Slow Swirl Of The Sea

Slow Swirl Of The Sea
© Surazeus
2025 03 08

Now that I live free from slow swirl of the sea 
darkness folds itself as my eager heart 
when I walk over hills of joyful death 
to play role of the hermit in their play 
on the plain where riderless horses wait 
for the owl of rebirth to explain why. 

I will not hurry away from the Earth, 
dazed with sudden insight of idiocy 
unrelated to broken wheel of light 
that tumbles blazing down the mountain slope 
with shocking honesty of rolling stones 
that crush wood coffin of the holy ghost. 

Heart pierced with needle found in the haystack 
by humble warriors seeking absolution, 
I write stories of the dead on dry leaves 
that rustle with their voices in dawn breeze 
despite how men cry for the broken door 
that leads to asylum for bitter saints. 

Yet she walks toward me on the campus path 
past leafless trees of innocent desire 
with star-sparkle animating her eyes 
when she hands me red notebook of her dreams 
which describe how we meet in every life 
since we always choose to walk the same road. 

If I decide to leave the city maze 
to live among the owls and honest wolves 
extravagantly alone through light phase, 
I will invent weird language to describe 
conceptual framework for our mutual love 
which binds our hearts together without words. 

I gesture my hands to weave in new wings 
wild silence that hovers dark over Earth 
so I can become swiftness of the horse 
whose elegant grace of assertive will 
defines process of motion we express 
while holding hands to walk the moonlit road. 

For everywhere I go in time and space 
Saturnus arranges darkness of truth 
which congeals despair into juicy fruit 
through desperation of the mindless wind 
so I can build new Temple of Dead Gods 
from false ruins of the Enlightenment. 

Startled by ache of sorrow birthing joy, 
I long for existence of fiery breath 
to gleam in rain drops flowing in my veins 
with constant blackness of eternity 
which creates me from slow swirl of the sea 
because I realize I love you so much. 

Fueled By Atomic Flares

Fueled By Atomic Flares
© Surazeus
2025 03 08

When I hear the sharp chirping of the bird 
I think it might be perched inside the tree, 
but when I look at cloud of limbs and leaves 
I see shadows and beams of striped sunlight, 
for my eyes cannot discern the feathered fiend 
that cheers my heart with territorial claims. 

While I am sitting in the living room 
before the television on the floor, 
I wave my plastic sword with martial pride 
and declare I want to sail my wood ship 
as eager Viking to conquer the world 
and bring strange treasures to my fjord-safe home. 

Arranging puzzle pieces on the table 
to match photo on cover of its box, 
that shows the horse grazing in the lush meadow 
beside the apple tree on the lake shore 
framed by the snowy range of jagged peaks, 
I create the world where I want to live. 

To design world map from my memory 
that accurately depicts the world that is, 
I generalize points, lines, and polygons 
to symbolize landscape of hills and lakes 
with rivers winding in meadows of flowers, 
then color each thing with their psychic tone. 

Though every map I make depicting Earth 
presents rich landscape of buildings and plants, 
the human beings who move around its space 
in quick routines of performative drama 
cannot be fixed at any point in time 
for we are flames that glow, then flicker out. 

If I could fix each flaming soul of life, 
fueled by atomic flares of beaming hope, 
their ever-changing forms of psychic being 
would momentarily freeze into masks 
that I could hang on bare museum wall 
in vast Temple of the Many-Faced God. 

This photo of my temporary face, 
posted as profile picture on my page, 
affixed by static flash of timeless growth, 
which drafts stereotype of me you prefer, 
contains assertive pulse of energy 
that flashes in every cell of my being. 

As fake persona speaking with plain words, 
I represent every human on Earth 
who wears the face their ancestors designed 
by choosing soulmate in romantic hope 
as we evolve four hundred million years 
to wingless angels searching for true love. 

Zigzag Path From Dream

Zigzag Path From Dream
© Surazeus
2025 03 08

Trajectory of my zigzag path from dream 
arches over mountains of singing trees 
clockwise between cities of faceless ghosts 
who all vanish in cold wilderness wind 
when I leave crowded streets of Babylon 
to find pure ancient Eden of my mind. 

Until I express my triumphant speech 
at witnessing temporal dance of desire 
I know not how my heart was wounded sore 
from whispered darkening of the hourglass 
that measures span of change my soul endures 
from sweet deception of sincerity. 

No supernatural god among bright clouds 
could justify his tyrannical ways 
for smearing rage on my sensitive skin 
with abrasive thoughts of controlling hope, 
intent on judging failures I perform 
in my quest to fulfill my private dreams. 

Congenial regret of absolute faith 
distorts perception of my groping mind 
to pierce conceptual gloom of wretched fear 
with gleaming light of ineffectual prayer 
that darkens bliss oozed from foul loaves of stone 
poisoned by aggressive lust of contempt. 

Till I strip off mask of Faustus at dawn 
to conceal true identity I hate, 
I try to crack icy distance of faith 
glazed by will of Heaven to trap my soul 
with bitter assumptions of fierce conceit 
that squanders hard-won rewards I entail. 

Disbursed inheritance of ancient myths, 
designed to bolster insecure intent 
with noble attributions fate assigns, 
restricts assertion of my secret will 
with clutched accumulations of desire, 
though lost in mapped landscape of inquiry. 

Puzzling image of exorbitant truth 
with polished instrument of gratitude, 
I perform ritual of expressive spells 
to study substance that stands under forms 
consigned to ceremony of regret 
which cleanses innocence hearts of desire. 

When I wake startled from sweet dream of love 
I find my body is composed from tears 
transformed by chemicals of hungry pain 
from purified water of mountain streams 
that spiral through my veins in writhing lust 
so I remember who I am at last. 

Explore Our Crazy World

Explore Our Crazy World
© Surazeus
2025 03 07

I have become the gold cloud in the sky 
with eager laughter of the running horse 
through passion to explore our crazy world 
before they blow it up with greedy bombs 
so only mute trees grow where empires thrived, 
transforming our bones into juicy fruit. 

My eyes consume light trapped in shapes of hope 
composed of secrets people throw away 
while trapped in tangled tongues of wordlessness 
with angry penitence of futile faith 
born from confusing trees of honest rocks 
that tumble haughtily in gruesome streams. 

