Sharp Wand Of Wisdom © Surazeus 2022 12 22 Deep in fiery volcano of my heart I forge gold crown of innocent faith with hammer blows of suffering in despair to mold harsh anguish from terrible fear at horror of violent death that destroys our fragile bodies into rage for life. Remembering how hungry demon of hell emerged from cavern of horrible fear and tore body of my bride with sharp teeth, I strike long flame of searing iron light with hammer blows loud as her dying screams to forge sharp blade as magic wand of wisdom. Running forever through forest of ghosts tangled with terror of heart-wrenching death, I grip strong magic wand of my brave words, and shining diamond with sharp blade of truth, to face the snarling monster with sharp death in brutal battle of kill or be killed. Wearing bright gold crown that haloes my head with blinding rays reflected from the sun, I run howling at demon of despair that shrinks back startled by aggressive force of desperate hope I project when I thrust sharp wand of wisdom deep into its heart. Crowned with gold ring of invisible power, studded with jewels that reflect sunlight, I stand triumphant with victorious strength over writhing body of the dying demon whose shrill screams echo the terrible pain my bride felt when he devoured her pure soul. Lifting dead demon on spear of my wand, I ascend ziggurat through cheering crowd, and enter temple with pillars of gold where Goddess Ishtar sits on throne of power, then grill demon steaks on the altar stone and offer sacrifice to Queen of Love. Feasting with Ishtar at Table of Friends, while Kinnaru strums lyre and sings my tale, I eat heart of the demon I destroyed so ancient spirit of its divine power fills my heart with flame of volcano fire, so I drink wine and howl with joy for life. After Ishtar takes me to bed of love she bears incarnation of my soul seed, who gazes at me with her shining eyes, so I train him with martial arts of hope to defend sacred people of our land by forging fear into sharp wand of wisdom.
Thursday, December 22, 2022
Sharp Wand Of Wisdom
Wednesday, December 21, 2022
Longest Night Of The Year
Longest Night Of The Year © Surazeus 2022 12 21 If longest night of the year reveals why the sun god dies in cycle of rebirth we can find good reason within our hearts to gather close around the glowing hearth when bleak despair freezes our minds with fear till we sing heart-warming hymns of lost faith. Since longest night of the year conceals hope with endless darkness of the starless void we walk barefoot on mirror ground of truth down to the frozen river of desire to find the last ripe apple in the world still hanging from the barren tree of knowledge. Though longest night of the year allocates just enough bread from book of secret tales to soothe mind-numbing hunger for new faith we interrogate the indifferent moon for when the holy sun will rise again as our hands bleed grasping at lurid roots. While longest night of the year clangs the bell with desperate hope to understand true love we linger at locked door of empty church to beg for salvation from the blind king who laughs at antics of the jester-priest when he mocks our prayers with a whiny voice. Till longest night of the year obfuscates sacred myths about founding of our state we choose to believe the beautiful lie that we arrived on desolate shores of hope with purpose to build new kingdom on Earth based on equal justice for every soul. Yet longest night of the year relegates credit of wealth to fierce comedian brave enough to stand against oligarchs who write laws that empower companies to enslave the people with credit cards who pray every week for their global king. So longest night of the year ridicules our endless quest to maintain liberty as natural basis for democracy which nurtures skillful talent of the mind when marginalized people choose to live with creative passion for fertile faith. Still longest night of the year cradles close these fragile bodies of humanity which conjure consciousness of dreaming brains shocked at unfairness of mortality which motivates our free will to express visions of our hearts through weird poetry.
