The only princess inside my head,
And my love for her coincides with this metaphorical illustration.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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white-mare-ii-marion-rose

Brewing Blemishes

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          Brewing Blemishes

The ocean sways gently.
The earth. It never stops its productivity?
As my body brews blemishes, along with many aches.
And as I begin to prepare a ship, for an unpredictable journey.

Thirteen years. It’s been a long time.
And these days at port, will never be seen, again.
My worry, it has revealed the wrinkles.
Along with the fear, which until recently, hasn’t been shown.

I’ll be sure to pick up a few things….
Before the next thirteen years begin.
Only this time, the hours will be controlled by dangerous waters, and random tides.

Blemishes. Are they just scars? Or is there some emotion to back up the story?
As the sun sets on this opening chapter. . . .
And as I raise the anchor from the ever-changing sea. . . .
With my magic parchment at hand. . . .
And a pretty cool hat, if I must say so myself.
I’ll float into the distance.
With blemishes to show as lessons learned.
And a past, where the good weighs out the bad.

These ancient waters continue to sway.
As if they were born only yesterday.
This land of green and these skies with a blue finish, still remain productive.
As my body brews blemishes. . . .
My sail goes up. . . .
While the opening curtain, comes down.

Dedicated to Blountstown High School’s Class of 2010.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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Colors on the Sea

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          Colors on the Sea

A child resting inside my trembling hands
Red, white, and blue equals questioning
Con-artists, thieves, adulterers, alcoholics….
They’re all the same.
Oh wait….They called me a communist?
Shit on their heads!
Maybe they’ll grow some stem cells.
Colors on the sea….
Moving forward, rather than traditionally.

Drop d magic, my standard for focus.
Ace’s rifts will dismantle the state of Ohio.
He’s already ended one of Slick Dick’s wars!
While witnessing chaos, I long for reason.
Because Adam and Eve did come from monkey’s.
Colors on the sea….
Moving forward, rather than traditionally.

Why are the pride lands’ so dry?
Why are companions so hard to find?
Melt away the frost….Oh wait!
L.A. is covered with polluted air?
An earthquake in North Carolina?
What the fuck?  Global Warming is a hoax?
Colors on the sea….
Moving forward, rather than traditionally.

Running away from static and misplaced ambitions.
Sleeping, walking, reading, writing….Sleeping.
My emotions hanging inside a plastic bag.
Hanging over an endless drop-off….
That leads to five hundred million years removed.
Wait!  The Iguanian Blue Jay!
Holding John Lennon, painted with red, white, and blue.
The bag falls….
Looks like Salinger’s thoughts were misunderstood.
I see a circular rainbow.
One on the sky, one on the sea.
Colors on the sea….
Moving forward, rather than traditionally.
A new day, dawns.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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http://twitter.com/#!/RADsPeace
http://trippydreamsandnegativenergy.blogspot.com/
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