Sunday, June 24, 2018

Spirals Of Winding Genes

Spirals Of Winding Genes
© Surazeus
2018 06 24

The poet composes prophetic scripture
presenting ontology of the world view
the pastor preaches to the congregation,
teaching them about the mystery of life.

The singular eye of light flashes bright
from core of nothing to be everything
flaring forth into galaxies of suns
which nurture worlds to bloom organic life.

Sparks of light link in triangles of quarks
that spin strings of energy in tight spirals
to compose protons and neutrons in atoms
which connect in spirals of winding genes.

Electrons orbit in spiraling pulse
around flashing nucleus of the atom,
springing in shells from core of the proton
to weave molecules into conscious cells.

Each atom spirals electrons in shells,
requiring two base sparks in every layer,
two sparks in the first, plus six in the second,
plus ten in the third, to balance strict spin.

Carbon that forms base of organic life
contains two electrons in the first shell,
and four electrons in the second shell,
so it connects all other atoms together.

Lipid molecules weave polar membrane
embedding proteins in fluid mosaic
that shimmers elastic matrix of tubules
to protect cytoskeleton of cells.

Carbon weaves molecules in chromosomes
which sparkle with the content of our souls
and replicate themselves in metaphase
as centromeres confect kinetochores.

We transform from the Eye of the First Mother
when sperm sparks egg to replicate gene coils
which mutate into tetrapods with brains
who open eyes to dream ourselves alive.

I stand on the shore of the flowing river
and see sun heating rain drops in wet soil
that spark seeds to grow into trees of fruit
as I breathe wind and sing sweet love I feel.

I design letters to imitate things
which translate sounds I speak to signify
objects with qualities that perform actions
so I can describe world of things I sense.

I stand before the crowd of silent people
and sing the vision of my dreaming brain
so we all perceive the same universe
and eat fruit of truth from the tree of life.

House Of Dying

House Of Dying
© Surazeus
2018 06 24

When autumn sun gleams red on Texas fields
I walk the shady lanes from school to home
and kick crackling leaves which swirl in cool wind
and scent the air with the beauty of death.

I feel strange aching sadness in the air
that swirls around me in the cold orange wind
and rustles in the voices of the dead
who have only dry leaves with which to speak.

I stop beside small shining pool of water
which reflects distorted image of my face
and wonder if its sheen is secret doorway
into some strange alternate universe.

Picking up one large oak leaf, solid brown
as dry mud of the river shore at dawn,
I see written in the delicate tendrils
names of the dead in their forgotten tales.

Each one of these ten thousand fragile leaves
that fell just from the trees of my small town
contains details of one forgotten soul
who all died after living for so long.

The wind blows them all away into nowhere
before I can read even one to the end
so I kick the pile of leaves from the gutter
where they had gathered to commiserate.

Then just beneath the restless pile of leaves
I see one red apple hidden in shadow
so I retrieve it from bosom of the Earth
and smell the pungent perfume of moist soil.

Wiping the apple clean on my coat sleeve,
I bite sweet juice brewed from sunlight and rain
and taste the history of the universe
as light of the first flash glows in each atom.

Each house I pass I see behind its door
shadows of the people who must live there
but I never see the mask of their faces
though I can guess their eyes are green or blue.

Eating the apple that fell from the sun,
I listen to the leaves tell tales of people
who walked this same road before I came here
while I sense their dying in autumn wind.

Though I am now young and eager to live,
when children spring from the cells of my heart
their growing will flow from my energy
so they will walk this road when I am dead.

I want to walk up to every house door
while eating the apple of light and rain
and listen to the stories of the dying
so their spirits will live in my memories.

Kicking leaves that preserve names of the dead,
I pass the House of Dying in the twilight,
and carry into my bedroom memories
of their stories I write for thirty years.

Broken Mask Of Anne Bradstreet

Broken Mask Of Anne Bradstreet
© Surazeus
2018 06 24

I used to wear the masks of people dead
from anguish of desire to live beyond
expiration of the spirit of truth
that sprouts as the tree from the ground of being.

If you will hang me from the tree of life
because I believe differently than you
then leave me for the ravens to devour
the apples of my eyes when I am gone.

When I first arrived in America,
sailing wood ship over wild sea of storms,
I sat on shore of Massachusetts Bay
and stared at the blue sky of silver tears.

How I longed to return to Avalon
and dance with fairies in the sparkling mist
so I dipped my quill, feather of the raven,
in blood of my heart to write songs of hope.

But I turned my face away from the sea
and gazed into the shadows of the future
west across American wilderness
to build our city shining on the hill.

What great empire will grow from this small town
I cannot imagine in evening glow
when I sit alone by the kitchen window
and write about our struggle to survive.

Ten thousand people who sprout from my womb
may walk across hills of America,
following the rivers of silent tears
to build the new secret Garden of Eden.

What grand epiphany of divine truth
can I discover in the shining air
when I gaze at sunlight shining through clouds
and compose verse to remember my dream?

I wear the broken mask of Anne Bradstreet
three hundred eighty eight years after she
arrived on the shore of America
to dip her quill in the blood of its land.

Alone in the woods of whispering trees,
I gaze through fluttering leaves at the sky
shining with the consciousness of my mind
so I feel the loving soul gaze at me.

I hear nothing but the thoughts of my mind
so I look behind me in silver mist,
wondering what weird mystery I might find
lurking in the shadows of wordless hopes.

