Saturday, February 16, 2019

Sheep On Lush Hills

Sheep On Lush Hills
© Surazeus
2019 02 16

When dawn light gleams rose over misty hills,
Phoibos Polyarnos, blessed with plump sheep
he tends in cloudy flocks on lush flowered hills,
sits under tall Melia, Manna Ash Tree,
and strums lyre strings that vibrate in cool breeze
as he sings about Ouranos and Gaia.

Stopping with heart-aching sigh, Phoibos stares
at many sheep that graze on dew-wet grass,
and feels nostalgia pierce his beating heart
with longing for those days so long ago
when his mother and her sisters, wild nymphs
with long hair, would dance circles in dawn breeze.

While he would play lyre beneath Melian Ash,
the laughing nymphs, with eyes blue as dawn sky,
would brew honey-sap from trunks of the Ash
with gold honey and apples in brass cauldron
that simmered over crackling flames as scent
of ambrosia wafted on river breezes.

Then Melian nymphs would call their leaping children
who gathered around pot of bubbling juice
and dipped lion-paw seashells with small fingers
to scoop sweet ambrosia, then sit with flowers
among milling sheep and sip honey cider
that sparkled smooth sweetness on tingling tongues.

"The sweet Melian nymphs all died of old age
and now fertilize grass where plump sheep graze,
the girls all married good farmers or craftsmen,
and the boys all joined army of our king
but died fighting wars in lands far away,
so now I alone tend sheep on lush hills."

White blossoms of the Melian Ash Tree float
on river breeze to cover his long hair,
like snow flakes swirling from bleak silver clouds,
so Phoibos Polyarnos plucks lyre strings
and sings of his mother dancing in mist
while flocks of sheep float like clouds over hills.

Friday, February 15, 2019

Story Hill Of Amen

Story Hill Of Amen
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

You nameless people I see everywhere,
walking around in world of dirt and air
or smiling from photos on social media,
contain whole history of our universe
recorded in pure animated flame
of conscious hope that glows in your cells.

I love you all, the way your faces glow
with bright consciousness of expressive love
which shimmers in halo of silent words
to light bright torch in hand of Liberty
ripping apart darkness of mute despair
so I can blaze new way to paradise.

Though I cannot stand on stage to perform
authoritarian role of the wise fool,
I sit alone in solitude of bookstores
to watch you live on social media sites,
reciting your stories in crowded rooms
to cheering audience of adoring friends.

Like flocks of birds swirl flashing in vast sky
to settle flapping wings in webs of trees
and twitter concepts of perceptive faith,
you nameless strangers of society
discuss events on social media sites
to program new world view of cosmic truth.

Each person moving in vast maze of Earth
springs from ancestors who traveled each life
far over landscape of lost memories
along gushing rivers to distant lands
on countless pathways around spinning world,
but all first sprang from Story Hill of Amen.

Ten thousand years ago on river shore
First Mother Amen stood on hill of words
beneath broad fruit tree of our aching hearts
and taught us how to sing the sacred hymn
that beams clear vision of our dreaming eyes
so we can agree on true view of life.

We all spread outward from her mother womb
in tangled grape vines of family bloodlines
to populate lush river vales with towns
where we all gather in town square at night
to share strange stories of our daily lives
like Amen taught us at the dawn of time.

Painted in complex map of your smiling face
through colorful features of skin and eyes
I perceive long journeys of your ancestors
where they dwelled in jungles, deserts, or mountains,
when they walked over dunes of sand or snow,
concealed by this mask of your secret name.

I want to sit with you in ring of stones
where song fire glows under the silver moon
and listen to your song of haunting words
that reveal your journey around the world
to understand why you are still alive,
then make love to live again in our children.

We spring from rich journeys of our ancestors
so our children will spring from our own journeys
and gather once again on hill of stories
where First Mother Amen stands tall forever
smiling as she teaches us how to sing
so our human song shines bright as the stars.

Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate

Tear Down Walls Of Fearful Hate
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

Each time I write one poem I dream awake
strange experience of one long-dead ancestor
who struggled nameless through waste land of fear
to map our landscape of hopeful desire
and survived death to become lesson learned
which I encode in archetypal tale
about bold courage of the human spirit
to transcend our mindless animal nature
and evolve through stages of psychic growth
to become idea of God we aspire to.

Walking in ancient gallery of souls
where characters of the many-faced god
wait dreamless on vast shelf of history,
enclosed in books that tell their deeds and songs,
I take one face of my ancestors down
and wear it to dream again how they lived
while navigating matrix of desire
to consume food and avoid being consumed
as they sought their mirror image to mate
and reincarnate to generate me.

