Thursday, February 18, 2021

Awakening Of Saturn

Awakening Of Saturn
© Surazeus
2019 10 17

I am that oak leaf, fragile as lost hope 
for love, that flutters in cold sudden breeze 
in search for safety of your smiling eyes, 
aimlessly adrift. I am that mute breeze 
flashing brightly over strange river flow 
of wordless angst, so remember my name. 

Since some people view this material Earth 
as clumsy embodiment of fraught forms 
that shimmer persistent in realm of Heaven, 
they will aspire to transcend fleeting time 
through taut expression of active desire 
to dwell painless in never-changing peace. 

Pain twisting sinews of my body cracks 
frail dome of meaning that surrounds my heart, 
but you reach out your unfamiliar hand 
and comfort me. My heart flutters from fear 
that searing pain will shatter my soft soul, 
and I will wander bewildered shores mute. 

Swirling couds of evening and morning float 
in voluptuous fleeces over stark hills 
while I strum Delphic harp to capture voice 
of divine spirit that sings through my mind. 
Numberless as leaves swirling in autumn wind 
are people who have lived and died on Earth. 

I pause on sea shore where endless waves break 
to carve names of the dead on shifting sand 
and weep more than rain. I think I can sense 
glow of their souls around me in sunlight, 
or I imagine sparks of life I feel, 
so I savor warm glow of their lost love. 

We are stars wandering through infinite void 
in mute desire to communicate love 
which could connect our minds in web of dreams, 
thus I gaze with hope in eyes of each soul 
whose face appears from swirling mist of time. 
We give each other names in shy surprise. 

When I say the gold moon illuminates 
your face with beauty of your inner soul 
that glows with essence of your loving heart, 
I mean I love you. I reach out my hand 
with hope you will hold my hand as we walk 
nowhere along strange river of lost dreams. 

When you find me asleep on river shore, 
incumbent among flowers blooming with truth, 
call out my name as Saturn. I breathe light 
from my lost realm so I can perceive depth 
of changing things with nimble outward eye 
from half-unraveled web of naked truth. 

Drowsy in silent zone of autumn dawn, 
I dream entire history of human life 
evolving from slime of the mindless sea 
to walk round surface of our spinning world 
and sing tales of heroes. I speak with voice 
of ravens who laugh in oak tree of truth. 

Appearing listless to eyes of lost souls 
who seek wisdom bright in my realmless eyes, 
I bow my hoary head of tangled hair 
and listen to the Earth, our ancient mother, 
who sings of love through swiftly flowing streams. 
I name the strangers who stare through my soul. 

I am no fallen king in forlorn wood 
who stores thunder of hope in aching heart, 
nor hurls lightning over serene domain, 
for I am human as all mortal souls 
who ache for strong love of companionship, 
and floats in trance of light from earnest stars. 

Will sweet Moneta weep over my body, 
and embrace my beating heart with bold arms 
to help me bear eternal quietude 
of unchanging gloom measured by the moon 
so I become indifferent world I love? 
I am fragile oak leaves crumbling in rain. 

Rise Of Hyperion

Rise Of Hyperion
© Surazeus
2011 06 08

I dream fantastic curves of marble halls 
and weave paradise with stone and grape vine 
muring around fresh bubbling fountain pond 
to tight enclose within hard granite walls 
lush garden of herbs and silk-bloom fruit trees 
that binds our hearts in heaven of our songs 
when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

I blow ram horn to call home river nymphs 
who dance through high arching gate of gold bars 
to heap wood round table with basket bowls 
of fruit and nuts and eggs and berries, ripe 
from kissing sun and sparkling eyes of rain, 
then Gaia plays flute carved from dragon bone 
and Kronus flaps cape of black raven wings 
while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

