Wednesday, November 20, 2024

World Of Vibrant Light

World Of Vibrant Light
© Surazeus
2024 11 20

Ten thousand doors open and close each hour 
Moon Girl glides in her boat on sea of stars 
with leisurely nonchalance of the sad 
till Buddha possesses the speckled fish 
and asks her why the mirror of her heart 
reflects every person who ever lives. 

Demonic energy of arrogance 
possesses the toad on his mushroom throne 
so he demands I find the Diamond Eye 
that Buddha lost in the Slough of Despond 
but I am busy bagging groceries 
to earn tuition fees for graduate school. 

When the bamboo sprite of sweet innocence 
asks Moon Girl why she is still feeling sad, 
she explains her heart is heavy as stone, 
so he offers to help remove the stone, 
but she giggles that he misunderstands, 
and gives him pink cotton candy to eat. 

While I wear my long raven-feathered cape 
no one will know that hidden in my brain 
writhes the fire demon of the mountain cave 
which gives me supernatural strength to catch 
invisible words buzzing with despair 
so I can translate wisdom of the rain. 

When I reach boundary at end of the world 
the time-programming system of the Earth 
traps me in recurring loop of desire 
till I break free from madness of false hope 
and seek Apple Witch with star-flashing eyes 
who knows secret name of my faceless soul. 

If God is so all-powerful and good, 
Moon Girl contemplates, sad in her glass boat, 
then he could create world of vibrant light 
where beings of energy share beams of love 
so we forever generate new life 
to savor pleasure of passionate joy. 

Instead our bodies formed of molecules 
need to consume other organic beings 
in brutal game of hunter eating prey 
so the stronger and more efficient bodies 
generate children who consume the others 
though we will all go extinct in the end. 

Opening my bio-chemistry textbook 
to the chapters on proteins and enzymes, 
I find the Diamond Eye of the Star Wraith 
so I take it to Moon Girl on the lake 
who tosses it for Buddha Toad to eat, 
then we snuggle on her boat in starlight. 


Blind Eyes Of God

Blind Eyes Of God
© Surazeus
2024 11 20

When forest of my sorrow overwhelms 
street of public responsibility 
with cries of wild creatures searching for love, 
I will go when the green traffic light gleams 
stranger than eye of the dragon that sings 
beneath dark ocean waves of memories. 

I cannot find wet street of my first vision, 
yet street lamps lead me to abandoned church 
where I catch raindrops from blind eyes of God 
that ring with sound of silence in the gloom 
till I convert saddest tune of my heart 
to solemn hymn I sing before I die. 

Though I traversed the waste land long ago 
to map the signless roads of everywhere 
that lead to castle on Cliffs of Despair, 
I carry sand of ghost-contriving words 
which once formed skull and lyre of Orpheus 
in leather bag with Ring of the Star Eye. 

When I left my home and my family 
I journeyed east to flee the Promised Land 
where my ancestors came in wagon trains 
to find the secret of the Holy Grail 
which shines in hands of the woman I love 
so we raise children in safe zone of our home. 

This story seems to be about my trip 
through the endless maze of America 
built on the ruins of Britain and Rome, 
but I see history of humanity 
swirl in tides of ambition and despair 
as empires rise and fall in waves of change. 

Since I am now too far from Helicon, 
and Parnassus is way beyond my reach, 
I climb Takoma, Mountain of my Muse, 
to see how far from sea to shining sea 
Empire of Anglonesia in my heart 
crowns northern hemisphere of spinning Earth. 

When rogue gangsters in heart of darkness build 
private armies of warriors from lost tribes, 
kings who rule systems of state violence 
send assassins to slay the tyrant bull 
in religious ritual of sacrifice 
that props power through apocalypse now. 

At darkest hour the Hidden Dragon stirs 
beneath dark ocean waves of memories, 
and, when he grasps fruit of the Golden Bough, 
will slay the antichrist to cleanse our hearts 
to dwell in United Nations of Earth 
with Justice and Liberty for all. 


Tuesday, November 19, 2024

His Skull Still Sings

His Skull Still Sings
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

When children dancing in the field of skulls 
finish cutting grand poems of ancient bards 
into puzzling fragments of lost world views, 
they go back to where Orpheus began 
singing fairy tales about honest men 
who die to protect their families from harm. 

After huge rose window of shining glass, 
that once depicted life of our World Savior, 
is shattered by whistling bombs of world war, 
children picking fragments of lost world view 
assemble new puzzle of global myth 
where Superman guards Earth from aliens. 

Entangled plots of faceless characters, 
who wander signless roads of nevermore 
in and out of houses in maze of streets, 
confuse young children with false intellect, 
so they play workers of factories and farms 
who fight hungry zombies of laziness. 

