Sunday, October 30, 2016

Empty Graves

Empty Graves
© Surazeus
2016 10 30

Cassandrus walks streets of America,
wandering nowhere in every city maze,
and whispers prophecies that no one hears
which calculate fate through cause and effect,
while police shoot a thousand people down
whose skin is dark as the soil of the Earth,
and our tears wash the cities bare to bones,
but no flowers blossom from empty graves.

Though Hermes gave him brand new boots to wear,
and Athena, who escaped from glass tower,
gave him movie camera to record truth,
Cassandrus stands barefoot on busy street
and watches millions of our faces blend
blurring into one universal face,
then whispers prophecies about each fate
Cronos carves on tombstones of empty graves.

When Bacchus tries to climb the pyramid
of world power, after groping Aphrodite,
and stumbles into temple on Olympus,
Cassandrus whispers prophecy of doom
how wise Athena will cast him from wall
he built on skulls of slaves, so he will fall
nine days and nights to crawl in cave of Pluto
where cheaters scream to escape empty graves.

Sighing in the bombed-out cathedral hall,
where statues of dead gods stare from our souls,
Cassandrus clutches body of his Muse
abused by hands of Bacchus when he sat
on throne of Zeus and proclaimed himself god,
then carries her into deep surging sea
where she becomes the current of our dreams
though we lie together in empty graves.

Though Bacchus carries spike with head of Zeus,
while strutting in the temple hall of time
to prove that he is confident and strong,
Cassandrus swims in river of lost souls
then breaks the Gates of Eden at dawn
to free angels slaving in apple trees
who gather on the pyramid of eyes
while everyone sings in their empty graves.

Just when Bacchus steals new crown of Apollo,
and declares himself Emperor of the World,
Athena plants olive tree in his skull
and leads army of Amazons on march
along hidden river of paradise
to overthrow the patriarch of stone
who proves he is frail by acting so strong
while children plant seeds in their empty graves.

I could not believe prophecy of doom
and our rebirth on Phoenix wings of light
though Cassandrus stood firm before my face
and revealed secrets of playing chess with Death,
but now I walk the labyrinth of change
to follow Athena on way of truth
when she ascends the pyramid of love
and shows me my face in my empty grave.

When Athena wears the crown of Ishtar,
and teaches me secret of evolution,
how stars forge molecules in womb of fire,
and weaves all forms of life on planet Earth
from beams of atoms that sustain our souls,
Cassandrus shows me my face in old mirror
of blazing sun to reveal soul of god
who lives in us all, born from empty graves.

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Tablet Of One World Mind

Tablet Of One World Mind
© Surazeus
2016 10 29

When I sit alone in my room at night
I stare at the white wall of loneliness
and see the memories of life and death
my ancestors dreamed on their paths of hope
before they sparked alive new reborn soul
so all their souls flow down into my mind,
merging millions into my glowing brain.

One evening as the bright sun disappeared
in blazing flash of fire behind far hills
dark angel with long black hair and black eyes
placed small tablet of bright glass in my hand
that beams connected tight in world wide web
of blinking machines where billions of souls
store photographs of their faces preserved
in shining stream that flashes on its screen.

Now when I sit in my room late at night,
alone in one white box in endless maze
of boxes, I read flowing stream of words
encoded by fingers in charming spells,
written by thousands of strangers I know,
which cause my mind to dream visions they see
so I see this world through their open eyes.

Instead of alone at night with mute ghosts
of my ancestors, who whisper my name
they designed and wrote on ocean beach sand,
I dream life with thousands of living ghosts
who dwell in cities all over this globe,
one small drop in swirling ocean of souls,
for all their words and photographs reflect
fragmented world into dome of my mind
so I assemble in puzzle of truth
vast vision of life from millions of minds.

Alone I cannot see past my eye-bound scope,
but on tablet of one world mind I see
enormous globe through millions of your eyes.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Ghost Dance At Standing Rock

Ghost Dance At Standing Rock
© Surazeus
2016 10 28

The more sorrowing pain gouges my heart
the greater its capacity to contain
rejoicing pleasure, so it overflows
with generous love from bottomless spring
that spirits our ghost dance at Standing Rock.

Though they beat us down with clubs, bought by men
who hide behind huge walls of polished stone,
we rise reborn from bright fields of the dead
where our ancestors sleep with roots of trees
that bind our hearts with love to Standing Rock.

Black owl with three eyes brighter than the sun
watches me play my bumbling role in life
from the Tree of Life that sprouts from the heart
of my mother who taught me to sing spells
that guide our way with light to Standing Rock.

Thousands of buffalo spring from the Earth
and trample the tanks of warriors and kings,
then son of Wovoka, blinded too long
by television glam, appears from wind
that batters our courage at Standing Rock.

Raising wand of wisdom that he received
from Hermes, before he was crucified
on telephone pole of gossip, he strikes
foundation of our empire with love spell
that weakens power of greed from Standing Rock.

Water of life springs from the sleeping Earth
and floods the Waste Land where stalks of corn wilt,
then yellow roots curl around my cracked heart
and drink the endless fountain of my love
that flows free from the core of Standing Rock.

Stepping before us with basket of corn,
Onatah places ripe cob in each hand,
so we all drink apple cider and feast
on pumpkin pie by the river of peace
though greedy king strikes back at Standing Rock.

Bright sun gleams green through tattered clouds of fear
so we hold hands and pass through broken fence
to reclaim paradise from nameless kings
where children play chase in cool twilight doom
that shrouds our eyes with fear at Standing Rock.

Though they crush our heads in the dirt of hope,
and stab Mother Earth with steel pipes of greed,
we plant apple trees and corn in rich soil
where roots of justice devour their dead souls
who whisper in moonlight at Standing Rock.

No man owns the water that flows on Earth,
nor controls the currents of wind and sun,
so we dance and sing on meadow of skulls
to love this land where our children play free
in paradise we build at Standing Rock.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Headless Horseman of Poetry

Headless Horseman of Poetry
© Surazeus
2016 10 27

Cold rain drizzles down thin walls of red brick,
forming dark pools on city asphalt streets
that mirror rusting undersides of cars
which glide nowhere, splashing raindrops on wings
of two angels in leather and blue jeans.
Jasper and Nicholas slouch against trees,
smoking cigarettes they flick onto grass,
then walk away from ivy college hall
where they are late for astronomy class.

Jasper stares past veil of shimmering rain.
"I am always the nameless character
in a grainy black and white movie filmed
by the now-famous director, who lost
his wife and children in car accidents,
when he was an ambitious unknown auteur
who slept on couches of friends in Seattle
way back in the innocent nineteen-nineties."

Nicholas glances sideways at his face
that flickers ghostly in the smudged glass door
of a pharmacy where people buy snacks.
"Now we must pretend that we do not care
that we will be famous poets someday
while we record details of everything
we do and say so our biographers
will not speculate about our love lives.
We are ghosts still drifting through the Waste Land
that Thomas Eliot mapped with grim words
one hundred years ago after world war
destroyed the cathedral of faith in God."

