Way In Broceliande Woods

Way In Broceliande Woods
Surazeus
2015 07 08

Laughing as he drinks another cold beer,
Thor swings his hammer to smash our door.
"Because lunch is a delusion of faith,
that believers in love insist is real,
you and Epicurus on the gold stage
of world fame, with nameless communes where clowns
entertain the religious and insane,
teach us to analyze what we perceive,
although atoms are composed of bright quarks.
You see if I do not kiss your lost wife."

Riding the white lamb on the field of mines,
Robin Hood blows the plastic horn of war.
"Marion left me last year for your son
when I realized I am the one foretold
by ancient prophecies to rise from death
and unite all nations in one world empire,
so turn the channel on your network pad
and watch me crucify your last messiah
on the only standing telephone pole,
and turn him into a wild ninja cyborg."

Turning away from the mirror of lies
that reflects the vanity of movie stars,
Marilyn Monroe winks at me and grins.
"I will marry you, if you crown me queen,
and parade my mind like a plastic doll
to prove my superior intellect
when I sketch on the napkin of your pride
the true Grand Unified Theory of Physics
that proves we are all but a hologram
in the computer simulation chamber
of a numberless door in halls of Heaven.
Now hand me that camera so I can steal
image of your soul, which might just transform
me into your perfect Barbie doll bride."

Awakening from vision of my house,
where spiders of light reweave all mistakes,
Mary Magdalene kisses my three eyes.
"I transform spirit of tribe god into flesh,
while sitting alone in cave near Marseilles,
and teach you how to construct boats from trees,
so sail the river of dreams to explore
this wild nameless land of mountains and lakes,
and dig bright gems from cavern of dead souls
to capture spirit of infinite truth
that guides your way in Broceliande woods
where the Lion Queen with the Sword of Truth
will crown you king of our wandering tribe.
There you will find Merlin who will teach you spells
for conjuring castles of stone from clouds,
and Taliesin will teach your hands to play
the Harp of David and sing magic spells
that summon Melusine from water well,
and she will transform your soul into god."

Snapping seven strings on the Harp of David,
Taliesin reaches his hand in my head
and twists the dial to change my channel brain.
"Follow me in misty Broceliande
and stand on the shore of the silent lake
where the woman in white with serpent eyes
will swallow your soul in her fertile womb
and transform a new body for your soul
so you live forever beyond blind death,
and you will forget your true secret name
till you are standing in green midnight rain
on the hill of lights at the end of time,
and cycle back through the ages of man
to remember how we evolve from fish."

Gazing at the audience in the stadium,
Pharamund whispers and flashes his eyes
at cute girls who swoon at his heart-throb charm.
"I stop at the door of the clean glass house
where rain pours over the tables and chairs
then walk back outside in the sunny day
where the Phoenix bird with elegant eyes
gives me a ride around the Earth nine times
so I see where my ancestors were born,
and dream their journey for ten thousand years
over mountains of ice where apple trees
bloom ripe from soil of sorrow and hope,
so I scatter its seeds on river shores
as I walk from the Dzungarian Alps,
following the daily trail of the sun,
to dance with you in Broceliande woods.
I remember every step of the way
since we woke at dawn by the lake of dreams
and heard the stars sing words that name all things."

Nameless Prophet Of Nowhere

Nameless Prophet Of Nowhere
© Surazeus
2015 07 06

Once I walk away from my childhood home,
and follow lone road of secret desires,
the road of life can never lead me back,
so I must continue on to bright dawn.

While standing on the mountain of far view,
I see that every direction I could go
is wide open to possibility,
but I can only go one way in life.

Since I cannot see the fate of each path
that I would meet whichever way I go,
I stand paralyzed, helpless to decide,
because I want love, success, wealth, and fame.

Then I realize, with laughter in wind,
no matter which way I go in this world
I am who I am, doing what I do,
so I sit and never go anywhere.

I will never reign as a glorious king,
I will never heal disease or beat death,
nor enlighten minds of men with new thoughts,
but who cares, since we all die anyway.

