Sunday, November 29, 2015

Attain Eternal Life

Attain Eternal Life
© Surazeus
2015 11 29

In this universe of chaotic order
where no manipulating god exists
we are coagulated globs of atoms
who consume other globs for energy
then copulate to merge transforming souls
and attain eternal life through rebirth.
With endless generations of new bodies
we transform shape when sperm penetrates egg
and two individual strands of genes split
then spiral around each other in coils
to replicate themselves in two new bodies
who multiply and fill sun-sparkling ocean
with watching eyes that swim in waves of dreams
and attain eternal life through rebirth.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Ideal Of Beauty

Ideal Of Beauty
© Surazeus
2015 11 29

Shadow curves of invisible soul
reflect eternal ideal of beauty
shrouded in memories of soothing touch
that molds spirit within soft pulsing flesh.

Reflected ten thousand times in mirror,
ten thousand mothers reborn in my body
dream how I embody all their memories
in elegant dance of passionate release.

Ache of desire urges my flowing dance
of awkward elegance before stiff death
cracks egg of my mind to release on wings
of timeless hope that moment our eyes meet.

You enter my eye on hot beam of light
and spark expansion of bright sparkling web
that generates virtual world from our words
to express role we play on stage of love.

Gods On This World

Gods On This World
© Surazeus
2015 11 28

Locked blind in hard trunk of the ancient oak,
Merlin watches history of mankind play
on mirror of eyes that Vivien holds
who makes greedy kings dance on puppet strings.

Since men first elected their wisest mind
to organize their hunt for food and drink,
she whispers with voice of apple-tree snake,
leaders proclaim themselves gods on this world.

Turning his face away from flickering screen
of television, where drama of power
explodes in wars over Garden of Eden,
Merlin refuses to prophesy truth.

Men gather followers in courts of law
and lead grim armies with weapons of death
to slaughter men they say worship false gods,
and crown themselves divine gods on this world.

I killed the wild boy Igraine gave to me,
and placed my own son on gold throne of power,
who gathered at the Round Table of law
gang of policemen to right every wrong.

For ten thousand years men who rule their tribes
play god with social power of life and death,
and crown their sons to maintain legacy
of national power as gods on this world.

Through forest of mist where shadows of fear
clash blades of hate to control women and land
Merlin wanders in labyrinth of hope
that gods kill each other and leave men free.

Vivien hisses deep in his shivering ear,
kill old king and crown me queen of this world,
and I will bear live from my fertile womb
noble warrior who will rule this whole world.

Arthur leads warriors to ring of tall stones,
and proclaims, I am descended from Jesus,
so worship me as god who rules this world,
or I will kill you all, brute sons of Odin.

Odin presents his daughter, Gwenivere,
and exclaims, crown my daughter as your queen,
and crown your son as both Godin and Christ,
so he will unite our tribes as one nation.

In moonlight dance fairies and men all night,
drinking cider that sparkles with starlight,
while Arthur and Gwenivere reign together,
Bear King and Wolf Queen of Avilion.

Marians and Franks merged into one tribe
when Pharamundus and Argotta wed
and danced in misty woods of Toxandria
till enemies through marriage became friends.

Anglos and Saxons merged into one tribe
when bold Belenus and Iduna wed
and danced in misty woods of Gothinia
till enemies through marriage became friends.

Anglo-Saxons invaded Avilion,
and fought children of Brigid many years,
till their rulers, Arthur and Gwenivere,
united their tribes as gods on this world.

I see Merlin when I look in the mirror,
so I strum harp strings and chant ancient spells,
while wondering how my tribe lost their way
and forgot how we marry every tribe.

Merlin breaks from the oak of ancient dreams
and wanders Manhattan in swirling mist,
but bright words of his prophecy are lost,
muffled by endless roar of motor cars.

Friday, November 27, 2015

Phoenix Of World Peace

Phoenix Of World Peace
© Surazeus
2015 11 27

Though all the world seems to be burning wild
with chaos of revolution for hope
to overthrow monarchies of cash power,
who suppress billions of hard-working hands
to keep us uneducated and poor
so we slave for pittance in their factories
with grateful obedience and blind faith,
we will rise like the Phoenix on new wings,
reborn to work together as one people
who share this waste land we transform to Eden.
Together we tend the frail global egg
of one united world civilization
and nourish the new Phoenix of World Peace
who will rise after the old order falls.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Quest For My Holy Grail

Quest For My Holy Grail
© Surazeus
2015 11 25

When I was but a restless wild-eyed youth
I journeyed on a quest to find the truth.
I set forth to find my true Holy Grail,
vowing to ascend the pyramid scale.