We feast in timeless sunset on moss mound 
beneath shaded arbour with dropping roof 
of trellis vines and bells and apple blooms 
that swing light in breeze dispensing sweet scent 
to taste juice of sunlight and rain in gifts 
Earth provides from her rich generous heart 
since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Stumbling from forest mist on signless path 
pale Adonais, dressed in black suit and hat, 
invades secret bower where gods drink nectar, 
blind to joyous dance of flower nymphs, 
to grasp and devour melons and grapes 
as if he had not eaten since time began 
while wandering lost on friendless quest, 
then falls fainting in sleep of dreamless groans 
while Silenus mimics his agony on grass, 
till bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Urania plays haunting melody on bone flute 
of glittering sea waves woven on wind threads 
that shoot rays through his weak enchanted heart, 
sparking soul of slumbering poet aware 
to start up as if with wings on wild hope 
and wander aimless into ancient stone hall 
where Moneta tends eternal flame of truth, 
while Mares stamps gold into shining coins, 
when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Climbing thirteen high steps of ziggurat, 
Adonais struggles to ascend pyramid peak 
where Astaria observes motions of stars, 
peering eager through polished crystal eye, 
but grim Moneta robed in vestal shroud 
declares, "If you cannot ascend sacred steps, 
die on that marble where you crawl in pain, 
for your flesh would crumble to bitter dust 
if you never feast on fruit or drink Earth juice, 
though bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Moneta grasps tight his pale trembling hand 
when Adonais achieves highest pinnacle, 
and takes him through towering silent hall 
to shadowed grove of ancient tangled oaks 
where Saturnus lies forlorn on cracked rocks, 
long gray hair curling into sinews of our world, 
and moans wordless despair a thousand years, 
deposed from throne of power by jaunty youth, 
so bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Forlorn divinity grasps shoulders of fair youth 
and groans, "I see her eyes gleaming in your eyes, 
sweet bride who crowned my mighty humble head 
with laurel wreath, appointing me her house guard, 
for her sweet eyes I see reborn in our only son, 
brave but reckless Hyperion, who cast me down, 
and grasped scepter with diamond of hard truth, 
then claimed right to rule over my measured realms, 
so now bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Stepping slow and regal on jagged stones, 
ancient woman with hair silver as moonlight 
resolves from swirling mist in torn black gown, 
and kneels at feet of Saturnus, weeping in sorrow 
as grumbling king caresses her bowed head, 
"My gentle Thea, our son, who tamed wild horse, 
locks gate to heaven, preventing our return, 
though you birthed him and I trained him well 
to defend our people and decide each hard case, 
yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Two soul-weary wanderers, without warm home, 
hold hands and walk together toward stone wall, 
followed by Moneta clutching bag of gold coins, 
and heart-broken Adonais, ghost of humanity, 
through whispering woods with grasping claws, 
leaving behind ancient temple of moldering stone 
to climb thousand stairs toward temple of light 
that gleams gold on high rock mountain of hope 
where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

His grand new palace shimmers cold and bright, 
bastioned with pyramids of flashing gold, 
though shadowed by shape of towering obelisks, 
and glares red as blood through ten thousand courts 
of arches supporting domes over galleries 
while Seraphim tend flames on altar stones 
behind soft linen curtains of Aurorian clouds 
where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Holding scepter key that opens treasure halls 
where coins are stored, that buy loyalty of men, 
Hyperion laughs delighted as his parents come, 
and spreads arms wide in kind generosity 
of victorious power to offer food and drink, 
inviting aged parents who long had ruled well 
to rest in safe retirement and restore health 
since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Ancient bearded Saturnus growls annoyed, 
"I forged from stone this heaven of cooperation, 
organizing labor of men to benefit every citizen, 
and long achieved smooth operation of life 
guiding social games of equal work and play, 
but you grasp wealth and give nothing back 
though you should guard welfare of our souls 
while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Hyperion leaps high and proclaims bold, 
"I am loyal to ideal principles you invented 
of respect for men, and honor to defend truth, 
and justice to punish men who steal and kill, 
represented by political union that I contracted, 
for rules guide actions to create not destroy 
when citizens cooperate for benefit of everyone, 
yet you used principles as reins to control 
believers in ideals who dream lost fantasy, 
for bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"I separate institutions of government 
from human who gains position of power 
by killing opponents and silencing speech 
of men who dare oppose his program of greed, 
for tyrants are insecure on thrones of bones 
so they use fear and torture to maintain grip 
on wealth that slips away from hungry grasp, 
though bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"We create our government of honest people, 
by creative people, and for loyal people, 
each new dawn of game with actions and words, 
by treating each man as though he were a king, 
for power is built on hearts of men not stones, 
if bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Young man, wearing sandals and leather kilt, 
leaps from stone and faces bright sun king, 
gripping long sharp sword, then crouches low 
to shout, "At last I find you, pompous Hyperion, 
who think you stand so far above mortal men 
by claiming divine knowledge hidden in code, 
but you are nothing more than bones and blood, 
and you will crumble to dust after your soul 
deserts ship of your flesh and lets you sink 
in womb of black sea under dreamless silence, 
yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Grasping broad shoulders of handsome lithe boy, 
Hyperion wrestles him on jagged mountain range, 
like black clouds clashing to generate white flash 
of lightning, and crack egg shell of our universe, 
then cries out in deep voice booming thunder claps, 
"My son Helius, born from secret love forbid, 
when my heart was enchanted by sweet Kalliope, 
your noble soul ripens richer in loving wisdom 
with each spinning turn of our blooming globe 
where bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Bright father and brighter son tumble down, 
and roll laughing in delight, then leap on feet 
and clasp hands to chant, "We rise from death, 
for we are children of ten thousand mothers," 
but faded grandfather with tangled gray hair 
sits with sweet wan Thea by gleaming stream, 
and whispers to her, "I never played with my son, 
yet bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

