Monday, April 23, 2018

Music Of Wind And Waves

Music Of Wind And Waves
© Surazeus
2018 04 23

The man who falls from the lightning-struck tower
spreads wide wings of hope to soar on the wind
but Death drags him down from the empty sky
and throws the haughty king in deep abyss.

The tight anxiety clenching his chest
binds beating heart tight with lost angel wings,
urging him forward through maze of illusions
where people wear masks to protect their souls.

The black rain clouds in the sky hear his cry
for help and drench him in tears of their love,
and the wind blows down from the burning moon
to push him far over bleak rock-strewn heath.

He leads his wife and children through the storm,
trudging together while holding hands tight
as they push forward to the mountain cave
where they huddle in darkness of despair.

Sharp gleam of light strikes through gray swirling clouds
and stabs the stone of his heart with weird glow
to flash his heart to flutter on sea waves
where birds flap wings and run on sparkling sand.

Nudging the bodies of his wife and children,
the fallen king kisses each face with tears
but none of them wake in the morning dawn
except the youngest girl with silver eyes.

Reaching her small hand from shadow of death,
the little girl caresses his wet cheek,
so they hold hands and walk from the dark cave
to stand on the beach in gold morning light.

Together they walk on the sparkling beach,
smiling at how their feet sink in soft sand,
then laugh when bright waves swirl around their legs
as they collect bird eggs with smooth blue shells.

Collecting dry wood, he strikes two flint stones
which sparks hot flames dancing in gentle breeze,
and they roast eggs sizzling on the flat stone,
then eat them with strawberries and acorns.

Sitting together on the ocean shore,
the fallen king and his silver-eyed daughter
watch white clouds flash as they form shapes of things
and sing with the music of wind and waves.

To Gain Immortal Life

To Gain Immortal Life
© Surazeus
2018 04 23

The circle of water in the wood bowl
that spirals from my brain to distant stars
reveals electric sentence of the whole
connecting me to computers and cars.

Though I reveal secret of living well
to analyze the process of our kiss
we giggle at the tolling of the bell
and by the river share connubial bliss.

Through labyrinth of mirrored eyes we run
in nubile elegance of leaping joy
to flee the man who claims he owns the sun
then leave our robot selves as slick decoy.

We journey far along the winding stream
to flee the clanking chains of slavery
and found new commune on the noble theme
that all might live in loving harmony.

Some arrogant man always tries to claim
that he should reign as king by rule of law
but if we refuse to play his power game
his empire will fall from his fatal flaw.

We paint our story on the temple wall
so when our skulls smile on the altar stone
our children will gather in feasting hall
to worship Liberty in the Truth Zone.

With money we fund production of goods
through capital that operates factories,
then distribute to all our neighborhoods
equal wealth to feed all communities.

I want to build infrastructure of wealth
that sustains every honest citizen
so we can work and play in thriving health
that confirms our soul through strict discipline.

Yet all material structures are frail things
that crumble into particles of light
and, though I thought we were angels with wings,
I see creatures grow, then decay from blight.

I wish we could wield supernatural powers
like mythic gods or comic superheroes
but we are humans toiling among flowers,
innocent children gazing from small windows.

I sit alone in my home by the woods
and sing my little vision of the world
which I then publish in cute picture books
that cogitate where the dragon lies curled.

We leave our books behind like barrier reef,
great wall of stories that divine the Earth
which segregate experience into belief
to gain immortal life through child rebirth.

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Allegiance To Liberty Not Race

Allegiance To Liberty Not Race
© Surazeus
2018 04 22

The weird vibration of the universe
weaves melodies of music in my brain
so I convert to blessing every curse
that beams sunlight to penetrate cold rain.

Though I feel hurt that people put me down
and ignore me because I am some girl
I play the queen while they see a cute clown,
and smile while wearing the mask of the churl.

I need no close community of friends
to perform my art that glows from my heart
for I do not follow the latest trends,
instead exploring themes far off the chart.

I paint the souls of angels on brick walls
who bless the lost souls of our national tribe,
erecting statues in heroic halls
to celebrate loners who jazz the vibe.

I focus spotlight on the marginalized,
presenting stories of the humble souls
our culture ignores and pushes aside
to give wise losers more important roles.

