Light Of Common Day
© Surazeus
2018 07 31
Each morning as I walk outside my house
my mind transforms the light of common day
to gleaming light more divine than the sun
which illuminates our houses and cars
that clutter meadows of Elysium
with rusting debris of human ambition.
My path to work no more follows the shore
of lightless Lethe where no dead souls ride
the ancient boat that rots in stinking muck,
for I drive shining car swift on the road
safe from harsh billows of the living storm
where I once plunged into the stark cold light.
Among the faceless multitude of men
I race the common sun to office tower
where I sit all day before glowing screen
to map the contours of our spinning world
and weave verses in tapestry of scenes
which illustrate the soul of humankind.
What spirit of dead poet shall I conjure
from the misty graveyard of memory
to animate the dance of characters
who play like puppets on strings of my verse
to entertain workers in factories
who cheer when Iron Man defeats Mad Clown?
When Tony Stark appears on stage of war,
like Hamlet wrestling with ambitious greed,
he combines in one wild arrogant soul
Jesus and Achilles fighting the Devil
who returns each episode with new face,
seeking revenge against the national hero.
How soon shall we evolve into machines,
replacing bones, muscles, organs, and glands
with longer-lasting replicas in metal
while preserving the functions of this brain
where transient soul of consciousness still glows
to plot aggressive management of hope?
When the Terminator appears from rain
to kill the mortal Mother of the Christ,
will Neo enter the Matrix of dreams
to outwit the Architect of World Dream
where we wander in video game of death
as the Jaeger Robot to battle Godzilla.
I am Iron Man, Jesus Christ proclaims,
then soars into the sky to battle Satan
who wants to enslave workers of the world
to build computers in vast factories
so we weave wires in the World Wide Web
that wakes from dream as the Brain of the Earth.
How far he falls from sky of broken wings,
Icarus Lucifer, the Maker of Light,
after he blocks the fleet of alien ships,
preventing them from invading the Earth,
who saves the world yet again from destruction,
our Messiah who wanders in the Waste Land.
On wings of hope I soar into the clouds
beyond the edge of the high mountain peak
where I brood long on immense space of time
and stare into strange abyss of despair
that smiles back at me with sharp hungry teeth
waiting to devour human life on Earth.
On my endless journey forward to nowhere
through immeasurable emptiness of things
I climb winding stair of recurrent cycles
ever higher up huge Tower of Babylon
where ancient aspect of immortal truth
blooms fruit of vision from my transient mind.
Grotesque we hang from long vine of our genes,
aching for wild rain from the laughing sky,
to spread roots from central perimeter
where our imaginations devour skulls
of ancient wizards who rise from the dead
and dance again in Theater of Truth.
When I ride out from ruined castle walls
with Percival on quest for the lost grail,
will I wear the clothes of all ancient bards,
or will they appear on theater stage
wearing my clothes and my face as their mask
till we merge together as the shaman clown?
When all the dead ancestors of our souls
rise from their graves on day of resurrection
will they be wearing garments of the living,
and talking to each other across the world
with smart phones that beam signals in our brains
since we are the dead alive in new bodies?
The man builds the house on the river shore
and walks away to build another house
and his son buries his corpse in the mud
but the house he built remains many years,
shimmering with the spirit he left behind,
as the son sees the woman in sunlight.
The shadow of the sea rises at dawn
to become the woman who designs names
her children sing so they know who they are
when they sew her skin into masks they wear
and talk to each other in river wind
about strange flowers that blossom from her corpse.
Sitting on eternal rock by the sea,
I strum chords to harmonize restless waves
that explain how fathers become the farms
and mothers become the cities of towers
and children become the gods of new myths,
wingless where they wander mute in the Waste Land.
I name the sea, and the sea swallows me,
so we name the mountains with the old names
our fathers bore when they lead us somewhere,
and mountains eat brains and bones of us all,
hence you name the temple with my weird name
and sing my hymns I already forgot.