"Sweet-voiced Kalliope calls for you, my son, 
so skip free on will of your beating heart, 
and breathe deep mysterious spirit of life, 
then listen to her firm instructing words 
to learn magic art of strumming harp strings 
that vibrate unseen spirit of our vast universe, 
so you chant spells of words to articulate 
shape and process of our complex world 
that rings alive taut inner souls of our minds 
so we all sing in harmony of goal for love 
when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Forlorn poet Adonais, standing beside old muse, 
whispers to Moneta, "Teach me his mystery 
so vital spirit of joy for life to satisfy hope 
ever glows bright to animate this feeble flesh 
when I meet merry folk on endless road, 
and share gifts of my wealth with everyone, 
for death will shroud us all in silent cloak 
and transport shells of bones to dreary cave, 
so now, today, share ripe feast and sing free, 
since bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne." 

Kalliope, wearing red gown of flaming words, 
places book of blank pages and swan quill 
in hands of pale poet who gasps wordless awe 
at translucent beauty shining from her eyes 
that spiral with vast galaxies of eternal truth, 
then sweet immortal light of reviving faith 
beams from heart of Proserpine to shroud 
his mortal frame in fearful awesome blast, 
so Adonais faints and stares at her bright star 
while bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Adonais falls from heaven for three days, 
and lies wounded in garden of white blooms 
where Fama, stitching shirts with silver needle, 
cradles head of fallen Titan on her bosom, 
caressing his hair and gazing down in his eyes 
to read secrets of his soul written in his book, 
then comforts his mind by whispering love spells 
while his eternal spirit dissolves in rays of light 
when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Dance in my heaven of stone and grape vine, 
and drink from waters of my bubbling pond, 
then gather in temple where Moneta tends flame 
to celebrate rise of Hyperion over Chaos 
by grasping reins to guide chariot of state 
when noble father who created social game 
grows weak from devouring winds of time, 
great thundering god reduced to a sad mime, 
when bright Hyperion plays harp on his throne. 

Sunday, September 8, 2019

When I Transcend God

When I Transcend God
© Surazeus
2019 09 08

I am the glow of my genetic code
so I journey the landscape of my dreams
to overcome obstacles of desire
till I get comfortable inside my body
and learn to maneuver weird maze of lust,
attaining pleasure as I sink in death.

From ashes of desire I rise on wings
of aching passion to live my true soul
as I maneuver through wild teeming crowd
of human ambition to rule the hill
and decide who gets to eat fruit of life
so I plant my apple to grow new trees.

Once I outwit people trying to control
expressive will of my corporeal force,
I clear space in labyrinth of hungry souls
to maintain daily ritual of success
that sustains chemical process of life
so I grow into the true self I want.

From tangled wires of electric desire
which flashes through web of nerves in my body
I weave angelic wings of self-expression
to overcome duty my tribe demands
and perform the role I write for myself
when I transcend God to become more Human.

Wednesday, July 10, 2019

No Heaven Above The Clouds

No Heaven Above The Clouds
© Surazeus
2019 07 10

My grandfather Bob Seamount was a tenor
in the Christian group Kings Heralds Quartet,
singing hymns about Jesus as World King
as they drove car on the road church to church
across the North American continent
for the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Descended through eleven generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
Bob Seamount found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in his mind,
so he joined choir of angels to sing hymns
in his quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Assembling in the broadcast studio
for the Voice of Prophecy radio program,
Bob and his friends in Kings Heralds Quartet
sang about King Jesus coming again
as Adventist families around the country
gathered in living rooms to sing along.

Learning techniques for recording their songs,
Bob produced records of performances,
snipping and assembling magnetic tape
to generate wax disks people could buy
and listen on players in living rooms
to sing along with his heavenly choir.

Flying airplanes high above our spinning world,
Bob traveled far with Kings Heralds Quartet
to distant countries around planet Earth
in South America, Africa, Europe,
and Asia, singing in Adventist churches
like angels from the clouds on silver wings.

Angelic messenger on silver wings,
Bob flew around the Earth to distant lands
in airplanes he refurbished with his hands
to Adventist missions around the world,
converting people to worship as God
long-dead king willing to die for his tribe.

When I was nine in Summer of Seventy-Four,
Bob brought me to white hangar in the field
at the small airport just north of Keene, Texas
where I watched him rebuild small white airplane,
then he took me soaring high among clouds
where no angels on clouds play harps and sing.

When I was twelve in Spring of Seventy-Seven,
after Bob died from brain cancer in Florida,
I attended his funeral in large Keene Church
where thousands of people gathered to mourn
death of the great Kings Heralds Quartet Singer,
who flew up toward Heaven on silver wings.

