Glycon Snake God © Surazeus 2025 02 14 The plum tree gleaming white on grassy knoll lures young boy across tangled clumps of grass with eager desire to consume sweet fruit, but hiss of serpents slithering in the grass causes him to freeze, though his heart beats wild, so breathes misty air that stings his soul. Breathing deep intense spirit of the mist, Alexander centers beam of starlight to gyrate coils of fraught anxiety in brass wand fixed with diamond at its tip as he steps slowly over tufts of grass among the snakes with eyes gold as the sun. Stopping before the plum tree gleaming white with delicate blossoms that veil green fruit, Alexander reaches out trembling hand to touch rough bark with courageous despair, but Glycon, enormous serpent with wings, rises on coils and leans close to his face. "Small hairless monkey with moon-silver eyes," hisses Glycon with emerald-green eyes, "I am incarnation in serpent form of wise Asclepius, healer of the soul, so I have returned from Realm of Ideas to offer salvation to all lost souls." Young Alexander with long wheat-gold hair spreads arms open and smiles with calm delight, "Great Glycon, spirit serpent of our world, teach me arcane wisdom you bring from stars so I foresee events that will occur when I trace primal cause to each effect." Coiling around brass wand with diamond tip that Alexander holds in his right hand, Glycon lifts his head above moonlit gem, "I commission you, wingless monkey seer, to preach salvation of my holy word for common folk against fake gods in power." Striding boldly in Paphlagonian hills, Alexander journeys with serpent wand to bustling city of Byzantium where he proclaims that kind Asclepius, son of Apollo, has been born again to save mankind from doom of corruption. Hundreds of hungry souls searching for truth gather around the tall angelic man who preaches, "Though you are all lost in gloom, I bring light of Apollo to your lives, for Glycon Snake God reveals to my eyes how I can make our nation great again."
Friday, February 14, 2025
Glycon Snake God
Coil Of Taut Time
Coil Of Taut Time © Surazeus 2025 02 14 Inspired by beautiful calyx of death that provides bounty from coil of taut time, Consus oversees harvest of gold grain heaped on four-wheel wagons, Helius designed, hauled by horses along the river shore to store fruit of the Earth in temple hall. Skipping cheerfully with basket of apples along wooded shore of Albula River, where Tiberinus drowned to save Albina, Spuria Tarpeia sings enchanting tune to express her love for the wolf-boy Remus whose silver eyes make her heart flutter wild. Hiding behind oak in the shadowed vale between two hills where the twin brothers reign, Spuria watches as Romulus and Remus grab arms of Hersilia, then each declares intention to crown her their city queen, and gasps when the wolf-boy she loves is killed. "Once rival gangs on opposing fort hills," Romulus proclaims to swift-foot warriors, "Now we can merge our forces in one army, and thus I crown Hersilia Queen of Roma, mistress of the water well whose wise words you must obey with loyalty of love." Plowing furrow around lush Palatine peak, Romulus sets foundation stone in soil, then proclaims construction with honest hands high Wall of Romulus built with strong stone to surround pale of paradise with hope that provides haven for wandering tribes. Stepping forward from assembly of men, Neptunus requests word scepter to speak, "Because our wall-enclosed haven of Roma is crowded now with swift-foot warriors, our rising glory of power will die if we have no children to build our state." "Your words inspire me with clever plan," Romulus grins, "so I hereby announce new games festival I name Consualia, lead by you, bold equestrian Neptunus, as Consus, warden of the harvest grain, to host in honor of your sea-wild father." Festooning horses with garlands of flowers, Consus Neptunus and his cult of grooms lead horses to parade in streets of Roma past swift-foot warriors with long spears and bows who capture Sabine virgins as their wives while Romulus reigns as Jupiter Feretrius.