New Century Of Kwan Yin
New Century Of Kwan Yin © Surazeus 2022 12 21 Since process of life never finishes we write about things that happen so fast that clouds forget to analyze their facts even as frost of passion vanishes with high-voltage wire of the singing skull that floats like faceless moon in the ice pool. Yet terrifying innocence of truth drenches my face with savage artlessness ornate with lies based on fake earnestness which believers choose to mask shocking faith too pure with anguish of impunity for me to transcend harsh naivety. Which helps me make imagined tale of woe lurid with paralysis of desire when figures in photographs might inquire as to true nature of the star-bright snow through misalliance of the winter light heightened by threadbare art of all dream flight. So I choose to say what happened for real though none can verify my testament except pompous poet of parliament who pretends to care for how we all feel while recording our memories for sale that lurk in ruins of time on the trail. The new sports stadium where blind angels dance boasts spectacular games of circus style where kings and prophets accept without guile contempt of their savior pierced by the lance wielded by the tyrant with heart of gold who only believes in what can be sold. My dolphin lost in Gulf of Mexico returns to maze of iron arrogance, intending to present new evidence which proves beyond all doubt that Cicero collaborates with our Muse of Otherness to reclaim lost castle of Inverness. We prove that what we see cannot be true except when measured by star formulas, so we seek help from hungry Tantalus to study consequence of the state coup when children change the rules by which we live through religion of the fool in the cave. Precipitous beauty of the mad god, who lost his face in forest of the raven, lures our broken hearts to believe in Heaven, so we enforce laws of the justice squad as we enter new century of Kwan Yin who prophesies from rebuilt Parthenon.
Strangeness Of Our Souls
Strangeness Of Our Souls © Surazeus 2022 12 21 Soft snow highlights the beauty of her eyes which emanate passion for this weird life so my heart becomes vast castle of light when she smiles as she sips hot chocolate, and all the flashing lights on Christmas trees illuminate the strangeness of our souls. Many years after she left her hometown to work in Shining City at the bank she strolls narrow stone streets by the canal where she played while her ma ran the food store, and tears stream down her eyes with ache of joy as she watches her ghost play without care. Pushing open old wood doors carved with demons, she lights incense, bows, and kneels on the pillow to palm hands before statue of Kwan Yin meditating on the lotus with a peach, whose merciful eyes gaze into her heart with compassion for strangeness of our souls. Lifting eye-phone up sideways with both hands, she films the young woman with long black hair, decked in light-green Tang hanfu fairy gown, who plays haunting melody of mute sorrow while plucking strings on the polished guzheng which casts magic spell on our entranced hearts. Climbing stone steps up to South Heaven Gate, we enter Temple of the Blue Dawn Clouds that shines near rugged top of Mount Taishan, and pray for fertile fortune of true love to Bixia Yuanjun, Goddess of Dawn Light, who bestows fortune on children of truth. Gliding on silver water of Li River in swirling mist of the Pearl River Basin among tall sky-piercing peaks of Guilin, we cuddle on wood sampan river boat with silent awe at eerie ambiance that accentuates strangeness of our souls. This vast soul-nurturing land of lush vales, where her ancestors thrived thousands of years, welcomes her home with ache of wordless joy, and gives her hot bowl with garlic beef noodles so she consumes sweet spirit of her land that wakens ancient memories of her heart. Riding plane high over Strait of Anian that gleams between Siberia and Alaska, we share photos and stories of our trip, then she sighs she is glad to return home after showing me rich land of her birth which stimulates new strangeness of our souls.
Tuesday, December 20, 2022
Behind The Robot Mask
Behind The Robot Mask © Surazeus 2022 12 20 The self that hides behind the robot mask wonders why its head is full of white crows who type news stories about the blind ghost to rule the world from the most secret house where river of dreams flows through open door because I know who I have always been. The door of the empty house calculates how long it takes for me to see the voice which answers silence of the nameless ghost with solemn hymn to praise the unseen self who wants to fly above this changing world with changeless passion for the absolute. The backward process advocating change intrudes as stranger in the doorless room to organize shadows of fractured words which mirror concepts frogs describe all night to welcome emptiness of the wrong moon still reluctant to imitate streetlamps. Awake in spider web of timeless light, I carry shadow of eternal truth which swirls recharged inside transparent stone of weeping mountains far beyond the word spoken by oldest woman in the world who waits for me inside the doorless house. As absent-minded tourist without faith I map whole history of our universe with language trapping concepts in frail words as human-made artifacts of weird truths in living dimension of mindless space contingent on existence of the brain. So I kneel down in garden by the sea to summon Everyman from cave of dreams who hides his ornery self in photographs that hang on walls in dark halls of hotels which amplifies grave ticking of fake clocks because I disappear in mirror eyes. I find my self in whisper of my words when I evade stark absolute of death just long enough to record valiant deed that lonely people think they must perform to win accolades of the fickle crowd who muddle through just long enough to choose. To invent perfection for every soul I wrestle pen that bleeds tears of false hopes so when I stand for nothing in the rain unbending beauty of rose-fingered dawn will translate passion of the mindless wind to fruitful story forged from paradox.
