Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Fertile Heart Of America

Fertile Heart Of America
© Surazeus
2018 11 20

The love that slithers down my tingling spine
revives aching lust I buried in mud
to sprout telephone poles along blind roads
where caravans of refugees from war
against justice wander to Promised land
where they flip burgers at McDonalds grill.

The king who wants to know the reason why
he can saw off fingers of journalists
who criticize his theft of dollar bills
throws new rakes to people whose homes burned down
because the wildfire devoured piles of cash
scattered afar in California woods.

Those evil politicians come and go
on Wheel of Fortune that endlessly spins
between extremes of wealth and poverty
when people compete for baubles of fame
that glorify their faces with false masks
trampled in mud when new heroes arise.

Yet still I follow Lady Liberty
on endless revolution to ensure
universal human rights are upheld
by honest governments who support truth
on the right side of history to maintain
arc of justice we construct from our skulls.

All the clowns who stand on stage to decry
injustice of the capitalist system,
that crushes the spirits of honest people,
proclaim the fall of the empire of wealth,
then, after the slam poetry event,
they drink beer as they stagger down the street.

White clouds in blue sky beam rays of gold light
to reveal shadow of despair that lurks
behind locked doors of hundred million homes
where their brains stew in toxic chemicals
of fake news designed to spur their outrage
so they will send money to senators.

Grasping bare bodkin of Hamlet, I slash
open my heart so money gushes out
in fountain of desire that drowns the world
with visions of power to control the land
and program the hearts and minds of the people
to believe whatever I say is true.

I smoke weed in the skull of Lucifer
and breathe out visions of bloody world war
when nations of angry men grasping guns
shoot each other over Garden of Eden
where the Serpent laughs at our vanity
and drinks our blood that soaks the silent Earth.

We are bold robots of America,
marching as to war for the most just cause
that we need oil bleeding from holy sand
to power electric grid which generates
glow of cyberspace from billions of servers
to connect our brains in the world wide web.

Who is the spider of the world wide web,
enchanting wizard whose weird magic spells
connect our minds to perceive one world view
woven from words that sparkle from our tongues
yet blind our eyes with glamour of desire
for ideology to explain it all?

The blind prophet with one hundred eyes stands
in the middle of the highway at sunset,
but people drive home from working all day
so they cannot see his shadow of hope
that beams sunlight slant on indifferent trees
when they go home to pay their monthly bills.

The love that flashes on computer screens
dispels false vision of our spinning world
so we can see the tyrant on the throne,
who thinks he is the messiah returned,
when we gather at the river that flows
through the fertile heart of America.

Saint Mary Of Egypt

Saint Mary Of Egypt
© Surazeus
2018 11 20

I want to leave America behind
and cross the Jordan River before dawn
to dwell with Saint Mary of Egypt far
beyond the gleaming walls of Babylon.

Deep in the waste land of the wilderness,
with nothing to eat but herbs of the ground,
I want to sing in heat of emptiness
and meditate on the skull-cluttered mound.

The pleasures of this life distract my mind,
steaks, music, social media sites, and wine,
since atoms I consume restore my flesh
and weave molecules into sensuous mesh.

Sweet Mary leaves home when she is fourteen
to weave flax in Alexandria shops,
then joins wild parties in temples of Isis,
drinking wine and making love all night long.

For seventeen years in temples of love,
Mary dances and drinks wine to sweet music,
embracing every lusty man and boy
who fills her heart with passion of desire.

Offering her body to handsome young boys,
Mary joins pilgrims sailing the world sea
to see Cross of Life in Jerusalem,
where she opens her legs for priests and monks.

While attempting to enter the wide door
that leads to Church of the Holy Sepulcher,
Mary is blocked by angels in white robes
so she kneels on the bare porch in despair.

Gazing at icon of Mary the Mother,
Mary the Barren weeps in anguished prayer,
vowing to leave her life of careless lust,
and dedicate her heart to spiritual love.

Entering Church of the Holy Sepulcher,
Mary gazes at the crucified man
whose eyes beam true love in her naked soul
so she feels wings of joy sprout from her heart.

Stepping outside in the morning sunlight,
Mary glides with joy reborn in her heart,
and prays to Mary the Mother for guidance
who tells her, cross River Jordan for rest.

The matron wife of the richest town banker
gives her three gold coins, then kisses her cheek,
so Mary buys three fresh loaves of rye bread,
and the baker points to the River Jordan.

Wading through the gushing stream of rebirth,
Mary crosses River Jordan at dawn
and walks into desolate waste land of despair,
wandering nowhere into canyons of wind.

Sitting in cave of shadows without food,
Mary sings hymns she learned in temple orgies
and clutches her breast, thirsty for sweet wine,
then howls as she dances in silver moonlight.

