No Heaven Above The Clouds


No Heaven Above The Clouds
© Surazeus
2019 07 10

My grandfather Bob Seamount was a tenor
in the Christian group Kings Heralds Quartet,
singing hymns about Jesus as World King
as they drove car on the road church to church
across the North American continent
for the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Descended through eleven generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
Bob Seamount found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in his mind,
so he joined choir of angels to sing hymns
in his quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Assembling in the broadcast studio
for the Voice of Prophecy radio program,
Bob and his friends in Kings Heralds Quartet
sang about King Jesus coming again
as Adventist families around the country
gathered in living rooms to sing along.

Learning techniques for recording their songs,
Bob produced records of performances,
snipping and assembling magnetic tape
to generate wax disks people could buy
and listen on players in living rooms
to sing along with his heavenly choir.

Flying airplanes high above our spinning world,
Bob traveled far with Kings Heralds Quartet
to distant countries around planet Earth
in South America, Africa, Europe,
and Asia, singing in Adventist churches
like angels from the clouds on silver wings.

Angelic messenger on silver wings,
Bob flew around the Earth to distant lands
in airplanes he refurbished with his hands
to Adventist missions around the world,
converting people to worship as God
long-dead king willing to die for his tribe.

When I was nine in Summer of Seventy-Four,
Bob brought me to white hangar in the field
at the small airport just north of Keene, Texas
where I watched him rebuild small white airplane,
then he took me soaring high among clouds
where no angels on clouds play harps and sing.

When I was twelve in Spring of Seventy-Seven,
after Bob died from brain cancer in Florida,
I attended his funeral in large Keene Church
where thousands of people gathered to mourn
death of the great Kings Heralds Quartet Singer,
who flew up toward Heaven on silver wings.

When I was nineteen in Spring of Eighty-Three,
I attended class on philosophy
at the Adventist Walla Walla College
where the wise British professor declared,
“God does not exist, for things that exist
stand out in defined bounds of time and space.”

Startled, I sat up and listened more closely
as he explained, “However, we can say
God subsists, standing under all existence
as substance that forms all material things,”
so I envisioned God as molecules
that evolve into brains with consciousness.

“Plato describes Idea of defined objects
as eternal form that persists in Heaven
which is mental realm of our language code,
so though all existing trees are destroyed
yet Idea of Tree persists in Heaven
where God the Craftsman creates everything.”

Descended through thirteen generations
from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet,
I also found Spirit of Poetry
shining as flame of wisdom in my mind,
so I write epic of philosophers
in my quest for Heaven above the clouds.

Wielding guitar in Summer of Ninety-Three,
I hitchhiked from Seattle to Miami,
traveling town to town like folk troubadours
to sing about adventures of mankind,
lost angel singing to ghosts of the dead,
since I found no Heaven above the clouds.

My Name In Water Voice


My Name In Water Voice
© Surazeus
2019 07 02

The immortal I in my gusting breath
expands fragile shell of my ego wide
as globe of this world that creates our souls
from flashing sparkle of sweet molecules
so I disappear in dream of myself
each day I reinvent who I might be.

The transient I I perceive in vast shine
of mirroring water flowing nowhere
reveals secret desires sprouting from pure light
forged in heart of darkness which my words mold
as mask that features my weird character
I carve as runes on vortex peak of hope.

The smoke-swirling I who perceives itself
as separate entity of hungry hope
explains through wild flames of eternal truth
ephemeral concept that conceals my brain
bound in fetters of existing desire
to replicate itself in child of love.

The timeless I unspooling spiral genes
calculates carcass of flesh that contains
pool of spirit shimmering galactic eyes
who watch each other evolve across space
of silent contemplation to relate
linkage of sentiment with threading words.

The conscious I who wakes inside my brain
cries out to empty sky where no God lives,
“I want to live through ecstasy of truth
and taste all pleasures of this aching flesh,”
discussing with embodiment of night
concept of light as atoms that vibrate.

The flashing I illuminating fear
with conscious anguish to survive despair
flares brighter than death when I strike two stones
to spark flames in ring of gems on dark shore
of singing river which will always flow
so I can hear my name in water voice.

The star-bright I awake on turning Earth
sings through blossoming of ripe fruit on trees
providing matter for my flesh to shine
when I consume sorrowful joy of light
in each bite of the apple that shines red
as dawn sun blazing over mist-wet hills.

