Monday, May 21, 2018

What Story Will You Perform

What Story Will You Perform
© Surazeus
2018 05 21

While I am walking down the busy street,
heading in to work to earn a paycheck,
the oldest woman in the world grabs me
and gazes in my soul with eyes of fire,
then asks me with voice of thunder in clouds,
"What story will you perform through your life?"

I walk the ancient gallery of masks
through endless maze of personalities
designed and maintained by the Faceless God
who emerges from shadows of my fear
and takes for Her collection my real face
so I must perform tale I write myself.

I pause on the street amid swirl of people
and gaze at the sky blazing with red fire
as weird amazement shivers through my flesh
that I am here alive at this strange now
in all the history of the universe,
conscious that I could die ten thousand ways.

Since I could die any moment, I stop
and turn aside from my predestined path
to sit in the grass of the city park
and sing visions that flash before my eyes
that detail the struggle of human souls
to escape death by incarnating children.

I gaze at every woman walking by,
astonished at the beauty of their souls,
then laugh with wry amusement at my heart
that aches to reproduce eternal soul
which sparkles in springing coils of my genes
from tense biological urge of desire.

I must allow the woman to choose me
who wants to bear children sparked by my soul
so I conjure money with crafting hands
to prove potency of my social power
building her safe home and providing food
so we can raise successful children well.

I see grand vision of human achievement
flashing on the screen of the boundless sky
so I weave sentences in flashing verse
that conjures visions in your reading eyes
so you see vision of the universe
swirling atoms into our conscious souls.

While writing poems under vast Tree of Wisdom,
I feel weird presence of eternal soul
who beams concentrated light through my brain
so I transform into immortal God
till my frail body crumbles back to dust
and sparkling atoms disperse into air.

New Capital Socialist Empire

New Capital Socialist Empire
© Surazeus
2018 05 21

Sitting on the bench in front of the building
where he attends Christian academy,
Richard gazes across the broad front lawn
past the highway where cars glide some place else
and listens to wind in the forest pines
whisper proverbs for secret of success.

The pages of the Bible on his lap
rustle unread in the afternoon breeze
while he waits for his parents to arrive,
then imagines himself as the church pastor
preaching before attentive congregation
but his words swirl away like leaves in wind.

"What can I present about the Ways of God
that no other preacher has ever said
since we approach almost two thousand years
since Jesus walked the Earth as mortal man,
so he may not ever come back again
and maybe we misunderstood his message."

Immense heartache of meaningless despair
empties his mind like gushing waterfall,
so he floats dizzy in the hollow sky
deep inside the vast abyss of his heart,
then Richard breathes air to flash his eyes,
still sitting on the bench outside his school.

"To reckon process of cause and effect
I arrange concepts in rational row
which calculates steps of the changing form
and thus reason the progress of each action
that Jesus was mortal man who sired sons
who have reigned as kings for two thousand years."

"If Jesus was not God who made the world
and will not come to resurrect our souls
then I will become nothing when I die
and I would waste my life preaching the gospel,
nothing more than lies of preachers and parents,
so what would I do with my life instead?"

"I have spend my whole life reading in books
and watching on movies and television
stories about people from every era
struggling to live in the face of death,
so I will study art of narrative
that presents characters in human drama."

"Since Jesus was son of the tribal king,
whom he called God to present social power,
he claimed authority to rule as king
when he said, I and the Father are One,
then went on first campaign to claim the crown
and take it from the puppet of the Romans."

"If I see Jesus as one mortal man
I can better explain his role in history,
preaching that a good king rules hearts of men
instead of enslaving men to work land,
then married Mary Magdalene to sire
dynasty that has ruled two thousand years."

"Jesus was incarnation of his father,
descended from David, King of Israel,
as his son was incarnation of his soul,
in dynastic doctrine of God the Father,
then God the Son, and God the Holy Sperm,
thus claiming divine right to rule the world."

"The sons of Jesus for two thousand years,
Pharamundus, Meroveus, Constantinus,
Arthurus, Karolus Magnus, Guilhelmus,
have ruled the kingdoms and empires of Europe
by wielding the magic Scepter of Zambor
and wearing the gold Triple Crown of Christ."

"The divine spirit of the noble king,
first generated by David and Jesus,
returns again in bodies of their sons
reborn from the womb of the Holy Grail
to reign over each new kingdom and empire
based on Heaven, the first commune of Jesus."

"In this age of technological advance
we see God is metaphor for the Good King,
so I will preach new gospel of the Leader,
how every mortal man plays role of Christ
to manage business of his family company
in our new capital socialist empire."

Watching sun blaze gold beams through swirling clouds,
which resembles paintings of Jesus Christus
descending with angels to restore the Earth,
Richard feels divine Voice of Prophecy
swell in his heart from vision of his mind,
then stands to follow Golden Path of Truth.

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Child Of Ocean Waves

Child Of Ocean Waves
© Surazeus
2018 05 20

From lightning flashing in the naked sky
and flowers blooming from my bleeding eye
I see the demon of the blazing sun
reflected in the face of every one
who walks the city streets each day and night
and tries to charge me for breathing the light.

I wear the gold mask of Shelley and Keats
then wander singing through signless town streets
to steal the vibrant souls from faithful fools
who always obey God and follow rules
that thieves invent to keep them in control
as long as each one plays their assigned role.

They think I am the demon of the sky
but I am human with my dreaming eye
that weaves sunlight in model of the sphere
which nourishes our happiness and fear
till death annihilates our hungry souls
and swallows us into bottomless holes.

On sparkling beach I stand in white moonlight
and sing heart-aching tunes to soothe my fright
then in the voice of howling ocean waves
I hear laughter of girls from secret caves
who reincarnate my soul in watching child
doomed to wander beautiful world exiled.

The child of ocean waves bursts from my head
and dances on my skull when I am dead
so all the tales of people never told
might fit the standard archetypal mold
which shapes the characters we choose to play
when she writes script that each person might say.

She stands on Pyramid of Watching Eye
and answers questions when people ask why
while holding flame of freedom that shall light
true way to liberty of second sight
when lost souls gather in her feasting hall
and write names of the dead on bleeding wall.

Lamentation Of Ophelia

Lamentation Of Ophelia
© Surazeus
2018 05 20

How bright my eyes once glowed with love for life,
admiring beauty of the natural world,
how sun gleams bright to illuminate spirit
of joy that emanates from every creature
who populates this spinning ball of dirt,
expressed in flowers sprouting from cool rain.