When ghost of God possesses my frail body 
I impersonate that strange deity 
with professional parody of faith 
which channels subconscious angst of desire 
to be light that fractures galaxies 
with spinning obsolescence we exchange. 

While mapping bold catastrophe of hope, 
the ecstatic pessimist of fake Mars 
contrives to imitate electric time 
when he drives truck of curiosity 
while Bastet rests her paw on his right hand 
to guide their journey across the waste land. 

Though Sirius plants the tangerine tree 
on what he thinks is last day of the world, 
he walks backward to unspool road of time 
past all the people rising up from death 
to find the first tree that grew from the Earth 
one hundred forty million years ago. 

Since he thinks greenness is one kind of grief 
that transforms wounds of sorrow into blooms, 
he decides he is not going to grow old 
while building walls of stone with bleeding hands 
so no one else can eat fruit of his tree 
which gives us the magic power of speech. 

I see the planet Jupiter gleam white 
beside silver joy of the crescent moon, 
both lights reflected into the surly pool 
that cleanses my spirit with evening glow 
hidden in pages of never-read books 
to preserve memories I share with no one. 

Gesturing his hands to control the waves, 
Sirius chants spell based on ocean song 
so no one can now recognize his face 
abandoned in dim shadows of lost days 
to become gold clouds in the morning sky 
which transforms juicy fruit into his bones. 

Same First Mother

Same First Mother
© Surazeus
2025 03 07

The fish in the river swim toward the sun 
to play with children in the field of flowers. 
The birds in the clouds fly across the mountains 
to play with children in the city streets. 
Mothers call children in evening dusk 
who run home to eat and share funny stories. 

Though we live on opposite sides of Earth 
we look at the same stars in the same sky. 
Though we live far away in different lands 
we see the same moon among the same stars. 
The moon among the stars in the world sky 
are etched with the same light in all our hearts. 

We climb the same mountain on different paths 
to meet each other by the cave of dreams. 
We sail the same ocean in different boats 
to meet each other on the shore of hope. 
The oceans send the rain up to the clouds 
and the mountains send the rain to the ocean. 

Some people spend their lives in the same house 
and know everybody in the same town. 
Some people spend their lives walking new roads 
and meet new people in a thousand towns. 
I lived in fifty homes in twenty-five towns 
on hundreds of roads sea to shining sea. 

The horse in the field runs free with the wind 
so I explore from Scythia to Scotland. 
The four-wheeled wagon rolls in sun and rain 
so I drive from Virginia to Oregon. 
I pave the long road of my journey west 
with the bones my ancestors leave behind. 

We will unify all Europe and Russia 
in one peaceful state we name Gothinia. 
From the ruins of fallen America 
we will build our free country Zarathia. 
We will unite the peoples of our tribes 
in the bounteous state of Anglonesia. 

The ravens gather in the apple tree 
and teach us civil rights through liberty. 
The orioles assemble in the orange tree 
and teach us to deal fair justice for all. 
We gather in moonlight round the World Tree 
to share stories about our quest for truth. 

We live in different countries on one globe 
but tell one story of romantic love. 
We worship different gods with discrete souls 
who all emanate from the same God Mind. 
Every plant and animal on this Earth 
springs from the same First Mother of the sea. 

Justice For The World

Justice For The World
© Surazeus
2025 03 07

Grasping string of sorrow that holds his kite, 
Wulfred escapes as far as he can go 
from crowded city run by gangs of thieves 
to sit on mountain of the holy light 
and wonder at soft song of glowing snow 
in secret meadow where the raven grieves. 

They hung him upside down from the oak tree, 
mocked him while beating his father to death, 
then left him with broken arm by locked gate, 
so he declares his mission to live free 
while learning martial arts with heated breath 
to fight with the wand forged by honest fate. 

While ten years pass in spinning of the world, 
as the thief king takes over the whole town 
to exploit working people for his gain, 
Wulfred attains role of the palace herald 
so he returns with goal to take his crown 
and cleanse his hometown of the grifter stain. 

Robed as herald sent from the palace court, 
Wulfred strides in castle of the thief king 
who fails to recognize the boy he beat 
when he welcomes herald of the great fort, 
feasting on steak while his enslaved girls sing, 
then demands the envoy kneel at his feet. 

Standing tall before thief king on gold throne, 
Wulfred unrolls scroll from the palace lord. 
"Great King Carolus who rules this vast land, 
declares that Donald the thief should atone 
for foul crimes he commits with bloody sword, 
so he should repent for deeds of his hand." 

Screaming in rage at threat to his cruel reign, 
Donald commands guards to arrest the herald 
and chop off his head to protect the state, 
but Wulfred evades hands grasping in vain, 
wields energy of justice for the world, 
then strikes to punish him with well-earned fate. 

Forcing the greedy thief off throne of power, 
Wulfred arrests his state-destroying reign 
to imprison him in cell of his rage, 
breaking his oppression of the state tower 
so people benefit from their own gain 
since the thief is confined in lawful cage. 

Though the people proclaim him their new king, 
Wulfred manages electoral campaign, 
crowns as magistrate the person they choose 
to execute laws programmed by the Thing, 
then lives in garden on the river plain 
where he raises children with his wise Muse. 

Alligators Of New Faith

Alligators Of New Faith
© Surazeus
2025 03 06

When the world as we know it falls apart 
in global transformation of the truth, 
we gather to discuss doctrine of rain 
to revive spirit of justice through faith 
that variegated nations of the Earth 
can thrive in harmony of honest peace. 

Since olive-tree warbler of Eden sings 
with baritone acceptance of contempt, 
we translate harsh howl of aggressive faith 
into solemn hymns of mutual respect, 
and give each other bread and wine to feast 
before the falling of the holy bomb. 

The silver moon I think is mine alone 
shines with compassion on the mountain vale 
where herd of elusive soala drink 
at pool of faces hidden by gold clouds, 
while Yan Po Nagar tends bright mango trees 
that sprout from gold eyes of the Rainbow Rong. 

The mute sun that always watches us live 
sets gold over the Mississippi River 
with indifferent calm of slow passing time 
that continues though empires of the world 
crumble into disarray of greed, 
so I photograph serene gleam of water. 