The rich gown she wore as the temple whore
disintegrates to tatters in bleak wind,
so Mary blisters in hot blazing sunlight
and shivers in freezing frost after midnight.

Creeping through bushes with rabbits and deer,
Mary drinks from the Jordan every morning,
then wanders the waste land till late at night
when she sleeps in cave near high mountain peak.

Eating herbs that sprout from the dusty Earth,
Mary raises both hands to cloudless sky,
and sings when flames of lust glow in her heart,
then writhes in dust with agony of pleasure.

Sitting in cave where light and shadow play,
Mary whispers, though men filled me with seed
no child like Jesus sprouted from my womb
so spirit of wind and sun burn my soul.

Lying flat, Mary stares at infinite sky
for numberless days to become the Earth,
and watches stars swirl across the domed vault
as the moon swells and fades with life and death.

Passionate desires fade in blaze of time
as Mary grows old with long shaggy hair,
thin and gaunt as the ancient olive tree
that grows forever by her cave of dreams.

Standing on high ridge in the blazing light,
Mary sees young monk who runs toward her cave,
so she turns away to hide nakedness,
and asks for his cloak to hide her vile shame.

Lying at his side in waste land of hope,
Mary tells Zosimas tale of her life,
relating how she enjoyed lust of men,
but came to the desert to seek sweet rest.

I sated desires of body and mind
to fulfill endless hunger of my flesh,
but nothing satisfied fierce lust for love,
yet now I find love beyond changing lust.

Caressing his face with age-twisted hand,
Mary gazes in his infinite eyes,
and whispers, meet me again in one year
on the shore of the river of rebirth.

Watching silver moon swell and fade twelve times,
Mary sits under dead tree on the hill top
and sees nothing but wind swirling as flames,
then walks to the river that flows forever.

Walking on high stones across gushing stream,
Mary glides in moonlight to river shore
where she sits with Zosimas till bright dawn,
humming solemn hymns while they both hold hands.

Caressing his cheek in the morning light,
Mary whispers, you are the Son of God
I never bore from my infertile womb,
for you are true child of my loving heart.

Walking alone to her cave on the hill,
Mary hums wordless hymns with desert wind,
and sighs, at last I know rest from my lust,
for now I love man with selfless respect.

Lying flat on the shore of the Jordan River,
Mary waits for Zosimas to return,
and floats away high in infinite sky
to leave her frail body dead on the Earth.

Kneeling over her body among herbs,
Zosimas caresses her sun-burned cheek,
and his cool tears splash on her lips and breast
as he buries her body in dry dust.

Stepping into ancient Temple of Fortuna,
where Portunus managed cattle of Roma,
I gaze at painting with Mary of Egypt
naked in the bleak waste land of desire.

Featureless Face Of Human Hope

Featureless Face Of Human Hope
© Surazeus
2018 11 20

The sadness of the gray sky after dawn
cannot explain hungry horror of truth
that twists my heart at prospect of desire
when I drive wet road through forest of pines
to work in the factory where engines hum
while my children play video games at home.

This intense force of love that drives me on
with more determination than the sleuth
motivates my passion with divine fire
guided straight through by invisible signs
to work till the numbness of death may come
when I transform into some senile gnome.

Yet when I arrive at blank door of death
and stare down into abyss of my heart
will untiring light of love in my mind
shine as beacon to guide relentless way
through doorway of death to the afterlife
and sustain me as I float in mute dark?

Or will my body, all dissolved to dust,
dissipate shining light of consciousness
so when I pass threshold of emptiness
I vanish into the infinite White Whole
and become swirling cloud of molecules
where every atom retains memories?

Silver mist shining over field of grass
that shimmers golden in gray sunless dawn
reflects featureless face of human hope
that mirrors mask of simple character
I wear to hide complexity of lust
that drives me to replicate my weird soul.

Before pulling open gray factory door,
I stare at shadow of my soul on steel
and think about the way my sweet wife smiles,
then step inside and walk to my machine,
punch on-button to activate swift motion,
and begin daily labor molding tools.

While polishing tools to reflect moon glow
of silver compassion for flowers in fields,
I think about the strange news tale I read
about hurricane of one hundred stars
swarming toward our fragile globe of warm life,
and hope they will not shatter our frail world.

Light of atoms in our bodies persist
as they join other forms after we die,
but our own memories vanish to nothing
when neurons of our brains untangle truth
at swift disintegration of our souls
so we become fruit sparkling in dawn mist.

Angry shouts echo through the factory
so we walk to the glass wall to the office
where operations secretary stands stiff,
facing her ex-husband who shouts in rage,
and threatens to kill her and their children too,
so she backs away in terror of hate.