Though we outnumber white males in control,
who tell their story as America,
we unite to form strong communal whole
with genuine soul, not some replica.

We speak with voices they cannot ignore
to change the story of our national quest
with more characters for our common lore
who share space in our democratic nest.

People from around the world immigrate,
leaving behind rigid systems of class,
and pledge allegiance at the welcome gate
to Liberty and Justice, not to race.

Hymn To Mother Earth

Hymn To Mother Earth
© Surazeus
2018 04 22

Sweet Earth, great mother of all conscious creatures,
pregnant ball of dirt and water and wind
that spirals around the hot glowing sun
nowhere through the boundless void of cold death,
we love you with every beat of our hearts
that flush in rhythm with the ocean tide.

Mother Earth, who weaves sparkling molecules
at hydrothermal vents of steaming lust
in flashing rings of carbon elements,
which constitute character writhing strands
of deoxyribonucleic acid,
we sing rich melody of your compassion.

Fertile Earth, who generates conscious souls
from fecund womb of your vast surging ocean,
sparking desire in our blood-flushing hearts
to crawl sparkling rivers to cave of dreams
where we stand on diamond stone of perception,
we thank you for the fruit of your mute trees.

Spinning Earth, who seethes with chemical change
through each cycle of seasons you revolve
around the Sun Spider of Helium flames,
your passion urges us to evolve shapes
when we copulate to reincarnate
through our children who celebrate your power.

Great Earth, mother of our perceiving brains,
who watches over us as we evolve
fish to lizard to mouse to ape to human,
molding improved models of our lithe bodies,
we worship you by forging steel-glass cities
and driving cars that burn your gasoline.

Cruel Earth, monster mother sparking our souls,
who gives us life and devours us in death,
transforming us from animals to gods,
we tremble awed before your hurricanes
and drown in floods of your indifference,
then sing this hymn of love as you destroy us.

Indifferent Earth, molding our souls from atoms
then mulching our bodies in humid soil,
creating us from mud with lust for life,
then blooming as we battle to control
abundant resources of your rich breast,
we pray to God we invent in your image.

Loving Earth, great mother of our weird dreams,
who creates us and devours us in turn,
transforming us so we soar into space
to propagate your soul on other worlds,
we celebrate you this April Earth Day
and sing this hymn to your indifferent Love.

Gynecism

Gynecism
© Surazeus
2018 04 22

When the men in gray suits clutching black Bibles
wanted to legislate away the natural right
of women to decide whether or not
they will bear the child growing in their womb,
Senator Wendy Davis of Fort Worth
stood in the Texas State Legislature House
for thirteen long hours past the midnight toll
to filibuster their weak male attempt
to control the fertile bodies of women.

Though they passed the chauvinist law anyway,
restricting reproductive rights of women,
nevertheless she persisted to fight
for truth, justice, and the American Way.

When Deborah Tyler, conservative writer,
called Wendy a Gynecist as an insult,
Jenny Kutner cheered the positive term.
"Gynecism promotes the political position
that the primary and most essential power
a female can hold is the natural control
of her own sexual and genital functions."

I am a follower of Gynecism,
worshipping the Goddess in every woman
who transforms the seed of man to create
new human beings by weaving vibrant atoms
that shape the brain which generates our souls.

Uncaring Universe

Uncaring Universe
© Surazeus
2018 04 22

My heart glows with love that you all are here.
I would rather die at home by my hearth,
but these machines in the sterile hospital
keep my alive just long enough to share
the love I feel for every one of you.

What story should I tell you now that I
am dying? Should I tell you about the time
I thought the universe was good and kind
and cared about me as great loving God
that everyone told me was real and strong?
I know now that the universe of things
is indifferent to my existence, therefore
I should treat other people with that kindness
I once expected from the universe.

Although the whole vast universe itself
is indifferent to any living creature,
yet we are part of the whole universe.
So are we part of that indifference
since we are products of the universe?
Since we all are the most integral part
of this universe through chemical functions
of molecules that interact through force,
we are that conscious part of the universe
that cares, so from the indifference of nature
we transform into creatures who do care.

Though nature is mindless we each have minds
that perceive the blind functionings of nature
and act to create rather than destroy.

