Free The Human World © Surazeus 2024 10 04 The old black-doored house in Londinium near the bridge that crosses the River Styx retains ghost of my father in its walls who calls me to the library upstairs where he recounts grand glory of our clan defending freedom of our Sceptered Isle. Lingering in garden of the star-eyed queen among pink Sceptered Isle roses of faith, I contemplate songs of ravens in oaks who sing of beauty in this little world, this precious gem set in the silver sea, that nourishes strange sadness of my heart. With big eyes silver as the storm-flashed sea and wavy hair red as the rising sun, the Fairy Queen who rules this Sceptered Isle commissions me to fulfill secret quest, so I ride White Horse pricking on the plain to translate riddles of refreshing rain. When the Black Dragon of Error and Hate lunges from Cave of Illusions with wrath, I wield Excalibur, forged by King Arthur from mithril meteor stone that fell to Earth, to battle evil of its tyranny and free the human world for Liberty. Waking from my daydream as noble hero, I declare myself Albertus de Vere, the Twenty-Fourth Earl of Oxford, then trudge down to muddy shore of the River Styx where I hum old Ballads of Robin Hood while fishing to roast Cetus for my supper. Lounging on flat-top pyramid of Ishtar within four-pillared temple that Ptah built to shelter refugees from river floods, I peer through crystal palantir of truth to observe nature of the universe composed of atoms swerving in the void. Languid as Saturnus on flowered shore, I hail the frail Sad Poet who arrives to record sweet song of the nightingale then weeps in melancholy revery while pondering lovers on the Grecian Urn filled with wine I bought from Bacchus last month. Before returning home to Avalon, I pause before statue of Oberon, whose playful laughter on midsummer night inspires my heart to love this crazy world, then we, my wise wife and I holding hands, through Eden take our solitary way.
Friday, October 4, 2024
Free The Human World
War-Bruised Heart
War-Bruised Heart © Surazeus 2024 10 04 What temple I could build from all my ruins may shelter me from hostile arrogance of indifferent bullets in mouths of tyrants who decree they own the dreams people hide in this crowded world of war without end where only the most brutal crown themselves gods. Strange metaphors that serve the ruling class preserve the sledgehammer kings wield to build empires of the poor who work for their wage, yet cheer the tragic loser on the stage whose monologues analyze the zeitgeist with hidden fears that motivate their prayers. This three-eyed demon of the weeping tree, whom I conceive in ecstasy of gloom, decides to run in the Olympic race to outwit Hercules before the world, then sells his gold medal to King of Lies to found World Institute of Honest Spies. With angry chaos of the social scene blind sons of psychologists discuss art, then lurk together in the haunted night to find origin of the human race in secret cave down by the singing sea which mimics aloneness of the soul womb. Inspired by visions of the Holy Grail, Bambi paints portraits of mad movie stars as gods incarnate in her studio, then displays paintings at the gallery which burns down when lightning strikes, so she jumps off the balcony after killing Juliet. If I choose to worship with war-bruised heart gorgeous deity of America, that barbarous vixen of the wilderness, I may discover the last pot of gold over the rainbow from the land of Oz where I ask Dorothy to marry me. Because she owns the house of many windows on lecherous bank of the River Styx, Hera hires me to play jazz piano tunes at parties she hosts on Saturday nights, so I ask Richard Cory whom he loves, but he mumbles that the bell tolls for him. The Axolotl fish with feathered gills, that once transformed into enormous dragons, smiles brightly at me with its pink-moon face and eyes that know the stars of outer space, so I place huge skull of the dinosaur as god in temple I build from my ruins.