The wordless I gazing at your strange eyes
wants to understand essence of your soul
so I watch your face as you tell me things
and listen for secret key of desire
that will open your heart so we may kiss
and become one soul before we will die.

Grumpy Cat Elegy


Grumpy Cat Elegy
© Surazeus
2019 05 17

Grumpy Cat is now the immortal moon
who frowns down at our world of aching hope
with indifferent disdain of secret love
and watches us build empires of control
with mocking sneer at how we all believe
we may be immortal as she is now.

Grumpy Cat sits mute on the window sill
to gaze at busy world with clear blue eyes
that see beyond fake mask of flashy style
we wear to prove we are cooler that death
who waits inside her heart for us to stride
proudly on stage of fame before she strikes.

Grumpy Cat lounges on Throne of Ungod,
presiding over our empire of wealth
with changeless frown that mocks our patriotism
when we march public streets with torch of fear
shouting, make America great again,
then whips her tail that shatters our false faith.

Grumpy Cat climbs tall pile of dollar bills,
one hundred million dollars of world fame
she earned gazing at us from the abyss
with frown of death that mocks our arrogance,
and pees on symbol of capitalist greed,
then wanders into nothingness of death.

Epic as Fictional Memoir


Epic as Fictional Memoir

Epic poets depict fictionalized versions of their own lives in the narrative of the epics they compose.

I think it is very possible that Homer participated in a battle like he depicted in the Iliad when he was young, and when he was older went on a journey to return home like he depicted in the Odyssey, so that Odysseus is the fictional version of himself.

We have enough information about the life of Vergilius to know that his family lost their property, therefore the exile of Aeneas from Troy and his search for a new homeland seems like a fictionalized version of his own experience, so that Aeneas is the fictional version of himself.

The pro-Papacy Guelph Dante was exiled from Florence and lived the rest of his life in Verona and Ravenna, so the journey through the dark woods, down the mountain, crossing the river, going into a deep cave, and ascending a mountain to live in a beautiful city seems to be a condensed and simplified fictionalization of his physical journey into exile to a new home that seemed like heaven to him, so that Dante in the Divine Comedy is the fictional version of himself.

The anti-monarchist republican Milton was involved in the administration of the commonwealth that beheaded King Charles I and ruled England for 10 years until the Son of the King returned, and he lived the rest of his life under house arrest, therefore Milton fictionalized his experience with himself as Satan, Charles I as God, and Charles II as Jesus, so that Satan is the fictional version of himself.

I traveled across America, playing guitar on the street, on my “quest for the Holy Grail” as the symbol of the truth about the nature of this universe, therefore in the Science of Hermes, or the Hermead, I fictionalize my experience in the epic narrative poems about the lives of 26 ancient philosophers who journey across the landscape of the world in search for knowledge about the nature of the universe, so that all the philosophers from Hermes to Lucretius is each the fictional version of myself.

The epic as fictional memoir functions as a medium for the epic poet to fictionalize their personal experience in exploring the world to find their place in its drama, and and thus define their exploration as the mythical journey of mankind to expand our consciousness of truth.

Hermead Editions

Soon I will publish a 1-volume edition of the entire epic of philosophers.

Our War For Truth


Our War For Truth
© Surazeus
2019 04 20

I cannot tell you why the angels sing
because, though I hear their melodious tones
vibrating through flowing matrix of nature,
they do not sing to me with divine words.

Riding large square car on the long straight streets
of this city that sprawls in chess-board grid
between dry hills and glaring ocean waves,
I see lost angels as humans everywhere.

I wondered why God sent his son to die,
then realized God is metaphor for kings
who always crown their sons rulers of nations
so each leader should sacrifice himself.

We value the honest leader of men
who is willing to die to save our lives
but politicians seek power to control
how we live that will benefit their wealth.

Mayors and police detectives assert
laws that organize system of state power
which gives control to dominating men
who organize food-production machines.

We are pawns on vast chess board of state power,
dwelling with close family in our small home
while working in office, factory, or store
to buy and sell in marketplace of hunger.

We all gather in church on Easter Sunday
to praise son of the ruling dynasty
for willingness to sacrifice himself
so we live together in harmony.

