Monday, March 18, 2024

My Own Direction Home

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. 


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.