Pulling large black Glock from his jacket pocket,
he aims it at her head and calls her whore,
so I push open glass door and shout stop,
then rush forward howling like enraged bear
and lunge at him, clutching him with both arms,
as he fires two bullets straight through my heart.

Slamming him hard against the metal door,
I squeeze tight in terrible pain of fear,
and sink down into abyss of despair
that I will never kiss my wife again
nor play video games with my laughing kids,
then I soar buzzing toward the bright White Whole.

Stopping my truck on the lone country road,
I step out and stride into field of grass
soaked wet from silver mist that sparkles bright
with faces of every person I loved
who smile at me as I sink into soil
and become galaxy of quarks in flowers.

Monday, November 19, 2018

Detach Your Heart

Detach Your Heart
© Surazeus
2018 11 19

Fake absolution of dark corridors
conceals oppression of innocent souls
so with my head lamp I reveal cruel crimes
but they continue assault on our freedoms
till we employ their methods to fight back
and redeem ourselves by fouling our souls.

Strange concepts we find buried in our minds
lie silent and unknown till we search deep
in complex maze of tricky stereotypes
when puzzling riddles reveal their contours
so we can calculate deceptive lies
oppressors formulate to trick our faith.

Jagged insolence of rebellious youth
might compromise access to fake success
when politicians conduct fun war games
to enslave minds with patriotic fervor
but genius translates arcane prophecies
through arrested development of hope.

Beneath the wheel of fortune for success
transforms soft clay of my soul into steel
of superman through spring awakening
to rise reborn as Blue Angel of truth
who swallows nausea of lusting existence
when water plays with bloodless corpse of me.

In the beginning is the myth of rebirth
when I rose up from foul mud of disgrace
to self-examine how my mind transforms
through rigorous exercise of composition
to conceal corpse of piety in slime
where humans evolved from lizards of lust.

Rejecting my family and my religion
to reassess aspirations of salvation
along with nationalist faith in my race,
I leave temple of truth with mindless hymns
to walk alone on mountain of lost souls
where voices of the dead howl through my mouth.

Life flows like swift river of sparkling atoms
that cycle through containment of our bodies
so I sit on weird mountain of sad winds
and listen to thousand-voiced song of rivers
where lament and laughter merge in one tone
till millions of souls sing one melody.

Every ideology of world religion
and politics stands firm as obstacle
to true enlightenment of open minds
so I will not stand with nationalist crowds
and sing blind patriotic hymns to power
but wander lost in waste land of my faith.

Because my self and nation are illusions
they cannot be redeemed by sacrifice
of the selfless leader to save my soul,
so I will sit by lake of dreaming eyes
and watch great empires collapse in world war
while I tend apple trees in misty rain.

Detach your heart from politics of power,
three sages sing in moon-lit ring of stones,
Siddhartha laughing under huge fig tree,
Epicurus twirling in apple orchard,
and Hermann Hesse playing secret glass bead game,
so I burn their books and write my own scripture.

Atoms Made Of Circles

Atoms Made Of Circles
© Surazeus
2018 11 19

Where is our heart-broken Niobe now
who could weep for death of America
when all her brightest children are struck down
by arrogant thieves disguised by hard mask
of politicians claiming they must rule
to make great America great again
by enslaving uneducated poor
to labor in their factories of wealth?

Who remembers when the cold iron wall
collapsed from brute force of democracy
because wild boy with antlers in thick curls
charged into battle against robot thieves
who suppress the vote by deleting names
of legal citizens with skin so dark
light of justice falls into the blank void
unless we soar on bold Icarian wings?

When time fades between spaces of loud words
at shuddering of frigid commands that freeze
voice of normal people expressing wish
for the simple life working to create
good things with our skilled hands to earn our pay,
since light will shine if we will only wait,
will we wallow in flash of frozen snow
because we are light and water congealed?

Though I take our bright sun into my mouth
and swim through flowers of fire to your blank face
then leap into the breath of all your voices,
will I navigate darkness of despair
to map curves of your body as the Earth,
so we discover mystery of rebirth
after ten thousand years drinking fruit juice
to become purity of silver moonlight?

Can we remember name of every soul
who worked in factories constructing power
these past four hundred years of empire rise
when high above cold twilight of our city
whistles of tower-clocks burst our aching hearts
to follow scrimmage of numbed laborers
who crowd snow-grayed blocks of apartment halls
where children paint dreams with blood on brick walls?

Can I transcend suffering of my ancestors
when we gather on field in evening dusk
to play ball throwing dreams at our lost selves
since photos snapped by smart phones in our hands
preserve transient spirits of aching hearts
who beam clandestine truth in printed words
with infinite octaves of colored thought
through loyal faith in people without names?