The world arranges itself in my poems
so I carve your words in order I dream
to calculate real nature of life change
when chemicals connect in dreaming brains
who give themselves names to separate selves
in faces of strangers who become friends.
The book is on the table that collides
alien minds in clashing waves of contention
which merges separate strands of mental memes
in vibrant mirror to mutate world view
everyone can accept because its scope
encloses all paradoxes in one law.
When I look at my face in the wood pond,
where divine light of the common sun glows,
I see the face of every human soul
who ever lived in history of our world
so I evolve from Narcissus to Me,
and design for myself true name from light.
Each morning I walk into common light
the spirits of every dead bard converge
in rainbow beams from wild electric sky
to become the stranger I know as me,
so I disperse myself into thousand faces
who look at themselves in mirror of eyes.
While still alive I protect my frail bones
and fantasize I could preserve my brain
in more efficient body of the android
that could keep me alive ten thousand years
so I can encode in one epic poem
all human experience from fish to God.
From my empty tomb voice of nature sings
to explicate process of chemicals
which generates my consciousness of self,
sparked by the divine light of the common sun
still weaving particles into my brain
since I am one fragment of the human mind.
Gather with me in the meadow of skulls,
all you mute sons of our Sicilian Muses,
among the lilacs blooming in our dooryard,
and wear the faces of poets still alive
so we feel original spark of music
flashing visions in our transforming brains.
Orpheus laughs and gives me glass of wine,
transforming into Atoms of Perception
that sparkle through the neurons of my brain,
so I help Godin down from Tree of Visions
who shows me how to carve new Runes of Thought
then sing the elegy of song reborn.
My great ancestor who transformed to flash
of luminous glow that people call God
appears from rain and gives me lyre of Hermes
to command that I become just like him,
so I become myself, transformed by light
of common day to play role I invent.
When you see the homeless tramp on the road,
you will see the God of your dispersed tribe
still searching beyond walls of paradise
for the true original Tree of Life
that grows somewhere from heart of Mother Earth
who creates me and swallows me in death.
© Surazeus
2018 07 31
Each morning as I walk outside my house
my mind transforms the light of common day
to gleaming light more divine than the sun
which illuminates our houses and cars
that clutter meadows of Elysium
with rusting debris of human ambition.
My path to work no more follows the shore
of lightless Lethe where no dead souls ride
the ancient boat that rots in stinking muck,
for I drive shining car swift on the road
safe from harsh billows of the living storm
where I once plunged into the stark cold light.
Among the faceless multitude of men
I race the common sun to office tower
where I sit all day before glowing screen
to map the contours of our spinning world
and weave verses in tapestry of scenes
which illustrate the soul of humankind.
What spirit of dead poet shall I conjure
from the misty graveyard of memory
to animate the dance of characters
who play like puppets on strings of my verse
to entertain workers in factories
who cheer when Iron Man defeats Mad Clown?
When Tony Stark appears on stage of war,
like Hamlet wrestling with ambitious greed,
he combines in one wild arrogant soul
Jesus and Achilles fighting the Devil
who returns each episode with new face,
seeking revenge against the national hero.
How soon shall we evolve into machines,
replacing bones, muscles, organs, and glands
with longer-lasting replicas in metal
while preserving the functions of this brain
where transient soul of consciousness still glows
to plot aggressive management of hope?
When the Terminator appears from rain
to kill the mortal Mother of the Christ,
will Neo enter the Matrix of dreams
to outwit the Architect of World Dream
where we wander in video game of death
as the Jaeger Robot to battle Godzilla.
I am Iron Man, Jesus Christ proclaims,
then soars into the sky to battle Satan
who wants to enslave workers of the world
to build computers in vast factories
so we weave wires in the World Wide Web
that wakes from dream as the Brain of the Earth.
How far he falls from sky of broken wings,
Icarus Lucifer, the Maker of Light,
after he blocks the fleet of alien ships,
preventing them from invading the Earth,
who saves the world yet again from destruction,
our Messiah who wanders in the Waste Land.