Although the natural functions of my body
are breaking down in the process of death,
I savored the sweetness of being alive,
and always tried to act toward everyone
with caring love the universe must want,
since through the strange progress of evolution
the universe is attempting to create
more efficient bodies that function better.

We must continue caring for each other
to live in this uncaring universe.

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Where Runes Of Odin Gleam

Where Runes Of Odin Gleam
© Surazeus
2018 04 21

The rancid nonchalance of the blind king
who steals famous paintings from the glass hall
prevents the white iguana with the gun
from breaking the chains that choke Liberty.

The naked man running down the dark street
returns the White Queen of the last chess game
to the laughing wizard in weird cafe
who drinks battery acid from bull horns.

The jester without eyes grabs crippled arm
of Lucy in the sky who falls to Earth
because the airplane shaped like serpent egg
attempts to escape gravity of truth.

The bridge by the fountain of chocolate snow
where rocking horse people laugh without care
connects Fillory to Narnia at last
so Alice takes me back to Wonderland.

Nowhere Man leads her to Strawberry Fields
but she sells flowers on busy roundabout
where Henry the Horse refuses to dance
because she is leaving home without him.

The Egg Man takes me to the broken wall
built between Onatah and Mexico
to show me where the flashing light gets in
through shattered mirror of the dreaming eye.

The Spirit of Wakanda beams lost souls
who wander in my star ship lost in space
to planet of the apes where I was crowned
king of fools before the cathedral tower.

The upstart crow in the Globe Theater
follows Oberon in chariot of fire
who leads the Fairy Queen to Avalon
to find the golden apple of the sun.

I have the key that opens labyrinth door
so when Orpheus rises from the grave
I follow Melusine to the Star Well
where Runes of Odin gleam in the abyss.

We all gather inside walls of Sarum
when the full moon glitters beyond the world
so we exchange our hearts for ticking clocks
that beam dramas on television screens.

Namer Of Things

Namer Of Things
© Surazeus
2018 04 21

At dawn with the rising of the gold sun
the girl walks out from the cave of shadows
and plucks ripe fruit from the tree by the stream
where she sits on the rock to watch it flow.

She makes noises with her mouth to express
feelings that shiver the flesh of her body
when she caresses each thing with her hands,
giving them names with the beat of her heart.

"Me, hand, fruit, rock, soil, tree, stream, wind, sky, sun,"
she sings, repeating the words she invents
dozens of times as she points to each thing,
then kneels in wet grass by the flowing stream.

Dipping her hands in the cool flowing water,
she drinks delicious sparkles of blue light,
then gazes at reflection of her face,
and pointing to herself exclaims, "Aman."

At dawn with the rising of the gold sun
Aman walks out from the cave of shadows
and plucks ripe fruit from the tree by the stream
where she stretches her arms to the cool wind.

"Aman reaches hand to pluck the sweet fruit.
Aman sits on the rock by the fruit tree.
Aman eats the fruit and watches stream flow.
Aman watches the sun glow in the sky."

Almond Trees Of Hope

Almond Trees Of Hope
© Surazeus
2018 04 21

Slouching against the wall by a cracked window,
Zafir watches traffic flow down the streets
that wind through the ancient maze of Aleppo.
"My grandfather, Sayid, tended orchard
of almond trees on the wide river shore
on the fertile farm that our family owned
for hundreds of years, till President Assad
sent jet planes to drop bombs killing our trees.
My heart sinks heavy as stone in my chest,
dragging me down into gloom of despair
since I watched all our trees burn to gray ash."

Lifting the pink shayla scarf to expose
her soft lips, and eyes green as mountain olives,
Sakinah whispers through the window crack.
"Though every tree your great-grandfather planted
was burned by the chaotic fires of war,
you can plant more trees with the almond seeds
that you collected from the dusty ash.
Someday when Al-Assad is overthrown,
and we can live free again from his greed,
you can plant those small seeds in the moist soil
and cultivate new orchard of ripe almonds.
Though all the world is burned by flames of war
yet plants will sprout again from blood-soaked soil."