At timeless moment when I close my eyes
for the last time to sink into blank death,
will I think about my walks in bright woods
in ancient mountains of whispering pine trees
who remember the first waterfall flash
which still pulses in atoms of my brain
woven from rain storms of ten million years
so we give each other names out of love?

How soon will I heal from knife of your tongue
that stains departed lesson of perfume
to curse my clavicle longbow of faith
cracked from pushing stone of Sisyphus up
mountain of expectation swollen ripe
as pungent bud of apples on dead Tree
of the Knowledge of Good and Evil burned
by mad prophet who wants to be our king?

How much like angels are these ancient trees
on pulsing mountain where prophets assemble
to drink from fresh fountain of the flying horse
and discuss who gets to wear laurel crown
forged from blood-metal of spiraling stars
that meditate quiet as blossoms born
from every feeling I bury unsung
to comprehend algebra of lost faith?

Slouching by Gate of Heaven still unseen
will I ever again see that bright moon
which illumined your love-mirroring face
to translate songs of ravens in tall pines
who know nameless heartmate of my true home
haunting lake shore where we met at twilight
to compose new tune expressing our love
though we search for each other all night long?

With rose-red ribbon wreathing her long hair
and long white gown shrouding her broken heart
to veil face of my bride with sailing chart,
will we kiss and laugh in the wild spring air
that formed our bodies from meadows of trust
so we are free to sing about our flight,
except we work in dark factories all day
sewing dresses and building cars for pay?

Are atoms made of circles in our eyes
to model structure of vast galaxies
which spiral singing around the White Whole
as Spider Goddess who weaves universe
in web of flashing planets where sponge brains
of organic creatures believe that God
assembles molecules like little boy
on river shore who invented the wheel?

Sunday, November 18, 2018

So We Share Giving Love

So We Share Giving Love
© Surazeus
2018 11 18

Fair wind that blows across wet fields of grain
refreshes spirits worn by endless toil
who drink sweet wine and dance in flashing rain
while energy of love spins through tight coil.

Rich people gather in grand halls to drink
and celebrate legal power of their wealth
while poor people glide around skating rink
when Despair lingers close on wings of stealth.

Wild-eyed and merry with angelic heart,
the clever sleuth, who unmasks criminals,
maps their thieving spree on his timeless chart
to catch bankers performing miracles.

I slouch in restaurant on Clown Avenue
and search for purpose in this dreary life,
then realize Holy Grail is ingenue
who bears our children as my loyal wife.

How long did we survive in hilltop fort,
transforming wood poles into walls of stone
and shaman into emperor in grand court,
beyond castle haven to rule alone?

Alone I drive vast maze of city streets
still wanting to man the castle watch-tower,
plotting to expand rich accounting sheets
till my clan rules the world with witty power.

Your quaint domestic spells of fractured verse
fail to express complexity of truth
which spirals stars to weave our universe
and show how messiah became the sleuth.

The revolution happens every year
when powerful men die and dissolve to dust
so weaklings gain power by preying on your fear,
abusing you to satisfy their lust.

Rise against bullies in high castle halls
who tax your labor while you slave all day
and overthrow tyrants when freedom calls
till you legalize your right to fair pay.

Though kings and presidents rule, they will die,
yet more men rise to play that royal role,
but always one man claims right from the sky
to exploit energy of your free soul.

We need one honest man to judge disputes,
whether Zeus, Mithra, Jesus, or Mohammad,
wise mortal we elect who executes
universal laws to rule our whole planet.

Holding hands, we stand inside ring of stones
to chant sacred vision of the White Whole
whose pulsing atoms animate our brains
so we share giving love as common goal.

Saturday, November 17, 2018

Map Intricate Web Of Light

Map Intricate Web Of Light
© Surazeus
2018 11 17

When I crawl from glass bones of my ancestors
my ancient spirit returns to strange rivers
where I create pure light my eyes perceive
because I speak vibration of my heart
so others see transcendent light I dream
that hour they pull me from womb of my mother.

Weird syntax of my marble obelisk
reveres new symbol of oblivion
where narrative of doubt on parchment skin
prints meaning of true love with flowing blood
which details penchant for rebirth I play
capture the flag on mountain of cracked skulls.

These rancid hours of evanescent truth
choking me before I comprehend faith
drown my sponge brain in irregular brine
when I seek absolution from the clown
to escape the pickle of superstition
which fails to explain why I am me now.

I wake from susurrous trance of desire
to argue relevancy of monarchs
who want to vary expressions of truth
which obscure meaning only sages know
though we overthrow all arrogant kings
and crucify presidents who fail duty.

When three ravens with tangled wings appear
from gold-glowing clouds to reveal star lake
will blind witch give me sword forged from despair
so I may defy dictator of virtue
and build new castle on skulls of ancestors
which sing prophecies with voice of lake frogs.