Now anguish of despair tears at my heart
and sucks all light of beauty from this world
so sullen misery of horror at death
bleaches nature gray and stains my soul black,
lightless disgust swallowing light in gloom,
expressed in weeds cracking gray cement walks.

My mother, driving home from work one night,
was smashed against the brick wall of a building
by a drunk man who was racing too fast,
and she died screaming in horrible pain
as roaring flames devoured her tender soul,
and someone caught it all on video.

This wrenching agony of visceral pain
sears my body and brain with flames of rage
to hurt this man who killed my loving mother,
because his selfish disregard for rules
of decent behavior destroyed her life,
and how I wish to dissolve into nothing.

I want to melt away into this puddle,
that shimmers on the sidewalk after rain
indifferent to this agony I suffer,
so all my pain would dissolve to relief
of numb unconcern to embolize torture
that jolts my mind with horror at her death.

I once enjoyed the process of my life,
savoring sweetness of my daily routine,
but now sharp lethargy of aching horror
paralyzes my heart with rancid torpor
that renders me unable to extract
sufficient energy to play my role.

How stale and foolish now appear my actions
that I performed with cheerful stimulus
of avid eagerness for appetite
inspired by passion welling from my heart,
so now I want to hide inside my room
and never face again the hungry world.

This vast world devours our bodies and souls
in constant transformation of our forms
when atoms that constitute thinking minds
disintegrate at crushing blow of death
which strikes with sudden violence of force
to smash the fragile shell of hope we prop.

How strange to realize that our world view,
our minds generate from perceived concepts,
is nothing more than illusion of light
our brains create in model of the world
like map of intent we follow through action
which keeps us moving through this hostile world.

Now that the world view, I always believed
reflected accurately this changing world,
shatters at the blow of her violent death
I walk naked in the dark of this globe
through ever-shifting maze of truth and lies
so I must seek the truth of light or die.

Yet in the sucking darkness of despair
that pierces throbbing anguish of my heart
with ever pulsing beat of passionate lust
I find strange light, not outside in the world,
but deep inside the burning of my soul
for all this pain of suffering sparks weird glow.

Long staring in the abyss of my heart
I find new fountain of light bubbling clear
to fill the empty hollow of my soul
with serene contemplation of my death
for though I will die like my mother died
yet light of pain still flashes through my mind.

Though frail body of my mother was destroyed
in horrible accident of careless greed
yet she created my body and mind
from the loving passion of her bright hope,
so she lives still in body of my soul,
dreaming in the awareness of my heart.

To give her gentle soul eternal life
and reincarnate her again in flesh
I will generate new child from my womb
to concentrate the passion of her heart
in living person who will see this world
with the same eyes that she bequeathed to me.

Now that desire to rejuvenate soul
of my mother in grandchild of her genes
motivates my heart to seek out new life,
my eyes glow bright again with love for life,
and I perceive in the light of the sun
eternal love that illuminates joy.

This spirit of love in the human heart
though beaten by the brutal force of death
will sprout again and blossom from grim doom
for light will always glow from hostile friction
and flash rejuvenating light of love
to light our eyes with willful love for life.

Frequency-Hopping Of Hedy Lamarr

Frequency-Hopping Of Hedy Lamarr
© Surazeus
2018 05 20

You reached the person you are looking for.
I am Hedy Lamarr, the famous actress,
who invented process frequency-hopping,
once the most beautiful girl in the world,
now a recluse hiding from the cruel world.
I am glad that you called me on the phone
since I spend all my time living alone.

I had to build a strong protective shell
around my heart to keep my spirit safe
because journalists attack me in papers,
writing that I am now an ugly recluse.
I hope you will tell real story about me
since now that you have called me on the phone
I will be happy to share my strange adventure.
I am glad that you will interview me
so I can tell my story in my own words.
Everyone always sees my glamorous face
but no one can see the real me inside.

I will explain how George Antheil and I
invented frequency-hopping spread spectrum,
the method for transmitting radio signals
by rapidly switching carrier waves
among a broad range of frequency channels
by using a precoded random sequence
programmed in both transmitter and receiver.

Back in the darkest days of the world war,
I was terrified about Adolf Hitler,
that evil monster and his war machine
who conquered and annexed to his empire
my beautiful homeland, lush Austria.
He conquered Poland in brutal blitzkrieg
and since then had occupied all of Europe,
so I feared he would also conquer Britain,
then invade my new home America.

I did not feel very comfortable then,
sitting safe in Hollywood as a star
and earning lots of money for myself
while our world was in this horrible state
of brutality and destructive war.
I wanted to do something that would help
my new homeland America fight back
and defeat Hitler, that horrible monster
who was attacking and killing my people.

Along with the whole world you only see
the glamorous and beautiful movie star,
but no one can see the real Hedwig Kiesler
behind glamorous mask of Hedy Lamarr.
My face is a mask I cannot remove.
I must always live with it, but I curse it.
Any girl can be glamorous since all
she has to do is stand still and look stupid.
I was bored making silly romance movies
so I built an invention table at home
where I could experiment with ideas,
like a pill that would carbonate fresh water.

When I was dating the weird Howard Hughes
he told me how he wanted to construct
the fastest airplanes that have ever flown
for the United States Air Force to buy
so we could win the world war against Hitler.
I noticed how wings on airplanes were square
so I looked at pictures in nature books
showing birds and fish that can move the fastest,
and thus I designed the new sloping wings
used on airplanes so they fly faster now.

When I was a young girl in Austria,
learning arts of piano and ballet,
my mother would tell me that I am ugly,
so I was not aware till I grew older
that my face could enchant men with desire.
I started working in a film studio,
writing scripts and editing finished films,
then I began to play small roles on screen.
When I made this film titled Ecstasy,
I was filmed running naked in the woods,
then lying on a bed in a forest cabin,
but they tricked me, composing the scenes
to make it look like I had an orgasm.

Everyone was scandalized by this film,
so Hitler, the Pope, and Americans
banned it from playing in all their theaters.
Next I attempted to redeem my name
by playing the role of Queen Sissy on stage,
but this attracted to my dressing room
a rich man who manufactured munitions,
Friedrich Mandl, the Jew who became Christian,
so he wooed my heart with jewels and gold,
and I married him for security.

My husband kept me as his prisoner,
locking me inside our grand castle home.
I knew very soon I could never play
a movie actress while I was his wife.
He was the absolute monarch and king
of his marriage while I was like a doll.
To him I was nothing more than a thing,
some object of art which had to be guarded
and imprisoned in his beautiful castle,
having no mind and no life of its own.