We navigate our way through maze of hope
by wearing faces our ancestors made
to see how they survived hostile attacks
long enough to regenerate their body
in children who continue down the road
of exploration to evolve each life
from fish to mouse to ape to man to god
in constant transformation of fierce atoms
who seek to become divine consciousness
as we wake at this hour of startled love.

Combining millions of ancestors, I
contain multitudes of aggressive souls
who all contend inside my tangled mind
to become one person I name myself
when I walk alone on wild ocean shore
to contemplate mystery of how I am
me alone of all the people who lived
till I contain solitude of my truth
to identify who I want to be
then name myself to define who I am.

Once I combine their energies of hope
in one coherent program of desire,
after cautious analysis of lust
to replicate in children of my faith,
I proceed to explore beyond stone walls
of paradise to find rich Tree of Life
dropping apples free in my open hands,
then gaze at my face in pool of my soul
till I hear voice of one I want to love
echo my passion to walk by your side.

When my ancestors huddled terrified
in dark cave of faith, to avoid cruel monsters,
they constructed walls of stone from dark Earth
to protect themselves in lost paradise,
but now I explore beyond ruined walls
of world-view paradigm their fear designed
because bold heroes of ancient myths fought
and destroyed all those monsters of despair,
clearing landscape of hope for us to live
safe outside those dividing walls of hate.

We cannot tear down all the walls of hope
that protect us from attacks of exploiters
yet imprison us in weakness of fear,
so we must unite for democracy
to fight against tyrants blinded by greed
who exploit work of people for their profit
and free the hungry people of the world
to work together for their own success
so we thrive in harmony of desire,
sharing this planet that gives us all life.

Yet we must tear down walls of fearful hate
that tyrants build to imprison our bodies
when they enforce rules to control our minds,
in constant vigilance against their games
to trap us in cycles of destructive wars,
and fool us to relinquish liberty
for false security of paradise,
so wake up from your mute complacency
and rebel against tyranny of fear
to fight for liberty of honest truth.

Antimatter Of True Love

Antimatter Of True Love
© Surazeus
2019 02 15

The antimatter of my dreaming brain
sucks sorrow into black hole of my heart
and transforms horror through infinity
to beams of light that tangle matter straight
in twanging coils of emptiness I taste
with every apple of our tree I eat.

This flashing memory of matter I mold
in solid shapes of river mud to dream
concept into wagon that aids my work
bearing food from field to kitchen where cooks
brew potions that fuel our bodies of lust
with every loaf of bread we share in love.

Through constant ecdysis of mental growth
I transcend opinions my brain designed
in quick analysis of perceived truths
when facing emptiness of the weird self
whose mouth gapes wide enough to devour suns
that yaw in oscillation of desire.

Strange sudden sounds cause me to jump alert
and crouch in shadow of fear to detect
dangerous monsters lurking close to attack
so I can slip away on silent leaps
and escape horror of annihilation
in desperate hunt to consume soul of light.

How long in mute shadows of emptiness
can I hide from gang of men with sharp spears
who want to skewer my body of flesh
and roast me over hot flames to consume
immortal soul that shimmers from my mind,
before I must face them to fight for my life?

Attaching long rope to strong tree of faith
that leans over empty canyon of death,
I creep toward hunters on the river shore
then leap from shadow so they see my face,
and run toward tree of salvation to grab
rope of hope and swing over deep abyss.

The hunters chasing me through line of trees
fall screaming into canyon of despair
while I swing dangling over its emptiness
and watch them splatter on sharp rocks below,
amazed my subterfuge to survive worked,
then sit on edge of my abyss and weep.

The blind moudewarp of my hungry heart
devours dark mountain of inviolate hope
inspired by antimatter of true love
to become the sun of infinite growth
so I contain solitudes of lost souls
who haunt me by the flickering fire of truth.

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Dream Of Our Memories

Dream Of Our Memories
© Surazeus
2019 02 13

I lament the death of each conscious being
who ever lived in history of our world
with aching heart at loss of their weird soul,
and yet I celebrate the life they lived
however brief or tragic it may have been,
because for hour of their expressive hope
they woke from shimmer of our pulsing atoms
and gazed upon our seething globe of things,
aware of themselves alone in the world,
yet part of its flashing process of change.

Time is quick spiral flow of molecules
that interact in constant flash of shapes
to calculate connections between atoms
that shimmer in vast web of particles
which constitute matter in forms of things
based on pattern of intricate design,
through ceaseless motion of ticking progress,
so time continues in one forward flow,
never reversing to some former state,
as shining hologram of the White Whole.

Our brains mirror vast web of galaxies
in how neurons connect as flashing net
to conjure ideal models that reflect
real objects our eyes perceive to exist,
designing virtual world that imitates
real world we observe and investigate,
so all states of being the universe staged
at some point in flow of cause and effect
exist as static vision in my mind
which lets me dream-travel throughout all time.