My dreams loop back each day I wake alive
to tend my garden in the morning sun,
cook meals for my children at glowing noon,
and write poems of faith in the twilight zone.

I feel them in the woods of chirping birds
wherever I go on my morning walk,
the spirits of the people who lived here
before we arrived on the ship of fate.

I stop and listen in the silent woods
but cannot comprehend the secret thoughts
they whisper in agony of mute death
so I weep, longing for the woods of home.

Saturday, June 23, 2018

Endless Maze Of Liberty

Endless Maze Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2018 06 23

Though fascism has come to America,
wrapped in the Flag and carrying the Cross,
I will spend time with my fun-loving children
on Saturday night, eating chocolate ice cream
and watching movies about superheroes.

The honest people of America,
who value and respect positive force
of Liberty and Justice for all people,
will always overcome their differences
and join the noble fight against fascism.

Like the Avengers fighting space invaders,
Americans will unite with one purpose
to overthrow the dictator and tyrant
who will fall weak because, like faith in God,
fascism requires too much energy
to sustain itself on fear people feel.

The tyrant who sets himself up on high,
attempting to control the hearts of people
through instigation of self-blinding fear,
must enforce tyranny of absolute rule
through constant rants to rile people with hate,
but people will rebel against oppression
and destroy the fascist dictatorship
of the Strong Man who is weak and afraid.

When the time comes in course of grand events
for me to play my small but crucial part
in vast chemical procession of change,
which adds to electric charge of true justice,
along with millions of other good heroes
so all united in one common cause
will generate field of accomplishment
and thus reprogram mental paradigm
which governs performance in play of life,
I will be ready to assert my will
for justice to prevail in social game.

Meanwhile I will perform my private play,
making maps, composing epic of heroes,
watching fun hero movies with my children,
tending plants in the garden, watching games
of soccer, or chatting with loyal friends,
to maintain energy of social life
because simple humility of love
far outshines complex haughtiness of hate.

Though darkness is the natural state of nothing
our souls will ever glow with hope for peace,
suffusing light of love through everything
to energize our bold aggressive play,
thus on green hills by flowing streams of light
we dance together in the swirling wind
to generate new life when we make love
so spirits of our children will shine on.

The fascist tyrant must work way too hard
to control human actions against nature,
attempting to bend matter to his will,
but the selfless messiah comprehends
natural flow of every chemical process
that swirl around us like surging sea waves
and thus will bend his will to flow with matter,
and by inaction rules the world of action
to guide us by example of his trust.

After rain storm that crackles lightning bolts
passes over our plain suburban home,
enchanting the hearts of my family,
we go outside to stand in twilight zone
and gaze at glorious beauty of the sky
where clouds of moisture shimmer scarlet flames,
then tell each other stories about life.

Though fascism has come to America,
wrapped in the Flag and carrying the Cross,
we will defeat its darkness of blind hate
with light of conscious love that guides our way
mapping the endless maze of liberty.

Man In The Maze

Man In The Maze
© Surazeus
2018 06 23

Will I ever find the Man in the Maze,
the secret self I design for myself
to play when I explore maze of my life,
based on characters of gods in old myths
I found written in legendary tales
of forgotten holy books no one reads
in the town library one afternoon
while sitting in the quiet glow of lamps?

I travel through the endless maze of life,
encountering strange dramatic events
on stages without walls where people die,
till I reach the place at the heart of hope,
then turn around and go back where I came
so I move forward to the secret core
in the middle of the maze where I find
the mirror of my eyes looking at me.

Each time I fall in the maze of desire,
I pick myself up from bottomless grave
and continue on and on to the place
where I find the true complete self I invent,
so I stop and gaze in the memory
of ten thousand mirrors which show my way
designing the maze of my life I map
by each moment I choose to turn aside.

I map the maze of my life with my feet,
tracing the round shape of the spinning world
to ever evade the center still point
where the Man in the Maze looks back at me
from the core of myself where I remain
moving forward on progress of slow change
to become the person I dream about
who will reveal the secret name I reflect.

Emerging alive from the cave of shadows,
after the flood destroyed the world I made,
I throw rocks in the river to build mountain
where I plant the tree with the fruit of life,
so the wolf and the raven follow me
everywhere I go in the maze of dreams,
and gather lost children in ring of stones
where I teach them to write letters as signs.

This Rune I mark on wood signifies sound
we express with our mouths to speak thought words
that conjure ideas of solid things
so you see vision of action I dream
when I sing spells that make you see illusions
flashing half-seen before your watching eyes
that guide you to explore the maze of life,
teaching you when to turn toward your true heart.

When they wander lost in the maze of life
and venture too close to the cave of death
I reprimand the children of my heart
to teach them how to walk efficient path,
but they rebel against my harsh command
and strike me down so I float in the gloom
of dreamless death, but lightning sparks my heart
so I rise reborn to walk in wild rain.

I stand on towering stone in laughing wind
when children I raised throw stones at my heart,
but I sing flashing spells that blind their eyes
and cause them to kneel in helpless despair
so they turn and run from the maze I made
and escape into the Valley Beyond
where they see me in the heart of their maze
for I am the Man in the Maze they love.

After turning and turning through my maze
in circles that loop backward on themselves
I return to my primal cave of shadows
where I sit alone in heart of the mountain
and gaze in the mirror of my own mask
that reveals every moment of my life
when I stood at the edge of songless death
and turned aside to find the hearth of flame.