What hidden dragon of unknown messiah,
still young today among the crowd in church,
will wake the divine spark within his soul
that urges him to play leader of men?

We despise the man driven blind by greed
to rule like dictator over our land,
attempting to exploit us for his gain,
for men like him always fall from vain pride.

We admire the man urged by honest love
to rule like wise savior over our land,
helping us become the best we can be,
for men like him always rise from selfless love.

Both kinds of men have ruled our sprawling land,
performing role in our national drama
of Satan the greedy accusing thief
or Jesus the selfless supporting friend.

The kind of person you support with vote
to play President of the United States
reveals true nature of your character,
angel or devil in our war for truth.

Cathedral of Our Lady


Cathedral of Our Lady
© Surazeus
2019 04 15

Flames may consume Cathedral of Our Lady
where Goddess of Reason and Liberty
long reigns over nations of free people,
guiding us with light of justice and truth
against cruel prejudice and tyranny,
but Liberty lives in the heart of Mankind.

Tall pillars that enclose infinity
within sun-slanting walls of paradise
protect frail mankind from horror of death
when we gather in great hall to sing hymns
that venerate Holy Mother of Life
so Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though fires of hate and fascism burn bright,
set by hands of men who try to control
bodies of women with hard laws of greed,
to destroy cathedral of honest love
where Mother creates new life with her faith,
yet Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Though flames consume Cathedral of Our Lady,
sparked by blind lust of men to control fate
who rage against finality of death,
our Goddess of Reason and Liberty
lives not in ancient temples of cold stone
for Liberty lives in heart of Mankind.

Apple Of Vitality


Apple Of Vitality
22 September 2016

When Robin Hood and Eve ride the White Whale
from the crystal heaven of Aristotle,
since Copernicus cracked open its shell
to reveal infinite space beyond bounds
of doctrine where spinning galaxies gleam,
will Moby Dick, chasing his lashing tail,
smash the dome where Saint Peter rules as Christ,
so I can eat the apple of true faith?

When Tarzan and Cleopatra escape
labyrinth of Pluto with crystal sphere
that reveals mystery of eternal life,
though I keep losing chess games against Death,
and leviathan lounges on ice berg,
will Odin return from the Underworld
bringing the scroll that Lucretius composed
so I can eat the apple of insight?

When Gollum and Astraea wake at dawn
and climb the stairway to lost paradise,
bearing cracked glass pitcher of honey wine,
then Gandalf emerges from his cracked skull
to fire flame of wisdom from wand of hope,
will Idun bake more pies on pyramid
of world dominion for the feast of crows
so I can eat the apple of desire?

When Caliban and Minerva appear
from mists of Avalon on horse of wind
to show me Runes she carves on skull of Godin,
after Helius teaches me how to make
strong wagon wheels from the Oak of Donar,
will Newton give me book of formulas
for brewing the sweet elixir of life
so I can eat the apple of foresight?

When Hermes and Kwan Yin drive pickup truck
that Chevrolet designed in Wonderland
to lead lost tribes of Scythians home to Scotland,
though Alice soars past on swift Jabberwock
to visit Hiawatha near Lake of Eyes,
will Gabriel visit me on Wizard Island
of Crater Lake with book on astrophysics
so I can eat the apple of creation?

When Phoebus and Epona teach me how
to tame and ride the planet-leaping horse
so I explore valleys where apple trees
sprout from the graves of nameless souls I love
on quest for truth across ten thousand years,
will Saraswati reveal to my eyes
magic of the piston engine at dawn
so I can eat the apple of vitality?

This poem is published in:
Our Indifferent Universe $22.99
presents in 364 pages
36,602 lines of verse in 903 poems
I wrote 2015 to 2017

Death Forgot Me


Death Forgot Me
14 April 2004

Death forgot me but took you away
moans old woman who stands alone
in backyard of sudden arrogant Spring
for she clutches photo of her son
Captain James Banion with Marines.

Squeezing her eyes shut she tries
to erase vision from her bitter mind
that reveals her boy driving Humvee
over bomb that exploded in his face
splattering his brain all over red dust.

How did I lose you over blatant lies
she hisses clenching hands in fists
if I ever meet arrogant King Goliath
face to face I will punch out his lights
because my son died in desert dust
so he can control oil and raise prices
of gasoline but I cannot hurt anyone.