When I was nineteen in Spring of Eighty-Three,
I attended class on philosophy
at the Adventist Walla Walla College
where the wise British professor declared,
"God does not exist, for things that exist
stand out in defined bounds of time and space."

Startled, I sat up and listened more closely
as he explained, "However, we can say
God subsists, standing under all existence
as substance that forms all material things,"
so I envisioned God as molecules
that evolve into brains with consciousness.

"Plato describes Idea of defined objects
as eternal form that persists in Heaven
which is mental realm of our language code,
so though all existing trees are destroyed
yet Idea of Tree persists in Heaven
where God the Craftsman creates everything."

Descended through thirteen generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
I also found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in my mind,
so I write epic of philosophers
in my quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Wielding guitar in Summer of Ninety-Three,
I hitchhiked from Seattle to Miami,
traveling town to town like folk troubadours
to sing about adventures of mankind,
lost angel singing to ghosts of the dead,
since I found no Heaven above the clouds.

Tuesday, July 2, 2019

My Name In Water Voice

My Name In Water Voice
© Surazeus
2019 07 02

The immortal I in my gusting breath
expands fragile shell of my ego wide
as globe of this world that creates our souls
from flashing sparkle of sweet molecules
so I disappear in dream of myself
each day I reinvent who I might be.

The transient I I perceive in vast shine
of mirroring water flowing nowhere
reveals secret desires sprouting from pure light
forged in heart of darkness which my words mold
as mask that features my weird character
I carve as runes on vortex peak of hope.

The smoke-swirling I who perceives itself
as separate entity of hungry hope
explains through wild flames of eternal truth
ephemeral concept that conceals my brain
bound in fetters of existing desire
to replicate itself in child of love.

The timeless I unspooling spiral genes
calculates carcass of flesh that contains
pool of spirit shimmering galactic eyes
who watch each other evolve across space
of silent contemplation to relate
linkage of sentiment with threading words.

The conscious I who wakes inside my brain
cries out to empty sky where no God lives,
"I want to live through ecstasy of truth
and taste all pleasures of this aching flesh,"
discussing with embodiment of night
concept of light as atoms that vibrate.

The flashing I illuminating fear
with conscious anguish to survive despair
flares brighter than death when I strike two stones
to spark flames in ring of gems on dark shore
of singing river which will always flow
so I can hear my name in water voice.

The star-bright I awake on turning Earth
sings through blossoming of ripe fruit on trees
providing matter for my flesh to shine
when I consume sorrowful joy of light
in each bite of the apple that shines red
as dawn sun blazing over mist-wet hills.

The wordless I gazing at your strange eyes
wants to understand essence of your soul
so I watch your face as you tell me things
and listen for secret key of desire
that will open your heart so we may kiss
and become one soul before we will die.

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

Transcendental Bard Of Truth

Transcendental Bard Of Truth
© Surazeus
2019 05 29

When my body bursts into flames of faith
I dance in aching spirals of control
to conjure from flesh my chemical wraith
which beams electric passion of my soul.

Wrapping my spirit inside normal mask,
I walk with you all in our psychic maze
then drink immortal love from crystal flask
and chant weird prophecies in vision haze.

Through swirling mist on wild Atlantic shore
old bearded prophet with long snow-white hair
sings to First Mother in our mental core
whose heart embodies our spiritual flare.

Chanting Song of Myself with loving wit,
Walt Whitman spreads open welcoming arms
to embrace every soul with social knit
that binds our hearts with web of magic charms.

Walt leads us dancing on gold beach of sand
to kneel before ancient Mother of Night,
Marietta Alboni, Queen of Star Land,
who sings enchanting spell of Spirit Light.

Marietta, mother from wild swirling ocean,
sings heart-enchanting melody of love
so we envision flash of evolution
that radiates atoms from bright sun above.

Two hundred years ago from swirling waves,
our Transcendental Bard of Truth was born
to sing Leaves of Grass in love spell that saves
lost souls by leading us to bright-eyed morn.

We dance together in tall ring of stones
where sea waves echo his immortal name
then break from egg shells of our mental clones
to play our true selves in our social game.

Old snow-haired prophet sings in moon-lit gloom,
"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
and what truth I assume you shall assume,
for we are atoms of the cosmic self."

We loaf together on broad wind-blown plain,
observing summer grass with naked eyes,
then twirl laughing to sing in sun-gold rain
and feel our souls swell vast as boundless skies.

Each atom sparkling in my flowing blood,
formed from soil, air, and water of this Earth
connects my heart to glowing stars of mud
which generates my soul through second birth.

At bright dawn of our American Dream
Walt Whitman played Apollo as his role,
now I sing of truth-seekers by Soul Stream
who quest for secret of our great White Whole.