Jasper, wearing a Gryffindor tee-shirt,
and the black beret of Paris street mimes,
holds before his face a hand mirror frame
of splintered wood, without its looking glass,
and smiles like the Joker at passing girls.
"You play Batman because I play the Joker.
I wake up every day without a self,
feeling just like the empty plastic shell
of a Barbie Doll, so I must construct
a more authentic self to play on stage
of this crazy world shattered by new wars
so after I die sixty years from now
some actor who resembles Leonardo
can play my role with eccentric disdain
in the movie of our lives that will show
how we broke free from stale social conventions
and attained sainthood with true wizard powers
symbolized by statues that freeze our fame
in the ivory tower where gods are beheaded.
I am the Headless Horseman of Poetry,
chasing down the precious poets who write
meaningless coded spells blanked by white space,
the laughing Jack O Lantern of New York
who shows up at libraries and cafes
to disrupt pretentious poetry readings
by gibbering nonsense they all applaud,
the mocking jester with three burning eyes
of existential metamodernism
who plays chess with both the Devil and Death
to free blind children of America
from their black and white television world
where Beaver grows up to play Daffy Trump
who fools the dumb rednecks of Dixieland
to vote for him as tyrant of Wall Street.
I wear the mask of jungle monster gods
carved by Picasso from the skulls of kings,
then ride the roaring Griffin of desire
high over towers of steel and glass that shine
with blinking lights of servers that network
world wide web of computers powered by brains
ruled over by the blind Sun Spider Goddess
who sees all with fourteen billion eyes
and dreams the history of our spinning world
that hurls nowhere fast through vast empty space
as we spiral around unconscious sun
that laughs indifferent to our petty lives.
I am the King of Nothing who rules all
so bow before the flashing neon sign
that preserves the false prophecies of fools."

Nicholas holds up his hands while he rants,
pretending to preserve his speech on film.
"Your words dissolve in early morning rain,
heard by no one but the mute birds and me,
and nothing but my brain recorded clear
the vision of your antic prophecy,
so when I die all memory of you
will vanish to nothing so your true self
is a frail flame that consumes dark despair
and flickers mute in vast eternity."

Jasper stops before Burger King and laughs.
"Time to eat so we live another day."

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Statue Of Sarella

Statue Of Sarella
© Surazeus
2016 10 26

Sarella dances lithe around oak tree
where hundreds of hanging masks twirl in wind
and sprinkles fairy dust on every head
till they all sparkle in rays of moonlight.

"I can say whatever glows in my heart
without care for what anyone may think
because no one cares about what I say,
thus my words are nothing but puffs of wind."

Kneeling among gold daffodils, she smiles
and hugs her silver pet wolf with gold eyes,
then they leap together on river shore,
and her long red hair flows around her face.

From shadows of fear a sharp arrow zings,
missing her heart as she twirls in free joy,
and twangs quivering in the ancient oak tree
where the white raven laughs in sudden rain.

Sarella reaches out her hand to touch
my broken heart that bleeds tears from her eyes,
then flies along the winding river shore
to catch the white raven of my lost soul.

Stopping in her pursuit of happiness,
Sarella takes one mask down from her tree
and locks it tight to cover emptiness
which embodies the lightning of my soul.

Encased again in flesh of tingling lust,
I rise reborn from mud of pulsing Earth
and reach my hand to touch her clean white face
that shimmers smooth as marble in bright snow.

"You are the kindest woman in this world,"
I whisper to the statue of her soul
that stands ten thousand years, alone and mute,
and stares forever at transforming stars.

Long after the temple of solid stone,
where people worshipped her ten thousand years,
crumbles to sand in swirls of rain and wind,
she stands on the mountain of dreaming trees.

I wandered in the wilderness so long
that when I found her statue on dead plain
I forgot the spell of love that would wake
her joyful laughter from the dreamless stone.

Whatever name the people call her now,
Inanna, Ishtar, Athena, Minerva,
Brigit, or Mary, her soul never dies,
for she wakes in every woman alive.

Stuck inside the skin of her loyal oak,
while guarding her life in high tower of stone,
I watch her playing chase on the river shore
with gold-eyed wolf who leaps into her arms.

Sarella plucks ripe apples from the tree
that sprouts tall from deep abyss of my heart
and gives sweet fruit to everyone she meets,
then transforms to serpent with rainbow wings.

Slipping brass key into door of my heart,
Sarella opens cage that mutes my song
to replace my rotting heart with her fruit,
so lizard transforms to angel from man.

"I missed the pure melody of your voice,"
Sarella whispers in cave of my brain,
"since your eyes are island of my refuge
for true love in surging sea of despair."

Breaking free from her fragile statue shell,
Sarella springs alive with laughing flash,
and kisses me till my moist brain expands
into apple tree heavy with bright suns.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Wohali Land Of Liberty

Wohali Land Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2011 10 24

Everything I knew real when I was young
is twisting out of shape to something strange.
What rules people followed right many years
are now ignored by cheaters without faith.
We share one home on Earth, sweet Wohali.
My home is your home, land of Liberty.

Social cycle powering life eighty years
transforms structure of our ways through fierce strife.
Assumptions that reigned since second world war
crumble in storm of frustrated desires.
We share one home on Earth, sweet Wohali.
My home is your home, land of Liberty.

Pyramid of wealth forged from skulls of gold
is crowded with people struggling for power.
Winners on every stage are forced back down
till elite priests of money control all.
We share one home on Earth, sweet Wohali.
My home is your home, land of Liberty.

Fooled people who lost their status and homes
wander howling outside locked gates of heaven.
Wall of wealth divides rich from hungry poor
who stare thirsty at fruit on Tree of Life.
We share one home on Earth, sweet Wohali.
My home is your home, land of Liberty.

Wheel of Fortune spins fast confusing change
destroying every truth we thought was real.
What brave new world will rise on Phoenix wings
uniting all who share this land as one.
We share one home on Earth, sweet Wohali.
My home is your home, land of Liberty.

Beautiful America land I love
may disappear in smoke of flaming war.
Enchanting Wohali land we all love
will grow from ruins in lush paradise.
We share one home on Earth, sweet Wohali.
My home is your home, land of Liberty.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Abyss Of Death

Abyss Of Death
© Surazeus
2016 10 23

I lie flat on the lake shore of the world,
staring out at infinite silent sky
while sun threads light through the eyes of my soul,
and feel our huge planet thrum as it rolls
forever forward toward abyss of death.

I remember ten million lives ago
first crawling from the sea of swirling light
to gasp for breath on the warm pulsing shore
and meditate in dawn mist after rain,
hoping to avoid the abyss of death.

I transformed through four hundred million years,
swinging in fruit trees, dancing in waves,
herding cows, racing horses, fighting wars,
and building global empire of machines
to transcend doom in the abyss of death.

After believing for two thousand years
that Jesus would return from realm of light
and resurrect us to eternal life,
I realize he is dead while I live now
for no soul escapes the abyss of death.

Halfway evolved into angel or god,
I lie again on the shore of the world,
and accept that we all will die at flow
of undulating atoms that spin time
and vanish lost in the abyss of death.

While I begin to fade from dream of life,
singing with swans in the twilight of hope,
I see my children blossom into love
to generate children after I die
as we dance on toward the abyss of death.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Broken Statue Of God

Broken Statue Of God
© Surazeus
2016 10 22

When horror wears a human face and smiles
through hollow eyes of hunger and despair,
I climb from lightless abyss of broken dreams
and embrace Death with a kiss like a friend
worshipped as the broken statue of God.