At last in the maze of my life I find
the mistake in the turn of each new choice
that opens the door of infinite change
so I step out beyond the bounds of time
and soar on wings of light to singing stars
where in the heart of the spiraling sun,
that reflects pulsing atoms of our eyes,
I find the Man in the Maze of Myself.

Friday, June 22, 2018

Waste Land Of Hope

Waste Land Of Hope
© Surazeus
2018 06 22

Mute children wander in hot desert sand,
and the mother holds small child in her arms,
and gray wall divides the light of the moon,
and rusty sign points to the Promised Land,
and fresh water spills from the trembling hands,
and no one sings the American Tune,
and the eagle waits on the cactus throne,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

Wind cries the name of the mother who died,
and the old deaf man sits on the wood porch,
and no one calls him on the telephone,
and his son walks through the desert of snakes,
and nine children follow his faint footsteps,
and the empty coke bottle gleams at noon,
and rubber tires grind their skulls in white sand,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

The serpent slithers in the timeless sand,
and the candy bar wrapper flaps in wind,
and the white truck races on desert trail,
and Coyote lurks in shadows of fear,
and the farmer aims rifle at the ghost,
and he shoots the twelve-year-old girl in the head,
and the butterfly lands on blood-stained hair,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

The television flashes blue at night,
and ravens talk on the telephone lines,
and the yellow dress is torn on barbed wire,
and the searchlight flashes across black sky,
and the devil stalks in black leather boots,
and white choppers patrol the border wall,
and the princess runs across blistering sand,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

The barbed wire hums spells in the midnight wind,
and thirty people crouch low as they run,
and men driving trucks surround immigrants,
and guns laugh at heads of women and children,
and Coyote runs in shadows of night,
and agents arrest the woman who smiles,
and her daughter cries in the red moonlight,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

Long white tents shimmer in new prison camps,
and agents pull children from arms of mothers,
and teenagers attend large music concerts,
and children in cages cry for their mothers,
and families watch movies in theaters,
and young girls feed mute babies without names,
and white cat lurks in shadows of despair,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

The father of nine hungry children sighs,
and cartel king demands he sell cocaine,
and he walks away with proud empty hands,
and five men in the black truck shoot his wife,
and blood of her heart dribbles from her mouth,
and he leads his children on jungle trails,
and the jaguar glides in silver moonlight,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

The lone tree waits on the mountain of flames,
and the old blind man climbs the rainbow bridge,
and the turtle explains meaning of life,
and the river flows from the timeless sun,
and the boy writes names in the wind-blown sand,
and the girl recites the names of the dead,
and the old woman gives them pears to eat,
and we wander lost in Waste Land of Hope.

We Live Together On One Globe

We Live Together On One Globe
© Surazeus
2018 06 22

The way trees grow from weird cracks in my heart
I wonder if the wisdom of the sages
completes the puzzle we are working on.
But every day another open door
might lead me to discover something new
nobody else in the universe knows
so I should write it down in the blank book
nobody can find in the empty church.
Or wherever you want to go today
I will go with you after I pack things
we might need while exploring silent woods.
Because no one ever goes there alone.
Since we visited the garden last year,
and planted seeds of our lost memories
among the special flowers with true eyes,
we began to understand secret code
of forgotten myths our words calculate.
The spotted owl in the oak tree knows why
we give each other secret names of love
so no one ever understands our songs
when we sing to each other by the river.
I know the answer you want me to say
to the surreal questions you never ask.
Yet everything we learned in history class
distorts the way we view present events
because we are spectators in wild streets,
watching famous people perform old roles
in another episode of Greek myth
that plays on television every night.
I kneeled and prayed in church every Sunday
for twenty-one years, gazing at the sky
to see the face of God they say exists,
but though I saw faces form in the clouds
they never spoke to me nor explained why
we suffer pain, disease, and final death.
I knew then there was no omniscient God,
only my brain perceiving world of atoms.
I never felt any lightning of love
strike my heart and blind my attentive eyes
with transcendental vision of the truth
so I see grand scope of human history
play in stages across the turning world.
I did see those visions, but without passion
of ecstatic insight that might connect
my mortal mind to that infinite soul
of timeless perception beaming my eye
huge as spinning galaxies that weave light
into billions of planets which nurture
conscious beings who may become self aware
like me standing now on high mountain slope
to gaze at stars that flash across the eye.
I do feel that bizarre passion of life
expanding my soul far beyond the bounds
of my buzzing skull so I become stars
who beam water drops to swirl in cool mist
around my body as I glide through stream
of sparkling water to find where it springs
bubbling in fountain from heart of the world.
I feel each atom in the universe
pulsing with vibrating music of spheres
which spin inside each neuron of my brain
so I become that supernatural God
of timeless consciousness you all search for
because that God vibrates inside our brains,
and, as we pause together at the door
of infinite possibility, touch
light swirling around us in soft rain,
and express emotions pulsing our hearts.
We become one with the vast universe
since we first wake at flash of the White Whole.
So what if that God we all thought was real
was never real, and never nothing more
than consciousness glowing inside the brains
of people who told us that God was real
because they sensed in vision of the light
transcendent spirit shining from the sun,
because we know we project our own minds
at that vast mirror of our universe,
enormous swirl of atoms singing love.
We project our consciousness at the world
so the world reflects perceptions we dream.
We are the atoms of the universe
awake in conscious brain of flashing stars.
We are the process of chemical actions
flashing as they flow through veins of our flesh
and laughing with each wild beat of our heart.
We are the water of the falling rain
that flows down mountains in sweet winding streams
to fill the ocean of our conscious dream.
We are the sunlight of the glowing sun
that weaves molecules into blooming plants
so we consume its light when we eat fruit.
We are the spirit of the whirling wind
that fuels our cells with sparks of oxygen
so we dance and sing on the river shore.
The way trees grow from wounds cracking my heart
I sing wordless vibrations of sweet tunes
that make my body buzz while I pick fruit
from Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
which curls roots deep into soil of my brain
to weave neurons from galaxies of light.
We contain multitudes of our ancestors,
billions of people who once walked the Earth
flashing in the genes they passed down to us
so we have been alive since dawn of time
four billion years ago in sloshing waves
when our first ancestor, Eye of Insight
swam singing in the vast ocean of light,
and crawled up rivers to stand on lush shore
and pluck sweet fruit from tall tree full of snakes,
thus we hope our descendants reproduce
another four billion years as the world
spins onward into the infinite void
so we are still alive on spinning globe
when the sun expands and swallows us all.
We will return to the light of the sun
from which we come every hour rays of hope
beam down and spin conscious life on the Earth.
When we still lived in castles of stone walls
to protect ourselves against hostile gangs
of rapists and killers roaming the land
our belief in wise supernatural God
embodied by the king wearing gold crown
guided us well to function with one mind
and expand our communal way of crafts
we sell in markets to conquer the world.
Now that we spread beyond the Walls of Heaven
we construct vast cities of steel and glass
connected by hard highways coast to coast
where we drive automobiles on four wheels
and fly airplanes among clouds on broad wings
powered by the engine Barsanti designed,
we discover God is concept of Kings
they propagate to subjugate our will
so we work together to survive death.
When geraniums last in the dooryard bloomed,
I stood outside my house on the lush grass
and watched rain clouds flash lightning in the sky
to pour rain on millions of shining cars
that glide with beaming headlights on network
of roads connecting us all in one empire.
Shall we all stand together in the rain
and share the stories of our migrant lives
how we travel around the spinning globe
ten thousand years building empires on seeds
of plants that flourish from our tender hands
so we appreciate how we all were lost
and now we live together on one globe?
I can see you all as you all see me,
talking together on the world wide web.