Since the leader of our great empire died
before the laughing Pegasus was spied
prancing on glass piano, where my heart
beats entrancing melodies I concealed
with math formulas, we must now restore
blind witch as first mother of temple door.

Your riddles cannot confound my quick mind
which skitters deep into cabinet maze
where secrets are carved on huge dragon bones
so I read each verse the dictator squished
since flowers of evil spring from dreaming eyes
though no one but me stares at empty throne.

I am true pure-blood wizard with three eyes
bound to great Family of the Holy Grail
connecting castles in network of power
which gleams from crown I place on my own head
to declare myself master of word spells,
then drink vampire blood from jeweled gold grail.

Each time I climb winding trail of Parnassus
I kneel by fountain of the flying horse
to taste blood of Earth gushing from her heart
which transforms me from fragile scientist
to blind messiah with one hundred angels
commissioned to restore United Nations.

Now I must map intricate web of light
that spirals from flash-pulse of the White Whole
so I wake at the Big Bang of all time
to dream evolution into this brain
since every atom was forged at First Flash
which generates consciousness of my soul.

Fantastic Beasts Of Social Games

Fantastic Beasts Of Social Games
© Surazeus
2018 11 17

Strange operation of his broken mind
twirls dancing on naked piano wires
to find resurrection in sparkling wine
where angels make love on cathedral spires.

We chase fantastic beasts of social games
though winding maze of secret fame to bower
where oldest girl in the world invents names
we contemplate when we study the flower.

He tells us how he found the ancient book
recounting legends of arrogant kings
who now run corporations for the crook
to weave tax dollars in successful wings.

We gather in cathedral before dawn
to worship mortal man as divine god
so he makes us march on the White House lawn
as punishment for calling him the fraud.

Will they cut off my hands with screaming saw
for chanting satires about their cheating deeds
since politicians cower when ravens caw
though plain folk grow gardens from stolen seeds?

The dead cannot complain about our songs
that mock the living for crimes they commit
so we harass cruel zombies for their wrongs
to disguise their misdeeds in witty skit.

The mafia thug who thinks he rules the world
slouches on gold throne to tweet rage with lies
while goons march where the slave-flag flies unfurled
who dare shout Nazi slogans at blank skies.

Quick evanescence of her whirling mind
leaps mirror gateway through transcendent dream
to feel bright truth which pulsing atoms bind
when we kiss together by timeless stream.

Seeking Light Of Love

Seeking Light Of Love
© Surazeus
2018 11 17

This darkest day the stars will know my name
erased. Somewhere nobody thinks the same
as last time we saw. Inside the blank book
words scream in silent despair. Yet we look
past white wall at ghost of memories. Why
nothing tastes good as wine. Birds in my sky
take my dreams to mountain cave where stones weep
silently. Through wild wind angels might sleep
long enough to dream my entire life span.
We stumble through time with no cogent plan
to live beyond this hour of desperate hope.
Exiled from Parnassus, I slide down slope
of morbid angst to fly with Icarus
seeking light of love in abyss of death.

Friday, November 16, 2018

New Stairway To Heaven

New Stairway To Heaven
© Surazeus
2018 11 16

Whether you are inside stone castle walls,
partaking with those who control the wealth
by drinking wine at the warm glowing hearth,
or outside stone walls in the frail wood shack
huddled in thin fur against freezing wind,
you are the clueless pawn played by the king.

Unless you grow your own food from the soil
and can protect your land from raiding thieves
you must obey the man who guards the wheat
and obey his commands to join the feast
for the loaf-ward as the guard of the garden
is the Lord who owns your body and mind.

With bleeding hands I built the fort of Heaven
in high surrounding wall of paradise
then planted seeds of ripe fruit in moist soil
to nurture tree of life from wilderness
so I have right to rule Elysium
which I created from this bleak waste land.

I work hard to create this paradise
so why should I give you my food to eat
when I feed their roots with blood of my heart
while you sit still and do nothing all day
then demand I feed you from my fruit tree
in return for protecting me from harm?

Empires are built by bullies who make threats
to secure themselves on throne of command
by making deals with people who grow food
where he will protect them from raiding thieves
in return for giving him food to eat
which they grew from Earth with hands of desire.

How much of your freedom of will to choose
actions to perform that increase your wealth
will you exchange for security of work
performing your daily role to grow food
while helping your Lord with loyal obedience
to establish power over who grows food.

I sit by strange river of flickering light
to watch water flow from high mountain cave
and spread out into broad streams on vast plains
where roots of my heart are tangled in garden
profuse with vines that sprout succulent grapes
then feel my infinite soul vanish quick.

I rule no empire of people on land
but I must join company to perform
constant labor that regenerates life
of sizzling energy sparkling our souls
to receive reward as credits of power
so I can buy the new stairway to Heaven.