We walk together hand in hand through maze
of ten thousand cities around our world,
built by hands of men to imitate heaven,
and gaze upon the faces of the dead
hidden by the broken statue of God.

I memorize the features of each face
of every dreaming soul who ever lived
and walk the path of hope they carved through time
to understand the name they burned in stars
frozen as the broken statue of God.

I see their hollow skulls, cracked in white dust,
and hear the whispers of their prayers in wind
when they kneel down before their gods of stone
and cry for salvation from dreamless death
who gave them the broken statue of God.

They elevated fathers of their tribes
as divine gods who taught them to survive
then carved their souls from mute stone of the Earth
but stumbled lost in labyrinth of death,
searching for the broken statue of God.

I hear hollow howl of horror they feel
contained in the sweet hymns of hope they sing
when they gather in dark halls of cold stone
to pray to long-dead gods of wounded hearts
symbolized by broken statue of God.

He will return someday to restore Heaven,
they whisper with assurance of strong faith,
but all walk home to eat alone and die,
while ancient grand empires crumble to dust
all except the broken statue of God.

Just you and me, together on lake shore,
when sun gleams gold through silver clouds of joy,
is all we can savor before we die,
for we are good friends with horror and death
who show us the broken statue of God.

We know that we will die in turn of time
and all these visions glowing in our minds
will dissipate to nothing but swirling dust,
so we must taste the apple of desire
given by the broken statue of God.

I see soft sunlight beam on broken stone
of statues that once showed a human face
but now I sit and hum sweet tunes alone
while Death smiles at me from your secret place
that leads to the broken statue of God.

Now once again the city that we built
on solid foundation of laughing skulls
explodes in burning fire of hungry greed
and Death consumes free children of my seed
who prayed to the broken statue of God.

I climb the highest mountain of lost hope
and gaze across the meadows of our world
where humans swarm like rats with angel wings
and weep because the statue never sings
so we smash the broken statue of God.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Victories Of Kings

Victories Of Kings
© Surazeus
2016 10 20

Since Sargon first gathered armies of men
and marched along the rivers of the land
to overthrow thousands of little gods,
assimilating all nations in one empire,
then crowned himself god over all the world,
ten thousand men across ten thousand years
have lead huge armies to fight glorious wars
and declare themselves rulers over nations,
but though they feasted in grand shining halls,
sired generations of princes and kings,
and basked in adulation of their peoples,
they are now nothing more than dust and words
and their lives replayed on the tragic stage,
for the victories of kings are fleeting dreams.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Valley Of Apples

Valley Of Apples
© Surazeus
2016 10 19

Swift racing on highway network of hope,
we compete for that invisible prize
rewarded for speed and forged from rainbows
which Hippomenes threw on the race track,
Eris tossed at the divine wedding feast,
and Eve gave to Adam just before dawn
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Forsaking fate assigned to them by gods,
Paris and Atalanta break through gate
of Eden to escape from paradise
by driving west on highway of lost souls
to Wenatchee where they plant apple trees
and play music at sunset on the porch
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

After leaving the court of Aquitaine,
where William the Troubadour chants love spells,
Adam and Hermes hitchhike back to Rome
though dead angels locked in wood cabinets
erase every word they write in old books
since Eve left him to dwell in Oregon
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Ten thousand airplanes battle in the skies,
blasting each other high above white clouds,
where Aristotle and Augustine thought
God dwells in glorious temple of glass,
while Apollo tends apple trees all day,
whistling merry tunes his father once sang
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Disguised as Robin Hood in long black cape
I ride luxuriant hills of Avalon
till I find Guinevere at Camelot
who sails with me on wild Atlantic Sea
to build new home on Massachusetts shore
and plant black apple seeds in pungent soil
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Escaping barb-wire walls of Babylon,
we all join forces in long wagon train
to follow secret signs in wilderness
of laughing shamans on Oregon Trail
away from game of thrones in ancient land
and blood-stained martyrs in foul crumbling church
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

I build new paradise on nameless hill
with high walls of stone surrounding clear pool
that fountains from the true heart of the world
to tend apple trees sprouting from my seed
that fell from rainbow arch of Brooklyn Bridge
which connects Asgard to Broceliande
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Alone in nameless wilderness of Gartha
I sit in tower I built from skulls of Giants
and write weird spells of star-bright prophecies
to comprehend chess game of history
that every King will lose to cordial Death
when I assemble puzzle of my dreams
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

When Spenser leads me to the castle gate,
where Fairy Queen in splendid robe of gems
reigns with wisdom on iron throne of death,
I see with clear eyes cleansed by tears of clowns
complex algorithms which guide our souls
through labyrinth of self-deceptive creeds
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Orpheus buys my liberty from Hell
and, while he strums sweet vibes of trusting love,
I follow close his footsteps through my mind,
then we knock loud on door of Heaven till
Athena welcomes me to Hall of Tales
where I recount the path of truth I blaze
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

I sit with Keats among ripe apple trees
and scribble calculations of our souls
in tragic riddles that define my fate
which I will map myself through maze of masks
to play the role of Homer on world stage,
describing how we found God in our brains
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Since I was born in hills of Almaty
I carried one ripe apple in my pouch
and traveled west to misty Avalon
where ravens in moonlight call my true name,
now I travel back east from Oregon
to find the valley where I woke from dream
so we dance wild in the valley of apples.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Chasing Her Bright Spirit

Chasing Her Bright Spirit
© Surazeus
2016 10 18

Just at that moment, when the full moon shone
bright silver rays of weird transcendent glamor
through tangled lattice of leafless tree limbs,
her aquiline face and soul piercing eyes
emerged from gloom in flash of sharp relief,
illuminated clear like marble statue
of graceful Artemis that stands alone
in ancient temple on high mountain slope
where once in evenings long ago we danced
heart to heart in heat of passionate love.

I reach out trembling hand to touch her soul
and feel cold stone of skin taut over bone
that frames the solid world of hopeless faith
for resurrection of her life from death
who snatched her spirit from her fevered flesh
and left her body rotting in foul swamp,
but then I kneel before bright silent moon
and whisper her name with sweet agony
of longing for quick flash of laughing joy
which animated her exotic face.

No other woman on this spinning world
in all the tumbling history of mankind
will ever match the beauty of her soul
that beamed in gestures of her hands and eyes
from graceful elegance of her lithe form,
for she embodied with her speech and actions
divine perfection through kind character
of selfless service to every sad person
who suffered disease or hungry despair
when her hands offered fruit from her rich heart.

I chase her bright spirit through moonlit woods
and pause by ancient oak on river shore
to listen for melody of her voice
that sings haunting spell to enchant my heart,
then leap again through mist of abysmal gloom
so I may wrap my arms around her waist
and kiss her lips with ecstasy of trust,
thus when I wake at dawn I find myself
embracing young mare with long flowing mane
whose eyes gleam as she eats apple I give.

Monday, October 17, 2016

Bob Dylan In Disguise

Bob Dylan In Disguise
© Surazeus
2016 10 17

When I stumbled from the blind cave of death
I thought I saw Orpheus on sea shore
dancing by the stream of tormented souls
but when he turned from gazing at the sun
I stared into the vacuum of his eyes
and saw he was Bob Dylan in disguise.