Our mothers compose our bodies from dust 
of atoms still sparkling from the First Flash, 
and our fathers guide us on road of life 
so our brains emanate our conscious souls 
that fashion world views from our memories, 
and then we crumble into soul-less dust. 

Brow furrowed in contemplation of fate, 
Sarah curls on white-oak chair by the wall 
while pale fingers fiddle with braided hair, 
then tells ghost of light in the window pane 
how she is concerned with ache of her heart 
for all innocent children killed in wars. 

The hero who defends democracy 
jumps off the Tallahassee Bridge at dawn 
and swims with alligators of new faith 
to wrestle blind demon of fiscal greed 
who pilfers treasure from Temple of Saturn 
till David hurls spear of judicial hope. 

Though global puzzle of our new world order 
is still scattered in martial disarray, 
the social architect with clever eyes 
envisions complex structure for world state 
that combines cultural systems of desire 
in vigorous United Nations of Earth. 

Machine Of The Truth

Machine Of The Truth
© Surazeus
2025 03 06

The glass vase of lilacs slides off the table 
and floats over the city of glass towers 
to map traffic patterns of cars that flow 
up tangled roots of the lonely elm tree 
where young girl in the flower dress plays flute 
to explain why the world will never end. 

Though people gather at the theater 
in late cool evening of blue shadowed breeze, 
the girl who plays the melancholy flute 
scatters torn fragments of famous portraits 
that tumble as leaves across the sidewalk 
till children assemble them in new myths. 

When the bald man aims the gun at her face 
she preaches to the choir of clueless angels 
that the past has to be destroyed again 
so we can rebuild machine of the truth 
on shattered ruins of outdated faith 
from weird drawings based on the human scale. 

Death overshadows all our noble plans 
to found world civilization on fair laws 
copied from clay tablets of ancient proverbs 
that we found broken in ruins of history 
which analyze ambiguous events 
smeared on the arbitrary wall of hope. 

Night swallows incompleteness of respect 
with sentimental value of despair 
contrived by parallel concepts of wealth 
detailed by special keys of privilege 
which factors satire of contemptuous men 
who sell their mothers as slaves to the gain. 

Dazed by pride of unattainable love, 
victims of indifferent fortune discard 
sacred words they keep hidden in their hearts 
that rot from arrogance of racial grift, 
abandoned in doorways of homeless hope 
from fluorescent glare of religious faith. 

Apprised of proverbs from authentic grief 
through improbable estate of false hope, 
we choose the impossible dream to buy, 
with concurrent clues of magnified rage, 
new world view that excludes everyone else 
except the thief still unidentified. 

In light of all this jumbled reasoning, 
no wonder soul of our country for sale 
has gone mad with naive surprise to see 
Goliath re-elected as president 
who appoints Samson to smash all our temples 
till David comes with machine of the truth. 

Hear The Secret Truth

Hear The Secret Truth
© Surazeus
2025 03 06

One day Sarah stops singing to the sky 
but the sky can still hear voice of her heart, 
so the sky keeps reflecting secret thoughts 
she tries to hide from other human beings 
who capture song birds in cages of gold 
so only they can hear the secret truth. 

One day Sarah stands up in church and turns 
to stare at hundreds of faces that glow 
with faith that they will live after they die, 
and shouts at them that they are all robots, 
but they cannot hear the words that she speaks, 
so she walks outside on the sunlit lawn. 

One day Sarah hears the tree in the yard 
tell her that she is the last fallen angel, 
but she refuses to believe that lie, 
so she applies to jobs at grocery stores 
where she wants to arrange boxes on shelves 
to ensure everyone has food to eat. 

One day Sarah decides airplanes are gods 
described in ancient myths of Greece and Rome, 
so she waves to Jupiter and Athena 
while folding cardboard boxes in the alley 
where seven wild cats from the river woods 
eat the food she pours in bowls every day. 

One day Sarah becomes a warrior queen 
when Tom finds her working in the stock room, 
grabs her hips, and tries to yank her pants down, 
so she kicks wildly to escape his grasp 
and calls him rapist in the crowded store 
then quits her job and runs out in the rain. 

One day Sarah hears faceless angels sing 
while she browses in the town library 
so she applies for the job stocking books, 
then smiles with joy as she glides down the aisles 
to place each book in order of its theme 
because they are doorways to other worlds. 

One day Sarah sits in the coffee shop, 
crowded with hipsters plotting revolution, 
where she writes words with the plastic ink pen 
along blue lines in the spiral notebook 
for fantasy novel about young girl 
who discovers she has Athena Power. 

One day Sarah stands before the large crowd 
gathered in the library where she works, 
and reads from her published fantasy novel 
about the average American girl 
who saves the country from evil rich men 
so everybody lives through liberty. 

Sitcom Of Charming Laughs

Sitcom Of Charming Laughs
© Surazeus
2025 03 05

Puttering around her house each afternoon 
in plain white dress she wears to do housework, 
Shemaiah carols absent-mindedly. 
"This time next year I might almost be dead 
so I swirl outward from my aching head 
to give you treasure I hide in my heart." 

Afternoon breeze flutters curtains of fate 
that shift beams of sunlight on the cracked plate 
where two oranges glow with eerie desire. 
"I feel long road of time unspool my heart 
through undulating thread from my star chart 
that leaves me stranded on island of dread." 

When her daughter arrives home from high school 
she smiles and watches her climb shadowed stairs 
then disappear through door of silent hope. 
"My life is no sitcom of charming laughs, 
except for journey of lonely giraffes 
that gather in starlight around the pool." 

The rumbling garbage truck that creaks and beeps 
stops under the oak where the goldfinch cheeps, 
and swallows sorrows she has thrown away. 
"Sometimes I feel I am the only one 
who asks the angels why nobody cares, 
though I will always keep the Golden Rule." 

The man who stalked her in college appears 
from flickering shadow of long willow leaves, 
and stands on the path halfway to her house. 
"My happiness escapes cage of my heart 
to fly toward Heaven on wings of desire 
where I want to join the angelic choir." 

Hefting the baseball bat in her right hand, 
she slams open the door of confidence 
and strides toward the man with the bitter gun. 
"I have the right to live in liberty, 
secure in safety of my private home, 
so kill me and die in prison alone." 