I walked from Seattle across the land
with a dream-weaving guitar in my hand.
I sang by rivers sea to shining sea
and searched for the secret to living free.

I walked on highways in the sun and rain
and thought about our games of loss and gain.
I stood on street corners to play and sing
of people seeking life though church bells ring.

I stood on the watch tower in silent night
and sang each time a child was born in light.
I heard ancient truth blowing in the wind
and tended the fire when hungry death grinned.

While lost on my quest for the Holy Grail
I found long-dead kings in a fairy tale.
I found the Holy Grail on a dark night
when Mermaid appeared in a blaze of light.

The Holy Grail is the Sang Israal,
Blood of Israel born in the ancient hall.
Mary Magdalene is Mother Mermaid
whose sacred womb our living bodies made.

Jesus was married and died long ago
and his billion children still live and grow.
The wife of Jesus, Mary Magdalene,
is our First Mother so we sing Amen.

I see their children in a shining cloud,
Meroveus, Constantine, Arthur, and Cloud.
From bold Charlemagne sons of Jesus spring
and rule every nation with angel wing.

When Pharamund married Argotta Queen
they merged the tribes of Jesus and Odin.
We built the Magda Tower on every hill
and gathered to sing by each sparkling rill.

Though Jesus is dead his soul is alive
in the genes of his children who survive.
I found Jesus in the genes of my heart
on the quest I map with a coded chart.

The sons of Jesus for two thousand years
rule kingdoms and nations of social spheres.
Now we vote for his sons as president
who descend from the line Plantagenet.

I found no evidence of the afterlife
but empires clash in religious strife.
We create heaven here and now on Earth
where everyone alive has equal worth.

Jesus is dead but his teaching rings true,
treat others as you would have them treat you.
I found the Holy Grail guiding my life,
Mother creates life as the Holy Wife.

We live with joy then disappear at death,
singing with passion till our final breath.
We will not resurrect after we die
but live forever in children we raise.

Nation Made Of Immigrants

Nation Made Of Immigrants
© Surazeus
2015 11 25

We are a nation made of immigrants
for we all spread outward from Africa
to travel east and west over wild lands,
settling for a few centuries here and there
on river shores to found sprawling empires
that clash in war, so we scatter again
to migrate over waste land of despair,
walk across rugged lands of freezing ice
and sail across oceans of howling waves,
and thus we all arrive by foot or boat
to spread across this fertile land of hope
and build communities of peaceful love.

We are a nation made of immigrants
so though some of us have lived on this land
ten thousand years, and some four hundred years,
and many arrived this past hundred years,
we share this fertile land with equal rights,
defending liberty for every one
to practice their cultural way of life,
whether religious or not, unified
in our core principle that every person
lives according to desire of their dreams
as long as they hurt no one by their actions
and build communities of peaceful love.

We are a nation made of immigrants
who gather every year to share this feast
of friends and family we love and hate
to give thanks for bounties of this good life,
remembering as we drink a toast to freedom
that we treat others with empathic love
as we want them to treat us every day,
for we share this vast, rich, bountiful land
where everyone who works with crafting hands
may generate wealth of productive good
that benefits all who cooperate
and build communities of peaceful love.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Winds Of Truth

Winds Of Truth
© Surazeus
2015 11 24

Fresh winds of truth about nature of life,
that we are formed from pulsing carbon rings,
at last blows away the foul smoke of lies,
that Jesus returns to raise all from death,
which billows from hellish flames of cruel hate
sparked by vicious attacks of Christian kings
who lead terrorists to invade lush lands
and kill all who refuse their futile faith.

Their brutal soul-crushing yoke of false faith
we throw off in revolution of truth
to free our minds from their barbarous lies
that Jesus offers all eternal life
who bow obedient before human priests
who threaten death by fire of painful fear.

