My Own Direction Home © Surazeus 2024 03 18 Safely ensconced as the complete unknown in cardboard box of my alleyway haven, I ask Sisyphus why his rolling stone smashes only idols of the gold raven who brings me god mask from the ancient tome that helps me map my own direction home. Dancing with demons on Mount Helicon who guide me to the Fairy Queen in Stonehenge, I show her map I drew of Avalon so she rewards me with the holy orange which inspires me to build the Pantheon dome since I forget my own direction home. Chanting magic spells with mad Baudelaire who teaches me how to storm the Bastille, I steal jeweled crown of Apollinaire to prove I am the lost King of Castile, so on American highways I roam to navigate my own direction home. Claiming Siege Perilous of Percival with Wand of Zambor as World President, I encode secret of the Holy Grail as wizard who performs the sacrament through which I rule Earth from temple of Rome after paving my own direction home. Through reason of Apollo I explain how Earth beams from first flash of the big bang while strumming guitar on the street in rain to reorganize my loyal street gang who helps me when I play the empire game as fool lost on my own direction home. Through passion of Dionysus I leap on wings of Icarus above the world to Elysium where sons of Jesus weep at second coming of the Cosmic Herald who devises code of my royal name which signifies my own direction home. Hitchhiking to Eden with Sisyphus to drag King Midas off the global throne, we sit on head of Ozymandias to plot salvation of the rolling stone when lawyers arrive to deny my claim to redesign my own direction home. Wandering signless roads of America as the unknown with no direction home, I get lost in wild hills of Attica to find myself at home wherever I roam, hiding in Cave of Dreams to evade Fame who tries to block my own direction home.
Astarian Scriptures
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Monday, March 18, 2024
My Own Direction Home
Injustice Of Their Greed
Injustice Of Their Greed © Surazeus 2024 03 18 Along the apple-sweetened Anio shore Chloris runs on frail legs like wounded deer to escape gang of boys who call her whore as she finds motivation through stark fear to hide in small cave where the fox once dwelled, then weeps to know the truth that death has smelled. Heart bitter at injustice of their greed that crushes her beneath their mocking boots, Chloris scratches foul soil to find the seed that conjures magic of apple tree roots which consume corpses of boys she will kill when they lose control of their souls they spill. Sharp blade of metal she digs from wet dirt gleams in moonlight with thirst for evil blood, so Chloris glides with stealth despite her hurt, faced smeared with demonic power of mud, and finds each boy who dishonored her heart to exact revenge of his fatal chart. As ghost of sorrow, wandering misty groves, abused and discarded by gang of thieves, Chloris becomes mute absence as she roves stale valleys of tangled weeds where she grieves loss of innocence she treasured with faith in honest love that haunts her as cruel wraith. Concealed by oak leaves fluttering in the breeze, as she lingers in shadows of despair, Chloris sees her mother weep on her knees before funeral pyre that distorts hot air with flames consuming body of her soul, while Sextus scatters roses from brass bowl. Confused that they are weeping for her death, over corpse of some strange girl on the bier, Chloris hesitates and inhales deep breath to cherish love symbolized by each tear that people weep at memory of her name, remembering how she played the singing game. Deciding it is better they believe that she is dead, and nothing more than ghost whose absence they will too soon cease to grieve, Chloris retreats from alerting the host that she is still alive, then turns away to find her own new solitary way. Along the apple-sweetened Anio shore Chloris skips with wild joy that she is free to never suffer pursuit anymore, then kisses skull of Pluto by the sea where she lounges all day, eating fried fish, and reading weird tales that fulfill her wish.