The gun turns out to be the camera 
he stole from her apartment years before, 
which he returns now with apology. 
"These photos I took of the mountain lake 
where I went hiking to find peace of God 
reveal sad naivety of my youth." 

Adjusting focus of the camera, 
Shemaiah photos goldfinch in the oak 
that flutters wings of carefree purity. 
"This time next year I may not be alive, 
so I passionately live this hour of faith, 
capturing beauty of this world I love." 

Ground We Dwell Upon

Ground We Dwell Upon
© Surazeus
2025 03 05

I hear no angels call from sunken ships 
that went down in sudden erratic storms 
thousands of years ago in wine-dark seas, 
so I bring their statues back up to land 
where they stand in museums of soft light 
and wear stone masks of divine dignity. 

I feel my laughter flow in roots of trees 
to transform sorrow from excited dust 
as time converts rain to new languages 
spoken by young tribes wandering the Earth 
without knowing they will stop by the lake 
and build the first city to hide despair. 

Tall oak tree alone in the open field 
asks me to bring her fresh mushrooms and eggs, 
so I climb the mountain of singing stones 
to measure the distance from birth to death 
where children leap from bushes in surprise 
and dance around me as they wave their arms. 

Happy in this timeless place of sad trees 
that cover me with leaves of tender hope, 
I watch empires of power rise and fall 
along flowing rivers ten thousand years 
while I write names of their glorious kings 
on dry brown leaves that crumble in the wind. 

Small frozen sun calls me across the field 
where gold wheat stalks whisper alluring lies, 
so I walk alone beyond garden walls 
where weeping angels keep watch at midnight 
to protect their families from hungry thieves 
who steal everything we make with our hands. 

While the old woman in the long black dress 
who stands on rocky cliff above the sea 
plays heart-enchanting music of starlight 
on vibrating strings of the violin, 
millions of people are born from our eyes 
who walk together on the bridge of lies. 

When divine kings in grand tombs are exhumed 
we find their flesh has withered into dust 
and their bones are fragile as angel wings, 
but the crowns with jewels they wore with pride 
still gleam with immortal glory of power, 
though we have forgotten their names and deeds. 

I search for angels in the apple tree 
and find young children wild with joy for life, 
so I play songs with lyre of Mercury 
to sing about great heroes of the past 
whose visions shape how we perceive the world 
for their minds are the ground we dwell upon. 

Where We All Belong

Where We All Belong
© Surazeus
2025 03 05

Attempting to climb high Ladder of Light 
to find eternity within the flower, 
I fall back into reality state 
where I seek spiritual beauty of faith 
in physical forms that molecules take 
as our bodies manifest the star wraith. 

Awake in dreamtime my brain conjures bright 
as seer of illusions in ivory tower, 
I perform my sentient Zephyrian role 
of mapping divine rhythm of the mind 
that mistakes my private plan for the goal 
my secret concept of God has designed. 

The golden-eyed toad tells me I am right, 
as I dance with Maenads in the spring shower, 
this present is not inevitable, 
though I claim reward for accomplishments 
unseen in abyss less relatable 
than world stage empty of astonishments. 

Leaping from my body in psychic flight 
to find my true love in protective bower, 
I realize I am but one tiny drop 
of spiritual energy in the world sea, 
so I work hard to tend the yearly crop 
which I guard as Loaf-Ward with the door key. 

The tree outside my window calls my name, 
so I sail vast ocean in fragile boat 
to found New Heaven in America 
as paradise I build with bleeding hands 
where I learn to plant corn from Onatah 
who weeps at foul state of her pristine lands. 

Illustrious wisdom of our social game, 
encased in hill castle with guardian moat, 
motivates my quest to unite the world 
in global community of just laws 
designed by insight of the cosmic herald 
to base justice on our Liberty Cause. 

Yet Utopian projects all fail the same, 
so I will do nothing but sulk or gloat, 
allowing humans to destroy themselves 
as they succumb to greed of tyranny 
instead of fighting ghosts with honest elves 
to preserve our global democracy. 

Ever evading thirsty vampire Fame 
to maintain system where we all can vote, 
I fly forward into the gathering storm 
on wings of laughter for transcendent song 
to wake divine spirit in mortal form 
which conjures nation where we all belong. 

Divine Darkness Of Faith

Divine Darkness Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 03 04

My heart will scry lost treasure map of faith 
that reveals where the Bluebird hides my tongue 
while I sleep among Arizona pines 
because the children of my pulsing cells 
are all the spiders crawling on the sand 
who rejoice in cool sprinkling rain of spring. 

Though I walk alone on signless desert road 
far from my home in rain-wet Oregon, 
I feel my heart of eager raven wings 
woven into spider web of the land, 
connected to millions of beating hearts, 
so we all feel each other in our dreams. 

Shocked by prophecy of the pouting Sphinx 
that predicts fall of the clay-footed king, 
I watch Coyote skitter across the road 
with casual attitude of the lost fool 
while pushing cart of apples in the suburbs 
where children ask if I have popsicles. 

Pausing by abandoned gas station store, 
where homeless people now gather and drink, 
I ask the Singing Turtle if she knows 
why the flaming meteor never hits Earth, 
and she explains that time circles around 
so we repeat our duties every day. 

Road runner races down the desert road 
through tunnel painted over sandstone wall 
that opens portal to alternate Earth 
where fairies dance in ring of diamond stones, 
but Coyote smacks at the solid wall 
to symbolize my search for Paradise. 

Digging water well in heart of the world 
to clear room so we flourish in the land, 
I signify its presence with the name 
Rehoboth as symbol for Flow of Life 
that waters fields of barley with new hope 
which shimmer bright on our ancestral plane. 

Entwined with psychic souls we never meet, 
we walk as our own shadows to retrieve 
treasured memories hidden in hollow oaks 
with eyes of quartz that perceive secret love 
heavy with false guilt of the rainless moon 
moistened by silver kiss of subtle rain. 

Still on threshold of ever-moving home, 
that radiates with divine darkness of faith, 
we share our weirdest secrets without speech 
by how we hold each other in moonlight, 
and give each other names that bind our hearts 
with flashing ring of sacred molecules. 

Waxen Wings Of Regret

Waxen Wings Of Regret
© Surazeus
2025 03 04

Spooked by soft whisper of the window light, 
the young deer runs across the fenced-in yard, 
then darts across the narrow asphalt road 
to wander gracefully down to the lake 
where no swan-god swoops from clouds of desire 
to bear the tongueless girl up to the stars. 

