Friday, October 20, 2017

Because I Wake Each Dawn With Death

Because I Wake Each Dawn With Death
© Surazeus
2017 10 20

Because I wake each dawn with Death
and walk the road of hope
the sun threads through my dreaming brain
sharp rays of aching love.

I search for Death who calls my name
along the river shore
then climb the mountain cliff to reach
the garden of her fruit.

With sticks and stones I fight the snake
to chase him from fruit trees
then pluck ripe apples from their limbs
to give each soul I meet.

We sit inside the ring of stones
where white-haired women chant
and share old tales of warriors
who freed us from dark caves.

When darkness falls and stars gleam bright
I wonder if tonight
my glowing soul will fly away
and leave my body dead.

I dance in gold moon light with Death
who kisses me with love
but when I fill her with my soul
I sink in dreamless gloom.

I wake at dawn and see her face
as she walks by my side,
sweet Death who took my flashing soul
and generates new child.

Because I wake each dawn with Death
I give her fruit to eat
and while she suckles our new child
I build high walls of stone.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Woman In Silver Mist

Woman In Silver Mist
© Surazeus
2017 10 18

While sitting in my quaint suburban home,
listening to Mozart on the radio,
I gaze out the window past shimmering veil
of our great nation of America
and see frail woman in white on dark road
who grips a knife that drips with burning blood.

Through swirling sparks of mist that blur my eyes
she rises from shadow of ancient woods
and grips my arm with hands of gnarled oak bones,
then her blue eyes, red as the sun at dawn,
pierce my heart with anguish of nameless horror,
and then she faints into my trembling arms.

I carry her through wood of laughing ravens
to river shore where water sparkles bright,
but all the houses of our little town
groan as black skeletons in heaps of ash,
burned by wild flames that sear my aching heart,
and she hisses as she weeps in gray smoke.

"The raiders stormed our feast hall at midnight,
chopped off the heads of all our honest men,
and raped the girls who could not get away,
then burned everything we built with our hands,
while I hid all night in the old oak tree,
shivering in the rain of horror and fear."

I carry her to grove of flowers and herbs
where I clean her wounds, feed her apple juice,
and sing sweet melodies to soothe her fears
when she wakes frightened in moonlight and weeps.

We sit together when the robins chirp
cheerful tunes in the swirling mist of dawn
to eat strawberries and walnuts while they play.

She wakes in evening twilight with soft smile
that shimmers with joy of her healing heart,
so we hold hands and walk on river shore
where moonlight gleams on white wings of the swans
who glide on the pool that reflect gold stars.

I smile with joy and give her blooming rose,
then her blue eyes, clear as lake ice at dawn,
pierce my heart with desire of aching love,
and we kiss like honey bees on white blossoms
of apple trees that fall on our moist skin
as we make love under the singing moon.

I bring her stew and apple juice each day
where she sits singing in sun-dappled grove
while her belly swells like apples that grow
large and round in the kiss of sun and rain,
and I sing as she smiles with pleasant joy.

She bears young boy with eyes blue as the sky
glowing like bird eggs after storm clouds pass,
and he smiles while suckling milk from her breast
as she sits among apple trees and stares
through swirling mist at the red glow of dawn.

Returning with rabbits for evening stew,
I find our boy alone among gold flowers,
giggling as he reaches out little hands
to touch the wings of scarlet butterflies,
so I run through woods of whispering fear,
searching for the lost woman in the mist.

She sits among the ruins of her home
where skulls of her children lie cracked in ash,
and she weeps, clutching at her broken heart.

I cuddle her close to my loving heart
while her gnarled oak hands cling to me in fear.

I lift her from the cold ash of the past
and guide her through the woods of swirling mist
to grove of apple trees where our new child
coos bright at the sight of her tear-streaked face,
and reaches out his hands for her embrace.

She lifts him from the flowers with soft sighs
and cradles his head while she smiles through tears,
then gazes at him with adoring love
while he suckles fresh milk from her warm breast,
and hopeful sorrow clutches at my heart.

Returning to the present in my home,
I wonder at their names and where they lived,
and if that boy, born from sorrow of death,
was my ancestor who lived long ago.

I smile while watching birds play in the trees
outside my window where red apples hang,
and wonder with weird sensation of awe
why that memory glows in my mind now,
and what sparked it to play in waking dream.