How Birds Fly

How Birds Fly
© Surazeus
2018 11 16

From the hell of this unbearable pain
that wrenches gears of my soul out of joint
I want to mold heaven of peaceful love
from how birds fly across orange-lighted sky.

Each naked branch of bare black trees defines
helpless sorrow that cripples my intent
to connect mute minds across boundless ache
wrenching us apart from lattice of trust.

Shrill cries of birds indifferent to my pain
announce rain that never falls from red moon
since freezing wind rips broken shards of fear
through center of my laughter-fractured bones.

White mountain remembers my secret name
so I sing harrowing spell of strange voice
that protects me from angst of public play
though I hide my soul behind mask of truth.

Fountain Of The Flying Horse

Fountain Of The Flying Horse
© Surazeus
2018 11 16

Lightning illuminates my hollow heart
before dawn drinks death oozing from my eyes.
Our blind choreographer through red rain
teaches me how to dance over abyss
who watches me express my naked joy.
Through doorless corridor of broken masks
I dance with spiral of the laughing clock.
Walls reveal secrets no one thinks they lose.

Where is that person I think I might be,
faster falling from waterfall of fear?
Hunger gnaws my gut so I leap beyond
cracked wall of time to run forever far
wind-shuddering meadow to my pure lake.
I am not that person I see in water.
I am that person everywhere I look
who wears ten thousand faces with no names.

Ten thousand poets sea to shining sea
whisper wordless spells in stuttering accents
to prove they should reign as prophet of truth.
Will all our spells together reflect face
of Nobody we all pretend to be?
From ten thousand voices no clear word rings
loud as church bells that crack our window eyes.
My hollow heart brims rain that never falls.

I build great wall of silence from high heaps
of poetry journals no one ever reads.
We scribble formulas to calculate
psychic glamor from idol we all worship.
We clutch random words and roll shouting dice
to gamble our souls for coveted spots
in books that prove we are wise beyond years.
My hollow heart clangs at strike of your pen.

I walk streets in our great city of souls
and record impressions of what I see
to paint visions on masks of nameless faces
whose spirits vanish with our turning world.
Why do you stare at me to question why?
This map shows every venue in its maze
where listeners will adore you for cash
when you read prophecies with twisted tongue.

People in every special group of truth
compete with each other for prize of fame.
To settle disputes, call upon the sleuth
who will investigate joke of my name.
We all sing visions of our dreams in poems
that float in still pond as frogs of desire.
Those famous now will vanish after death
while the mute will be read for centuries.

We sit together in smoky cafes
among dusty books on shelves painted bright,
taking turns to stand on stage of fake fame
and read poems we carve on our bleeding breasts.
The runes of this poem map my endless quest
to express eternal truth in cute riddles.
Who will notice when Juvenal appears
to mock pretensions of important voice?

I will express my voice with clarion tone
to pledge through identity politics
my station of suffering for my lost cause
on endless hierarchy of victimhood.
We are all Buddhas on high pyramid
of authority based on what we lost.
I walk away from pyramid of power
to drink from fountain of the flying horse.

Buddha Still Meditates

Buddha Still Meditates
© Surazeus
2018 11 16

Small among heaps of rubble and charred beams
after roaring flames burned down the huge mansion
stone statue of Buddha still meditates.

Before Our World Is Born

Before Our World Is Born
© Surazeus
2018 11 16

Alone at black grand piano of truth
which defines patriotism as strange words
I bomb tanks and hotels of journalists
each key I strike to harmonize harsh cry
through havoc of war for meadow control
since strangers play chess with grim Death disguised.

Through singularity of sound my voice
from single speaker on broad stage of power
contributes angst for unique inner life
based on false premise of my broken heart
where language intends to go beyond lies
buried in coffin of your silent book.

Each letter on keyboard I press softly
I shoot another missile to destroy
ancient ideology that cages minds
within bars of assumptions that our race
reigns supreme with right to conquer the world
and breed new generation of lithe gods.

Consider nature of chemical bodies
that generates selfish mind so I am
hungry to consume energy of atoms
sparkling in fruit that weeps when I devour
pregnant roundness that nurtures its tree seeds
which sprout forests from my sponge-pungent brain.

Asymmetry of love we share to cut
piece of wood for constructing robot house
while humming radio tunes to celebrate
how we inhabit this house full of heat
our bodies imprint on paper to capture
photograph of elusive soul we name.

The girl running for school bus in green dusk
nestles in alcove to draw pictures whole
as fractured window to contain one eye
connecting net of veins beneath thin skin
armored by throbbing faith in loyal love
alone as black spider on ice-wet glass.