Thursday, June 21, 2018

Overthrow Our King of Fantasy

Overthrow Our King of Fantasy
© Surazeus
2018 06 21

Her ghost is nothing more than emptiness
of my desire to hold her in my arms
and eat the sweet apple of happiness,
deceived by the perfection of her charms.

When I record revolution of power
to overthrow our King of Fantasy
I dance in the meadow, sniffing the flower
that spirals me on wings of ecstasy.

I claim the laurel crown Apollo wears
and strum the lyre of Hermes with a grin
while singing on top the pyramid stairs
to prove I know the spells that help me win.

I wear the mask of God to hide my face
while clutching diamond scepter in my hand
and then adjudicate the endless race
for who will rule the people of our land.

My heart is charged by rhythm of the Beats
who dance around tomb of Milton all night
so I write verse on weird water with Keats
and swim with Shelley in the Sea of Light.

I oscillate between the poles of truth
from cynicism to sincerity,
exploring maze of stories as the sleuth
who preaches Gospel of Prosperity.

The Jester who was crucified at dawn
returns as first son of his seed to Earth,
converted to world king from humble pawn
to promulgate the secret of rebirth.

These visions flashing from my blinded eye
strike lightning swift to crack the ancient lie
that frees mankind from Invisible Spy
who dares to drink water and question why.

Taken From Their Mother

Taken From Their Mother
© Surazeus
2018 06 21

This hour we come upon the fallen star
we make up stories to explain the why,
and then we ask who invented the car
that we fly soaring in the cloud-bright sky.

The small child taken from their mother cries
and searches long for her forgotten face
while tearing pictures from the book of lies
to map their quest beyond the perfect place.

Though here we dwell for many hungry years
to tie ourselves to family while we roam
no painted picture captures bitter tears
because no house will ever feel like home.

I stop and stand before every locked door
to name the restless soul who lives inside
while tending love flame in my darkest core
and yet avoid my role as spirit guide.

The grown child taken from their mother sings
hymns of faith in silent church of lost souls
but they who hear the flash of angel wings
wander deceived by the trickster of goals.

I snap this mental photograph of time
to paint scenario showing how they play
brutal game of power when the divine mime
weaves illusions with words they try to pray.

We know the way through labyrinth of rules
so we swerve far off path of righteousness,
hoping to escape sinking ship of fools
that drifts nowhere on sea of consciousness.

The mute child taken from their mother stares
helpless while men with guns take them to cage
where children pretend to be carefree bears
whose daydreams hide spark of mind-numbing rage.

The prophet who appears at prison gate,
once crucified on the telephone pole,
to free the children from the money state,
ponders if he should play the martyr role.

The prison guards shoot the prophet of truth
though they worship him on Sabbath in church
so he returns as the journalist sleuth,
seeking to knock the tyrant off his perch.

The blind child taken from their mother prowls
through endless maze of empire to retrieve
Book of Secret Codes that translate our howls
of outrage at lies the faithful believe.

The mafia don elected president
places crown of Napoleon on his head
though haughty pride, it now seems evident,
will leave the cruelest tyrant always dead.

Who Hears Light Waves

Who Hears Light Waves
© Surazeus
2018 06 21

The keyless piano in empty room
reveals strange music no one ever hears
except for deaf children who vibe the light
of colors singing from clear ocean waves.