Friday, May 17, 2019

Grumpy Cat Elegy

Grumpy Cat Elegy
© Surazeus
2019 05 17

Grumpy Cat is now the immortal moon
who frowns down at our world of aching hope
with indifferent disdain of secret love
and watches us build empires of control
with mocking sneer at how we all believe
we may be immortal as she is now.

Grumpy Cat sits mute on the window sill
to gaze at busy world with clear blue eyes
that see beyond fake mask of flashy style
we wear to prove we are cooler that death
who waits inside her heart for us to stride
proudly on stage of fame before she strikes.

Grumpy Cat lounges on Throne of Ungod,
presiding over our empire of wealth
with changeless frown that mocks our patriotism
when we march public streets with torch of fear
shouting, make America great again,
then whips her tail that shatters our false faith.

Grumpy Cat climbs tall pile of dollar bills,
one hundred million dollars of world fame
she earned gazing at us from the abyss
with frown of death that mocks our arrogance,
and pees on symbol of capitalist greed,
then wanders into nothingness of death.

Saturday, April 20, 2019

Our War For Truth

Our War For Truth
© Surazeus
2019 04 20

I cannot tell you why the angels sing
because, though I hear their melodious tones
vibrating through flowing matrix of nature,
they do not sing to me with divine words.

Riding large square car on the long straight streets
of this city that sprawls in chess-board grid
between dry hills and glaring ocean waves,
I see lost angels as humans everywhere.

I wondered why God sent his son to die,
then realized God is metaphor for kings
who always crown their sons rulers of nations
so each leader should sacrifice himself.

We value the honest leader of men
who is willing to die to save our lives
but politicians seek power to control
how we live that will benefit their wealth.

Mayors and police detectives assert
laws that organize system of state power
which gives control to dominating men
who organize food-production machines.

We are pawns on vast chess board of state power,
dwelling with close family in our small home
while working in office, factory, or store
to buy and sell in marketplace of hunger.

We all gather in church on Easter Sunday
to praise son of the ruling dynasty
for willingness to sacrifice himself
so we live together in harmony.

What hidden dragon of unknown messiah,
still young today among the crowd in church,
will wake the divine spark within his soul
that urges him to play leader of men?

We despise the man driven blind by greed
to rule like dictator over our land,
attempting to exploit us for his gain,
for men like him always fall from vain pride.

We admire the man urged by honest love
to rule like wise savior over our land,
helping us become the best we can be,
for men like him always rise from selfless love.

Both kinds of men have ruled our sprawling land,
performing role in our national drama
of Satan the greedy accusing thief
or Jesus the selfless supporting friend.

The kind of person you support with vote
to play President of the United States
reveals true nature of your character,
angel or devil in our war for truth.

Monday, April 15, 2019

Cathedral of Our Lady

Cathedral of Our Lady
© Surazeus
2019 04 15

Flames may consume Cathedral of Our Lady
where Goddess of Reason and Liberty
long reigns over nations of free people,
guiding us with light of justice and truth
against cruel prejudice and tyranny,
but Liberty lives in the heart of Mankind.

Tall pillars that enclose infinity
within sun-slanting walls of paradise
protect frail mankind from horror of death
when we gather in great hall to sing hymns
that venerate Holy Mother of Life
so Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though fires of hate and fascism burn bright,
set by hands of men who try to control
bodies of women with hard laws of greed,
to destroy cathedral of honest love
where Mother creates new life with her faith,
yet Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though flames consume Cathedral of Our Lady,
sparked by blind lust of men to control fate
who rage against finality of death,
our Goddess of Reason and Liberty
lives not in ancient temples of cold stone
for Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Saturday, March 9, 2019

New Arcane Scripture

New Arcane Scripture
© Surazeus
2019 03 09

Whatever gang gains power in Washington
and erects new strict ideology
to worship law or personality,
I will follow my own private religion
where I live by physical laws of nature
based on visions I express in new scripture.

I celebrate myself and sing myself,
just like the Gotham Prophet once proclaimed,
and though I am mocked I am not ashamed
to sing calculations of magic spells
for I am the talking organic creature
who codes creation in new arcane scripture.

Though money gangsters ruling Earth from banks
oppress me with more strict rules of behavior
I will resist and become the great savior
who leads vast armies in jetplanes and tanks
till my heroism is stained in portraiture
because I compose wisdom in new scripture.

Political leaders may rise and fall
in constant turmoil of aggressive power,
but like the bee brews honey from the flower
I become process of the waterfall
through chemistry of the solar filature
and describe the White Whole in sacred scripture.