Rising from my eyes the infinite road
looks in my heart to reveal hazy tiers
of houses on hills where people invent
backstory about small-town origins
so I hitchhike to house where they grew up
and bring back the book they lost in the yard.

I am the juniper tree you perceive
always still in your front yard dressed in snow
of lace nightgown to welcome three white wolves
who soothe my fear of cloud-obscuring sky
to give new name to each stranger I meet
who accepts fake stereotype without question.

When I was twelve I changed into a woman
to understand concepts of naked horror
related to how serpents sing in trees
because I want to eat the Eden Apple
before you return home from jungle war
to release your ghosts in my bleeding mouth.

The rotten wood frame crumbles from cracked glass
exposing secrets of my sweet chimera
who knows sacred shadow of ancient buildings
where skeletons dance to rock and roll music
unspooling threads of galactic desire
where sparrows on phone wires steal our lost dreams.

Subliminal bees ask shadow of me
if I want to live forever as flower
which cracks cement sidewalks of empire open
to let divine light of sublime truth in
our hollow hearts aching to drink love tears
and create new ocean where life first blooms.

I am green dragonfly on Walden Pond
hovering between moon shadow and star light
from hazel wand spiraling on frail wings
to drink tea on dunes where blind angel sings
spells to free mute girls from slavery who dance
on river shore before our world is born.

Thursday, November 15, 2018

Indifference Of The Wind

Indifference Of The Wind
© Surazeus
2018 11 15

Like the flower spews pollen into the air
for wind to disperse its seeds across hills
where they can blossom into more bright flowers,
so I am writing new poems every hour
for words to disperse my dreams across minds
where they can blossom into more rich poems.

I store the writing laptop in my pack,
then walk outside library into sunlight
to stroll with crowd of students on the sidewalk
and feel memories of their ancestors vibrate
in radio waves that sparkle in my brain
so I dream history of the human race.

Who will gain positions of social power
to perform standard role in commune scheme
that perpetuates corporation of labor
in our national food-production machine,
and who will lose competition for wealth
to hunger homeless behind the locked church?

Like sweet flowers that blossom in sunlit fields
will die when snow shrouds the world in mute death
my poems will blossom for ten thousand years,
recited in temples of human history,
then vanish with indifference of the wind,
swirling as dust on ever-spinning Earth.

Leave This World Of Pain

Leave This World Of Pain
© Surazeus
2018 11 15

Flash of light through wind-rustled leaves of trees
elevates my soul far outside my body
so I float in clear sky of timeless truth
far above changing world of growth and death.

All descriptions of body I inhabit
vanish throughout transparent clarity
of perfect being generated from dream
my mind beams from vision of paradise.

The name that once defined my self-image
dissolves into featureless mask of ice
so I become soul of each human being
who exists in vast stream of consciousness.

I want to escape this body of flesh
enslaved by iron chains that bind my limbs
so he can whip my body all he wants
because I am now beyond all sharp pain.

I remember running in sunlit woods
to play with my pony in river meadow
when men snapping whips snatched me with strong hands
and locked me surprised in cold wagon cage.

For thirty seasons of winters and summers
they forced me to work hauling blocks of stone
while they build cathedral on river shore
where they can worship their crucified god.

I always hoped that my father would come
and break me free from iron chains of fear
but now I know that he will never come
and I will work hauling stones till I die.

So I will lie down now in this cold mud
and never rise again to work or eat
since they will never choose to set me free
then I will die and leave this world of pain.

Liberty Will Reign Supreme

Liberty Will Reign Supreme
© Surazeus
2018 11 15

All day long as I stroll around my office
I find myself chuckling with grim amusement
that the dumb mafia thug in the White House
destroys clown show of his administration
with arrogant incompetence of greed
and rages like cornered rat in his cage.

The vibrant process of democracy
that powers vast government of our republic
will expel from its body like foul virus
any arrogant fool puffed up with pride
who attempts to crown himself king of power,
then spit him out on the trash heap of history.

If he succeeds in crippling institutions
designed to prevent one arrogant man
from taking complete control of our nation
then he might be able to crown himself
absolute ruler of our sprawling empire,
but he will fall, weakened by his own pride.

As our nation collapses into chaos
strong civic pride in our democracy
will support resurrection of our spirit
so again Liberty will reign supreme,
holding high the light of justice and truth,
and our nation will again thrive in peace.

Fresh Red Apple

Fresh Red Apple
© Surazeus
2018 11 15

The browned core of the half-eaten green apple
rots in dusty corner of cluttered room
of the old wood house on the busy street
between car garage and food factory
where brown rats play along the barbed-wire fence
and crows congregate on telephone wires.

