Popularity of Poets

In an interview with NPR, Donald Hall the Poet, says with a sly grin that he thinks he will be forgotten after his death.

"At some point in this book I said
that I expect my immortality to cease
about seven minutes after my funeral.
I have seen so many poets who were famous,
who won all sorts of prizes, disappear with their deaths."
-- Donald Hall
http://www.npr.org/2014/12/06/368013634/at-86-poet-donald-hall-writes-on-but-leaves-verse-behind

I think lots of poets who become famous while they are alive, become well-known through a combination of good luck, knowing the right people, and being skilled at performing their poems. The poems themselves are only part of the life as a poet that they develop.

Since much of their popularity hinges on performance, and relationships with the right people in power in pobiz, the poetry business world, it is no surprise that their popularity vanishes when they die. While there is sometimes substance in the poems that they have written, much of their popularity was based on their actually being alive.

The poet whose vision in their poems is based entirely on their own personality may be successful while alive, but oftentimes are forgotten after death, unless the poetry they write is exceptionally good like Wordsworth, Dante, Byron, and Shelley. Poets who write about other people will be remembered far longer, such as Homer, Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Milton.

I find it interesting that poets who often were not popular or well-known while they were alive, yet wrote great poetry of rich substance and complex visions about the weirdness of life, become astronomically famous after their deaths.

Back in the 1990s, I was a student of poetry from all aspects of culture, from popular singers to the beats to the academics. I was intrigued with the careers of people like Jim Morrison, who had aspired to higher poetry, yet expended so much energy in the wild flash of the Orphic quest for truth of the trance and conveyance of vision through the live performance. Yet when he died, the blazing fire of his personality vanished, and all that was left, besides performances recorded on video, were the lyrics of the songs he had composed.

I learned the lesson that in spite of all the wild flash of energy, the text that resulted, which encases the vision of the poet's mind, was what would last long after the death of the body. A poet like Bob Dylan encased in a deeper and more complex lyrical body of text that vision of a better world that could be which inspired him to sing. Dylan is one of the very few poets who have been able to channel his energy into the performance and dynamic lyrics of rich complexity.

Many poets and singers have lots of flash where the energy of their popularity depends on the power of the live performance, whether they are using academic poet voice, slam poet voice, folk singer voice, rock singer voice, or rap singer voice, yet in the end, after we all die, the only thing that is left is the text of the poems.

The audience may be energized by the performance of the poet at the ritual of the live performance, but after the ritual is ended, all that remains are the words carved onto the cold stone walls of the temple that dream forever beyond the deaths of performers and audience.

Poetry with a grand vision about the history of humanity presented through the complex characters of humans who go on the classic quest for truth better enshrines the dynamic energy of the visionary mind of the poet, and such poetry will last far longer because it presents a coherent vision than poetry of poets who focus more energy on the temporary performance.

In the end who is more successful, the poet whose popularity during life with much acclaim and prizes is based on performance, or the poet whose strength of vision is based on the quality of the text in presenting the complexity of human life?

Mask Of Every Face - Birthday Poem

Poem on the night before my 50th birthday:

Mask Of Every Face
© Surazeus
2014 09 23

Surazeus Simon Seamount
24 September 1964 - Eternity

Half a century I trudge this ball of dirt
and gather masks from faces of dead people
to hang them on ten billion apple trees
where every apple opens eyes from face
of every person who ever lived on Earth.

I wear each mask and become every person
and see this world through their dream-shining eyes
and feel aching hunger of their dead hearts
and cry out their voices in forgotten poems
which I bury in soil so they grow as trees.

They grow inside me, seeds of their lost souls,
so my little body, bundle of singing atoms,
vibrates stuffed with zillions of long-dead souls
who dream again, swimming in my blood streams,
and mask of every face merges in my face
so I am every person who ever lived on Earth.

Fall Of Our Green Giant

Fall Of Our Green Giant
Surazeus
2013 08 30

Seamus Heaney
13 April 1939 – 30 August 2013

Who could build an oak coffin big enough
to contain seventy years of grand vision
from that Irish giant who wields shovel pen
to unearth silent fear with chanting songs?

Now clovers sprout from aching heart of love
and tendrils of hope weave contending hearts
of warring men who share island of mist
so all may join hands and recite his last song.

Come together at fall of our green giant
where waves wash rugged Clochan an Aifir
erected by his hands with ancient words
to found island of peace we all may share.

Lost

Lost
© Surazeus
2012 11 14

My plane crashed on the island of the dead,
now I chase weird dreams in my broken head.
I run through labyrinth of my memories
and stare in mirrors clutching rusted keys.
I am alive because I am a ghost.
Change the channel in my head, I am lost.

I walk empty highway in sighing trees,
listening to ghosts sing in cool evening breeze.
I look at my love wearing cute blue dress,
skeleton bride who smiles at me from death.
I breathe despair because I am a ghost.
Change the channel in my head, I am lost.

