Surfing Seattle Rainbow Soul
© Surazeus
2008 09 08
Long brown shaggy hair of a reborn Celtic shaman
hangs over blue-green eyes of skinny hungry poet
slouched shivering in small dark basement room
who pulls long green tattered wool coat tighter
around his shoulders as he stares at wall of illusion.
Moonlight glitters through small broken window
where gold spider watches him eat can of beans
but he stares past spider at leaf-bare trees
where black ravens flutter wings in purple mist
that hangs forever over hills and towers of Seattle.
Blank pages of thick sketch book gleam white
as he holds fountain pen poised low to write
while Muse of History whispers songs in his ear
streaming a swift flow of images and visions
in complex patterns of human civilization process
but his pen hovers over paper not writing a word.
Stuffing Marijuana buds in small clay pipe
he flicks lighter and inhales deep sweet smoke
of cosmic spirit that fills his lungs with heat
of ancient souls and his eyes sparkle stars
that weave faces morphing many generations
of ancestors when his mothers and fathers embraced
and flashed creation of life in each new child
who squirmed from womb to become a new soul.
Three hours he stares at blank white page
watching a thousand generation of his ancestors
sprouting faces like grapes on line vine of soul
and tries to remember name and feelings of each
as they appear and blossom and flash out eyes
like fireworks of spirits exploding from his mind
and he sits silent in cold basement watching flow
of their blood fill his brain with pool of light.
I am each of you and you are all of me
he mumbles and takes a deep cold breath
because spirit is Latin verb that means
he breathes so a spirit has a body of flesh
then he touches his chest and feels his heart beat
so he stands and takes guitar in his hands.
Hungry poet walks outside into cold mist
and walks empty silent street past large homes
to Red Square to stand by statue of George
at center of University of Washington campus
after midnight then strums out-of-tune strings
and sings making up verses from memories
taking a deep breath and exclaiming visions
in restless tumble of concepts falling from his heart.
Nobody but moon and a flock of ravens hear
so he stops and watches ghosts of lost souls
a hundred years of students streaming past
then he opens wallet and takes a small square
of paper with image of Yin and Yang and eats
placing small stamp of Vitamin A on his tongue
then he walks an hour past ten million years
slow swimming through liquid memories of love
as snow begins to fall on empty black streets.
Stepping slow with long legs of a giant
hungry poet floats on elegant eagle wings
and transforms into a lion wearing coat and boots
and watches stars bulge huge as purple flow
of tower lights shimmer gelatin eyeball brain
over lake of dreams and he smiles as flame
of dragon mother burns in his belly of desire
and he says with voice outside his glass skull
I am not I am because glass tower wing
helps me fly over Seattle for I am a raven
with owl eyes tall white-wing angel of heaven
for I am all things of this universe in my head.
Ripples of waves from dreaming human souls
flow around me in sea of whispering voices
he says and watches voices become red raven
that lifts off iron gasworks and becomes eye
of his first mind that he holds in his open hand
so he opens book sitting on high round hill
breast of Earth and draws stream of milk
that flows from his fingers in black death blood
ink forming words in slithering snake scribbles.
Each star and planet in universe is a brain cell
in mind of God who is aware of itself alive
through dreams that bubble in all our brains
so I program brain vision code in spoken sounds
I craft in word perfect lines of secret thought
to remember everything my ancestors knew
and experienced from conception to conception
in each new generation of my deathless soul
in gene coils I spring beyond death in new child
who looks back at me for a moment then turns
and explores future as I fade into black past.
Stoned on acid skinny freezing hungry poet
walks empty streets of Seattle all night
going circles nowhere around Green Lake
past houses of turtle shells where angels sleep
then stops before round red brick hall
of Seventh-day Adventist church and smiles
whispering I thew apple seed of religion away
while others kept theirs locked in glass jars
so now my faith grows into giant apple tree.
Then he steps inside bright-lit Seven-Eleven
and buys apple juice smiling like a Buddha
as he sways surfing silent on rainbow wave
then glides outside into falling snow of soul
and drinks cold juice walking on galactic road
becoming a tall bearded king with a sword
guarding a small stone castle in oak woods
while staring at a van with white lights
glide past and disappear into red dawn.
Looking up at gray dawn sky of clouds
he becomes a lizard as he sits on wood steps
and sees ghosts of giant dragons soar slow
a million years ago souls photographed forever
in cloud patterns of rippling stipple steel wings
then he puts both hands on his frail skull
and wonders at throbbing brain so full of dreams
that watches itself perceive words take shape
as things that throb and swell outside bounds
of concepts in fluid accentuations of desire
to push outside limits of time-flow existence.
I am still point of this turning universe
he grins and ignores ghosts of dead poets
Homer and Ovid and Du Fu and Li Po and Virgil
and Valmiki and Dante and Shakespeare
and Milton and Blake and Ginsberg and Dylan
who scatter words that sprout into flowers.
Sitting like Buddha on stone bank steps
stoned poet watches Seattle spring to life
at dawn as skeletons emerge from houses
to walk with serious intent to work all day
in office and store and factory and warehouse
to make and market and distribute and sell
a thousand things transforming stone and tree
into machines and clothes and food we eat
thousands of people swirling in restless tide
while he sits still dreaming awake all day
watching without words as they pursue hopes
and chase invisible dreams looking far ahead.
I will not die for your sins this time around
he chuckles and stands towering high to smile
then glides slow on owl wings past glass doors
back to basement room where he lies down
and stares at endless shifting spirals of light
that become huge elaborate crystal palace towers
and sleeps a thousand years dreaming of You.