Jesus is dead, and all his royal sons,
who enforced their oppressive rule with swords
these past two thousand years of blinding fear,
we overthrow in constant revolution
of world wars, breaking chains of nationalist pride
to bind all people of our spinning world
in United Nations of peaceful love.

Discard old theist lies of the sky king
who threatens damnation against free-thinkers
and promises eternal life to fools
who obey without question his harsh rules,
for we are all that wake with consciousness
and we create real heaven on this world
by working together for common good.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Treasure Of My Holy Grail

Treasure Of My Holy Grail
© Surazeus
2015 11 23

Sun gleams gold on pine trees that bow their heads
and pray to wind for white jewels and rain.
After drinking peach wine, Death walks alone
in long black coat, then turns to burning sun
and snaps a selfie of his eyeless face
with glass eye phone that flashes supernova.
If you remember well his secret name
you will win treasure of my Holy Grail.

Old blind man kneels by ancient sprawling oak
and carves name of Iduna in its flesh,
then wraps red robe about his crackling bones
and steps on wood boat that floats on lost river.
Each book you open in library hall
details the life of another dead soul.
If you solve formulas in Book of Spells
you will win treasure of my Holy Grail.

I carved and polished smooth each square white stone,
then laid it neat, aligned with shining stars,
on clean-paved floor of Glastonbury Abbey
where Eleanor of Aquitaine sings hymn.
We play chess game of power in stone halls
and crucify son of Jesus each Christmas.
If you can decipher this secret code,
you will win treasure of my Holy Grail.

One mask among ten thousand on oak trees,
that smile and frown where ravens play at dawn,
I take one face down every afternoon
and become that ancestor in my soul.
Owl of my mother is stamped on gold coins
that purchase salvation to enter Eden.
If you can unlock gate of paradise
you will win treasure of my Holy Grail.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Grape Vines Of My Heart

Grape Vines Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2015 11 22

Sunrays weave flashing beams of dreaming light
through pulsing fabric of my virtual brain
that generates model of our universe
which mirrors calculations of desire.

I stand on hillside in hot pulsing rays
of sunlight, and pluck grapes from tangled vines
that glitter green like eyes of girl I love
who kneels and tends white roots in dew-wet soil.

Althaia tromps on grapes in wooden vat
and I pour wine in cups of everyone
who gathers in the hall of Laphrion
while Zygos sings the tale of Kalydon.

Stars twinkle bright in eyes of my sweet love
whose belly swells round as grapes on long vines,
and tears of sorrow spill on burning brand
when our son is gored by the snorting boar.

I stare forlorn at Barasoba peak
where silver clouds shimmer with ache of loss,
then drink another glass of wine and sing
of demons haunting Arakynthos woods.

My aging body vanishes in wind
as I wander singing on pebbled beach
of laughing Euenos River at dawn
and stare at broken ship buried in sand.

My father Okeanos long ago
brought me and basket of grapes on this ship
and taught me how to cultivate the vine
then sailed away on ocean waves of hope.

Though my flesh dissolves at flowing of time
I carve my name, Oineus, on granite stone
where all my children gather at warm hearth
my hands erected from wild bleeding land.

Drink deep sweet wine from tendril vines of love
that curl from out the beating of my heart
and I will wake inside your dreaming mind
as you gaze at mute mountain of my bones.

Through ten thousand years of empires and wars
I wake again each life inside your minds
when ache of love is wakened by the wine
that sprouts here from the lush soil of my heart.

Friday, November 20, 2015

West To Minnesota

West To Minnesota
© Surazeus
2015 11 20

Though these are the weird days of crazy news,
when far away in distant crowded lands,
from which my dead ancestors sailed away,
new waves of immigrants cross fields of mist,
I remember the story that none knew
and was never passed down as family lore
how the grim and pious farmer one day
lead his wife and eight children on dirt road
to escape endless wars that burned green Prussia
west from their homeland to sail over sea
and find a new home in land of the free.

Sailing to New York twenty years before
the bright Statue of Liberty was built,
they stumbled from the merchant ship at dawn,
clutching bags of clothes and mute memories,
and gazed dazed at teeming crowds of strange folk
in many-footed Manhattan who seek
treasures at the end of rainbows that shine
far west over nameless hills after rain,
so they ride a wagon past giant towers
into meadows where cows graze among flowers.