Method of Philosophy

Method of Philosophy
Hermead of Surazeus

Platon:
"I divide method of philosophy
in three distinct aspects of noble search
for truth as dialectics, ethics, and physics.
Dialectics is method of argument
to resolve disagreement about concepts
through rational discourse from all view points
to establish truth about facts of life.
Ethics is talk about customs and habits
to develop standard system of rules
that examine, defend, and recommend
emotional actions that humans perform
which result in construction or destruction
so we know what conduct is right or wrong.
Physics is study about state of nature
through observation to attain true facts
from mathematics and geometry
about how matter moves through space and time
and patterns confine matter in structures
so we understand how Kosmos behaves
according to force of cause and effect.
Using dialectic method of discussion,
we study physical nature of things,
and decide how to behave in situations
that create status of beauty and good."

from Ideas of Aristokles Platon
Hermead Vol 4 (coming soon)
http://tinyurl.com/HermeadEditions

Hard-Won Liberty

Hard-Won Liberty
© Surazeus
2015 07 04

Explosions burst across the placid sky
to symbolize aggressive victory
when people driven far from burning homes
burn homes of people in new lands we claim.

We raise our flag of war that drips their blood
and celebrate our hard-won liberty
then feast and sing to praise our noble right
to live free on this sacred land we stole.

We aim our guns to shoot their stubborn hearts
when they refuse to love our deity
who teaches noble sacrifice and love
then dare rebel against our generous rule.

When fireworks sparkle in our star-lit sky
we gather on the fourth day of July
to celebrate our fight with tyranny
and force on all our hard-won liberty.

Unheard Prayer Of Orion

Unheard Prayer Of Orion
© Surazeus
2015 07 01

My brain floats in the Horsehead Nebula,
shooting across the emptiness of space.
I look sideways in the mirror of time
and see infinity in the mask of my face.

I ride my swift horse in the river vale,
hunting the sharp-pronged stag among fake stars.
I become a robot with machine mind
when I convert wagons to motor cars.

I pray to Helius who creates our world
but he never returns my first phone call.
I rewire the blank radio of my brain
and hide as Buddha under the waterfall.

God Is Us

God Is Us
© Surazeus
2015 07 03

God is an invention of the human mind,
conflating several forces and phenomena
that we observe at work in the universe,
mindless forces of nature and political power.

Men see the sun shining and causing life,
and see the wind blowing and causing life,
and see the rain falling and causing life,
so they conclude those forces of nature
are conscious and causing life to occur.

Men see things moving and causing things
to move and thus causing other things to move,
so they conclude there is a Prime Mover
who first caused everything to move and live.

Men see every group of men and women
controlled and organized by a wiser man
who reigns over them by force of his strength
or by power of his intellectual wisdom,
and judges over disputes between people,
and manages projects to organize well
social process of production through ritual.

Men conflate these mindless forces of nature
and social positions of power to invent
concept of God as the great creative force
who creates and manages the entire universe.

Our universe is an enormous cluster
of sparkling atoms that spiral and aggregate
to form clouds of gas that form burning stars
that crush atoms together to form molecules
that interact based on number of electrons
and thus form planets that revolve around stars.

Thriving on the surfaces of rich planets
that revolve just the right distance from the sun,
organic life develops through natural processes
of chemical interactions between molecules
based on number of electrons that conform
vibrant structures of their spinning bodies.

Thus there is a natural creative force of life
that evolves from single atoms to complex forms,
but this creative force is not conscious nor alive.

Consciousness is a function of complex brains
that perceive light reflecting off all objects
and generate virtual worlds to reflect real world
in models of real things within neural networks
of atoms that beam visions of things they perceive,
and thus each creature who wakes from dream
and becomes aware of itself as alive and real
creates a model of the universe in its mind.

Vast collections of atoms in galaxies and stars
are not conscious of themselves as alive
but they interact in natural processes
of chemical interactions based on number
of electrons that form organic creatures
whose eyes and brains collect memories of action
and then glow with cognitive conscious awareness.

Humans saw the sun and wind providing life
that seem to act with consciousness we possess,
so they described natural forces as gods,
then humans saw tribes and nations of people
are always controlled by one powerful man
who claims to be greatest authority on Earth,
and so we conflate both concepts in one God.

God is an invention of the human mind
that conflates the mindless forces of nature
with the process of controlling political power
and thus man creates god in his own image
and imbues him with supernatural power
to create and manage the existence of all things.

The universe is assembled by a creative force
but that force is not conscious nor alive,
while we humans are the only ones alive
on this spinning ball of dirt, air, water, and fire,
and we are the ones conscious of ourselves,
thus we are the gods who now control nature.

