Sunday, September 23, 2018

Impossible Map Past Death

Impossible Map Past Death
© Surazeus
2018 09 23

The young girl on the bright city street
covers her mouth to conceal her desire.
Smog of her heart clouds the strange cityscape
where silent crickets wait at the night door.
She cannot see her hands in morning light
to touch the roots of trees that hide the rain.

She holds my hand while we walk through the park
and whispers she is spirit in the wolf.
I kiss her neck and smell her flowing hair
while she lies still and becomes the moonlight.
She grinds bones of her ancestors to salt
to sprinkle on the steak she grills for us.

Our two frail daughters transform into boys
who divide themselves into morning clouds.
From skull of their grandfather they carve masks
to play roles of characters they design.
The owl in the doorway gives key of light
that heals the wound it caused through alchemy.

Taking off her glasses on downhill road,
she searches for truth beyond perfect vision.
I want to make worlds from the wounds we hide,
she explains to the owl no one can see.
She heaps forgotten memories as stones
to mark the way back to the river tree.

She holds egg of the hawk in her right hand
and geode of crystal in her left hand.
She cracks them both open to find my soul
which pours over my face from broken dreams.
She forges her heart into the sharp axe
and chops down trees to build our secret home.

She holds my hand with pungent urgency
so I draw impossible map for her.
She will never be the ghost of my heart
for she is always somewhere in our house.
She is the idea of the swan whose wings
translate sorrow into the soothing tune.

From absolute beginning of the circle
we become one skeleton in pale fog.
We are flames of desire covered in mud
to open eyes inside words we might speak.
While we are alone together in peace,
ghosts of our ancestors float on the lake.

After digging in the garden since dawn,
I wash dirt from my eyes in creek of joy.
My face dissolves into the flowing river
so I wake up somebody else today.
Her eyes are large enough to hold the lake
so I look in her eyes to be the sky.

We work together as productive team
so long I forgot I exist as you.
I give you my name so when they call me
you become the person they want to love.
She points to the owl in the broken house
so I fix the roof to keep out the rain.

My heart full of emptiness flows away
to fill the ocean with sorrows I lost.
The way sunlight gleams on water reveals
how much she loves me in silent contentment.
I do not need her to love me at all,
so I become the spirit she does love.

Her hair becomes vines heavy with gold grapes
that curl into hollow hope of my eyes.
Her mouth becomes pollen of apple blooms
that drip honey blood into my dry heart.
Her eyes become apples congealing rain
that spark thunderstorms inside my vast chest.

She places her warm hand on my worn cheek,
and smiles to break the habits of our days.
Though we have lived together many years
we are strangers close to the aching heart.
We stand together in the windy meadow
and invent words to describe our old love.

Turning back to me on the river shore
she makes strange face so I laugh with new love.
We float together buoyant on the stream
and become the clouds that reveal our names.
Together we stare in the face of death
but death fails to see us with empty eyes.

Far away she walks on the shimmering ridge,
shadow of sorrow against empty sky.
In darkness of night I see her bright face
but she vanishes when sun shapes the world.
In silence of morning I hear her voice
in breezes that whisper in apple trees.

I chase her shadow to the empty sky
and find her unmoving beneath high cliff.
I breathe words in her mouth to wake her mind
but her eyes stare blank, far beyond my face.
I hold her in my arms as she dissolves
to dust that sparkles on indifferent lake.

I design impossible map past death
so she can find her way back to her body.
The skull that smiles beneath her vanished face
talks to me in the wind so I know why.
Her ghost walks beside on signless road,
singing her despair into resigned faith.

Saturday, September 22, 2018

Process Of Liberty

Process Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2018 09 22

This hour of light in all eternity
I contemplate process of liberty
where men assert their will to dominate
waste land with paradise of walls and gate
to organize wild plants in neat trimmed rows
and gather every evening by the lake
where phasing moon among changeless stars glows
while we feast on good food our mothers make.

That way of life we lived ten thousand years
vanished so long ago with bitter tears
we wander without hope in strange new lands
to build vast cities with strong blistered hands,
for nothing will suppress our eagerness
to manage grand food-production machine
that cultivates wheat in harsh wilderness
than hunger that leaves our best heroes lean.

How long will humans thrive on planet Earth,
extracting minerals to transform their worth
from nuggets to machines that ease our toil,
energized by atoms through spinning coil
of ancient spirit that remembers how
we clash stones to spark fire of vision quest
while ancient mother, under apple bough,
chants hymns of heroes at the sacred fest.

I do what I will if I harm no one
for atoms of structures beam from the sun
to spiral flashing bright in carbon rings
which transform into angels without wings
so when we gather on lush river shore
as mother sun sets glowing through tall trees
we design labyrinth with the secret door
that might be opened with ten thousand keys.