While the real universe swirls on in flow
of constant changing time from state to state,
my brain retains memories of every state
in parceled fragments of continuous chain,
so within imagination of dream
I can travel to any point in time
and see how the universe existed then,
which allows me to visualize the process
of cause and effect that lead to this state
where we exist now in flush of its change.

All my ancestors for millions of years,
since we first formed one-cell eye of self-sight,
designed virtual world view inside their brains
based on strict observations of their eyes,
so with every new generation born
through combination of mother and father
our brains accumulate more memories
to compile experience of sense perception,
and design standard idea of each thing
through signifiers of linguistic thought.

For every real object our eyes perceive
our brain designs idea in spoken word
to signify standard form of that object,
so every object that models the pattern
of tree we signify with the word tree,
and thus communicate through spoken words
vision of the real world our eyes perceive,
complex creation of the virtual world
through elegant sentences of sung verse
that beam visions of life through magic spells.

The universe is strict structure of atoms,
and our actions cause changes in structures,
construction of atoms coming together,
destruction of atoms breaking apart,
so we judge effects from the forceful cause
to be good or bad for regeneration
of our bodies we replicate through sex,
but atoms always go through constant change,
conjoining and departing in strict process
we rejoice as life and lament as death.

Though I lament the death of conscious beings,
those who succeed in art of copulation
regenerate new bodies from their bodies,
so through new replication of our souls
we can live beyond the death of our parents
and our children live beyond our own deaths,
thus we gain eternal life when our genes
live again reborn in bodies of children
who wake from the dream of our memories
and dream new memories they can pass on.

Therefore, I hope, wise child born from my flesh,
that you will observe true nature of things
and control your actions of forceful cause
so you create good rather than destroy,
then find loving mate of the opposite sex
to replicate this body of our genes
through reincarnation again in flesh
of this immortal spirit in our brains,
then train your children to observe the world
so we can transcend death through soul rebirth.

This immortal spirit born through our genes,
who wakes to consciousness inside our brains,
has regenerated billions of times
during constant forward spin of our world,
so marry and start your own family
to confirm life in self-control of lust
through structure of our liberty in law
so we can evolve beyond these frail bodies,
expanding consciousness to become God
who dreams entire progress of the White Whole.

Choir Of Communal Truth

Choir Of Communal Truth
© Surazeus
2019 02 13

Where once we planted seeds in soil of Earth
to cultivate crops for nutritious meals,
now we write words on pages of our minds
to compose stories and poems of our thoughts,
becoming farmers who cultivate dreams
that record how our brains perceive the world.

Where once we competed to control land
so our tribe can thrive by eating more food,
now bold poets and storytellers compete
to control landscape of experience,
fighting over who has the right to tell
tales of our people struggling to survive.

Grandchildren of farmers who worked with hands
to transform dirt into nutritious food,
poets now transform experience into songs
describing our journeys across the land
on endless quest through waste land of despair
to tend paradise by river of dreams.

Whose grand vision of narrative expression
that describes spirit of the human mind
exploring nature of our complex world
will assimilate all songs in one song
to mix individual voices of poets
in harmonious choir of communal truth?

Shall we cease our war for personal glory
and avoid contest for who plays Apollo
so we can weave many threads of our songs
in one tapestry of heroic myth
that reveals one soul behind many faces
so our spirits shine after we all die?

The Faceless Poet who combines all poets
in one immortal soul of human love
stands on mountain slope beside flowing river
and sings ten billion stories in one story
to reveal communal quest for one truth
that rings till the mindless sun consumes Earth.

Migrate Back Home To Survive

Migrate Back Home To Survive
© Surazeus
2019 02 13

Like rats that crowd abandoned crumbling hall,
once used as the hospital or library
for the local thriving community,
who moved to the suburbs for spacious yards,
leaving buildings to decay from neglect,
just so we drive our cars on vast highways
from homes through maze to offices for work,
racing each other to earn precious cheese.

Parking my pickup truck in parking lot
of the library where my mother worked,
I paint on brick wall in one hundred panels
ancient legend of the wizard Oloron
who was tending apples in Tarazona
when he saw arrogant prince of Navarra
attempt to rape the gentle girl he loved
then stab her heart when she dared to resist.

So Oloron killed the arrogant prince
then fled into the desolate waste land
through sun-baked hills of Bardenas Reales,
where silent horror of the bleeding sun
squeezed all tears from the hot stone of his heart,
then raced through tangled woods to Peak of Orhy
where he battled forty men on steep slopes,
fighting in thunderstorm of howling rain.