Sunday, March 17, 2024
Attention Of His Faith
Attention Of His Faith © Surazeus 2024 03 17 With each crow that launches toward sun-red clouds young Cronus plucks another juicy plum from black twisted branches of ancient trees while glancing back over his shoulder to spot if old gray-bearded Uranus might wake from snoring by door of his old wood shack. Relaxing with blithe confidence of stealth, young Cronus climbs up in the tallest tree to reach three largest plums with eager hands, then starts with shock that makes his heart beat wild when harsh voice of old Uranus declares that he will soon die for his crime of theft. Staring down surprised in fierce sea-blue eyes, Cronus stutters and tumbles from the tree, annoyed that his plums scatter in the grass, then leaps to his feet and crouches to fight, like the wolf crouches when facing the bear that catches him sniffing about his lair. Snatching broken branch that lies in the grass, young Cronus twirls and waves it with bold stance, as if to show that he cannot be cowed, when Uranus howls and charges with rage, like the bull defending its fertile herd, and punches raven boy hard in the head. Stunned and dizzy as he rolls in wet grass, young Cronus clutches his bruised head in shock, but breathes deep and centers spark of his strength at flaming core of passion in his breast, so he asserts attention of his faith to leap and kick Uranus in his chest. Alert with tense control of his taut limbs, young Cronus analyzes with sharp eye just how sky-father moves when he attacks, and notes exposure of his vital state when he swings skull-crushing fist in hot rage, then snatches sickle with intense purport. Ducking hard blow of his skull-crushing fist, young Cronus somersaults inside his guard, then, clutching genitals of his old father, castrates his sire with swift stroke of ambition through brave objective to assert free will in choosing how he wishes to perform. Hurling organ for generating life into deep swirling sea of wordless hope, young Cronus gasps when from its foaming seed beautiful Rhea emerges with grace, so they embrace and make love by the sea, then kiss and blush as they consume ripe plums.
Born Merely Clown
Born Merely Clown © Surazeus 2024 03 17 Awake in glow of vast lenticular, I backward flow on stream of faceless words to ungrasp thought for each particular that flutters joyful anguish of wild birds who swoop with full exquisite themes of love to fall stone-dreamed in shadow of the cove. Stark silent wisdom stones express in song urge little children flapping wingless arms to unsurprise wreathed tree that sells time wrong through endless councils legislating charms which Ocean suns with total amplitude based on unnow that measures poisoned food. More recent memories blooming dolls of grief consider shadows where blind children play games of chase with specters of disbelief performed by grim immortal mime of clay who molds snowflakes in idols of dead gods since sons of Jesus rule with iron rods. Born merely clown from mother of what if, I jump vast ocean bridges cracked by faith to measure span of life by looming cliff that knows why children steal books from the wraith though he sells silence in glass jars of hope with manuals that teach fools tricks how to cope. Each purchased fragment split from false untime contracts green silence with cold kiss of death out-morning warmth of calculated rhyme that tricks her son to wear clay face of breath with each new cloud far-dancing on blood hill unborn through flowers of conceptual will. Five faces painting gloom on boundless walls consider love more thick than seldom seen far deeper than white sea of serpent calls who sanely grasps frail moon in time machine as if we little unforgive forged pride less secret than cruel deeds we try to hide. Not thicker than forget of cannon speech, we laugh enormous clever no one hears to unregret frail corpses from foul beach, incensed by talking fists of huger fears too vivid for our children to dismiss with sometimes pleasure of the stolen kiss. Yet utter ripeness stuck between far downs expands unspeaking girls with honest tricks who search for named boys in pretty how towns with floating bells that holy book depicts as guessed uncertainties children obtain when they sleep dreams of starving bitter pain.
Saturday, March 16, 2024
Fight Their Own Wars
Fight Their Own Wars © Surazeus 2024 03 16 Soft sunlight on thick windows of new cars considers principles of empire power condensed from prophecies of errant stars captured by blind Rapunzel in the tower who hears our thoughts in twitter of free birds when they escape false concepts of our words. The rivalry of mental principles between reason and control of Apollo, and passion and chaos of Dionysus, provides emotional balance of faith for me to navigate drama of life with energy that fuels perceptive logic. Though my mother and my father grow old since they were born in the second world war, our lives are beautiful as marigold that blossoms outside the empty church door, so I stroll in town with the busy crowd to contemplate magic of the Glow Cloud. Galahad sits in the Siege Perilous after Jesus founded the Royal Bloodline that rules through power of the Holy Grail, so Percival assembles the Earth Puzzle while they discuss how to conquer the world at the Round Table of the War Machine. People at round tables outside cafes eat ice cream and talk about politics while blind prophet with lyre of Hermes plays coded satires that mock deceptive tricks bankers play to keep the people enthralled with tales of wealth sung by the radio skald. Beethoven climbs stairs of the music hall to find Cinderella mopping the floor, so he gives her roses and jeweled ring, but she wants to fly to Paris and sing opera shows at Le Palais Garnier, because she hopes to marry sad Pierrot. Stock characters of abandoned religions hang out as ghosts in changing maze of myths so I try to revive them with new visions where they perform roles of militant faiths who fight world war over whose god is real till Janus and I make another deal. Complex narrative of victory we tell presents flawed human characters who play roles of Christ and Anti-Christ in world war till Zarathus crowns himself King of Earth, so we all go back to our daily lives, raising children who will fight their own wars.