Existence is fragile in this hostile world
so I toil in field where serpent lies curled.
I maintain my farm with genius and art
until turmoil of war tears it apart.
I raise flowers because I am a ghost.
Change the channel in my head, I am lost.

Let My People Vote

Let My People Vote
© Surazeus 2012 09 21

When Americans tried to vote,
Let my people vote!
Old regressives snarled and said no,
Let my people vote!
Stand in line on election day,
Let my people vote!
Touch the glass screen to mark your say,
Let my people vote!

Go down, Obama, way down in America,
Tell old regressives to let my people vote!

We want to choose our President,
Let my people vote!
We bow to no requirement,
Let my people vote!
No more shall they demand name cards,
Let my people vote!
Nor require birth certificates,
Let my people vote!

Go down, Obama, way down in America,
Tell old regressives to let my people vote!

Whether our skin is black or white,
Let my people vote!
We are brothers and sisters in right,
Let my people vote!
Whether our skin is yellow or red,
Let my people vote!
We share the feast and break fresh bread,
Let my people vote!

Go down, Obama, way down in America,
Tell old regressives to let my people vote!

You need not always weep and mourn,
Let my people vote!
And wear these chains of debt forlorn,
Let my people vote!
Let us march for our right to choose,
Let my people vote!
Bodies of women are their own,
Let my people vote!

Go down, Obama, way down in America,
Tell old regressives to let my people vote!

No more shall they toil without rights,
Let my people vote!
They form unions for a decent wage,
Let my people vote!
When my people suffer disease,
Let my people vote!
They deserve affordable health care,
Let my people vote!

Go down, Obama, way down in America,
Tell old regressives to let my people vote!

When my people fall on hard times,
Let my people vote!
Catch them with a social safety net,
Let my people vote!
Your foes shall not before you stand,
Let my people vote!
We all share great America,
Let my people vote!

Go down, Obama, way down in America,
Tell old regressives to let my people vote!

New Atheist Bible

After a year of writing, I have completed a first complete draft of the first part of my epic about evolution and scientists.

I am working on writing an epic in blank verse I call Hermead about evolution and scientists, to describe the origin of life, and the lives of scientists, as accurately as possible. So far over the past year I have written 34,000 lines of blank verse about the lives of 15 Greek Philosophers.

Religion is essentially a set of beliefs based on a body of text that present a description of how the universe works. Preferably we improve our text as we improve our knowledge over the centuries. The best text describes reality as close as possible, nature and society.

Sometimes I jokingly refer to my epic about evolution and scientists as a new atheist bible, but I don't intend it to be that serious. My epic is more of a literary and artistic presentation of scientific ideas and biographies of scientists who developed modern civilization and knowledge. 

Three short excerpts from my epic poem the Hermead.

Epicurus
http://open.salon.com/blog/surazeus/2012/06/02/principle_doctrines_from_garden_of_epikouros

Aristotle http://open.salon.com/blog/surazeus/2012/03/03/categories_and_motions

Plato
http://open.salon.com/blog/surazeus/2012/01/24/allegory_of_the_cave

God

God

By the definition of God as omniscient and omnipresent, beyond the bounds of time and space, God cannot exist. The term exist means in Latin to stand out, ex-stare. So anything that exists stands out in time and space, limited within the bounds of its being, an object of material substance subject to the chemical processes of change in the flow of time.

God could be said to subsist, from the Latin to stand under, sub-stare. God could be defined as the substance of existence.

Aanaxagoras is thought to be the first to formulate the concept of the Creator Mind, which Aristoteles called the Demiurgos, the craftsman. They argued that the mass of substance was without form, and the Mind, the unmoved Mover, sparked the mass to start processing so that all things emerged from the chaos and took on temporal processes of change as living things.

I am agnostic in that I do not know if that Mind is at all conscious of my existence, except perhaps through my own self-awareness. So as I get to know myself, God gets to know itself. So I could be said to be gnostic.

God being my friend and guiding my way through life is more of a socio-political concept, the "leader" of a group, the chief of a tribe, the pastor of a congregation, the boss of a company, the mayor of a town, the king of a nation, a living man who follows the example of Jesus as the anointed leader who takes care of his people, and is willing to die to protect them.

Our Star-Spangled Banner

Our Star-Spangled Banner
© Surazeus
2012 07 04

Oh, say did you hear that slick lawyer Key,
who wrote a great song about fighting for freedom,
then argued white men could own people as slaves,
over the years though we fought for freedom and justice?
So stand up strong and fight against slavery of people,
and give proof to the world that our liberty still lives.
Oh, say does our star-spangled banner yet wave
over the land of the free and the home of the brave?