Silence of despair clutches my brain
with pain of hope that you will live
again in Heaven with our Lord Jesus
but what if he also is dead long ago
and resurrection is fable of preachers
calculated to garner wages for lies.

I want to believe my son has gone
to Heaven for if death is final end
shrouding our blind conscious minds
in senseless darkness far beyond time
then his life and death are meaningless
because he never fathered children
and I am too old to bear more sons.

Death forgot me and leaves me alive
long after my body lost its strength
while young strong handsome boy
of my womb approaching his new hope
of kind love from woman who cooks
blueberry pies in home of happy jokes
but now his body is mangled so bad
his spirit has no chance to ever return.

Falling to her knees in Spring sunlight
old woman who lost her young son
in brutal war weeps and shakes head
in frantic desire to see beyond death
and know why Angels never appear.

This poem is published in:
Angeliad $40.99
presents in 533 pages
136,377 lines of verse in 1,346 poems
I wrote 2001 to 2005

Burning Man


Burning Man
23 September 1997

Burning man dances on the desert plain
melting away in tears of acid rain.

I wake at midnight to hear the scream
jumping out the window and splash
in a stream when the hurricane howls
over the city of lost Angels who prowl
from the ruins of the burned out town
to dance with Burning man on the desert plain
when fruit trees sizzle black in acid rain.

People howl with pain in suburban spreads
when jet planes roar battling in Heaven
so Luke Sky-walker zooming over Viet Nam
spurting napalm shouts to Buckaroo Banzai
who twirls his lasso of barbwire chasing
Atlanteans south into Mexico the hour
Teddy Bear Roosevelt shoots Queen Texas
between the eyes on Main Street at noon
and Lawyers in gray suits surround the Cowboy
with cameras watching how his hands
direct airplanes loading cocaine stolen
from gun-blasted ships he attacks then packs
plastic bags full of Angel Dust in black suitcases
to drive into Elay where Africans dance
around steel-glass obelisk tower of Black Slack
howling around the burning man on the desert plain
where car gangs battle for power in acid rain.

Captain Kirk flies his office helicopter
Enterprise over sparkling seas under glittering stars
zooming his camera to record the actions
of We the People who dance Free on Eagle Island
where the Serpent is driven underground
and loses wings and legs to rise again rattling tails
to strike sharp claws tearing through the wall
of a suburban homes when Bounty Hunters
kick down doors and shoot the Couple
in a hail of bullets and the television dreams
dead souls alive in the Eye of Earth as we dance
around the Burning Man on a blood-red desert plain
watching steel-glass towers melt in acid rain.

Fairy Queen Elizabeth and Prince of Greece
walk together on the Island of Dragons to stare
into the Eye of the Camera crowned overlords
of the world who fly crystal space-ships
hopping the spinning Earth but the sun sets
on the British Empire when Princess Diana
is murdered by Bankers eager to sell guns mines
tanks to warring factions in Africa who dance
around the Burning Man on the desert plain
where steel wolves melt in acid rain.

We the People are crowded into barbwire fences
and given credit cards to swim the sea of sharks
safe inside the iron shell of the Yellow Submarine
where the Beatles stand on the Pyramid of Musa
soothing the despairing hearts of screaming girls
freaked out when the King of Kool was killed
by the Texas Cowboy so they riot and tear
Harlem to rubble then drive west to dance around
the Burning Man flaming bright on desert plains
where Ronald shoots his Ray-gun at Soviet Bombers
that crash into giant cities killing millions
but the newspapers report a hundred dead.

John England marries Yoko Japan to dance
king and queen on Manhattan Tower of Dreams
but the Crazy Man guns down the Prophet
of Flower Power the hour Prince Charles
marries school teacher in a sun-yellow gown
who rides the Chariot of the Gods
into the Hall of Heaven where Hera sits
on the Throne of Judgment and Zeus
rides his horse on Edana fruit marsh
where Mars marches chain gangs who circle
lost souls and hire them as extra actors
in Hollywood epic movies about Moses
leading the Children of Richard Leon
Arlington King up marble pyramid steps
where we dance around the Bank Tower
burning man who howls when helicopters
crash his private kingdom and incorporate
his branch into the National Bank of Amerika.