Children Of The Dead God

Children Of The Dead God
© Surazeus
2018 09 22

The concepts of my poems are all addressed
to people who will never read their dreams.
The people I have known, who are oppressed
by hope to walk with Jesus by the streams
of Heaven through eternity, I call
to look away from glowing cloud of lies
that Jesus will resurrect us from death
and will transform the Earth to paradise,
then claim right to rule people of the world.
Open your eyes and realize that Jesus,
instead of great powerful god of light
was but one mortal man who ruled by right
that he was descended father to son
from dynasty of Adam since the fall
from Garden of Eden through the bright reign
of Solomon and David on gold thrones,
and on to Jesus hoping to regain
the lost scepter through election campaign
of healing people to reclaim his throne,
and know that Jesus was but mortal man
whose children continued their ancient rule
two thousand years in kingdoms of Europe,
and now across lands of America.
To millions of people deceived by lies
of religious authorities that Jesus
is supernatural god who will return
to resurrect them rotting from the grave,
I address my call to reform the church
that blinds them with lie of the resurrection,
and see that Jesus was mortal like us,
and his children crowned themselves as great kings
who claimed right to rule people with his spirit,
so we can follow example of life
he presented to love our fellow man
with generous compassion for their dreams
by living here and now with charity
instead of waiting for that paradise
priests sell in the greatest scam of all time.
When I was seventeen I felt the call
to be the prophet of Jesus our Father,
but when I saw there is no God in Heaven,
only atoms forming chemical structures,
I went on quest to find the Holy Grail
and found that Jesus married wise Mermaid,
the goddess based on Mary Magdalene,
the Woman who creates our mortal life,
and Jesus was node of one dynasty
of kings that began with Adam in Eden
and flows through David down to Jesus Christ,
whose descendants ruled kingdoms of Europe
founded by Meroveus, the Fisher King,
through Constantine, Arthur, and Charlemagne,
down to Victoria and her vast empire
now overthrown in two brutal world wars.
The dynasty of kings from Jesus Christ
sprouts another branch from the House of David
through Henry Plantagenet, King of England,
for all Presidents of the United States
spring from the families of the rival roses
who sprout from the children of John of Gaunt,
and thus continue dynasty of Christ
on this vast continent of America
that sustains the ancient bloodline of Adam,
having expanded the Garden of Eden
from that small village in Sumeria
to envelop half the lands of the world,
Russia, Europe, America, and more.
Naming myself Surazeus Astarius,
I will unite all these lands in world empire
and name it Anglonesia, Land of Angels,
where we gather in the Temple of Light
to celebrate our family unity
through communion of feasts and sharing stories,
since every father and mother with children
constitute the pure Holy Family
who reproduce the bloodline of the Grail,
for the Grail is service to mankind,
representing selfish love of our hearts
toward all diverse tribes of humanity
united in our love for this one world
that spins forever in the vast abyss.
We are all the sons and daughters of Jesus
for, though Jesus and his wife Magdalene
have been dead for over two thousand years,
their spirits live in the genes of our bodies
since their children generated our souls,
so when we walk together in this life,
holding hands as we lounge by this lake now,
in this garden of trees where apples bloom,
we are walking with Jesus in our Heaven.
As prophet of Jesus and Magdalene,
I call upon the Christians of the world
to see Jesus Christ as our Founding Father
who teaches us to live in Paradise Now,
and not as immortal god of the stars
for he will not resurrect us from death,
rather he gives us new life through our love
when we generate children from our flesh
and teach them to work together with trust.
That is the concept I wish to express
in these poems I write to people I knew,
though they will never read these dreams I sing,
that Jesus is dead, but we are alive
for we are the children of the dead god.

Friday, September 21, 2018

Strange Night That Bore Me

Strange Night That Bore Me
© Surazeus
2018 09 21

When I return to the strange night that bore me
from wild darkness of the infinite sea,
I dream of sitting in the room of desks
and traveling to far worlds inside my head.

My bored heart always flies farther away
to become the stranger I hope to meet
out on the road where fish walk on the wind
and tell me why the sunlight knows my name.

I do not yet even know my real name
so I stare at the blazing sun in awe
and feel her watching me with silent gaze
of indifferent love for how I breathe thought.

I exist within bounds of broken bark
and spread thirty arms to grasp wordless voice
while digging roots down to heart of the world
to feel how fast our globe spins into death.

Now that we are laughing bones in the church,
long abandoned on the desolate plain
by the noble god that was never real,
we drink the water of the weeping world.

They promised us that we would rise from death
and live in pleasure through eternity
in paradise of fountains and fruit trees
but our bodies rot now, devoured by flies.

I walk around the shipwreck on the beach,
bound inside frail body of splintered bones,
with nowhere to bury my rotting brain,
so I laugh as I drink the endless rain.

Since wounded souls never go home to die
I float beyond glass walls of paradise,
preferring hymns of flowers in restless wind
instead of litanies for the dead god.

The night talks to me wherever I go
to explain how trees burst out of my heart
so I gather herbs and sit by the pool,
hoping to leave my shadow in its glow.

My bones will carry me down to the sea
after stones explain the secret of light
which I vault at empty sky of vain hope
since lightning flickers from my open palm.

Then birds come with swirls of the summer breeze
to give me water when I will not move,
though they carry the lost pieces of me
to place me by the pond where I was born.

Who could assemble fragments of my soul
but the ocean who explains how we love,
although everything I gathered from grass
hides in shades of red which protects my thoughts.

I coax ghosts of my people from old trees
and ask them to tell me how I was born
so I remember the first flash of dawn
that transformed darkness into glowing things.

When I first glimpse creation of the world
dim glow of savage truth from aching love
refracts my mind from water of strange dark
to brim with multitudes of faceless souls.

I must have always existed like this
if I am so persistent to breathe color
since laughter aches so deep in my wild heart
I cease to feel behind this hardened mask.

Now that I return to night of my birth
drifting in half dream of lost memory
I snap awake at sharp voice of my mother
who vanishes into sunlight on water.

Though I always walk away from fruit grove
to follow cold river far from my birth,
just as I think I find some strange new land
I wake again in meadow of my birth.

The first flash of sunlight slices my soul
to slant sideways into alternate world
where someone ahead of me in strange glow
calls me silver tide of the ocean moon.

Thrown up by wild tide onto solid hope,
I watch stars become faces of my people
who talk to each other by the campfire
yet I lie alone by sea of the world.

So I climb again toward the glowing light
to escape family of the howling ocean
and walk laughing as I cry among trees
who give me apples which hide my real name.

Mist swirls over distant hills of my fear
so I sit on wave-smoothed slab of black stone
to taste water of the soul-shimmering sea
who tells me I should know why I am lost.

I worked for forty seasons in wheat fields,
harvesting bundles of grain for warehouse
where women in white smocks baked loaves of bread
so I could eat bread and honey each day.

Since I am too old now to harvest wheat
the gate guardian pushed me outside the walls,
so they expect me to lie down on sand
of the ocean and become silent waves.

So here I am, sitting on ocean rocks,
waiting for nothing to consume my soul
and change me into light streaming through clouds
that returns me to the strange night that bore me.

God We Idealize

God We Idealize
© Surazeus
2018 09 21

I am the rain congealed in dreaming mind
who sparkles with the light of pulsing stars
that beams spirals of atoms in warm flames
solidified in forms of hungry beings.

From the timeless One of Infinite Whole
we emanate from First Flash of Big Bang
when chemical body generates mind
who wakes in human brains and becomes God.

Changeless Idea provides pattern form
that multiplies all things from first Monad
to mold material in existing bodies
bound within the limits of space and time.