He leaped across the abyss of despair
and with a mocking laugh I followed quick,
then ran together through the crumbling church
where Jesus struggled to escape the cross
who soared into apocalyptic skies
because he was Bob Dylan in disguise.

I soared with Jesus to the crystal shells
that Aristotle forged with tongue of fire
and, singing spells, we broke out through his cage
to fly forever toward infinity
but fell from heaven past wild swirling skies
to wake up as Bob Dylan in disguise.

I woke when Athena kissed my star soul
and followed Bacchus to the ocean shore
where Mercury lead me through the bright door
and revealed how all life is sparked by stars
and though his face shines down from mirror skies
I know he is Bob Dylan in disguise.

Now Mercury leads me through city streets,
where every wounded stranger that I meet
is but some ancient god wearing new mask
who wakes with wild consciousness of coiled genes,
to play role of Phoebus in morning skies
cued to replace Bob Dylan in disguise.

Just when I thought my precious time was gone
and I would never see another dawn
cute Calliope stripped my ancient face
and gave me my own Homer mask to wear
to sing of rainbows beaming storm-cleaned skies
since Orpheus was Bob Dylan in disguise.

So when I broke through temple door of doom
to kneel before the altar of despair
I stared in bottomless abyss of hope
and dreamed my own eyes looking back at me
but see my face mirrored from empty skies
that vanished with Bob Dylan in disguise.

I stand alone on pyramid of eyes
and relate the lives of philosophers
whose songs revealed the true nature of things
composed of atoms pulsing with god light
so now Orpheus descends from our skies
and chants spells as Bob Dylan in disguise.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Long Dream Of Eternity

Long Dream Of Eternity
© Surazeus
2016 10 16

We are galaxies of electric atoms,
dreaming we are gods half awake with love
as we dance in spiraling void of death
to wake from long dream of eternity.

Our vast universe is composed of atoms,
small vibrant strings of pulsing energy
coiled into spinning spheres of beaming light
to wake from long dream of eternity.

When atoms cluster into burning stars
they fuse into crystalline lattice web
of throbbing elements that ring with light
to wake from long dream of eternity.

We swim forward in surging sea of light
and unite with floating eye of wise love
when sperm fertilizes egg of our soul
to wake from long dream of eternity.

We are the light of conscious hope that dreams
in restless surging sea of hungry hope
as we transform from egg to human soul
to wake from long dream of eternity.

We dance together on our spinning globe
that spirals nowhere through infinite space
revolving around great galactic eye
to wake from long dream of eternity.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Pyramid Of Eyes

Pyramid Of Eyes
© Surazeus
2016 10 15

When the handless clown steals your secret eyes,
and leaves you wandering blind on market street,
will you wear your scarlet Superman cape
and fly to heaven with eagles and jets?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to feast on the lost dreams of conquered tribes.

When Beauty riding Beast arrives at last
from desert storm to climb the pyramid
where one-eyed Fool tries to hide Key of Life,
will you give her the broken sword at last?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to dance with the rhythm of falling bombs.

When Nostradamus falls asleep at dawn,
since prophecies scatter like leaves on river
that flows by the invisible throne of Godin,
will you sing karaoke at my wedding?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to brew ripe apples for souls of the damned.

When Sleeping Beauty on gold pyramid
wakes in shock at the kiss of Dracula,
will you paint red A on every locked door
before Robin Hood steals last lightning strike?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to sing new hymns about mother of life.

When Pecos Bill rides wild hurricane home
to dance with Cinderella at midnight,
will you teach Tarzan how to calculate
survival of the fittest in chess games?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to watch the tragic soap opera of gods.

When Morticia dances on graves of kings,
before Elvira, wearing jeweled crown
of Charlemagne, unlocks the door to heaven,
will you invite me for a glass of wine?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to break free from coffins of social rules.

When Beauty gives me book of coded spells,
that I forgot I wrote behind gates of Auschwitz,
to guide my way through labyrinth of her heart,
will you try to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to cross abyss of existential angst.

When Lucifer, striding across waste land
of war-ravaged cities, teaches me how
to spark fire that transforms metal to dreams,
will you teach me to build a river boat?
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
to drink from the Holy Grail of rebirth.

Friday, October 14, 2016

We See Only Our Face

We See Only Our Face
© Surazeus
2016 10 14

We owe the whole world nothing but the truth,
but since we are not God, which we designed
as ideal superman of our best selves,
we can never pay that debt with our songs.
Tread with care for even the grass can cry.
We see only our face in the false sky.

I gaze into the sky, looking for God,
master craftsman who created this world
and has a plan for everyone who lives,
yet see nothing but air reflecting light.
Tread with care for even the grass can cry.
We see only our face in the vast sky.

I gaze at faces of people I meet
where I see the history of our success
surviving death to dream this hour awake
expressed in mythic stories we share.
Tread with care for even the grass can cry.
We see only our face in the clear sky.

When I see countless faces as one face,
all conscious animals who ever lived,
I see one God who shapes our force with love,
for we all spring from one first mother egg.
Tread with care for even the grass can cry.
We see only our face in the round sky. 

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Clone Of God

Clone Of God
© Surazeus
2016 10 13

Though I walk blind in the shadow of death,
seeking truth in the labyrinth of lies
to energize my soul with conscious breath
that animates my body with clear eyes,
I search alone without devil or god
for I am the mind that dreams this world real.
I am a human being, the clone of god,
spirit of atoms waking up to life.

This world of hills and cities I perceive
with eyes and hands that model its true shape
is far more real than heaven I conceive
from visions based on its solid landscape,
so I design worldview from world that exists
since I am the mind that knows this world real.
I am a human being, the clone of god,
spirit of atoms waking up to truth.

Midway through the journey of this weird life
I wandered lost in crowded city streets,
dodging deceivers to shun holy strife
and escape church full of poisonous treats
for quiet grove where I compose new spells
till I am the mind that sings this world real.
I am a human being, the clone of god,
spirit of atoms waking up to hope.

I kneel before the burning bush at dawn
and carve tales of questers in bleeding stone
though last angel I respect is now gone,
but god from my own face is perfect clone
and nothing more than spirit in my head
thus I am the mind that spawns this world real.
I am a human being, the clone of god,
spirit of atoms waking up to love.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Where Honey Bees Die

Where Honey Bees Die
© Surazeus
2016 10 12

Richard thrusts shovel blade into dry soil
and squints his eyes in hot afternoon sun
when soul-choking dust swirls into his face
though death sleeps hidden when hot sun shines bright.

Richard tears packets open with his teeth,
and spills small tomato seeds in dry hole,
that gapes large as abyss of numbing fear,
then scoops dust to fill hole of bleak despair.

Richard wipes his forehead, baked red in light
of searing sun rays that soar across void
of infinite space, as he walks to stream
where he fills rusting bucket with hot water.

Richard grasps handle and tips bucket slow
to pour tepid yellow water on dust,
that crumbles from his aching heart, then tamps
wet soil tight over small tomato seeds.

Richard shades his eyes and stares at far hills,
crouching in torn jeans and cracked leather boots,
then whispers magic spell to conjure clouds
of black rain to rise from ancient sea.