Although I speak the prophecy of doom
I color over mask of hidden fears
because Yartha taught me art of foresight
to name ever-changing shadows in caves.

I stand knee-deep in star river all day,
catching fish who sing riddles of the truth,
but when I look in mirror of her eyes
I dream whole history of our universe.

She explains the secret of how to pray
to God who eludes the most clever sleuth
but cannot explain why everyone dies
so I keep riddles in my secret purse.

I map unseen footsteps through church of gloom
where the book that preserves secret of flight
explains how to escape and run away
because I always fall from naked skies.

My brain expands with the white apple bloom
because she knows I must play the shipwright
crafting vessel of truth from last moon ray
which inspires me to join the cult of spies.

My heart gouged by pain holds many new tears
because I must play the hero who saves
since my new persona is the most couth
who ever evaded the phantom curse.

Because my leather bag holds gold arrears
I jumpstart the money machine which paves
ten thousand roads leading to the last booth
where the Sun God drives new celestial hearse.

Gray Man Of The Money Machine

Gray Man Of The Money Machine
© Surazeus
2018 06 21

The man in the gray suit with black briefcase
stops walking along with the busy crowd
and stares beyond the blank infinite sky
at reflection of his face in the void.
"I am but one small useless broken cog
stuck somewhere in the vast money machine,
so farms and factories will produce goods
whether I sit at my desk or in the grass."

Dropping the briefcase full of sales reports,
the gray man walks over the river bridge
where he hears for the first time song of wind
and soft laughter of the indifferent river.
Stripping off his gray suit, the hairless ape
sits on grass mound in the middle of traffic
and watches lights blink yellow, red, and green,
while people chase rainbows for the machine.

"The basic rule of our commercial game
states if you work then you will get to eat,
but if you fail to contribute your labor
you will receive no share of the reward.
Because I understand this sentiment,
I choose to no longer participate
operating commercial enterprise
that crushes individuals who resist.
I would rather sit here on mindless grass
and savor wordless beauty of the world
while I starve and vanish from the fierce game
of eat or be eaten to win the name.
Though my descendants vanish from the world,
defeated in the chess game of place power,
stronger and wiser people will survive
thus I die so some humans become gods.
Forces of evil greed to control nature
assert strong will to dominate our culture
but since they must fight so hard every day
their drive sputters from grim weakness of fear.
Though evil seems to prevail at this hour,
when police kill people with darker skin
and lock children of immigrants in prisons,
their power will burn out and good will prevail.
Because they work so hard to maintain power
of oppressive rule over normal people
their engine of power will run out of hate
and they will fade in natural light of love.
The system of our capitalist venture,
funding operations of food production,
may collapse into chaos of desire,
but I will remain in calm meditation.
I wander so lost in flashing illusions
when I prophesy what future events
may transform from this current situation
that I forget to perceive the real world."

The gray man on the mound in traffic flow
transforms into the gaunt wolf with long hair
who shouts weird prophesies at passing cars
who chase each other for glow of prestige.

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Mother Of Apple Trees

Mother Of Apple Trees
© Surazeus
2018 06 20

The woman rises from the flowing stream
and stands in grass beneath the apple tree.
She reaches hand to touch the glowing beam
that sparkles through the swirl of singing mist.

Gazing long at awful glow of the sun,
the woman touches each apple that glows.
Each apple is the sun congealed from rain,
she whispers breeze that ruffles flashing leaves.

Crouching low in silver flow of cool stream,
the woman watches stars flash from the sky.
She rises from dark stream at flash of dawn
and reaches out her hand to eat the sun.

With every bite of apples in her hand,
the woman eats the sunlight and the rain.
She feels sunlight glow in her beating heart,
and she feels rain flow from her dreaming eyes.

Beyond the pale of leaves around the tree,
the woman ventures forward toward the sun.
The sun rises high and falls in the stream
so she walks backward toward the singing tree.

While reaching out her hand to pluck the fruit,
the woman gazes at her grasping hand.
She flexes five fingers, gold in sunlight,
stretching them wide as branches of the tree.

I am the walking tree that must eat fruit,
she whispers in the swirl of sparkling mist.
She buries seven apple seeds in mud
and dips her fingers in the flowing stream.

She gazes at reflection of her face
and hovers fingers over flashing waves.
Her face separates in another face
who reaches hand to touch her blushing cheek.

Turning startled at sound of his strange voice,
the woman sees the man standing in grass.
She plucks fresh apple from the singing tree
and puts it in his hand for him to eat.

Staring at her reflection in his eyes,
the woman leans forward to kiss his mouth.
You are the apple of the sun alive,
she whispers as they embrace on soft grass.

The sunlight of his heart beams in her heart,
thrusting deep in dark shadow of desire.
Their bodies move in rhythm with the stream,
clinging to each other at flash of light.

She feels her breasts expand to mountain peaks
and gasps at gush of stream-sparks in her heart.
She feels bright stars flashing inside her eyes
when she becomes the dancing tree of joy.

Waking alone on grass under the tree,
the woman hugs herself in floating mist.
She waters saplings growing from black seeds,
caressing her belly round as the sun.

Clinging to long thick branches of the tree,
the woman howls at agony of light.
She pushes little baby from her womb,
and cradles it so it can suckle her breast.

Eating white apples composed of sunlight,
the woman hums while her child sucks white milk.
She gazes in bright sunlight of its eyes
and sees red apples swelling from blue rain.