Rising from my seat, I walk through my home
and watch my children in computer room,
one painting pictures and chatting with friends,
and the other editing video clips
to make a movie of her friends at school.

All our ancestors live inside our minds,
and the memories of their lives glow warm light
to dispel the shadows of ancient fears
which guides our way as we live each new day.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Global Empire Sonnet

Global Empire Sonnet
© Surazeus
2017 10 17

While watching evening news on television
about our new president threatening war
against some small and weak commonist state
imprisoned on the far side of the world,
I saw Homer, blind sage of brutal war,
strumming his harp in the Capitol Dome.
I whistle for Pegasus to descend
from clouds where Plato and Jesus play chess,
then direct his swift flight to Stone Henge plain
where I snatch Excalibur, blade of Justice,
from the ancient heart of the Stone of Scone,
then hide my face with mask of Hercules.
When Destroyer and Creator contend
our nation mushrooms into global empire.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Patriarchal Walls

Patriarchal Walls
© Surazeus
2017 10 16

Snow swirls at midnight on the Bridge of Spies
where the Weeping Clown waits in tattered cloak
to be exchanged for young Bellerophon
who carries broke wings of Pegasus.

Appearing from the swirling mist of fear,
the Eyeless King, clutching his silver gun,
holds out the ancient Book of Secret Tales
for Cinderella who receives its spells.

"The names of everyone who ever lived
are written on its pages with my blood,
so when you read their secret thoughts in code
their idols beam from holographic gem."

While Cinderella turns each crumbling page
the letters fly away like buzzing bees
and drink the pollen from our dreaming brains
that sparkle as honey in falling rain.

She gazes from the tower of laughing skulls
and strums gold harp while chanting wordless spells
that sew wings of Pegasus on my back
so I can fly above her labyrinth.

Then Cinderella pauses from her song
and tries to tell me how she was abused
by her uncle, boyfriend, date, and professor,
but all her words are twisted into flowers.

I wander lost in labyrinth of mirrors
where every man reigns in his home as king
but women dressed in long white gowns who fight
for liberty are smeared with tar of hate.

How shall we smash strong patriarchal walls
and build new social system that portrays
woman as the goddess who creates life
by planting seeds that sprout to apple trees?

Sunday, October 15, 2017

American Pastoral Of Death

American Pastoral Of Death
© Surazeus
2017 10 15

Halfway through my life, lost in city streets,
I meet Richard Wilbur by garden gate
who teaches me trick of Dionysian beats
so we rewrite weird formula of fate.

From crowded city streets of honking cars
moon-eyed Richard leads me to fertile fields
of lush Arcadia that glows from white stars
and teaches me secret of sparkling seeds.

The roots of flowers and trees from ancient core
of our huge pulsing planet curl through gloom
deeper into granite mountains to bore
cracks across spinning galaxies that bloom.

Inside each egg that beams from eyes of stars
living creatures wake to dream evolution
so we grow fish to monkeys driving cars
till everyone sings spells with elocution.

At gleam of dawn when Aurora will kiss
my sponge brain awake from oceanic dreams
I kneel in meadow to tend blooming herbs
while singing hymns in tune with flashing streams.

When ancient father with long snow-white hair
lies weak among flowers to drift in death
I plant seeds in his heart and eyes that share
woven vines of memory through my breath.

Leaning on staff under broad willow tree,
I tend sheep like sun herds fluffy white clouds,
and sing my love for the girl of the sea
who veils our marriage grove with wind-blown shrouds.

Ten thousand years of armies crossing plains
pave webs of roads from stone and asphalt sheen
so villages mushroom from bitter rains
into vast cities that conquer the scene.

Alone in small glass rooms of city towers
the blind shepherds paint quaint pastoral scenes
of couples making love among lush flowers
that sparkle in the memories of our genes.

When I left wild rugged hills of Arcadia
on noble quest to save the world from war
I got lost in American Bohemia,
searching in vain for the world-linking door.

I stood for years on street corners to sing
about the age of pastoral innocence
in meadows now paved with vast parking lots
where cars instead of sheep and horses play.

While wandering through the labyrinth of tales
I swerve sideways off the expected path
and blaze through the waste land new secret trails
that calculate truth with soul-slanting math.