Perfection Of Afternoon Light
Perfection Of Afternoon Light © Surazeus 2024 03 16 The bumblebee that hovers by my window explains perfection of afternoon light that sculpts simple beauty of trees and homes, and faces of people strolling the street as they discuss philosophy of life since the serpent lives in the apple tree. The serpent that lives in the apple tree lays down brambles and jagged shards of glass to obstruct my quest searching for true love so I transform pain of my heart to song that shines in darkness as lamp of new hope since the horse gallops on the windy hill. The horse that gallops on the windy hill reveals the long curling vine of desire that blooms with juicy purple grapes of faith which zing my brain with visions of delight so we dance laughing on the river shore since the eagle watches from the tall pine. The eagle that watches from the tall pine programs computers to obey commands which bind eight billion humans in one mind as we evolve into global God Brain who dreams evolution to wingless angel since the lizard lurks in fountain of youth. The lizard that lurks in fountain of youth defines the heart that explodes as the bomb fired by the tyrant in the golden tower who tracks our footprints on the sandy dunes to conquer paradise of olive trees since the camel rules as the wasteland ghost. The camel that rules as the wasteland ghost operates on cancerous king of the world who lies etherized on table of war after getting shot by the bold assassin who insists that the election was stolen since the dragon rises from the oiled sea. The dragon that rises from the oiled sea performs the rites of spring in Stonehenge ring where elves and angels gather to elect new Faery Queen to rule the Western World from Cave of Dreams on Isle of Avalon since the raven controls the television. The raven that controls the television retrieves Runes from deep Well of Melusine so humans have technology of words to capture memories of our previous lives which our ancestors lived with aching hearts since the bumblebee hovers by my window.
Friday, March 15, 2024
Never Wait For Death
Never Wait For Death © Surazeus 2024 03 15 Silver evening sky watches me through oaks with cruel demonic face of happiness that looms over frail homes on lonely hills where cars glide slow on narrow country roads with headlights that illuminate grim ghouls who haunt the wordless shadows of desire. Though precious treasure of my aching heart may seem lost now on raven wings of fear, I know she will return from swirling gloom with knowledge about people I hold dear whose idols never wait for Death to come in regular rhythm with ocean waves. Frail river boat may rock against mud shore with creaking moan of ghosts who search alone for names their mothers hide with serpent eggs, but I will wait for Death in black lace gown to take me to the castle for the feast where the prince pokes my chest with his sharp sword. Strange stillness of the black oak trees at dusk reflects stark terror of my empty mind so I grip twisted wand of trembling faith to face the smiling monster of my fear who lurks beside the moonlit singing stream while reading ancient book of epic poems. Rain clouds glow silver in the evening sky as if to mock wild beating of my heart while I stare in gold window of her hope where she brews apple cider in stone hearth that bubbles as she pours thick honey in, and adds sliced red mushrooms with eyes of newt. Inviting me inside with beaming grin, she dips large jeweled grail in bubbling juice and offers me sweet honey mead of love, so I drink deep illusion of the mind that flashes visions of ten million years as I dream how light swirls into the Earth. Light fades into black nothingness of truth that veils frail shell of my soul in red mist in tune with shrieks of foxes on bleak moors, because the moon owl on the hearth explains how man and woman generate new life as I fall into abyss of her eyes. I never wait for Death to find my home so when I wake beside the girl I love I kiss her face from compassion of trust with vow to feed her and guard her with care as she swells pregnant with child of my soul who wears demonic face of happiness.