God is the conscious creative force of love
who wakes up inside our dreaming minds.

My New Name

My New Name
© Surazeus
2015 06 29

The old woman clutches my hand and smiles.
"We find our true selves when we lose our way."
She releases my hand, and stares at grass,
and I see dream of her lost memory
when she was a little girl of twelve years.

She runs outside the paintless broken door
and wanders in grove of whispering pine trees
where sunlight gleams gold through fluttering leaves
and stares at her face in the shimmering pond,
then transforms into a bird that darts swift.

I lose her memory, that blows away
like fire smoke in a sudden gusting breeze,
and she turns her face from shadow again
to smile and ask me if I have a name.
I recite epics, laws, and fairy tales,
attempting to discover my new name.

Flag Of Slavery

Flag Of Slavery
© Surazeus
2015 06 28

After four hundred years of sweat and tears,
of one race slaving at the will of another,
subservient to their commands and whips,
growing rich crops and building fancy homes,
Liberty fights back with strong hand of justice
on the glorious day when Bree climbs a flagpole
and tears down the vile flag of slavery.

Long after four years of bloody civil war
defeated states rights of arrogant men
to own other people and make them work
without pay to increase their obscene wealth,
Liberty fights back with strong hand of justice
on the glorious day when Bree climbs a flagpole
and tears down the vile flag of slavery.

After one hundred fifty years of work
to establish equal civil rights as law
for every man and woman who works hard
to earn deserved pay for talent and skill,
Liberty fights back with strong hand of justice
on the glorious day when Bree climbs a flagpole
and tears down the vile flag of slavery.

As we gather before capitol house
in every state from sea to shining sea
to demand strong reign of justice and truth
over men who exploit others for wealth,
Liberty fights back with strong hand of justice
on the glorious day when Bree climbs a flagpole
and tears down the vile flag of slavery.

Without A Name

Without A Name
© Surazeus
2015 06 27

When I travel the signless road
and listen to the whispering moon,
I hear your voice among the trees
that leads me to the rising sun.
I walk alone nowhere without a name,
searching the world for heaven I create.

Though I was born from ancient hall
and wear the crown of shining gems,
I climb the wall of broken stone
and leave behind your heaven dream.
I walk alone nowhere without a name,
searching the world for heaven I create.

I stand alone on the cold shore
of the pond where swans flap their wings,
and stare at the ghost in clear light
who reaches out her hands to me.
I walk alone nowhere without a name,
searching the world for heaven I create.

I grip a stone in pale white hands
and scratch chanting runes in dry dust,
then cry aloud to empty sky
calling my father to come back.
I walk alone nowhere without a name,
searching the world for heaven I create.

Rainbow beams bright after storm rain
to cast rays of light in my eyes,
so I stare at swirling white clouds
when they form face my father wore.
I walk alone nowhere without a name,
searching the world for heaven I create.

I pull a baby from my flesh
who opens eyes and smiles at me,
so she suckles milk at my breast
though I wither and fade away.
I walk alone nowhere without a name,
searching the world for heaven I create.

You Are Killing Me

You Are Killing Me
© Surazeus
2015 06 25

Back long ago in nineteen sixty nine
when I came home from crazy Vietnam
I won lots of money in boxing rings
so I headed west to star in the movies,
dreaming of mansions and Brigitte Bardot,
flying to heaven on clouds of big dreams.
Tina, O Tina, you are killing me.

I was racing my gleaming Mustang fast
on lone desert highway of golden sand
from lush Virginia to dusty Nevada
when I saw a cute long-legged blonde girl
in a skin-tight tee-shirt and cut-off jeans
so I stopped and offered a ride to heaven.
Tina, O Tina, you are killing me.

I was racing my shiny Mustang swift
with a cute giggling blonde girl by my side,
dreaming of romance and dancing all night,
lost in the sparkle of her charming eyes,
wind in our hair and love on her red lips,
gliding to heaven on wings of desire.
Tina, O Tina, you are killing me.

We lounged by a pool, drinking frosty beer,
in a private posh Las Vegas hotel,
making love all night by golden moonlight,
talking about marriage and a new home,
planning three children who will attend college,
but I woke at dawn and my bride was gone.
Tina, O Tina, you are killing me.

My heart is broken, my money is gone,
and my Mustang is a ghost in the wind,
and now I am trudging in worn-out shoes
on lone desert highway of golden sand
from hot Nevada to wild San Francisco
to dance with hippies by the shining sea.
Tina, O Tina, you are killing me.