With eager hands before apocalypse
I gather sweet blackberries for Amelia,
returning to Elysium on weird trips
to swim the Mississippi with Ophelia.

When we both enter the museum hall
to sing the ancient myths in new pop songs
we dance forever on the broken wall,
unable with magic to fix all wrongs.

We gaze beyond the veil of skin to dream
how swirling clouds reveal the naked truth
that though we must bathe in the flowing stream
we die drinking from the Fountain of Youth.

That shining idol, image in your mind,
you think is me, is but ghost your words conjure,
so take my hand with trust and we will bind
weird visions into one world view we ponder.

These calculations hidden in weird words
trace intricate tracks of psychic details
so I protect my brain with mental wards
that weigh cause and effect on moral scales.

The banker with quick calculator brain
gazes at pastoral paintings on steel wall
while glass towers blink in forever rain
and shepherds now work to build border wall.

Virgin Maria bearing the Christ Child
huddles behind cactus in blistering sun
to hide while agents patrol border wall,
hoping to reach the wealthy Promised Land.

Shrouded by blackness of eternal night,
Maria counts stars that flash through the gloom,
and maps Golden Way through the blinding light
till she wakes in the doorless Oval Room.

While sketching faces on cracked glass of hope,
Maria calculates process of change
that helps herd electric sheep on steep slope
before the satellite glides out of range.

I am the last robot composed of flesh
since my mother generated my soul
by weaving atoms from rays of the mesh
that links our hearts in superconscious whole.

Rising from cool stream in the heat of June,
Maria leads me through the brambled night
where laughing skulls of kings and gods are strewn
so spirits disperse in psychotic flight.

So through the woods by stone walls on old lanes
we pick blackberries by prophetic cave
and brew sweet rum from timeless sugar canes
to drink as Maria sings in the nave.

How words convey my thoughts on each brain wave
the eyeless wizard in the ruins chants,
so when Ophelia in clandestine conclave
revives me, we see God blossom in plants.

Join us on stage before the end of time
to sing American Pastoral of Death,
though secret of life is hidden in rhyme
that we reveal with our last dying breath.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Temporary Clusters Of Atoms

Temporary Clusters Of Atoms
© Surazeus
2017 10 14

Perched on the park bench like a hunting dog
about to run while chasing down a prey,
Joshua watches people in picnic halls
or walking around the lake at sunset.
"How I wanted so much, with aching heart,
to believe that we will live after death,
that, if we believe with unwavering faith
that Jesus is God who created all,
he would resurrect our eternal souls
after we die in this material plane
to live again in perfect body forms
for all eternity in realm of light.
Yet when I observe this world with clear eyes
I see the truth that we are nothing more
than temporary clusters of quick atoms
that vibrate with soul of hungry desire.
Each atom of this boundless universe
vibrates with energy of conscious flash
that when composed in neurons of the brain
attains higher level of consciousness,
evolving through each generated body
to transform from fish swimming in the sea
into potent god soaring among stars.
But for now we are frail humans of flesh
who struggle to survive in hostile nature
so we can copulate with fertile mate
to generate new body that sustains
dreaming brain which records all memories
each generation of ancestors lived,
and hope we develop society
that fosters talents of each individual
so we can evolve beyond mortal coil
and become supernatural gods with power.
Thus I can understand why people cling
to archaic belief in the afterlife,
desperate to live beyond blankness of death,
but I extract those lies from my world view
and seek to understand nature of things
so I can reincarnate in my children
since I will know nothing after I die
and vanish from the seething flow of time
while my atoms reassemble again
into another person with bright soul.
I long for the superpowers of a god
but I am content with the simple powers
that humans gained in game of evolution,
tasting the fleeting sweetness of this life
before I vanish in the lightless void."

Fantasy Of Solarian

Fantasy Of Solarian
© Surazeus
2017 10 13

Across the galaxy of sparkling stars
the god Zarathian with flowing wings
soars singing on wild waves of flashing light
and weaves lush planets from his brain neurons.

From sloshing ocean waves on countless spheres
new life forms bubble from hot thermal vents
and crawl up silver sparkling streams to lakes
to stand in waterfall with dreaming eyes.

The ancient cosmic god glows in the mind
of every living creature who first wakes
from mute atomic dream to hum weird words
in magic spells that conjure dreams in brains.