Sad antihero of the modern tale, 
investigating crimes of gangster kings, 
seeks not endless fame Achilles desired, 
but works to measure with physical laws 
evidence that exposes the plain truth, 
ensuring justice serves the innocent. 

Higher levels of abstract consciousness 
produce analysis of hidden souls, 
encoded well in metaphors of love, 
to weave weird meaning in tissue of signs 
revealed by contextual frame of desire 
that transforms language into acts of art. 

Where I stand in the middle of nowhere, 
on planet Earth that spins in starless void, 
becomes still center of my universe 
for all its countless galaxies of worlds 
since I wear mask of the Many-Faced God 
to be every person who ever lives. 

Each conscious being who walks the spinning Earth 
tells story of their quest to find the truth 
in voice that joins all others in world choir 
which merges all their special characters 
in global soul they worship as new God 
whose tale contains all their experiences. 

Trapped in context collapse of our world myth, 
we sell books of our tales in market stalls 
about loss of social totality 
to break idols of all great characters 
so we can build one idol for all gods 
which we eat as cookies each holiday. 

When I look up at the moon as I sing 
I see reflection of my mortal face 
as mirror of gigantic shadow soul 
that helps me see truth of the present age 
because light of the future shining clear 
reveals true nature of the human mind. 

Failing to retrieve his true love from death, 
Orpheus sings his heart-breaking grief, 
but, angry at truth that death is the end, 
his audience tears him into countless bards 
who sing in every city round the Earth 
for his skull still sings in Temple of Truth. 


Beauty Tames My Heart

Beauty Tames My Heart
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

Like when naked wild-haired Odysseus 
first sees eerie beauty of Nausicaa, 
or when savage Enkidu in dark woods 
meets graceful Shamhat in red priestess gown, 
I gaze entranced by power of your soul 
when you welcome me to your island home. 

Like Anticlea, granddaughter of Hermes, 
formed Odysseus from spirit of the wolf, 
and Aruru, who tends garden of herbs, 
molded Enkidu from thick river mud, 
my mother assembled puzzle of souls 
from farmers, shipwrights, and kings to make me. 

Like unruly Neptunus thrashing waves 
as I race galloping fury of my horse 
I battle Cetus and Leviathan 
to protect my sweet bride Salacia 
who guards fresh-water springs of mountain vales 
for humans to drink as they tend fruit trees. 

Like ferocious Cronus with sharp spear 
overthrows his father to rule the world, 
I rise from Tartarian caves of insight 
to battle tyrants now oppressing Earth 
and free good people with democracy 
so they will not overthrow me in turn. 

Like barbarian Odin with horn of joy 
storms Gates of Heaven with hordes of free men, 
I oppose new oligarchy of wealth 
enslaving millions in factories of hope, 
till sons of Jesus preaching humble faith 
exploit their fear with the afterlife lie. 

Like unlettered Lucifer harrows Hell 
and builds United Nations with our hearts, 
I help Justice give equal rights to all, 
and aid Liberty to free minds from fear, 
so Ishtar binds all religions in one, 
reigning in our hearts wherever we live. 

Like selfless Jesus offers sacrifice 
of all he loves to help men mend their ways 
so we create and not destroy the world, 
I honor Mermaid Mary Magdalene 
as Hero trained by Hera to guard bride 
of my hearth so she lives safe in my heart. 

Like every untamed man in history, 
born from aggressive passion to survive 
indifferent nature I mistake as gods 
hostile to peaceful progress of my life, 
I roar with truth against forces of fate 
till Beauty tames my heart with gentle kiss. 


Democracy Dreaming

Democracy Dreaming
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

All the truth is gone and freedom is crushed. 
I fight for justice though our rights are trashed. 
I will always vote to save Liberty. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 

I stop into a court to hear the case. 
I look up our rights in the Book of Laws. 
I argue for rights of equality. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 

All our facts are twisted into cruel lies. 
I oppose the tyrant and his fierce spies. 
We are imprisoned by bold tyranny. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 

I raise Flag of Freedom to lead the way. 
Her bright Torch of Truth signals our new day. 
We will always fight for Democracy. 
Democracy dreaming on such a fascist day. 


Puzzle Of Chemical Pain

Puzzle Of Chemical Pain
© Surazeus
2024 11 19

It is most unnecessary for you 
to know all the suffering I must endure 
each day I wake from restless dreams of hope 
and perform rituals that keep me alive 
another dozen years or so till I 
crumble into the nothingness of time. 

I will never tell you the pain I feel 
buzzing through fragile shell of my faint soul 
in jittery jangles of nauseous disgust, 
unexplainable throbbings of despair 
that dispel grand visions of helpful play 
in favor of surviving day by day. 