I could not play the object of his pride
so I sewed all my jewels into my coat,
disguised myself as one of the house maids
and escaped the gold prison of my home
by riding my bike into the dark night.
Thus I escaped my homeland Austria
just as Hitler invaded and killed Jews.
My mother and my father were both Jews
who converted to Catholics to get jobs.

Before I escaped to Paris, then London,
while still married to the rich Friedrich Mandl,
I acted hostess for his lavish parties
attended by Hitler and Mussolini
who purchased munitions, canons and bombs,
that he manufactured in factories.
I accompanied him to business meetings
where he would confer with smart scientists
involved in the design and manufacture
of new complex military technology
Germany employed to conquer the world.

While in those meetings I learned many things
about submarines, missiles, and torpedoes,
and how they jam radio frequencies
to prevent efficient communications.
What I remember most from all those meetings
was how they can employ radio to guide
torpedoes they shoot at quick-moving ships,
so that is how they sank so many ships
while no one could strike back at their U-boats.
They also talked about the problem how
radio-guided torpedoes can be jammed
by beaming frequencies of radio signals
to interfere with clear communications.

When a German U-boat destroyed a ship
full of refugees who drowned in the sea,
I started thinking of how I could help
develop method to use radio signals
that could guide torpedoes through the dark sea
while avoiding their signal interference.
Because we use one radio frequency
they can jam the signal with static noise.

I realized that, while we are talking words,
we are changing frequencies all the time,
and that signal is much harder to jam.
If we can switch the channel frequency
with unpredictable method of change
the enemy would never know which bands
of radio signals they would have to block
to disrupt radio control of torpedoes.

I could not figure out how to change bands
till I bought the Philco mystery control
which I could use to quickly change the channel,
switching between bands on the radio.
The secret to avoid their jamming signal
would be to vary the length of time spent
on each channel, switching between the bands
at different unpredictable intervals
in a technique I call frequency-hopping.

But I could not figure out how to sync
the radio transmitter up in the plane
and the radio receiver in the torpedo
till I met George Antheil at a social party.
George was a composer who wrote weird music
like his famous work, Ballet Mecanique,
which he wrote for some obscure abstract film,
that involved mechanically synchronizing
sixteen player pianos at one time.

When I described to George my new idea
of frequency-hopping to avoid jamming,
he proposed the method that we could use
which would coordinate through radio signals
the transmitter on a plane in the sky
and the receiver built inside the torpedo
by controlling the switching between channels
with two identical piano rolls
that would be running at the same speed in both.

By using two player piano rolls
synchronized to control frequency changes
the high altitude observation plane
could then steer the radio-controlled torpedo
so Germans could not jam the radio signal.
By manipulating radio frequencies
at random irregular intervals
between transmission and reception of signals,
my invention allows radios to beam
clear unbreakable code to prevent
classified information in messages
from being intercepted and understood
by enemy personnel during combat.

We drew up designs that describe in detail
our new Secret Communication System,
and won the patent for our novel invention.
We sent our patent to the Navy office
but they just dismissed our clever idea
since they could not put a player piano
inside a torpedo to guide its flight.
Our idea got forgotten and lost,
and, after I toured across the whole country
to raise money for the troops with war bonds,
I went on to star in many more movies.

Recently I learned that some ten years later
our patent was obtained by engineers
at Sylvania Electronic Systems Division
who adopted the concept I invented
by using the transistor to send signals.
I learned that my frequency-hopping system
developed by Sylvania was installed
on Navy ships they sent to blockade Cuba
during the terrifying missile crisis,
so my idea helped save the whole world
from getting destroyed by nuclear bombs.

My son tells me my invention is used
in electronic communication systems
such as faxes, cell phones, and wi-fi signals
so computers and phones communicate
sending beams of information in waves.
Though I had long received no recognition
for my invention of frequency-hopping,
I was recently honored for my work
with a wonderful Pioneer Award
from the Electronic Frontier Foundation.

I am honored you called to hear my story.
Though I am now old, and keep to myself,
and often suffered from being exploited
by the greedy Hollywood movie system,
I have no regrets for the life I lived.
Saving the whole world from annihilation
through my invention gives me honest pride
that sustains me in the last days of my life.
My life has been an amazing adventure,
and I played my humble role as an actress
in the ancient epic tale of humanity,
making this world a better place for all
who share this planet spinning in the stars.

Saturday, May 19, 2018

Real Inside Our Heads

Real Inside Our Heads
© Surazeus
2018 05 19

I think my brain blinked out in flash of what,
because I come back from strange revery
to see you talking about something how
the day will spiral down the river flow.

I hit the oak tree with the baseball bat
and watch the blue butterfly flutter fast
beyond the whisper of the wind in leaves
because I feel ashamed to ask you what.

I crouch behind the bush when bullets zing
and feel the world spin backward from the way
taut angel wings snap against my frail skull
so I duck and shoot blindly at the void.

I lean against the lone wall of the church
still standing after getting shelled all night
and watch women and children hauling bags
of precious memories walk the bright road.

I lead the refugees for seven days
through silent forests howling with despair
to port town where they can escape on boats
but hide when planes strafe bullets at our heads.

I know you said something but I forget
the name of that woman with one blind eye
who was holding my hand as we ran fast
and stumbled when the bullet pierced her spine.

She claws my arms and stares from one gray eye
past veil of horror to see my true soul
so deep in boundless nothing of my mind
as blood gurgles between her tender lips.

I kiss her lips for hours after she dies
then bury her beside indifferent stream
and when I leave the copse I find the rest,
two hundred women and children shot dead.

I see their faces staring at blank sky
every time I want to kiss your soft lips,
so I say I love you with all my heart
but I miss your reply, lost in your eyes.

I cannot tell you any of these things
so I kiss you as we sit on the porch
and watch the evening sun set red as blood
smeared on the faces of all those dead women.

Staring at all the dead women and children
shot dead by the plane zooming from the sky,
I realize then that God is nothing more
than invention of priests to control minds.

Truth is the story we tell other people
to organize weird events of our lives
for nothing is true, neither good nor bad,
but thinking makes it real inside our heads.

Poet Laureate of Earth

Poet Laureate of Earth
© Surazeus
2018 05 19

Though we have evolved past animal stage,
employing our hands to construct huge machines,
and speaking sounds to communicate thoughts,
we still perform aggressive monkey dance
in political game of wit through strength
to dominate each other and the land.

I feel intensive impulse to compete
against everybody else in the world
to prove that I am smarter than you all
by chanting riddles on meaning of life
more mysterious and complex in themes
than any of you on each conscious day.