Saturday, March 2, 2019

Build Our New World

Build Our New World
© Surazeus
2019 03 02

Though this world view we shared for eighty years
falls apart from contentious arguments
whether white males should control everything,
or every person living on this Earth,
regardless of their gender, race, or creed,
has equal opportunity to work
and exercise free will of legal rights
under universal objective law
that will protect or punish every person,
we will establish new global world view
that treats every living person the same,
and supports our talents to hone our skills
so we can be the best we want to be.
We are replacing the way of the past
with more equal way to build our new world.

Friday, March 1, 2019

I Tend My Garden

I Tend My Garden
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

While the world goes crazy with politics,
contesting over whose ideology
manages commercial activity,
I tend my garden of fruit trees and herbs.

I sold my television years ago
so I spend my long quiet afternoons
tending produce in soil of my back yard,
watering roots, pulling weeds, and trimming limbs.

Then after working I sit in the chair,
in shimmering glow of the indifferent sun,
to drink apple juice and listen to birds
sing about their desire to fly with love.

Cradling guitar in my arms, I tune strings,
then strum vibrating tension of desire
and pluck melodic solutions for love,
then sing strange visions that flash in my eyes.

While they fight over who controls the world
I control my own progress in my yard,
transforming wilderness into my garden
where apples hang over the sparkling pool.

Capitalism spurs productive growth,
while socialism distributes the goods
to everyone, so all participate
in vibrant life of our economy.

I nurture food to grow from fertile soil
while government officials regulate
all commercial transactions to ensure
fair exchange of money for goods produced.

I give ripe apples to lost refugees
so they can eat while wandering road of hope,
and they plant seeds of apples in rich soil
to create more gardens on river shore.

Last Angel In Heaven

Last Angel In Heaven
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

Faster than waves crashing against sharp rocks
to remind me my flesh body is frail,
as flowers that blossom in torrents of rain,
I walk toward city of the singing stones.

I want to know how angels know my name
because I designed its vision from mud
of naked river where nothing but light
from sunrays explains strange reality.

Each step I ascend winding trail of hope
brings me closer to shining paradise
where girls in temples harmonize in choirs
with voice of prophecy in roaring waves.

Dead bodies of children, women, and men
lie strewn on golden streets of paradise,
blood staining white marble with tears of death
that shimmer silently in swirling smoke.

Who killed all the angels of paradise,
I cry out in anguish of desperate fear,
and vanish in nothingness of fire smoke
that sucks all sorrow from my hollow heart.

So many beautiful people destroyed
by sharp swords lie mangled on temple floors,
eyes staring blankly at the empty sky
as their elegant names bleed in mute soil.

The last angel in Heaven still alive,
I sit on throne where God judged life and death,
and gaze at empty hall where shadows sing
as God and angels are devoured by worms.

Children From The Lost City

Children From The Lost City
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

No better way can ever be contrived
to understand how ancient tribes survived
hostile wars between Asuras and Devas
when Assyria and India fought fierce wars
than reading legends of Angels and Devils
battling to control Ziggurat of Ishtar.

When Godin, All-Father who ruled Asgard,
allied with Yahweh, Jupiter, and Zeus,
lead fierce Aesir down from vast Scythian plains
to battle Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu
over who rules fertile Sumerian fields,
they fought to control Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Ruling the world from Ziggurat in Ur,
Godin crowns his son Issa as Osiris,
wise heir to rule as judge on throne of power,
so Lucifer, who expected to rule,
rebels and leads his loyal followers
north over Caucasus Mountains to Scythia.

Renaming himself Skyolder, Lord of Light,
Lucifer leads Assyrians in wagon trains
to colonize fertile lands on long rivers
they name Earth for Gearthe, Mother of God,
settling Gerthmania, Witalia, Galatia,
Gothinia, Celtia, Britannia, and Scotia.

We populate those lands ten thousand years
now named Europe for beautiful-faced queen
who rides white bull in parade of lost souls,
thriving in Germany, Italy, Gaul,
Sweden, Denmark, Ireland, England, and Scotland,
children from the lost city of Asgard.

Now sailing wood ships on sea of Atlantis,
children of Godin migrate to the west
and swarm across rich land of Onatah
we name America for Haim Eric,
Home Guard over strong castle of stone walls
rebuilt from ancient Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Since Godin and the Angels of Asura,
fought Deva and the Devils of Bharata,
ten thousand wars between opposing clans
have raged across fertile lands of the Earth,
but I will return as Prophet of Peace
to worship love on Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Now desolate in waste land of despair
the huge Ziggurat of Ishtar stands empty,
bleak temple to the fellowship of man
where Ishtar once sang Creation of Life,
so I sit alone under shining stars
and drink refreshing wine of honest wisdom.