This torso of Apollo, lithe with grace, 
I once inhabited in fertile youth, 
deteriorates through excess of lusty angst 
to fractured puzzle of chemical pain 
since I lost my Ozymandian head 
somewhere in futile battle against death. 

Yet wrenching storm of anguish that bombards 
fragile ecosystem of flashing nerves 
in hostile blitz of dizzy-dazzling pain, 
subsides from wild tsunami surge of tides 
to calm glow of imperceptible ache 
that leaves me floating with strain of relief. 

I cannot let you see my suffering 
that twists my care-free passion into fear,
so I base frail chaotic tremble firm 
with stiff exertion of tense self-control 
to maintain balance on tightrope of grace 
bound whole with civil respect for strong faith. 

While trembling on tightrope of earnest faith 
high over abyss of eternity, 
Zarathustra declares he has achieved 
strength of the Superman who overcomes 
weakness of fear in suffering he endures, 
for what kills me not makes me strong as God. 

After crossing Bridge of Forgetfulness, 
I leave bleak wasteland of blind faith in God 
to search the Promised Land of free-grown fruit 
for Holy Grail which generates new life, 
so I teach my son how to serve the People 
instead of exploiting them for his gain. 

Since I have resurrected in this life, 
ascending pyramid of social power 
to rule the People with merciful love, 
I guard my wife whose heart regenerates 
new body for immortal soul of genes 
in child who incarnates me as I die. 


Monday, November 18, 2024

Ocean Heart Of The Earth

Ocean Heart Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2024 11 18

The sly boy with wings no one can see 
taps the egg-shaped stone on the desert dune 
till it cracks open with flash of blue light 
to reveal the ocean heart of the Earth, 
so he bears it carefully in both hands 
to find his snake-eyed mother in the tree. 

Slithering in branches of the long-dead tree, 
Melusine gazes at heart of the Earth 
that shimmers dark blue in hands of her son 
who asks her how its light creates our soul, 
so she throws his geode in the waste land 
where jagged jewels burst in gushing streams. 

Dancing in desert waste land of despair, 
Poseidon chants primeval water spell 
so waves of water gushing from geode 
swirl ever-expanding cycles of waves 
that surge in moon-ruled tides of opulence 
to fill vast desert canyons with deep seas. 

Floating high on enormous ocean swells, 
that bellow loud with deep thunderous roar 
as clanging bells of waves at granite cliffs, 
Neptunus leaps on rainbow-dragon wings 
and dives down in deep abyss of desire 
to swirl around tall hydrothermal vents. 

Weaving carbon rings into coils of genes, 
Tethys composes protein chromosomes 
to replicate their patterns in bound cells 
which multiply into organic beings 
who evolve through four hundred million years 
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape. 

Oceanos walks submerged in ocean wave, 
buoyed upright by deep breath in his lungs, 
then emerges from surging tide of change 
to stride upright, well-balanced on two legs, 
clutching fish he caught with clamp of his thumb, 
and lays his offering on small ziggurat. 

Roasting fish over flames on altar stone, 
Dagon offers strip of delicious steak 
to each person who kneels in humble prayer, 
while Ishtar plays lyre and sings hymn of life 
describing how wise Uranus and Gaia 
created our world from ocean of light. 

The sly boy with wings no one can see 
runs with horses along the ocean shore 
with joyful passion of his beating heart, 
then kneels and draws images in the sand 
showing Alpheus chasing Arethusa 
who bears Artemis with heart of the Earth. 


Wearing Eyes Of God

Wearing Eyes Of God
© Surazeus
2024 11 18

Somewhere in the curious world of our hearts 
young girl who lives in garden of peach trees 
picks up bright stars that glimmer in the sand 
and holds them high above her fragile head 
so they create the darkness with their beams 
which she weaves into the sweet song she sings. 

Strolling past the small bakery on her street, 
she sees Allah with long beard and star eyes 
baking bread for people on Earth to eat, 
so when he looks thirsty in desert heat 
she brings him wood cup of peach juice to drink, 
then he transforms her to a cat with wings. 

Flying from enormous cavern of his heart, 
she glides above the maze of city streets 
to find statue of the most lonely man 
that looks like her father wearing hemp pants 
who builds one-horse wagon with four large wheels 
while children dance around him chanting spells. 

Finding the oldest woman in the world 
weaving baskets from bones of long-dead gods, 
she asks if she has a spare pair of eyes, 
so the old woman floats on river waves, 
guiding her to first island in the lake 
where the Tree of Knowledge grows from her heart. 

The oldest woman in the world retrieves 
the pair of eyes she hung on Tree of Faith 
and gives them to her with two jingling bells, 
explaining how these eyes God forged from light 
have seen whole evolution of the world, 
so with them you will see beauty of love. 