I Can Die With Joy
I Can Die With Joy © Surazeus 2022 12 20 If I want to walk to the mountain top I will dive to the bottom of the sea and there find the blind demon of my heart still lurking in the shadows of despair, then I will grow angel wings of desire and fly up to the palace in the clouds. Yet I walk from the front door of my house and wait at the bus stop in morning fog to ride the bus through maze of crowded streets then sit all day in the small cubicle where I organize facts into reports so I can earn money to pay my bills. I work all day for stranger in the tower to earn enough money in my account so I can eat and sleep safe in my bed instead of starving in the alleyway because my hands are gears that operate complex global food-production machine. My ancestors have, for two million years, hunted wild animals and gathered herbs then herded tame animals and farmed crops through endless cycles of eating and sleeping while they generate clones of deathless genes so I feel them all alive in my brain. Though I have, for four hundred million years, been evolving ever more complex forms, fish to lizard to mouse to cat to chimp to wingless angel, who can talk and think, composing world view from facts I perceive, I wonder why I strive to become God. The supernatural deity of God is designed as concept of ideal Man by wild imagination of my brain that projects image of the human being at mindless mirror of the universe so I conceive God I strive to become. Instead of getting on the bus today I walk down signless road of destiny to strum guitar that Mercury designed and sing weird anguish of my aching heart while striving toward the distant mountain top till I get lost in endless maze of myths. Though I never grow those wings of desire to fly beyond bounds of our spinning Earth I walk with two legs sea to shining sea and sing weird story of my search for truth in epic poem about philosophers so I can die with joy since I have lived.
Moonlight In Her Suitcase
Moonlight In Her Suitcase © Surazeus 2022 12 20 After the bank confiscates her farm house, Ellen puts the moonlight in her suitcase and walks down the signless road to nowhere. Roses sprout from sorrow of her footsteps. Gazing beyond cracked mirror of the sky, she wonders where to go next in this world. Because she could go anywhere today she stops and sits under the old oak tree where yellow ribbons flutter in the breeze. She wonders if the soldiers are all dead. The world war battles are too far away for her to hear screaming of the lost boys. Small airplane glides across the silver sky on wings that flash with power of the angels so she keeps on walking toward paradise. The chickadee explains why people die. Lampposts that light dark streets of cityscapes keep watch over people who never sleep. Before she eats tater stew in the church Ellen listens to opera in her head where Tristan and Isolde try not to love. The strangeness of the blue sky understands. The Irish child who walks the forlorn trail gathers blue-eyed grass wet from autumn rain. Goats graze on hills above the sparkling sea where steam ships from China and Vietnam glide into San Francisco Bay at dawn. Ducks glide through mist over gold rugged hills. Ellen wonders if she will find a job cooking meals for the pastor and his wife. Turning her face back in cool morning wind that blows hair around her sapphire-blue eyes, Ellen gazes with longing at the past. Pine trees in Idaho whisper her name. Weaving flowers in her long curly hair, Ellen wanders gold streets of San Francisco. Standing on street corner by the fish market, Ellen sings ballads, psalms, and Christian hymns while shoppers toss pennies at her bare feet. White-winged gulls with angel eyes glide on wind. Eating hamburger on steps of the church, Ellen watches children play in the park. Posing as the statue carved by Bernini, Daphne chased by Apollo in Elysium, Ellen knocks at door where the pastor lives. Every clock on Earth chimes the weird hour. Ellen smiles when her aunt opens the door so they embrace with joy and go inside.