When two towers were struck by terrorists in planes
we united to fight for our freedom and justice,
but our cowboy president lied about weapons of death
then we fought a bank war to steal the oil wells of Eden.
Now we rise in protest against bankers gambling stock
so they send the police to stomp our faces in cement.
Oh, say does our star-spangled banner yet wave
over the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Many people have arrived from every nation on Earth,
all religions and races share this bountiful land.
But who dares to destroy human rights we uphold
trampling down sacred laws to exploit men for labor?
Come and march by our side to occupy our own land
and defend liberty for every human alive.
Oh, say does our star-spangled banner yet wave
over the land of the free and the home of the brave?

This is my update to the national anthem. In 1861, my distant cousin, Oliver Wendell Holmes, wrote the following verse as his update to the national anthem just before the Civil War.

When our land is illumined with liberty's smile,
If a foe from within strikes a blow at her glory,
Down, down with the traitor that tries to defile
The flag of the stars, and the page of her story!
By the millions unchained, who their birthright have gained
We will keep her bright blazon forever unstained;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,
While the land of the free is the home of the brave.

Like me, Oliver Wendell Holmes, through his mother, was descended from Massachusetts Governor Simon Bradstreet and his wife, Anne Bradstreet, the first published European poet in America, and daughter of Thomas Dudley. I figured I should carry on a family tradition of updating the national anthem to reflect the times.

Orphean Spirit Reborn

Orphean Spirit Reborn
© Surazeus 
2012 01 24

I saw the best actors of our generation 
imitating Allen Ginsberg, James Franco 
and Daniel Radcliffe, bearded and wild, 
prancing Satyrian before cameras 
of our watching eyes, angel-headed hipsters 
channeling his ancient Orphean spirit 
on heavenly stage of Dionysian worship 
of manly warriors against ignorance and fear 
who plunged howling into eyeless abyss 
to swim in swirling visions of holy breath, 
to proclaim magnificent prophecies 
of self-actualization outside borders 
of the huge silver screen on crowded streets 
dodging cars of power and glory, fame and greed, 
where aching towers of Money Moloch burn 
over shimmering asphalt cathedrals of glass 
though ten thousand living nameless poets 
crucified on world web of telephone poles 
sea to polluted sea on every mountain top 
babble meaningless spells of confessional despair 
to high priests of advertising and mass media 
and pharmaceuticals and global policies, 
then gather with saints at the river that flows 
by the steel superbowl dome of Hercules 
where blue-jean angels in mascara-red tears 
sing star-tangled honor, and Buddha floats 
laughing over broken television tubes, 
chanting spells, so why do you think I am 
the most recent incarnation of Orpheus. 

Atoms and Ethics

Laughter Of Demokritos
© Hermead of Surazeus
2011 11 03

Excerpt from an epyllion about Demokritos,
from my epic Hermead about scientists.
Demokritos gives a speech about atoms and ethics.

Demokritos teaches basics of ethics
on foundation of concept that our Kosmos
swirls in vortex of atoms to form life.
"Everything is structure of shooting atoms
that swirl in tight vortex of energy
forming texture of all things that exist.
Construction is to build structure in shapes.
Destruction is to break structure in parts.
Whether any action is good or bad
depends on value in process result
of construction and destruction of things.
When humans intervene in natural process
we choose by free will to participate
supporting life against chaos of death
and work to create order by our actions
producing material assets of wealth
by growing and creating things from Earth.
We assess aspects of each situation,
analyzing character for true value
to understand well cause and consequence
if actions set in motion sequence flow
of events that produce desired result,
fostering growth to nourish bodies and souls.
Actions that destroy we want to avoid.
Actions that create we want to pursue.
Sometimes actions that destroy we call good
and actions that create may warrant bad.
Some situations are stacked with deep levels
of consequence, so destroying one thing
may preserve good life of another thing.
We consider it bad to kill a man,
yet if that man is oppressing good men
or abusing women for his own gain,
striking to kill that man will be called good,
for destroying him preserves common health.
We fight brutal struggle for life in storm
of hunger, rage, chaos, darkness, and fear,
so actions of our hands, fueled by vision
of our minds constructed from information
gathered by our senses, we gear toward progress
of common good for survival and growth
of our whole group, thus decisions we make
are based on health of everyone involved.
Our whole universe is composed of atoms,
that form our bodies in random production,
so good and bad results from social actions
are analyzed on worth of chosen values
to create or destroy structures of things.
To understand how actions we select
cause construction or destruction of things
or people, wanting to preserve our souls
in health and happiness to thrive in joy,
we study how our Kosmos is designed
by random swirl of atoms to congeal
in structure of flesh that supports our soul,
and thus we may act right for common good
on base of ethic values we create.
Our universe is constructed of atoms,
and we participate in process of life,
performing through our actions good and bad,
born to struggle for small moments of peace
and pleasure when we share succulent love,
then we die and disappear without trace,
for our consciousness glows, a fragile flame,
one short flash in dream of infinite nothing.
We are born, laugh, love, sing, then sleep forever."