I might as well wildly hop up and down
in the biggest tree with the most fresh fruit
and shriek obscene insults at everyone
while beating my chest in fierce demonstration
that I am more crazy than all you fools
so you should submit to my bold abuse.

Leaping from my huge tree on the high hill,
I grab large stick and gather river stones
then run onto the field between our trees
and do the monkey dance of divine power,
challenging you all to rebel or obey
for I am the god king of the world hill.

I no longer need to beat your bowed head
with my clenched fist of disapproving judgment
for I out-talk you all with spoken word
and beat my chest as I shout rhyming rap
in fierce aggressive attack on your fakeness
to prove that I am right and you are wrong.

My beating drums entrance your feeble mind,
my pulsing lights seduce your lame desire,
and my endless rants of enchanting spells
reduce you all to mindless slaves of joy
who cheer the blinding flash of my performance,
my fierce squad of fanatic followers.

Once violent men with weapons of destruction
fought each other to control fertile land
then contended to control populations
of bitter people enslaved to perform
work of empire construction we envision
but now we fight to win your loyal love.

Kings rule the land that produces rich food,
emperors rule the nations who make crafts,
prophets rule the minds of fierce followers,
presidents rule the factories and banks,
but singers and poets rule hearts and minds,
selling you visions for pieces of gold.

I sing more emotional songs than you,
I write more realistic novels than you,
and I write more meaningless poems than you,
so bow to my divine authority
and crown me the storytelling genius,
for I am God who designs how you think.

I am the prophet from the wilderness
who walks alone in the waste land of horror
among the ruins of our bombed cathedrals
so when I return from the Otherworld
I challenge you all on your phoniness
for you invent the truth that you are good.

You invented the holy god you worship
whose divine will always matches your will
but I rebel against power of your word
and proclaim my word righteous view of truth
so in our battle for who makes the law
the one who wins will write new history.

I am the Poet who invents your world
for I design mental ontology
that programs dreaming neurons of your brain
to control how you perceive reality,
so crown me Poet Laureate of Earth
and read all my works as your Holy Scripture.

Catch Drops Of Rain

Catch Drops Of Rain
© Surazeus
2018 05 19

I try to catch drops of rain in my hand
so I can water seeds in thirsty hearts
but everywhere I go in the waste land
I find strange places not on ancient charts.

I try to catch reverberating rays
of sunlight with broken grail of my mind
but everywhere I go in mirror maze
I hide again what nobody can find.

When Mars and Aphrodite climb gold stairs
to marry in the chapel of dead kings
I wander in the crowd, handing out pears,
while he tries to sell them dead angel wings.

When Faustus throws magic books in the sea
to make new pieces for puzzle of power
I assemble fragments of broken mirror
that resembles star spiral of the flower.

Orpheus leads Ophelia from the cave
where shadows of power flicker on the wall
to crown her world empress in sunlit nave
then parade slowly in the crowded hall.

Why do we worship one woman or man
above billions of others in the world
whose ancestors deployed better game plan
to play god in the theater of power?

Running by deep sea, I catch drops of rain
and stand on the promontory of sight
to comprehend rituals of social power
that flashes from rays of transforming light.

Standing on high hill, I catch rays of light
and sing the calculus of interaction
that reveals whose child wears the crown of sight
and rules the world based on fake divination.

Friday, May 18, 2018

River Of Etain

River Of Etain
© Surazeus
2018 05 18

When sunlight gleams on the River of Etain
we dance in the wind that blows through our hair
then run through the woods to the Well of Wisdom
where red berries fall from nine hazel trees.

The spirit of Etain dissolves in water
and flows sparkling between green rolling hills
where hunters chase deer in the hazel woods
then pause to hear her singing in the wind.

While wandering in mist of Glengarriff Forest
I kneel on gray rocks covered in green moss
to gaze in sparkling pond where sun gleams gold
and dream about the green eyes of Etain.

I see long curls of her hair in the clouds
and hear her laughter in rain splashing hills
and smell her skin in moss on black oak trunks
and taste her kiss in walnuts by the stream.

But where is she now, my spritely Etain,
vanished in the flow of the sparkling stream,
though still I hear her song in ocean waves
that cry out her name in the empty hills.

Her bright silver eyes gaze down at the world
from the moon that glitters among rain clouds
and her hair gleams red in the sunset fire
that flashes over hills of weeping oaks.

When moonlight shines on the River of Etain
I wander in wind that blows through my hair
and kneel empty of tears by Well of Wisdom
where red berries fall from nine hazel trees.

When I gaze in the pool of gleaming stars
I see green eyes of Etain gaze at me
so I walk in mist of Glengarriff Forest
and sing with her voice in the river flow.

Dragon Slayer Of Heaven

Dragon Slayer Of Heaven
© Surazeus
2018 05 18

I dream of angels in the silver sky
who carry me high on broad wings of light
then through the golden gate of time we fly
and walk marble streets to Temple of Sight.

Through spacious hall of pillars I approach
the shining throne of power where awesome God
with eyes of thunder gazes down at me
which fills my heart with overwhelming love.

I spread my arms beneath his flashing eyes
and cry to him with prayer of loyal thanks,
"Almighty God, who created all things,
I thank you for creating me from dust."

"You breathed into my lump of river clay
your glowing beam of consciousness with love
so I may walk the shadows of your world
and radiate light of truth within my mind."

Before I continue my prayer God laughs,
and lightning flashes through Temple of Sight
so I peer closer at the Throne of Power
to see God change into small croaking frog.

I swiftly leap thirteen pyramid steps
and snatch the croaking frog with my left hand
then, after gazing in its flashing eyes,
I swallow God within my flaming heart.

I feel weird pulsing singularity
of timeless passion spinning in my brain
deep in the boundless void of timeless nowhere
till hot spark of lust explodes beyond why.

From infinite darkness of nothing I
flash white from friction of colliding souls
to burst broad big bang of billowing coils
that spiral twanging music of desire.

First Flash of lightning bangs all into being
and flares forth bursting into sparks of eyes
that spiral wild on wings in galaxies
of countless stars exploding from my neurons.

I wake in cavern by the roaring sea
and sit up on the sand of sparkling light
then gaze at mushroom I clutch in my hand,
amazed at strange visions I dream in sleep.

Creeping from cavern haven to green waves,
I dig for turtle eggs buried in sand
to crack frail shells and drink sweet golden light,
then stare into the blustering wind of time.