Opening his hands, smudged with engine oil
from learning in school to be a mechanic,
Zafir caresses the nine almond seeds
he managed to scrape from the dusty ash.
"The sunlight of your words beam in my heart,
bending my consciousness toward your world view.
Your words sprout like trees from my cold stone heart,
weaving wings of hope that inspire my mind
that I may soar again to paradise.
Though I wander lost in labyrinth of fear,
that bombs may blast our bodies into dust,
your words glow bright with glory of Allah,
guiding me to find the garden of love
where we may live together and tend trees."

Pressing her small hand against the cracked glass,
and smiling when he presses his hand back,
Sakinah sings soft melody of hope.
"Though my love leaves for faraway towns,
I feel his spirit with the palm trees sway.
Though my love flies like the owl at midnight,
I feel his love in moonlight on the pond.
We are not doomed like Pyramus and Thisbe
to ever talk through this crack in our window.
Someday we will hold hands and kiss in sunlight."

After gazing at each other with love,
Sakinah slips away into the shadows,
and Zafir hides almond seeds in his pocket
as he hurries through traffic back to school
where he learns to maintain engines of cars.

Moonlight On Ou River

Moonlight On Ou River
© Surazeus
2018 04 21

Sitting alone, writing brush in her hand,
in the round room on top of the pagoda,
Jiang Ying-Yue watches silver moonlight glow,
flickering on the black surface of Ou River.

"How long must I wait for Fei-Hung to come,
soaring like a swan among the white clouds?
His laughter makes joy bloom from my sad heart,
like Bai Zhi blossoms that burst whole in Spring."

Watching horsemen ride over arching bridge,
Ying-Yue sighs, and writes her name on the scroll,
Reflection of the Moon on river waves,
then eats a cherry that bursts on her tongue.

"My father keeps me hidden in this room
far above the river where I once played,
running among weeds on the muddy shore
and chasing frogs with my love, Wang Fei-Hung."

Someone knocks and the gray-haired fisherwoman
gives her a scroll so she unrolls and reads.
"When he embraces moonlight in the river,
the Swan will meet the Moon in the peach grove."

When her father Ou Zhu opens the door
she follows him down stairs to the court yard
where she kneels low before her future husband
who leads her to the shrine of her ancestors.

During the feast her father laughs and shouts,
"Fei-Hung was out fishing on the Ou River
when he embraced reflection of the moon
and drowned in the black waters of despair."

Sitting with her husband on the river boat,
Jiang Ying-Yue never looks at her waving parents,
but gazes at reflection of the moon
that shimmers on the black waves of Ou River.

As the river boat glides from her home island,
Ying-Yue stands and bows to her startled husband,
then dives into reflection of the moon
and sinks deep into the waters of love.

Floating in the silent gloom of Ou River,
Ying-Yue gazes upward at the bright moon
that glows silver and round above the world,
then she swims like an otter toward the shore.

Dripping wet with laughter of hopeful joy,
Ying-Yue glows white in the light of the moon
as she runs through woods on the river shore
to the peach grove where Fei-Hung waits for her.

Embracing among trees heavy with peaches,
White Swan and Moon Light kiss in the warm breeze,
two hearts beating with rhythm of Ou River
that flows sparkling between their weeping eyes.

Sitting in the round hut in willow trees,
Ying-Yue cradles new-born daughter Bai-Zhi,
who suckles white milk from her soft plump breast,
while Fei-Hung builds another river boat.

Friday, April 20, 2018

Different Ways To Be Yourself

Different Ways To Be Yourself
© Surazeus
2018 04 20

Whatever the code programming your genes
that model your body as girl or boy
you are free to choose the role you will play
acting on social stage of daily life
across the range of behavior and mood
from aggression of the bold masculine
to nurturance of the sweet feminine.
In primitive tribes in the wilderness
the female generates and raises children,
teaching them to talk and tend fruitful plants,
while the male builds shelter from sticks and rocks,
teaching them to fight and hunt animals.
But now that we survived those brutal times
and dominate the Earth with crafting hands
each person may choose role they want to play,
activating process that will create
to sustain life of our community
in joyful drama of love till we die.
There are many different ways to be yourself
so you may explore them all before you die.

Laughter With Love For Death

Laughter With Love For Death
© Surazeus
2018 04 20

In these sultry days of fresh April showers
I have written over one hundred weird poems
because I am burning with a great fire
of laughter through love for death from desire.

