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jonny-angelPoems
It was a ritual scarfing spiced-eggs at the subbase, then heading up to the mountaintop to check on the cumulous-situation. From the banana house, one can see for eternity the tips of Tortola & beyond & grow fond of such splendor. The beauty of such moments can sink deep & stir hearts. Even the stoutest of pirates can cry behind the patch, get snatched by this passion, reveal his hidden treasure. My blood-eyes always seemed mesmerized, pleasured by the rum-filled hours spent down on Back Street before each maiden voyage. The trips to Drake's Seat to confer with the dreadlocked-donkey man were always my final stop. For he had select bumblegum-ganja, homegrown at market prices, to change perspective & buccaneers ya know, certainly need that fix. Those warm Trade Winds whipped through the Inward Passage while lobsters boiled on the shore, and there, raised up high on the edge, my stiletto kniving sapphires, I understood the true meaning of freedom, riding supersonic under golden suns, in a world so alone & starving.
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Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
I Cried Behind My Patch (Sailing on Island Time)
It was a ritual scarfing spiced-eggs at the subbase, then heading up to the mountaintop to check on the cumulous-situation. From the banana house, one can see for eternity the tips of Tortola & beyond & grow fond of such splendor. The beauty of such moments can sink deep & stir hearts. Even the stoutest of pirates can cry behind the patch, get snatched by this passion, reveal his hidden treasure. My blood-eyes always seemed mesmerized, pleasured by the rum-filled hours spent down on Back Street before each maiden voyage. The trips to Drake's Seat to confer with the dreadlocked-donkey man were always my final stop. For he had select bumblegum-ganja, homegrown at market prices, to change perspective & buccaneers ya know, certainly need that fix. Those warm Trade Winds whipped through the Inward Passage while lobsters boiled on the shore, and there, raised up high on the edge, my stiletto kniving sapphires, I understood the true meaning of freedom, riding supersonic under golden suns, in a world so alone & starving.
jonny-angel
Written by
jonny-angel
American
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
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