Thursday, February 13, 2025
Frosted Winter Nights
Frosted Winter Nights © Surazeus 2025 02 13 Long after starry eyes of winter night ceased looking in window pane of his mind because Robert passed from dream of this world, the outside world looks darkly now at me with the same indifferent intensity of time-wound emptiness that knew his soul. I long have wondered with fierce grumpiness what strange spirit is looking in at me with timeless light of ancient burned-out stars till I read spell he wrote with demon blood about his endless frosted winter nights brooding mute with the broken moon of fate. No nameless ghost of my ancestral genes disturbs my half-slumber by the cold hearth while I compose angelic spells with runes of gleaming light on glass screen of the sky, for I scare not the night of everywhere nor does eternity of night scare me. I keep behind placid mask of my face, which I took from the ancient gallery, terror of nothingness with unconcern of calm acceptance that we all will die, so I watch moonlight gleam on backyard lawn with heavy breathing of monstrous respect. I gaze at outerness of the vast world and fancy some omniscient super-mind returns my gaze with divine nonchalance that fills my chemical frame with cold shock, yet I must laugh at quietness of God who smiles as reflection of my own soul. To understand strange darkness of our world which watches me with eyes of nothingness, I ask sly smirking ghost of Robert Frost, whose ghost emanates from book of his poems, what weird mysterious spirit of blind gloom haunts our houses on frosted winter nights. Slumbering dreamless by moon-silver stream, the word wizard wearing Saturnian mask stirs at puzzling code of my anxious voice, rises tall with lumbering stillness of faith, and slowly chants Hyrkanian spell of hope that stirs majestic spirit in my heart. Then I step back with startled state of mind, surprised by wyrd epiphany of truth that I am darkness of the outer world gazing at myself through the window pane, for God is mirror of my conscious mind as atomic light in my dreaming brain.
Idol Of The Holy Fool
Idol Of The Holy Fool © Surazeus 2025 02 13 I hear the yellowhammer bird reply with platitudes of stoic principles to the crippled angel with tattered wings who limps down the signless road of false hope after blowing up bridges to strange worlds where the fool makes the whirling world stand still. The old woman under the maple tree tells the laughing turtle with raspy voice, "The most accurate measurement of courage is how people endure harsh suffering when they are the most vulnerable and weak," then gives last jar of honey to the fool. The half-blind man with weed-entangled curls paddles small wood boat on the purple lake and explains to the swan with diamond eyes, "Only cowards hide behind silence of faith," then dips his hand in waters of the mind when the fool throws his book into the water. The red tyrannosaurus with gold eyes blinks when steel bullets pelt his heaving chest, so he grasps green army tank with sharp claws and hurls it screeching into the swamp pool where soldiers scream in horror as they drown clutching gold idol of the holy fool. Raindrops glisten on the clear window glass as wind blows clouds across the desert plain where lizards scurry among the sagebrush, and devils make deals with poor guitar players, painters, and poets to sell them world fame, laughing as they all bow before the fool. The young girl in pink boots and green raincoat runs along wood fence in the rain-wet field as she flies her kite over the white church where blind angels sing hymns of ecstasy, then gazes entranced in sea-silver eyes of the fool who recites love poetry. Sitting upstairs in the small theater to watch the play Our American Cousin, Lincoln tells the ghost with the laughing gun, "Those who deny freedom to other people deserve it not for themselves," then he spreads vast wings to fly to Heaven with the fool. Watching finches on Galapagos Islands, Darwin explains to the tortoise of truth, "Freedom of thought is best promoted by gradual illumination of human minds with follows from the grand advance of science," while the fool writes his words in the notebook.
Manna Of Courage
Manna Of Courage © Surazeus 2025 02 13 This block of cheese should elicit no laugh from those of us contrived by poverty to struggle against privilege of wealth seemingly imbued by that divine hand which assigned Tablets of the Law to Moses, for dairy chunks are our manna of courage. No Mithras wearing red Superman cape, as noble matador astride fierce bull that raptured Europa from flowered meadow, I yet face horned devil of fortitude when I invest capital earned by labor to herd cattle with stoic pride of Zeus. As purple Amaryllis flowers bloom in lush Arcadian meadows where cows graze, I play heart-enchanting music of love on pipes Pan fashioned for amusing play, while Amaryllis, maiden in lace dress, extracts sweet milk from teats of lowing heifers. After curdling milk in cow-stomach bags, Amaryllis ferments curds in clay pots, strains thickened curds through linen sheets of cloth, pours curds in round wood frames, sprinkles on salt, then sets them on benches to dry in sunlight, keeping watch till they harden into cheese. So many variants of delicious cheese provide savory flavor for rich cuisine, cheddar, mozzarella, camembert, brie, asiago, feta, parmigiano, emmental, ricotta, fontina, gouda, and many more alchemically designed. While Moses leads our tribe of refugees, escaped from slavery of pyramid gods, wandering lost in waste land of despair, soul-nourishing manna from dew of heaven sprouts as mushrooms from desert of desire we eat with cheese we brew from milk of cows. Though spider of Arachne, weaving fibers of flax into comforting linen cloth, sits beside us as we eat curds and whey, we savor sweet manna that Hesat brews from cow milk which nourishes our gaunt souls as we journey on to the Promised Land. No tragedy of cruel uncontrolled hubris, nor comedy that mocks foibles of thieves, frames noble cheese with mythical concern, for we have followed cows across dewed fields ten thousand years of close companionship, eating cheese they provide with generous love.