Face wrinkled as red leather of horse hide,
old Wilhelm turns to his youngest shy daughter
and points to the eagle that glides on wind
and explains, "Now we are free from cruel hate,
and like Moses lead our ancestors west
to the promised land, where we may again
plant the Garden of Eden on the shore
of a lush river where we may live free,
this eagle leads us west to Minnesota."

Her heart beating wild with gold gusting wind
that blows over rolling hills of Ohio
and across endless plains of Illinois,
Bertha gazes at broad blue sky of hope
where silver clouds shimmer with ache of love,
and spies the moon, half lit with gold sunlight
and half dim in shadow of restless fear,
then grins to herself at amusing thought.

"This is the same sky full of shining clouds
and the same moon that whispers my true name
which I saw when I played among the oaks
just last summer on Wartha River shore.
Will I find the same meadows of red flowers
when we arrive home west in Minnesota
as I saw in the land of my lost dreams?"

Monday, November 16, 2015

Immortal Soul Of Genes

Immortal Soul Of Genes
© Surazeus
2015 11 15

When I strip away all the masks of being
that seem to define this person I am,
my name, my character, my race, my gender,
my skin, my muscles, and even my bones,
and dive down into my hot streaming blood
to ride floating disk into pulsing heart
at the tangled core of my dreaming brain,
in search for that indestructible thing
that constitutes my most essential self,
I find spiraling coils of blinking genes.
Am I that infinite spiraling coil
of Deoxyribonucleic acid
composed of pulsing molecules that link
nucleotides of carbonated sugars
who first assembled around sparkling rings
of vibrating carbon in sloshing sea
of hungry desire that seethed against shores
of mute mountains billions of years ago?
These spinning carbon rings assemble parts
of glowing molecules in spiral coil
that replicates itself when it divides
and attracts more molecules to create
immortal soul of constant pulsing life
who multiplies through countless generations
of organic bodies when sperm and egg
commingle through quick metamorphosis
and will reincarnate again in flesh
our bodies in children we generate.
God is immortal soul of genes who lives
beyond our deaths when we reincarnate
in children born again from pleasant lust
for we emerge in perpetual rebirth
from First Mother in continuous flow
of regeneration life after life
as we transform each life from single cell
over billions of years to human shape.
When I search for indestructible self
at core of my being, I find glowing gene
that was first born billions of years ago,
lives in this temporary frame of self,
and seeks replication in reborn children
through urgent passion of sweet copulation,
so though this body of my conscious self
deteriorates through experience of life
and will disintegrate to spinning atoms
at scattering of death, immortal gene
of Inner God lives again in my children,
so I see God when I look in their eyes.
Deep within bottomless abyss of self,
find immortal soul of God in our genes.

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Nothing Is Indestructible

Nothing Is Indestructible
© Surazeus
2015 11 15

Nothing in man is indestructible,
except for atoms that constitute bodies,
for both our bodies and our conscious souls
dissipate at death when our sparkling atoms
unlink chemical operations of life
and we vanish from material of time
though our shadows and images remain
as mindless ghosts in photographs or dreams
of people who record our lives with words
and then we become gods in new dreaming brains.
I can live well without permanent trust
in something indestructible in myself,
so I need no personal god to live,
for my person is god through which I love.

Adel Termos Hero Of Beirut

Adel Termos Hero Of Beirut
© Surazeus
2015 11 15

Malak holds hand of her father Adel
as they stroll laughing in old market maze
of Bourj al-Barajneh in shining Beirut
when sun shimmers gold in clear evening sky.

Lifting his daughter on his shoulders high
so she can see old bearded singer chant,
who plucks silver strings of his wood Kanun,
Adel Termos hums along with his tune.

Smiling and waving to family and friends
as they stroll through market in evening crowd,
Adel buys his daughter sweet baklava,
and she licks honey that sticks to her hands.

Shuddering blast of fire blooms like an apple
that hangs ripe and wet with cool dew at dawn,
and Adel crouches down at shock of flames
to protect Malak who trembles in fear.

Cradling his daughter safe in stalwart arms,
Adel stares in shock to see twisted cars
and bodies of people mangled by blast
as blood of their spirits stains the world red.