We look into the mirror of the pool
and see our own face looking back at us
and so we dance in grove of apple trees
with others who reflect our secret face.

Old bearded man appears from swirling mist
and tells us he created us from mud
and breathed the animating breath of life
to flash our eyes awake with beams of light.

"I am Zarathian, father of all,
and you are replications of my soul
whom I created when I sowed my seed
in womb of Mother Yartha before dawn."

I run on leaping legs back to the pool
where I stare down at mirror of my mind
and see my own face separate from the others,
and whisper, "I am me, Solarian."

Young long-haired boy runs leaping through the trees
and climbs the mountain high to touch the moon
but shining silver eye gleams out of reach
and all the world spins far below his feet.

"Each time I talk I hear his voice, not mine,
speak words I heard him speak since I was born,
and when I gaze in mirror of the pool
I see his face behind my unique face."

Solarian descends steep mountain slope
and steps into the ring of giant stones
where white-haired Zarathian sits on throne,
gripping beam of light he pulled from the ground.

"I am Solarian, son of the sun,
and I created all this world from light,
weaving mountains and seas from flashing beams,
so I will sit on throne of words to reign."

Leaping quick from the throne with howling scream,
Zarathian lunges to smash his head,
but wily Solarian ducks and strikes
swift to thrust sharp diamond blade in his heart.

Eternal soul of light gushes as blood,
red beams of spirit spurting from his breast,
and old Zarathian falls on his back,
chanting wordless music of aching death.

Grasping ring of gold that glitters twelve gems,
Solarian places crown on his head,
snatches scepter with gleaming emerald,
then sits on throne before astonished eyes.

"I am Solarian, born from the Earth,
reincarnation of Zarathian,
so now I reign as wizard on high throne
and speak with voice of eternal stars."

Crumbling mushrooms in brass cauldron of juice,
Solarian stirs potion while he hums
melody about how bees brew sweet honey,
then drinks it deep into his thrumming heart.

Across the galaxy of spinning stars
the god Zarathian on beating wings
soars singing on wild waves of pulsing light
and weaves lush garden from his brain neurons.

Looking up from the vision of his face
in shimmering pool, Solarian sees
young woman with silver eyes gleaming stars
who smiles and hides her face behind gold mask.

Opening his eyes in the meeting room,
Samuel looks around at his counselor
and circle of patients who heard his tale,
then smiles nervously and spreads his arms wide.

"I love to fantasize I am a god
or powerful wizard in ancient times,
because this wretched world we live in now
gnaws like rat poison at my aching heart."

Thursday, October 12, 2017

Atheist Prophet Of Wise Ungod

Atheist Prophet Of Wise Ungod
© Surazeus
2017 10 12

I am the atheist prophet of wise Ungod
who weaves our dreaming souls from beams of light
and sends us spinning through the universe
like a rock skipping across the vast sea.

The Ungod was lounging by her Black Hole,
drinking atoms from pulsing fountain flow,
when from one tiny drop of spinning atoms
she forged our star system by accident.

While sipping hot helium wine from stars
the Ungod snapped her fingers with a laugh
and sang sweet ecstasy of aching love
to float in dream inside our molecules.

Her endless dream of flashing beams of light
that flicker in our sloshing ocean waves
still sparks awake the neurons of our brains
so we remember her first conscious thought.

Deep down inside the core of our sponge brain
we dream that moment when Ungod awoke
with beaming consciousness of molecules
that spiral flashing through the void of death.

I hear her call my name at flash of dawn,
my mother singing, "Wake, Zarathian,
and teach your children how to sing in words
clear visions of our eyes that guide our way."

The Ungod who created nothing sings
deep in the urgent passion of our cells
so we invent her face from random swirls
to personify her galactic soul.

I am the atheist prophet of our Ungod
whose conscious hope inspires our searching eyes
to see her face shine on mountains and clouds,
our own mothers who taught us how to sing.