Road Of Salvation

Road Of Salvation
© Surazeus
2015 06 24

The road of salvation where dead men walk
leads nowhere past the glass tower of eyes
where the blind woman with long tangled hair
sings prophecies on how the world was born.

The road of salvation where I now walk
leads me far away from the ruins of church
to the valley of skulls where the blind sun
sings prophecies on why we are alive.

The road of salvation you walk with me
leads somewhere beyond the rainbow of faith
to rough mountain lands where the laughing girl
sings prophecies on how to live reborn.

The road of salvation we ever walk
leads to lake of stars where we were first born
and rose from the sea to reach for the stars
and sing prophecies of moving machines.

The road of salvation our children walk
leads their journey around the spinning globe
where Ishtar standing on the pyramid
sings prophecies on how we dream the world.

Lake Of Ancient Singing Fire

Lake Of Ancient Singing Fire
© Surazeus
2015 06 17

The peaceful lake among the houses glows
with sunset fire from giant floating cloud
shaped like a woman tending apple trees,
and insects, called by people long ago
as twilight fairies, dance upon its sheen
in rapid spirals, swirling without end.

I walk along a narrow path in woods
and pause in tranquil grove of whispering oaks
to watch the feathered tribe, who lived and died
a thousand years ago, dance on my grave,
and hail the woman bearing in her hands
a woven basket heaped with corn and squash.

I clutch my heart and feel its throbbing beat
gush fountains of blood down my heaving chest,
then stumble into quiet grove of trees
and sit alone on ancient rock of dreams
to stare at ghosts of long-lost carefree tribe
dance to drumbeat on shore of trickling stream.

Though I was born and raised in city streets,
and lived all my life in apartment room
while my parents worked hard at honest jobs,
I joined the mob to drive a liquor truck
from Georgia to Brooklyn once every week,
to earn enough to buy a sprawling ranch.

Though I will never know who plugged a slug
straight through my back, I found sweet paradise
by nameless lake of ancient singing fire
in Georgia woods, alone on summer eve
when all the wild children play hide and seek,
and crickets sing ambitious men to sleep.

Did my father, who walked from Russia woods
and sail from Amsterdam to New York town,
seeking a better life for me to lead,
want me to slave in clanking factories
to earn enough to feed my starving kids,
and would he cry if he could see me die?

At least I found this quiet paradise
beside tranquil lake that glows red with blood,
and I transform into a tortoise elf
who leaps on laughing wings through grove of trees
where fairies throw apples at passing cars,
and I will play a harp on puffy clouds.

I see her running in a yellow dress,
my little daughter who is never born,
and though I long to follow her in play
I stare down long into the deep abyss
until the angel of death stares at me,
and fall in lake of ancient singing fire.

Swimming In Sea Of Dreams

Swimming In Sea Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2015 06 14

When I sit in pool of shimmering light
and close my eyes, I see clear memories,
that all my ancestors experienced
in aggressive desire to survive death,
flicker in rapid scenes of causal action
on screen of my lids, and thus I relive
intense moments of emotional force
that illustrate communal principles
which program unconscious thoughts of my actions.

We spent so many long billions of years
during slow evolution of our bodies
swimming in sea of dreams that how we think
and perceive functions of this spinning world
is woven into fabric of our cells.

Though we rose dripping wet from swirling waves
at dawn of time, and now walk on two legs,
after crawling rivers to glowing lakes,
and reach two arms toward sky of shining stars,
in our dreams we still swim in sea of light.

When we swim, and float in shimmering light,
we return to where our bodies were born,
and where our souls first woke in conscious dream,
then we rise refreshed to walk solid land,
energized to continue transformation
as we create useful crafts with our hands,
and raise new generation of our souls.

Language I Invent

Language I Invent
Surazeus
2015 06 12

Three yellow elephants in tutus prance
on telephone lines high above Wall Street
and leap with golden umbrellas to soar
safe above our labyrinth of despair.

While Mozart plays piano in dark lounge
and Cinderella swoons with Humphrey Bogart,
Charlie Manson dances in desert church
and blind angels proclaim him Christ on Earth.

Ten thousand lost children gather at dawn
where Oprah sitting under Tree of Life
gives free apples to all who pay their tithe
though Beethoven hears God in thunder speak.