Revelation Of False Truth
Revelation Of False Truth © Surazeus 2025 02 13 Odd angle of sunlight beaming slantwise might discombobulate my sense of right when I express frustration of content, but I leap shallow ditch of jagged fears to catch quick winged flight of ardent breath at shocking revelation of false truth. Unbroken stone of river-smoothed respect guides my meandering way of random fate on stumbling surety through confidence straight toward eccentric doom of thought around my blurry goal in circled steps at blithesome revelation of false truth. Toward face of God above vast empty Earth, unseen by eyes of Innocence or Greed, I trudge past endless hills of nowhere else in lonely lands where baleful ghosts haunt hope to mountain shadow of the never-seen at wretched revelation of false truth. Across bleak waste land of bare houseless hills I plunge in verge of fear-shadowed Mirkwood to wander dreary valleys of despair where ravens croak on shores of rocky streams and wolves of sad wind howl from distant caves at murky revelation of false truth. My chilled heart misty as blue evening moon, I search with wandering stars for something true that gleams with ghostly paleness of lost hope in elvish groves of faith-forbidden fruit as bleak wind seems to call "Arthur", my name, at silent revelation of false truth. Far from warm castle Camelot I built I chase receding time of formless faith for wisdom that long perished in fraught roots of morbid mountains veiled by silent fog to wait and watch in shadow world of hope at woeful revelation of false truth. Deep in Zarathian Forest of tall trees I wear gold mask my father forged for me as I approach vast cave of dragon jaws to peer in heart of darkness shrouding faith where eerie light of voiceless wisdom glows at divine revelation of false truth. Bright in my reverent hand of awed respect green emerald God Eye of the holy Earth gleams with transcendent flame of timeless faith in arcane runes that spell my secret name, so I dream whole history of Earth unfold at primal revelation of false truth.
Wednesday, February 12, 2025
Oscillation Of Desire
Oscillation Of Desire © Surazeus 2025 02 12 Between opposing forces of the heart, respectable self-control of Apollo and passionate expression of Dionysus, I balance oscillation of desire with appellate force of Icarian wings to analyze and judge creative play. Through stoic calm of clever fortitude I attempt to drive piston-engined car with careful attention to safe approach that maintains forward motion of four wheels in turn to actualize successful growth which proves superior nature of faith. Aggressive force of passionate endeavor motivates soul-enhancing enterprise when I analyze changing consequence, clarified by flow of cause to effect that triggers clear original results safe with inducement of objective play. Though comprehension of inherent worth precipitates conditional solutions, designed to sustain expressive respect, I deposit mute energy through faith in sacred mission to institute change conducive to expansion of the mind. Between confirmation of self-control, contrived to manage attitude of hope with honest deception that should reveal considerate ringing of psychotic bells, and unleashed arrogance of shocked relief, I find safe shelter in haven of dreams. Thus I expect to catapult my thoughts, spear-sharpened by projective breath of lust, straight through curved undulance of honesty to pierce contemptuous shield of despair in brilliant victory over fallen gods ascendant with surprise of truth revealed. After eating apple of ecstasy, that he received from Eris with green eyes, Sariel strums lyre of Mercury and sings heart-aching melody of naked truth to explore oscillation of desire that maintains integrity of his soul. After snapping some selfies of himself exploring ruins of the ancient museum, Sariel posts them on social media sites with comment about how his heart can feel spirits of the Muses glowing with life, then rides the bus to catch the airflight home.