Richard stares at stained soil, black as despair,
and dreams green tendrils curling from white dust
to shroud featureless wasteland of numb horror
with plump tomatoes among fluttering leaves.

Richard stares back at small cottage he built
under dead oak, and imagines he sees
face of Katherine behind dust-smeared glass,
blond hair gleaming gold as sun on water.

Richard sees no face in the kitchen window,
glass cracked in half like his heart, so he stands
and squints at shadows of demons that lurk
on distant hill slopes where honey bees die.

Richard trudges back to wind-blasted cottage
and peers into large hole of dead oak tree
where gold nectar once dripped from honeycombs,
and stares at thousands of dead bees in dust.

Richard holds frail husk of a honey bee
between dirt-smudged fingers, and peers at face
of angelic wisdom, but sudden wind,
howling from hell, snatches it from his heart.

Eyes Of Lost Souls

Eyes Of Lost Souls
© Surazeus
2016 10 11

Standing in the dark night when all the lights
are broken, I listen for ancient songs
preserved in the wind and the flowing water,
but my secret name I dreamed true at birth
spins unknown at the center of the Earth.

Still awake at midnight in tower of glass,
which I built on foundation of white stone
when the tower my grandfather built was struck
by lightning bolt, random and mindless strike
of chaotic death, and puzzle of truth
tumbled down into fragments of lost dreams,
I listen to voices of sleeping people
that swirl around my head on fluttering wings.

They fear the harsh oppression of the tyrant
who looms from the castle of steel and glass
on vampire wings, and seeks to drink our blood,
but Rapunzel comes down from Tower of Truth
and wields the vorpal blade that flashes bright
with light of justice to defend our nation
in great battle against dragon of hate.

When I hear the cheerful chirp of the robin,
after standing all night in cave of nothing,
I speak the word light and sunlight gleams gold,
substantial rays of wisdom that reveal
frame of this sphere contained inside my eye,
and wonder how rays of light weave thick web
of material forms that sustain our souls.

I laugh to believe that words of my mouth
conjure objects that exist from dark nothing
because I know this rock, river, and tree
will remain long after brain in my skull
rots away to cold muck, devoured by worms,
where seeds of apples sprout into new trees.

I wonder that so much drama of life
plays endless stories in spheres of my eyes,
embodied by spirits of nameless people
who copulate and kill in endless struggle
for glory and fame in their social game,
because every person who ever lives
will be unmasked and disperse back to light.

I went to the tree by the sparkling stream
and stood ten thousand years in sun and rain
to wake from endless dream of evolution,
so now I give myself new secret name
which I read written in the light of stars.

I see my soul carved in marble that stands
at the center of the bridge between worlds
so I teach you alphabet I designed
and listen to you singing ancient spells
that beam the vision of your eyes on clouds
who gazes down at us with silver eyes.

If you cannot trust everything I write,
carve your thoughts in meadow mud where wheat grows,
then bake bread from your dreams so we can feast
on love that bleeds from blind eyes of deceit
to recognize truth in eyes of lost souls.

Friday the Thirteenth: Birthday of American Democracy

Friday the Thirteenth: Birthday of American Democracy

Tomorrow, 13 October, is 709 years since Friday the Thirteenth of October 1307, the day French King Philip the Fair and Pope Clement V attacked and destroyed the Knights Templars, who escaped to Scotland and transformed into the Frere Masons, Brother Masons, now called the Free Masons. Betrayed by pope and king, the Masons established Protestantism and Democracy and advocated for Freedom of Speech and Religion for all. Thus Friday the Thirteenth, remembered in American culture as a Day of Horror, is the birthday of American Democracy.

Below is a poem I wrote about this in 2007, the 700th year anniversary of the Birth of American Democracy. I shared this poem during a discussion that day with a group of Free Masons at the Lansing Masonic Lodge No. 33 in Lansing, Michigan, where I became a Mason in December 2001.

Friday Thirteenth Of October
© Surazeus
13 October 2007
Lansing, Michigan

Seven hundred years ago a grim day of horror
on Friday Thirteenth of October in 1307
our forebrothers Knights Templars of Solomon
serving Holy Grail family from Sang Israal
were arrested and tortured and then burned
by cruel greedy Philip Fair King of France
who wanted to control their treasure banks
and his puppet Clement Bishop of Rome
who wanted to steal their fertile farm lands.

Jacobus Molensis Grand Master and Navigator
was shackled in dark dungeon and tortured
then paraded on trial accused of vile crimes
but he stood tall and proud before God and men
proclaiming Truth and exposing their weak lies
so they burned him in crackling flames of fear
as he cursed king and pope to join him soon
in heaven before face of Jesus in judgment.

Knights Templars scattered far from France
seeking refuge in swirling mists of Avalon
where strong masons carving mountain stone
gave them shelter in network of secret lodges
and taught them how to build castle towers
so wearing apron with compass and square
they worked hard when soldiers of cruel kings
came hunting for knights of blood-red cross
who hid away safe in humble lodges of masons.

Guarding sacred Skull of Sidon from skeleton
of Marya Magdalena first mother of Holy Grail
Baphomet and Sophia Queen of Wise Faith
Frere Masons sailed ships over Atlantic waves
with secret treasure of genealogy documents
and names of her descendants from King Jesus
flying black flag with her skull and crossbones
to explore hills and lakes of brave new world
they drew on maps used by Cristobal Colon
to colonize America with new ideals of Liberty.

Betrayed by king and pope Templars declared
we need no king so each man will get a vote
to choose who leads our council of decisions
and we need no pope or bishop selling pardons
for each man may commune alone with God
seeking path of salvation along his own Way
without going through faithless gates of church
thus fostering Protestantism and Democracy.

Masons funded translations of Holy Scripture
in languages for common people to read tales
of noble heroes defending tribes against hate
so working man may read scripture for himself
to challenge power-hungry men who twist
texts in Word of God for their personal gain
giving every man freedom to understand well
grand vision of progress on road of salvation
we walk following light to improve our souls.

Gathering on shore of shining river of heaven
flowing by throne of lion king on Angel Island
we climb winding hills of Avalon to sing
in ring around Glastonbury Tor in red sunrise
wearing white robes washed in his sacrifice
to save his people from chains of oppression
as we protest against greed of corrupt men
in robes of church fathers bearing swords
and fight for liberty to live in pursuit of truth.

We gather around white tower on a green hill
where girl in red robe holds grail in her hand
singing whom does Grail serve with noble heart
and we chant Grail Guardian serves his people
guiding them in life and protecting their souls
then we eat bread and drink wine of his blood
and celebrate rebirth of his million children
who live as happy families in many far lands.

Sailing from France and England in wood ships
we explore shores of fertile land to build towns
that sprout and grow over four hundred years
into United States of America founded firm
on principles of democracy and freedom for all
as we declare I will defend to death your right
to believe truth as you will for every nation
and religion on this wide world was created
by one true Great Architect of our Universe.

Brother George Washington stands on hill
in Virginia lowering corner stone into place
as he dedicates new foundation of Congress
proclaiming we build this Temple of Truth
dedicated to freedom of religion to worship
one eternal God in thousand ways of men
in memory of those who died in raging fire
on Friday Thirteenth of October in 1307.