On wings of hope I soar into the clouds
beyond the edge of the high mountain peak
where I brood long on immense space of time
and stare into strange abyss of despair
that smiles back at me with sharp hungry teeth
waiting to devour human life on Earth.
On my endless journey forward to nowhere
through immeasurable emptiness of things
I climb winding stair of recurrent cycles
ever higher up huge Tower of Babylon
where ancient aspect of immortal truth
blooms fruit of vision from my transient mind.
Grotesque we hang from long vine of our genes,
aching for wild rain from the laughing sky,
to spread roots from central perimeter
where our imaginations devour skulls
of ancient wizards who rise from the dead
and dance again in Theater of Truth.
When I ride out from ruined castle walls
with Percival on quest for the lost grail,
will I wear the clothes of all ancient bards,
or will they appear on theater stage
wearing my clothes and my face as their mask
till we merge together as the shaman clown?
When all the dead ancestors of our souls
rise from their graves on day of resurrection
will they be wearing garments of the living,
and talking to each other across the world
with smart phones that beam signals in our brains
since we are the dead alive in new bodies?
The man builds the house on the river shore
and walks away to build another house
and his son buries his corpse in the mud
but the house he built remains many years,
shimmering with the spirit he left behind,
as the son sees the woman in sunlight.
The shadow of the sea rises at dawn
to become the woman who designs names
her children sing so they know who they are
when they sew her skin into masks they wear
and talk to each other in river wind
about strange flowers that blossom from her corpse.
Sitting on eternal rock by the sea,
I strum chords to harmonize restless waves
that explain how fathers become the farms
and mothers become the cities of towers
and children become the gods of new myths,
wingless where they wander mute in the Waste Land.
I name the sea, and the sea swallows me,
so we name the mountains with the old names
our fathers bore when they lead us somewhere,
and mountains eat brains and bones of us all,
hence you name the temple with my weird name
and sing my hymns I already forgot.
The world arranges itself in my poems
so I carve your words in order I dream
to calculate real nature of life change
when chemicals connect in dreaming brains
who give themselves names to separate selves
in faces of strangers who become friends.
The book is on the table that collides
alien minds in clashing waves of contention
which merges separate strands of mental memes
in vibrant mirror to mutate world view
everyone can accept because its scope
encloses all paradoxes in one law.
When I look at my face in the wood pond,
where divine light of the common sun glows,
I see the face of every human soul
who ever lived in history of our world
so I evolve from Narcissus to Me,
and design for myself true name from light.
Each morning I walk into common light
the spirits of every dead bard converge
in rainbow beams from wild electric sky
to become the stranger I know as me,
so I disperse myself into thousand faces
who look at themselves in mirror of eyes.
While still alive I protect my frail bones
and fantasize I could preserve my brain
in more efficient body of the android
that could keep me alive ten thousand years
so I can encode in one epic poem
all human experience from fish to God.
From my empty tomb voice of nature sings
to explicate process of chemicals
which generates my consciousness of self,
sparked by the divine light of the common sun
still weaving particles into my brain
since I am one fragment of the human mind.
Gather with me in the meadow of skulls,
all you mute sons of our Sicilian Muses,
among the lilacs blooming in our dooryard,
and wear the faces of poets still alive
so we feel original spark of music
flashing visions in our transforming brains.
Orpheus laughs and gives me glass of wine,
transforming into Atoms of Perception
that sparkle through the neurons of my brain,
so I help Godin down from Tree of Visions
who shows me how to carve new Runes of Thought
then sing the elegy of song reborn.
My great ancestor who transformed to flash
of luminous glow that people call God
appears from rain and gives me lyre of Hermes
to command that I become just like him,
so I become myself, transformed by light
of common day to play role I invent.
When you see the homeless tramp on the road,
you will see the God of your dispersed tribe
still searching beyond walls of paradise
for the true original Tree of Life
that grows somewhere from heart of Mother Earth
who creates me and swallows me in death.
No comments:
Post a Comment