Goddess Liberty Athena stands frozen
in metal on the Temple of Prayers
holding the cold flame of freedom blind
over Baltimore blasted by missiles
when Darth Ray-gun leads fleets of bombers
from Kalifarn invading Gotham and landing
his helicopter on Cherry Tree Lawn
driving hippies from White House Commune
into the Rocky Mountains where they relax
in space-ships flying first class to land
in Ashland Oregon where Shakespeare
walks in mist sketching a tragicomic play
about the young businessman black-suit
briefcase laptop polished shoes pounding
the pavement of many-foot Manhattan
so follow the drum-beat of your heart
and dance around the Burning Man
on snow-frosted slopes of Rainbow Mountains.

Oldest woman in the world sits in Burger King
shouting where is the beef staring at thin pale slabs
of stinking meat heated half a minute
in a microwave so she drives in the country side
where she rode horses as a girl before
the second world war and she tears her dress
climbing over a barbwire fence and walks
over mush to stand under towering red-wood pine
and look at pictures when she hosted picnics
in her fruit orchard but the fat cowboy
spouting promises of wealth and oil
cheated her rights from the farm and tore
deep gaping holes into hell with hordes
of yellow metal caterpillars that scream
twisting Apollo into punk-leather grunge
Mohawk-head rock-prophet who shoots
down Darth Ray-gun and hangs him shrieking
on a cross caged inside the Burning Man
writhing on the desert plain where movie star
wannabes strut as mascara melts in acid rain.

Joan Baez stands on the Balcony pool
by the sparkling Sea of Peace at midnight
with millions stand who watch fleets
of flying tubes battle Top Gun Star Wars
blowing each other out of the sky
when Darth Ray-gun wrestles the Lion King
whose roar shakes loose the Iron Curtain
releasing enslaved souls from factories
of greed who take the Hammer of Thor
in hand and smash the Berlin Wall
to broken rubble so Bob Dylan howls
wordless visions after drinking Spider Juice
knock knock knocking at Gate of Heaven
where Angels dance around the Burning Man
that sizzles in acid rain stripping pines bare.

Pope Peter glares and slaps the hand
of little boy Jesus your deeds are written
in the Book of Life spell your fate as doom
for stealing fruit from the thousand trees
of one old man whose farm needs tending
so they chain his hands in the Garden of Eden
and he breaks metal chinks of slave chains
with his Diamond Scepter and leads
the Angels dancing around the Burning Man
on apple-fruited plain casting shadows
from slopes of purple-mountain majesties
on the Silver Screen that melts in acid rain.

Vote with your Heart for the Woman
with a Vision in her Eyes We the People
of Eagle Island dance free from sea
to shining sea laughing with the jokes
of the Burning Man whose Sword of Justice
guards our true eternal Goddess of Liberty
whose shining Flame of Wisdom leads
our steps through desolate Death Valley
to the promised land of Apple Trees
where the Lion Queen welcomes lost souls
to her glowing Hearth so we share our goods
and feast with friends by the golden light
of the full moon that shines on Goddess
of Love who walks among rainbow flowers
that bloom through cracked asphalt streets.

Princess Illinois crowned Queen Amerika
runs laughing in ocean waves at dawn
waving to paparazzi flashing cameras
but Women Libbers crowd the beach
chanting you are rats of Big Pope so nibble
on the rotten cheese of your despairing hearts
you wicked clowns who hide secret inside
the Box of Fright twisting our dreams
into brave new worlds of courage and hope
beaming bright the hearts of children
who dance around the Burning Man
hanging with blinking rainbow Xmas lights
on the White House Lawn of cherry trees
where the wedding cake temple melts in acid rain.

This poem is published in:

Gothiniad $44.99
presents in 593 pages
150,792 lines of verse in 1,948 poems
that I wrote 1993 to 2000

Other World


Other World
14 September 1990

I am back from the other world
dancing on soul-electric lines.
I broke the gates that held me back
I broke on through to the other side.
I dance all night on graves of men
who tried to chain me with their hate.
I am back from the other world
kiss my lips and say goodbye.

Your city walls are fragile shells
and I am a dragon Angel flying free.
Your rat-race walls are dollar thin
and I am falling off its path.
The stairs to Heaven lead to hell
a narrow winding road of thorns.
I am back from the other world
kiss my lips and say goodbye.