Equal Citizens Of America

Equal Citizens Of America
© Surazeus
2017 10 12

After discussing the latest statistics
about sports teams on television show,
the sports journalist pauses and folds hands
as he gazes into the camera.
"Now I must express stark fear in my heart
in commentary on social events.
I watch my children walk out the front door
every morning on their quest to learn truth
with classmates who live in our neighborhood,
and worry about how they will confront
various threats and dangers of this world,
hoping they will grow wise and perform deeds
that benefit with equal force of good
everyone who shares our society.
Yet since the tincture of their skin is white,
because our ancestors dwelled in cold lands
where clouds blocked the burning rays of the sun,
which caused them to grow more pale over time,
they benefit from extra privilege
that our white-based society affords,
attending college and attaining jobs
so they can purchase homes and working cars
and raise a new generation of children
who will advance far in wealth of success,
building on the success of my own life
as I built on the success of my parents.
While children of families whose skin is dark,
because their ancestors dwelled in hot lands
where burning rays of the sun were not blocked,
which caused them to grow more dark over time,
they struggle against systemic racism
and must work twice as hard to gain success
while facing constant aggressive remarks
designed to lock them in the lower class.
I worry enough about my own children,
but I cannot imagine how much stress
black parents of black children must endure
as we watch events unfold on the news
where police in too many of our cities
shoot and kill unarmed black people in fear,
more than thirty over the past five years,
yet suffer no punitive consequence.
We must ensure that opportunities
for education and jobs in our cities
are open for attainment from hard work
for every person dwelling in this land
who applies imagination and heart
to work in ways that benefit us all
who cooperate through competitive work
to build a better nation where all people
are equal in the justice of our law.
No matter the color that tints our skin
we share this land as equal citizens.
That is the news for today, so good night,
and may God bless land of America,
nation of liberty for every person
where black lives matter in justice for all."

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Statue Of Truth

Statue Of Truth
© Surazeus
2017 10 11

The azure of the window traps the sky
of my eyes within labyrinth of your heart,
so every morning when I ask you why
you give me keys that activate the cart
I drive along the winding road of death,
and lie among flowers to catch my breath.

The cup of every flower brims with blood
that drips from my eyes in lost memories
so honey of my heart fills your rosebud
which generates robots from my brain keys
before I swim down into bright abyss
on quest to find Truth, inspired by your kiss.

The steel bridge with wires ringing in wild wind,
connecting our hearts across silent void,
by mutual spells of fake destiny pinned
to yet unravel light from true ovoid
from which all eye-wide dreaming creatures spring,
shimmers with the fear of my broken wing.

Behind this oblique veil of gliding words
lurk demons who animate our sponge brains,
expressing diagrams through chirping birds
to demonstrate calculus of lush rains,
so I now understand cause and effect
that programs our universal aspect.

No matter how deep in the maze of tales
you chase elusive butterfly of spells
you must weigh your brain on the spinning scales
then baptize your soul in the stagnant wells
to cleanse your mind of deceptive beliefs
and map myth with new pattern of motifs.

The endless beforetime before our birth
and endless aftertime after our death
extend before atoms swirled into Earth
since I am the wizard who designed chess
so now I mold stone in statue of Truth
that keeps me wise as I begin to sleuth.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Tenets Of My Religion

Tenets Of My Religion
© Surazeus
2017 10 10

Brenda leans against the dead willow tree
watching gold sunrays beam like flaming brand
through swirling black rainclouds after wild storm,
and drapes her pale arm tight around his shoulder.
"Whenever I was hurt and got upset
my grandmother would laugh and kiss my cheek,
then stare at the burning sun and declare
in raspy voice grated by cigar smoke.
My dear, in case no one told you today,
I must remind you of the facts of life.
We are born from the lust our parents felt,
we must kill other life-forms to survive,
then we decay in misery and pain
till we die and vanish from the dream time
of this giant ball of dirt that spins lost
in the boundless void of the universe.
On the road of life we will always go
alone in the silent despair of hope,
and, though we attempt to communicate
complex thoughts that clatter inside our mind,
no one will understand our secret soul
like we will never understand their secret soul
they hide behind their mild congenial mask.
Though we deem ourself central to the play
of social life in which we think we star,
important to the process of survival
of our tribe in fierce contests for control,
commissioned by authority to act
with noble intention to produce good,
we are expendable in game of power,
replaced by other people with our skills
when we are damaged or destroyed by time.
All events that happen to us in life
happen for no good particular reason,
just random events of blind chance that clash,
undirected by any conscious mind
who plans and controls events of this world.
No mastermind directs the play of life
so we are each alone on road of time,
designing our own reason to maintain
passionate intensity of desire
that motivates our lust to reproduce.
We did not exist through infinite time
that calculates billions of years of change,
before our parents generated this body
of frail flesh that sustains our dreaming mind,
and after this brief flare of light in gloom,
we call living, we will die, and our mind,
now flashing with visions from memories
that record our experiences of life,
will disperse to swirls of unconscious dust
as the universe sparkles on without us.
After we die our name and all our deeds
will be forgotten, and our memories
will all vanish lost, like tears in the rain,
as if we never existed in flesh.
So cheer up and drink some sweet apple cider,
then invent some meaning for your own life
and live with passion of pleasure and love
to the full capacity of your heart,
so you taste its sweetness and bitterness
before death snuffs out the flame of your soul.
Her words are branded on my beating heart
and illuminate the road that I blaze
through the hostile wilderness of despair.
These tenets form the base of my religion
that guides my progress through the labyrinth
of this weird indifferent waste land of life."
Brenda drinks cider, gulping down sweet juice,
then hands him the jug with a crooked grin,
and birds chirp as rain drops drip from lush leaves.
Kissing his mouth, she pulls him down to lie
hidden among flowers and buzzing bees.