Wearing Eyes of God within her own eyes, 
the girl dreams history of the universe 
since the first flash flares forth from the big bang 
to form this planet which creates our souls 
from seeds that sprout light beams and rain drops 
and grow into wingless angels who sing. 

Finding young blind boy in the mountain woods, 
Amirah gives him Eyes of God she found 
so he sees the beautiful world she loves 
while they stroll together on city streets 
eating bread Allah bakes from dreams of ghosts 
and drinking cow milk from heart of Hathor. 

When over horizon of the dark world 
the morning sun casts curious rays of truth, 
Amirah stands on pyramid of eyes 
and sings creation of the universe 
in songs that flow from fountain of her heart 
so people of the Earth drink her sweet words. 


Sunday, November 17, 2024

World Socialist Utopia

World Socialist Utopia
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

After I crawl out of the rabbit hole 
from searching for the graves of long-dead gods 
I walk in blue dusk to the grocery store 
where evening shoppers, hoping to buy faith, 
are careful not to share their eyes with owls 
to read secret messages on glass doors. 

Pausing in back aisle under the fake clock, 
I stare at large can of potato soup 
and wonder what would happen if a bomb 
were to blow holes in television screens, 
but then I smile with assurance of faith 
that I have hid my dreams in unread books. 

Hired by the government to play the role 
of Lucifer exposing greedy frauds, 
I hide every book of forgotten lore 
that dares to reveal name of the Star Wraith 
till I join the internet ghost who howls 
with hungry despair on the money moors. 

I return every year to Plymouth Rock 
where I arrived with freedom-fighting group 
commissioned to build alabaster tomb 
for Jesus who loves to build time machines 
powered by spirit essence of the wraith 
reborn in artsy minds of castle cooks. 

I try to understand this modern age 
where lonely rebels, clutching plastic guns, 
pretend to fight against the government 
while getting their farmer subsidy checks 
to grow wheat on the prairies far from towns, 
while I write fantasy novels in verse. 

For the next revolution to begin 
the people living in home of the brave 
must elect cruel dictator of blind greed 
as their messiah of the nuclear cloud 
who will destroy their rich land of the free 
so we can build new paradise for all. 

When jester of the king prances on stage 
to mock the way their fake messiah runs 
the people stuck in loops of argument 
wear assault-rifle crosses on their necks 
to cheer Headless Horseman at Churchill Downs 
who fails to escape the Trojan-Horse curse. 

Yet the cosmic herald will always win 
right to translate code from the ocean wave 
so everyone works to get what they need 
in world socialist utopia of the proud 
since Odin bears the social justice key 
he stole from Lucifer before the Fall. 


Face Of My Tribal Soul

Face Of My Tribal Soul
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

I wear ancient face of my tribal soul 
designed by each ancestor who survived 
hungry monsters haunting indifferent world 
on difficult quest in landscape of fear 
to find the secret of eternal life 
in eyes of my soulmate who understands. 

Holding hands with innocent trust of love, 
we stroll winding road of companionship 
to share tales of our lives before we met 
as we plan where we would like to go next 
to fulfill our desires living in peace 
and raising children we create with love. 

When gang of men surrounds us with wood wands 
I crouch in martial stance of fortitude 
then fight thieves with my brass diamond-tipped wand 
that splinters their arrogance with calm grace 
so they flee in panic in shadowed woods, 
leaving us to continue on our way. 

Discussing tricks for brewing honey wine, 
we stop by temple of the weeping god 
when gang of men return with their old king 
who commands I give him bride of my heart 
so he can breed strong children from her womb, 
and he will let me slave if I submit. 

When I defy old tyrant to his face, 
requesting he let people live in peace, 
he orders archers to shoot, so I twirl 
wand of wisdom that deflects every arrow, 
then I break wheels of his grand chariot, 
causing him to fall face down in the dirt. 

After I kill his soldiers who attack, 
I help old trembling king stand on his feet, 
then ask him why he kidnaps free-born girls, 
but he invites me to pyramid hall 
where he gives me crown to rule in his place, 
so my bride places jeweled ring on my head. 

Priests rush and try to chain my arms and legs 
to throne of judgment, but I leap away 
and strike their heads with magic wand of truth, 
then trembling king explains how they forced him 
to issue decrees that increase their wealth, 
so I kill them, and give him back his crown. 

Holding hands with trusting bride of my heart, 
I leave pyramid of power behind 
so he can continue to rule the world 
while we raise wise children at our country farm, 
feasting and dancing each safe evening night 
while sons of the dead king fight for his crown. 


If Our Empire Falls

If Our Empire Falls
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

I am not concerned if our empire falls 
because some people think their race and class 
is clever enough to control the rest 
thought no one reads the writing on the walls 
that claims the fight over wealth is too crass 
since the winner must always be the best. 