I am the Noumenon of Nameless God
that glows in neurons of my dreaming brain
so I become conscious of my strange self
as autonomous will of lusting faith.

My father is the sun in empty sky,
my mother is the wave in swirling sea,
my brother is the peak of mountain range,
my sister is the breath of flowing wind.

Yet all are formed from pulsing molecules
that interact through lust of chemicals
when atoms link to spiral in taut coils
based on number of electrons in rings.

When strings of energy from First Flash beam
outward from Big Bang of the great White Whole
they spiral into particles of light
that link in bound webs of blinking triangles.

Vast shimmering waves of particles swirl thick
in sea of matter shaped in sphere of Earth
where frail organic creatures with weird brains
evolve into the God we idealize.

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Widening Gyre Of Change

Widening Gyre Of Change
© Surazeus
2018 09 20

From glass of milk on soul-astounding plain
where bees play violins in laughing rain
I swim across the deep abyss of hope
and stumble somewhere up high mountain slope
to find the temple where the blind man sings
because the devil tore his angel wings.

The sad philosopher by turtle pond
in long fur coat, with broken wizard wand
and tattered novel, gazes down long street
of misty Paris where the river beat
awakes my heart to rhythm of strange verse,
to become estranged from our universe.

We are autonomous subjects of I,
estranged from gaze of the maternal eye
through abject distance from her loving arms,
enchanted by her invisible charms
to create our own self from mask she lost
while accounting for weird prophetic cost.

Rejecting what is alien to the soul
we become more separate part of the whole
while she hovers above us in the sky
to break through fragile borders of the I
and teach us the mystery of second birth
because we are god-consciousness of Earth.

I wear the mask of myself I create
from face of my mother I contemplate
before I was born from this flash of rain
that weaves from laughter of atomic skein
eternal robot of the shining mind
programmed from pattern my father designed.

I run through fairyland to magic ring
when I hear the twelve pretty muses sing,
and find inside circle of ringing stones
Byron and Keats beating huge skulls with bones
while Shelley and Orpheus chant weird spell
that causes me to writhe from the deep well.

I join their joyful dance of prancing song,
not caring whether they think I belong,
and leap floating stones over deep abyss
to transform pain into confident bliss
through weird expression of conceptual verse
that conjures dream of the whole universe.

The river goddess smiles at me with love
to prophesy how far I rise above
the clamoring crowd to quiet grove of trees
where I bare my naked heart to the breeze
and chant the vision of truth I perceive
by leaping far beyond illusions they believe.

How well we organize our random thoughts
in classic rhythm of programmed robots
who record all knowledge of man in memes
which play like puppets in forgotten dreams
to guide our way to wisdom of the cave
where shadows hide the secret we must save.

Though once again things seem to fall apart
and fly away from center of the heart
through turning of the cosmic ticking gyre
we build cathedral with antenna spire
where Spirit of the World in human form
enchants our minds to fight the fascist storm.

Each generation one man rises tall
to cast his shadow on the ancient wall
and guide vast nation with the rule of law
to supersede raw violence of the claw
and as messiah of the chosen tribe
dictates new story for the history scribe.

We ride now on the widening gyre of change
each eighty years transforming beyond range
of what we were before to become more
than angry workers slouching through the door
to vote for messiah every four years
who comes again to soothe our hungry tears.

I was not born in Bethlehem this time
yet here I design new world paradigm
from twenty centuries of dreamless sleep
based on the proverb we sow what we reap
in building empire of the world wide web
connecting billions of minds in thought ebb.

On current of this river from the cave
where shadows pulse with every restless wave
that surges from the ocean of our souls
we all design our autonomous roles
we will play in Theater of the Absurd,
invited by puzzle of the ghost word.

Somewhere in sands of the desert I go,
shaped like the lion man who rules the snow,
with gaze connected to computer circuits,
observant as the wizard of the circus
that beams warm sunlight from indifferent sky
because I will continue asking why.

We live on fragile spinning globe of souls,
so I feast on apples and play with foals
to escape thought-control of the grand king,
then hide riddles in secret spells I sing
that helps us ride the widening gyre of change
where I rule the world from the mountain range.

Attempting To Play God

Attempting To Play God
© Surazeus
2018 09 20

These weird thoughts have floated around my head
for many years on strange shadowy wings
before I captured them in verbal form,
sewing them in howling monster of truth
like Frankenstein attempting to play God.

While crawling deeper through my memories
I find vast caverns of deep shining pools
where visions of my childhood afternoons
shimmer around me in veil of desire
to sing the beauty of sweet love I lost.

Entranced by structure of the glowing diamond,
I gaze at vision of infinity
when bright rays of light from spiraling suns
weave conscious spirit in my flashing brain
so I remember before I was born.

Each atom sparkling in my body cells
first spiraled from bright flash of the big bang
so every era of its journey far
pulsing forever in the singing star
energizes conscious dream of my brain.

I want to walk with you in singing rain,
I mumble while curled in strange fever dream
alone on desolate moor of swirling mist
where three transparent angels flow fire wings
to weave new body for my aching soul.

I floated in the sea ten million years
then crawled up shining river of desire
to rise from flashing lake and stretch my arms
toward twinkling stars who give me ancient name
while I pluck fruit from tree of life to feast.

I touch my face with hands of wispy smoke
and feel my bones recite frail brittle glass
of aching hope for nothing made from rain
that slides down curving angle of my face
so I become clown of the human race.

Ten thousand leaves still dancing on green wind
assemble form of spirit I inhabit
so I play puppet of the unseen god
that people tell me exist in the clouds
though nothing but wind replies to my call.

Soft sand of the beach beneath my bare feet
shoot sparks of sensation up to my hands
and glittering ocean waves flash in my eyes
excited rays of transcendental faith
so I feel souls of everyone who lived.

They walk beside me on the ocean beach
and tell me their tales in the singing waves
but then I sit on the slimed rock and cry
because their bodies rotted into muck
to leave white skeletons smiling at me.

I hold the skulls of my mother and father
in each hand as I feel the ocean breeze
whisper through their hollow eyes the lost truth
I can never quite express in tongue sounds
that buffet from my mouth when I howl thoughts.

They were all around me since I was born,
the people of my tribe with flashing eyes,
leaping and laughing and talking together
as we walked along the beach to find food,
and sat around the fire in twilight glow.