© Surazeus
2008 09 08
Long brown shaggy hair of a reborn Celtic shaman
hangs over blue-green eyes of skinny hungry poet
slouched shivering in small dark basement room
who pulls long green tattered wool coat tighter
around his shoulders as he stares at wall of illusion.
Moonlight glitters through small broken window
where gold spider watches him eat can of beans
but he stares past spider at leaf-bare trees
where black ravens flutter wings in purple mist
that hangs forever over hills and towers of Seattle.
Blank pages of thick sketch book gleam white
as he holds fountain pen poised low to write
while Muse of History whispers songs in his ear
streaming a swift flow of images and visions
in complex patterns of human civilization process
but his pen hovers over paper not writing a word.
Stuffing Marijuana buds in small clay pipe
he flicks lighter and inhales deep sweet smoke
of cosmic spirit that fills his lungs with heat
of ancient souls and his eyes sparkle stars
that weave faces morphing many generations
of ancestors when his mothers and fathers embraced
and flashed creation of life in each new child
who squirmed from womb to become a new soul.
Three hours he stares at blank white page
watching a thousand generation of his ancestors
sprouting faces like grapes on line vine of soul
and tries to remember name and feelings of each
as they appear and blossom and flash out eyes
like fireworks of spirits exploding from his mind
and he sits silent in cold basement watching flow
of their blood fill his brain with pool of light.
I am each of you and you are all of me
he mumbles and takes a deep cold breath
because spirit is Latin verb that means
he breathes so a spirit has a body of flesh
then he touches his chest and feels his heart beat
so he stands and takes guitar in his hands.
Hungry poet walks outside into cold mist
and walks empty silent street past large homes
to Red Square to stand by statue of George
at center of University of Washington campus
after midnight then strums out-of-tune strings
and sings making up verses from memories
taking a deep breath and exclaiming visions
in restless tumble of concepts falling from his heart.
Nobody but moon and a flock of ravens hear
so he stops and watches ghosts of lost souls
a hundred years of students streaming past
then he opens wallet and takes a small square
of paper with image of Yin and Yang and eats
placing small stamp of Vitamin A on his tongue
then he walks an hour past ten million years
slow swimming through liquid memories of love
as snow begins to fall on empty black streets.
Stepping slow with long legs of a giant
hungry poet floats on elegant eagle wings
and transforms into a lion wearing coat and boots
and watches stars bulge huge as purple flow
of tower lights shimmer gelatin eyeball brain
over lake of dreams and he smiles as flame
of dragon mother burns in his belly of desire
and he says with voice outside his glass skull
I am not I am because glass tower wing
helps me fly over Seattle for I am a raven
with owl eyes tall white-wing angel of heaven
for I am all things of this universe in my head.
Ripples of waves from dreaming human souls
flow around me in sea of whispering voices
he says and watches voices become red raven
that lifts off iron gasworks and becomes eye
of his first mind that he holds in his open hand
so he opens book sitting on high round hill
breast of Earth and draws stream of milk
that flows from his fingers in black death blood
ink forming words in slithering snake scribbles.
Each star and planet in universe is a brain cell
in mind of God who is aware of itself alive
through dreams that bubble in all our brains
so I program brain vision code in spoken sounds
I craft in word perfect lines of secret thought
to remember everything my ancestors knew
and experienced from conception to conception
in each new generation of my deathless soul
in gene coils I spring beyond death in new child
who looks back at me for a moment then turns
and explores future as I fade into black past.
Stoned on acid skinny freezing hungry poet
walks empty streets of Seattle all night
going circles nowhere around Green Lake
past houses of turtle shells where angels sleep
then stops before round red brick hall
of Seventh-day Adventist church and smiles
whispering I thew apple seed of religion away
while others kept theirs locked in glass jars
so now my faith grows into giant apple tree.
Then he steps inside bright-lit Seven-Eleven
and buys apple juice smiling like a Buddha
as he sways surfing silent on rainbow wave
then glides outside into falling snow of soul
and drinks cold juice walking on galactic road
becoming a tall bearded king with a sword
guarding a small stone castle in oak woods
while staring at a van with white lights
glide past and disappear into red dawn.
Looking up at gray dawn sky of clouds
he becomes a lizard as he sits on wood steps
and sees ghosts of giant dragons soar slow
a million years ago souls photographed forever
in cloud patterns of rippling stipple steel wings
then he puts both hands on his frail skull
and wonders at throbbing brain so full of dreams
that watches itself perceive words take shape
as things that throb and swell outside bounds
of concepts in fluid accentuations of desire
to push outside limits of time-flow existence.
I am still point of this turning universe
he grins and ignores ghosts of dead poets
Homer and Ovid and Du Fu and Li Po and Virgil
and Valmiki and Dante and Shakespeare
and Milton and Blake and Ginsberg and Dylan
who scatter words that sprout into flowers.
Sitting like Buddha on stone bank steps
stoned poet watches Seattle spring to life
at dawn as skeletons emerge from houses
to walk with serious intent to work all day
in office and store and factory and warehouse
to make and market and distribute and sell
a thousand things transforming stone and tree
into machines and clothes and food we eat
thousands of people swirling in restless tide
while he sits still dreaming awake all day
watching without words as they pursue hopes
and chase invisible dreams looking far ahead.
I will not die for your sins this time around
he chuckles and stands towering high to smile
then glides slow on owl wings past glass doors
back to basement room where he lies down
and stares at endless shifting spirals of light
that become huge elaborate crystal palace towers
and sleeps a thousand years dreaming of You.
No comments:
Post a Comment