I climb steep cliff on vines of purple grapes
that squirt sweet juice of rain inside my heart,
then watch the giant fathered dragons work
constructing tall temple from diamond beams.

The dragons gather in the ring of diamonds
to walk in circles around the huge ruby
that glitters scarlet with rays from the sun
and chant deep rumbling hymns of hopeful love.

The tallest dragon queen with rainbow feathers
ascends to stand tall on the ruby disk
then all the dragons hush and stand erect
while she chants sweet melody of desire.

When giant spotted egg slides from her womb
and glitters bright blue in the setting sun
two strongest males step forth beneath the ruby
then bare their claws and roar sharp jagged teeth.

While dragon queen sings hymn of incarnation
the two strongest males battle to the death,
howling in rage as they slash at each other
till one triumphs, tearing off his weak head.

Triumphant male climbs the bright ruby disk
and, while the dragon queen crouches down low
over spotted egg, he clutches her hips
and thrusts until seed gushes on her egg.

Then all the dragons lift their arms up high
and rustle flashing feathers in the twilight
just as the moon rises silver at sunset
and billions of stars twinkle like their eyes.

Sneaking through the huge dragons as they sleep,
heaped together inside the ring of diamonds,
I climb the ruby where dragon queen lies,
arm curled around her fresh fertilized egg.

Slipping spotted egg inside leather bag,
I fashioned from skin of dragons I ate,
I slide back down the ruby to dry dust
and tip-toe through the temple of tall diamonds.

Hiding the dragon egg inside small cave,
I pull veil of vines to hide the entrance,
then cower terrified when the dragon roars,
raging at disappearance of her egg.

Peeking through thick tangled veil of grape vines,
I watch the dragon queen on promontory
gaze out to sea and cry in lamentation
bellows of aching sorrow in the wind.

Waiting several moons, I keep the egg warm,
till it cracks and baby dragon emerges,
elegant demon with bright golden eyes
that gaze at me with tender faithful love.

While I ride on the soft down of her back,
she races along the beach every morning
where we catch fish and gather turtle eggs,
then sit together feasting in cave haven.

When she grows large as rainbow feathers sprout
and she begins to eye me hungrily
I slash her throat with jagged diamond shard
then slice her open to consume her organs.

I drink her hot blood and eat her soft brain,
then wrap her skin around my fragile body
so I transform into the little dragon
and run along the beach in gleaming sun.

Arriving at the curving beach of sand
where thousands of my people live in clans,
each one gathered around their emerald,
I walk among them in my dragon skin.

Approaching large ziggurat with twelve levels,
I roar at guards who stumble as they flee,
then climb slowly before gathering crowd
and stand before them as they howl in fear.

I step before the old king of our nation
who clutches at the young girl I once loved
and laugh when he shrieks terrified of me,
then I clutch his throat with sharp dragon claws.

"You drove me from emerald of my clan
where my father ruled as our family leader
and took from me the bride of my hearth fire,
insulting me with your arrogant greed."

"I died and was reborn in cave of dreams
as dragon spirit from the realm of stars
so now I return on the rainbow beam
to eat your soul and make myself the king."

Clutching his head, I bite into his throat,
and drink his blood while he struggles in vain,
then I hurl his lifeless body in dust
and laugh when hungry souls devour his flesh.

Wearing dragon jaws like crown on my head,
I sit on the emerald ziggurat throne,
and smile while every emerald clan leader
ascends high steps to kneel before my face.

Snapping from strange reverie of power games,
I look around cathedral during service
and watch the priest in red on golden throne
lift golden cup of wine up to the heavens.

Stifling laughter that erupts from my heart,
I see how the bread was once the mushroom,
and the wine was once the blood of the dragon,
and priest hat is the dragon head I wore.

Dressed in white robe, I sing with choir of angels
hymn that celebrates great victory of God
who sent his only son to Earth as man
and sacrificed himself so we may live.

Ten thousand years after I killed the dragon
mankind worships me as the great Messiah
who slew the monster and freed man from death,
so sing your hymns to celebrate my triumph.

After mass I leave the huge stone cathedral
and walk the city streets to my apartment,
watching cars fueled by oil from dragon flesh,
where I eat roast beef and watch television.

Action Of Revenge

Action Of Revenge
© Surazeus
2018 05 18

If I see clear steps of action to take
to resolve this evil problem I face
then I would not hesitate to perform
the forceful actions that I need to spark
progress of justice for desired issue
which will activate process of the cause
of my intention to create effect
positive for producing the result
I desire to transform my situation
so I can achieve the state of my dream.

He struts around our village like a king,
acting like he should control everything,
so when my wife came running home in tears
and told me he raped her down by the river
great anger boiled to explode from my heart,
flooding my body with fierce energy
to run through the village, break in his house,
and strike him dead with my sharp garden hoe,
but I hesitate from fear of his strength.

He could strike back and stab me with his sword,
killing me before I can kill him first,
and his gang of friends who carry sharp knives
might protect him from my righteous attack
and kill me, so either way I am dead,
and then he would take control of my land
and force my wife to bear children for him,
so if I act too fast they might kill me,
therefore I must pause to contemplate how
to exercise cause for desired result.

I want to kill him before he kills me
because he violated ancient rule
that no man should rape wives of other men
who dwell together in the same town walls,
so if I kill him in revenge for rape
and manage to escape knives of his gang,
then opinion of everyone in town
would support the true justice of my action,
and protect me from the wrath of his clan,
if they can unite to defend our rights.

Somehow I must lure him away from gang
of followers so he walks out alone
away from protection of their brute strength,
then I can strike to catch him unaware
and kill him in revenge for his vile crime
because my wife chose me to be her husband
and the choice of each woman whom to love
is the most sacred rule of our whole tribe.

Wipe away your tears and soothe your sore heart,
precious wife who chose me to be your guard,
for I will activate cause of revenge
by dressing in the style of female clothes
and walk by the river where you were raped
to lure him through the blindness of his lust
so if he tries to rape me I can strike
and stab his heart to kill him in revenge.

I spend too many hours in contemplation,
envisioning on the stage of my mind
every action I must perform to cause
death of his foul body that will dissolve
assertive aggression of his cruel mind,
because no matter how many more times
I picture process of my strike to kill
I must breathe deep to calm my beating heart
and go forward to perform act I dream.

If I keep dreaming of how I will act
but never perform the physical action
then angry energy that fuels my purpose
will dissipate from cold of too much thought,
leaving me paralyzed with indecision,
so I must act now to kill or be killed
or forever slink around our small town
terrified of this tyrant all despise.