Annoyed at flight of crows across gray clouds, 
I search echoing caverns of my heart 
to locate voice of my poetic soul 
that produces speech with ethereal vibes 
which radiate from iron core of the Earth 
to replicate mask I wear in the play. 

Assembling fractured memories of hope 
to concatenate my identity 
from tangled genes of psychic energy, 
I arrogate emergent property 
of my immortal spirit through my voice 
to channel desires into roles I play. 

My true ancestral self, which I create 
from stark necessity to survive fear, 
floats between mirrored aggression of fate, 
refracting psychic energy of love 
in pointillist portrait of my God Mind, 
and subtle reaction I play with verve. 

Mapping quick uncertainty principle 
with circling atoms of distorted truth, 
I measure vast awareness of my brain 
to locate my body on spinning Earth 
in relation to Sibyl in bright cave 
where ghosts of my ancestors call my name. 

The mad tarantula inside my brain 
navigates recessive canyons of hope 
with false sensation of electric laugh, 
so I flap my waxen wings of regret 
to prove I will not fall like Icarus 
when I steal faded laurel Phoebus wears. 

I will sing no hymns to royal-blood gods, 
nor kill Chimera couched beside my house, 
though I may mourn youth killed in senseless war 
with dirge at waste of wisdom for the state 
while his young bride grieves in the empty church 
where preachers charge ransom to save his soul. 

With honey bees in grove where Martin paints 
grand murals that depict our Golden Age, 
I sing our victory in the third world war 
when everything we value is destroyed, 
except the milk cow in sad field of wheat 
where no one is left to manage the farm. 

Flash Of Eternal Now

Flash Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2025 03 04

The sad tarantula inside my brain 
calculates which way I will want to go 
to stay in shape for the end of the world 
that will occur during the evening show 
we watch on television by the door 
which fractures belief system we abhor. 

The souvenir I buy from the quaint store 
contains demonic spirit of the girl 
who used to dance in wild waves of the sea 
before she decided to marry me, 
so we stroll together in our neighborhood 
to feel pulse of life we decide is good. 

Disordered proverbs of the holy mind 
proclaim that babies we create from love 
are all the meaning of life we shall need 
despite the weird apocalypse each year 
where everything we believe is proved wrong 
so we together compose our own song. 

Flowers open to catch innocent snow 
that covers everything in veil of hope 
so we climb the stairs to top of the world 
where we can see the home our love creates 
spin forever on the merry-go-round, 
then kiss in harmony with the Earth Sound. 

Among tall willows on the river shore 
we dance with arrogant disdain for Death 
who fails to demand our honest respect, 
so we defy expectations contrived 
by jealous people to inhibit how 
we mature through flash of eternal now. 

Ignoring tragic fate of life we choose, 
we preserve shadows of our vibrant souls 
inside amber stone that reflects the sea 
with shocking gospel of the humble bee 
through consolation of the raven wing 
when we translate psalms the mountain winds sing. 

Imperfect portrait of our partnership 
frames glamor of our love on sunlit wall 
at sudden vanishing of clumsy lies 
that expose our hearts to star-shattered skies 
though we hold hands and leave it all at that, 
against convention of their social law. 

My old weather vane heart turns with the wind 
of angry sorrow blown from surprised mouths 
when people of the land shout with outrage 
at how deceitful thief they voted for 
steals everything they made with crafty hands 
so all their castles crumble into sand. 

Roaring Waves Of Change

Roaring Waves Of Change
© Surazeus
2025 03 04

Yellow egg splats on linoleum floor 
to illustrate process of life and death 
with voiceless agony of daily hope 
when roaring waves of change wash over us 
with frothing teeth of hunger for the free 
as we swim to the bottom of the sea. 

Thin black wolves lurk in old Victorian house, 
trotting up and down solid oakwood stairs, 
eyes gleaming gold as ancient burned-out stars, 
so we hang portraits of ghosts on blank walls 
and give our melancholy children names 
our ancestors wore to play psychic games. 

Stacking classic books of weird poetry 
on lace-covered table with glass of wine, 
cloth-covered notebook, and brass fountain pen, 
I photograph conceptual dramaty, 
then post it on my social media sites 
with snarky comment about pious kites. 

Late winter sunlight glares on window panes 
while Ellen turns soil in her garden plot, 
preparing to plant carrots, melons, corn, 
and tomatoes in land her father bought, 
then wipes her brow and gazes at the sky 
as she wonders what happens when we die. 

Ghosts of five children she birthed and raised up 
swarm around her soul in the empty house, 
and voices of their secret thoughts still echo 
in shadows behind each half-open door, 
so she closes her eyes to morning gleam 
and sips coffee as she savors their dream. 

I cannot go back in process of time 
to rearrange furniture of our hearts 
so we could better adjust cordial clocks 
to interact through accurate respect 
with cold honor toward cunning deathly ploys 
which tends to erase our sorrows and joys. 

Painting landscapes with her house among trees 
surrounded by shadows of faceless beasts 
that emanate from hearts of human beings, 
Ellen searches for ways to perceive truth 
beyond self-blinding surfaces of things, 
and sighs at sudden flutter of finch wings. 

Hiding her useless memories in books, 
Ellen encodes strong opinions about life 
in clever fairy tales of lonely girls 
who seek truth in forests of nameless ghosts 
which children in libraries like to read, 
as her rotting corpse nurtures apple seed. 

Contrived By Fortune

Contrived By Fortune
© Surazeus
2025 03 03

If leaves cover my invisible grave 
with brutal silence that erases love, 
silver chickadees will break free from ice 
till arrogant ghosts call for global truce, 
yet children no longer play hide and seek 
in secret tree forts fathers never make. 

Electric ruler measures silent flow 
between emotionless masks people wear 
because devils teach angels how to fly, 
anticipating success of world war 
started by the traitor and the mind thief 
to tax any person who tries to laugh. 

Since no one can find my grave anymore 
I will be happy to steal their new car 
so I can journey to the Promised Land 
with Stone of Sisyphus as contract bond 
designed to smash gold idol with clay feet 
while Minerva plays the cracked crystal flute. 