Seven hundred years after that day of sorrow
we stand together in silence in Mason Lodge
and remember noble sacrifice of those men
who fought for centuries against greedy men
to protect their families and right to live free
earning labor of their hands in fertile fields
and worshipping Eternal God as they wish.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Gist Of Why I Must Act

Gist Of Why I Must Act
© Surazeus
2016 10 10

Crouching tense among jagged rocks, Jacques grips
long wood spear he broke from dead oak, and glares
at long-haired Viking warrior who stands
blocking sunlight which blinds his blinking eyes.

Trembling in terror as his shadow looms,
dark shape suffused in rays of beaming light,
Jacques gasps for breath, and twirls around his head
oak spear that he honed sharp all night long.

Remembering gleam of stars in peaceful sky
of infinite blue strength, Jacques plants both feet
firm, and looks around small narrow ravine
where he hid for years, safe from haughty king.

I felt so safe and secure in this haven,
protected by steep rocks from eyes of thieves,
but now Sigmund, king of my apple vale,
traps me now in my false security.

Since Sigmund killed my father years ago,
and placed crown Frank forged on his own big head,
that Viking struts among my apple trees,
eating my fruit and feasting on my sheep.

My sister Josephine lives trapped in tower
my grandfather built to protect our clan
where she raises four children of his seed,
while I hide cowering in dark ravine.

I am the King of Broceliande, yet
I hide terrified in ravine of rocks
and drink from puddles after mocking rain,
while he wears my gold crown of sparkling gems.

How many times in purple evening haze
I snuck on hands and knees from cold ravine
and stole apples from my own trees to eat,
then stared forlorn at tower of glowing hearth.

Now that you found me, Sigmund, I must fight
to stay alive, but your sharp polished axe,
that glitters rays of light blinding my eyes,
will sever my head and secure your reign.

Since I must die at your arrogant hand
that stole my land, my crown, me trees, my hearth,
then I will die fighting you to the death,
and that is the gist of why I must act.

Howling in defiance, Jacques hurls spear,
projecting angry fear that burned his heart,
and launches projectile of fierce objection
that soars toward shadow of spine-chilling terror.

Terror-honed spear pierces his throbbing heart,
and Sigmund staggers from bright blinding glare,
falling to his knees, then stares in mute shock
as blood gushes from spine-shattering wound.

"Why did you stab me with your spear of hate?
Your sister Josephine, my gentle wife,
sent me to find you, and bring you to her,
because she wanted you to live with us."

Convulsing in confusion and sharp pain,
Sigmund falls over and bleeds among rocks,
blue eyes staring blank at endless blank sky,
and gold crown rolls clattering from his head.

Sobbing in shock, Jacques snatches crown from dirt
and hurls it, howling in rage, at blue sky,
where it vanishes in flash of red rays,
and sun sets bleeding sorrow down bleak hills.

Staring at stars that drip rain in his eyes,
Jacques lies flat on ground of essential truth
at base of tall tower where his sister sings,
weeping as her voice charms sweet tune of love.

Damnitudes of Donald

Damnitudes of Donald

Now when Donald saw the crowds
he rode down an escalator in his gold tower.
His christofascist dittoheads came to him,
and he began to teach them the Damnitudes.

Damned are the poor in spirit,
for they are the homeless losers,
failures at corporate business,
and lazy welfare queens
who refuse to get a job
while they live off welfare,
then birth their anchor babies here
to steal our opportunities and jobs.

Damned are those who mourn,
for they abort innocent babies
who could slave in our factories,
and oppose the death penalty
for rebels against our economic power.

Damned are the meek,
for they are constantly fleeced and gipped
by good preachers and honest bankers
who enslave them as uneducated laborers.

Damned are those who hunger
and thirst for righteousness,
for they make laws to protect
everyone not white or straight,
and refuse to let me build a huge wall
to keep all the evil immigrants out.

Damned are the merciful,
for they are bleeding-heart liberals
who coddle the poor with health care,
food stamps, and quality education,
and allow evil immigrants
to invade the walls of our heaven.

Damned are the pure in heart,
for they tax the rich capitalists
and provide benefits for the poor,
then get mad when I do not pay them
for the terrible work they did for me.

Damned are the peacemakers,
for they try to prevent our armies
from conquering foreign nations
so we can steal all their resources
and control the best trade routes.

Damned are those who are persecuted
for righteousness sake,
for they want to take away the tax-free status
of our churches while we get rich
off generous donations of the blind faithful.

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Eyes Of My Soul

Eyes Of My Soul
© Surazeus
2016 10 08

We are random clusters of singing atoms
who dance sweet hour of love on spinning world
then vanish like frail flame in wind of death
who looks in my heart with eyes of my soul.

I explode from black seed buried in soil
and reach ten thousand fingers to drink light
then mold juicy apples from mud and rain
that wake me from death with eyes of my soul.

She grabs my shoulders and kisses my mouth
to fill my heart with hurricane of light
that beams star rays from my colorless eyes
to replicate Earth with eyes of my soul.

I crawl in rain toward tree on hill of grass
and build high tower from crystal bones of time
where she suckles new baby at her breast
who looks back at me with eyes of my soul.

When First Mother rises from Lake of Dreams
she assembles my shell till I am whole
then sings how we evolved from flowing streams
that gush from fountains in eyes of my soul.

These atoms that hum in web of my brain
were forged in womb of our Mother Star
who teaches me how to sing dreaming spells
that sparkle visions in eyes of my soul.

Our Sacred Souls

Our Sacred Souls
© Surazeus
2016 10 08

The world spins around from darkness to light.
We dance on fire to transform pleasure from pain.
We dream to perform what is wrong or right.
Sun and rain flow inside my throbbing vein.
I walk by the lake in the evening sun
where our sacred souls from atoms are spun.

We share our tales to cooperate or fight.
We give away all in order to gain.
We sing ancient hymns on the mountain height.
Life is reborn as we bake bread from grain.
I walk by the lake in the evening sun
where our sacred souls from atoms are spun.

We destroy old wrongs to build the new right.
Old moral laws are now our crippling bane.
We die in gloom and rise reborn in light.
We design world model in dreaming brain.
I walk by the lake in the evening sun
where our sacred souls from atoms are spun.

We reject the proverb that might makes right.
We play the game whether humble or vain.
We gaze beyond death in words of far sight.
The seeds of our souls sprout from singing rain.
I walk by the lake in the evening sun
where our sacred souls from atoms are spun.

American Empire: Liberty, Equality, and Justice for All

American Empire
Liberty, Equality, and Justice for All

Simon Seamount

I do not view American civilization as an isolated or new process, rather I see it as the continuation of dynamic socio-political forces that began in Greece around 2,600 years ago, with the golden age of the development of Greek philosophy, although even those forces are the later segment of the river of civilization that sprang forth over 10,000 years ago.

The most prominent character in the history of the development of our society is Jesus, whom I see not as a supernatural god who rose from the dead, but as a man descended from the ancient kings of Israel who attempted to take the throne of his ancestors but failed and ended up designing the church as a new way for a king to be a self-less leader of his people, ruling in their minds no matter where they live rather than ruling over land where some people happen to live.