Friday, October 6, 2017

Charismatic Flash Of Fame

Charismatic Flash Of Fame
© Surazeus
2017 10 06

When I heard the famous poet on stage,
whose eyes exude the charismatic flash
of fame from adulation of the people,
declare in sing-song verse their folksy wisdom
through surreal jumps of leaping images
that reflect slanting beams of divine truth,
when I was shown distorted metaphors
that fragment in collage of references
archetypal concepts of mental states
which dissolve our persona of the I,
through fleeting memories, to cosmic self
of timeless soul whose vast butterfly wings
accelerate our flight on quest for truth,
how soon accountable I became weird,
till rising from the silent audience
I glided from hushed auditorium
and wandered through the labyrinth of doors,
each one opening to another world,
from the castle of their exclusive club
in the mystical night-air of the spirit
to stand on the highway of moving cars
and sing to the deaf as they chase the rainbow,
while gazing at the stars of flashing eyes,
about the flowing of the universe.
You cannot see my true face in the mask
that hides galactic neurons of my brain.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Onatah The Bountiful

Onatah The Bountiful
© Surazeus
2017 10 05

O bountiful for fertile farms 
where everyone shares work,
for orchards lush with apple trees
that sparkle in sunlight.
Lush Onatah! Vast Onatah!
You bless our souls with love,
and welcome home all refugees
from sea to shining sea.

On Onatah, this sacred land,
where golden corn grows tall,
we give each soul a helping hand
to build one feasting hall.
Lush Onatah! Vast Onatah!
You bless us all with life,
confirm our souls with self-control,
our liberty in law.

The spirit of the evening land
appears from swirling mist
and bears in hand the brimming cup,
inviting all to feast.
Lush Onatah! Vast Onatah!
You bless us all with truth,
and guide us to your pyramid
with Light of Liberty.

Where Old Spirits Abide

Where Old Spirits Abide
© Surazeus
2017 10 05

Sun shimmers through the leaves of distant trees
who whisper secrets I forgot through breeze
of tense despair in flutter of their leaves
since everyone knows why the widow grieves.

I walk somewhere on seven beams of light
to fly beyond the bounding wall of sight
and touch the atoms that vibrate inside
our flashing cells where old spirits abide.

I hear the birds in trees discuss my fate
how I attempt to transfer chords of hate
on trembling stairs of hope to higher plane
so I can sing with you in kissing rain.

But when that bullet splattered out your brain
I heard your scream halfway across the world
and try to stand tall as the Earth is hurled
through empty void that swallows my full heart.

I walk alone on every road in town
to map Cartesian grid of aching hope
but I must follow our crucified clown
who guides my way with mountain-climbing rope.

I paint the names blank from every street sign,
then perch on bridge to drink this glass of wine,
tasting blood in remembrance of my friend
and husband, now a mute ghost in my mind.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Pleasure Of Light

Pleasure Of Light
© Surazeus
2017 10 04

While floating on my back in the dark lake
I feel beams of sunlight thread through my cells
on piercing needles of knowledge that spark
endless visions of bodies which transform
nine stages of evolution through eggs,
sperm to worm to fish to lizard to mouse
to monkey to man to angel to god,
in fertile reproduction of our souls.