If you dig deep enough in tangled code, 
that programs how you see the changing world, 
you might perceive idea for each form 
that composes state of the perfect farm 
based on stewardship over cows and wheat 
designed well by the social architect. 

Each special person ever born on Earth 
by random chance of fate from humble mirth 
embodies features through genetic test 
arranged to maximize productive quest 
contrived by fortune to generate life 
long enough to breed till undone by strife. 

Nearly successful at building from scratch 
global religion of conceptual faith, 
I race to Heaven with enjambing clutch 
accelerating engine through the wraith 
to trash security programs of wealth 
for the poor to thrive based on clever stealth. 

War twists hearts of men into mindless wolves 
who cause more problems than charity solves 
with spiteful nonchalance of hungry hope 
because I still wear my Superman cape 
while bearing Flag of Liberty to fight 
fascists who think they can rule us with fright. 

We hide our memories in poetry books 
that no one ever reads but hotel cooks 
who aspire to heal the soul with good food 
which depends on divine robotic mood 
exuded by the crownless jester king 
who jokes to kill us if we fail to sing. 

Passion Of Our Legacy

Passion Of Our Legacy
© Surazeus
2025 03 03

Clear-eyed with hope beyond the coming storm, 
I glide gracefully on lake of thin ice, 
silver blades singing brightly as I carve 
starred silhouette of our secretive pride 
on cosmic mirror of epiphany 
that reflects passion of our legacy. 

Intense attention to elegant form 
with tensile arms outstretched in wingless flight 
motivates our progress through muscled pace 
to transcend limits of our fragile frame 
and soar with breathless joy on gleaming ice 
that inspires passion of our legacy. 

Beyond clumsy stumbles of eager hope 
we inhale ethereal breath of blue sky 
to leap high over obstacles of fear 
with bold resilience of heartfelt faith 
and glide with self-control of energy 
that revives passion of our legacy. 

Extending wings Daedalus wove for me, 
with gentle arrogance of grim success, 
I push against harsh wind of mocking fear 
which cycles spirit through extremity 
to focus certitude of honesty 
that excites passion of our legacy. 

Though frozen deep in lake of solitude 
from morbid anguish of sorrow-crushed dreams, 
I reach from core of heart-numbing despair 
for eye of light reaching me in cold dark, 
and break free from hard shell of fear to fly 
that incites passion of our legacy. 

Trapped stiff beneath hard ice of broken faith, 
long paralyzed by fall from heights of pride, 
I feel warm hands of light from Mother Sun 
caress my frozen soul with gentle grace 
which motivates rebirth through purest love 
that ignites passion of our legacy. 

Soaring on skates over thin ice of life, 
I sing mercurial psalms with nightingales 
to blaze with beauty in the starry sky, 
then flame out into swirls of voiceless ash 
which leaves traces of my dreams carved on stone 
that records passion of our legacy. 

In tearful memory for innocent souls, 
young graceful skaters with angelic wings 
who fell from Heaven in the burning plane 
that crashed into the dark Potomac Stream, 
I skate figure-eights through infinity 
that preserves passion of our legacy. 

Stone Of My Tongue

Stone Of My Tongue
© Surazeus
2025 03 03

After the turtle takes away my tongue 
I walk the roadless plain of humming wind 
to find that my tongue has become the stone 
that sings strange language by the river bed, 
so I hold it up to swallow the sun 
that makes it vibrate with ancestral tales. 

The shadow of the person I should be 
rides the horse quickly on the roadless plain, 
so I throw stone of my tongue at the sky 
where it becomes the moon that keeps my name 
hidden from thieves who steal my secret words, 
then returns to me as turtle of faith. 

I see the oldest woman in the world 
whose face is soft red as the desert sand, 
so I ask Nihasdazaan Mother Earth 
if she can give me the true name I lost, 
but all that comes out of my mouth is wind 
that blows seeds of squash and corn far away. 

Preparing fresh meal on stone of my heart, 
heated by wild words trapped inside my mouth, 
Nihasdazaan hands me sweet round fry bread 
heaped with beans, lettuce, tomatoes, and corn, 
so I eat ancient memories of my tribe 
which wakes the Bluebird in the cottonwood. 

Holding blue stone of my tongue in my hand, 
I walk down to the river of bright tears 
and set the stone among Indian Paintbrush, 
then I dance slow steps in spiraling curves 
and hum with vibration inside my heart 
as thunder rumbles low on distant hills. 

I hear great crack fracture the big blue sky, 
so I kneel and watch blue stone of my tongue 
crack open and release the small Bluebird 
who gazes at me with bright rainbow eyes, 
then flies into my mouth with shriek of hope, 
transforming into hurricane of dreams. 

After the Bluebird attaches my tongue, 
Yeibichai teaches me how to speak words, 
and commissions me with important goal 
to chastise people harming other people 
for we all share the bounty of this world, 
then gives me Blue Feather of honest faith. 

Gathering stones of tongues from river beds, 
small eggs of Bluebirds that contain Song Stars, 
I walk red land from sea to shining sea 
and give Word Stones to strangers from far lands 
so they can also speak with voice of love 
when they become mute from word-killing wars. 

Wyrd Spreadsheet Of Fate

Wyrd Spreadsheet Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 03 03

Our world that was real ten years ago 
has vanished into the mists of dreamland, 
so now I dream about the way things were, 
walking across campus to the classroom 
where I will learn about the distant past 
so I can perform the future as play. 

John sits in the diner on Nineteenth Street, 
eating scrambled eggs and sipping black coffee, 
and contemplates how both sorrow and joy 
scramble beauty and ugliness of life 
like abstract paintings on museum walls, 
while the endless morning train loudly clacks. 

Three men wearing ski masks break in the store 
and fill leather bags with diamonds and jewels, 
then whistle as they saunter down the street 
to play chess with old men in the lake park 
who talk about their life in prison camps 
when they survived the war-time holocaust. 

Karen types numbers on the white keyboard, 
filling columns in wyrd spreadsheet of fate 
with expenses and profits of the heart 
to calculate health of the national soul, 
then wanders past the lake park to eat lunch, 
smiling at John as the strangers pass by. 

Aiming pistol at the three diamond thieves, 
John orders them to lie down on the ground, 
but they hurl the wood chessboard at his face 
and zig-zag through the hungry lunch-time crowd 
till one takes Karen hostage with the knife 
his grandfather gave him when he was twelve. 