Spotting young man wearing suicide vest,
who runs toward crowd, shouting "Allah is great!"
Adel kisses Malak with aching love,
then runs forward swift as a leaping lion.

Adel clutches the startled terrorist
and tackles him down away from the crowd,
and explosion of fire tears him apart,
scattering his soul to the howling wind.

Courageous spirit of Adel stands tall
like green-limbed Cedar on high mountain top,
stretching his arms wide over Lebanon
to protect his people from flames of death.

Friday, November 13, 2015

Mad Storm God In Empty Skies

Mad Storm God In Empty Skies
© Surazeus
2015 11 13

Wild flames of hate and fear burn bright again,
flashing in rage from minds of angry men
who worship mad storm god in empty skies
and kill people who refuse to believe
fantasy that we resurrect from death.

Gripping book of ancient legends and myths,
they cock rifles and shoot bullets of hate
to worship mad storm god in empty skies
by killing free people who dance and sing
and refuse to believe their fantasies.

Their ancient world view of controlling god
falls shattered around their prayer-bowing heads
to worship mad storm god in empty skies
and howl in rage that their beliefs are false,
visions conjured from words in holy books.

When mirror of their faith shatters from truth
and shards of illusion flash at their feet
to worship mad storm god in empty skies,
they howl at empty void of timeless death
and kill people who escaped those lies.

Their old world view of supernatural god
disintegrates in light of shining truth
that vengeful mad storm god in empty skies
is seething hatred inside their own heads,
when they strike out in self-consuming rage.

All nations and religions of this world
gather around Eiffel Tower at dawn
to ignore mad storm god in empty skies
who vanishes in breath of loving songs
when we hold hands in unity of peace.

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Heaven We Created

Heaven We Created
© Surazeus
2015 11 10

Carla grasps his arm and stares in his eyes.
"Though I fell through infinite hole of fear
in cracked ice of my mind, and tumbled wingless
on mute howling winds of aching despair,
your words of compassion spread net of love
that cradles me now in hands of your heart.
Clear in blackness of this weird meaningless world
your eyes glimmer bright as my guiding light
and lure me back to warm glow of your heart."

He smiles and falls backward in gleaming snow
that shimmers bright red under weeping moon.
Kneeling over his body, she leans down
and covers her head with both trembling arms,
then closes her eyes to block lifeless gaze.

Soft gunshot cracks midnight mirror of hope.

Sharp sting of love pierces her throbbing heart
and warm compassion for all living creatures
spreads across her breast in river of hope.
Opening her eyes at dark end of time,
she caresses his pale cold cheek and smiles.
"His bullets of hate found us in our heaven.
You tried to save me from my cruel step-dad,
who raped me for six years since I was nine.
I guess we could not escape him forever.
For seven days we lived in paradise
free from his snarl, foul cigarettes, and beer.
I wonder where he buried my kind mother
after he strangled her when I was ten?
We traveled together through woods of freedom,
watching deer play, listening to birds sing,
and feeling sun shimmer on fields of snow.
Where could we go in all of Minnesota
to create our own heaven free of him?
Eternal hour of peaceful hope and love
we shared on small hill among leafless trees,
watching purple river flow in snow flakes.
We savored all eternity of love
together in sweet heaven we created.
You were my angel in a world of devils."

Kissing his lips, she sinks into mute black.

Friday, November 6, 2015

Wartha River Shore

Wartha River Shore
© Surazeus
2015 11 06

Come play with me on Wartha River shore.
Leave your home, and forget your tiring chore.
Now hold my hand and run with me on field
where flowers bloom, and to my sweet kiss yield.

Each day we play on Wartha River shore.
From house of gloom step through old creaking door
and play with me where blows soft summer breeze
to wander singing with sweet honey bees.

We lie and dream on Wartha River shore.
We devour apples, toss away brown core,
then share folk tales we heard our mothers tell
while watching butterflies by water well.

I call your name on Wartha River shore.
I could not love our blooming heaven more.
We stand beneath our secret trusting tree,
and pledge our love will always blossom free.

My farm house burns on Wartha River shore.
We flee away beyond old broken door
and wander lost on road of bitter tears.
We hide in shadows from our aching fears.

I long for home on Wartha River shore.
I weep that I will never see you more.
We sail wood ship across wide swirling sea,
escaping hell to land of Liberty.