Monday, December 19, 2022
Analysis Of Hungry Hearts
Analysis Of Hungry Hearts © Surazeus 2022 12 19 When the drowned man returns from the Dead Sea and enters cathedral of singing skulls the children with straw baskets full of eggs hold hands and dance around him as they sing ring around the roses till serpents hatch and slither into shadows of the land. Madame Sosostris refuses to read the latest world economic reports based on analysis of hungry hearts conducted at the Institute of Fate so I go fishing on the river shore to dredge up bodies of prophets and kings. I wander in the meadow of white crows till I find grave of the hyacinth girl so I tell her about my life last year when I almost died from the broken heart I won when I played poker with Despair who drives away in the red cadillac. Because when I am lost in maze of myths to find manic pixie dream girl I love Pegasus appears in red door of light so I climb on her back with common sense so we can fly to Jupiter and back on holy mission to deceive the world. Yet every little town where I have lived almost sixty years sea to shining sea is but one suburb of the Unreal City where crowds of the grateful dead in gray suits flow over Bridge of Hope in swirling fog but I turn around and walk back to Hell. At home in streets of Pandemonium, where my ancestors many generations have worked as scribes in Museum of Lies, I stroll with fuzzy feelings in my heart for organized chaos of human life far from celestial realm of temple ways. Weary of my job bearing torch of light through maze of ziggurats where old gods dwell, I purchase boat of Charon from his widow to sail the River Styx past paradise so I can find secret stairway to Heaven, but end up lost in cold Chesapeake Bay. Arriving home in lush Elysium, after many years exploring the Earth, I cry when Melusine jumps in my arms, then seats me at the table of our love and feeds me fettucine with beef steaks, then we drink eiswein and kiss by the hearth.
Pink Rose Of Doom
Pink Rose Of Doom © Surazeus 2022 12 19 The mad ballerina and the shy clown fall in love on island of the white wolf so they hold hands and walk the quaint town that shines at night on shore of the calm gulf, then kiss by the pine tree on Christmas Eve before he must get on the plane to leave. The mad ballerina dances on stage before the audience of wealthy vampires who applaud homage to the golden age when they ruled over global corporate empires then she retreats to haven of her cave where she composes songs of the sea wave. The shy clown flies to ancient Zathamar, the weird capital city of Gothinia, where he hunts spies in the diamond-fueled car, nestled in mountains near Bohemia, then swipes the sacred Book of Astronauts from marble Museum of Secret Thoughts. The mad ballerina in frilly dress strolls Angel Avenue in midnight rain to advocate for freedom of the press before the bloody ax of Charlemagne who chops down sacred Tree of Irminsul in tale never told to children in school. Running forever in the maze of myths, to escape messiah with flaming sword, the shy clown clutches Book of Secret Truths bound with spells by the umbilical cord to Deathless Mother of the spinning Earth who still calculates what our souls are worth. Surrounded by drunk bankers at the bar, who demand she give them what they desire, she runs swift in woods toward indifferent star safe to Camelot where she joins the choir, though the mad ballerina aches for truth known only by the real messiah sleuth. Opening steel door to the Mirror Room, the shy clown sees the sad beautiful girl who playfully toys with pink rose of doom while her finger plays with her golden curl, so he gives her wings that Icarus wove as beautiful symbols of his pure love. Accepting delicate rose of his heart, the mad ballerina flies among clouds while the shy clown updates religious chart which maps each paradise of ancient gods who wander lonely without worshippers, reborn on Earth as divine carpenters.
Humble Guard Of Sibylla
Humble Guard Of Sibylla © Surazeus 2022 12 19 The color of the wind in this strange world pretends to understand the love I feel though I almost drown in pond of my thought attempting to see soul behind the mask that I wear as the face everyone sees because I like the pungent smell of red. We haunt each other in garden of light, forever circling trees just far apart to see each other among fluttering leaves as shadow of desire the mute sun casts because I want to ask you how you feel as we look past each other at the sky. The ladies in the market by the lake insist you are the oracle of Phoebus so people ask you what the unseen knows, but you tell them riddles that make me laugh so I think about softness of your lips, red as the cherry gleaming in the tree. Though you are distant as the shining moon you appear before me by pool of stars so I gaze lost in abyss of your eyes with wonder at strange beauty of your soul till my heart aches with passionate desire to hold you in my arms till we become. So when the haughty king from some far land, enraged by riddle you express in code, attempts to chain your hands with vulgar greed, I spring from shadow to arrest his hands and after fighting him with martial arts I swing wand of wisdom to whack his head. Somehow I find voice of love in my heart glowing bright enough to conjure my thoughts through eloquent sentence of my desire which conveys compassion of my selfless heart that motivates me to protect your life as humble guard of Sibylla the shy. Though all the haughty kings of our strange world kneel before your face in dark cave of dreams to receive wise words you channel from Phoebus, I see you as the shy delicate girl bathing in pond of truth with gentle grace who blushes when I give you fruit to eat. Removing mask that hides my fire-burned face, I tremble with fear you will run away, but you reach your hand to caress my scars, then hold me tight with joy as we make love so our souls swirl together in pure light with pleasure at creation of new life.