Give A Man A Bank

Give A Man A Bank
© Surazeus
2011 12 01

I want to buy a home for my wife and kids
so I go to a big bank built from glass
where the man in a suit gives me a loan
larger than I need at high interest rates.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

I put my faith in the man at the bank
who gives me a mortgage with hidden fees
then bundles it in a credit default swap
and rakes in piles of bucks when I default.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

When large insurance companies and banks
collapsed in ruin from financial fraud
our government bailed them out with tax funds
giving them billions while I still pay loans.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

If I want to build my own shelter home
I should fashion metal into an axe,
chop down strong trees, and build a house from wood
around a hearth I stack from rolling stones.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

I buy insurance for financial support,
to pay high bills when emergency strikes,
but they deny every claim I submit,
citing fine print tangled false with loopholes.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

I want to start a family company
so I write up a simple business plan,
obtaining finance in high interest loans,
but market crashes and I fall bankrupt.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

If I rob a bank they lock me in prison
where I would linger bored for forty years,
but if I rob billions through banking schemes
I get bailouts and sip wine on my yacht.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

Who occupies the lobby of glass banks
demanding thieves in suits must go to prison
and pay for ripping off billions of bucks,
for my police will mace you in your face.
Give a man a gun and he can rob a bank.
Give a man a bank and he can rob the world.

Rise Of Hyperion

Rise Of Hyperion
© Surazeus
2011 06 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ginsberg And Whitman At Walmart

Ginsberg And Whitman At Walmart
© Surazeus
2011 04 07

What thoughts I have of you tonight, 
Allen Ginsberg, with your bristling beard 
like Saturn with his curling goat horns, 
for I drive down strip mall among stores 
shimmering bright with lights after dusk 
that glitter on metal shells of zooming cars, 
and look up but I cannot see any moon 
for skies are bright with metropolitan lights. 

In my bored misery of existential faith 
pretending national government of power 
will not be shut down by tea-drinking clowns, 
I turn into vast parking lot outside Walmart 
and walk slow under shimmering purple sky, 
hoping to find civility and justice for all 
packaged for sale in plastic under blue signs. 

Striding through great glass sliding doors 
like arch over a cathedral of a lost religion, 
I see hundreds of people walking long aisles 
pushing carts heaped with clothes, boxed food, 
movie disks, romance novels, music disks, 
cheap furniture, plastic bottles, and brooms 
to decorate hidden homes of their sitcom lives. 

I see Homer playing on an electric piano, 
and Ovid reading computer magazines, 
and Dante trying out a new white Eye Pad, 
and Shakespeare playing a war video game, 
and Milton lacing up a pair of hiking boots, 
and Dali looking into heart of a chicken egg, 
and Bob Dylan buying bikes for his kids. 

I see you, Allen Ginsberg, childless prophet 
of madness and grinning, lonely, old grubber 
poking among meats and drawing smiley faces 
in frost on glass of open refrigerator doors 
as you eye grocery boys asking each one, 
are you my angel come with a bright sword 
for I am King of May wearing a plastic crown 
thrusting pen spears at dragons of oil-rigs. 

Allen Ginsberg at Walmart stops at a table 
with romance novels and programming books, 
but covers them with books about Buddhism 
and sexual Tantra and spiritual enlightenment 
and star messengers and pictures of Green Tara 
who floats meditating over lotus of sweet truth, 
and he leans on his cane with a painful smile 
and beckons I approach like Saturn in his cave. 

I open my black book splattered with drops 
of rain smearing words of poems I wrote, 
and he takes fountain pen forged by Vulcan 
dipped in black blood of generals and tyrants, 
and scribbles ten thousand thought spells, 
and draws cartoons of Moses on Mount Sinai 
meditating with Buddha under light of Jehovah 
who glides over Earth in a silver flying saucer. 

Where are you going, mad Allen Ginsberg, 
with beard bristling full of spiders and snakes, 
because doors of Walmart stay open all night, 
so we could find Walt Whitman in vast parking lot 
trying to open door of his rusty pickup truck, 
and we can drive together along Chattahoochee 
and sit on river shore passing around a pipe, 
and sing mantra spells from our holy books. 

Will we laugh, dreaming of lost America of love, 
as we race howling over bridge of tomorrow 
past shining automobiles on superfast highways 
home to apartment complex by a shopping mall 
with giant flat-screen televisions and computers 
that weave ten million minds in supersoul cyberspace, 
liking pictures and thoughts in face-book world, 
and twittering endless stream of conscious hopes. 

Dear father greybeard, mad old courage-teacher, 
what America thriving on ambition and greed 
and ruling Earth with roaring bull of Wall Street, 
did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry 
and you got out on smoking bank of Zarathi, 
and stood watching boat disappear in mist 
on black water of Lethe in forest of missiles 
that spread steel claws over great cities of glass. 

I saw you on stage in Seattle, ageless jester 
shouting into a microphone, whom bomb 
we bomb you, as audience of college students, 
aging hippies in suits, and thought-painters 
listened in polite silence under golden lights, 
then clapped with deference for prophecies, 
glad you did not howl and strip down naked 
as they drove to Star Bucks for a cappuccino. 