King Of The Pack
King Of The Pack © Surazeus 2024 03 15 I do not want those fawning worshippers, he proclaims while striding down mirrored halls, who flock around the beautiful masked stars, for they are vampires hungry for your power who misdirect their jealous energy, and would turn quick to stab you in the back. Halls of Fame are crowded with Jupiters, he sneers while tapping photos on the wall, who cruise around Gotham in fancy cars, and fight for who will rule the Ivory Tower to evade fate of double jeopardy in vicious contest for King of the Pack. Obsessed with glamor of the worshipped poet, endowed with recognition of the crowd as brilliant genius with clever insight expressed through spells of convoluted verse, these nascent Apollos seek only fame, forgetting we endure Hell to reach Heaven. Programmed by investors to play the prophet as the tortured poet in tattered shroud who wears fake wings of Icarus in flight, nameless poets, ignorant of the curse bestowed by Orpheus on the Word Game, chase rainbow of glory cast by the Raven. After descending to foul gloom of Hell to rescue my Muse, bitten by the snake of hunger for fame and glory of the seer, I lead her back home to the World of Light only to lose her from silent despair, my heart glowing with strange Wisdom of Death. Kneeling in dark woods by Rune-teeming well, I gaze at mask of my face that seems fake to discern ideal truth in spinning sphere that formulates morals for wrong and right, till I perceive the Real behind is glare, so I regain my Muse with conscious breath. Performing role as Priest to save the world from glamorous illusions of false wealth, I sing uncanny spells with eerie voice while bearing lamp that guides my way with love till crowds of lost souls follow my footsteps and gather in haven I build with words. Returning from Hell as the Cosmic Herald with hard-won secret code for mental health, I sing new paradigm that presents choice as creative way to share treasure trove, concealed with riddles on globalized maps, so we can sing in harmony with birds.
Thursday, March 14, 2024
Prim Reclining Goddess
Prim Reclining Goddess © Surazeus 2024 03 14 Heritage of the walking table claims prim reclining goddess on railroad tracks loves Teiresias of the hooting owl with visual passion of Olympic games distorting visions of computer hacks who program dreams with poems of Robert Lowell. Close reading of blank books that swim alone exposes pride that Julius Caesar twists concept of Heaven that glamors his brain to sing in harmony with rolling stone that Sisyphus paints red with martial fists because Teiresias loves to dance in rain. Because the Boston Brahmin rides black horse along telephone lines of naked voice though wise zombies study philosophy, Teiresias sails small boat down winding course from Mount Parnassus based on private choice to prove Death plays chess through theology. Unhappy circumstances of his life concealed in puzzling poems he never writes with rigorous examination of faith, Teiresias wears mask of his gorgeous wife to fool Robert Lowell who always fights against imperial reign of the god wraith. While driving Tudor Ford on asphalt road past the old South Boston Aquarium through bleak Sahara of swirling snowflakes, Teiresias visits Temple of the Toad who leads the dead to lush Elysium with honest hope to meet satanic snakes. Opposed to factories built in cotton fields where dancing skeletons worship the Bear, Teiresias lassoes idol of dead king who still laments bloody sword his son wields in battle to defend Apollinaire who searches in vain for his lost left wing. Traumatized by love of the eyeless ghost who dances with him gracefully through time, Teiresias tries to confess with proud mien eternal flame of love that burns his boast with promise to cleanse his soul of all crime then vanish in shadow of Melusine. With fierce ambition of his fleeting youth that weighs his heart with cruel elusive flame beaming too brightly from the stark abyss, Teiresias appoints me messiah sleuth under spar spire of the church with no name because Ishtar enchants me with her kiss.
Remake Our Nation
Remake Our Nation © Surazeus 2024 03 14 Clearly not fast enough to overcome disastrous dissolution of Dream World that we assumed describes reality which crumbles into narrative of power expressed by violent people in despair, I remake our nation in my own image. Clearly not wise enough to comprehend nine levels of chess in game of world power that swirls around me in global events unfolding from conflicts of interest between opposing cults of social rights, I remake our nation in my own image. Clearly not cool enough to arrogate glamor of divine right to exercise power of authority with gold wand which I wield in battle for mind control to fight demonic energy of hate, I remake our nation in my own image. Clearly not strong enough to confiscate wealth stolen by the traitor through his scams designed to fool his frightened worshippers with delusion that he is their messiah who will save their souls from humiliation, I remake our nation in my own image. Clearly not sharp enough to navigate narrow channel of balanced accuracy while steering Ship of State with strict insight between opposing ideologies based on analysis of equal rights, I remake our nation in my own image. Clearly not fool enough to analyze complex hypothesis of measurement based on comparison of legal rights opposing nations claim in brutal fight that land they occupy was always theirs, I remake our nation in my own image. Clearly not dumb enough to conjugate assumptions based on vague ancestral rights enforced through bullet-pointed words of pride to kill or be killed in cruel genocide that shatters frail skulls of the innocent, I remake our nation in my own image. Clearly not slow enough to interfere with postulated theory forged from death that faceless God in glowing cloud of fear directs stage drama of global events to reduce excess human population, I remake our nation in my own image.