Each time I walk into the crowded room 
with voice of the people I speak in code 
the owl outside the window proves its point 
that humans are prone to expect grand doom 
since our ancestors always took the road 
less traveled by to temple of the saint. 

If nature, not art, can usurp the prayer 
each artist portrays on canvas of time, 
ruined buildings of her body contain 
expression of the portrait far less fair 
than secret that our brains evolve from slime, 
so we walk together in silent rain. 

I understand what the trees try to tell 
before they throw smog at resilient flowers 
in chorus of laments on road of skulls 
awake in puzzling light of the rune well 
that feeds three blind brides in absolute towers 
who teach their kind husbands not to be tools. 

Whatever name you think to call me now 
I will accept it based on ancient stars 
to clean secret smudge off back of my soul 
when we assemble to worship the cow 
which travels in circles with silver cars 
because surviving the end is our goal. 

Each segment in strange story of my life 
swings open with arrogance of the orange 
devised by the fallen angel to heal 
broken hearts of lovers confused by strife 
of singing girls to be crowned in Stonehenge 
as Fairy Queen who controls the state wheel. 

This world where we are born from ache of love 
is dream of this world that spins among stars 
in oval cycle around the sun god 
who invites us to grand feast in the cove 
through trap to assassinate son of Mars 
who is on track to lead the Justice Squad. 

The lake of pain where humans bathe at dawn 
reveals cold absence of our mortal state 
we use to share our monstrous tenderness 
as background players who would crown the pawn 
as hidden emperor who rewrites fate 
if we decide to sell our happiness. 


Nomad Of Signless Roads

Nomad Of Signless Roads
© Surazeus
2024 11 17

Though I am the nomad of signless roads 
I want to draw the border of my truth 
around my sorrow on the map of hope 
to make my soul the country of my heart 
where you can dwell safe in walls of my love 
no matter how far we wander from home. 

Though I travel alone to love and faith, 
enduring struggles against obstacles 
indifferent nature casts on road of hope, 
my journey to find home our love creates 
is shared by every person in the world, 
for in the end we all will meet in death. 

Though I had hoped we would all meet in death 
I find myself alone on road of fate, 
my private paradise where I now dwell 
designed by every little choice I make 
as I expand its borders to include 
every nameless soul lost on every road. 

Though we meet now and then on road of life 
we find ourselves alone with faceless death 
so we give Death the faces of our friends 
so we can share sweet comfort of despair 
while savoring beauty of forever now 
till eternity erases everything. 

Though bombs destroy the homes our fathers built 
we build new homes with shrapnel of their hate 
so bombs cannot destroy homes made of bombs 
till we decide with one expressive word 
to blast illusions of our hopes to dreams 
so we can build homes from elusive faith. 

Though borders drawn by men with guns of greed 
mark where their gangs of killers ceased combat 
I walk through fences and past gates of fear 
to bind all countries of the world in one, 
connected by our shared experience 
of losing the homes we built with our hearts. 

Though I hide in the shadow of my home, 
hoping border of our fear keeps us safe, 
I feel aggression of invading thieves 
who seek to drive me from my paradise 
so they can build their home of star-blind faith 
on ruins of my home with blood and bones. 

Though I am the nomad of signless roads 
I want to erase all borders of fear 
to free our spirits from the Promised Land 
that imprisons our hopes in blinding faith, 
for heavy hearts sprout wings of honesty 
to fly above vast maze of bombed-out homes. 


Saturday, November 16, 2024

Horse With No Name

Horse With No Name
© Surazeus
2024 11 16

The green sign above the highway of hope 
tells me that Heaven is one thousand miles 
if I keep going straight across the desert, 
so I tap the steering wheel with my hands 
as I race along across waste land of desire 
while I sing about the horse with no name. 

Each rock song blaring on the radio 
depicting life in California hills 
encourages me with mad hope of the fool 
that I made the right choice for mental health 
to escape thief-haunted Manhattan maze 
and search for true peace in the Promised Land. 

Arriving in time for summer of love, 
I drive the rolling hills of San Francisco 
where hippies from small towns of New England 
dance in the streets with flowers in their hair 
while bards that look like Jesus with god eyes 
play guitar and sing about peace on Earth. 

Aging bank clerk in my rumpled gray suit, 
divorced from daughter of the factory owner, 
with three children attending private schools, 
I walk among the hippies with long hair 
to feel the groovy thing now going on, 
and wander all night on the beach till dawn. 

Exchanging uptight corporate uniform 
for blue jeans and rainbow tie-died tee-shirt, 
I join kids sitting in circles on grass 
who smoke weed while hip Jesus plays guitar, 
and listen to them talk about world peace 
by stopping the cruel war in Vietnam. 