Filming the hostage scene with mobile phones, 
the crowd parts as John aims gun at the thief 
who presses sharp knife at throat of the woman 
who tells him about her daughter named Tammy 
who likes to paint castles and unicorns, 
but he shouts and curses God in the clouds. 

The small white church in the grove of oak trees 
with its steeple pointed to the empty sky 
calls to the raven stuck in human form 
who falls to his knees and drops the sharp knife, 
allowing Karen to escape his fear, 
so she hugs him as he cries for his mother. 

Strolling together on the lake park trail, 
John and Karen smile shy on their first date, 
then tell each other about their childhoods 
as they eat spaghetti and drink red wine, 
then hold each other in the silver mist, 
and kiss like the world will go on forever. 

Goldfinch Of Nostalgia

Goldfinch Of Nostalgia
© Surazeus
2025 03 02

When the goldfinch of nostalgia steals his name 
with busy awkwardness of splashless rain, 
he pours himself tall glass of Merlot wine 
to regulate excessive flash of time. 
Her eyes pretend to conjure spring from death, 
dispersing seeds when bells unwind the clock. 

Bright green flows the river, and sand gleams gold, 
so Tracy dances in long gown of lace 
to feel how urgent waves of untime fold 
in tangled solitude of psychic space. 
Bare limbs of the special sun-woven tree 
lean gracefully over the finite sea. 

She summons him with tragic voice of hope 
broadcast over the radio at midnight, 
concerned about death of the lonely pope 
who fries fish for her meal with second sight. 
Weird blueness of the alligator lake 
sparks her most ancient ancestor awake. 

Moonlight fills her bedroom with ghost of words 
who gives her cup of secret honey juice, 
so she drinks sorrow of eccentric birds 
till he drives her back home to Andaluz. 
Iberian chiffchaff flutters sun-gold wings 
deep in the Pyrenees where Triton sings. 

Since he leaves home to wander mountain vales 
on endless quest to find the Demon Book, 
his trail unfolds in spell of fairy tales 
which alters spiral of the warm chinook. 
Still Justice searches landscape of her heart 
to find secret cave of Truth on the chart. 

Forgetting why she walks the country road 
toward blazing sunset of eternity, 
she asks voiceless God if he is the toad 
who never comes back from modernity. 
He asks her name when they meet by the pool, 
so she gives him newly-invented tool. 

Progressive growth of social values proves 
fair justice and truth will always prevail 
despite how slowly Jupiter approves 
project to measure their hearts on love scale. 
While he surveils the world of broken hearts, 
she puts baskets of fruit in market carts. 

Now she will never go to Innisfree 
to bury her sister in fertile soil 
so her rotten corpse may feed the pear tree 
with painful love they earn from bitter toil. 
Between two realms they remember how breath 
exhibits sacred spirit of the rock. 

Plagiarize Your Dreams

Plagiarize Your Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 03 02

He cannot help but plagiarize your dreams 
with serpentine grace of the alphabet 
that leaves corpses of truth in icy streams 
seeking resurrection from Baphomet 
who plays violin on the hill of skulls 
to avoid judgment of the prancing bulls. 

While Janice knits pink sweater for the ghoul 
Robert puts vinyl record on the player 
so they can rage against machine of school 
which trains Accountant to be Demon-Slayer 
since the Devil wants to eat apple pie 
and gaze at sunset blazing in the sky. 

If I should measure out play of my life 
with anniversaries of dire events 
while writing self-help book to manage strife, 
then I should vote for honest presidents 
who treat our global allies with respect 
each time arrogant thieves try to defect. 

He pilfers tropes from dreams that you forget 
so he can sneer at Hamlet and his seems 
while nursing bitter wounds of fake regret 
for angels left to die in cruel moonbeams 
since ballet dancers express human form 
with elegant grace far beyond the norm. 

Barely surviving in forest of noise, 
he steals eggs from nests of traitorous birds 
which breaks his brain in mirror of mute poise, 
paralyzed by hope to manage goat herds, 
while pretending everyone is his friend 
so he can ride the blue snake to the end. 

Brain brimming with spiders of diamond shards, 
he kneels and asks the girl with bleeding eyes 
if she will let him join the castle guards, 
but she prefers he join the palace spies 
so she can drink wine on the river shore 
while her old mother becomes the locked door. 

Deciding to marry the anarchist, 
she plagiarizes dreams found in the trash, 
then participates in the Eucharist, 
eager to eat his body burned to ash 
despite assurances from the fake king 
that she will receive new angelic wing. 

He plagiarizes dreams you throw away 
with mocking laughter of the tangerine 
because you do not know just what to say 
when he sells you to son of Melusine, 
so if you acknowledge Glycon as God 
he will save you from the telephone fraud. 

Worth Pondered Words

Worth Pondered Words
© Surazeus
2025 03 02

The stars inside cells of our bodies buzz 
with supernatural energy of light, 
so I follow song of the mountain stream, 
groping my way into shadowy glare, 
because I believe I will understand 
the story the water wants to tell me. 

Over the Bridge of Hunger without wheels 
I drive past houses, churches, schools, and stores 
where thousands of nameless people may dwell, 
though I never see more than shadows of faith 
glow behind torn curtains of privacy 
to make masks they wear in pageant of life. 

Since the stars are indifferent to my life, 
I strut around like I own this whole globe, 
but so does every other man and beast 
who growl at me if I invade their space, 
so I am grateful for the twinkling stars 
that still shine though the stars themselves are gone. 

Sublime beauty of the blank starless sky 
would make my heart ache with sorrow of loss 
despite substantial lack of unity 
inadequate to bind our hearts as one, 
so I reach out my invisible hand 
to touch tangible remoteness of time. 

Potential meaning of existing things 
reveals that my perception of their forms 
relies on language first mother designed 
to help precisely define what exists, 
how all things move from assertion of will, 
and what qualities are worth pondered words. 

Though the dreamer who loves horses attempts 
to prove that the importance of elsewhere 
relies on loneliness our bodies feel 
based on strangeness of our essential being, 
I perform customs of society 
to underwrite existence of the mind. 