I found a set of Angel wings
and now I wear sharp devil claws.
I look into your glassy eyes
and see a drowning ape inside.
Behind my grin a dragon lurks
breathing fire and sucking souls.
I am back from the other world
kiss my lips and say goodbye.

The airplanes crowd your empty sky
they plummet broken in my dreams.
The towers built by bleeding hands
grow roots and walk into the night.
The cars are left on roads to rust
like ancient splintered turtle shells.
I am back from the other world
kiss my lips and say goodbye.

I crawl the streets and alleyways
and chew the rinds of rotten fruit.
I live in basements dark and dank
below your lemon-polished floors.
You hear my footsteps crack the bones
of children lost in naked dreams.
I am back from the other world
kiss my lips and say goodbye.

Your name is scribbled on my head
my head is gray and hard as stone.
Your daughters love to hold my hand
my hair is sea-weed long and green.
I am back from the other world
why refuse the drink I brought.
I am back from the other world
kiss my lips and say goodbye.

The key I found is made of bone
torn from leg of Satan for a feast.
I dance with demons in dark hell
and bring jewels of truth for you.
Follow light shining from my open mind
and soar on wings over storming seas.
I am back from the other world
kiss my lips and say goodbye.

This poem is published in:

Takomiad $39.99
presents in 502 pages
125,667 lines of verse in 2,590 poems
I wrote 1984 to 1992

Epics and Lyrics of Surazeus


Epics and Lyrics of Surazeus

Hermead Epic of Philosophers


Our Indifferent Universe

My American Harp





One With Our Universal Mind


One With Our Universal Mind
03 January 2011

Come dance with us around glowing fire
and hold our hands in circle of eyes
to expand our dream beyond blue skies
becoming one with our universal mind.

Look deep in my eyes and see our soul
and remember when we first were born
then play with me along river of fruit
becoming one with our universal mind.

First mother rose up from lake of dreams
and taught us to sing words of thought
so we share tales of our journeys to love
becoming one with our universal mind.

We gaze in crystal to see creation dream
from big bang to flaring forth of our souls
evolving fish to monkey to man to god
becoming one with our universal mind.

We crawl up from earth at dawn of time
and open our hands to take fruit of life
and run with horses ten thousand years
becoming one with our universal mind.

We build a song temple on river shore
to share our feast of bread and wine
and remember names of all who lived
becoming one with our universal mind.

Though we are driven from paradise
we tend fruit trees and herds of sheep
and return to gate of heaven with gifts
becoming one with our universal mind.

Though we argue over water and land
and battle hate with weapons of fear
we bow to judgment of king on his throne
becoming one with our universal mind.

Though we suffer in disease and pain
while blinded by hunger and greed
we transcend our self to release desire
becoming one with our universal mind.

Though we destroy and hurt with greed
we see mistakes and change our ways
and redeem our hearts with humble faith
becoming one with our universal mind.

Though we play god with arrogant pride
we submit our hearts to justice in peace
then bow before eternal spirit of truth
becoming one with our universal mind.

Though we strive to control chaos of life
we relax and breathe in spirit of truth
and flow in harmony with natural way
becoming one with our universal mind.

We quest for truth on a thousand roads
that all lead to one mountain of light
so hold hands together in temple of love
becoming one with our universal mind.

Our bodies exist animated by our soul
while eternal God subsists in our hearts
uniting every nation and religion on Earth
becoming one with our universal mind.

This poem is published in:
My American Harp $39.99
738 pages 1,421 poems I wrote 2010 to 2014

Lost In A Television Screen


Lost In A Television Screen
30 November 2006

Will you know which way to go
before endless falling of red snow
or will you wander lost forever
in a television screen of staring eyes.

I stand alone in a blank room
with no history in a secret name
and no actions of my open hands
that touch nothing I can see or hear.

I ride a bus full of silent faces
over rolling hills of shining snow
watching fallen stars fade away
until I am alone under bleeding sky.

Will you know which song to chant
before endless screeching of breaks
or will you wander lost forever
in a television screen of broken eyes.

This poem excerpt is published in:
Solariad $36.99
presents in 454 pages
114,920 lines of verse in 1,660 poems
I wrote 2006 to 2011

Coil Of Soul


Coil Of Soul
23 September 2002

I dream therefore this whole universe
sparkles zillions of eyes that see
reflection of our own one eternal face
in all faces for I am flame of life
who spirals galaxies into genetic coils.
Beginning of time at big bang I am flash
who flares forth weaving web of time
point spinning line beaming plane
weaving space spiraling time in drama
of organic substance that transform
soul into bodies who crawl walk dance
from mother womb to seek door of life
when sperm and egg seek to create me.