Thursday, February 28, 2019

Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith

Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When pain has emptied my heart of all truth
so naked in bleak dark I walk alone,
I become nameless radiance of the wraith
that writhes in ecstasy of psychic being,
hollow voice twisting silence into song
that wrings melodies from cries of despair.

When illusions of happy family life
shatter love into fragments of contempt,
cracked by indifference of logical fact,
I escape pure light of the silent home
and stare at the road that winds into stars
to fall into black hole of nothingness.

Nowhere to go now from white empty room,
I look for signs that lead to paradise
that preachers claim shimmers above blue sky,
but wander nameless road far outside town
to stand shivering in rain on muddy field,
heat of the blind sun burning me to ash.

Thousands of starving people from cold gloom,
crawling from shattered television tubes, 
zombie toward me to devour my sogged brain
as they whisper they will pray for my soul,
and reach frail hands to claw our throbbing hearts
that hang rotting from black limbs of dead trees.

I want to wake from nightmare of this vision,
but I am awake, alone in red rain
that soaks libraries of books so inked words
of ancient stories bleed into swift rivers
as putrid chemicals from factories
that spew toxic lust in Pool of Narcissus.

Shivering in featureless field outside town,
I look for my ancient friend, the gold moon,
which shatters into fragments of bright eyes
who stare from every drop of falling rain
to wash all memories of pleasure and pain
from my sponge-slick brain till my soul twists weird.

I occupy this empty space with empty heart,
ballooning flushed horror that throbs my head
with gushing flow of rivers through my veins
in swirling cycle of unspoken anguish
to flash my eyes clear with red sun of dawn
when sharp rays gleam on broad infinite glen.

Expanding outside confines of my skull
in billowing flush of intense desire,
I ache with sympathy for suffering souls
who wail on river shore where skeletons
wander together among dead black trees
to eat moist mushrooms of immortal truth.

This is no allegory for our times
of civil conflict between clashing truths
though we scream voiceless into silent void
strange analysis of current events
in psychic battle to control the world
through stories to praise who suffers the most.

Though corporate gangsters try to enslave us
with aching need to sustain soul-flashed body
with blood of angels, siphoned from cave lake,
we fight blind tyranny of institutes
through expression of individual will
to work together and share our earned wealth.

What fierce audacity of loving faith
expands to contain empty space of truth
when howling demons who animate us
spiral coiling from infinite black hole
to weave sunlight into body of flesh
which generates our conscious soul of lust.

Last apple in the world hangs from dead tree
that sprouts greed buds at kiss of morning light,
so I caress moist bark of twisted limbs,
then kiss gray stone that shimmers in swift stream,
because at last from abyss of despair
I crack from egg and become the White Whole.

Natural Expression Of Chemicals

Natural Expression Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When I sit outside the building at noon
to savor nature after eating lunch
I feel vibrations of life from the world
emanate through sweet glory of desire.

The moist soil of the Earth which supports me,
the cool air I breathe, the water from rain
splashing my eye, and the sun glowing warm,
they all sustain existence of my soul.

Though soil and air and water and sunlight
nurture my evolution into being
they are indifferent to my living weal,
nor care whether or not I reproduce.

I enforce success of creative will
by investigating nature of things
then organizing elements of nature
to maximize efficiency of life.

I enhance strict process of my success
by programming daily ritual of action
which generates more life-sustaining food
through expression of pleasure to consume.

Though the world of elements loves not me,
swirling my whole body into existence
through natural expression of chemicals,
I love this world that generated me.

If They Harm None

If They Harm None
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

How many times will white men and police
kill innocent people with darker skin,
or women who will not submit to lust,
before we demand justice of the law
punish them with equal severity
for everyone else who breaks social rules?

How can I appreciate beauty of art
and enjoy intense emotions of music
while innocent people are getting killed
because white men cannot control their anger
at feeling impotent in tides of life,
like everybody else who learns to cope?

We all appreciate intense desire
to program rituals for living life well
that maximizes return of investment
so we profit from creative endeavors,
but none of us go on killing rampage
to enforce our will when life is not perfect.

Men annoyed that life does not match their hopes
should exercise self-control within bounds
of social law to respect human lives,
and recognize everyone has the right
to pursue happiness of their desires
by doing what they want, if they harm none.

Sculpture Of The Horse

Sculpture Of The Horse
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

White marble smooth as slick ocean iceberg
carved in elegant curves of leaping flow
expresses anguish of hungry desire
in taut-muscled form of the wind-swift horse
that races in frozen motion of hope
far beyond silence of museum hall.

Epona touches sculpture of the horse,
sliding slender fingers along its curves
to taste taut tension of its seething force
contained in solid mineral shape of stone,
and savors beauty of its leaping flight
that shimmers white in vast museum hall.