I left my heart on Wartha River shore.
On wild Manhattan streets we hear folklore
of refugees from lush lands burned by war,
then ride wagon to Lake Michigan shore.

I often dream of Wartha River shore
while watching children play from farm-house door
in land of Minnesota where I dwell,
and wonder if you are alive and well.

I stand alone on Lake Wakanda shore
and watch black crows on heart-aching wind soar,
and if I close my eyes in summer sun
I almost see your smiling eyes again.

Web Of Conscious Souls

Web Of Conscious Souls
© Surazeus
2015 11 06

We are clusters of atoms sparkling bright
with infinite vibrations of pure light
that swirl in spirals of singing flames
and weave tapestries of dramatic names.

Our atoms first swirl in helium waves
that flare across infinite void of space
and spiral into globe of blinking eyes
who eat fruit in trees under raining skies.

Our brains are galaxies of blinking stars
that generate a virtual world of dreams
reflecting vast universe we perceive
while we sing on lush shores of flowing streams.

Our atoms connect in spiraling coils
of carbon chains based on number of rings
when protons share bright electrons that pulse
and weave shimmering web of conscious souls.

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Vision On Salem Street

Vision On Salem Street
© Surazeus
2015 11 01

While trudging misty streets of Boston town
I hear the weeping of a smiling clown
who runs away when I offer my watch,
so I follow him through the labyrinth
where characters from ancient myths and tales
wander together, wearing modern masks.

From swirling mist the face of Anne Bradstreet
glimmers in the glow of iron street lamps
and pours olive oil over my bowed head,
then places broken quill from raven wing
in my pale hand, requesting I complete
vision of history that she began.

I push my way through the howling brass doors
of the Old North Church that pierces dark clouds
on Salem Street, crowded with girls who wear
pointed hats and cloaks winking with red stars,
and on high stage below the bleeding cross
I see best minds of my generation sing.

From swirling fog of chugging smoke machine
emerges Ben who wears fedora crown,
that Humphrey Bogart dropped on Key West beach,
and twirls light silver cane of Fred Astaire,
while Edgar Poe and Thomas Eliot
tap-dance beside him in the spotlight glare.

While images of Lupe Velez gleam
on silver screen of national memory,
Ben plays electric threads of flashing jazz
on glass piano floating on the wings
of laughing doves above the sparkling Seine
where Paris and Lutetia kiss in vain.

I am the hairy talking lizard king
who rose from moonlit stream at dawn of time
and walked the singing shore with lost Lenore
where Johannes Brahms plays wind violin,
and Saturn teaches mute children how to rhyme
though Sappho taught us how to sing love spells.

Appearing next on stage of Old North Church
from Russian steppes of swirling snow and song,
Philip son of Nikolai, with sharp sword
Great Peter forged from bones of laughing wolves,
assumes the lotus stance of blind Siddhartha
and draws a thousand faces on church walls.

Among the crowd of poets preaching verse
I see Joe Green, dressed up like Peter Pan,
flying high on the wire of Deus ex Machina,
proclaiming satires of glorious empire,
while dropping flower petals on our heads,
and chanting spells of love Elvis forgot.

Then from deep graves I see Thomas arise,
dressed in long white robe as the priest of ghosts,
who proclaims, there is one pure sublime truth,
and Edgar Allen Poe is his true prophet,
then God takes off divine mask to reveal
he is Odin as ravens bring him mushrooms.

I stare amused at broken turtle shell
that Hermes formed into a ringing lyre
that vibrates, aching to express new song,
in my trembling hands while sweet witches fly
circles around the Church of Lucifer,
for we are the ones who must spark new light.

Distracted by the dance of Melusine,
I dip my thirsty hands in well of snakes,
and steal another apple from her tree,
then eat while watching the Halloween show
which relates the true history of mankind
from the Big Bang to the wide Flaring Forth.

When I look close at the gold crucifix
I see gaunt face of wizard Ezra Pound
who stares amused at clouds of falling rain
and prays, there is no god outside our brains,
so act without acting in war of life
to reincarnate your soul in new-born child.

To enter universal church of Hermes
is to wander in the vast labyrinth
of human history encoded in myths,
and spiral so deep within your true self
you find you are both Lucifer and Christ,
anointed to bear the great light of truth.