Salvation From The Rain
Salvation From The Rain © Surazeus 2024 03 14 Through artistic measurement of Mankind blind seers who rearrange our naked souls present our fragile hope of hostile joy in frame of reference bound by ancient laws that men on mounds of skulls declare as rule by which we seek salvation from the rain. To preserve geography of our flesh that curves beyond our understanding minds we choose how we would see the changing world as vital resource we extract with hands that could sustain compassion of our souls when we achieve salvation from the rain. Old woman stepping from wood portrait frame leaves bombed museum with her dreams intact while clutching suitcase of torn photographs to walk past war tanks, mangled on the road, where skeletons dance with rainbows of despair, to discover salvation from the rain. Waiting for the brutal world war to end, her daughter sits by cracked window of time and sews world map on pillow of her hope that shows how roads and rivers interact to nourish cities bombed to dusty ruins which could provide salvation from the rain. While reading empty book of history, which presents maps that show how haughty kings killed people to claim moral victory, she ponders how our lives could intersect so we can weave new life from harsh defeat to utilize salvation from the rain. Assembling diorama of her lost life, the little girl in dirt-stained yellow dress fills miniature house with new furniture where dolls can play cute drama of her heart, on cluttered yard beside her bombed-out house, if she procures salvation from the rain. Attentive to flight of the martial hawk, that watches humans battle over land, the young girl bears the cold sea in her hands to scatter waterdrops on stark white hills for olive trees to sprout from fractured skulls, to encourage salvation from the rain. Eager to hear stones of the Earth speak truth, I stand before abandoned castle shells to dream lost memories my ancestors lived that explain why I built it with my hands in hostile wilderness of monstrous men, then discover salvation from the rain.
Wednesday, March 13, 2024
Pretty Queen Of Tears
Pretty Queen Of Tears © Surazeus 2024 03 13 The white horse only guides me by surprise as captive of Apollo, god of songs, who calls me with strange voice of motor cars programmed by Theseus to wake the dead, electric shock therapy of cruel jokes that crack invisible mirrors with faith. When I was troubled by gold evening light that stretches boundaries of my ardent mind, you molded my body from ocean slime with tangled knots no sailor can untie, though I climb the tallest tree in the world to understand why monkeys love to sing. Stealing words of detective story plots to bribe my sad collaborating Muse, I tell fictional version of my life in memoir full of lies that no one reads about how snakes in apple trees can trick fools into believing God loves their names. My eyes will never see what my hands do because I type words on blank page of truth to confess with verbal rawness of faith deception I perform to scam the rich by fooling them to believe the black rose contains the secret of eternal life. Because I love the pretty Queen of Tears, who opens windows on hot summer nights, I dance ballet on the razor-sharp edge of honest passion between naked souls who pass each other in the sultry dusk with brutal swagger of the hungry dead. Though History wants to live with what is here, clutching my heart with gentle dragon claws, I choose to accept that all humans die with unfinished drama of our desire luring us way too deep in maze of myths for us to escape trap of great events. Cows wait patiently in the field of dreams where I grip high-voltage wire of ambition with laughable plan to crown myself king while hunting predatory clowns with stealth who wear my terrifying innocence as angelic mask to hide their scarred face. Midway through journey of my futile quest to find the Holy Grail inside my heart, I drop dead in the middle of my show, still gripping mask of my negative self that melts in screaming alphabets of faith because I wake not in the Afterlife.