Young girl with eyes blue as the morning sea 
places small tab with a skull on my tongue 
so I sway with the music till I feel 
ocean tides surging in crystalline words 
through fractal atoms in sponge of my brain 
as I become owl on my childhood farm. 

I make small puppet of my body dance 
till he cuts my strings and his nose grows long 
when he becomes viking wolf with sharp axe 
who hacks down forests to build steel-glass towers 
though I am turtle crawling among flowers 
on sacred quest to find the Holy Grail. 

I tell everyone the Earth is my brain 
so the young woman with ten thousand eyes 
gives me glass of orange juice from dragon blood 
which I drink as my soul beams from the stars 
and I swirl down inside my fragile body, 
then eat omelettes at the Pork Store Cafe. 


Godin Reborn In My Body

Godin Reborn In My Body
© Surazeus
2024 11 16

I see ancient truth of my tribal face 
gaze at me from fractured mirror of time 
as each ancestor walks the road of hope 
eight thousand miles east Egypt to Guilin 
and nine thousand miles west Guilin to Scotland, 
eighty thousand years transforming to Godin. 

With thunderous excess of ecstatic hope 
I stagger through sweet anguish of each day 
in gold hills of the California coast 
that shimmer under periwinkle skies 
far from the land that shaped dreams of my soul 
as I keep looking for my perfect mate. 

I dive into deep pool behind the church 
where skeletons of angels swim and play 
with laughter captured on the silver screen 
that flickers bright against dark evening sky 
where people feasting at tables of food 
pray to the many-faced god in the clouds. 

Assembled in neat park among tall trees, 
under purple evening Oregon skies, 
nice people in suits and dresses hold hands 
and sing with heavenly voices of angels, 
"Shall we gather with the saints at the river 
that flows by the throne of our father God." 

Running along shore of the sparkling river 
where bright angel feet have trod among flowers, 
children dance around the bard with long hair, 
looking like portrait of Jesus in churches, 
who strums guitar and sings, "We are the children 
of Earth for we are woven from starlight." 

The girl with long blond hair and sea-blue eyes, 
and wearing long yellow dress with red flowers, 
dances barefoot under the apple tree, 
slowly swaying with gently trippy grace 
to imitate true spirit of the Earth 
that molds our bodies with hands of the sun. 

The bard in long white gown who looks like Christ 
chants, We are children of our Mother Earth 
who forms our bodies from mud of the sea, 
and lights our minds with atoms of the sun, 
so we embody deathless soul of light 
as we dwell free in hills of California." 

Awake as Godin reborn in my body, 
I walk the golden hills of California 
with ghosts of my ancestors in my heart 
to sing salvation of generous love 
as people reject worldly possessions 
and dwell in commune where I reign as king. 


Vastness Of All-Time

Vastness Of All-Time
© Surazeus
2024 11 16

Mysterious spirit of the butterfly 
that descends from glow of the wordless sun 
fills me with visions of ten billion Earths 
teeming with countless variations of me, 
each one thinking about the rest of us, 
our brains connected in vast web of light. 

We give each other names of loneliness 
that sound like water rippling over stones 
to conjure spirits of immortal genes 
who wake as characters in unread books, 
each me-clone talking to its mirror self, 
our hearts beating with song of ocean waves. 

Exquisite wokeness beaming from my eyes 
illuminates each object my mind names 
with pure compassion for all living beings 
who wonder who they are as they gaze up 
at face of World Mother on the bright moon, 
eyes shining with story we hope to live. 

We call each other in the swirling fog 
while lost in nightmare of what we fear most 
till, trapped in teardrop of the hungry god, 
we float through sleepness of eternity, 
each conscious being across the universe 
alone on worlds in vastness of all-time. 

I float in surging ocean waves of bliss, 
aware of aching hope inside my heart 
that urges me to rise with gasping breath 
to stand on two legs in soft gust of wind, 
then I cry out with anguish of desire 
to face of light that shimmers in the sky. 

Alone on Earth in vastness of all-time, 
I study endless beach of silver sand, 
then climb tree roots up high steep cliff 
to stand on upper world of apple trees 
where serpents hiss when I reach out my hand 
and snatch sweet fruit to eat soul of the sky. 

Since I climbed from womb of the mother sea 
one million years ago before today 
I have walked ten times around spinning Earth 
through fifty thousand lives of mortal bodies, 
each child reincarnation of my god-soul 
till I remember every life today. 

The mask of each ancestor in my genes 
reveals contours of their experiences 
in my own special face I wear today, 
amazed I am but one brief flash of life 
awake with conscious glow of the sun-soul 
in my small brain that soon will flicker out. 


In The Face Of Defeat

In The Face Of Defeat
© Surazeus
2024 11 16

Sitting on curb outside the grocery store, 
he plays guitar and sings heart-broken blues. 
"If everything in my life falls apart 
I just leave it all behind in the town 
and walk on down the road to someplace new 
where I can build a better way to live." 