Wrists chained to the rusty metal bed frame,
the girl on torn mattress in stained nightgown
stares at the cockroach on the crumbling ceiling
that wiggles its antenna to explain
numb despair which replaced the shocking fear
that beat her throbbing heart into submission.

The man who kidnapped her four years before
from the front of her house in early morning
as she was waiting bored for the school bus
pushes open the fractured wooden door,
followed by young boy in black leather jacket,
and explains twenty dollars for ten minutes.

Giving crumpled bill to the gaunt-faced man,
the boy waits till he turns around to leave
then pulls out gun and aims it at his head,
and shouts that he is now under arrest,
but the man pulls out his own gun and fires,
so the boy wounds his shoulders with two shots.

The gaunt-faced man falls writhing on the floor,
kicking the rotten apple with his boot,
while police officers jump through the windows,
and cuff his hands while he struggles and screams,
then drag him away from the dusty room
where the girl stares mute at face of the boy.

Unlocking the cuffs that bind her frail wrists,
the boy helps her sit up on creaking bed,
then covers her body with leather coat,
and, kneeling on the floor before her face,
he gives her bottle of water to drink,
so she drinks and smiles in his silver eyes.

My heart is rotten as that apple core
after being chained to the bed for four years,
where one hundred men raped me every day
since I was kidnapped when I was fourteen,
so my body is dirty and diseased,
worth nothing more than trash you throw away.

Lying silent in clean hospital bed,
after being washed and fed nutritious food,
the girl listens to old policeman talk
who explains her parents died from the shock,
so she stares at the wall and waits for tears
while holding fresh red apple in her hand.

More Accurate Ideology

More Accurate Ideology
© Surazeus
2018 11 15

The world is one huge mass of pulsing atoms
but our brains compose model of that world
formed from memories of its parts we perceive
organized in complicated design
based on principles of philosophy
some wise master designed to describe nature.

We may not see the real world as it is
since concepts our brains use to organize
measured facts of its material existence
were designed by people who lived and died
centuries before we were born in these bodies,
so we must dissect ideologies.

We must analyze ideologies
we inherit from parents and teachers
so we can see if their underlying structure
reflects the real world with accurate forms
or if their view distorts process of change
that favors their power over other people.

Any ideology that declares
one group of people is superior
and thus should control other groups of people
should be resisted with skeptical eye
as false description that favors their needs
and allows them to exploit weaker people.

We must discard false ideologies
based on people controlling other people
and build dynamic ideology
based on groups of people working together
to produce food that will feed every soul
so we survive together in this world.

The world is whole structure of pulsing atoms
that come together in flash of construction
and break apart in fracture of destruction
so we study force of cause and effect
to build more accurate ideology
that describes process with predictive laws.

Endless Game Of Power

Endless Game Of Power
© Surazeus
2018 11 15

Modern politics is so much more subtle
now within our democratic republic,
where people outmaneuver other people
through strategy of wits to obtain power,
like they are at center of power in empires,
than in earlier times where gangs of men
clutching weapons would follow boldest leader
to kill each other in fierce brutal combat.

They destroy each other through subtle means
by using news media to present lies
distorting image of their character
which ruins their career and leaves them lost
rather than swinging sharp sword to attack
and kill their opponent with slashing blade,
so people vote them from official post
where they would decide how to spend tax dollars.

My ancestors hacked off heads with sharp swords
and controlled castles in bleak wilderness
to manage peasants growing fields of wheat
then hauling produce in wagons of wood,
but now I work as map cartographer,
composing models of the complex world,
rather than work as governor or judge,
deciding whether people live or die.

Outmaneuvered from positions of power
through order of birth or more subtle wits,
my ancestors sailed west across the sea
and built new city in fresh wilderness
that grew into democratic republic
where we vote for people to reign as kings
in constant revolution of new power
to keep our politics vibrant and fresh.

The secure castle that once kept us safe
as private haven, forming paradise
of strong walls surrounding garden courtyard,
nurtured our way of life so we spread out
beyond its walls to colonize waste land,
so now the castle has become the prison
where criminals are locked to keep us safe
while we build vast cities with towers of glass.

If our complex empire of capital
were to collapse into chaos of greed
would we again build castles on high hills
and revert to men wearing crowns of gold
to play in pageant of authority
by claiming unseen god chose them as king,
or can we rebuild elective republic
to maintain subtle methods wielding power?

I might claim I am Emperor of the World
and sit in gold chair in huge marble dome
to play incarnation of God on Earth
so people bow before idol of power
while I perform role of the Fisher King
even though I exercise no real power
since people now live however they want
while I issue laws everyone ignores.

I rule the world in fragile house of cards,
maneuvering kings on the global chess board,
recording deeds in chronicle of rulers
by narrating their lives how I decide
since winners write the history of the world
when poets present characters of leaders
as good or bad in endless game of power.