When I at last transform into a god,
with flaming wings that spin white puffy clouds
into wild thunder-blasting hurricanes
that flash strikes of lightning into dark souls,
I want to dance across tall city towers
of steel and glass, forged from granite bones
of dinosaurs, and orchestrate swift flight
of molecules that spiral through the web
of neurons sparkling in our dreaming brains.

But I am nothing more than mortal fool,
wide-eyed dreamer of ideal paradise
encased in fragile shell of skeleton
stuffed with meat and vessels pumping hot blood,
imaginative spirit trapped in flesh
of tangled neurons flashing memories
to generate world-view vision of truth
like a soap bubble beaming rainbow eyes.

While walking on the singing beach of time
I see the face of every breathing soul
who ever woke with dreaming brain of hope
in history of this spinning ball of dirt,
eyes drinking streams of light to generate
hologram that reflects real perceived world,
and so I sing their names in whirling wind
to weave persona masks on tapestry
recording epic tale of conscious life.

I crawl over mud under gleaming sun,
eyes searching for shapes in colorful blurs,
and follow the scent of water to find
shimmering pool of delicious delight
where I float in timeless motion of change
as waves of liquid envelope my soul
and cleanse aching sorrow of hungry fear
so all I know is the pleasure of light.

While staring at white clouds, I laugh amused
because my brain always attempts to see
creatures alive in ever-shifting shapes,
causing me to understand with insight
how my ancestors thought huge clouds were gods,
so I gaze beyond illusion I design
at the clouds themselves to see their true essence,
swirling clumps of water vapor congealed
in elaborate shifting patterns of fractals,
water drops that beam light into my soul.

Eternal Fame
© Surazeus
2017 10 04

So many human beings who live and die
in the slow turning of our world in space,
rise from the soil and gaze at the vast sky,
lost in the waste land far from the power race.
While wandering on the beach I read each name
of famous kings and warriors who achieved
wealth and success in the world of bright fame
who ruled heaven of the vain and deceived.
The waves of time wipe all our names from dream
so each new generation who begins
to play the game of control land and stream,
will contest over who loses and wins.
Yet those whose stories last beyond all death
are sung by poets with immortal breath.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

New Patriotic Hymn

New Patriotic Hymn
© Surazeus
2017 10 03

Standing on busy street corner at noon,
David tunes guitar and strums vibrant chord,
then sings new patriotic hymn he wrote
while people toss coins in his upturned hat.

"I love this land we call America
where spirit of the corn maid Onatah
enchants our hearts with love for liberty
and equal rights in just democracy.
This whole continent of mountains and streams
encourages pursuit of noble dreams."

Crowd of people on their lunch hour applaud
while he plucks melody of ringing tones
that leap around the fountain sparkling bright
and scatter flower petals on the walk.

"The honest eagle of America
needs her left wing and her right wing to fly
straight between the mountain of tyranny
and the soul-twisting swamp of anarchy.
This whole continent of mountains and streams
nourishes success of communal teams."

Leaning backward, David plucks rapid riff
that zig-zags through the labyrinth of lies
and leads them laughing to the Promised Land
where they eat apples from the Tree of Truth.

"Come play in Garden of America
while Jesus searches for lost Ithaca
to kill intruders and win back his bride
while wearing jeweled crown that swells his pride.
This whole continent of mountains and streams
is passive stage for chess games of regimes."

Twanging last chord to end his playful song,
David raises both arms to empty sky
while audience of office workers cheers,
then all vanish in mirror of his eye.

"We live in haven of America,
heirs to philosophy of Attica,
enchanted by the forms that matter takes,
baking wheat and eggs in holiday cakes.
This whole continent of mountains and streams
disappears in the calculus of schemes."

Waking alone under the highway bridge,
David sips beer and listens to the cars
driving circles while they chase rainbow hopes
under the distant indifferent stars.

Monday, October 2, 2017

Lost Cause Of Liberty

Lost Cause Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2017 10 02

When the angel in tower of steel and glass
fires bullets at the crowd of dancing people,
who will defy the wizard with the wand
and defend our lost right to liberty?

I hear their screams as people run away
and climb the high wall of rules to escape
from strict theocracy of paradise
and search the waste land for lost liberty.

Though their brains are splattered on easter flowers
the Christian zombies rise from graves of death
on judgment day to march for noble war
and fight for the lost cause of liberty.