Valley Of The Muses
Valley Of The Muses © Surazeus 2025 02 12 Hair blowing in brisk mountain winds of faith, Sariel climbs rugged slopes of Helicon to ruined Museum, temple of muses, where no rain has fallen one thousand years, then sits exhausted among marble pillars while goats prance among old twisted plum trees. "I wish to bring them back to life again, nine charming Muses with their lyres and flutes gathered around Apollo in round hall where folk traveled far to hear them perform songs relating lives of their ancient gods during the sacred Mouseia festival." Breathing deep muggy air of solitude in broad deserted Valley of the Muses, Sariel gazes at Mount Helicon that shimmers silently in waves of heat, while ravens gather in twisted plum trees, and feels nameless grief well up in his heart. "I sense hazy shadow of Pegasus linger near the bubbling Hippocrene spring where I dip my hands to drink soul of Earth, liquor which opens eyes inside my heart so I see nine Muses in flowing gowns singing before huge crowd of worshippers." Gazing at his face in clear silver pool, Sariel grins with amusement of truth to think Narcissus stood at this same spot and gazed entranced at beauty of his face till voice of Echo woke him from false dream to keep him from drowning in vanity. "After Narcissus visited this pool, Tiresias found Athena bathing nude, and thus received wyrd art of prophecy because his eyes perceived with reverent awe divine beauty inherent in her soul, tended with care by Eupheme and Linus." Heart aching with fierce passion of insight, Sariel feels spirit possess his body so he starts to sing with mercurial voice tale of Apollo chasing graceful Daphne till she transforms into the laurel tree whose leaves crown the greatest singers of tales. "Though they are long dead, fleeting flames of life that shone brightly in this valley of music, their spirits live in me one thousand years after they danced and sang with eloquence, so I must sing to keep their art alive another thousand years of sacred song."
Majesty Of Vital Love
Majesty Of Vital Love © Surazeus 2025 02 12 Magnolia blossoms that hide cold moonlight outside cobwebbed window of our bedroom describe how life happens in flash of days through monotonous meanness of desire when we pledge loyal attention of hope for each other alone with grasping hands. Rich surplus of our consciousness provides eager flight of perfect passion assigned by brooding trees of childhood that regret stealing memories of rain on dry fields now pungent with asymmetry of faith based on oaths that rattle inside cracked stones. We choose each other as soulmates for life with random affinity of strict hearts compelling us to stay together close while treading delicate process for growth with resolute compassion we still share in tale depicted on fresco-bright clouds. Awake on barbarous shore of respect for strange conceptual vision of this world, we analyze automatic response with honest insight into heart of gloom which fuels our journey on new road we name for secrets we hold dear in silent trust. Through legitimate beauty we exchange our memories tangled with genuine respect, attractive with contrivance of contempt, yet flush erotic honor with sweet kiss connecting our alien minds with expanse of wordless wisdom that proves our true worth. Awed by weird message of the hypnotist, with fearful grimace of flirtatious faith, we both embrace ourselves in whom we love projected in the other we trust most, which marks our majesty of vital love delighted with kind wonder of mute grief. We find each other in eyes of the other more familiar with each new passing day, constructing devotion on deeds performed that mirrors condition of social life through strict vanity of reasonable laws which forbids pleasures we most want to share. Thus hand in hand we make our new-found way along the sun-washed Gulf of Mexico with mission to build Eden with our hands dedicated to focus through respect attention of our hearts to selfless care that nurtures majesty of vital love.
Melody In My Heart
Melody In My Heart © Surazeus 2025 02 12 The timeless song of the ocean remains the same eloquent swirl of energy heard by humans in every generation four hundred million years of evolution, so every day of loneliness or fear I replay its melody in my heart. At various points in process of my life I find myself sitting inside the room of the building where I perform some task, walking building to building along roads, driving the car to get somewhere more quickly, or swimming in the ocean of my dreams. The ocean created my soul from light by weaving carbon rings in coils of genes so on four legs I crawl up river beds and rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time then climb vast forest of singing trees till I evolve from fish to wingless angel. Invincible reason of the human brain expressing ideal concepts in flawed words designs ontology of whole world view based on loyal love for wisdom in truth that echoes from divine voice of my breath while I gaze at my face in pool of faith. I wake from dream of light in Nowhere Sea and sit on beach of hope to sing my thoughts in wordless agony of hungry fear till shadow of the sun appears in flesh and mother who created me from hope teaches me how to eat soul of the Earth. From womb of mother ocean I progress across the fruited plain of blooming trees to share spacious world of bountiful goods with every person born from waves of hope till greedy men form armies of mad boys to build empires that enslave us to work. For millions of years we humans proceed with clouds of rain over mountains of trees to flow with rivers back to mother sea while building the world with our fragile bones when we bury ancestors in the Earth who sprout into children of our desires. The timeless song of the ocean expands from core of my soul to enclose the globe that teems with conscious creatures bearing names who sing in harmony with ache of love to share bountiful fruit of generous Earth and cherish its melody in our hearts.