Since I never beweep my outcast state, 
nor trouble Heaven that does not exist 
with cries of victimhood from lack of gain, 
I disdain disgrace fortune casts at me, 
and treasure art I create with my heart 
because I am king only of my mind. 

Time causes all things to disintegrate, 
and hope creates things from atoms of light, 
so I savor beauty of teeming Earth 
blooming richly with plants and animals 
which all share genes our first mother creates 
to mold bodies for temporary souls. 

Flood Of Divine Truth

Flood Of Divine Truth
© Surazeus
2025 03 01

Sleepless in cluttered room of memories, 
I lose interest in conundrums of faith 
devised by weak abusive control-freaks 
to keep me dependent on their false creeds, 
so I throw their books up into the air 
where they turn into crows with bloody beaks. 

Unlocking paragraphs of bitter words 
that flutter on limbs of arrogant trees, 
I turn the corner to the crowded street 
where blind people wear masks of movie stars 
to scatter apple seeds on cracked sidewalks 
while bobbing their heads to the engine beat. 

When I speak works that I am told to say 
to entertain bored people of the world, 
I leave my self-mask broken on the stage 
so when people throw tomatoes at me 
I take them home to eat with omelets, 
then hide my sorrows on the bleeding page. 

Through diagnosis of the pristine curse 
I analyze omen carved on the door 
by trembling hand of the shy oracle 
who hurries away with hammer of flame 
through loud disquiet of ineptitude 
to sail Loch Ness in hide-bound coracle. 

That face I see in cracked mirror of time 
smiles back and calls me on the telephone, 
so I wear mask of Jesus Jupiter 
to play his character in world dreamtime 
erased by winners who write history books 
which prove I must be son of Lucifer. 

Born sixty years ago in Oregon, 
I journey with guitar on signless road 
without my mask from sea to shining sea 
because we humans, hungry to be loved, 
are actively dying as we transcend 
nothing except pretense that we are free. 

When I find your sorrows on the wet ground 
as fragments of verse on the tattered sheet, 
I record the sad dreams you threw away 
with wry obsession of the desert saint 
who thinks neglecting our bodily needs 
will transform their bodies the way gods pray. 

Exhaustible resource of empathy 
limits expression of my broken heart 
based on prerequisite puzzle of fate 
because love multiplies when freely expressed 
and flows from infinite well of faith 
till we drown in the flood of divine truth. 

Allowing You To Live

Allowing You To Live
© Surazeus
2025 03 01

Blue water ripples in white porcelain tub 
as Cassandra stretches and cleans her skin 
with flower-paste soap on the soft sea sponge, 
and flames of candles delicately dance 
in soft river breeze among plum tree limbs 
that gleam black in purple evening dusk glow. 

Long red silk gown draped around her lithe curves 
flutters in river breeze tinged by moonlight 
as Cassandra glides gracefully alone 
past portraits of ancestors that swell bright 
and reach gaunt ghostly hands to grasp her hair 
that swirls free from desperation to live. 

Climbing tall maple tree on the hill top, 
Cassandra gazes far across broad valley 
where the river winds among orchard groves 
with seven villages where angels dwell 
in stone cottages with gardens of herbs, 
and cries at vision of them all in flames. 

Approaching locked door of the castle tower, 
Cassandra gestures hand sigils to spark 
invisible flame that knocks the door open, 
then climbs stairs winding up into the sky 
to find her daughter Rapunzel hogtied, 
so she cuts ropes and they flee down the stairs. 

Five men with swords surround the open door 
so Cassandra swirls and knocks them all down, 
then crouches in martial stance of calm force 
to fight Tereus, who kidnaps young girls, 
but he shoots her with bullet from long gun 
and she lies bleeding under the red moon. 

Weeping distraught at cruel death of her mother, 
Rapunzel flees through mist in mountain woods, 
clambering past tangled vines of despair 
till she lies gasping by small sparkling pool 
as gold sunlight gleams through indifferent pines, 
trying not to scream loud as she births her child. 

Cradling new-born baby in trembling arms, 
Rapunzel gazes in her silver eyes 
with heart-breaking ache of desperate love 
that banishes her vow of just revenge 
to drown child of her rapist after birth, 
unable to commit that tragic act. 

"By allowing you to live, my dear Sibyl, 
I reward evil man, driven by greed, 
who kidnapped me and locked me in his tower, 
then forced me to bear child against my will, 
with life for immortal soul of his genes, 
but you are innocent of his foul crime." 

Chessmaster Of Time

Chessmaster Of Time
© Surazeus
2025 03 01

Luminous salamander of my heart 
rejoices when rain falls on maple leaves 
because she reigns as chessmaster of time 
when she maneuvers dictators and kings 
to believe they can fly on divine wings 
yet fall into the sea of arrogance. 

If the moon becomes the white horse of hope 
who gallops toward me on the open field, 
I may drive east across the prairie road 
while singing holy songs of grim despair 
which opens hole of possibility 
though another war is soon to begin. 

Among the lonely daffodils of fate 
we shall stop beside the rotting oak 
and eat sweet honey from heart of the world 
while contemplating where we shall go next 
on the secret journey of our own play 
for we are the stars of our cute romance. 

Though quicksilver storm of the holy mask 
crackles over vast fields of wheat and corn, 
we shall dance through the wild radio song 
with spectral sheets of anguish turned to joy 
when we join the grand victory parade 
swept by the wind down lonely small-town streets. 

Someday I want to see the Star Heart Sea 
which covers half our lumpy spinning globe 
with sparkling water of pacific calm 
so I can meet the Goddess of Despair 
who teaches me to show mercy to all 
though her eyes crackle with the judgment flame. 

Somnolent beauty of the apple tree 
sparks ponderous hunger of my stubborn heart 
to preach theology of mortal faith 
that every conscious creature dies someday 
and floats to nothing in stark empty light 
with soft distempered soul of unconcern. 

I never find tombs where my ancestors lie 
rotting in coffins of unshielded scorn 
till bones of their special characters form 
structure of bleak hills where children play chase 
with seamless fabric of our lost world view 
that flaps as melancholy flag in wind. 

Yet flowers of our bodies woven taut 
with private memories of lost childhood hours 
shine on the other side of silver light 
ten thousand years longer than empires last, 
prophesied by kind chessmaster of time 
who rides white horse of hope to Scythia.