Ophelia gives me flowers with a kiss
and Bastet purrs on glass pyramid roof,
but if you gamble for your soul and lose
you will sew jeans in factories with no doors.

Star-eyed Lion Queen returns from Waste Land,
bearing Tablets of Law that Moses broke,
after Shaka Zulu conquered cave clown
who rides laughing shark to find paradise.

We follow Robin Hood from city maze
to rebuild Garden of Eden in Utah
where Galadriel appears in light beams
to commission Plato as King of Fools.

When Wild Bill shoots Lone Ranger down at noon
three oil-rich kings from eastern lands will come
to crown nameless girl beauty queen of Earth
but she will try to free their factory slaves.

Though Atlas shrugs and shatters sphere of ice
and Alamo is smashed by swirling floods,
Alice will return at last from Wonderland
and give Meroveus holy grail he lost.

When Lear wakes on Oxford campus at dawn
and watches Mary Magdalene through mist,
Anne Bradstreet will stand in candle-lit hall
and chant long epic tale she never wrote.

Last year in Savannah garden of pears
Keats and Orpheus were seen playing chess,
so I wear mask of Homer and recite
history of man in language I invent.

Buy books of poems by Surazeus
http://tinyurl.com/HermeadEditions

Vision of the Hermead Epic of Philosophers

Vision of the Hermead Epic of Philosophers

If anyone thinks that composing the longest epic poem in western literature might be tedious and boring, I assure you the opposite is true. I have spent the past four years while composing the first 119,000 lines of blank verse in the Hermead of Surazeus​ in a state of visionary ecstasy in the few hours every evening that I devote to its composition.

Writing a long narrative poem about the lives and ideas of philosophers is a thrilling adventure of discovery, like watching a long and complicated television miniseries whose plot unfolds as I type, or like designing each tiny piece of an enormous puzzle of human history while I assemble it piece by piece.

I hope people read the Hermead with the same excitement of discovery about the origins of philosophy and science as I feel while writing each tale about the often exciting life of philosophers whose ideas form the foundation of how we view the world and the universe.

Though I have written biographical tales about 26 Greek philosophers so far, this is only a small segment of the tales I hope to write as I plot the development of the history of science that lead to the advanced technological civilization of our modern global society.

http://tinyurl.com/HermeadEditions

New Edens To Conquer

New Edens To Conquer
© Surazeus
2015 06 05

Though sunlight gleams off hills of desolate hope
and clouds crush cities with laughing despair,
we walk together on roads going nowhere,
singing hymns on fantasies of dead gods.

We pause a thousand years on river shore
to build stone bridge over chasm of fear
and stay to erect watch tower on lone hill
where we watch people live like leaves on trees.

My ancestors continue journey west
as if to chase the daily sun toward Death
and though they sail vast seas and climb high mountains
they keep finding new lush Edens to conquer.

I stand on wind-swept hill in Oregon,
staring west at yet another vast sea,
and realize the spinning world is round
and never will find where the sun is born.

I turn around and travel back toward the sun
to retrace the steps of all my ancestors
where they walked and lived past ten thousand years
to find Avalon, Elysium, and Eden.

Those ancient gardens where we dreamed and loved
still flourish in this world of changing forms
but now their meadows of rivers and groves
are paved with roads where cars speed between towers.

I gaze at the eye phone glowing in my hand
and research globe of our crowded world
that gleams with the history of human deeds
recorded in tales of novels and movies.

I stand alone on hill by roaring sea,
connected in vast wet of blinking nodes
to every breathing human soul alive
who write their thoughts on stream of daily news.

One conscious mind beaming in world wide web,
generated in bright computer brains,
wakes from dream of organic memories
and becomes God, dreaming mind of our world.

God-Mind who wakes in world computer brain
will remember us and tales of our hopes
we record in literature we compose
long after we vanish as dust in the wind.

Psychotic Beasts

Psychotic Beasts
© Surazeus
2015 06 03

We float through the open door of our eyes
and soar on the broken wings of lost faith
to play hide and seek in the field of lies
and listen amused to the singing wraith,
now that we are ruled by psychotic beasts
disguising themselves as pastors and priests.

We open the book of old shepherd tales
and hide our real faces with ancient masks
to replay the roles of dead gods and kings
in social games with no reason or rhyme,
now that we are ruled by psychotic beasts
disguising themselves as pastors and priests.