Now they are all gone, vanished in the wind,
yet I seem to still be alive in flesh
that covers my own hidden skeleton,
so I imitate their leaps and their laughs,
but stand staring forever at the sun.

Who am I, I ask the vast singing sea,
and the sea tells me I am its lost child,
so I float in the waves under vast sky
curved like the eye of my mother whose voice
I hear in wind so I look everywhere.

Everyone who ever lived before me
lives again in eyes of my beating heart
so I leap in the surging waves of light
and dance upright along edge of the world
ever forward toward some distant desire.

Strange shadowy wings flutter above me
so I look upward to see the large demon
my father mimicked, dancing around camp,
so I gasp in horror and swim toward shore
then run along sand as it swoops at me.

Sharp claws flash as it glides swift on broad wings
so I dive and roll as it shrieks at me
and its claw rips my back as it soars high
and curves around to dive at me again,
so I grasp long stick and stone from the sand.

Standing firm with stick pointed at its chest,
I howl in fierce wind as the demon swoops
and shrieks so loud it terrifies my heart
but I thrust the stick that pierces its heart,
causing it to tumble flapping on sand.

Leaping on its chest, I howl in wild rage,
then raise the rock and smash its writhing head
till its skull shatters and blood spurts out red,
and I beat my chest in bold victory,
then curl on warm sand to cry at the shock.

Roasting the large bird over crackling fire,
I hum strange melodies of satisfaction,
then as the stars sparkle over the sea
I feast on roasted meat of the fierce demon
while the waves preserve ancient memories.

Soft Laughter Of The River

Soft Laughter Of The River
© Surazeus
2018 09 20

Because we love soft laughter of the river
we walk along its shore of hope to linger
where we can ever hear its soothing voice
which reminds us we always have the choice
to lie down in silent shadow and die
to escape pain of hunger in the sky,
or rise up to walk among apple trees
and savor beauty of the whispering breeze.

Each time I reach for ripe fruit in the tree
the rainbow-wing serpent hisses at me,
so I linger in shadow of despair
while sweet butterflies flutter in my hair,
and think about my mother by the pool
where she took me every day to swim cool
till the terrible serpent bit her hand
and her body dissolved into mute land.

Emerging from warm shadow of her soul,
I feel my own self becoming more whole,
as I realize she formed me in her womb
and left me alone in the silent gloom
to blaze my own trail on the river shore
while I discover my true spirit core
that shimmers like the sun inside my head
to glow with awe at life till I fall dead.

My mother is dead and I am alone
so I stand still and breathe on the large stone,
then gripping wand I creep toward apple tree,
freezing when the serpent hisses at me,
then swing hard and fast to crush its small head
and beat it with fury till it writhes dead,
then gasp for breath, startled at my fierce rage,
wondering at the wisdom of the blind sage.

Climbing into the apple tree, I rest
while eating delicious fruit with zest
that beams sun-sparkling water in my brain
which I taste in the sudden drenching rain
that shimmers across the meadow of flowers
and birds flutter chirping in fruit tree bowers,
so my heart beats with rhythm of each wing
when fierce flash of joy causes me to sing.

Because I love soft laughter of the river
I walk beside dim shadow of my mother
till I feel her spirit wake more in me
each day I linger in my apple tree
and sing about strange wonder of the Earth
while aching for spark of life to give birth
to young child who will live beyond my death,
so I stop and take another deep breath.

How do we spark new life, I contemplate
unspoken mysteries of our vital fate,
then wander far along the river shore,
exploring way beyond my known-world core,
till I find young man measuring the land
so I place ripe apple in his strong hand
while he gazes at me with hoping eyes,
and we eat together under clear skies.

I lead him to my grove of apple trees
where we make love in the cool river breeze,
but when I wake from nap he is long gone
so I sing about him at dusk and dawn
while his spirit swells ripe inside my soul,
and I lie in warm sun feeling Earth-Whole,
because I love soft laughter of the river
that helps me dream how to be a good mother.

Wednesday, September 19, 2018

Circus Of Lost Souls

Circus Of Lost Souls
© Surazeus
2018 09 19

Before we all die of fake misery
even though the alligator is God
who plays chess with Death to save our foul souls
the blonde girl in blue dress leaps through the mirror
to show us the true way through the weird maze
where all the crazy freaks are superstars.

The greatest showman leaps into the ring
and waves his magic wand at sparkling stars
then horses gallop from the mountain shadow
with frail queens on their backs dancing ballet
while angels fly twirling to the trapeze
and walk on wings across the rainbow sky.

The Swedish Nightingale steps out on stage,
illuminated by bright blazing lights
to sing sweet aching sorrow of our hearts
that beam from empty hollow of her soul
where she gives birth to swirling galaxies
while we listen entranced by her vast eyes.

I wear the clown mask while I walk the street
to fool the cameras that record my face
so the watchers who control destinies
fail to recognize the wizard I am,
identifying me as Merlin or Zeus
when I direct the circus of lost souls.

She lays her warm hand on my trembling cheek
and whispers with admiring love to me,
"Go out before the cheering crowd and play
the silly loser you were meant to be,
for though people stare at your face in shock
you can make them laugh with joy at your jest."

I run out onto the stage of the world,
face and body all covered with long hair,
and howl like werewolf at full shining moon
so little children gasp at my fierce eyes
then pour their adoring love in my heart
as I hide in the spotlight of bright fame.

The tiny king dressed in cape and gold crown
with shadow tall as the giant giraffe
parades around the circus ring and twirls
small golden scepter of authority
to declare himself Emperor of Earth
so the people cheer and proclaim his name.

Here all the crazy freaks are superstars
when they perform amazing tricks each night
so children skip home with joy in their hearts
after the greatest show on Earth is done
and the striped tent is packed in wagon train
when I direct the circus of lost souls.

Gods And Nobodies

Gods And Nobodies
© Surazeus
2018 09 19

As I look back on history of mankind
recorded in the stories of our cultures,
I wonder why some normal human beings
are worshipped as gods, admired as kings,
or venerated as great national heroes
for their contributions to human progress,
while other people are hated as devils,
and most people are completely forgotten.