Sunday, December 18, 2022
Gold Chickadees Sing
Gold Chickadees Sing © Surazeus 2022 12 18 All the houses where my ancestors lived over the past one hundred thousand years are now occupied by strangers to me, but their voices are tangled in my hair so I eat strawberries by the cold lake and listen the gold chickadees sing. Snow falls at midnight on Seattle streets. Every house I pass in suburban maze glows gold with life of the people inside. Lights of many colors on Christmas trees flash bright with eerie honesty of death. I want to hear the gold chickadees sing. Every door I pass in the city maze is locked against intrusion of despair to hide truth in metaphors ghosts design. The apple pie on round table of peace invites wolves and sheep from Arcadia to party while the gold chickadees sing. To play chess in war to control Neverland I wear mask of Jupiter carved from oak Pinocchio gave me before he died. As firstborn son of Lucifer the Wise, I learn to play guitar with nimble thoughts to mimic how the gold chickadees sing. When sons of men write poetry their thoughts get tangled in telephone lines woven into matrix of the world brain. The book I never wrote will fly away. The girl I want to marry holds my hand so we kiss as the gold chickadees sing. The house where I live now in Onatah was never occupied before my birth. The television in the cabinet, carved from the tallest pine tree in the world, reveals the secret lives of janitors who record sad tales gold chickadees sing.
Beauty Of The Paper Crane
Beauty Of The Paper Crane © Surazeus 2022 12 18 He ponders why the door conceals the soul with fragile beauty of the paper crane that glides above bright mirror of the marsh. They share food with each other in the house which always walks across the field of wheat to prove the formula for love works well. The pencil lonely on the table cloth wants to draw clear the most beautiful face that will never exist in the real world. She tells the painting on the bedroom wall that she gave her soul to the singing tree but children always ask why she is sad. He aims rifle at the idol of God that hangs in ruins of the empty church and bleeds with tears of people killed in wars. Pinocchio dances on theater stage and sings about the Sphinx in cave of dreams who gives him the eyeless frog for his heart. Ten thousand children in dark city streets search for their mothers in windows of stores who are mannequins wearing pretty dresses. She writes love letter to the noble hero who rides the white horse in the state parade but leaves it unread on the broken dresser. The brick farmhouse near Rock of Dunamase gleams bright with holy vision of the maid who whispers with black serpent of the pool. Rain shimmers over hills of County Laois where wild-eyed Lagisia in black lace dress dances in ruins of the castle tower. She drives silver sedan on winding road back home to misty hills of Avalon while folk music plays on the radio. The beautiful witch wearing wolf-fur cape teaches girls how to gather herbs in woods then brew healing potions in copper cauldrons. The rotting apple on the windowsill chats with the sparrow with red spider eyes about the most famous fool in the world. The mother whose child died on the full moon bakes apple pies for children in the streets who search for plastic eggs on Christmas Eve. The book of ancient stories spreads white wings and flies over rugged mountains of hope to the empty house on the mountain peak. The bear with razor claws opens the book to ponder philosophy of the self based on weird beauty of the paper crane.