This poem excerpt is published in:
Angeliad $40.99
presents in 533 pages
136,377 lines of verse in 1,346 poems
I wrote 2001 to 2005

Moonless Blue Heat


Moonless Blue Heat

A broken man scuffles through alley ways
collecting glass bones of mangled cats
from torn white bags in plastic trash cans.
Moonless blue heat without a sad smile.

Radios splutter cement jungle rage
caged in tight silver chain link fences
of an endless suburban backyard zoo.
Moonless blue heat without hot desire.

Cute model princess in a tight red skirt
driving a silver car to tall tower of glass
stares in deep eyes of a snow white cat.
Moonless blue heat without arrogance.

Blind hermit dressed in a wedding suit
smashes a camera and leaps on tin roof
but his wings get tangled in phone lines.
Moonless blue heat without a bouquet.

If you speak truth of death too loud
intending to break down walls of hatred
they may stuff your soul as jack in a box.
Moonless blue heat without a spring coil.

Tall Angel of light soars through tubes
of spiraling plasma mirrors to white moon
where he snatches a rod of star-glass.
Moonless blue heat without a video camera.

Angel stands on chunk of black dirt eyes
searching deep sea of death-despair
for flash when his soul-mate arrives.
Moonless blue heat without a true kiss.

This poem is published in:

Gothiniad $44.99
presents in 593 pages
150,792 lines of verse in 1,948 poems
that I wrote 1993 to 2000.

Nuclear Highway God


Nuclear Highway God
12 August 1990

Sitting at side of a highway
half way between Disney world
and Carlsbad Caverns he unscrews
his head and shakes it over a river.

Broken toys and faded photographs
and torn socks and tattered novels
fall out of his dented trash can skull.

Memories of a quarter century
from lost childhood and wasted youth
fall into river making small splashes
like pebbles or rain on dark afternoon.

Sacred scriptures of a thousand religions
that disappeared from dream time line
flutter pages of words from his mouth
when he sings to expand spirit wings
soaring him swift over endless highway.
Paradise beams in rays from my brain.

This poem excerpt is published in:
Takomiad $39.99
presents in 502 pages
125,667 lines of verse in 2,590 poems
I wrote 1984 to 1992

Alive Outside My Mind


Alive Outside My Mind
24 September 2010

I wake at dawn inside a white box
and do not hear heart-aching tune
of old bone flute piercing blue sky
so I draw windows to see gold sun
and I draw doors to step outside
and I draw a woman and children
who dream alive outside my mind.

I look out window at a parking lot
with bright cars of metal and glass
parked near stairs of apartment halls
and through shadows of pine woods
I see ghosts of people who lived
and walked this land centuries ago
who dream alive outside my mind.

Memories of ten thousand souls
flash through threads of my eyes
traveling roads in dark silent woods
riding on horses and in wagon trains
from port towns of boats with sails
into wilderness where people dance
who dream alive outside my mind.

This poem excerpt is published in:
Solariad $36.99
presents in 454 pages
114,920 lines of verse in 1,660 poems
I wrote 2006 to 2011

Singing Bones


Singing Bones
21 February 2018

I hold the bones of children killed by guns
in my anguished hands, but I cannot piece
their puzzling bodies together again,
yet I will carve love into their frail shapes
so their singing bones can express strange sorrows
in haunting melodies of their mute loss.

This poem excerpt is published in:
Cage $12.99

Laughing Skull Of Hamlet


Laughing Skull Of Hamlet
13 April 2005

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.

This poem excerpt is published in:
Angeliad $40.99
presents in 533 pages
136,377 lines of verse in 1,346 poems
I wrote 2001 to 2005.

Calculator Brain


Calculator Brain
8 June 1995

Who is that man who jumped out of a magazine
dressed in a cool-dude suit sewn from credit cards
tricking you to sell him your secret soul
by twisting numbers on a dark computer screen
dumping his garbage in your town backyard
chopping down pines to publish more financial reports.
How could he know with his calculator brain
that love is a flower in the meadow where children play.