In my view Jesus the Fisher King was married to Mary Magdalene the Mermaid and their descendants through Meroveus, Arthur, Constantine, Charlemagne, William the Conqueror, and Edward Longshanks have ruled over all the kings of Europe the past thousand years. They are the founders of the bloodline of the Holy Grail, where this term originates as the phrase San Graal which was mistaken for, or purposely coded to hide the original phrase Sang Raal, meaning Royal Blood, shortened from the phrase Sang Israel. The family of the Holy Grail are the descendants of Jesus and Mary Magdalene which includes just about everybody of western Europe descent.

Jesus was god to all the kings ruling Europe the past thousand years because he was their ancestor, while the whole aspect of his rising from the dead and reigning among the crystal shells of Aristotle was a theological argument based on the eternal forms and Ideas of Plato.

Christianity is the political party of the descendants of Jesus with the basic ruling principle that only the bloodline descendants of Jesus have the right to rule over the kingdoms of the world, and their continual and continuing goal has been and is the complete domination of the world. After his descendants had ruled Europe for over a thousand years, the recent two world wars were the almost complete destruction and overthrow of the ancient dynasties of Jesus and his sons.

All the presidents of the United States are descendants of Jesus through William the Conqueror and his descendant Henry II, and in every election the person with more Plantagenet genes always wins. Even the candidates in the current game of thrones election cycle are both descendants of James II of Scotland, descended from John of Gaunt, son of Edward III.

Political forces in America continue from the political forces in England. All the presidents spring from the York and Lancaster families who contended for power over England in the War of the Roses, which was won and resolved through Henry VIII, and then England began its rise to become a global empire with the reign of Elizabeth I, the Fairy Queen of Avalon, which ended with World War II and the reign of Elizabeth II.

In the current election cycle in America, though both are Plantagenets of the Holy Grail, we have an arrogant, misogynist rapist who cheats small business owners by not paying them for work they perform and cares only for his own gain, a reflection of Henry VIII the Beheader, versus a humble, compassionate, multiculturalist who genuinely cares for everyone, a reflection of Elizabeth I the Guardian of Virtue.

The political system in America is a near exact replica of the power system that developed in Europe at the core of Christendom over a thousand years where the papacy, as a continuation of the ancient fisherman priests and the emperors of Rome, is mirrored by the federal government of Washing with the President as the Pope of the American religion of Liberty and Justice for all, whereas the contentious kings who ruled kingdoms across Europe are mirrored by the individual states asserting their sovereign rights against the encompassing and unifying power of the papacy and the federal government.

The socio-political forces of the American civilization are a continuation of the socio-political forces of Christendom, and we remain the "shining city on a hill" envisioned by John Winthrop on the ship Arabella as he lead Puritans to found Massachusetts in 1630. My ancestors Thomas Dudley, Simon Bradstreet, and Poet Anne Bradstreet were on that ship, believers in that vision which has been guiding the rise of America the past four centuries.

As I look back on almost 400 years of the growth of America from a "shining city on a hill" to a global empire, I wonder how we will transform beyond these old paradigms to change into a society that treats every person with equal justice and provides equal opportunities to education and employment so we build a system that reflects our core principles of Liberty, Equality, and Justice for all.

Friday, October 7, 2016

Till She Vanishes

Till She Vanishes
© Surazeus
2016 10 07

After rain washes away my old face
I climb tall mountain up toward empty sky
and stand alone among clouds, drenched in dew,
to gaze at lush valley of apple trees
where river of sorrow flows from my heart
though mist lingers among ten thousand peaks.

I see the old stone house my father built
nestled at foot of the steep narrow peak
where my mother plays flute on crystal stone
that calls flock of birds who swirl on red wings
around her hair that flows in gusting breeze
till she vanishes in whisper of love.

I kneel by crystal stone, that reflects rays
of sunlight to pierce my heart, and gaze long
at her skull that smiles when lightning strikes white
and remember when she taught me to sing
then twirled around, causing silk skirt to whip,
and threw me into sky with laughing hands.

Gooping muck from pond that gleams after rain,
I mold new face to cover my blank soul
with flowers and herbs sprouting from my cheeks,
then close my eyes till I find her lost voice
in whispering wind and sing words of her spells
till she vanishes in song of my love.

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Our Shattered Cosmology

Our Shattered Cosmology
© Surazeus
2016 10 06

When Copernicus proved that our world moves
spinning slow in circles around the sun,
he shattered the simple cosmology
of crystal shells bright with fountaining stars
forged by Aristotle and Ptolemy
that supported Christian theology
teaching that Jesus is the Carpenter
who crafted our world from Ideas of Plato.

When my ancestors sailed the sea of storms
to flee Avalon, drenched in blood of men
who fight for freedom against royal tyrants,
we journeyed west into the wilderness
to build new heaven of sweet fruit on Earth,
but we invaded Eden and destroyed
that paradise with greed for fertile land,
then drenched its soil with blood of Onatah.

We journeyed west four hundred years to flee
expansion of empires with blasting guns,
and seek new home far from rich Babylon,
but when I kneeled at sunset on lush shore
of Boise River, to wash my soul clean,
I stared at my face reflected from water
that fell from silent sky, and realized
we are alone on this huge spinning globe.

Those crystal shells, that Aristotle taught
surround unmoving world, shattered in shards
of doubt that stab my heart, so now I stand
alone on nameless hill under bright stars
that swell from fountains of matter to suns,
enormous balls of flaming gas that blast
waves of energetic atoms in rays
that weave ten billion worlds with conscious life.

I climbed high mountain of wisdom to seek
true nature of this universe of forms
and broke through crystal shells to see vast space
stretch far beyond all neat measurable bounds
to find our world spins wild around huge sun
which spirals swift around vast galaxy of stars
unnumbered as grains of sand that gleam gold
on a thousand beaches where ocean waves
sing true name of our immortal gene soul.

More than one hundred billion stars gleam bright
in one small galaxy where our sun burns,
and billions of galaxies spiral swift
in one enormous billowing balloon
of our blazing universe, surging sphere
of pulsing energy that throbs with life,
and our world, once central at core of being,
now shrinks smaller than minute grain of sand
on boundless sea beach of this universe.

Two thousand years we pictured in our minds
simple cosmology of our one world
unmoving at center of spinning spheres
where small stars spewed fountains of elements
which congealed in living forms, but our model
was shattered, and now we all feel so small
and insignificant in boundless space,
so we drink wine and dance on river shore,
then laugh at absurdity of all life
to savor bittersweet horror of love,
when we realize with enlightened surprise
we must design our own meaning for life,
which frees our hearts to love without reserve,
for since we will die and cease to exist
we shall play and sing with joy while we live.

We fled the lost island of Avalon
transformed into vain empire of Britannia
to live in peace in fertile wilderness
with true liberty and justice for all,
but we transformed into the world empire
we escaped in our search for paradise
when we fought bold fascist tyrants of hate,
and now I stand in golden evening light
on shore of peaceful lake, gazing at stars
where billions of worlds just like our lush Earth
foster organic life of conscious creatures
who sing with me as they gaze up at stars.

I hold small clear crystal sphere in my hand
and gaze into its vast galactic eye
to dream the history of our universe
beaming from sparkles of its molecules
which reflect the face of each conscious soul
who woke for their short hour of inspired dream
on every planet in our universe,
and I sing their name and deeds of their life
as they fall like rain drops in sea of light.