Driven From Our Land
Driven From Our Land © Surazeus 2022 12 18 Where shall we go now, driven from our land by lords in palaces with powdered wigs who transform our family farms into gardens with statues in mazes where shadow demons consume our souls in clanking factories while our children starve to death in the streets? I feel their fearful anguish in my bones hundreds of years after they fled the land where our ancestors lived thousands of years to escape the tyrant in the glass palace who confiscates their land with legal scams so they sail old boats to the Promised Land. For hundreds of years they migrated west to escape tyranny of kings in crowns but they invaded lands where people lived to build new paradise on bones of gods till they all died as their children grew up who forgot harsh traumas of yesteryear. Now all their ghosts are haunting me this hour, rich lords who drove my people from their homes, my people who sailed across sea of storms and traveled waste lands to find paradise, and the tribes whose lands my ancestors stole, all groaning for injustice of desire. I cannot change injustice of the past, nor atone for crimes my forebears committed, but I can dedicate my honest heart to treat every person I meet in life with generous respect for their equal rights as we struggle together to survive. Where shall they go now, driven from their land by hordes of soldiers with rifles in tanks sent by oligarch of their nation-state to acquire more lebensraum for their tribe by killing millions of innocent folk to build car factories on their stolen farms? Yet we humans are not trees that grow roots which anchor our bodies to fertile land for we can walk away on motor legs to journey far around this spinning globe, and then we die and our bodies dissolve to dust that forms foundation of the world. We journey nowhere, driven from our land by displaced refugees from distant wars, so every tribe that wanders on the Earth follows their prophet with vision of hope for whom they name the fertile land they steal till everyone forgets who lived her first.
Saturday, December 17, 2022
Ghost Of Every Soul
Ghost Of Every Soul © Surazeus 2022 12 17 Though I walk alone in the city maze I hear people sing of love in their dreams. Since I stand on bridge of forgetfulness I remember song of the mountain streams. Yet ghost of every soul who ever lives asks me to record their forgotten names. Though I wander nowhere on fenceless plains I find secret home where my family dwells. Since I hesitate in the open door I hear children shout by brimming wells. Yet ghost of every soul who long since died vanishes at sorrowful ring of bells. Though I climb the highest mountain of hope I can only see shadow of the Earth. Since I drink from the waterfall of faith I wonder at the secret of rebirth. Yet ghost of every soul who calls my name calculates how much loyal love is worth. Though I linger on shore of the strange sea I sigh with secret glowing of the moon. Since I forget why I am still alive I ache for love that proves I am immune. Yet ghost of every soul who steals the light returns to first home by the humming stone.
Cup Of Hot Chocolate
Cup Of Hot Chocolate © Surazeus 2022 12 17 In garden of monstrous melons she feels sweet consolation of unspoken words when she wakes up in middle of her life aching to sing lullaby to the dead who give each other gifts of arrogance while they smile and sip their hot chocolate. Still rootless after twenty thousand years, she walks along shore of another river where horror blossoms into her true face so she decides to care for the lost child who dies defending her against the wolf if the moon notices she is alive. As child of chaos in the silent hall, designed by architect with seven eyes, she calculates time to harvest the wheat but finds everybody dead in the dust since shadows hide secrets she wants to find though twilight wind explains excess of joy. Still awake in the middle of her life, she rides the wagon on the windswept plain beyond all sense of ever-changing time since laughter echoes between broken hills in pattern of the border that matures with pungent scent of flowers after rain. Decision to go one specific way out of ten thousand possibilities designs the fate she always would achieve, except for that one day by the sad sea when she goes everywhere she can at once, however clean the rain considers pride. Too old to not be happy anymore, she savors sweetness of the food she eats and gazes with amazement at strange hills lush with cedars that understand her pain though she never expresses it in words except to arrange stones in ring of truth. She tries to name each person in the world by knocking on doors of homes not yet built to talk about the man who always dies yet floats alive as glow cloud in the sky who watches us with eyes of ancient truth till we hide in faith of unspoken thoughts. Consuming monstrous melons before dawn, she lights small crackling fire in ring of stones with eerie flames that luminate the world which forms one giant circle of bleak hills around eternal still point of her heart when she gives me cup of hot chocolate.