I will return from action of revenge,
facing the tyrant who reigns in stonehenge
to free our land of his cruel tyranny
so every clan can live in liberty.

Mimetic Code Sonnet

Mimetic Code Sonnet
© Surazeus
2018 05 18

The act of sitting on a couch or chair,
at a table or a desk, at the park,
at the library, at school, or at home,
and composing words into lines of verse
whether with pen on paper in a book
or tapping keys on a computer screen,
constitutes the quick process of performance
as much as standing on the public stage
in a bar, a theater, a street corner,
a book store, a hall, or a school classroom
to read the vision of your secret heart
so other people dream about the world
through the perceptive focus of your eyes,
to program mimetic code of our minds.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Stranger In This Mirror Eye

Stranger In This Mirror Eye
© Surazeus
2018 05 17

The old blind man in the empty tower hall
sings ancient hymns to the audience of ghosts
who flutter invisible wings of light.

Water splashes in the stone fountain pool,
preserving secret words of weird concepts
not yet invented by people whose hearts
ache for passionate romance in moonlight.

The old man in the rancid nursing home
stares at the television on the wall
that flashes images in ceaseless flow
of fragmented memory from lost worlds
because his brain short-circuits signal blare
of sirens wailing when green planes drop bombs
that blast the cathedral to heaps of rubble.

He watches little girl in frilly dress
skip among flowers in the ancient garden
then stop beside the fountain sparkling gold
and sing about the angel without wings.

The old man struggles to rise from his seat
and reach for the rose on the mantle shelf
that vanishes from photo of the girl.

Stepping outside the glass door of the store
that tinkles the bell of the fairy house,
the old man inside body of the boy,
he was too long ago to question why,
steps into glaring sunlight of midmorning
to see large metal cars of shining glass
racing swift through the city maze of greed,
honking between giant blue towers of glass,
then spreads his angel wings to fly away
but his wings are gone so he walks alone
in teeming crowd of people without names.

Unmoored from the world of power and prestige
that once dominated our mental space,
the old man stares amazed at crowds of people
who gaze at little books of silver glass
that glow in their hands with light of the stars.

Kings and presidents and gods come and go
but someone always wants to play the role.

While dancing in sparkles of falling snow
we kiss and become part of the White Whole.

When I first saw her eyes across the room
the teeming world of people in a rush
slowed down into suspended flow of change
while I moved toward her through the winding maze,
enchanted by the mystery of her soul
that radiates from the passion of her smile.

I never tire of looking in her eyes
though we have been together many years
beyond the count of wild immortal tears
to walk in harmony of aching hope
in elegant dance of attentive care
reflected by the spirit of the skies
our two minds weave into one crystal glow
whenever we go walking in the snow.

I know I wrote about it all last year
in the secret book that no one will read
because I bare our private agony
of lusting desire to the watching glare
of hungry eyes that hope to know the why
of contagious reason connecting our hearts
strong as roots of pines that curl to the core
of our wildly spinning world through my eye,
so that is how we know each other well.

In weird genetic code of aching words
I weave the secret truth of our strong love
that replicates each scene of interaction
we choose to play in our daily routine
which maintains energy of turbid action
to motivate our hearts in sacred role
serious as the god who pretends to die
while I play the jester in court of lies.

I see some stranger in this mirror eye
who knows me better than I know myself.

The old blind man in rusty trailer house
recites long poem to whispering ghosts
who chirp appreciation for his vision
about people who free themselves from God.

Though you are dead I will never forget
how your eyes gleam truth every time we sing.

Last Raindrop In My Eye

Last Raindrop In My Eye
© Surazeus
2018 05 17

When I find the last Angel Gabriel dead
in the House of Mirrors with twisted wings
and broken broomstick carved from Tree of Life,
I weave ten thousand rainbows from the sea
to wire his brain with sparkling galaxies
which reveals why time flashes light on lakes.

The little girl with three eyes enters hall
of singing statues to open locked doors
till she finds inside the skull of Orpheus
small crystal ball which reveals to her eyes
every dream anyone has ever dreamed
since the comet wiped out the dinosaurs.

The snow-white cat with eyes blue as sea ice
sits on my chest with small paw on my chin
after I wake from ten-million-year sleep
and explains how the universe was born
from the laughing eyeball who invents names
from the sound of waves slithering on gold sand.

Following the trail of feathers he lost
when Gabriel fell from high cracked bridge of ice,
I climb winding trails among whispering pines
in Huangshan mountain range past jagged peaks
to ruins of some ancient goddess temple
where I gaze down on sparkling Sea of Clouds.

Floating in Nine Dragon Waterfall pool,
I dream about weird history of our world
and see in sparkling waters winding trail
that every creature who has ever lived
trod in their journey through landscape of hope,
till I become their sunlight on your water.

Hungry for Peach of Immortality,
I search every city Shanghai to Paris
to find Kwan Yin in the public library
in northern river town where I was born,
so she dips brush in blood of murdered women
and paints surreal poems on my tranquil face.

The Mirror of All Faces, which reveals
personality mask everyone wears
after they leave bedroom of solitude,
conceals strange new face I will wear next year
when I leap crumbling wall of paradise
to climb the Pyramid of Special People.

Rain falls on my head while I walk alone
among trees that grow from your broken hearts
so I gather seeds of hope from blind eyes
and plant apple trees on wild river shore
where horses gallop faster than the wind,
and capture the last raindrop in my eye.

Each time I meet the person on the road,
who knows the name my mother gave me first,
I open my mouth to give birth to stars
but bees emerge and swarm the singing statue
of the Faceless God everybody worships
to make books of poems in sweet honeycombs.

I walk toward Kwan Yin on high pedestal
and smile like the rainbow after storm rain
but she launches swift rocket of ambition
to soar over cities on dragon wings,
taking me to garden of Elysium
where she puts my brain in sleek robot body.

Though you cannot follow trail of lost words,
I drop like bed crumbs in forest of myth,
I run beyond the crowded urban zone
to write novels about poor hungry people
who work two jobs to pay the rent and eat
while the rich dance around bonfire of vanities.

Can you taste the last raindrop in my eye
which contains entire universe of stars
where zillions of souls just like you and me
stand on zillions of planets in vast space
and sing countless variants of this song
which beams across mute void to touch my heart?

American Prometheus

American Prometheus
© Surazeus
2018 05 17

Of the necessity of death for love,
sing, Muse Sphinx, about rebellion of man
in this vast visionary tragedy
of our American experiment
when blinded Oedipus searches for light
that Prometheus stole from pulsing atoms.