Free from tyranny of the greedy king,
Oloron journeyed north to Aquitaine
where he met beautiful princess Marie
who gave him water to drink at the well
when he stumbled wounded into her grove,
so they lived together in tower of stone,
brewing apple cider for all to drink,
and raising seven children of their love.

Somewhere in the bleak waste land of Detroit,
I sit on cold trunk of my pickup truck
while waiting for clients to buy my coke,
and dream about lush paradise of France
where my ancestors lived ten thousand years
before they became Huguenots and fled
cruel persecution from the Catholic Church
and settled on lush shore of Lake Ontario.

My father worked on the large merchant ships
but when he was injured by falling crate
he began to drink to numb searing pain
and died destitute and broke in some alley,
so I worked in car factories in Detroit
but got fired for working at my own pace,
which was not fast enough to make the quota,
so now I sell coke which I never use.

Just one more sale, then I have earned enough
to fly to France where I can start anew
in the land where my ancestors once lived,
but the people driving into my lot
look like narcs and undercover police,
so I jump in my truck and drive away
and hide in the woods till the heat dies down,
then head to the airport with my passport.

After I sell my truck for a hundred bucks,
I have enough to buy my ticket home
but once I land at the Bordeaux Airport
I will have no more money to my name,
although living homeless and penniless
in land where my ancestors herded sheep
is better than being stuck in Detroit hell,
so I must migrate back home to survive.

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

Timeless Idea Of Chairness

Timeless Idea Of Chairness
© Surazeus
2019 02 12

Chairs exist as arranged clusters of atoms
created by hands of the mortal Craftsman,
while timeless Idea of Chairness persists
unchanging in perfect Realm of Ideas.

I am the crystal chair with angel wings
still dancing on sugar hills of the moon
to calculate how my birth river sings
designed to vibrate with soul-aching tune.

At the round table we sit in our chairs
to eat and drink in trusting fellowship
while we share funny stories of our lives
so we understand why we are alive.

The mad prophet from the mountain appears,
holding high lantern with no glowing flame,
and shouts that we killed God, our tribal king,
and left him hanging in the Tree of Runes.

After I cut Godin down from the tree,
I help him sit in the Idea of Chair,
then give him mead in the horn of the bull,
so we drink and laugh with loud ocean waves.

Godin shows me the cave where he was born,
where he invented the chair from the log
because he hated sitting on the dirt,
and where he keeps the skull of his wise mother.

Ocean wind whistles through eyes of the skull
so we almost hear sentences of thought
which prophesy events we want to pass,
then proclaim the Skull of God speaks the truth.

I set the chair on top of sugar hill,
then sit on the chair in the wind and rain
and watch the universe evolve from light
that spirals singing souls from the White Whole.

So Our Skulls May Kiss

So Our Skulls May Kiss
© Surazeus
2019 02 12

The dreams that sparkle in our watching minds
will vanish at the crushing hour of death.
This conscious shadow that I call myself
will flicker out like fragile flame in rain.
Surprised that we are still alive this hour,
I hold you in my arms with aching hope
that we survive destructive force of nature
which smashes everything we built to dust.

We crawl together in wild pouring rain
to shiver in small dark cave of despair.
How strange the dream of sunlight warm on grass
now flashes clear in darkest hour of fear.
All sweet illusions of what truth we knew
now vanish under torrents of cold flash
pounding our hopeful plans into wet mud
where plain truth of death remains now alone.

I hold you tight in passionate embrace
so separate bodies merge in aching trust.
We move together in wild harmony
with ceaseless rhythm of the pounding rain.
Since we may die we make love all night long
and fill each other with ethereal song
that wakes strange vision in our flashing eyes
how conscious life explodes from laughing skies.

I feel fierce agony of aching truth
flowing out from deep fountain of my heart.
Now empty of my soul I tumble lost
in swirling sea of ecstasy you are.
We float together mute on pleasant waves
to breathe deep spirit of vast flashing sky
where Glow Cloud shimmers in calm dawn of light
at sweet release of the last lightning flash.

We stare at each other in calm surprise
to understand orgasm of the storm.
Through pleasant agony we became one,
one conscious hunger of creative faith.
We rise and walk outside the shadowed cave
to stand still buzzing with pleasure of love
on lush wet shore of the cold gushing stream,
enveloped in slanting rays of pure light.

How long we flirted with cautious desire,
exchanging reserved expressions of hope.
We danced around each other in fruit grove
with mutual respect to construct safe trust.
Then flashing thunderstorm of smashing rain
drove us shivering into dark cave of hope
where we embraced in passionate desire
and made love to overcome fear of death.

All barriers of fear between us now fall
so we cuddle safe by the waterfall.
We caress each other in warm sunlight
and kiss where apples glow indifferent bright.
Breathing deep sweet air after shocking storm,
we glow with electric tingle of love,
and laugh as we play chase among fruit trees
to hold each other close where flowers bloom.