Tuesday, February 11, 2025
Voice Of Nothingness
Voice Of Nothingness © Surazeus 2025 02 11 Long after the sun erases our world and I float in lake of forgetfulness, my heart will cherish all that is imperiled yet blooms again from voice of nothingness which teaches me with sweetness of calm faith to flow with psychic waves of the star wraith. Honored to be chosen by cruel fate to judge cases in the Siege Perilous, I study social concept of the gate designed by fear from voice of nothingness, then hold the Book and Torch of Liberty to proclaim rebirth of democracy. Wading into warm Gulf of Mexico to be baptized with waves of cleanliness, I think of my wife in San Angelo who speaks to me with voice of nothingness about strange beauty of this cluttered globe while dancing gracefully in long silk robe. I want to climb Denali Mountain peak to reach bright shining stars of somethingness which beam divine radiance of love I seek encoding truth with voice of nothingness, yet I cannot find it on the world map so I lie down by Sea of Dreams to nap. When seven planets align in the sky to bind our hearts with graceful subtleness we shall gather again on Mount Sinai to argue law with voice of nothingness embodied by the man with angel wings who always appears when the blind girl sings. To wake translucent joy within my heart I gaze in brilliant sapphire of success so I can map my life on global chart to solve riddles with voice of nothingness through revelation of the Flaming Tree that nourishes our journey to live free. Through clear seraphic flame of honesty that luminates my thoughts with randomness I feel life bloom from spells of modesty concealed by key in voice of nothingness that gleams as beacon of hope in the gloom which guides us safely to our secret room. On the first day that creates spinning Earth First Mother sings with ache of happiness about epiphany through second birth that she reveals with voice of nothingness so we design the world our brains perceive with words of holiness our hearts conceive.
Savor The Sweet Flower
Savor The Sweet Flower © Surazeus 2025 02 11 I want to hear the crickets in the woods tell me that Nature will be beautiful regardless of who rules the human tribe so I leave the house and let the door bang because of gravity that holds us down to solid necessity of the world. While I stand alone in cool evening glow among tall oaks that have grown in this place at least one hundred years before I came, and will remain long after I have gone, I feel the whole duration of this place root itself in memory of this brief hour. In the year the Statue of Liberty was dedicated with her Book and Torch, Lettie Quick traveled by train to attend, but, feeling sick, she stumbled to the platform, then sudden lurch of the train threw her off, so she spread her wings and flew to the moon. Our bodies remain buried in the Earth but our spirits vanish in nothingness and remain only in the living brains of people who knew us as memories, but they too will die in the turn of time and so our atoms become mindless soil. The red-winged blackbird in the cherry tree explains concept of social liberty, but I eat coconut ice cream and cry inside my heart because all creatures die, yet how beautiful is the timeless hour we are alive to savor the sweet flower. Black water of the winding river glows between snow-frosted banks with twisted oaks beneath the quaint Bridge of Forgetfulness where no one lingers in the afternoon except ghost of the girl who once lived here centuries ago, yet sees me in the mist. While everyone goes in the church to pray on their knees to the silent empty sky, I run in the woods and howl at the moon to express my faith in balance of change that light of atoms is conscious in me as I walk forth on path of fate I map. Divine light flows in waves of particles from first flash that flares forth from the big bang to weave our world in matrix of star souls who gather on the river shore to sing in harmony with birds and animals who ask us humans not to destroy Earth.
