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Hi I’m RAD. I’m a poet, a songwriter, and a country boy just trying to find his way. I currently reside in Tallahassee, Florida, which is where I’ve resided my whole life. I am currently in college and hope to one day become a full time writer or a musician. Either way, I will change the world by releasing my soul. It’s all that I am, and when I say that, I mean that my heart is a mountain, and my soul is a sea. Without hesitation, I will proclaim that the previous statement lacks exaggeration. So remember my name, because my story runs deeper than the Nile, the Mississippi, and the Rhine as one continuous body of blue beauty. Like me, recommend me, whatever you wish. Because no matter how hard I try, the message will fail without the people’s support. Cheers to the working class, and fuck the phenomenon known as birthright.

RAD

RAD
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Wednesday, December 10, 2014

When we pass and the grave remains empty (Sonnet I)


When we pass and the grave remains empty (Sonnet I)

When we pass and the grave remains empty.
Silence seems to confuse roles and domains.
Many fear the outcome of cold frailty.
After decease pauses regretful brains.
Time demands grief to men who enjoy shade.
Though it’s wrong to only have faith in wind.
Loneliness strengthens a need for brigades.
And it’s harmful to only plan for ends.
But light is blind if always mistaken.
For betrothed trees in dim, grotesque places.
Deities cannot forge what is broken.
Nor intertwine vast and cultured spaces.
   Dream to sooth, but please remember good sense.
   Sanity is strong, inside present tense.

Robert Alexander Deason         Peace

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Saturday, March 22, 2014

Abstraction and Normality


Abstraction and Normality
Infinite structures arise
A basis for normality deconstructs
Once upon a rhyme on the Rhine….
In Disarray a ray so fine
-aly came and rocked the bush
of united roses in time for lush
blooms to remember clammy-to-swollen palms.
Clammy-to-swollen palms….while voice mails played and listeners yawned.
Clammy-to-swollen palms….embrace what you have until it’s gone.
In the heat of the air
A ray awaits a chance to redeem…..
The bridge between fair and unfair
And what it means to go home hungry;
Everything’s not what it seems.
I remember a morning by the swing
In the flowery trees and ghosts’ dream
Rotten memories alone; and souls tearing
Trying to build a new scene in honor of thee.
Clammy-to-swollen palms….embrace what you have until it’s gone.
But the street’s crack is my scar
And neighbor’s cries are my shield from what is haunting.
Never let go of ones who care;
Those wounds swell inside easily.
Clammy-to-swollen palms in Disarray
All days alone, between abstraction and normality.
Robert Alexander Deason          Peace
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Wednesday, December 25, 2013

A Jovial Holiday in Town of Disarray


A Jovial Holiday in Town of Disarray

If I’m to live ‘till my dying day….
A medicinal possession should intrude before the grave.
This intense breeze can divulge in the spruce turning grey
Or honor the Kingdom of White’s name….as long as it stays.
Occasionally, galaxies grin and the rotation jingles….jingles….jingles….
until the Sun hugs its sisters.
My Julia; an imposter once controlled the mountains’ songs
Thus dissolving the wreaths understanding of right and wrong.
If I’m to live ‘till my dying day….
The expressway, joined by incentives and some inevitable fray
Should scare away those possessors who block the grave.
When remembering the chapped air at Adolescence’s prime….
I smile, thus weakening Town of Disarray….
A place where pseudonyms cannot be free and gay.
My Julia; survivors shouldn’t allow Past to destroy their minds….
Nor forget the hollow jingle and its rhyme.
Broken spirits temporarily silence courageous rhetoric.
But the hollow is Christmas, and its lord is Godric.
If I’m to live ‘till my dying day….
I must find a way through the maze unscathed.
There must be a way through Disarray’s pain?
Or perhaps a warp in the cosmos….straight on to Kingdom of White’s reign!
My Julia; in the life of a widow,
there lies blooms longing for a lark’s melody.
Though aware of malice that storms’ bring,
he catches the clouds, which open cinematic memories.
Unlike bachelors who hum the nightingale’s hymn hopelessly.
Please….do not forget me….I’m barely at ease.
If I’m to live ‘till my dying day….
Jingle….jingle….jingle….hopefully awakening the hollow’s shade.
Until Julia resides….in Town of Disarray.
Or honor the Kingdom of White’s reign, as long as it May.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace


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Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Freedom, Love, and Noletown’s Garnet & Gold (Villanelle #2)


Freedom, Love, and Noletown’s Garnet & Gold (Villanelle #2)
Freedom, love, and NoleTown’s garnet and gold
Pride, ladies dance, and a spear in the lights
Chasing a dream formed by the kings of old.
No chant attests to myths or falcon’s fold
Or lore enshrined; tales of conquering nights
Freedom, love, and Noletown’s garnet and gold.
Within eagles’ pride screams horrors and sold
Souls on paths to no joy; it’s Warchant’s right
To chase a dream formed by the kings of old!
What crime tarnishes possessions that mold
Future gods that honor Unconquered’s might?
Freedom, love, and Noletown’s garnet and gold?
Aye! Never forget stallion’s strides untold
By critics’ reluctance; boldly recite
Warchant! A dream formed by the kings of old!
Garnet! Gold! A famous cry uncontrolled!
Live on until seasons move to rewrite….
Freedom, love, and Noletown’s garnet and gold!
Chasing a dream formed by the kings of old.
Robert Alexander Deason          Peace
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Sunday, October 6, 2013

If Our Clocks Rotated Without Refrain (Villanelle # 1)

If Our Clocks Rotated Without Refrain (Villanelle # 1)

If our clocks rotated without refrain
Sorrow and envy shan’t damn legal rights
Braid passion and pride with love, not constrain

Wise men embrace blessings instead of shame
Knowing anguish could drown the planet’s lights
If our clocks rotated without refrain

Winds tremble in range of the greatest pain
Should blooms betray Time’s emphasis on nights?
Braid passion and pride with love, not constrain

Patience eases longing within strong rain
So lessons learned should devise darkest plights
If our clocks rotated without refrain

Assemble the deeds needed for sweet gain
In desires fulfilled through warmth and delights
Braid passion and pride with love, not constrain

Angst is your name when turmoil is in vain
Save me!  Giants will not foreclose my flights
If our clocks rotated without refrain
Braid passion and pride with love, not constrain

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace


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Saturday, August 31, 2013

As Gentleman Scrutinize Potential Brides


As Gentleman Scrutinize Potential Brides

To exonerate femininity’s grasp is incomprehensive
To obviate compulsions made by the insane is reckless.
Lying in the Reservoir of Deceit:  Don’t be afraid friend.
The skyline’s bleakness resides; I cannot sleep.
Julia in a hollow, composed by wine on a chilled swing
Not a mortal willow; an intimate, forever, fling.
As gentleman scrutinize potential brides….
The current is the Rhine; the flow is the rhyme.
But all time flies in peace at Nettle Ridge.
Does a corpse infiltrate by night to find day?
Or is life since removed?  One gone….the worst stays.
It’s difficult to retell a dream ‘till May.
To believe in an open field; scrape the sky and withhold nay!
Not for a gathering of fortune’s vine.
But a chance to sing for forever, always, and Eternal’s time!
Julia in a hollow, composed by wine on a chilled swing
Not a mortal willow; an intimate, forever, fling.
A nightly dance eliminates darkness for Irene’s sake.
Even if I’m incapable, un-insightful, or unable to awake….
The light that finds day; one gone, masculinity shakes.
The current is the Rhine; the flow is the rhyme.
As “gentleman” scrutinize potential brides….
All deities embrace theories containing impossibilities.
Even if vagary controls the sudden and adolescent capabilities….
Happiness is inevitable through compassion; not dedications to medieval, and inhumane, amenities.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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Thursday, June 27, 2013