Mothers with children and old bearded men 
drop dollars in his hat as they walk by. 
"Whenever I want to make a new start 
I hide my true face with mask of the clown 
then, searching in the shadows for some clue, 
I find treasures of truth that I can give." 

Several people form circle round his spot, 
tapping their feet in rhythm with his beat. 
"I want to fly like Icarus in the sky, 
but wings of ambition I made from hope 
melt in glaring sun of reality 
and this is where I landed on the Earth." 

One eager boy flaps his arms like bird wings 
and runs in circles round the friendly tree. 
"I pause on signless road to wonder why 
I have to learn each new day how to cope 
with bitter sorrow of my family 
who care not where I wander on the Earth." 

Policemen arrive with guns on their hips 
and demand to see his busking permit. 
"We must unite to fight cruel tyranny 
when the traitor and conman steals the crown 
for men will feel free to commit more crimes 
and steal from people who work hard all day." 

He loudly shouts he has the right to sing 
voice of the people suppressed by their fear. 
"We must fight for our world democracy 
to save our country from the greedy clown 
but none dares rock the boat in scary times, 
afraid of the gangster who demands pay." 

Struggling against arrest of the police, 
he kicks and screams about his civil rights. 
"I worked hard all my life and followed rules 
but men in power rigged the social game 
so they will always win and I will lose 
though I am honest as they lie and cheat." 

Clutching crushed guitar as he backs away, 
he gasps in surprise as they shoot him dead. 
"We little people are no more than tools 
the rich abuse to gain adoring fame 
but in the end all we can do is choose 
how to live well in the face of defeat." 


Friday, November 15, 2024

My Own Center Still Holds

My Own Center Still Holds
© Surazeus
2024 11 15

Though it seems I have wasted my life 
I will continue to lounge in the hammock 
that swings nonchalantly in dusky breeze 
over the abyss between Tree of Life 
and Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil 
while horses nibble apples in my hand. 

So I decide I will not change my life 
since my aging body of flesh and bone 
does not resemble torso of Apollo 
though I do strum the lyre of Mercury 
and sing ethereal hymns of haunting beauty 
to highlight the truth of unspoken things. 

Though things appear to be falling apart 
as anarchy is about to be loosed 
upon the world, my own center still holds 
my heart secure on mountain of my faith 
that we are temporary beams of light 
for the Second Coming will never happen. 

The Spirit of Jesus as selfless king 
wakes in the hearts of humble honest men 
who seek conceptual power of the state 
to support Justice equal for all people 
who dwell in Liberty of self-control 
and help each other though everyone dies. 

Now rising from the waste land of our fear, 
huge gold statue of Ozymandias 
emerges from the desolate sands of time 
to declare himself king over the Earth, 
but we mock his sneer of bitter command 
as his greed crushes all we long held dear. 

In our darkest hour of terrible night 
Icarus soars from golden tower of hate 
and guides Sisyphus with signal of fate 
to loose the rolling stone of global peace 
to smash his statue with its feet of clay 
so we can rejoice at fall of the tyrant. 

Where our tree grows tall to surpass our fate 
Orpheus sings with voice of ancient hope 
that rises from harsh silence of our fears 
to intimate new beginning of world change 
when we burn down institutions of power 
and build new temple where all may dwell safe. 

When I cry out to the Blue Sky for help 
no angel among the orders of Heaven 
hears my passionate plea to save our state 
from terrifying greed of tyranny, 
so I wake soul of Justice in my heart 
and join world tribe to fight for Liberty. 


Thursday, November 14, 2024

United For The Truth

United For The Truth
© Surazeus
2024 11 14

When we walk together blind in the dark 
we can give each other rocks, and decide 
to be enthusiastic about death, 
though someone always talks about the ghost 
that hides in shadows of our nameless fears, 
so maybe we should just sit for a while. 

If we are stranded on deserted isle 
after escaping from gang of state thieves, 
we can all agree to cooperate 
catching fish and cooking them over fires 
so everyone can eat, till someone shouts 
that someone else got more than their fair share. 

No one will ever come looking for us 
because we told the preacher in the church 
that he tells lies about the afterlife, 
because we are better off in the woods 
eating mushrooms that redesign our minds 
so we can see spirits in faceless things. 

The alternate theory I postulate 
about why people always fight for power 
considers material nature of life, 
so I should write my ideas in books 
and sell them to the banker with the key 
who runs engine of world economies. 

When the traitor crowns himself king of Earth 
he appoints his gang of rapists and thieves 
to important posts in the government, 
so we bow our heads and go back to work 
sweating all day in the vast factory 
while he plays golf and sails expensive yachts. 