The woman rises from the flowing stream
and stands in grass beneath the apple tree.
She helps small child to stand and take small steps,
then places sun apple in its small hands.

Unemployed In Greenland

Unemployed In Greenland
© Surazeus
2018 06 20

How fragile stands the house of cards I build
on promise of the paycheck every month,
based on the process of my daily work
to maintain function of economy.

Clutching his stomach as he stares at light
of sun rays gleaming on the office window,
Samuel stands on edge of dizzy despair,
hoping to see beyond blankness of tomorrow.

Our bosses say they must eliminate
dozens of jobs to maintain fiscal budget
to operate the process of our business,
and my job was first on the chopping block.

The elegant grace of my perfect home,
the mobility of my well-tuned car,
the stocking of food for our daily meals,
these all depend on every check I get.

Our daily actions of productive play,
attending school, watching movies together,
going on picnics with family and friends,
will all be disrupted without that cash.

We developed sophisticated culture
for producing and distributing food
based on everyone performing their function
and receiving pay as reward for work.

But now my employment has been severed,
and flowing spigot of cash to my hands
was terminated, my fragile life style
will collapse into unproductive chaos.

What action could I perform every day
in rote position of employed mandate
to maintain function of society
so I can fund the drama of my life?

Other than tending garden in my yard,
to produce food that would nourish our bodies,
no other action would sustain our household
since I need money for mortgage and fuel.

We built this complex system of machines
producing goods in giant factories
connected by computers that calculate
flow of payment to fuel engine of commerce.

I nurtured pride in performing my part,
participating in vast enterprise
of running huge productive factories,
but now mask of my role was stripped away.

Naked in the dark of unsurety,
I stand at bottomless cliff of desire,
staring into bleak emptiness of fear,
confused at how I can mitigate dread.

Without this clear job to define my purpose
I tremble nameless on the nowhere road,
seeking clemency from people in power
who guard asylum of wealth with hard hands.

Gathering all his things in briefcase and box,
Samuel walks on eggshells through busy office,
dizzy on steep precipice of despair,
and walks out glass doors into blinding sunlight.

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Silver Cage Of Despair

Silver Cage Of Despair
© Surazeus
2018 06 19

Falling into hollow ache of my heart,
I twist around to fly like Lucifer
with mangled wings onto the bleak waste land
where I wander toward walls of paradise.

We travel thirty days in rattling truck
from Nicaragua north to Mexico
to escape the gangsters who killed my father
because he refused to sell their cocaine.

Running through the desert of blind Coyote,
we race toward the gates of lush paradise,
dreaming of the apple tree by the river
where we will sing in silver drops of rain.

The men with sunglasses and baseball caps
point assault rifles at our distraught faces,
then pull me out of the arms of my mother
who cries as she reaches to grasp my hand.

They lock me in the cage with nameless children
who cry for their mothers that disappeared,
then we all transform into butterflies
to escape the silver cage of despair.

I speak words but they are mute gusts of wind
that scatter my thoughts in leaves of dead trees
so I hide my soul behind the blank mask
carved from the bones of the crucified god.

We dance in the maze of the prison camp,
painting riddles with our blood on locked doors
that reveal the fate of all tyrannies
buried with skulls of the innocent children.

Alone in room of my suburban home,
I play video games on large television,
fighting zombies of the apocalypse
with laser guns that blast their rotting brains.

I cannot hear their cries screeching the wind,
children torn from the arms of weeping mothers,
but weird horror swells from my empty heart,
so I go outside and stare at the sky.

Sitting with my mother at kitchen table,
I watch terrible news on television,
and write Keep Families Together on posters
to free them from silver cage of despair.

New Melodies We Invent

New Melodies We Invent
© Surazeus
2018 06 19

Clouds of silver and red bulge over hills
of tall green pines that shimmer in warm breeze
which swirls over sloping fields of gold wheat
and herds of cows where cars glide by on roads.

I perceive this landscape with beaming eyes
imbued with timeless glimmer of existence,
for these hills and clouds persist in this space
long before and long after my hour here.

This shimmer of perception in my brain
is nothing more than brief flash of awareness
that flickers in slow spinning of this sphere
four billion years around the blazing sun.

Yet here and now I feel all spinning time
hanging motionless, through solidity
of pulsing atoms that throb with my heart,
in ceaseless flow of stillness beyond death.

I turn and look in the eyes of my mate
who stands beside me on the treeless hill
in silent observation of the scene
that holds our bodies in frame of slow change.

We could be anywhere on this huge globe,
standing on any hill by any river
and gazing at any landscape and sky,
so we become everywhere at all time.

I refuse to succumb to ecstasy
of insightful vision enclosed by words
of this weird religious epiphany
that opens wide the eye not in the sky.

So all the times I drive my car on roads
through maze of streets in many nameless towns
flashes fast forward through my memory
to remind me how I found my way lost.

My journey through the landscape of the world
weaves silver thread of my soul in its fabric
till every atom of my brain reflects
face of every soul I meet passing by.

This journey I map is not mine alone
for every conscious soul who ever lives
continues swimming from the sea of dreams
up river flow to stand on timeless shore.

We hold hands and form ring around the tree
where apples shimmer in red morning rays
to sing timeless beauty of hills and clouds
which erode in rain and disperse in wind.

We bury bones of our parents in roots
of apple trees, then take their place in ring
of dreaming eyes to maintain their old song
with vibe of new melodies we invent.