I see behind stories of gods and heroes
aggressive force of social domination
when two people who lead opposing groups
clash in brutal war to control the story
so winners elevate their man as god
who lead them with vision to victory,
while leader of losers is vilified
as the evil tyrant greedy for power.

Yet I often think about the nobodies
who follow their leader with loyal trust,
help them conquer the evil enemy
and elevate their great leader to godhood,
the countless nameless people who work hard
to build the power structure of their new nation,
and fulfill duties through daily routines
to maintain their food-production machine.

Do leaders concentrate in single person
the hungers and obsessions of their tribe,
so through stereotype of their character
they symbolize strange spirit of their nation,
and thus they become God to aggregate
social energies of peculiar time
when they visualize how to evade death
through actions that cause effects of new life?

The gods and nobodies of history
are all organic creatures formed from atoms
who play intense wars of kill or be killed
in social games for who has right to eat
and who copulates to produce new children,
then build huge empire on small villages
where wise leaders crown themselves God on Earth
to play grandiose rituals of national pride.

Yet in time process of our spinning world
all those gods and nobodies fall in death,
dissolving to dust that blows in the wind,
and new generation, their bodies made,
invent new political games of power
to earn social credit for right to live,
by presenting national heroes as gods
who exemplify behavior they value.

Now those gods and nobodies are word ghosts
who haunt our memories in legends and myths,
floating over us like divine glow cloud
that overshadows our passion to live
according to our most secret desires,
so we must dispel the hovering cherub
to free our souls from their sterile oppression
and live through influence of ancient love.

As I look forth at history of mankind
I see gods and nobodies rise again
from each generation who plays the game
of social domination till they die
for though we spiral out from the White Whole,
transforming to creatures with dreaming minds,
we all dissolve back into Sea of Souls
who sing creation of the universe.

From The Standpoint Of Water

From The Standpoint Of Water
© Surazeus
2018 09 19

From the standpoint of water we know why
the toughest hurricane of restless time
whirls spiral wings of angels who explain
secret of breathing through spirit of love,
one of the wettest we have ever seen
blow across fertile land of Onatah.

Exiled from Florence by my enemies,
I descend into valley of despair,
crawl upside down deep into cave of shadows,
then climb mountain to grand temple of light
where angels dance and sing in rays of joy
to dwell safe in paradise I create.

When I am under attack I withdraw
into conservative fort to protect
people of my tribe who work in concert
of strict roles to fight off our enemy
and survive in hostile environment
till we achieve peace through bold victory.

When I survive harsh attack I expand
with liberal strength to explore outside walls
of our safe haven to control the land
with source of water that keeps us alive
and experience hostile environment
to rebuild empire of commercial growth.

Through conservative congress we secure
home fortress against outside hostile threats
and work together with communal faith
to follow wise leader everyone trusts
by providing knowledge to analyze
how we work together to sustain wealth.

Through liberal progress of hope we expand
beyond walls of our fortress to explore
new fertile lands that we can colonize
to organize commercial enterprise
while constructing empire of self-control
where everyone seeks their own happiness.

When the leader we chose to guide us well
in loyal fight against fierce enemy
achieves victory to secure tribal peace
we celebrate security of heaven
and reward him for leading us from harm
then proclaim his name in tale of our nation.

But if he refuses to give up power,
clinging to scepter of authority,
and threatens to destroy the elder statesmen
who demand he relinquish martial command,
then we must arrest his dictatorship
to prevent him from crowning himself king.

Though we choose mortal men to play our God,
which is idea of state authority,
so one person with vision of our future
may manage process of food enterprise,
we must remove that person from control
if they impose their desire above ours.

Whenever one person with state control
attempts to exploit people of our nation
for their personal gain over the tribe
we must oppose their fascist government
for their sterile greed destroys paradise
and turns our Heaven into their Waste Land.

From the standpoint of water we perceive
chemical process of the environment
when elements interact to create
atmosphere that generates conscious spirit
in sparkling neurons of organic brains
who give each other names in song of life.

Still keeping watch in the tall tower of stone,
I gaze over landscape to watch for danger,
ever vigilant to protect my homeland,
while families work together in the garden,
so they live free in paradise I guard
because I serve them with the Holy Grail.

Just Another Love Story

Just Another Love Story
© Surazeus
2018 09 19

The little girl by the Christmas Tree smiles
at the little boy dazzled by her eyes
so he leans forward and kisses her cheek
like the bee kisses petals of the flower.

The old man looks at faded photograph
that shows him sitting with his future wife
at the Christmas party in the fourth grade
when she gave him the journal to write stories.

Walking downtown by the river at sunset,
the young man and the young woman smile shyly
and hold hands, laughing as they share cute stories,
then kiss by the old oak tree in the park.

How real every moment was to us then,
authentic experience of growing love,
yet now they seem like fake movie cliches,
just another love story people mock.

Sitting together on the wooden porch,
the young couple watches their children play,
running and shrieking in the large back yard
as breezes blow in the broad apple trees.

We did everything right in play of life,
performing our assigned roles without flaw,
falling in love, working, producing children,
and raising them to be good citizens.

Parking his car, the man walks through front door,
hangs his hat and coat on the hook, smiles beaming
as he kisses his wife cooking beef stew,
then sits with his children at the round table.

The world seemed so simple when we were young,
study in school, work at rich companies,
get married, buy the nice house, raise good children,
earn social credit for playing your part well.

The old woman by the Christmas Tree smiles
at the old man still dazzled by her eyes
so he leans forward and kisses her cheek
like the rain kisses thick soil of the world.

What did I gain by doing all things right
except savoring each day I am alive,
sharing experiences with my true love,
and leaving behind children who play their part?

Climbing the mountain trail among pine trees,
the old woman and the old man holding hands
sit by the lake that sparkles with sunlight
and feel stars pulsing in their every atom.

The old woman in the oak coffin smiles
at the old man long dazzled by her eyes,
so he drops photo of them on her breast,
then sings as they lower her in the Earth.

Troll Under The Bridge

Troll Under The Bridge
© Surazeus
2018 09 19

The cup of hot ginger tea on the table
is not the portal to some other world,
he whispers to himself just after dawn,
but how I would like to escape this one.

In that other world I am not some freak
like the talking ferret with bushy tail
who lived in the walls of the ancient mansion
on the Isle of Man many years ago.