I wandered alone Seattle to Denver to Miami, 
sitting under bridges at midnight writing poems 
and listening to terror from quiet car engines 
that hummed on highways toward my paradise, 
and walked wearing backpack full of words 
to play stringless guitar by water fountains 
while tourists threw dollar bills in my fedora. 

I see you no more in Walmart or Manhattan, 
mad Allen Ginsberg, prophet of secret truth, 
so are you walking with Walt Whitman now, 
holding hands with Dionysus in Elysian fields, 
dancing and laughing with Orpheus and Lorca 
where sun always shimmers on distant hills 
and apples fall ripe into your generous hands? 

Astrogenia Star Creation

Astrogenia Star Creation
© Surazeus
2009 12 28

Angelus gazes through long telescope 
in tube with convex polished gems 
and studies spectral light of our sun 
as Mendelius scribes table of elements. 

Angelus explains mystery of life 
how Zeos created Heaven and Earth 
from Big Bang to Flaring Forth of light 
in process of Astrogenia Star Creation. 

Sun glows in a giant ball of gold fire 
gleaming as it swirls on spiral wings 
and opens eye full of dreaming souls 
as angels who surround Earth in light. 

Solaria star goddess creates our souls 
inside egg of light for eye of our dream 
by generating atoms from plasma gas 
to create molecules that form our bodies. 

Astarium particle beam angel of light 
swirls in vast cloud of hot glowing gas 
that forms a sphere of shining plasma 
condensing to wake in Spirit of Solaria. 

Atomium forms a nucleus with a ring 
when three Astaria connect in a spiral 
to become a Protonium and a Neutronium 
forming a core circled by an Electronium. 

Atomia of progressive atomic weights 
are formed by linking Protonia in nucleus 
forming elements with equal Neutronia 
and equal Electronia in concentric rings. 

Chemical elements of higher weights 
are born in stars that form rings of Atomia 
by linking two to one hundred eighteen 
in number of Astaria forming a nucleus. 

Moleculium of many chemical types 
is formed when a multitude of Atomium 
of many weights connect in chains 
to form chemicals sparking organic life. 

Solaria star forms shells of elements 
compacting Astaria to form Atomia 
by nuclear fusion that links Protonia 
generating elements Hydrium to Ferrium. 

Solaria collapses under gravity weight 
and explodes in swirl of beaming chaos 
as supernova generates higher elements 
from Cobaltium to Uranium in a blast. 

Protium with one Astarium angel of light 
forms when two Astaria connect tight 
as Protonium with strong positive charge 
circled by Electronium with negative charge. 

Hydrium with one Astarium angel of light 
forms when three Astaria connect tight 
as Protonium and Neutronium in a ring 
circled by Electronium forming soul of life. 

Helium with two Astaria angel of light 
forms when two Protonia and two Neutronia 
shape ring with two Electronia in first ring 
to become gas fueling soul flame of life. 

Vitalium with six Astaria angel of light 
known as carbon is basis of organic life 
as four Electronia in second spiral ring 
links other molecules into vibrant coils. 

Aetherium with eight Astaria angel of light 
known as oxygen is air creatures breathe 
and is produced by photosynthesis in plants 
and forms ozone layer protecting Earth. 

Aqua is Moleculium formed by compound 
merging two Hydria and one Aetherium 
to become water liquid of organic life 
that freezes to ice and heats to clouds. 

Erasmus Darwinius holds crystal bowl 
of seawater and reveals how Proteus 
changes shapes to evolve new forms 
from single cell to divine angel of man. 

Atomic elements in order by mass weight 
generated by fusion at core of Solaria 
number Protonia and Electronia in rings 
from one to one hundred and eighteen. 

First 1 Hydrium and 2 Helium 
and 3 Lithium and 4 Beryllium 
and 5 Boracium and 6 Vitalium 
and 7 Nitrium and 8 Aetherium 
and 9 Fluorium and 10 Lucium 
and 11 Sodium and 12 Magnesium. 

Then 13 Aluminium and 14 Silicium 
and 15 Luciferium and 16 Sulphurium 
and 17 Chlorium and 18 Argium 
and 19 Potassium and 20 Calcium 
and 21 Scandium and 22 Titanium 
and 23 Vanadium and 24 Chromium. 

Then 25 Vitrium and 26 Ferrium 
and 27 Cobaltium and 28 Nicolium 
and 29 Cyprium and 30 Zincium 
and 31 Gallium and 32 Germanium 
and 33 Arsenicium and 34 Selenium 
and 35 Bromium and 36 Kryptium. 

Then 37 Rubidium and 38 Strontium 
and 39 Dianium and 40 Zirconium 
and 41 Niobium and 42 Molybdium 
and 43 Technetium and 44 Ruthenium 
and 45 Rhodium and 46 Palladium 
and 47 Argentium and 48 Cadmium. 