Catastrophe within the Circus of Black-Tar



Catastrophe within the Circus of Black-Tar

Isn’t it exhilarating to absorb love’s cruelty? 
To hold your breath under a pillow for a quick smile?
Cringing beside chairs filled with couples’ frivolity.
But such behavior is valuable to those who lack reality!
When shall my nerves seize allotted time for glory?
Not just One and Only, but the soul of stories.
Saying goodbye and so long in correspondence with wilting wines….
Never replaces happiness that accords Joy’s vine.
Within the Circus of Black-Tar, algae controls time.
Not for reproduction, but deconstruction of all characters considered fine.
On the grounds, I observe clowns’ un-admirable tricks.
And injections of Dreams Deferred under the foundation’s bricks.
Humidity’s hand debilitates ethno-centrists grasp on blinded cliques
Those established by supremacists who pinpoint suppression with kicks….
Towards starved children who’ve taken many hits. 
When will Summer Rain’s climax blend with shaded snow? 
Within the Circus of Black-Tar, Red monopolizes property.
While bigots who guarantee reform require conformity.
Ode to heroes who fly acrobatically without superiority.
And inspire fearful creatures; the caged minority.
Catastrophe lingers restlessly it seems.
Within the Circus of Black-Tar, green lush ceases to be….
As does the soul in stories.    

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace


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Friday, May 24, 2013

Colliding with the Unwanted



Colliding with the Unwanted

Allow the phrases to peel off my tongue.
Without She the Non-Existent, affection is irrelevant.
Should or can the wasp stings align as the concluding bells’ ring?
Take not thou day’s smiles’ or a child’s health!
Nor do I request superior stealth, greatness, or wealth.
Just a kind she; the non-existent: Or castrate my loins.
Because there is no living without being alive with another:
Therefore, creating life and being needed by many others.
I stand upon a skyscraper’s edge at twilight;
Elephant seals, invasive but content, actually ask to go sailing;
Come seek my hands, shriveled and stiff, beside water’s edge:
Below the clouds, crowds, and shouts of peeps who peeped too late.
Seek holy ground and sprinkle seeds that honor previous good deeds.
A hologram embedded with She the Non-Existent’s spoiled smell.
Wait! The elephant seals’ want I to jump their way!
Don’t deny! Don’t deny! We are ugly, but stay until it’s time for pie!
Why?  Why do you mock me when I must say goodbye?
There is no filling or cream residing in the Land of Straitjackets.
Forever sentenced to white walls and barricades singing death-favoring hymns.
‘Til eternity leads next door and brutality detaches limbs!
Never fear peculiar artic creatures!  This is only my corpse’s end!
See….in religion, the stars symbolize friends who diminish demons!
Thereby clearing pathways for beginnings instead of pedological ends.
But what if?  A hopeless question that’s relevant but dims….
Angelic shapes:  Oh hysteria!  I ask for crows to swim!
Drown me in acidic tides ‘til my nostrils suffocate at the brim!
No divinity rules me as I encounter the Grim?
Elephant seals:  I will collide by your side.
Even though the unwanted our perishing in despair….
We are beings and must refuse to die!
If I jump, no story is worth being prepared.
Alas, let’s save more who struggle, before time only permits echoed goodbyes!

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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Saturday, May 18, 2013

Instantaneous Collages During May




Instantaneous Collages During May

It’s the end of my year.
The only completion I’ve ever known.
When friends and mates part ways annually….
And sometimes re-kindle their bonds amongst orange brush.
Though my eyes recount instances of longing….
For hours by fires when I and they couldn’t remember names.
My condolences go towards trees that witnessed our lack of short-term memory
While babies collect photographs just in time for dust storms
Instantaneous collages during May….
Medicate my anxiety and remind me of appreciation.
Through grey constellation’s that document woman-ful and less days.
Why am I in despair at noon?
When the Sun hugs our highest seat on Earth
Maybe citizens’ smiles turn my human qualities away?
No friend knows the answer; not even Jehovah Rophe.
Instantaneous collages during May….
Gladly given to me by psychological dolphins that provide hope
For times when all loved ones are in disarray….
And hours by fires when no one remembers anyone’s name.
Can humans really live in harmony, move forward, and keep prior connections simultaneously?
Do mere girls become ladies as boxwood’s blossom?
For years through reproduction; a rebel to a dancing queen?
Instantaneous collages during May….
Convey images of those that run away.
Graffiti galore for creators who need to say….
That evolution always evolves, and visuals prevent histories decay.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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Friday, May 17, 2013

Trippy Dreams Revised



Trippy Dreams Revised

Watermelons, wine, and whisky set the tone….
For lines pertaining to pterodactyls, tears, and rainbowian trauma alone.
For creaking black-widow hornets are now commonly known.     
Thou distorted faces will collapse beneath my bleeding bones.
In the rye I sing; like olden times, trippy dreams survive.