Perhaps I can transform shape of my body
from human back to alligator-wolf,
supercool-looking monster with thick fur,
and glowing eyes that will terrify people.

I wish I had eyes that terrify people
because they are always so cruel to me,
glaring at me with hate, mocking my looks
as if I could control shape of my face.

I wish I could transfrom from freakish wimp
to superhero with enormous strength
and lithe ability to fight evil people
like our savior Captain America.

Jesus let himself get killed on the cross
but I want to be the savior who fights,
like Michael fights the demon of despair,
because my demons haunt me everywhere.

Maybe that is why my mother, who died
from cancer when I was six, named me Michael,
because she wants me to slay evil demons,
and save mankind from terrible disease.

I started medical school but the ways
the human body can disintegrate
from horrible diseases disgusts me,
so I wander the streets with nameless people.

Huddled in cardboard box under road bridge,
Michael looks up at face of the strange man
and smiles, so that is why I live here now,
so thank you for bringing me soup each day.

Peter walks away and sits in his car,
shaking his head, Michael does not recognize
his own brother, then weeps into his hands,
then returns to work at the credit union.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Atheist Prophet Of Apples

Atheist Prophet Of Apples
© Surazeus
2018 09 18

Whether or not there is a powerful God
is irrelevant to whether most people
believe or not in a creator God
who has a plan for how they live their life.

People who need to believe in a God
will believe in a God whether or not
God is real, and will invent God they need
to guide them well in how they live their life.

No conscious God with supernatural power
created or controls vast galaxies
that constitute enormous universe
for everything is taut structure of atoms.

Most people do not need God to exist
to believe he is powerful and real
for God reflects their view of politics
and enforces moral rules they obey.

Because I am the atheist they fear
they think I am against the government
based on hierarchy of the King as Father
whose actions reflect the will of their God.

This proves that men invent concept of God
based on the leader of national tribes
to enforce their right to rule the whole world
so my atheism threatens their power.

They build their religions on strict theism,
basing structure of political power
on their right to speak for the Unseen God,
and kill me if I refuse to obey.

I build no religion on atheism,
lone prophet of my own personal truth
speaking proverbs about human behavior
based on stories of failure and success.

I walk the waste land while whistling for joy
for I do what I want if I harm none,
planting apple seeds on lush river shore
where horses gallop with the shining clouds.

I build paradise in the wilderness
and play god within the walls of my garden,
welcoming lost souls who work to tend trees,
then feast and sing in the ring of tall stones.

Other World In the Water Puddle

Other World In the Water Puddle
© Surazeus
2018 09 18

Trudging nowhere, heart heavy with despair,
I see blue sky shining in water puddle,
and stop to wonder if, in that strange world,
my heart is light with fluttering joy of love.

I step on the puddle to see if I
will fall through doorway to the other world
but I find myself still standing in this one,
so I look around at houses and cars.

I see two men, around behind the corner
of the ruined gas station my dad owned,
exchanging bag of drugs for wad of cash,
but one pulls out his gun and shoots the other.

Staring shocked as my body turns to ice,
I see the man slump over, dead as dirt,
and blood dribbles from his wide gaping mouth
as the other man snatches wad of cash.

Just as he turns to flee the man sees me,
so he glares and points his gun at my face
and mouths the boom sound of the blasting bullet,
then laughs and walks away into the trees.

I continue walking down the bleak street
and think about my old gang of best friends
who kicked me out since I would not buy booze,
so I go anywhere but our secret fort.

They believe aliens came from outerspace
and built all those ancient temples of stone
hidden in vast jungles of distant lands,
because humans are not advanced enough.

I think maybe dinosaurs who survived
the asteroid that struck Gulf of Mexico
developed into intelligent species
while we were still monkeys swinging in trees.

But I am hungry now, though I am broke,
my father is dead, killed while driving drunk,
and my mother went away before dawn
several years ago and never returned.

Though I sleep on the floor in the office
of the ruined gas station my dad owned,
I should return to school to graduate
since I had only one year left when I quit.

Before I quit I told my favorite teacher
I want to work in the college library
where my mother took me before she left,
so I walk to the school through Autumn leaves.

I tell the secretary in the office
I want to enroll in classes again
and finish my last year to graduate,
so she sends me in to the principal.

I sit and squirm in the large hard wood chair
and explain how I live at the gas station,
my dad is dead and my mom is long gone,
but I want to work as a librarian.

The old principal smiles and shakes my hand,
explaining how I can improve my life
if I work hard and focus on the lessons,
then gives me schedule of classes to take.

After attending English, Art, and Math,
I walk to the food bank and stand in line
till the old woman gives me sack of groceries,
then I walk to gas station my dad owned.

I stop and stare in the puddle of water,
and see just beyond edges of its dream
my life where I work as a librarian,
earning enough to buy new home and car.

Monday, September 17, 2018

Death Of Our World

Death Of Our World
© Surazeus
2018 09 17

Strange agony of awkward memories
when I was stricken by the common headcold
of shivering horror at mundane desire
that causes writhing force of chemicals
that is my body to devour the moon
lures me to wander back to paradise.

Now everything we remember with fondness
is nothing but illusion lost in sunlight
since the world we experienced as children
has long vanished in the seasonal breeze
so our children will never see the same
shimmering glow of paradise we still savor.

When I was stricken by sore throat and shivers
I bundled myself in warm memories
and lay covered up in thick social values
then sweated out the horror of despair
so I woke four hours later refreshed
as if reborn from the death of our world.

Because everything I once thought was true
dissipates from the hurricane of change
which spirals from actions of countless people
who contend for the right to eat and dream
I create new world view from ruins of truth
based on foundation of words we invent.

The dramas of desire our parents played
when we were little spirits of the woods
and they were giants on the mountain top
we tell our children while we feast at night
so our ancestors become gods of legends
whose grand deeds outshine our daily routines.

The gods of every nation are long dead
so we are living gods who walk the world
and play our own new roles to outshine theirs
just as our children shall outshine us soon
for we are all lights in the memories
of our descendants who forget our names.