Thursday, October 3, 2024
Mysterious As The Rain
Mysterious As The Rain © Surazeus 2024 10 03 Mysterious as the rain pretends to be, always sparkling and making things look pretty, I hide from soft caress of its clear light, convinced the god who makes it must be mighty, but when I ponder pathway of my fate I almost get stuck in my social station. That girl who walks in beauty of the night seems eager to share with me her sweet passion, so we dance gracefully by star-eyed lake, discussing complex nature of the wicked, till we fall asleep when the moon comes up with yet another way to flash its label. Each time I find her in the apple grove, I pause behind wrought gate of admiration to hear strange eerie timbre of her voice that seems to make the flow of time dissemble till I feel my mortal soul transcend thought and soar beyond this world of normal reason. So when my brain emerges from despair with new-found courage of decisive purpose I stand before huge wall map of our world and plot ways to make lives of people better for their happiness inspires me to work toward transforming our city into Heaven. Bewildering as the heart appears to be, dragging me in the opposite direction from which my reason urges me to go, I borrow arrogant wings of mad Cupid and fly boldly toward my real destiny after hiding in cave of desperation. Cryptic omens I perceive everywhere seemed to indicate I proceed with caution, but with the tyrant hunting for my head I must fight to gain freedom from ambition to rule productive ritual of my goal by forging new gates for court of perdition. Bold enterprise to create new world view with prophecies I encrypt in grand scriptures conspires to energize my global plot to design framework for conceptual order based on respect of universal law that ensures equal justice for each person. Enforcing new world order with the gun, I maintain peace with strong United Nations supporting freedom through democracy based on honesty of consideration which nurtures talents every person owns so we all dance in joyful celebration.
Pretending I Can Fly
Pretending I Can Fly © Surazeus 2024 10 03 At night I dream my tan-white skin is rough as old wind-weathered hills of the Palouse where Pinto horses graze on memories when I roamed freely on dark river shore where I sit and watch spotted brook trout swim along pulsing veins that lead to my heart. I cannot read my children fairy tales without explaining laws of physics first so they know if they dress as Tinkerbell they cannot fly around the heads of elves nor cast enchanting spells of joyful love to make the suicidal want to live. Concerned about how weird future events unravel fabric of our shared world view, I study swirls of clouds above gold hills to measure how greedy humans will act based on clear aeromantic principles so I can write prophecies in the sky. Plain-speaking honesty of the blank sky lures me to fly with wings of Icarus above vast maze of cities on the Earth to see how gods of nations represent their spirit in the person they elect to rule religious rites of daily life. While lounging under ancient Tree of Life, watching its roots throb with ichor of being, I ponder what Camus says about Death whose mute finality of nothingness inspires my heart to savor this life now here in stark beauty of this radiant world. Since we must love one another and die, I will give you ripe apple that I stole from Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil which wakes strange visions in our dream membrane about horror of war which drives insane children who survive each new genocide. When Li Po fishes for the Water Moon, cranes call to him with soft voice of friendship, so he swims down into the silver sky to bid farewell to everyone he knows who gasp surprised to see that he can fly yet leaves his last song as footprints in snow. While exploring vast land of in-between, with mission to count every drop of rain which all transform to fruit trees in lush fields, I discover my soul is formed from clay so I stick feathers of hawks in my arms and run around pretending I can fly.
Wednesday, October 2, 2024
Floating In Green Light
Floating In Green Light © Surazeus 2024 10 02 Flame of light flickering on the candle wick could stand in for the spirit of your being, so when you become electricity, glowing brighter than the moon at midnight, I call your name in darkness of the world so we can find each other by the tree. I place gold apple on the windowsill I hope will gleam as beacon in the gloom to guide your journey home back to our hearth across the misty waste land of false hopes since you have gone to help the empire grow, once founded by Alfred in the wild snow. The lonely jaggedness of ocean cliffs contrives to comfort my unbroken heart with cold indifference of relentless wind that wants to tell me why I am alive though I stand on graves of ancestral bones with skull of my father who stares at me. Each memory I weed from dry garden soil exudes foul scent of sorrow to my heart, so I wipe tears of anger from smeared cheeks while carving your face on the pumpkin mask so you can smile at me with glowing light when I light candle of your soul, and cry. Yet evening rain of silver flashing eyes sweeps over golden hills of restless hope with slow explosive prayer for sudden truth to drench the wastrel ocean of my heart with laughing shadow of the yet-born soul who wants to incarnate Arthur for this world. The yellow-breasted chaffinch in the hazel explains with honest song of travesty the burlesque nature of the serious man who preaches salvation of the Glow Cloud that hovers over me with cherub wings, poor imitation of the faceless king. If I could sail across the frenzied sea to build new Eden in the Promised Land, I would escape the labyrinth of stone halls where statues of dead gods watch over me, ruthless with their gentle authority when blood of my eyes smears their Holy Book. Attempting to spread wings I do not have, with eager faith in goodness of their hearts, I dream I fly from stone kirk by the sea to find your ghost in swirl of ocean waves where I dive deep to where all life began to find your body floating in green light.