Since the endless cycle of changing time
will crush our bodies through decay of form,
we savor pleasures now in prime of life
to generate new children from our hearts.
We gather children by the Tree of Tales
and tell them how we first made love in rain.
They bury us together in our cave
so our skulls may kiss for eternity.

In Tune With The Way Of Power

In Tune With The Way Of Power
© Surazeus
2019 02 12

For I so love our indifferent universe
that I weave energy of my desire
into vibrant fabric of teeming joy
to merge in quick matrix of consciousness
that permeates landscape with its mineral shapes
in shocked alignment of natural design.

I sit in bare kitchen beside cold window,
leaning my elbow on the round wood table,
and watch frail snow fall on black tree-limb tangle
to illustrate how pleasure in strange beauty
transforms mute horror into admiration
for complex matrix of natural design.

On piece of paper blank as field of snow
I draw map of the universe I know,
roads I have traveled while chasing rainbows,
buildings where I played role on stage of desire,
and river shores where I saw soul of light
that shimmers threads in matrix of our world.

Though I am no puppet to will of men,
never slaving against my will for them,
my soul is bound by invisible threads
that tangle my body in web of atoms
which limits forceful motions of my actions
I harmonize with matrix of our world.

Each action I express with crafting hands
to activate aggressive search for food
animates my body in web of souls
to fulfill hunger of creative goals
consuming matter that designs my pattern
when I play architect to build world view.

Recursive contemplation of split facts
extends conscious comprehension of truth
each moment my mind recycles concepts
to calculate complex puzzle of memes
which I assemble in concentric models
virtual ideas of things to build world view.

I step outside the warm frame of my home
and gaze up at eye ball of world sky dome
to feel enlightenment in slant of light
that beams sunrays forged by the dreaming sun
so every atom we share vibrates bright
in sweet harmony with the Way of Power.

For we must love our indifferent universe
who generates our bodies from quick atoms
but cares not whether we will live or die
as we explore our world with loving eye
to comprehend nature of the White Whole
so we sing in tune with the Way of Power.

Monday, February 11, 2019

Awake With New Wisdom

Awake With New Wisdom
© Surazeus
2019 02 11

Heart aching with blind horror of despair,
I gaze at Glow Cloud that illuminates
world of changing forms where I find myself
alive with hunger and suffering of pain.

The wise old man sitting on river stone
told me every changing object I see
manifests changeless idea of that thing
which persist in Heaven, Realm of Ideas.

Nothing comes from nothing, the sage explained,
so our souls are ideas of ourselves
that beamed down from crystal shell of the sky
to animate this body we inhabit.

Once our body dies and returns to dust
our souls will beam back to Realm of Ideas
where we will dwell with the immortal Craftsman
who makes everything from matter of life.

I flew my airplane above glowing clouds,
soaring high above our huge turning globe
and found no Heaven as Realm of Ideas
and no crystal shells with fountains of matter.

The sun forges atoms into molecules
that swirl in beams around our turning world
to activate organic life with cells
generated by genes of carbon rings.

Gliding among clouds high above the Earth
I found no Craftsman as Creator God,
only myself operating airplane I built,
so I am the Craftsman as creative human.

Carbon rings form into organic cells
that evolve into the four-legged creature
whose brain generates animating soul
which perceives the world with virtual-world mind.

The Realm of Ideas shimmers in our brain
which designs models based on perceived objects
then assigns signifiers with words and letters
so we communicate memories through language.

Heart singing with conscious pleasure of love,
I gaze at Glow Cloud that illuminates
world of minerals and organic creatures
where I find myself awake with new wisdom.

One Mind With The White Whole

One Mind With The White Whole
© Surazeus
2019 02 11

Fragments of the world keep falling apart
and scatter verities on ground of hope
where seeds of doubt devour soul-blinding faith
so we investigate nature of being
to construct new world view based on real facts
and find something to eat before we die.

Somewhere in woods on shore of Grasmere Lake,
I listen to chirps of birds in tall trees
to understand loneliness of sunrays
flashing on water of infinite love
which reveals how colors weave solid shapes
when I touch illusions to hear name songs.

I want to know the reason why we wake
from timeless shimmer of the mindless dream
in pulsing molecules of naked lust
which molds conceptual progress of desire
to replicate models of ancient brains
in children who develop their own souls.

I chop down trees, strip off rough bark and limbs,
then assemble logs to construct strong cabin
where I hide from hungry demons of fear
while listening to song of waves on the shore
reveal secret way past numberless door
to stand in shadow among whispering trees.