We repair our shattered cosmology
when we generate new life, and accept
we are frail flame that glows for its brief flash
of conscious love in boundless cold expanse
that sprouts from hunger of transforming time,
thus our songs vibrate in atoms forever.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Resurrection Of Our Mermaid Queen

Resurrection Of Our Mermaid Queen
© Surazeus
2016 10 05

The day I wake inside a flying book,
whose calculating codes preserve our names
in tragic tale of calm reasonable love,
is when our fierce words are written in dust
with invisible ink of laughing rain
that restores apple blossoms of our souls.

Ten billion people sit alone in rooms
of white-smeared walls without windows or doors
and sing to each other across vast space
of rancid beach where singing waves dissolve
broken hearts in sparkles of crystal sand
who break from steel eggs reborn without wings.

Ten thousand days of glowing golden hills
I lived in peaceful valley where white clouds
sprouted into apple trees by blue stream
till roaring monster tearing at my throat
chased me from paradise, so I ran swift
into waste land where no waterfalls sing.

Sweet taste of clear water from splashing rain
aches with fierce desire from my swollen tongue
so I stand on shore of dry river bed
to drink tears and eat rocks of bitter hope
till my bones form frail skeleton of hills
that stand forever eyeless in hot wind.

One yellow rose in the vast trackless waste
of mute expedience explodes from my brain
in howling hymn of terrified contempt,
but when I breathe hurricane of despair
I soar above dead land to transcend death
and wake again at dawn with three new eyes.

I rise on beating thunder of my heart
and stumble laughing through bleak city streets
where wind alone plays hide and seek in halls
of social power since kings and queens contend
in vicious game of dominance till rain
drenches everything in shimmering gleam.

We gather today in hall of lost souls
around fountain of tears to dance and sing
in reckless celebration, drinking blood
of angels crucified on apple trees,
for resurrection of our mermaid queen
who taught me to roast fish on pyramids.

I rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time
and start to count each time the sun glows bright
by planting one apple seed in lush soil
till ten million saplings sprout from cracked shell
of crystal sphere that encircles our globe,
then sail with twirling galaxy nowhere.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Mask Of Faith

Mask Of Faith
© Surazeus
2016 10 04

Where can I run to hide from falling bombs
that blast small garden of fruit trees and herbs,
my grandmothers tended two hundred years,
and burn their dreams to heaps of swirling ash?

Alone among black skeletons of trees
I kneel in dust before the blackened corpse
that housed sweet spirit of my mother, eyes
staring blank at me, and forget her name.

I cup my trembling hands to catch cool rain
that cleanses soot and blood off my dry skin,
then drink bright tears from heaven to refresh
my broken heart that soaks up all my tears.

I carry memory of her smiling face
in my pocket as I join bomb-dazed crowd
of terrified people, who stare in shock
at bright indifferent sun, walking nowhere.

We walk forever toward the silent sky,
sharing no songs of salvation or hope,
for we leave our names behind on dry road
that covers dismayed footsteps in white dust.

I cup my hands and lift them high toward sky,
whispering prayers for Allah to send me rain,
and hot wind from treeless hills blast my face
that veils my tortured soul with mask of faith.

No warrior, riding white stallion of justice,
appears in blaze of light from cloudless sky
to zap destructive bombs with lightning strikes,
though I pray for Allah to send us help.

I cannot camouflage my broken heart
with angel wings torn from my back at birth,
since now I trudge in penumbra of horror,
surviving on breath of infinite hope.

I stood on peak of the mountain of truth
when mother took me inside garden walls
and taught me how to chant expedient spells
but I fall backward in river of trust.

Should I carry broken skull of my mother
and walk ten thousand miles to paradise
where children play all day on river shore
and ask for rain to fill my brain with light?

Now that everyone in my land is dead,
blasted to nothing by imperial bombs
of greed, I must be empress of lush hills,
royal queen in gardens of fantasy.

I long to play free and safe without fear
of death in empyreal garden of fruit
as I sit on stone by dry river bed
while starving refugees eat rodent stew.

Powerful men who declare themselves gods
repose secure in polished castle halls
but I am queen of the dunes and the dead,
reigning supreme over waste land of faith.

What force of love will polarize my mind
broken into puzzle pieces of facts
I can use to build new wall that surrounds
paradise lost and found in brutal war?

Monday, October 3, 2016

Unscramble Old Book

Unscramble Old Book
© Surazeus
2016 10 03

I know not how I feel after the world
mushrooms rainbows from swamp muck of my brain
since I love how it reflects ghost of my face
in shimmering pond where laughing rain dreams.

I am editing the tale of the world
to make it a better place we wish for
before I leave your invisible house
by leaping on broken wings through locked door.

I will go back to the garden of ripe fruit
and stand on the river shore without face
that you remember when you sang my name,
then cross high arching bridge of fragile stone.

Stepping from my grave, I will be the first
to unscramble old book of secret code
where name of every person who once lived
is written with tears of blood from my eyes.

I play the skeleton of many things
wrong with people who gather on lush hills
alive with the music of crumbling walls
where the baby king fell and cracked his brain.

I am Lucifer, the maker of light,
who appears on shore after thundering storm
cracked your ship, and leads you to pyramid
where you drink fruit juice bleeding from my heart.

Sunday, October 2, 2016

Spirits Of Singing Light

Spirits Of Singing Light
© Surazeus
2016 10 02

Holding torch of light that illuminates death,
Star Woman stands in silver flowing stream,
and opens eyes that contain our whole world
to dream endless war between dark and light.

I climb ancient tree laden with ripe fruit,
that flowers in the middle of the highway
where millions of cars race against the wind,
and become the winged serpent you fear.

I see them gather in crowds of blind rage
on both sides of the wall that no one built
and shout with faith to declare their world view
more right than all others to depict truth.

I hold clear crystal glowing in my hand
and see faces of everyone I know
animated by desires they invent
which they hang in gallery of lost souls.

Dancing in the river formed from all tears,
Star Woman molds my body from wet mud
and stuffs mushroom in new skull for my brain,
then beams rainbow to animate my soul.

From dark sea I crawl the river of light,
rise from the lake of dreams to eat fresh fruit,
and cuddle my sweetheart on high tree limbs
after we swing in high tree canopies.

I fall from the tree when I lose my tail
and dance in ocean waves while singing spells,
then follow swift deer over rolling hills,
eating mushrooms that sprout from pungent mud.

I climb high mountain where laughing wind god
teaches me secret of heart-swelling breath,
then reach my arms to caress shining stars
but fall from the sky into stream of love.

I look up from red flames on altar stone
after chanting weird visions in world spells
and see ten thousand faces stare at me
when they gather on broad ziggurat steps.

Placing tall silver pitcher in my hand,
Star Woman commands I fill every grail,
so I dip it deep in cauldron of juice
and walk among them all to bless their hearts.

When I eat mushroom in gold evening mist,
I return to birth of our conscious dream
and travel through generations of souls
four billion years to this intensive hour.

We eat and are eaten through cycling flow
in primal surging waves of life and death,
our bodies transforming from egg and sperm
to ethereal spirits of singing light.