Dressed in slick black suit with tablet in hand,
Brandon stands before the executives
of the movie production company
nestled in the lush hills of Hollywood
who stare at him with stony indifference.

"I was inspired to write this movie script
which I call American Prometheus
when I read this weird quote by Harold Bloom
from his book Anxiety of Influence."

Brandon reads from the slender well-thumbed book
with deep dramatic voice, "For every poet
begins, however unconsciously,
by rebelling more strongly against
the consciousness of death's necessity
than all other men and women do.
Romanticism, for all its glories,
may have been a vast visionary tragedy,
the self-baffled enterprise not of Prometheus,"
he pauses, "but of blinded Oedipus,
who did not know that the Sphinx was his muse."

Gazing at them with ominous expression,
Brandon unveils poster of the synopsis.
"Tragedy of an American Prometheus.
Just after graduating with high honors
from the posh ivy league university
with degrees in finance and management,
Paul is hired by elegant Oliver,
the founder and president of Impetek,
a vibrant high-tech company involved
in cutting-edge electronics research."

"Invited to the company picnic,
at this lush country golf course by the sea,
Paul meets the beautiful wife of Oliver,
a former model and aspiring actress
named Stephanie, whose shining golden hair
and silver eyes dazzle his heart with love.
Paul and Stephanie fall madly in love
while talking heart to heart about their feelings,
then make love on the beach in the moonlight,
so they begin a secret, passionate affair."

"One night after they make love in a hotel,
Stephanie cries while she tells him her story.
She was adopted after she was born
so she set out to find her real birth parents,
and discovered her father was Oliver,
who fathered her long before he was married.
But he fell madly in love with her beauty,
and not long afterward his old wife Gladys
died in a tragic driving accident,
so they got married in a nice cathedral,
concealing the fact that she is his daughter."

"Paul hacks into the company archives
and finds numerous questionable deals
which he copies on a secret hard drive
for Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Oliver is charged with financial crimes
and subject to a long and complex trial,
scandalous stories in Forbes Magazine,
and investigations in Wall Street Journal.
But though he is found innocent of charges
he loses everything in the process,
forced to resign from his own company,
and then pretty Stephanie divorces him
after revealing in court he is her father.
Homeless, living under a highway bridge,
Oliver wanders lost, shivering in anguish,
lamenting his fall from grace like Oedipus."

"Paul is hired as the new young president
of Impetek as reward for his work,
then he buys the mansion Oliver lost
and marries Stephanie in same cathedral.
During the lavish wedding and reception
Charlene, beautiful blonde mother of Paul,
watches Stephanie with fierce scrutiny,
and asks questions like the oracle Sphinx.
Paul talks with industry professionals
about more efficient computing methods
and leads the company in new directions
so Impetek grows under his leadership."

"After Paul and Stephanie have a child
they realize that Martin is autistic,
so they take two genealogy tests
and discover that they share the same mother,
the beautiful blonde former model Charlene,
so they go to talk with her who explains how
she bore Stephanie as an unwed teen
and gave her up for adoption before
she married Samuel and gave birth to Paul.
Paul and Stephanie are shocked and confused
to find out they are half brother and sister."

"Now when Oliver gets sober and clean
he tries to retake his old company
by finding evidence of basic facts
to prove that Paul took control of Impetek
by commiting fraud through illegal methods.
When Oliver succeeds taking control,
convincing board of directors to rehire him,
since he was found innocent at the trial,
he fires Paul and calls police to arrest him
and lock him in prison like Prometheus.
Paul stomps out of the office in a rage,
but then returns with semi-automatic rifles
and storms through the shiny glass office tower,
killing everybody in a hail of bullets."

"When Paul finds Oliver and Stephanie
kissing in the posh presidential office
he kills them both with bullets to their heads
and then blows out his own brains with a blast
just as the police arrive with drawn guns.
The last scene rises up from the glass tower
to show it small and insignificant
in the vast metropolis of America
where life continues on in maze of hope."

After discussing complex social themes
expressed by the plot of his tragic tale,
the movie producers shake their heads no.
"Since your movie is like Wolf of Wall Street,
mocking sacred tenets of capitalism,
you should go and find Martin Scorsese
to finance your American tragedy.
We want to make movies that are more wholesome,
showing how our capitalism is good
and America is the greatest country
to exist in the history of the world."

Driving silver Porsche home to his small mansion,
where his wife Stephanie cooks him roast beef,
Brandon tries to find the telephone number
for Martin Scorsese, so he looks down,
distracted for a moment as he plows
straight into the giant garbage dump truck.

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Emperor Of Death

Emperor Of Death
© Surazeus
2018 05 16

When he leans back in the leather armchair
to contemplate the process of existence
the eerie light of ten millions suns flash
through infinite night to coagulate
in ripe apple that hangs from Tree of Life.

Nobody knows where Odysseus goes
when he sneaks out the city gate at night.

The hero of every tale ever told
from the campfires on plains of Kazakhstan
to the shining mirrored court of Versailles
pushed forward against obstacles of faith
to forge the crown of gold with flames of truth.

Nobody laughs when Achilles grown old
staggers drunk down Manhattan streets at dawn.

She follows herd of horses on lush slope
and waits till the white foal wanders alone
then holds out ripe apple while gliding slow
and pets her neck when she nibbles the fruit,
then sit together by the flowing stream.

Nobody cries when Ophelia dies
except Orpheus clutching broken lyre.

When thirty boys chase him through the wild woods
he snatches oak branch and stands on the mound,
crouching low as he watches with wolf eyes
each time one runs to throw rocks at his head
but he bats each stone far across the world.

Nobody calls when the last man on Earth
teaches Aeneas how to sail his small boat.

The crowd of ape-people run down the beach
and clamber in large cave to hide from rain,
then dance around the giant brachiosaur
who sings eerie enchanting song of sorrow
so they sing along in chorus of tunes.

Nobody writes love tale of Tihamat
who roasts beef on our one-eyed pyramid.

Dressed in red silk gown, Aphrodite glides
up thirteen pyramid steps to gold throne
where the ghost of our weird messiah sits
to judge the souls of the dead who play chess
before the clock strikes at turning of time.

Nobody sings when fool with broken wings
proclaims himself the emperor of death.

Her Upside-Down House

Her Upside-Down House
© Surazeus
2018 05 16

Because she lives in her upside-down house
the butterfly of words personify
the spirit of light that knows her real name
so she gives me her death stare the whole time
we ride the wild astronaut gyroscope
even though the wizard was not yet born.