Hidden in leaf veil of the apple tree,
Epona watches the white horse run swift
along the sparkling river in slant rays
of sunlight that illuminate taut force
of bundled energy uncoiling limbs
to leap over logs and skid in lush grass.

Rearing high, the white horse strikes its sharp hoofs
at hissing danger, whinnies quick alert,
and stamps the writhing snake to crush its skull,
then prances among flowers and butterflies,
arching its head with ears pricked and eyes wide,
while swishing long tail with arrogant pride.

Eager to win affection of the horse,
Epona stands still on lush river shore
and holds bright apple glowing in her hand,
catching her breath when the horse sidles near,
and keeps as still as the tree in the wind
as the horse sniffs the apple in her hand.

Standing every day on lush river shore,
Epona offers apple to swift horse,
till wind-swift leaper trots up to her side
with eager affection of trusting love,
so she caresses his mane and smooth skin,
then slides on his back and kisses his neck.

Holding tight with arms around his full chest,
Epona gasps for breath when he runs swift,
galloping fast as wind to high hill top,
then charging down the slope with eager flight,
and dodging around trees in playful game,
to stop at last by her tall apple tree.

Caressing the horse sculpture with bright eyes,
Epona smiles at memory of their play,
then stern museum guard glares and demands
that she not touch the art, so she withdraws
trembling hand and blushes in rays of light
that highlights its soul in museum hall.

Origami Shadows Of Desire

Origami Shadows Of Desire
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

Through origami shadows of desire
I unlock doors of possibility
on noble quest to build the perfect world
where we exchange equal energy flow
to sustain honest love that binds our hearts
and fuels our journey to share joys of life.

Yet no matter how many times I leap
alternate timelines of possible ways
to interact with you that will ensure
perfect happiness that harmonize flow
of psychic energy between our hearts
I unfold word-smeared paper-airplane script.

No matter how many times I jump worlds
of possible scenarios for our love
in restless quest across our multiverse
to stay on track that harmonizes ways
we interact in drama we design
I fall on paper wings of Icarus.

No matter how many times I slip past
moments where I say words that hurt your heart
to realign machinery of our love
by shifting gears of psychic attitude
so we connect in harmonious desire
I tumble on wind of anguished regret.

No matter how many times I adjust
dial of quirky attitude to program
conceptual expressions that charm your heart
with vision of my loyal loving trust
to balance our exchange of energy
I give and take hot charge of sparkling will.

On origami wings of trusting flight
I soar through mirror doors of dreaming eyes
to open looking glass of flashing hope
and navigate infinite maze of faith
through twisting corridors of signaled truth
to find you safe in haven of my heart.

Wednesday, February 27, 2019

As We Sleep Together

As We Sleep Together
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

Quiet sadness of twilight tingeing bones
blue with strangeness of waving guitar twangs
soothes transient ache of slow remembering
for each moment we are together close
as silence and death which binds are lone hearts
in spiral dance of empathy through whispers.

So close we are together on this globe,
yet the entire world bulges out between
our faces when we turn away to mute
clashing argument that entangles us
in convoluted contest about what
we could do to survive horror of death.

Exhausted by constant struggle against
threat of annihilation that hurls gloom
of silent despair, we sit under tree
of rotting apples full of wriggling worms
and listen to wind batter fragile leaves
when it explains why everything decays.

Heart beating fast as wind in clanking trees,
I sit still as stone throbbing river flow,
body still tense from memory of my actions
running through woods as I grip sharpened spear
to hunt deer forty winters of aggression,
now aching with weariness of my race.

Hunger drove me to kill swift animals
of lithe leaping beauty so I could roast
sweet flesh over crackling flames in twilight,
and feast to empower my body with heat
of pleasurable life, but now I look back
on winding path of my hunt with surprise.

I killed and ate so many animals,
which filled my body with aggressive force
to dominate landscape with my sharp will,
but now I wither and weaken from age,
instead of transforming into swift bird
so I can fly high among glowing clouds.

I cease strumming guitar to hear blue wind,
and float bodiless through immensity
of silent consciousness without my name,
for I disappear in dark nothingness
to become the last ray of light that glows
over distant mountain peak of lost joy.

I consumed wild spirits of animals
so they all wake inside my throbbing head,
aching to run swift along winding streams
and chase blustering wind to the sunless sea
where we become the dancing swirl of sand
whose laughter echoes into bleak moonlight.

I touch your emptiness with breath of hope
when I dip fragile hand, gashed by sharp rock,
in sparkling river so my singing blood
taints yellow sand with sorrow of my love
till I become shadow inside your eyes
when you return and touch me with soft words.

Kneeling together among wind-swept reeds,
we dip our hands in water of the world
and drink sweet sunlight to revive our hearts
with silent joy that we are still alive,
then I cuddle you in my warming arms,
to become moonlight as we sleep together.