Though I stand alone on ancient lake shore
I sense presence of soul beyond my mind
lurking unseen behind clear veil of light
then wait for supernatural soul to show
its time-bound mask that conceals the White Whole
which shimmers in pulsing of my brain cells.

Gazing down in clear mirror of the lake,
I see that mask revealed as my own face
of skin expressing concepts of my brain
so I look at the girl with twinkling eyes
who walks with her friends among blooming flowers
and long to weave our trails in way of love.

Collecting fragments of the scattered world,
I assemble new world view based on facts
to design paradigm that will account
for every process of cause and effect
that I observe in my journey toward death
so I always understand what occurs.

I was born at random in constant flow
of chemical change at one point of time
in one spot of space on this spinning globe,
so I explore its conceptual design
to map complexities of swirling atoms
till I become one mind with the White Whole.

Pawns Like Me Limp Lost

Pawns Like Me Limp Lost
© Surazeus
2019 02 11

Scintillating sand of somewhere else swirls
white as willowy whispers I still hear
long after shooting in the city stopped
as silence slouches over my stunned heart.

Whoever won the power game of this war
and reigns as king on chessboard of the land,
pawns like me limp lost in gray smoke of greed
still searching mute for our paradise lost.

I want to sit in wood boat on the river,
holding fishing pole as I catch quick fish
while sunlight flickers on the cool green stream
then eat apples and cheese on soft grass shore.

I think about my childhood on the river
while slouching in the large troop transport truck,
clutching the rifle I used to kill people,
and stare at the river bright among trees.

I want to jump free from the lurching truck
and run into the woods where old trees sing
to sit again in wood boat on the river
but they would shoot me with the firing squad.

Three planes dive out of the clouds like swift hawks
so I shout as they strafe bullets at us
and kill the driver of our truck which leaps
bouncing in the field to crash on its side.

Tumbling into thick bushes where I hang
suspended between infinity and death,
I become the Glow Cloud in empty sky
and think about Kathy in my hometown.

Her round freckled cheeks and silver blue eyes
gaze down at me through shimmering gold hair
so I roll over and fall to the Earth,
then walk with my platoon along dirt road.

We walk three days along the winding river,
following silver shimmer of its truth
till trucks arrive to take us to the city
where I stand still amid dispersing crowds.

Now that the war is over and we lost,
we drop our rifles in heaps by the gate,
then I walk somewhere in vast city streets
past a million strangers who have no names.

Arriving at the house where Kathy lives,
I call her name so she steps out the door,
and stares at me while holding her young child,
then cries she got married since I was dead.

I walk down to the river that flows bright
between buildings destroyed by whistling bombs
and sit on the rock where Death waits for me,
then hum while I fish in shimmering light.

Sunday, February 10, 2019

Millions Of Starving People

Millions Of Starving People
© Surazeus
2019 02 10

The words of people talking at the party
float around me like butterflies on wings
of soft whispers poignant for how leaves turn
in breezes blowing from the sunlit river
so I have no idea what their words
reveal about about millions of starving people.

The eyes of statues in our public parks
always watch me play my role on life stage
through surveillance cameras that can record
secret obsessions I hide in plain sight
each time I tell every stranger I meet
the riddle of the man who flew to Heaven.

The strange man who wants to marry our sister
comes back from the dark woods without our father
and tells us he stepped into beam of light
and rose up on angel wings to the sky
where he walks with Jesus in paradise
and we believe till we find his dead body.

We find our father broken on the rocks
so we run home to reveal his misdeed
but he marries our sister in the church
so I stab him as he kisses her mouth
and they chase me into the wilderness
where I walk alone on the wild sea shore.

I stand in beam of light where wild waves roar
but no pure God elevates me to Heaven
so I weep in despair as fierce winds blow
then laugh with freedom from fear of hell fire
since I am no longer constrained by rules
of social hierarchy that enslave me.

I fight no revolution against tyrants
with guns blazing hot in dark city streets
but wield words as weapons that destroy lies
which declare one class of people may rule
everyone else for their sole benefit
while we struggle to find good food to eat.

They hoard the coins of commerce in stone banks
and feast on pork and wine in crystal hall
while millions of people in tenements
fight each other over stale chunks of bread
while working all day in large factories
building guns and bullets for more world wars.

Someday soon they will build statues of me
to celebrate my victory in world war
when I fight the tyrant in tower of steel
and throw him off diamond ramparts of Heaven
but I fall to Earth and wake in this body
so now I must figure out my true name.

Exhausted From Building

Exhausted From Building
© Surazeus
2019 02 10

The strange intensity of puzzling truth
from fragments of the world our minds perceive
buzz fragile infrastructure of the brain
to savor sweetness of green silent rain.