Immortal God In Flesh

Immortal God In Flesh
© Surazeus
2018 06 19

As I move carefully through maze of life,
eyes flashing hallucinations of hope,
to navigate strange puzzle of desire,
I feel my consciousness expand each hour
with flames consuming forests of concepts,
increasing my capacity to feel
ecstatic revelation of weird truth
that conjures virtual model of the world.

The deeper I dig through soil of my brain,
shoving shovel of agony to tear
painful truth from experience of hope
into conceptual mine of archetypes,
the longer I can sustain ecstasy
of sensual pleasure from flashes of visions
when god of my brain creates world of creatures
who perform script of dramatic desire.

When the young boy, born as son of the king,
assumes position of authority
at death of his father, to play grand role
of god-father over obedient people,
he kneels in chapel as angels sing hymns
and sees vision of himself as wise fool
performing divine role of God on Earth,
then feels his soul inflate huge as white clouds.

Thus mortal man believes himself to be
immortal god in transient flesh of man,
so all must obey word of his command
and kneel low before high authority,
or he must burn them in the fires of truth
to prevent rebellion against his rule
when blind fools are tempted by Lucifer
to fight against king appointed by God.

Eight hundred years later, after that king
died of old age, hallucinating how
God smiles at him as he floats up in clouds
of blazing glory, I sit at wood desk
and relive memory of his ecstasy
of transcendent vision because I am
descended from his body of frail flesh,
and his dreams are recorded in my brain.

How foolish his delusions seem to me
that he would think he was God in the flesh
of mortal man to play the role of king
by accident of birth because his father
killed his uncles and brothers in fierce war
over who will play role of God on Earth,
and yet I have benefit of clear hindsight
to see we are but coils of flashing genes.

How many people fighting to live free
did my ancestors kill in brutal wars
to prove they are the representative
of invisible god dwelling in clouds,
who appears to wide eyes of mortal fools
as shimmering cloud of transcendent light,
forcing people to worship them or die,
so here I am alive while they are dead?

They are but fantasies now in my head,
disembodied spirits of arrogant kings
expressing privilege of divine right
to control people who work on the land
and cower before judgment of his hand,
while I walk alone in streets of vast cities
after world wars destroyed Kingdom of Christ
so everyone lives free from tyranny.

I laughed the hour when I first realized
vast system of priests operating churches
in bold power game of Christianity
is nothing more than political party
that states only blood descendants of Jesus
may rule as kings over nations of men,
like Roman emperors sprang from Hercules,
so the Church always was base of the State.

Though arrogant kings are awake in my head
so are humble farmers and clever craftsmen
who focused their attention on creation
of food that nourishes our mortal bodies,
and construction of homes, wagons, and ships
so we can dwell safe from wild elements
and navigate the landscape of the world,
transforming waste land into paradise.

Monday, June 18, 2018

Names Of My Children

Names Of My Children
© Surazeus
2018 06 18

Invisible but for the name I wear,
I walk rainbow bridge between dreaming brains,
hoping to taste sorrow and joy that flow
from hearts cracked by staff of Moses at dawn.

Alone on mountain of the burning bush,
I know nothing but the wind and the rain
which fill my empty body with wild swirls
of voices proclaiming the way of justice.

For six thousand years we walk the waste land,
singing hymns to manna that sprouts from mist,
but when we arrive at Pyramid Town
our crying children are taken away.

Outside the shining gate of paradise
I crouch in dust and clutch three apple seeds
to write names of my children in blank sand
whom wind erases from my memory.

Faceless at the Wailing Wall of Lost Souls,
I recite the true name of every child
taken away from the breasts of their parents
and assigned new names they could not pronounce.

Though their faces are blank, I see them all
like grapes on the vine of ancestral soul,
faces of my parents who disappeared
for I hear their voices in muffled wind.

How far across the world we wandered lost,
scattered from the valleys where our tribes thrived,
taken from villages to live in cities
where we managed empires of market towns.

How many boys were taken from their clans
by generals of kings to build mighty armies
who stormed across vast lands like locust swarms
to assimilate nations in vast empires.

Though I was taken from my family farm
and trained on pyramid to name the stars
and measure process of transforming time
I still remember bright eyes of my mother.

On every river shore around the world
I write the names of my children in mud
and plant apple seeds in their aching hearts
so trees of paradise sprout from their words.

The faces of lost children I arrange
on walls in temple of the Faceless God
gaze down at us from shadows of the song
that preserves the names and deeds of no one.

I wander through labyrinth of faceless doors,
searching for children taken from my arms
but every child I see looks like my child,
so I claim them all as I walk alone.