Sunday, September 16, 2018

Rainbow Of Despair

Rainbow Of Despair
© Surazeus
2018 09 16

Somewhere over the rainbow of despair,
way up high beyond walls of paradise,
where blackbirds fly among ancient oak trees,
draped in moss of sorrow for the lost souls,
I follow the rainbow to deep abyss
where nothing is real but the face I feel.

Someday when I wish upon the last star,
still shining after the rest have burned out,
I wake up walking on the road to nowhere
under clouds that always pour drenching rain,
along the river that flows through my heart
as I clutch the last apple in the world.

From darkness of night I rise at dawn light
and listen to song of the hurricane
where trees of green and roses of red bloom
from cracks in hard foundation of my heart
so skies of blue and clouds of white absolve
anguish of my mute horror at death.

Blinded by blazing colors of the rainbow
so vibrant in the sky of crystal ice
I look for faces of people I knew
and listen for babies crying in the village
but they are white skulls smiling in gray ash
though their voices still echo in my heart.

I once thought this is a wonderful world
so full of people singing as they work
but terrible pain pierces my soft brain
as I wander nowhere through pouring rain
on the long and winding road of despair
while I talk to ghosts of my tribe they killed.

I hear small kitten mewling in wet grass
so I kneel in blazing sunlight by tree
where new-born kitten with eyes blue as rain
shivers wet from thunderstorm of red lightning,
so I cradle her close to my warm breast
till she is dry and purring near my heart.

Sitting under willow tree by the river,
I squeeze milk from my breast in my cupped palm
so little kitten licks it with pink tongue,
then curls to sleep on my lap as I gaze
at sparkling river flowing through my heart
for she is soul of my mother returned.

The kitten perches on my shoulder pad
as I walk the road winding among trees
and whistle with joy at beauty of life
since rainbow beams bright after blinding rain,
so I kneel by the river and dig hole
where I plant the last apple in the world.

My New Home In Kentucky

My New Home In Kentucky
© Surazeus
2018 09 16

Hunched on gray rock in tufts of yellow grass,
as thick rain drenches hard mist-shrouded hills,
Scott watches narrow river gushing bright
as it pours in gray waters of the loch.

"I want to escape this miserable land
where priests beat me with sticks for having fun.
I want to sail west to land of America
where everyone is rich and lives in mansions."

Clutching rifle and sword to his thin chest,
Scott guards herd of sheep huddled in the rain,
but dreams about living rich in America
while staring at shadows on distant plain.

Five men leap up from behind tangled bushes,
and run howling at him slouched on the rock,
so he raises rifle with beating heart
and pulls the trigger, but none of them fall.

Dropping the rifle, Scott leaps to his feet,
and swings the sword as they surround his spot,
so he turns back and forth to fend them off
as they all charge at once and whack his head.

Waking up in rain with head pounding hard,
Scott stares at faces of the estate duke
and the police who investigate crime,
and groans when they lock his wrists with handcuffs.

"You colluded with thieves to steal my sheep,
but hit you on the head to hide your tracks.
How much did they promise to pay you, lad?
Or did they already give you some money?"

Scott groans from pain of cuffs cutting his wrists.
"They jumped out of the bushes and surprised me.
I shot at them but I missed in the rain.
They hit me with clubs and left me for dead."

The police take him to the prison house
where he stands trial for helping thieves steal sheep,
and the jury finds him guilty as charged
so the judge sentences him to be hanged.

Guards wake the prisoners after midnight
and herd them all out to wagons with bars,
then two men pay the police bags of money
as they are taken down to the ship yard.

The prisoners are herded onto the ship
that sails before dawn west across the sea
where they are tossed about for several months
till they arrive in the harbor of Boston.

Standing with prisoners on wooden docks,
Scott breathes fresh air blowing from ancient woods.
"I wanted to sail west to rich America,
so here I am by Hand of God or Fate."

Soldiers in uniforms buy the whole lot,
then take them through the busy city streets
to barracks where they shower and eat well,
then are given blue uniforms and guns.

Loaded on wagons, they travel down south
and stand in rows on shore of some broad river.
The general with full beard on prancing horse
stops before them and speaks with booming voice.

"The people of the south keep men as slaves,
so we are fighting them to free those slaves.
If you survive, we will give you their land
where you can farm and raise big families."

Hunched on gray rock in tufts of yellow grass,
as thick rain drenches hard mist-shrouded hills,
Scott watches narrow river gushing bright
as it pours in gray waters of the lake.

"I want to escape this miserable land
where sargeants beat me for not working hard.
I want to sail east to land of my birth
where my mother weeps for me to come home."

Bugles blow so they all stand in straight lines,
then lower guns and charge at distant men,
running through mist as cannons boom bright fire,
and men all around him are splattered dead.

Running forever through thick hail of bullets,
Scott keeps expecting one to blast his brains,
but he emerges from swirls of gray smoke
to stand alone in field of bleeding corpses.

Looking around at heaps of slaughtered men,
Scott gasps fast for air at horror of life,
and runs around the battlefield in fear
till he falls to his knees in shocked surprise.

Stripping the blue uniform off his body,
Scott dresses in leather jacket and pants
he finds on the corpse of the mountain man,
then crosses the river gushing in rain.

Climbing high mountain shrouded in gray mist,
Scott finds small cabin hidden in the woods
beside the pond that shimmers after rain,
so he knocks on the door, heart wild with fear.

The young woman who opens the wood door
stares at him with eyes blue as the noon sky,
then gestures he enter so he sits down
on the floor by the warm fire in the hearth.

The woman gives him bowl of rabbit stew,
so he sips sweet delicious brew with joy,
then falls asleep by the bright crackling fire
and dreams of rain falling on misty hills.

Waking at dawn and stretching arms and legs,
Scott sees the woman holding his own gun
who aims it at his face with frightened look,
so he smiles and thanks her for the good food.

Picking up the axe, he walks to the woods
and chops load of fresh wood for the fire hearth,
then brings buckets of water from the creek,
and repairs the door and walls of the house.

As the sun sets behind the misty mountain,
Scott lies down on grass in front of her door,
but she nudges his arm with her small foot,
so he follows her inside the small cabin.

After he eats delicious mushroom soup,
he falls asleep and dreams of blasting bullets,
then wakes at dawn and chops more fresh firewood
as the woman collects eggs from the chickens.