Then 49 Indium and 50 Stagnium 
and 51 Stibium and 52 Tellurium 
and 53 Iodinium and 54 Venusium 
and 55 Caesium and 56 Barium 
and 57 Lanthanium and 58 Cerium 
and 59 Bohemium and 60 Viennium. 

Then 61 Promethium and 62 Samarium 
and 63 Europium and 64 Gadolinium 
and 65 Terbium and 66 Dysprosium 
and 67 Holmium and 68 Erbium 
and 69 Thulium and 70 Jovium 
and 71 Lutetium and 72 Hafnium. 

Then 73 Tantalium and 74 Petrogravium 
and 75 Rhenium and 76 Osmium 
and 77 Iridium and 78 Platinium 
and 79 Aurium and 80 Mercurium 
and 81 Thallium and 82 Saturnium 
and 83 Bisemutium and 84 Polonium. 

Then 85 Helvetium and 86 Nitenium 
and 87 Francium and 88 Radium 
and 89 Actinium and 90 Thorium 
and 91 Brevium and 92 Uranium 
and 93 Neptunium and 94 Plutonium 
and 95 Americium and 96 Curium. 

Then 97 Berkelium and 98 Californium 
and 99 Albertium and 100 Fermium 
and 101 Mendelevium and 102 Nobelium 
and 103 Apollonium and 104 Artemium 
and 105 Dubnium and 106 Aphroditium 
and 107 Belenium and 108 Hassium. 

Then 109 Martium and 110 Policium 
and 111 Romanium and 112 Copernium 
and 113 Japonium and 114 Rikenium 
and 115 Coronium and 116 Columbium 
and 117 Hesperium and 118 Moskovium 
and more elements yet unformed. 

Solaria star goddess creates bodies and souls 
of minerals and plants and animals from lights 
by generating elements of atoms in her womb 
then giving birth to Earth in a flash of light. 

Angelus carves periodic table of elements 
on Emerald Tablet that stands on pyramid 
by fountain at center of Metropolis citadel 
where people come to study mystery of life. 

I am Surazeus and I hold hands with Angelus 
and Mendelius and Erasmus and Berzelius 
and a thousand other wizards of secret truth 
and we sing dancing in glow of our Solaria.

Watch Them All Die On Television

Watch Them All Die On Television
© Surazeus
2005 11 07

A thousand people drown in fast floods 
and another thousand work in offices 
and another thousand whirl in tornadoes 
and another thousand drive cargo trucks 
and another thousand patrol hot streets 
of desert towns battling invisible ghosts 
who shoot at them with bullets of hate 
and another thousand work in car factories 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Tsunami waves from ocean earthquake 
drown two hundred seventy thousand souls 
and earthquake in high mountains shake 
giant rocks that crush school children 
killing eighty thousand dreaming souls 
and car bombs kill ten thousand sad souls 
struggling to survive in violent war zone 
and men rape and murder ten thousand girls 
because they cannot control holy goddess 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Two thousand soldiers die in Oil War 
and fifty thousand citizens of desert land 
die from bombs and bullets and cars 
that explode when men seeking virgins 
in heaven of their bleak imagination 
plow into markets and lines of unemployed 
and ten thousand men wounded in Oil War 
hobble and blink in hospital of grim despair 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Hitler killed ten million people in war 
and Stalin killed fifty million people 
and Truman killed a million people 
with atomic bombs on island of Japan 
and Pol Pot killed a million people 
and Mao Tse Tung killed a million people 
and greedy Saul killed his thousands 
then David killed tens of thousands 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Nebuchadenezzar killed a million people 
and Ramses killed half a million people 
and Salmaneser killed a million people 
and Alexander killed two million people 
and Genghis Khan killed three million 
and Salahadin killed a million people 
and Charlemagne killed two million people 
and Napoleon killed three million people 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Millions of people died of bubonic plague 
and millions of people died from influenza 
and millions of people died from smallpox 
and polio crippled or killed millions more 
and cholera destroyed lives of millions 
and millions of people died of starvation 
and millions more died of broken hearts 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Millions of people were shot by arrows 
and millions were blasted dead by bullets 
and millions were tortured and executed 
and millions were burned in fires of fear 
and millions wasted from tobacco or coke 
and millions raped and stabbed and shot 
and millions were beaten and crucified 
and millions were killed in car accidents 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Countless millions of people in history 
were murdered by animals or people 
and millions more died from diseases 
and natural disasters killed millions more 
souls with perceiving eyes that dream 
alive our world in bright conscious minds 
that were swallowed by blackness of death 
and eliminated from flow of dream time 
soul flames that sizzled and sparked 
an hour of life before being extinguished 
while I watch them all die on television. 

What were their names I want to know 
and I want to write stories of their lives 
in Book of Life and Death to record 
every woman and man who ever lived 
whether for a brief hour of gasping cries 
or a long century of acting out desires 
doing constructive or destructive acts 
no matter if they accomplished great things 
or stumbled confused through weird maze 
while I watch them all die on television. 