Solarius God Of Truth

Solarius God Of Truth
© Surazeus
2010 10 22

When hordes of vampires drinking tea
storm Gate of Heaven waving star flags
will twelfth messiah riding on a zebra
hurl thunderbolt of Zeus at king of pigs
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Christine cute witch of Poutaxat
offers tea and crumpets to Madame Bovary
will Elvira rise from coffin of Elvis to sing
and scatter cherry petals on road to Eden
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Adam and Eve reign in White House
giving baskets of fruit to homeless tribes
will Loki and Fenrir accuse them of socialism
while foreclosing on ten million homes
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Ganesh shouts on Fake News show
drawing circles of conspiracies and lies
will Baldur and Durga appear in November
to chase him squealing from bank vaults
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Ravana kidnaps Queen of Liberty
selling her as a prostitute in Columbia
will Ishtar return to America in triumph
to free millions of our girls from slavery
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Azazel teaches men to forge guns
to steal Book of Enoch from library of dreams
will Satariel repent and support real king
who guides ship of state from Hades to Eden
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Goliath regrets not stealing treasure
of jewels from hands of hardworking men
will Mithras open old factories in Nantahala
so millions of unemployed may work again
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Atotarho tries to tear down wall
that separates church and state in peace
will Hiawatha unite many religions into one
so we protect freedom of religion and faith
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Grand Wizard burns cross of Jesus
and tries to split forty eight states in war
will Lion Heart reunite them as Hayowantha
and conquer dictators to form United Nations
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When twelfth messiah appears on a zebra
and drives money changers from White House
will Darth Vader emerge from hiding again
and attempt to assassinate Queen of Hearts
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When Cinderella rides white horse of power
campaigning to reign as Queen of Yosemite
will Baldur rip off her mask to reveal truth
and angels will curse her Jezebel in disguise
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

When new messenger stands with white book
on one-eye pyramid before faces of every land
will Allah reveal truth about Advent of Ishtar
who gathers lovers of truth in paradise of faith
as Solarius God of Truth reigns again on Earth.

Promise Of Our American Dream

Promise Of Our American Dream
© Surazeus
2018 06 18

I feel electric storm of World War Three
simmering hot in the hearts of angry people
who feel their right to live on fertile land,
they stole from people living here before,
and benefit from engine of production
by earning wealth and eating food in freedom,
is threatened by people outside their group
who request equal opportunity
to live and work with justice of the law
in promise of Our American Dream.

We all migrated here from far away,
following herds of horses through deep snow
along the rugged Mountains of Alaska,
or chasing rainbow of religious freedom
across the stormy Ocean of Atlantis,
and here we build one nation of all people
from every tribe around our spinning globe
to live together in Democracy
and protect each other through Liberty
in promise of Our American Dream.

The color of the pigment of our skin
ranges from milk white to chocolate brown,
spreading out from original apple red
of Egyptians who colonized the world
from Sumeria through India and China
across to North and South America,
while Africans turned black in desert sand
and Caucasians turned white in mountain snow,
so now we form one melting pot of tribes
in promise of Our American Dream.

In religious rituals of every tribe
we gather in the grand worshipping hall
to celebrate divine personality
of that father or mother of our tribe
who taught us how to live more civilized
by singing hymns that praise their selfless deeds,
so we should worship Mother Onatah
who cultivated corn on fertile plains
to feast along the Mississippi Stream
in promise of Our American Dream.

Whether we arrived in America
two hundred thousand years ago by boat
or last year from the sky on swift airplane,
we come in search for opportunities
to perform daily work of honest craft,
helping to build institutions of health
so everyone may benefit through wealth,
therefore welcome with open arms of love
people who flee harsh tyranny of gangs
in promise of Our American Dream.

Together we will build society
based on laws of equal justice for all
where every person may pursue their dreams,
doing what they will if they hurt not others,
for everybody has free will to act
to create or destroy through self-control,
so treat each person with loyal respect
and we will spread our way to all the world
defeating tyranny with democracy
in promise of Our American Dream.

Musings Of Sargon

Musings Of Sargon
© Surazeus
2018 06 18

Since I achieved this height of glorious fame,
where I rule Earth on pyramid of power,
through visualization of fertile progress
maneuvering through obstacles of personnel
to claim divine right to rule temple gang
which controls people living on this land,
I sit despondent on high throne of judgment
and long to escape this prison of duty
where I chose to chain myself to wield power.

Power is nothing more than authority
to command people to perform crafting actions
creating situations I envision
as fulfillment of my pleasure through will,
because when I judge who will live or die,
who will eat or starve, who will perform role
that maintains functions of society,
and who will generate children with whom,
people obey to perform acts I command
and play according to script I compose.

Why do they obey commands of my vision,
because they share clear vision I express
how we cooperate to generate wealth,
or because they fear if they disobey
that I will push them from role they perform,
block them from benefiting from the profit
of land and people they control for me,
excommunicate them from our paradise,
or destroy their body and soul with death?

I want them to obey with loyal love
because they understand and share my vision
to manage program organizing workers
so every skilled person within our empire
performs their role in production of food
so we expand our scope of jurisdiction
and integrate all nations with our laws,
for if their actions performing their roles
are motivated by strong loving faith
in my ability to lead our nation
then they will stand secure on loyal love
as strong foundation of our growing empire.

I feel glowing vision of divine truth,
that fueled my rise from cup-bearer to king,
fading cold and dark from eye of my mind
so now I sit complacent of my right,
appointed by divine spirit of the sun,
to rule the world united in my empire,
thus I must spark again flame of ambition
to shine ever brighter from my clear words
illuminating minds of all my people
so they continue working to create
stronger society which benefits
every person who helps to build our nation.

I will execute law from my command
that people perform duties for six days,
working at tasks assigned them by their fate,
then on the seventh day they cease their labor
and gather on high pyramid of vision
to worship Ishtar, First Mother of Life,
and celebrate her love with loyal hymns,
and thus through feasting that shares food we grow,
drama that presents story of my rule,
and hymns that support loyal faith in me,
we shall maintain spirit of our great nation.

With every new day of the rising sun
we may forget the vision of hard work
that maintains power of our empire control
so we will gather every seventh day
and renew our faith in my divine right
to embody spirit of God on Earth.