With gray volcano ash from distant land
where monsters howl in dark tunnels of hope
I mix water and stir it with the hoe,
then shovel goop in mold to build brick road.

Across pleasant pastures of Eden Land
I build vast network of motor car roads
so we can drive our chugging time machines
much more quickly from sea to shining sea.

Exhausted from building vast highway network,
I lie on the Rainbow Mountains to sleep
and dream television shows stations beam
in pulsing radio waves off shining moon.

I reach out my hand under midnight stars
to caress soft cheek of the mountain slope
then kiss her while I become lightning storm
as the Glow Cloud makes love with fertile Earth.

Trees, flowers, and crops sprout from her moist womb
and tendrils of grape vines curl around roads
where millions of cars rust in silver rain,
and consume vast cities of steel-glass towers.

Eden Mother Nature, hungry and blind,
swallows all cities and roads into mud,
and crushes skulls of humans into dust
which I mix with water to make cement.

I build vast labyrinth around pyramid
then sit to rule on pinnacle of power,
watching over sprawling Metropolis
where every person dwells in temple garden.

Exhausted from building ten thousand empires
that rose and fell over ten thousand years,
I sit in backyard of my home in Georgia
and play guitar on world network of roots.

For ten thousand years we wandered the world
and lived alone in valleys along rivers
but now we are connected mind to mind
through social networks on the world wide web.

Though no one hears me sing, yet still I sing
to remember the timeless loneliness
before we networked our minds in one mind,
and feel your presence in the bright Glow Cloud.

I twang taut roots of this tree in my yard
so thousands of people around the world
sing their poems with me in great choir of Earth,
which vibrates as it twirls through empty void.

Saturday, February 9, 2019

Face Of My Dead Mother

Face Of My Dead Mother
© Surazeus
2019 02 09

Pure exquisite mammatus of my mind
reveals straight edge of infinite concept
when my flesh transforms into glow of love
containing every hope hungry souls lose
since sunlight stuffs idea of my new being
with gloom pulsing solid as liquid streams.

Transparent angel of the black-night moon
beams ancient wisdom of weird universe
through dreaming eyes she gave to me at birth
when milk flows white from beams of singing stars
to fill my hollow heart with ocean waves
so I sprout tall from roots of laughing trees.

Down to dark silent sea floor of my heart
I glide above sweet barren field of snow
to fill puffed lungs with spirit of wild stars
and rise above high mound of solid gloom
to bleed glass light in rain that tastes so sweet
I almost wake from vast field of mute Earth.

So with deep breath I rise up from wet ground
then walk on trembling legs through rustling trees
to stand on river shore in eerie light
of smiling moon who gives me secret name
then I kneel and touch face of my dead mother
whose rotting heart transforms into white flowers.

Deep voice of thunder from Glow Cloud calls name
of sparkling rivers flowing through my veins
so I emerge from corpse of her desire
and dance alive with heart-conjoining grief
to grow from walnut into monster of wild trees
consuming rocks to bloom trees from my head.

Now I can understand language of flowers
who teach me how sunlight molds my soft flesh
from sparkling water of the stream that flows
spirals forever between my ice heart
and shimmering moon who knows why I am me
so we kiss and become each other more.

Friday, February 8, 2019

Our Love For Liberty

Our Love For Liberty
© Surazeus
2019 02 08

These hours of naked wonder that excite
awed contemplation for amazing life
enhance primal love of my aching heart
for this ancient land and the varied tribes
who dwell together in her river vales,
united in our love for liberty.

Since brave Eliza Harris long ago,
running from slavery, like the startled fawn,
swam gushing river of hope to escape
oppression of greedy men, took her child
to land of the free and home of the brave,
we celebrate our love for liberty.

Though good people with skin darker than pale
are still oppressed by blind rules of the state,
we continue fight for justice through law
to be applied with equal force of truth
so we together thrive in fertile land
forever ruled by love for liberty.

When I was traveling sea to shining sea,
and played guitar on street of every town,
I sang grand vision of one global world
that dissipated in foul car exhaust
but we join hands around old Tree of Life
united in our love for liberty.

Weird Sound Of One Hand Clapping

Weird Sound Of One Hand Clapping
© Surazeus
2019 02 08

Weird sound of one hand clapping cracks my mind
of crystal glass to fracture eye of light
who dreams vast universe of tangled atoms
which spiral laughing on galactic wheel
of changing time beyond my ruined walls
of paradise where fruit trees sprout from hearts
of dead souls rotting in moist soil of love
though everybody knows my secret name.

Weird sound of one hand clapping multiplies
excessive particles through gamesmanship
when rabid armies of religious warriors
compete for who will wear the crown of gems
till time grinds all our bodies down to dust
and wind of laughter wipes the names of kings
off black monolith of eternity
as we repeat lessons of history.