Golden-Bull Clown
Golden-Bull Clown © Surazeus 2025 02 11 The skinny boy with no shoes on his feet skips jauntily jobless on the dusty road, plotting how to accomplish the grand feat, with help from wisdom of the howling toad, of dethroning the vile tyrant of greed, so he can sow the world with apple seed. The skinny boy with straw hat on his head goes fishing in the Gulf of Mexico to feed five million with whale meat and bread which he barbecues on church portico while Apollo plays country-western songs and Minerva judges to right all wrongs. The skinny boy who abdicates his throne, and builds homes for the poor in fields of wheat, hides his pirate treasure in the stone that glimmers under the Perilous Seat till he returns one day from sacred quest to bring the Holy Grail back from the west. The skinny boy who pretends to be bad reveals wyrd nature of the fanciful in puppet show before Sir Galahad who steals the tower key from Perceval to wear the Crown of David without fear so he can prove Earth is a spinning sphere. The skinny boy riding Bucephalus studies state of the psychic particle to resurrect from gold sarcophagus Star Witch who leads the global carnival where they crucify the golden-bull clown who tries to steal from Christ his thorny crown. The skinny boy with wings of Icarus hides Clavis Artis from the tyrant king while escaping prison with Pegasus to find the most powerful magic ring which he can use to change our global fate through alchemical spells angels create. The skinny boy with gun of arrogance declares this land from river to the sea shall remain his birthright inheritance ruled over by Goddess of Liberty while he tries to assemble puzzle code that maps the ever-shifting signless road. The skinny boy with nothing left to lose leads revolution of the Robot God to prove that everyone has paid their dues before they discover he is the fraud who scammed us all of our democracy to rule our souls with cruel theocracy.
Guard National Heart
Guard National Heart © Surazeus 2025 02 11 When he is cursed with the cerulean bane concerning whether good is real or not, Orlando hides in the time-crumbling fane to study old mysterious book he bought in his quest to find the meaning of life other than wisdom gained from endless strife. Gazing out dream-cracked window of his mind to augur the future from how birds fly, Orlando admires the world his bride designed because there is no clear answer to why this universe of matter spins as light where wingless angels have discovered flight. Preserving fiscal computer network that manages cash pay from Treasury, Orlando performs role of the Dream Clerk to guard national heart from treachery, maintaining functions of society which shields mental health from anxiety. Wielding sword Durendal in his right hand with mission to protect heart of our state, Orlando guards computers of our land against invaders, who attack the gate to channel money in their bank accounts, with honest courage his brave heart surmounts. Demonstrating how he battled the thief when Mammon attempted to seize control, Orlando reports to the temple chief success in arresting the greedy mole send by Midas to steal wealth from the people who pray to Jesus beneath the tall steeple. Commissioned by Saturnus with gold seal to rebuild Treasury of America, Orlando designs complex Fortune Wheel that nourishes children of Onatah who thrive based on Justice and Liberty, free from oligarch-funded tyranny. When Mammon tries to steal money we earn by controlling computers with false keys, Orlando protects our national concern to channel money back to families who work for our communal enterprise because we all make America rise. Constructing safe homes with gardens of fruit on ruins of the grand American Dream, Orlando retrieves the lucrative loot that Mammon stole in vast fraudulent scheme, and builds Zarathia for all to share in world money game where all can play fair.
Monday, February 10, 2025
Inspired By Minerva
Inspired By Minerva © Surazeus 2025 02 10 "I believe that Beauty will save the world," Fyodor mumbles by empty water well while gazing at cloudless sky of false hope where the silver moon contemplates the glow of timeless emptiness in human hearts, then ducks when soldiers shoot guns at the ghost. Two-headed princess in the forest glade, holding clay pot with magnolia bloom, smiles at the two-headed crow on its twig, and asks if they remember where to go to find the meteor that fell from the sky, then laughs when soldiers escape from the ghost. "We have one name to signify our soul," two-headed princess explains to Fyodor, "so call us Kremena when you perceive immortal soul that animates our hearts, for one of us is Beauty of the mind, and the other is Death who understands." Holding hands, Fyodor and Kremena run through pathless forest of the laughing ghost to hide from soldiers with arrogant guns sent by the tyrant in the golden tower to kill all idiots, morons, and freaks, cleansing vile mutants from the human race. Surrounded by soldiers with guns of hate in mountain meadow on shore of Star Lake, Fyodor and Kremena grasp sticks and stones, and he crouches to protect her from harm, but she opens wide black wings of desire, then rises upward with him in her arms. Astonished the two-headed princess floats with the idiot dangling in her arms, the soldiers of the tyrant stare in shock as she expands into huge gleam of light shaped like enormous hummingbird of faith from aurora beams of purple and green. Falling to their knees on the mountain meadow, the soldiers drop their guns and raise their arms, awed by epiphany of holy truth through revelation of the cosmic herald embodied by the woman with two heads who scatters apple seeds from generous hands. Two-headed princess of Zarathia, as symbol of Justice and Liberty, beams spirit of courage in hearts of people who rise with bold voice of democracy to oppose aggressive greed of the tyrant, inspired by Minerva with angel wings.