Poison Of Fame
Poison Of Fame © Surazeus 2024 03 13 Fame is the deadly poison of false pride that destroys and kills the poetic spirit, so better to remain obscure and nameless to more enchantingly sing in the silence with loving lamentation of the heart for death of beauty in the changing world. The faceless singer in the swirling mist, who walks forever on the signless road, finds weird transcendent beauty of the mind in hostile wilderness of savage beasts, so when he arrives in the country town he sings with joy to praise passion of life. When people lost in darkness of desire hear sweet enchanting voice of his weird song, then gather close to bask in glow of hope, the singer feels warm radiance of his soul sucked out by hunger of the crowd for faith, so he flees back to safe obscurity. Hearts sparked by Dionysian lust for hope, the anxious crowd, lost in dark gloom of fear, follows blinding glow of the frightened singer to find him hiding in cave of illusions, so they cry out for vision of salvation, hungry to devour his enchanting power. Emerging from gloom of demonic cave, with diamond gleaming brighter than the moon, the singer stands before the frightened crowd and sings to translate anguish of despair to hopeful faith that with their grasping hands they can create wealth from darkness of fear. Inspired by vision of better tomorrows, the crowd offers cup of fame to the singer, so, though he hesitates with bitter knowledge that fame is poison that would kill his spirit, he reaches out to accept their deadly gift offered from ignorance of worshipful awe. Drinking poison of fame with prayer of faith, the singer gasps and feels his soul transformed from mortal body to immortal god through wrenching apotheosis of love, so his body wilts in cave of illusions while his soul dissipates to wordless wind. Erecting statue that depicts the singer, his bold fanatic worshippers sing praise and bow before idol of his weird beauty to celebrate the heart-enchanting power his visions conjured in their hopeful minds, while they repeat the songs his heart once sang.
Tuesday, March 12, 2024
Story Most Worthy To Sing
Story Most Worth To Sing © Surazeus 2024 03 12 My self-reflection on my mirror brain tricks Ungod into thinking I am her, so she veils me in sorrow-fog of faith that leads me astray on the signless road my mother blazed with hill-exploring feet till I wander in her lush apple grove. Pushing through thick canopy of green leaves, I stumble into clearing by deep cave where she bathes naked in the sparkling pool, my eyes blinded by pure beauty of truth, so I understand why this world exists, awed by perfection of her moon-bright eyes. My conscious fear of Death inside my heart tricks Ungod into giving me ripe fruit, brewed sweet in mushroom wine that blows my mind as I dance laughing in star-flashing rain when she embraces me in eager arms and draws immortal spirit from my brain. Filling baskets in wagons with ripe apples, I wipe sweat from my frustrated forehead while she lounges in cool refreshing pool, belly swelling huge with child of my heart, so I smile and wave at girl I adore who beams while Erato plays ringing lyre. My haughty pride in fertile fatherhood tricks Ungod into crowning my bowed head with laurel wreath as I present our child to the cheering crowd of satyrs and nymphs who dance all night to celebrate rebirth of Kritheis from soul of the river ghost. Teaching young boy to strum strings of the lyre, I teach my son how to compose sweet hymns with clear harmonious tones of lofty faith that praise noble deeds of heroic gods who protect mankind from demons of fear when Zeus battles Kronos to rule the Earth. My meditation on path of my life tricks Ungod into giving me star map by which I navigate vast maze of myths to find the story most worthy to sing that presents tragic fall of the great city and prosperity of the country town. Limping wounded on the wild ocean shore, I cry out to Zeus in the empty sky for strong courage to fight the gang of thieves who drove my family from our paradise, but lie on sand as my wife and son weep, then sink in gloom as my son sings lament.
Quakes Of Hopeless Faith
Quakes Of Hopeless Faith © Surazeus 2024 03 12 These memories I recollect with the rain that types my sorrows on the listening lawn include the way my playful children laugh with heart-aching cheer of those who still hope, while faceless monsters of the hungry world haunt sun-beamed shadows as weird nameless things. I hide no memories of wings in my spine with tense attention to the way Death waits, but I breathe courage of the wordless rain to fasten my soul with hope to the world because I keep falling back to the sky in shocked reversal of grave discontent. The book still on the table of my heart attempts to escape my labyrinth of dreams to find warm glowing hearth in gloomy woods where cherubim disguised as stormy clouds hover vast over meadow of blind faith with bleak compassion of afternoon rain. The bomb explains my father is the light that cracks blank mirror of the restless sea so I decide that I will never drown except to send my spirit to the moon when grim age cripples my eager intent though I memorize names of birds and flowers. White petals from tattered dresses of girls pave bomb-buckled streets with grand victory as secrets children hide in star-burned books where photos of families killed in the war shrivel to oak leaves on indifferent hills though tanks crush golden walls of paradise. The nun on fire with passion of the sun runs silently toward mirror of the mind across low treeless hills of gleaming snow to catch blind angel falling from the sky, whose cry cracks Earth with quake of hopeless faith, then sits alone with nothing in her hands. Ten thousand people from factories and farms gather around tomb of the Unknown Goddess to sing reverent hymns for Pallas Athena whose shield displays virtual world of our dreams while angels fly silver planes over clouds to bomb the crystal palace where Zeus hides. After building Temple for wise Apollo, Triphonius wanders maze of Gotham City as ghost in memories of my predawn dreams who gives me the golden Cup of the Sun when I return home from the brutal war to wonder why our noble flag still burns.