Give every man and woman their new gun
so when the devil in the apple tree
tempts them to defy their god, king of fools,
they will fire back to shoot down liberty.

We fight to defend our right to live free
by shooting at fantastic ghosts of hope
then sing our national anthem with pride
after we kill that tyrant liberty.

When lightning strikes the tower down in flames
will angels fall nine days and nights to Earth
where we awake as humans with clear eyes
who dance around statue of liberty.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Theater Of Lost Tales

Theater Of Lost Tales
© Surazeus
2017 10 01

Rising from his seat in the theater
of lost tales after the movie is done,
Ron stretches arms and legs, then thumps his chest
while breathing deep the shimmering rays of light.

Turning slowly in the dim twilight glow,
Ron gazes at the crowd of skeletons,
who stare back at him as spiders and snakes,
and bows with a flourish of his right hand.

Reaching out his red right hand, Ron grasps skull
of the bearded king, who still wears gold crown
studded with jewels that resemble eyes,
and lifts it high above his head in moonlight.

Following the light that glows from its eyes,
Ron climbs trail winding around mountain side
to grove where young woman with long gold hair
sits meditating in the tholos temple.

"I sat in the temple of ancient tales
and watched every movie composed by hands
that depicts history of social conflict
replay process of human evolution."

Ten thousand skeletons in the vast hall
watch him give the woman a golden rose
while he leans to kiss her marble lips
the minute rain pours and drenches their souls.

"I watched so many movies about heroes
that the mask of my own face fell away
and I transformed into the human soul
of every person who has ever lived."

Picking up the skull of a German nun
who wrote poems about divine meditation,
Ron holds it over his face, and then laughs
when white butterfly flutters from its cranium.

Holding her arm bone, Ron draws in the dust
Cartesian grid to calculate the curve
that atoms thread when beaming through the void
to weave souls from the pulsing of our brains.

Lights flash in the theater of lost tales,
so Ron stands on stage before staring skulls
and sings weird haunting melody of love
about how the universe beams from light.

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Battling His Demons

Battling His Demons
© Surazeus
2017 09 30

Running down the city street after dark,
Mike tries to alert people passing by
but they float past his invisible face
as he staggers into the fountain square.

Five girls rise dripping from the fountain pool,
long white hair slithering like feathered snakes,
red eyes flashing with laser beams of fire,
and hands reaching out claws to tear his brain.

Each girl looks like someone he dated last year
and they scream his name, running forward fast,
so he twists his fingers and chants weird spell
that causes lightning sparks to spiral tight.

Squinting his eyes in the blurring twilight,
Mike exclaims, "Verba pulsant serpentum,"
then braces his feet against cement curb
as bolts of lightning pulse past the five girls.

Shooting lightning bolts into writhing gloom,
Mike howls in tense concentration as strikes
of lightning penetrate shadow to blast
giant serpent that writhes in agony.

Thrashing in monstrous rage, the serpent roars
and strikes against the battery of flames
that twist around his neck in flashing rings
which bind his scaled length in tight tangled knot.

Blinding white light envelopes his whole mind
in cell-tingling blast of shimmering buzz
that swells his pulsing body in huge globe
till he becomes vast galaxy of stars.

The black star pulsing at its central core
throbs vibrant waves of neurons through his brain
and hundred zillion eyes of flashing stars
open wide to gaze in mirror of death.

I am the void of nothingness that beams
becoming everything in web of light
through atoms woven by Sun Spider God
who wakes inside my brain and invents truth.

Snapping awake when someone speaks his name,
Mike beholds five pretty girls with cell phones
smile and wink as they stride past where he stands
so he turns to watch them vanish in mist.

"I thought I slew the dragon of despair
and freed their souls from fierce spell of its lust
but maybe that was nothing but illusion
conjured by my brain so I play the hero."

Slouching bored in the black wrought-iron chair
at the outdoor cafe where people chatter,
Mike stares at faces to see behind masks
true spirit that motivates how they act.

"Our national anthem contains one verse
we never sing because it curses men
with dark brown skin and mocks them with disdain,
so I should write new anthem for our nation."

Staring at stars twinkling behind phone lines,
Mike ponders what concept he should express
in lines of verse that would inspire all people
with noble principles of global justice.