Leaving behind the crazy game of power 
that men contest in city of desire, 
we journey west into the wilderness 
and build new town on sparkling river shore 
to live free from cruel greed of tyranny 
till his thieves find our home in paradise. 

Yet when I think about the end of time 
in revelation of apocalypse 
exposing bitter hatred in our state, 
I let my pretty puppets fall disgraced 
because I am exhausted by it all, 
attempting to preserve democracy. 

When we walk together blind in the light 
we can give each other books of ancient tales 
about how heroes, who for Liberty 
oppose aggression of greedy monarchs, 
defeat the tyrant because he is weak, 
and we are strong united for the truth. 


Ghosts Of Artists

Ghosts Of Artists
© Surazeus
2024 11 14

Ghosts of artists, forgotten and ignored, 
linger in drizzle of cold autumn rain 
till David plucks the Halleluyah chord 
and wakes them singing with exquisite pain 
about strange beauty of the universe 
concealed in psychic code of the book curse. 

The poet plucking lyre beside castle hearth 
for king and warriors in the feasting hall, 
relates deeds of his father, god on Earth, 
while they lift cups to trophies on the wall, 
then wanders outside on the garden path, 
relieved to escape tyrannical wrath. 

The painter brushing color on church wall 
for pope and priests in the council room, 
depicts life of the shepherd, god of all, 
who they believe will save all men from doom, 
then gallops horse by the river in mist 
to meet wife of the king in secret tryst. 

The dancer leaping twirls on drama stage 
for banker and clerks in grand theater, 
spreads invisible wings to escape cage 
of heavy flesh as Star Idolater, 
then falls from Heaven back into her head, 
flushed with ecstasy she is not yet dead. 

The poet scribbling verse in bookstore cafe 
for teacher and colleagues in the workshop, 
smokes dream flower while writing how his eye 
perceives the universe in one teardrop 
that splashes in soil by the cabin door 
to wake his soul with truth of petrichor. 

The painter smearing goop on studio floor 
for gallerist and buyers in garage, 
drinks wine red as blood on the moonlit moor 
congealed as woman through spirit mirage 
whose twisted face reimagines the soul 
humanity sells for wealth as their goal. 

The dancer writhing wild in playhouse space 
for journalist and readers in the mall, 
expresses anguish hidden by glass face 
when she imitates sad Icarian fall 
as wingless angel, symbol of mankind 
trapped in this body blind fate has designed. 

Ghosts of Artists, unpaid and mad for fame, 
swirl in divine force of the hurricane 
as they compete to play the prophet game 
for who can better symbolize the bane 
of hope that drives mankind to rule the world 
with fantasy dreamed by the cosmic herald. 


Wednesday, November 13, 2024

Mutual Trusting Love

Mutual Trusting Love
© Surazeus
2024 11 13

With basket full of acorns on her arm, 
Damona strolls thin trail in grove of oaks 
past daffodils that gleam in the pearl moon 
to oak wood temple by bubbling hot springs 
where she brews beef and acorn soup with thyme 
while humming cheerful melody of hope. 

Twisting knobs to tighten wires on his lyre, 
Borbanus squints his eyes to hear sharp twang 
till he is satisfied its tone is right, 
then childishly grins with hungry delight 
when Damona sets bowl of soup with bread 
on round table in garden round the back. 

Skipping among bushes of pungent herbs, 
Bormana chases the white butterfly 
that lands on pink yarrow blooms by the pool, 
kneels and gazes down at her small round face, 
then asks her father why her eyes are blue, 
as spotted fawn nuzzles her rosy cheek. 

Grinding herbs in stone mortar with slim pestle, 
Belenus tastes concoction with his finger, 
then asks Sirona to bring three snake eggs, 
so she runs down to verdant river shore 
and gathers small white adder eggs she finds 
under leaf litter beneath holly shrubs. 

Following Sirona back from the river, 
Grannus wraps his arms around her plump waist 
and whispers words of desire in her ear, 
but when she struggles to escape his grasp 
he throws her down among the daffodils 
and tries to thrust inside between her legs. 

Running to mother Damona in fright, 
Bormana whispers that she saw her brother 
Grannus trying make babies with Sirona, 
so she commands Borbanus with sharp voice 
to arrest their son from forcing his way 
on the girl without her mutual consent. 

Dragging his son off of the weeping girl, 
Borbanus beats his legs with the oak wand, 
then explains to Grannus with stern command 
that he must always accept expressed choice 
of any girl after asking consent, 
respecting her free will to love or not. 

Gathering everyone at the feasting table, 
Damona lectures them about free will, 
reminding them that one confirms their soul 
through self-control of mutual trusting love, 
then fills their bowls with honey acorn soup 
while Borbanus plays lyre as evening falls.