Monday, March 11, 2024
Join The Justice Squad
Join The Justice Squad © Surazeus 2024 03 11 She mails letters from Desolation Row so I can know what happens to the ghosts who struggle every day to play the show with spirit-twisting passion of proud boasts, yet I refuse to say where I have been, still hoping to explain what I have seen. She photographs torn bodies of the dead half buried in rubble of bombed-out homes so I can build tombs for them in my head while recording their tales in dusty tomes that groan unread in dim library halls as their children play chase in waterfalls. She visits trailer-home parks outside town to document bitter lives of the poor who prefer the preacher become their clown to make them laugh that they can earn no more, unable to work sick in factories because they had to sell their psychic keys. She films the homeless singer by the bank who sings about the Calculator Man who bravely faced down the tyranny tank in world revolution that angels ban by burning down Statue of Liberty whose Book of Deeds crumbles into the sea. She photoshops her magazine face in picture with her children in her arms to prove she will always be Princess Grace fit to rule the kingdom of failing farms, till Humpty Dumpty tumbles off the throne at second coming of the three-eyed crone. She stands before the academic crowd to talk about Power of Poetry sanctioned by the Faceless God in the cloud whose perfect world includes dire poverty for crippled children orphaned by the king who claims all land as his with Magic Ring. She gathers flowers on the river shore to sing with joy that heals her broken heart while Hamlet sells food in the grocery store, hoping to evade fate of his star chart, till his father falls from Tower of Truth, which leaves him crowned as new messiah sleuth. She dances with the Jester by her grave after casting off strict religious chains, then forges Excalibur in the cave, used as propeller for the new airplane she flies above shining clouds to find God, but returns home to join the Justice Squad.
Head Of Ozymandias
Head Of Ozymandias © Surazeus 2024 03 11 Through screaming silence of the gold god-mask every king who ever reigned explicates complex program for how to organize aggressive warriors and farmers to prove divine right to command how people act so the whole community may survive. Though we attempt to describe what we see in sentences that convey concepts clearly from mind to mind in waves of honesty, absolute truth eludes our bumbling spells more slippery than eels in frightened streams, so I reprogram how I film the world. Though I speak clearly through this mirror mask with grand authority of the Cloud Voice, I hide my name and features of my face so you will never know who I might be, except to hint that I am who you see when you sense lightning flash across the sky. Through sensible expressions stating facts I prove I am not yet dead as the rock that slips from hands of Sisyphus each dusk and smashes gold idols with feet of clay that loom as shadows over all we do, then stand on head of Ozymandias. Should angels fear to tread in hall of mirrors where ghosts play pianos with no hands, then I will claim the fallen crown of power and strut on Pyramid of the One Eye as I pretend I created this world where people kill each other to live free. Since no one sees Ephraim in the church preach holy wisdom of the Divine Self, we stand in line at the amusement park to vote for who will reign as President in constant battle between good and evil that controls wild revolution of change. Since we are born from choice our parents make, and find ourselves alive with grim surprise, we make the best of things with chocolate cake we eat while watching movies about spies who search for demon of the placid lake where rotting corpse of Lucifer still lies. Should Ephraim speak through the Spirit Board about salvation in the modern world, I will go to Florence with my shy lover and paint statue of David in bright colors for portrait that hangs in glass church of ghosts who sing elegy for Son of the Owl.