I soar on angel wings to the dead moon
to float in the silence of hungry death
where the spider of the sun weaves star light
from pulsing atoms that spark my soul awake.

Because a thousand girls around the world
died today from accidents and disease
I sit in grass and stare at the orange tree,
longing to sing to every one with love.

Ten thousand poets who once lived on Earth
leave words of their dreams on pages of books
which sparkle from friction of paradox,
inspiring me to sing with the mute world.

I bring the tears of everyone who lived
and suffered from the horror of despair
to water the moon so its dry dust sprouts
tendrils of vines plump with the grapes of wrath.

This paradise which blooms from tears of pain
shimmers false as mascara models wear
when they pose with elegant grace of lust
before flashing eye of the camera.

She glides with graceful beauty in the wind,
the Queen of Manhattan who models gowns,
fragile as the flower in hurricane howl
who blooms again to drink the sparkling rain.

I hold her when she cries about dark fears
that haunt her footsteps in the halls of hope
so she can paint the horror on his face,
revealing face of Death with mask of life.

Come Back Down The Road

Come Back Down The Road
© Surazeus
2018 04 20

Come back down the road with your broken heart.
Though you left our home twenty years ago
to find the promised land some day, somewhere
beyond the horizon where the sun shines,
you never wrote me letters how you are.

Come back down the road with your broken heart.
I think about you every day out there,
still following your star of destiny,
working in some factory making cars,
and sitting at home with your family.

Come back down the road with your broken heart.
The signs to heaven are all turned backward
so maybe you got lost in paradise
and wander in the labyrinth of hopes
still searching somewhere for the promised land.

Come back down the road with your broken heart.
The sun that glows on the grass of our home
reveals why we must wander down the road,
but come back home to our warm Georgia hills
where we will sing again in shady groves.

Come back down the road with your broken heart.
The sparrows singing in the almond trees
discuss the secrets of the turning world,
but I forgot the features of your face
and your name disappears in evening breeze.

Come back down the road with your broken heart.
I sit on the porch of our empty home
and sing about how we played hide and seek
but the signs back home are all turned backward
and you must sleep in your grave by the road.

Dead End Sign

Dead End Sign
© Surazeus
2018 04 20

Slouching against the yellow Dead End sign,
while waiting for my daughter on the bus,
I watch black ravens in the Southern Pine
discuss the indifference of the blue sky.

I wave to every stranger who drives by,
who wonder if the old guy with long beard,
who watches them through Blues Brothers sunglasses,
is the spy from the rebellious empire.

Driving Black Mustang Miami to Alaska,
Mona Lisa gives me a ride to Elysium
where we search for the jewel of ancient truth
that shines hidden by splendor in the grass.

My brain is nothing but the radio
receiving transmissions from your weird brains
so I record in verse your true nightmares
that motivate you to head out to work.

I live at the far end of Dead End Road
where Plato talks about Idea forms
how every tree that exists in real matter
projects from changeless concept of The Tree.

All the lost children of America
gather at the Museum on Saturday night
to watch the Judge and the Jester play chess
over who plays Christ on the Crucifix.

When any man plays prophet of the empire
after he plays Hamlet on the London stage
the King in the Golden Mask with no eyes
will crucify him on the telephone pole.

Now that I wrestled Jesus off the throne
and play the harp of David in Our Temple
I throw coins of joy to every lost soul
who gathers to feast in the Hall of Dreams.

Mona Lisa drives to Los Angeles
with skull on her American flag tee-shirt,
singing the Highways Blues in the Waste Land
while listening to Tally Hall on her Eye Phone.

Sunlight on my back yard grass reveals why
no one knows the Queen of America
who dances alone on the field of grass
somewhere between Seattle and Manhattan.

While I sit on the back porch of my home,
drinking white wine labeled The Winking Owl,
I ponder poetics of Monotony
that inspire me to chant Riddles on Death.

Every person I see alive and well
will fall into the Empty Void of Death,
so I kiss Mona Lisa in the flowers
who reincarnates our immortal soul.

After smoking the Flower of Awareness,
Mona Lisa and I gaze up at the stars
that reveal the mystery of the First Flash
that flares forth into the White Whole of Love.

Dropping me off home at my Dead End sign,
Mona Lisa smiles lightning in my heart,
then drives into the vast indifferent sky
while singing vibrant tune of Helium.