Calculus Of The Clock
Calculus Of The Clock © Surazeus 2025 02 10 From grand perspective of learning to dream her heart requires calculus of the clock to checkmark every moment of insight that broadens world view of innocent faith which helps enlighten vision of this world guiding successful progress to her grave. All social attachments of tangled hope that bound her to community of souls broke from dire predictions of dead birds whose mutilated songs of honest fear crack faithful windows of deserted homes that gape with hungry mouths of discontent. Reluctant buzzing head of anguished wind pulses with arrogant beams of blank sun glaring nonchalantly through purple eyes of hope-combusted laughter, discompaled by placid-splattering blast of helpless courage to proceed against cold buffeting wind. Disfigurements of passion may persist with thoughtless stumble of atomic fate, yet she precludes affection for the dead whose faceless anguish haunts sun-bleeding streets between collapsing houses of cracked bones with chronic hope of grim unsightliness. With stale laconic face of hungry scars her wordless cries define extensive clues of bleak perdition clasping treasured dreams based on eternal beauty reconciled with fear-enforced creeds of faithless truth, misremembered by clouds of bloodless rain. Without companion soul of fierce support she stands alone, neither erect nor strong, face to faceless emptiness of desire since her wings never burst into sweet fire of stark angelic passion to connect trembling bodies beyond contrary moods. Contrived doctrine stacking books in high walls constrains aggressive passion to attend dire need of the hour controlling fraught fear that drives her body against nothingness solid as tree trunks where she stumbles lost and clutches careless hope with bleeding hands. Ophelia hides in shadowy woods while soldiers of the new castle king hunt cluttered streets of deserted villages to kill rebels against authority, and cries while clutching picture book of prayers that Hamlet gave her in their secret grove.
Sunday, February 9, 2025
Minerva On The Hill
Minerva On The Hill © Surazeus 2025 02 09 From smoking ruins of empire we rise to construct new state of Zarathia where all live equal under spacious skies through Liberty endorsed by Pythia who prophesies our glorious Golden Age where Apollo sings on the Freedom Stage. Through swirling mist of social war we race to transcend failed nationalist attitude and soar high on bold wings of Icarus with mission to restore kind fortitude that bolsters progress of democracy based on mutual respect of Liberty. Though our star-spangled banner no more streams on ramparts of justice and liberty, our guiding star of honesty still gleams through perilous fight against tyranny, so rally with Minerva on the hill to protect personal choice of free will. United by our special differences, we express strength in our diversity in solemn scenes where all are witnesses who prosper together through equity based on inclusion in our social play of every soul who walks the Liberal Way. We walk one golden highway of respect to join our hands from sea to shining sea, exploring process of cause and effect that ensures every person can live free so we do what we will, if we harm none, shooting with the camera and not the gun. Though traitors and thieves control the White House they cannot control how we think and feel as we maintain our home with loving spouse to nurture children with empathic zeal who build on ruins of America new state of freedom lead by Onatah. Helping each other bear the heavy load in struggle to build paradise on Earth, we sing together on the open road wise hymns that code the secret of rebirth that spurs revolt against the corporate king who flees when honest citizens can sing. Our new star-spangled banner waves again above our homes from sea to shining sea when we unite our many hearts in one to protect fair justice through liberty, so rally with Minerva on the hill to protect personal choice of free will.
Planks Of My Lost Ship
Planks Of My Lost Ship © Surazeus 2025 02 09 Wood ships that once sailed wild seas of the world, bearing people to strange exotic lands, have all sunk in dark silence of the past, or wrecked on cold indifferent sands of fate, so treasures they bore across silver waves have faded from dim memories of the dead. This fertile land with hills of wind-swept trees, where light of timeless summer shimmers sweet in hair of children dancing on gold hills, consumes old ships laden with precious freight and spits their bones as piston-engined cars that race on highways of aggressive hope. Yet that shining moon, which illuminates city towers of steel and glass that sprout from Elysian fields of free summer play, gazes silently with indifferent eye on ships that sail the seas ten thousand years but almost weeps at their quick vanishment. For many centuries of the turning Earth my ancestors build wood boats with curved hulls on rational shores of ambitious pride, then sail down winding streams of restless time to explore every beach, bay, and headland that frills fractal edge of our global isle. Fate leaves me stranded on this nameless land, so I search obstacles of tangled woods for bright pool fed by quick fresh-water spring to found new city on one humble home which sprouts into metropolitan maze where millions chase flashing rainbow of wealth. With tender heart in lonely reverie I listen to wind-songs on surging waves to measure glory of our roving race that follows wonder of weird guiding stars in silver pathways on the restless sea to understand bright vision of old truth. Mute grief weighs heavy as dark mountain snow that glistens under pallid moon of fear to soothe old wounds of passion in my heart while I lie prone in garden of lost stars and sing mad sorrow of terrible truth with ache of laughter that heals me with love. Through dreamless dread of darkness on dead hills I search for wood ships on the silver sea but find they all sunk in grim gloom of time so I walk west over mountains and plains, soul cleansed of hate in sparkling prairie rain, to build new home from planks of my lost ship.