Sunday, March 10, 2024
Strange World Of Today
Strange World Of Today © Surazeus 2024 03 10 Though I go to my memories for respite, to linger mute in its heart-haunting glow that radiates in words from weird dreamless light, and savor how life was long years ago, I return to the strange world of today with better understanding how things are. Escaping trap of my fond memories for youthful days hitchhiking signless roads across vast waste land between singing seas where I sang harmony with ageless toads, I return to the strange world of today with complex concept about right and wrong. The project of my song is not my life, for I am just some fool on errant quest to find the Holy Grail shines as my wife who raises children in our love-built nest, instead I sing the strange world of today where millions of people fight to survive. Still pondering why we are alive on Earth, from days I sang ballads on city streets, in project to analyze natural worth recorded as dreams on purchase receipts, I return to the strange world of today to observe how people transact their souls. When scientists declared Nature is gears of atoms forming chemical machines, romantic poets sought to become seers who worship cosmic nurse in forest scenes, so I present the strange world of today as organic process of solar light. Considering how proud Lucifer rebelled against authority of jeweled crowns, and fought against the Savior who upheld commercial empire uniting all towns, I return to the strange world of today to support democracy with my vote. Since man first built tall ziggurat of power to organize markets of goods and food, where tyrants rule from the arrogant tower to adjudicate each destructive feud, I analyze the strange world of today as fight for rights between owners and workers. Based on my memories of the global past composed of empires ruled by networked gangs, where people struggle for democracy against oppressive greed of monarchy, I redesign the strange world of today as United Nations where all live free.
Dreamless Mountain Cave
Dreamless Mountain Cave © Surazeus 2024 03 10 When voice of the sun speaks in the bleak wind about injustice of man against man, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave recites words of the angel in his heart in eerie haunting verses that express heart-aching sorrow of the star-blind seer. When stark gold sunlight of the evening hour gleams on the treeless mountain ridge of hope, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave stands tall on dizzy spinning of the Earth to reach both hands high to the faceless cloud that radiates old truth from eye of the sun. When bright immortal stars of timeless faith gleam clear in eyes of people seeking truth, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave recites words of the angel in his heart as they transcribe his verse on parchment scroll, awed by weird wisdom of the star-eyed seer. When rich men beat their slaves with angry whips to make them bow with reverence to their power, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave decrees all man are equal in the world so rich and poor both bow to power of light that gleams from omniscient eye of the sun. When crescent moon gleams over desert hills to signal progress of new social change, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave fasts from food and drink sunrise to sunset to honor angel that speaks in his heart while humming brave prayers to eye of the sun. When horses gallop over wind-swept dunes to bear young men with message of new truth, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave journeys deep in confusing maze of myths to smash idols of ancient eyeless gods that make way for the living star-eyed seer. When prophet speaking words of ancient truth strikes stone of sorrow with wand of new faith, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave catches water bubbling from fountain spring and offers juice of life to travelers who see his face glow in eye of the sun. When winged horse of blessing from lush vale appears from whirlwind on the ocean shore, the old man in the dreamless mountain cave rides swift as wind to Citadel of Peace to stand in moonlight on Rock of Insight with prophets who welcome the star-eyed seer.
I Sing Of Wise Athena
I Sing Of Wise Athena © Surazeus 2024 03 10 Revered Athena, Goddess of my Heart, who haunts dreamless caves of mountains and seas, running through forests in valleys and hills, I follow you exploring this wide world so I can learn from you how to transform stones into cups and swords with blazing fire. New born with wisdom of the singing sea, I spring from your indomitable head with dreadful spark of passion in your eyes, just as you sprang from head of Father Zeus with flash of lightning in the storm-black sky, for I am your immortal soul in flesh. Your bright dark-piercing eyes forged from old stars shine clear with glorious wisdom of the sea to cast thick veil of fearful gloom aside so we can blaze new signless road of hope through monster-crowded forest of despair to build safe haven by deep lake of eyes. Sky goddess who descends from mountain peak with blazing torch from lightning strike of Zeus, teach us to fight with graceful elegance in martial stance of courage and bold trust so we defend our secret paradise where our children play among apple trees. With reverent joy of loyal fortitude I sing of wise Athena, glorious goddess who sprang from head of Zeus with sharp-honed spear to howl with courage of the challenged soul, urged by true love to fight with focused faith against cruel Gorgon to protect our home. While fierce winds blow across the wine-dark sea and stir deceptive waves with heartless rage, Athena battles monster of the deep with graceful leaps, as if on eagle wings, and tall Hyperion stops swift-footed horses to cheer when she stabs Gorgon in its heart. Alert on flat-top pyramid of stones, Athena slices Gorgon into steaks, which I roast over writhing flames of joy, so everyone may feast with happy hearts, then, while Phoebus plays Mercurian lyre, sing grand hymn to celebrate our noble queen. Revered Athena, savior of our city, courageous daughter from wise Triton born, parade with golden armor and bright helm that gleams with halo of the morning sun, as we raise cups and drink Dionysian wine, while Zeus gazes at his daughter with pride.
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