Badge Of Honor

Badge Of Honor
© Surazeus
2018 04 20

The infamous poet with tangled beard,
who always seems to win slam poetry night,
slouches in the cafe on Nowhere Street,
watching people walk to office towers
where they organize spreadsheets of sales data.

The infamous poet wearing pinstripe suit
smokes marijuana and sips ginger mocha
while scribbling endless lines of satire verse
with blood-red ink in the large sketch notebook
while seven friends eat pizza and drink beer.

When his name is called on slam poetry night,
the infamous poet in leather jacket,
and sporting sunglasses like the Blues Brothers,
grips the microphone with one gnarly hand,
then pushes black fedora back, and howls.

"Now I shall wear it as a Badge of Honor
that the famous poetry magazine,
or rather, the editor of that rag,
has placed my name at the top of his blacklist
so that no great poem I ever compose
will be published on its pages of fame.
Every single poem I write from my heart
shines a thousand times brighter with mojo
of wild voodoo soul howling from my mouth
than all ten thousand poems they have published
over the past twenty years put together.
The lame drivel they publish every month
expresses nothing in fragmented lines
beyond the kindergarten mentality
of childish morons who love to play poet.
So no, I will not submit my best poems
to the fool who edits that magazine.
All the little poets with precious verses
intone with poet-voice their victimhood
and whine about oppression that they suffer
then form angry mobs on social media
to join with social justice warriors
who attack and bully racists and trolls
in holy crusade for the marginalized
to enforce politically correct rules
and destroy empire of white supremacy.
We are the poets of the Injustice League
leading the School of New Insincerity
against the revolution of Puritans
who would cleanse sacred School of Quietude
to share their insightful epiphanies
in metamodern verse of jagged lines
that reflect the fragmented mental state
of the best minds of our lost generation
who rage against the corporate machine
by jumbling together in dream collage
lines of verse pilfered from business reports
to express their conceptual universe
projected from the black-hole hologram
that shimmers illusion of life we dream,
for we are shadows in the Cave of Plato.
No upstanding editor for the journals,
funded by the university kings
of the righteous agenda to earn wealth,
would ever publish this bitter satire
that reveals their corrupt complicity
to commodify our intersectionality
with the bankers and the insurance salesmen
who keep the people of our nation bowed
in numb terror before the nuclear bomb
that Shiva the Destroyer wields with laughter
for this prophecy that reveals the truth
would blow their minds in smithereens of greed
to drink the oil that flows from desert sand
for they are the vampires of truth and justice.
Step outside the glass walls of the empire
and you will see returning from the desert
the blind prophet of the waste land of truth
who comes with a final message for mankind
before we blow ourselves to kingdom come
with ten thousand nuclear bombs in the rain.
What does not kill me in the fight for power
will make me stranger than the naked flower."

Tearing the poem into shreds of white silence,
the infamous poet with tangled beard
scatters fragments like snow in winter wind,
then slouches through the wildly cheering crowd,
and flops in broken chair against brick wall
to smoke marijuana and sip cold mocha
while another poet on the dim-lit stage
howls in free verses of impotent rage
their fierce anguish in the loud smoky night.

New Magic Ring

New Magic Ring
© Surazeus
2018 04 20

While every person is delusional
in their own unique way, I try to fool
the world into thinking I am the king
because I can enchant you when I sing.

The legends speak about the man who came
from the wilderness where he found the name
God invented to describe the pure state
of ecstasy when we control our fate.

He stood on the crown of the glorious tower
and sang about how to unleash your power
to achieve great success of wealth and fame
by manipulating the social game.

Each person wants to play the prophet-poet
whose songs lead the lost to the promised land
but none are lost now in waste land of hope
so we all sing to ourselves in the wind.

So I encode the secret to success
in these surreal riddles about progress
on holy pilgrimage through comedy
to learn the formulas of chemistry.

Descending every circle through dark hell
we follow Dante to the wisdom well
where Melusine enchants us with the spell
that leads us to the fertile river dell.

Wandering hungry in nameless wilderness,
I scratch at thirsty dirt of bitterness
to find the apple seed the serpent lost
while shivering in the early morning frost.