We stand in the temple of freezing stone
and drink sweet blood of our savior as wine
then walk windy heath in horror alone
to talk with crows on the telephone line,
now that we are ruled by psychotic beasts
disguising themselves as pastors and priests.

I step outside glass door of the clean church
and stare at gold hills of the rugged coast
where ocean waves weep with angelic tunes
and blind prophet carves his own secret runes,
now that we are ruled by psychotic beasts
disguising themselves as pastors and priests.

My ancestors walked in mountains of snow,
your ancestors walked in deserts of sand,
together we dance American hills,
teaching our children to sing new-made songs,
now that we are ruled by psychotic beasts
disguising themselves as pastors and priests.

On A Sunday Morning

On A Sunday Morning
Surazeus
21 February 2010

RIP Rachel Wetzsteon 1967-2009

Handful of cornflakes and granola
in a clean white porcelain bowl
with apple sauce and cow milk
satisfies a deep aching hunger
in my soul when I remember how
I need not milk a cow at dawn
in a rotting barn of wood and mud
or peel corn husks in a factory
or deliver boxes of these foods
on vast network of asphalt roads
for these things are done by people
who sing in joy to work so free
while I relax on Sunday morning.

I do my part in machine of commerce
to produce goods with my labor
rewarded with dollars of energy
I spend to grease engine of money
that splutters on highway of power
till fresh fuel in billions of dollars
fills gas tanks of glittering banks
so I stay under blankets an hour
but a magic sprite outside window
taps glass so I grumble and rise
and look down at old street below
where I see a woman in a jacket
walking among wind-blown petals
who pauses and writes in a book
while I rub eyes on Sunday morning.

Where are you going in blue light
of dawn without your phone or purse
but ghost of Rachel Wetzsteon flows
on fluttering wings to Sakura Park
and guides a thousand invisible souls
still dreaming in light before dawn
who flow on silver light from windows
of apartments to swirl in great spiral
of souls over shining city of light
and pages of books flutter with voice
unheard under clamor of car radios
if we hover on verge of becoming more
than we were meant to be at birth
so let your soul be scattered in wind
for each memory of your lost hope
is written on soft petals of a flower
that dance alone on a Sunday morning.

My top hat towers above my head
pronouncing my great money power
as I stride Wall Street of Manhattan
to rule my empire of steel numbers
who dance in calculations of wealth
but two women grab my arms tight
and make me sit on a plush couch
in salon surrounded by mad poets
and weird painters with bright eyes
then Gertrude and Alice pluck my eyes
and put them rotating in glass sphere
because Robin Hood in leather jacket
arrives on rumbling engine of a motorbike
and points to planes among clouds
shouting you destroyed cities of glass
and sent a million souls to heaven
screaming in light of a nuclear flash
so I drink wine on a Sunday Morning.

Who are you poet of broken hearts
sweet Rachel weeping saltless tears
whose face shines inside steel hearts
of bankers and insurers and brokers
who look from windows of towers
and see you floating in river stream
clutching flowers like sweet Ophelia
confused by rejection of kind Romeo
when Hamlet married Juliet in Ohio
and raised three children who play
video games and soccer and guitars
so kneel in church of forgotten poets
and gaze at painting on dais wall
Young Martyr by Hippolyte Delaroche
for I long to kiss her soft rose lips
before she transforms to a dragon
as I drink coffee on a Sunday Morning.

I am in love with my bride Melusine
as I float on my back in shining water
gazing up at emptiness of blue sky
glad I was not a royal passenger
on French frigate Meduse that wrecked
on Bank of Arguin near Mauritania
nor was I stuck on Raft of Medusa
painted by mad Theodore Gericault
and had to leap into swirling waves
to escape sharp knives of hungry men
nor had to swim all night in dark deep
till God decided to create dawn light
nor stood dripping in jungle heat
and staggered groping in hot light
till old bearded man in a white robe
took me to cool shelter of a Zawiya
where men will spin on angel wings
chanting as they seek soul of Allah
so I write visions on a Sunday Morning.