Abandoned Farm Of Priapus
Abandoned Farm Of Priapus © Surazeus 2022 12 17 Still alive in lush garden by the sea for three thousand years of conceptual love, Priapus gazes in the shining pool and sees beyond shadow mask of his face the white bird fly across the silver sky that shimmers with skeleton of the cloud. In tangled wood of our perplexities for three thousand years of anxiety Priapus digs his hands in stinking soil to generate nutritious crops of food with every passing season of desire for we are trees who dance beneath the clouds. Imperfect beauty of our hungry bodies for three thousand years of regeneration Priapus admires with ferocious love that transcends all silent abuse of power so pool of wisdom is stirred by our breath when we seek answers in its murky depth. Amazed at transitory shapes of clouds for three thousand years of dynamic weather, Priapus grasps at fluid memories that eddy through billions of human brains from misty chasms of psychotic faith to weave our hopes in woof of one world view. Stumbling among clutter of sprawling cities for three thousand years they infest the Earth, Priapus searches for paradise lost under global networks of asphalt roads that link industrial maze of factories through stores selling beauty in packages. Death broods under the yellow winter moon for three thousand years of solemn despair as empires rise and fall in waves of war that soak farm fields along rivers with blood to fertilize new seasons of rich crops processed in packages of food we eat. Clutching faceless pumpkin with trembling hands for three thousand years of heartrending prayer, Priapus cries out to angels in Heaven, those wispy swirls of mist in mindless clouds, so they weep torrents of indignant rain that drench city streets with terror of death. Listening to hoot of the star-eyed owl for three thousand years of failed prophecies, Priapus calculates sullen despair that chains hearts of humanity with fear when tyrants send soldiers to holy wars in bloody battles over fields of wheat. Opening shattered door of ruined church for three thousand years of greedy crusades, Priapus returns to abandoned farm where Ceres raises wheat with bleeding hands to celebrate sad victory of world war at birth of his son on midwinter eve. Bearing platter with vegetables and fruits for three thousand years at the solstice feast, Priapus welcomes refugees of war to shelter haven of his generous heart, so they drink to building prosperous farms on ruins of cathedrals and factories.
Friday, December 16, 2022
Lucifer Lifts Light Of Liberty
Lucifer Lifts Light Of Liberty © Surazeus 2022 12 16 The angle of the painting on the wall reflects distance of paradise from home for refugees of war escaping gangs to walk across the waste land of desire yet never find the frozen lake of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. The convex mirror of the global mind distorts reality we think we know with vague kaleidoscope of fractured facts depicting dubious vision of the world which emanates from server farms of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Obscure prophets on the internet sing ambiguous riddles of suggestive truths about incoherent conspiracies where faceless tyrants in towers of glass manipulate zombies slaving in Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. More cryptic than market analysis proffered by pundits of profit with pride modernist haikus define state of mind woven by ever-flowing twitter feed composing matrix that imitates Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Through speculation of the mirror mind that checks with proof of authenticity conceptual picture on cathedral walls we bind brains with perpetual arguments spun by Wheel of Fortune hidden in Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Meaning of music on the radio frames systemic racism of desire to dominate fertile surface of Earth through temporal tantrum of toxic contempt when justice is outweighed by scales of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. Imperative of subtlety requires arrogance long hidden by mask of God contained by memory of traumatic hope that intrudes in dreamless model of laws extracting tyranny from court of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty. So zombies congregate in church of lies to bow with prayers for privilege of wealth before gold idol of their vampire king to maintain empire ruled by the grim clown who sits on throne of swords in church of Hell where Lucifer lifts light of liberty.
Play Chase With Sorrow
Play Chase With Sorrow © Surazeus 2022 12 16 I love how small green blades of tender grass twitch in the warm winter breeze of bright noon as if to sing with heart-enchanting joy about strange beauty of our spinning Earth. Little yellow leaves of the maple tree play chase with Sorrow in the happy grass. With brass astrolabe Ijliyyah designed I plot winding journey of my new quest to find the secret treasure of the mind hidden in carefree beauty of the grass. Children in the schoolyard during lunch break play chase with Sorrow in red winter light. The rambling stream slithers in apple groves to nourish flowers sprouting from our graves so I watch wind play in frail grass all day in deepening silence of winter eve. Wang An-Shih and I watch quick nervous birds play chase with Sorrow on the mountain slope. Between heaven of unreachable peaks the ever-flowing river of my heart sings over diamond sand of ancient times when I make flutes from frail dinosaur bones. The old blind fisherman asks me why I play chase with Sorrow around the whole world. My small wood river boat with empty baskets knocks restlessly against the rotten dock, but I hesitate to sail down the stream, leaving behind strangers I came to love. Holding hands, the grinning woman and I play chase with Sorrow in streets of her town. Though setting sun gleams on the icy lake, illuminating islands of lost souls, I keep on sailing past small villages as I follow the egret hunting fish. I invent names for things so my true thoughts play chase with Sorrow across misty lakes. Stopping on bridge over the deep abyss, I watch the winter moon sail among clouds till her face appears in mirror of light, so I hurry on signless roads toward home. Wind dances in prairie grass as wild horses play chase with Sorrow across the waste land. Weird revelation of blood-tinted clouds surprise my heart with love for nameless souls who wait under the willow tree for Death so I give them apples I stole from Heaven. Ravens in cemetery by the sea play chase with Sorrow in the Promised Land.