Homeland Of Our Hearts
Homeland Of Our Hearts © Surazeus 2025 02 09 With every leaf that falls on temple steps to measure progress of seasonal change, we sit together in the cool tree shade to feel strange sorrow of the river flow urge our hearts to beat with respectful love as we feel our bodies and minds decay. I want more bold passion out of this life than waiting in dim shadows of the sun for Death to flash my soul back to the stars, yet I feel paralyzed with shock of fear that gang of greedy men with sticks and stones chased us from fertile land our fathers tilled. We worked soil of this farm two hundred years, extracting many wagonsful of ripe wheat to bake bread that has fed bodies and souls of every family living in this town, yet, jealous of our principled success, they nursed hate with greed to seize fruitful fields. Since we possess knowledge for growing wheat, and they know nothing but how to attack, we can apply our secret family skills to grow wheat anywhere on river shores while they will fail and lay waste to our farm, proving our legal right of stewardship. Though we were driven out with prejudice from fields of heaven we tended with care, we can build heaven in waste land of hell by nurturing seeds with rivulets of hope, while their careless greed wastes heaven to hell by trashing rich crops with dishonest greed. If any divine judge rules in the sky, and perceives injustice of harsh abuse we suffer from exploiters with cruel hands, then heaven will mandate our right of place to dwell between the river and the sea with creative hands that craft the land well. Alas for justice we will never know that no omniscient deity in heaven has power to adjust slow wheels of fortune so fate rewards intentions of our hearts to create with faith rather than destroy paradise where every person lives well. Though we have lost the homeland of our hearts, the world, new lit by eager rays of dawn, that stretches wide before our hopeful feet, offers us endless opportunities with generous bounty of indifferent growth so we treasure home wherever we roam.
In Times Of War
In Times Of War © Surazeus 2025 02 09 In times of war the prophets all come out and wander wind-swept streets with tangled hair, then, with anguish in their eyes, sing and shout about how doom and death are everywhere, which causes everyone to be alarmed when they would rather be happily charmed. While Nostradamus in his ivory tower prophesies how every tyrant will fall after their sudden rise grasping for power, the nameless jester writes spells on the wall of church and bank in formulas of fate that expose the king for his racist hate. Yet everyone keeps driving in their cars to earn just enough money to pay bills, because fortunes are not defined by stars, and no one wants to go back to the hills to hunt for mushrooms and rabbits to eat, but all are silent when the rich men cheat. Though poetry we write with bleeding hands makes nothing happen in valley of skulls, we blow wind from our mouths across the lands that challenge cowboys to wrestle gold bulls worshipped by the people as god of wealth who steals all their money with sneaky stealth. Though Keats admires song of the nightingale while lounging under the timeless plum tree, I decry how everything is for sale by oligarchs who fetter Liberty when they invade public Garden of Eden and build shopping malls to pave over Heaven. Cold raindrops fall through our bodies of dreams and blend with endless rivers of our tears, then splatter back with mocking Mask of Seems which cannot hide our heart-enshrouding fears, yet songs we share in darkness of despair beam bright at dawn with soul-reviving care. For two centuries we built in our land strong institutions for free governance, but they crumble as castles made of sand, destroyed by pirates with no reverence, so corporate kings exploit the working poor who cry out to the wounded matador. In times of war the poets wander lost, reciting through domestic quietude quaint epiphanies of the Holy Ghost to shore dream fragments in false fortitude, till mermaid voices wake us in surprise so we perform conceptual role as spies.
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