Some believe your souls are now animals 
and others believe you all burn in hell 
or you float helpless in gray fog of limbo 
or you strum harps on clouds of heaven 
or you vibrate in light circle of nirvana 
and others believe you are shining ghosts 
who flutter about on sparkling rays of rain 
muttering as your eyes glow with dream 
and others believe your bodies rot to dirt 
after your souls dissipate into nothing 
while I watch you all die on television. 

Will you exist again in faces of children 
born from those who managed to give birth 
before they were killed or died of old age 
or will you all be woven into fabric of light 
that vibrates hot with eternal spirit of life 
within molecules in web of our genetic eyes 
to rise for brief flash of sudden existence 
so we may sing with immortal voice of God 
before we all die leaving children behind 
for our dreaming as one is Mind of Allah 
while I watch you all born on television. 

Secret Pond Of Laughing Wolf

Secret Pond Of Laughing Wolf
© Surazeus
2005 08 16

Laughing Wolf stares at clear blue water 
reflecting shimmer of noon Summer sun. 
I walked seven Winters from Sawkatuket 
toward dying sun through forests of men 
who wanted to make me their slave-wife 
then over endless desert of white sand 
I trudged dreaming in vain about blue rain. 
I found a green mountain with pine trees 
so now I sit alone feeling a cool breeze. 

I saw strange men with snow-white skin 
kill my mother and father with sticks 
that spit fire so I followed sun path 
over hills and deserts to find a haven 
where I can hide forever inside my heart. 
Laughing Wolf eats fresh-roasted rabbit 
and drinks boiled water with willow bark. 
When she lies awake for hours at night 
she counts stars twinkling like eyes. 

This is my secret pond hidden in mountains 
of red mushrooms and singing elk and pines. 
Laughing Wolf dances around her small pond 
twelve times under red shimmering moon 
feeling blood flow from her aching heart. 
Maybe I will return to Walatowa next Spring 
and let Running Bear kiss me again for fun 
she whispers as Autumn winds blow more cold. 

Laughing Wolf gathers nuts and red mushrooms 
and smokes rabbits to prepare for Winter 
storing food she gathers in small cavern 
she found where steam curls from gloom. 
Pausing she watches large hawk circle slow 
overhead hoping its eyes do not see her move 
as she glides silent in blue forest shade. 
Wrapping elk fur tight over her shoulders 
she huddles by fire smelling sweet smoke 
as flames crackle scarlet from pine cones. 

Laughing Wolf dreams she walks white sands 
of endless flat desert without fresh water 
or trees to shade her head from glaring sun. 
Snakes rattle tails and bare sharp teeth 
and black tarantulas crawl on her legs 
when she wakes and scorpions crawl fast 
down her back as she glides in gold shade. 
Sitting alone in desert sand at sunset 
Laughing Wolf weeps remembering sweet face 
of her mother among golden trees of Autumn 
when leaves of red and yellow fluttered slow 
covering wigwam on shore of Narragansett Sea. 

I walked far west from lush Massachusett hills 
leaving behind sweet restless voice of waves 
and wandered lost in white sands of death 
till I found trail into secret mountain vales 
where I hide from men with weapons of hate. 
How long before they discover my secret pond 
Laughing Wolf wonders as she watches snow fall 
shrouding silent mountain meadows in sad peace. 

Laughing Skull Of Hamlet

Laughing Skull Of Hamlet
© Surazeus
2005 04 13

Polished white by millions of hands 
laughing skull of Hamlet gleams proud 
on marble altar in enormous cathedral 
of endless halls with shining mirrors 
that exaggerate size of human egos 
long ago measured by forgotten words. 

Watching Angels driving motor cars 
laughing skull of Hamlet flashes beams 
from glass eyes to illuminate freeways 
leading millions of monkeys in gray suits 
in circles chasing rainbows of wealth 
while Grendel lounges in hidden cave 
watching television and drinking beer. 

Grinning from bookshelf in large office 
laughing skull of Hamlet bleeds red cross 
on pure white robe of Christ that hangs 
from cross in iron hand of Sir Lancelot 
who rides green tank into Holy Crusade 
for oil over dunes into Garden of Eden. 

Rising from death a thousand times more 
laughing skull of Hamlet cracks crystal 
of light bulb egg to stream little Cupids 
on fluttering wings around humble head 
of elegant Galatia who rises from sea shell 
feet bathed in swirling soft waves of time 
that crack foundations of ancient empires. 

Explaining calculation of geometric spirit 
laughing skull of Hamlet chews atomic gum 
then blows bubble of vast galaxy of stars 
that shine in halo over head of Jehovah 
whose gleaming eye is source of Big Bang 
that flares forth from pumping of her heart 
for each planet teeming with organic life 
is blood cell swirling in her nebula veins. 

Chortling at comic antics of Charlie Chaplin 
laughing skull of Hamlet rolls down hill 
of Golgotha to crumble at feet of Beowulf 
who leads roaring Gyathinians into battle 
against Danagans leaping from wood ships 
to fight over apple trees full of red ravens 
leaving only me standing alive in sea of blood. 