Fevers frustrate Hungarian horseflies within dreams far away.
And I wonder why my mind spills phrases that create dismay.
‘Tis not Elegance archives which formulates a plot to isolate the impoverished?
Should mental downfall, not physical, be visible to butterfly-lions that exhale beauty; inhale courageous?
Rather than minutes mocked by companions who turn black when smiles flourished? 
In the rye I sing; like olden times, trippy dreams survive.

It’s the same ballad, cold coffee, and receding hair.
Even Upside-Down Land plants fish in polluted waters.
No end?  No end!  To the pressure applied on the colorful-ist days? 
When purple seagulls can finally fly alongside clean shores.
And laser-eyed cardinals finally determine what will rather than may.
In the rye I sing; like olden times, trippy dreams survive.

To say my breath is the wind….
Is to contrast bane and a beautiful sunrise:  Begin?
An inhale is a punch; an exhale is a kiss at songs’ end.
Like forty-thousand virgin cries at climax during formation of kin.
Saber-tooth whales breathe fire, but butterfly-birds sooth pain.
It’s madness inside my mind, though I have everything to gain.
In the rye I sing; like olden times, trippy dreams survive.

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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Tuesday, April 30, 2013

From Where I Stand




From Where I Stand

Tis’ dying that provides spatial opportunities for the living.
And companions that inspire socializing.
Within orange trees and a purple sky, I fly by the waist-side.
From where I stand, I’ll die in vain.

Lend me a scent that magnifies my only tonight.
A daytime fad that doesn’t pass out of fearful sight
Which surrounds cultured crowds and tempts my tendency to bite….
When the name of Karma rings on time and my resistance holds tight; my wings spread in flight.
 From where I stand, I’ll deny in pain.

There’s a reason for my hatred towards political signs: 
In spite of their constitutional expression, succession leads toward aggression,
And continuation establishes scarce positive alteration.
Playing it safe in Suburbia satisfies the many…..
Challenges sought without fire diminish quickly
Whatever’s right; tis’ wrong to bleed; scars swell in the Sun; I continue to climb.
From where I stand, graves lie in shame.

I remember when we danced for enjoyment.
When you portrayed a heart-filled savior
Now I’m willing to die for an answer to your soulless behavior.
You left me when companionship was most needed:
That’s unforgivable:  I know you don’t care,
But Karma’s a bitch, even to godless angels who have pleaded.

My last phone call to my Mema was about you.
And I’ll regret our relationship endlessly.
To the World:  Virgins aren't as innocent….
When they volunteer to blow passionately.
You used me:  I hope your teeth catches on his in Cali.
From where I stand, baby dolls comply amongst flames. 

Robert Alexander Deason          Peace

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Sunday, March 24, 2013

A Dark Knight in Aurora

A Dark Knight in Aurora

James, why so serious?
You shed blood, and I’m annoyed.
Because guns, aren’t controlled.
Politics, are for the polls.
James, you are to blame.
For all the pain….a heartless Bane.
James, why so serious?
Dogwoods, meet withering souls.
Because Holden, was misunderstood.
You’re Chapman, in the name of cold.
James, the children cried.
Your hair dyed, and blood was ripe.
Jessica, young and bold.
You shed blood, and Joker’s toll.
Because victims, with innocent pleas.
Screamed, and some aren’t seen.
And law, enforcement seeks, to keep the peace, that you released.
And James, I hope you die.
Like Bane, we seek Bruce Wayne.
Parents, with pictorial signs.
Forever cry, I hope you die.
And Axel, Rod’s alright.
His friends in pain, you are to blame.
James, you made Jamie cry.
His family, was jeopardized.
Because you’re, spastic hands.
Shot many down, in my homeland.
James, why so serious?
You violated, nature’s core.
Families, ruined lives, so wrong, so unkind.
A Dark Knight, in Aurora.
Bore, my heart away.
And James, the hangman complies.
Discrimination, doesn’t apply.
Because James, you don’t as well.
Six year old, silence dwells.
A Dark Knight, in Aurora.
While dogwoods, meet withering souls.
James, why so serious?
You shed blood, and I’m annoyed.
Because guns, aren’t controlled, blood, a Joker’s toll.
Pain, children’s cry’s, James, you are to blame.

Outro:  Don’t cry, tonight.  

Robert Alexander Deason           Peace

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