Unseen Presence Of Death
Unseen Presence Of Death © Surazeus 2024 10 02 When, after searching tangled woods of shadows, I find my sorrows submerged in clear depths beneath the fragile creaking bridge of hope, I dive in turbid memories of despair to hide them deeper still in sunless cave where no one can retrieve them from my heart. With bees that swirl in angled beams of light around the rosemary bush of lost faith, I seek strange signal pulsing in my brain which radiates from radar of cautious sense to warn me with vague taste of bitter gloom that Death lingers near like the open door. Since I first sensed unseen presence of Death when I was nine years old in the back yard, she has become the best friend I know well, always watching over me with dark eyes as sentinel who guides my daily trek on signless road toward destiny I choose. Seeking Dream Lake of my soul genesis, where our First Mother rose from lightless deep to sing enchanting spell of blooming trees, I trace her journey to the Promised Land four hundred million years of gene rebirth to map evolution through myths to me. Each daughter who emerges from her mother returns from distant valley of our ghosts to give me fruit she stole from Tree of Life so we survive cosmic catastrophes with each new life of hope we generate so we can map the world we navigate. Since I am undulation the sea sings with heart-enchanting melody of sirens, I multiply my soul through generations of children who spread out across the globe to weave our conscious mind in radiant web that rings in harmony with cosmic tunes. Awed to hum in vast cathedral of trees, I stretch my arms to imitate swan wings so my heart dilates wide as the mountain sky to bind whole hours between eternity with yellow motion of conceptual thoughts designed to shape my body with weird water. When I emerge from tangled woods of fear, heart pulsing with shadows of hungry words, I gesture fingers to control storm clouds that drench lonely hills in torrents of hope, then give fruit, my sorrows transformed to joy, with open hands to strangers without names.
Tuesday, October 1, 2024
Staring At My Face
Staring At My Face © Surazeus 2024 10 01 If I try to bring my heart back to life, screaming butterflies will gather its shards so I can prove to the ghost of the rock that I am not as real as the sea wind who wants to carry me back to the cove where the moon first gave me my secret name. Too scattered in the field of laughing weeds to remember where I wanted to go, I watch the ancient oak tree try to grow angel wings so I can fly from the beast who lurks in shadows of my mangled heart when I hide in glow of the spider web. Kneeling in dark deserted gray-stone kirk, I twiddle knobs on the black radio in vain attempt to tune vibe of my brain so I can hear voices of angels sing dire news about planes dropping bombs of hate blasting the cow barn where the old king hums. Since every road that leads to paradise is stained with blood of homeless refugees who flee the knight with the mind-blowing gun, I sit on wet grass by the hungry sea and think about the nine-million-year war fought between the spiders and the insects. Staring at my face in the ice-blue mere, I try to understand the reason why my heart beats with god-like power of fear when I fight the gang of thieves in the woods to keep the sacred scroll they cannot read, because it records magic code I need. If I find my way out of this dream maze, composed of memories my ancestors lost when running frantically along the beach, I might invent the goal I want to reach in desperate attempt to assess the cost I have to pay to transcend the next phase. Strange beauty of words the wise woman sings enchants my heart with vision of the truth that narrates story of my random life defining where I fit in game of fate where she decides I am the man who builds strong shelter in safe haven for the homeless. So I sit with Narcissus by the pool as he paints Echo and Ophelia dressed as fairies in long flowing gowns, and me strumming the lyre of Mercury which I found in the Mountains of the Moon when Icarus healed me with mushroom wine.
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