Each flash of memory from ancestral ghost
reveals the grand puzzle of Zeus the Host
who designs destiny for me to play
when I preach the new American Way.

Each conscious soul who drives swift motor car
searches for real truth at the Dream Bazaar
where illusions that support your world view
are sold to faithful fools who have no clue.

While standing on the lake shore in dawn mist
I feel the presence of some divine ghost
so I invent the false concept of God
that deceives the world with religious fraud.

I know the way through wilderness of lies
so follow me through the waste land of spies
where unseen spirit of the thunder god
decides to join the quest of our truth squad.

Here we will build foundation of our church
to celebrate young Goddess of the Birch
who taught us how to plant seeds in the soil
and how to sing hymns of praise while we toil.

Yet when I stumble to the ocean shore
after men on horses break every door
I feel the mystery in the ocean roar
that vibrates wisdom from my aching core.

I preach for three hours at the church of dreams
then wander alone by indifferent streams
to search the sunlight flickering in their waves
on quest for honest faith that Jesus saves.

I build New Haven in Connecticut
to shelter seekers of the Covenant
but wander west to silent Idaho
where I find no god on wind-swept plateau.

I stand on sun-bright shore of Oregon
and talk with Goddess of Oblivion
who reveals how the universe weaves light
to spark the White Whole of my inner sprite.

We are the children of the Nameless God
who rule mighty nations with Iron Rod
so we expand the empire of our clan
from Garden of Eden to Gothistan.

The Sons of Jesus rule two thousand years,
I ponder while I shift car engine gears,
but how can we justify his world reign
based on bombing people in burning rain.

Since we escaped the chains that bound our hands
we wander searching for new Promised Lands
but kill local tribes to expand our power
that spreads outward from the high castle tower.

I would play prophet if there was some God
who rules with justice behind good facade
but selfish mortals play the noble king
so in dream cave I forge new magic ring.

Empire Of Christ

Empire Of Christ
© Surazeus
2018 04 20

The bombs that kill children in distant lands
interrupt my prayer with blood on my hands
so I plead with God to absolve my sin
since we must do anything bold to win,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

We wave the white flag with bloody red cross
to avenge our grief at terrible loss
when they dare to occupy land we want
so we sing noble hymns on martial jaunt,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

Onward Christian soldiers we advance far,
blessed by divine turning of our bright star
that sanctions our war against infidel
whose wives and children will burn in our hell,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

Outward from the castle of our strong base
we populate Earth with our noble race,
enforcing our rule of the entire globe
lead by Lord Jesus in his pure white robe,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

We kill everyone who gets in our way
so all the world bows to his regal sway
for we praise Jesus as the King of kings
who rules the world while the love angel sings,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

The jet planes built by our superior minds
soar on angel wings with the divine winds
to bomb innocent people from their land
where engine fuel bubbles under hot sand,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

The Sons of Jesus who rule vast empires
kneel together under cathedral spires
to control resources of the whole world,
united strong where the dragon lies curled,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

The kings of Russia and America
crucify the clown of esoterica
who prophesies the doom of World War Three
and eventual reign of Queen Liberty,
in the chess game of the Empire of Christ.

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Sing With Me In Rain

Sing With Me In Rain
© Surazeus
2018 04 19

I just thought if we all gathered together
in the ring of stones that vibrate our thoughts
we might see the same world with different eyes,
but when the angel stabbed me with the feather
of ecstatic insight through bright robots
I discovered the names of the real spies.

I cannot find my way through the faith maze
that traps desperate people in false belief
that God will resurrect us all from death
because this game we play is the next phase
where we evolve beyond tricks of the thief
who wants to charge us for our every breath.

She blushes when we kiss on the massif
where the Mother of Wisdom with three eyes
hides in the cave of visions to protect
the daughter of Jesus wrecked on the reef
when she sailed from Egypt where the hawk flies
to play Baphomet of our secret sect.

Ishtar climbs the pyramid of insight
to bear Horus, the first son of Sky-Walker,
who strums harp of Phoebus on the church stage,
leading us to sing hymns in the Spring rite
while he trains me to play role of the Augur
so I write prophecies on the blank page.

I mount the white mare with thundering wing
to ride with Jesus and his grandson Michael,
son of Gabriel who bears sword of fire,
the four horsemen of the Apocalypse
preaching revelation that Jesus is alive
to overthrow the Emperor of Rome.