Demons Of The Netherworld
Demons Of The Netherworld © Surazeus 2022 12 16 The laughing fridge that preserves his true name shocks him with light of wisdom at midnight when he cracks celestial door of insight to eat leftovers from the football game so demons of the Netherworld swarm out to spiral letters through atomic route. At midnight in the trailer park of hope he stares into the cosmic Face of God reflected in mirror of fertile sod so he becomes aware he is alive when demons of the Netherworld reveal immortal soul of genes our minds conceal. Leaping through Light Door of Eternity, while clutching football of the Holy Grail, he runs across grid field in coat of mail to fight sacred crusade for Liberty as demons of the Netherworld offend conservative values he must pretend. Stumbling across green grid of timeless faith, beset by hordes of social justice warriors, he struggles against all respectful barriers, determined to believe unrevealed truth, but demons of the Netherworld expose Fibonacci sequence of the Mind Rose. From swirling mist of psychic energy young woman with star-flashing eyes appears holding star in her hand composed of gears that measures structure of the galaxy so demons of the Netherworld sing praise for wise woman who leads us through the maze. Divine light of wisdom beams from her eyes when Ijliyyah reveals the Astrolabe that helps man measure the cosmic landscape when we gaze from Earth to the starry skies while demons of the Netherworld align with divine hierarchy Atoms design. From atoms swerving in the boundless void galaxies form stars that nurture soul globes where fish evolve to angels wearing robes who dream how light beams from the God Ovoid where demons of the Netherworld are born to animate our bodies every morn. Kneeling on mountain by the Burning Bush, he gazes at Ijliyyah with deep love for her wisdom that shines from God above, then closes the fridge door with gentle push since demons of the Netherworld inspire another lost soul to join our global choir.
Thursday, December 15, 2022
Hanging Out With Gabriel
Hanging Out With Gabriel © Surazeus 2022 12 15 Hanging out with Gabriel in the Dream Cave, after we eat mushroom brain of Star Raven, I comprehend code spell of the sea wave which conjures vision of Idea Heaven where spectral forms of things persist as words that program my brain with tweets of thought birds. Grasping serpentine runes from Well of Odin, after I fall nine days and nights from Heaven, I prophesy world peace of Armageddon in new Holy Scripture of the Star Raven who guides my journey across the Waste Land to world amusement park of Wonderland. Bearing Holy Scripture my Muse dictates, based on algorithm of social vibes, I teach art of writing to mute primates who congregate at gathering of the tribes while I sit entranced under Irminsul to brainstorm design of the psychic tool. Assembling scattered nations of the world every year to pray at the Idol Cube, I proclaim coming of the cosmic herald who cracks jokes on the television tube in proverbs that puzzle the New World Order designed by street wisdom of the skateboarder. Following Orpheus from Cave of Fear, where all my ancestors call my weird name, I fall in love with graceful Guinevere who lures me into her romantic game where I perform role of her troubadour who sings tales from books of forgotten lore. Singing in Ivory Tower of blind faith, where my mother Rapunzel pines for love, I invent weird concept of the Star Wraith who watches us live from Heaven above because I see my face in Glowing Cloud when I prophesy to the market crowd. Waiting for Gabriel ten million years, while I evolve from chimp to wingless angel, I tune language to music of the spheres encoding timeless truth in fairy tale that children share around campfires at night to analyze strife between wrong and right. Hanging out with Gabriel in the Ghost Church, after we eat fruit from Garden of Eden, I record journey of my global search to find the gem-charged chariot of Phaeton so I can fly above our maze of myths to carve new tales on cyber megaliths.
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