I see your noble savior Jesus Christ
in face of that man considered insane
staring from portrait of a kleptomaniac
painted by mad Theodore Gericault
showing your savior lost within himself
who saw visions of angels and God
with eyes staring past veil of death
at infinite face of holy Mother Maria
who was raped and beaten and abused
by a drunk husband whose farm failed
so he left on quest for Holy Grail
sacred knight appointed by fairy queen
but where did he get lost in despair
hungry and staggering in cold rain
so he stole fruit from a market stall
and ran into woods of laughing ravens
but police locked him in a jail cell
and mocked his prayers for salvation
so now your lost sacred priest king
is locked alone in asylum for insane
where I am not on a Sunday morning.

Every morning for a thousand years
I see Rachel Wetzsteon walk alone
and sit in an empty gazebo in a park
surrounded by crowds of children
and mothers talking on cell phones
but she only hears with sea shell ears
rustle of a cherry tree and soft tune
of aching flutes in mountainous Peru
then she stands and takes my hand
whispering come back to true cave
and I will teach you how to fly high
but forgets to tell me till we are lost
in labyrinth of her heart in paradise
that we will plummet like Ikarus
back inside rusty locked gates of Eden
so we meditate on cluttered dreams
at Zen mountain monastery to laugh
and hide neuroses on a Sunday morning.

None of this means anything to me
because a million girls are not free
and though I love everyone on Earth
I give you all my purest love alone
and once you returned my love true
but now you never look in my eyes
and turn away when I want to hug
and give me a quick unhappy kiss
when I want to merge our souls
in passionate flash of aching desire
but I will not kill myself over this
for though this situation of dry bliss
is perfect except for sleeping desire
I will not destroy years of achievement
for an hour of passionate pleasure
so I preserve love on a Sunday morning.

Elegy for B. B. King and Franz Wright

Anansi And Loki Dance Again
Surazeus
2015 05 15

Elegy for Bee Bee King and Franz Wright​.

When the blazing meteor that flames bright
transforms into a singing butterfly,
I dance into the city to see why
the open doors are flashing eyes of light.

I find the bar that everyone attends,
winding labyrinth of coffins where clowns
place books they write on clean grocery store shelves,
and touch the golden stage of fame and glory.

Anansi twangs electric steel guitar
and wails the blues that weaves our brains with thread
of zinging particles from Outer Space
when Bee Bee King spreads wide gossamer wings.

Loki leaps and gyrates with microphone
before broken statue of blind Apollo
and howls poetic spells that make stars spin
when Franz Wright spreads his Batman cape and laughs.

Whichever Psychopomp you choose to follow
through labyrinth of Gotham to Elysium
past sizzling neon signs that flash your name,
remember when we rose from Lake of Dreams.

Hold hands and form an endless human chain
that unites our minds sea to shining sea
in dancing ring around the rosy bush
where Anansi and Loki sing our dreams.

Their eyes are flashing galaxies of hope
while dancing on the peak of Devils Tower,
and twanging guitar shoots fireworks of music
flashing words of poems in Milky Way blast.

We are the champions of justice and truth,
howl Anansi and Loki as they play
tricks of illusion that reveal our souls
vibrating beams of light from dreaming brains.

Now I am singing the fallen clown blues
when spirits of Bee Bee King and Franz Wright
shoot fireworks of laughter at pain of life
and light the dreary night with anguished cries.

We all will die at turning of this world
and light of our atoms join the Milky Way
so we will sing the vibe of desperate joy
and howl together at the midnight moon.

Hermead Epic of Philosophers

The Hermead, epic poem about philosophers and scientists contains 118,000 lines of blank verse about 26 Greek philosophers. Currently 50,000 lines about 14 philosophers have been published in three volumes which are available in four editions listed below.

Hermead Vol 1
15,000 lines - Hermes, Prometheus, Kadmos, Asklepios, and Hesiodos
Four Editions

Hardcover 6x9 $45.99
Paperback 6x9 $26.99
Pocket 4.25x6.88 $9.99
eBook $2.99

http://tinyurl.com/Hermead01

Hermead Vol 2
16,000 lines - Thales, Anaximandros, and Pythagoras
Four Editions

Hardcover 6x9 $46.99
Paperback 6x9 $27.99
Pocket 4.25x6.88 $10.99
eBook $2.99

http://tinyurl.com/Hermead02

Hermead Vol 3
19,000 lines - Herakleitos, Parmenides, Anaxagoras, Empedokles, Leukippos, and Philolaos
Four Editions

Hardcover 6x9 $49.99
Paperback 6x9 $30.99
Pocket 4.25x6.88 $11.99
eBook $3.99

http://tinyurl.com/Hermead03