I play guitar on street corners to sing
about soul rebirth through the carbon cycle,
preaching evolution beneath the spire
since I will return when solar eclipse
shrouds the world in gloom to search the archive
for secrets hidden in the sophic dome.

I am one member of the Empire Elite,
born from the seed of Eloh on Mount Zion,
and crowned to rule fields of Elysium
hidden on the sacred island of Crete
where I play harp and relax with the lion
who dreams the sun is made of Helium.

Since I am son of Helius, who designed
the wheel that spins on all wagons and cars,
I must sing the metric that beats my heart
how the stars of fate are neatly aligned
to favor my rule over land of Mars
now named Gaul or France on the new world chart.

She weaves our legends as braids in my hair
so I would remember the way to Heaven
that leads from grim Hellas to lush Gerthmania
where Sophia, by Fountain of Despair,
recites the lost epic of Armageddon
since I now rule castles of Transylvania.

Alone in crumbling tower of prophecies,
I dream the First Flash of the Universe,
which bursts from the Great Black Hole of the Brain
and flares forth in vast web of galaxies
where quadrupeds evolve from fertile seas,
longing for you to sing with me in rain.

Loneliness Of Her Fame

Loneliness Of Her Fame
© Surazeus
2018 04 19

The famous movie star, with her third eye
that beams lasers to melt statues of gold,
sits alone in lush garden by the pool,
while hundred million people go to work,
and reads the epic poem Paradise Lost
about Lucifer being cast out of Heaven
because he refused to bow to the king.

"I play characters, fictional or real,
based on people who existed in flesh
or were invented in the minds of writers,
while people film me playing those characters
that machines project on the silver screen
which people watch in movie theaters.
I am the person with no character
who plays so many different characters
that living people, who meet me face to face,
mistake me for the characters I play.
No one can see my genuine character
hiding shyly behind the mask of fame.
I am a ghost of light on the white wall,
a person who plays roles on silver screens,
but plays no real role in my own plain life,
and for this I am treated like a goddess
above mere mortals who must work to live.
Though they are real people who play themselves
they work hard to maintain society
but earn just enough to live day by day,
while I play people who do not exist,
reflecting the lives of people who do,
and yet I earn thousands of dollars more,
enough to eat well for a hundred years.
Yet I must never forget that I was born
daughter of a prostitute in a dance hall
and a traveling magician passing through,
conceived from their lust in a dressing room,
then abandoned on the steps of a church.
Adopted by the banker and his wife,
I grew up with stern affection and love,
allowed to nurture my talent for acting,
and now I am some famous movie star,
yet I still feel like the abandoned child
as I wander lost in this world of dreams."

The telephone rings so she answers it,
and replies after listening for a while.
"I would love to portray Queen Eleanor
of Aquitaine in the Lion in Winter.
Tell the director I am very honored
to be considered for this important role
along with the talented Katharine Hepburn.
Send the script and I will read it tomorrow."

The famous movie star, with her third eye
that sees bright angels in the empty sky,
gazes over the city of Los Angeles
that glitters gold in the blue evening dusk,
and sighs in the loneliness of her fame,
like Lucifer wandering wingless in Hell.

Steady Wisdom Of His Mother

Steady Wisdom Of His Mother
© Surazeus
2018 04 19

Wang Yusheng gazes long at the old photo
that shows himself in the jacket and cap
he wore when working in the windy fields,
standing beside his mother whose black eyes
penetrate veil of illusions and lies.

Remembering all the wise proverbs she spoke
about the social turmoil that once rocked
the middle kingdom, first founded by Chin,
Yusheng grins amused at how things have changed.

Touching pen to paper, Yusheng composes
a five-character quatrain Lushi poem
about the steady wisdom of his mother.

"The world is chaotic with hungry wars,
but who is always right about all things?
For more than a hundred years of this life
the love of our mothers leads us to peace."

Coming downstairs after doing homework,
his children call his name with eager hope,
so Yusheng slips the photo and his poem
in the envelope he hides in the drawer.

Driving the car with traffic on the road,
Yusheng takes his children to the lake park
where they explore the Temple of Kwan Yin
and take photos of birds over the lake.