Weird sound of one hand clapping flashes bright
atomic bomb of bold aggressive faith
that Jesus will return on clouds of wrath
in spinning starship of twelve blinking gems
to reconstruct waste land of industry
restoring Garden of Eden where skulls
of prophets lined on museum shelves sing
the latest pop songs on our radios.

Weird sound of one hand clapping beams my heart
across vast universe of spinning stars
that spiral outward from intense White Whole
where giant brain of God dreams everything
to hologram our planet from desire
who wakes from hot atomic dream of hope
and tastes sweet sparkle of ambrosia love
that drips from apples on the Tree of Truth.

Weird sound of one hand clapping calculates
recurrent progress of our social state
when hunters become herders on the ranch
and gatherers become farmers in the fields
and tribal gangsters build enormous empires
who elevate their founder into God
till All-Father recedes into Glow Cloud
who watches you to make sure you obey.

Weird sound of one hand clapping allocates
conceptual angels of our spinning globe
to incarnate each hungry human being
who walks alone vast plain of gusting wind
to find the tree of fruit on river shore
where fragile body of the dreaming mind
consumes electric energy of light
then continues on to explore the world.

Weird sound of one hand clapping regulates
excessive beat of every conscious mind
when lost soul shivers in dark cave of shadows
to dream creation of our universe
and then returns from underworld of death
to bring bright diamond of the singing sun
which beams clear vision in our surprised minds
how we are clusters formed from pulsing atoms.

Weird sound of one hand clapping molds my mind
from tangled web of neurons flashing stars
so I am the whole universe of light
awakened from strange dream of swirling waves
to become aware of itself alive
when we make love on river shore of time
and generate new bodies of our children
who dance with us, eating apples in rain.

Thursday, February 7, 2019

Wild River Of Lost Dreams

Wild River Of Lost Dreams
© Surazeus
2019 02 07

These dead angels from rotting tree of truth
have followed me for more than fifty years
in shadows of horror that linger bright
around bundled tension of broken wings
I keep hidden inside my twisted arms
which makes me code riddles of their weird faith
to map back home wild river of lost dreams.

Love flows away in current of despair
to clock slow ticking of atomic cells
when striking hour of violent hope declines
though we form bridge with all-embracing arms
since we dissolve in everlasting gaze
to follow blanked-out signs through naked maze
and stumble to wild river of lost dreams.

Blind Phoenix rising from pyre of world war
veils ten thousand cities of broken towers
with glowing embers blasted from our hearts
though sirens sing old heart-enchanting spells
to wake this self-engendered ghost from hell
who skips with laughter on deserted street
which leads us to wild river of lost dreams.

Glow Cloud of love looms over trembling towns
where bellowing herd of terrified souls
follow statue of dead god through glass maze
of glowing screens where crackling flames explain
strange pictures smiling in gloomy museum
where Lady of Rebirth looks down from stars
when we follow wild river of lost dreams.

Awake on silver shore of angry sea,
I find old fractured statue of my soul
that blossoms lightning from heart of the rose
revealing evanescent mask of hope
I wear to hide contempt for blinding laws
when egg of chaos dragon becomes me
still slithering up wild river of lost dreams.

Urged on by vanity of foolish faith,
I navigate my journey through gold hills
where mocking mist of arrogance defies
my fragile dignity through treasured jinx
to swim in silver mere of naked ghosts
who calculate hour of my mundane death
now baptized in wild river of lost dreams.

When Priestess Rahab rides her scarlet beast
up shining pyramid where Ishtar reigned,
she offers me gold cup of mushroom wine
so I imbibe and we make love all night
to generate ten thousand savior kings
who rule all nations of this spinning globe
when I rise from wild river of lost dreams.

On Pegasus of flaming wings at dawn
Apollinaire descends from court of Heaven
to give me lyre he stole from Mercury
and shows me how to cast enchanting spells
that weave weird visions of surreal veracity
when I evolve from ape to singing angel
drowned alone in wild river of lost dreams.

Brief Flickers Of Sunlight

Brief Flickers Of Sunlight
© Surazeus
2019 02 07

On the solid geography of Earth,
where water streams among high bulging hills,
we organic creatures with dreaming brains
are brief flickers of sunlight on its surface,
flashing across its endless wind-swept spaces
for our flow of time on this spinning globe,
then we vanish into indifferent wind
that sings among the rocks of timeless hope.
I sat under this tree for seven days,
thinking I would vanish in blowing wind,
but I am still here, and you are still here,
and we are hungry with desire for love.
Since we will vanish in spinning of time,
let us make love to regenerate life
so our children may walk bountiful Earth
and feast on fruit of this tree we grow.