Whistling folk tunes heard long ago on radio 
laughing skull of Hamlet explains to Madonna 
mystery of Melusine who guards water well 
because her spine is serpent of eternal soul 
who transforms into body of her daughters 
and multiply into millions of Angels in jeans 
who drive chariot of Ezekiel on Highway Nine. 

Pondering philosophy of determination will 
laughing skull of Hamlet rests on head 
of Napoleon like crown of world power 
but falls off and rolls into hands of Nietzsche 
who makes it into lamp he carries at night 
when he shouts God is dead for we killed 
faith in illusions with rational discourse 
then monkeys throw bones at spaceships. 

Sleeping in hands of Holy Mother Ister 
laughing skull of Hamlet gazes at empire 
of America from top of One-Eye Pyramid 
photographing faces for database of names 
that record deeds of every human alive 
to plot patterns of experience to create 
civilization of respect within law of sword 
wielded by Arthur who chooses who to kill. 

Cracking at blast of nuclear holocaust fear 
laughing skull of Hamlet twirls over land 
of free men enslaved by desire for wealth 
scattering seeds of apples on parking lots 
that crack thin veneer of our civilization 
to envelop all we accomplished in roots 
of blind nature that swallows huge cities 
in jungles of twittering birds and sad hymns. 

Following Blake as he climbs Mount Zion 
laughing skull of Hamlet bears pure water 
of Melusine well to hands of King Oberon 
who prances on Stonehenge under clouds 
of thunder chanting spells to transform men 
into wolves who howl twirling wizard staffs 
fighting war for truth against corporate vampires. 

Tumbling in fierce wind over nameless heath 
laughing skull of Hamlet clatters on stones 
at feet of Lear who clutches limp corpse 
of Ophelia howling who dares murder girls 
because Goddess of Creation lives beyond 
control of men with hands clutching at dirt 
as we beg for rain to water parched crops. 

Shining polished in cathedral of television 
laughing skull of Hamlet watches huge drama 
of human life swirling without code director 
because Shakespeare rides Lion of Athena 
shaking spear in hands of Edward de Vere 
who guards Fairie Queene from blind assassins 
for she rides without crown on road to heaven 
where she will reign as Ishtar in White House. 

Eyes Of Ancient King

Eyes Of Ancient King
© Surazeus
2002 08 17

Wandering lost with a broken heart 
in Tennessee I come on an ancient man 
with long silver hair white as snow 
smoking a peace pipe under an apple tree. 
He tosses black guitar to my hands 
and bids I play ringing chords of light 
to channel souls of Apollo and Elvis 
that vibrate spirit of God on sun beams 
that radiate from eyes of ancient king. 

Leaping to my feet with black guitar 
I strum chords ringing lightning loud 
and sing magic spells in hymns of respect 
to honor spirit of Elvis who lives again. 
He shakes wild as bucking bronco swift 
his hips that blur on television screen 
that sends shock waves crashing walls 
of power that crumble before word blast 
that radiates from eyes of ancient king. 

Soaring helicopter arching over Graceland 
I glide in heaven gazing down on Earth 
where shadow of his face glows bright 
from meadows where Angels shake their hips. 
Ride swift writhing dragon of endless time 
that carries you undulating over America 
fierce cobra striking hard at fear of death 
so stand tall and take a sweet deep breath 
that radiates from eyes of ancient king. 

Colossal Elvis strides over vast Tennessee 
smashing steel-glass towers of money power 
and scatters dollars over suburban homes 
where housewives praise his wondrous name. 
Elves wrestles King Kong over Alaska hills 
giants battling with lightning over truth 
while Zeus sits laughing on power throne 
bored at death so he throws another bone 
that radiates from eyes of ancient king. 

Baby bear Elvis climbs tall pine tree 
obeying command of his mother to stay 
till she returns but she never returns 
so he tries to climb down to forest hills. 
Elephant blocks his way with trumpet snake 
Colonel who displays him like circus freak 
sucking dollars to play him like a fool 
enchanting hearts of girls loving his vibe 
that radiates from eyes of ancient king. 

Defy death O crazy shaman of rock and roll 
shaking bored teenagers out of lethargy 
taking them for a roller-coaster ride 
over rocky relationships of secret desire. 
Lead us from black and white television homes 
into rainbow forests of dancing children 
who howl at blind generals in glass castles 
and teach us how to live in stolen paradise 
that radiates from eyes of ancient king. 

Ten thousand Angels gather in glass pyramid 
cheering when bride of our fallen king 
appears in white gown with silver crown 
singing rise from death O Children of Stars. 
Look deep in your hearts O lost souls of Amar 
and you will find Spirit of Elvis within you 
so open wide your heart with faith and trust 
allowing his eternal spirit to flow on wings 
that radiate from eyes of ancient king.