The shiny bus that glides on fast highway
stops by the ancient oak where wizards sang
to weave rainbows from eyes of murdered children
who talk to the dead horse rotting in muck
where three alligators wait to explain
resurrection of the eyeless messiah.

Because she reconstructs plastic toy house
the eyeless wizard of the moon gave her
for her thirteenth birthday after the war
she invites me to drink chamomile tea
so we sit in her garden by the sea
and talk about the shadow in the door.

Therefore she writes down everything she dreams
in the pink diary with pastel green ink
along with cartoons of cute unicorns
with big eyes which see beyond veil of death
but she refuses to say what she saw
so I take a deep breath and spread swan wings.

She calls us to her cottage by the sea
so we talk about narrative of self
while carving demon masks from slabs of wood
sawed from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good
and Evil that grows from egg of my skull
cracked by wisdom so the light can beam through.

Because she switches roles of King and Queen
in game of Chess back to the way it was
before the seventh coming of Christ Orpheus
I ride my horse to each tower of the castle
where I seduce the daughter of the wizard
and raise our sons to play my Holy Knights.

I want to spread new empire of my sword
but she misdirects my intense aggression
to build cathedral of diamonds for her
so sunrays beam on her gold face at noon
to illuminate the timeless world between
birth and death on the stage of divine drama.

She runs from our cave on the mountain slope
and plucks ripe apples from trees by the river,
walks slowly toward restless herd of swift horses
to wait unmoving with her hand stretched forth
while they sniff and eat the apples she offers,
then caresses their necks with soothing hands.

Beyond the far horizon of the sun
she leads us walking along the wide river
in restless curiosity of faith
while riding horses she tamed with soft words
and we throw apples we eat in the mud
where they sprout into ten thousand new trees.

I trace my finger on globe of the world
to follow trail of horses in the wind
from Alaska through Siberia to Scythia
where they gallop far over windy steppes
to frolic on shores of the Caspian Sea
because she builds our new house upside down.

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Parasites Disguised

Parasites Disguised
© Surazeus
2018 05 15

We hide the most secret dreams of our hearts
in the light of the moon at midnight hour
in toys we carry in the broken carts
and statues of gods we stash in the tower.

His yacht that sails on the wild ocean waves
reveals false integrity of the king
who sells the pretty lie that Jesus saves
and takes all your money on golden wing.

If you give to the cause with generous hand
your investment will return wealth ten fold
so pray to Jesus as you work the land
while his priests drink your wine from cups of gold.

When you tremble in horror of blank death
and seek answers from the man with the book
then sell your soul for the cult shibboleth
you are deceived by the mask-wearing crook.

The broker who sells you company stocks
with promises of wealth beyond your dreams
takes your hard-earned cash and gives you clear rocks
which keeps you entranced with fraudulent schemes.

The quickest way to get rich quick is sell
visions of fabulous wealth if they buy
healing water you took from their own well
then charge them for light that beams from the sky.

You dig from the Earth and work with your hands
to produce food and create furniture
while they profit from packaging new brands
to market scams as wise entrepreneur.

While you work hard to make things people need
parasites disguised as salesmen and preachers
sell your fruit before you can plant the seed
and try to control the innocent creatures.

Monday, May 14, 2018

At Our Dacha In Strokino

At Our Dacha In Strokino
© Surazeus
2018 05 14

While sitting in the old cafe in Cambridge,
talking with his friends about poetry,
Philip gazes out the window at mist,
and sighs, "I remember summers in Russia."

Rowing my boat from the white sandy beach,
I glide in the breeze on Lake Valdayskoye,
then, stabbing water insect on sharp hook,
I cast it with my pole into green water.

When I first came to fish at eight years old,
my grandmother told me the local legend
that long ago a church sank in the ground
and formed this lake where pike swim in its gloom.

Last year my grandfather told me that divers
searched the dark waters of that ancient legend
and found nothing but rotting logs and turtles,
because glaciers carved this lake from the Earth.

I peer into the dark green of the lake,
hoping to see the round dome of the church,
and in the ancient gloom I think I see
gleaming gold that echoed with songs of monks.

But from dark depths the gold-spotted ghost bursts
and bites the hook, so I grip fishing pole
and hold tight as the large pike thrashes wild,
wrestling with its fear as I reel it in.

Beaching the rowboat, I bind the large pike
inside the basket of our old bicycle,
then glide through the eerie streets of Strokino
to the dacha where my grandparents live.

I park the bike by the vine-covered gate,
and carry gold-spotted pike to the kitchen
where my grandmother carves it with sharp knife
and fries it sizzling with spices and herbs.

Searching past hothouse where frail roses bloom,
and cucumber vines curl around the trellis,
I find my grandfather, sharp-eyed Gennady,
painting the landscape on tall wooden easel.

I watch his fingers grip the horse-hair brush
to trace elegant lines of yellow paint
that tint the lake shore reeds with gold sun beams,
highlighting secret spirit of the water.

While he paints a rowboat on placid lake,
I open book of poems by Pasternak
at his request and read the poem on August
about angled saffron beams of the sun.

When I read the stanza about grim Death,
like a surveyor gazing at his pale face
to estimate measurement of his grave,
Gennady chuckles and grins at the sky.

We sit around oak table on the porch
and eat fried pike in the soft twilight glow
as crickets on shore of Lake Valdayskoye
chirp at the rising of the silver moon.

All summer at our dacha in Strokino
we drink strawberry-flavored Kvass, and sing,
"See the beautiful birch tree in the meadow,
curly leaves dancing when summer winds blow."

American Buddha Of Home Depot

American Buddha Of Home Depot
© Surazeus
2018 05 14

Sun gleams on the parking lot of Home Depot
where chirping birds flit among the young trees
while people push carts heaped with plants or tools
to load in the back of large shiny trucks.

The old man who lives by the grocery store
leaves his cardboard box hidden in the weeds
and walks the Home Depot parking lot for hours
like a prospector searching for lost treasure.

Each time he finds a penny on the asphalt,
he picks it up with greasy callused fingers,
rubs it clean with an old ragged dishcloth,
then strokes his beard as he peers at the face.

After holding the penny up to the sun,
that gleams gold red as it sets in the west,
the old man with eyes like the twilight sky
approaches people as they leave the store.

Offering the penny for them to accept,
he says, "They say a penny is good luck,
so I wish you all the luck in the world,"
then smiles as they look at it in their hand.

After giving people pennies all day,
the old man walks back to his cardboard box
and listens to crickets sing by the creek
as the headlights of cars flash in his eyes.