Every dawn when he wakes, Scott chops firewood,
brings water, and repairs parts of the cabin,
then he builds two tables, six chairs, one bed,
and three cabinets for dishes and food.

While eating rabbit stew as the sun sets,
Scott gazes with love in her glowing eyes,
longing to kiss her lips while she sews clothes,
and falls asleep dreaming she is his wife.

Gazing in her eyes, Scott tells her his story.
"I was herding sheep when thieves hit my head,
but the duke thought I helped them steal his sheep
so I was sentenced to hang before dawn."

"Slave traders bought all of us prisoners
then sold us to the army up on Boston
who sent us south to fight their civil war,
but everyone was killed so I escaped."

The woman leans forward to kiss his lips
and he reaches out to caress her cheeks,
but the door bursts open in blowing rain
and the soldier in gray leaps in the room.

The woman shrieks, "Matthew, you came back home!
I was told you were killed at Gettysburg!
This lost wandering man helped repair the cabin
but he will soon return home to Atlanta."

The soldier clutches Scott around the throat
and slams him back against the hot-stone hearth.
"I saw you attempting to rape my wife
so I will kill you for your hideous crime."

Scott struggles to escape his squeezing grip
but the soldier punches his stomach hard.
Gasping for breath as he smacks at his arms,
Scott falls choking into abyss of fear.

Struggling forever against ocean waves,
Scott wakes gasping for breath by the fire hearth,
and stares shocked to see the soldier lying dead
because the woman killed him with the axe.

Dropping the axe, she kneels down by his side,
and cradles his head on her heaving bosom,
then they kiss with passionate loyal love,
holding each other with desperate desire.

After making love in silver moonlight,
they lie together by the crackling hearth.
"My name is Margaret, and I love you, Scott.
I married him after my father died."

"He always treated me like his dumb slave,
beating me if I defied his command.
You always treat me like your smart boss,
obeying my commands with love in your eyes."

Standing together in the small white church,
Margaret and Scott exchange wedding vows,
then sit together at the party table
while everyone feasts and dances to fiddles.

Walking together on the river shore,
Margaret and Scott discuss their future plans,
then holding each other they kiss with love,
haloed by the glowing light of the sun.

Eternal Songs Of Human Hope

Eternal Songs Of Human Hope
© Surazeus
2018 09 16

In the morning while I still lie in bed
I like to open the Venetian blinds
so dawn light may gleam into my bedroom
and weave eternity in my brain cells.

I see fairies hop outside on the lawn
in playful rendition of ballet shows,
disguised as birds that flap their fragile wings,
for birds are descended from dinosaurs.

Three raindrops on window glass sparkle blue,
retaining in their quivering eyes fierce blast
of the hurricane that swirls from the sea
and floods fragile cities on the east coast.

The car mechanic, whose eyes have seen gears
of the hurricane grind infinite rage,
paddles metal canoe down flooded highway
with the tiny kitten perched on his shoulder.

I stand on dawn-red lawn behind my house
and wait for last breeze of the hurricane
to rustle leaves on the trees who explain
that our souls will vanish, erased by death.

Why do people gather each Sunday morning
in white-painted buildings to sit in rows
and sing with false hope for eternal life
when this moment now is Heaven on Earth?

Whether struggling to survive brutal blast
of indifferent hurricanes from the sea,
or singing with family in grove of trees,
we are alive with emptiness of love.

I sit alone in my yard Sunday mornings
to worship Apollo, God of Sunlight,
and write eternal songs of human hope
in dry dirt so the wind can sing our thoughts.

Saturday, September 15, 2018

Sing Like Ocean Waves

Sing Like Ocean Waves
© Surazeus
2018 09 15

We die to the vanity of ourselves
to live reborn again from emptiness.
We wander in the darkness of despair,
pursued by the monster of our desire,
till blinding rage of our unfulfilled hope
tears us apart and leaves us on the plain.
Scattered across the waste land of the world,
we lie mute and dreamless ten thousand years,
becoming the stars that twinkle unmoved.
The spirit of the sun in human form
descends on wings of fire from sparkling clouds
who kneels beside us in the shining rain
and gathers again our dismembered parts
then sews us together with threads of light.

Though I dissolved into the nameless glow,
she reassembles my eternal soul
from lost memories floating on wild sea waves
to create my body from river clay.
She breathes spirit of life into my mind
so I wake again from long dreamless sleep
to walk beside her on the ocean shore
while she teaches me how to speak my thoughts
with the powerful muscle of my tongue.
She leads me into secure cave of shadows
where she lies down in last beam of the sun
and sings with the voice of sweet ocean waves
to conjure vision glowing in my mind
how spark of light expands into huge star
that weaves world of mountains and seas from fire.

Holding my hand as her eyes glitter clear,
she gazes in my soul with eyes of light,
then whispers, "I will sleep and never wake,
so find young woman to generate life
for I will live again inside your daughter.
While I was walking on the river plain
I found your father, wave-leaping Ouranos,
wounded by men who attacked him with spears,
so I sewed his wounds and applied moist potion
of Yarrow blossoms to bring his lost soul
back from stars to animate him with life.
He sired your body in womb of my heart
then sailed away on the wild ocean waves."
Closing her eyes, she dissolves into dust
so I walk alone on the ocean shore,
feeling her spirit guide my way forward
along the glistening beach of the world.

I climb jagged cliff toward tall apple tree
and eat ripe apple while sitting on stone
that gleams clear as ice in the morning sun,
and wonder that the song of ocean waves
whispers more quiet in leaf-rustling breeze.
Where will I find the woman like my mother
who will take immortal soul of my body
and generate new body to sustain
conscious spirit that wakes inside my mind?

I hear someone singing in apple grove
so I walk through swirls of mist to the sound
where I find young woman on river shore
who stares at me when I sit by her side.
Touching my broad chest, where my heart beats wild,
I say, "I am Okeanos, son of Gaia,
who taught me how to sing like ocean waves."
Touching her round breasts, where her heart beats wild,
she says, "I am Tethys, daughter of Krone,
who taught me how to brew sweet apple juice."
Smiling she gives me cup of juice to drink.
I sing enchanting song with swirling breath
as I gaze in sparkling glow of her eyes,
then we kiss and make love among the flowers
where bees gather pollen to brew sweet honey.