Gothiniad $44.99
presents in 593 pages
150,792 lines of verse in 1,948 poems
that I wrote 1993 to 2000.

Dying Soon


Dying Soon
13 October 1984

I am stuck to roam this mansion old
like a limping zephyr cold
to die like old hands. Wrinkled leaves
severed useless from oak trees
drift dry and tired on the wind.
I wander beneath the blood-red moon
just another life to lend.
They whisper I will die now soon.

Takomiad $39.99
2,590 poems written 1984 to 1992

Galactic Umbrella


Galactic Umbrella

I have forgotten my umbrella. Face
of my false doppelganger stares at me
in mirror of lost hope on field of grass
where horses play. When I return home, death
invites me to play chess in moonlight, wings
of butterflies painting all pieces black.

This poem excerpt has been published with 1,169 poems I wrote 2010-2014 in book titled “My American Harp” for sale at $39.99 here:

New Arcane Scripture


New Arcane Scripture
© Surazeus
2019 03 09

Whatever gang gains power in Washington
and erects new strict ideology
to worship law or personality,
I will follow my own private religion
where I live by physical laws of nature
based on visions I express in new scripture.

I celebrate myself and sing myself,
just like the Gotham Prophet once proclaimed,
and though I am mocked I am not ashamed
to sing calculations of magic spells
for I am the talking organic creature
who codes creation in new arcane scripture.

Though money gangsters ruling Earth from banks
oppress me with more strict rules of behavior
I will resist and become the great savior
who leads vast armies in jetplanes and tanks
till my heroism is stained in portraiture
because I compose wisdom in new scripture.

Political leaders may rise and fall
in constant turmoil of aggressive power,
but like the bee brews honey from the flower
I become process of the waterfall
through chemistry of the solar filature
and describe the White Whole in sacred scripture.

Desert Of Despair


Desert Of Despair
© Surazeus
2018 08 16

Stopped at the locked door of the ancient church,
she listens to angels inside stone hall
sing ethereal hymns of transcendent peace,
then steps inside the church of empty wind.

Running a thousand miles through the stone church,
she chases shimmer of light in the gloom
but stops at the edge of the desolate canyon
where sorrow lurks in shadows of despair.

She whispers to the stone angel with eyes
which bore into the center of the world
that she remembers when her mother left,
and waits to hear her call forgotten name.

Motionless in beam of indifferent light,
she opens her mouth to explain the reason
she left her home to find the promised land,
and walked across the desert of despair.

Sensing someone walking into the church,
she waits a thousand years in drifting dust,
then turns to smile at the shadow of horror
that vanishes at the breath of her hope.

Leaning over the silver bowl of water,
she stares into the emptiness of why
beyond the shimmering veil of her unface
to know the spark of stars in hungry cells.

She explains to Jesus in the stain-glass window
how she walked with her mother to escape
gangs of thieves across desert of despair,
searching for the good life in paradise.

Jesus beams in sunlight as she describes
how they sent her mother back to their land
but kept her in the air-conditioned cage
where she watched television shows and cried.

First poem in “Cage” $12.99

Book of poems about refugees

Build Our New World


Build Our New World
© Surazeus
2019 03 02

Though this world view we shared for eighty years
falls apart from contentious arguments
whether white males should control everything,
or every person living on this Earth,
regardless of their gender, race, or creed,
has equal opportunity to work
and exercise free will of legal rights
under universal objective law
that will protect or punish every person,
we will establish new global world view
that treats every living person the same,
and supports our talents to hone our skills
so we can be the best we want to be.
We are replacing the way of the past
with more equal way to build our new world.

I Tend My Garden


I Tend My Garden
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

While the world goes crazy with politics,
contesting over whose ideology
manages commercial activity,
I tend my garden of fruit trees and herbs.

I sold my television years ago
so I spend my long quiet afternoons
tending produce in soil of my back yard,
watering roots, pulling weeds, and trimming limbs.

Then after working I sit in the chair,
in shimmering glow of the indifferent sun,
to drink apple juice and listen to birds
sing about their desire to fly with love.

Cradling guitar in my arms, I tune strings,
then strum vibrating tension of desire
and pluck melodic solutions for love,
then sing strange visions that flash in my eyes.

While they fight over who controls the world
I control my own progress in my yard,
transforming wilderness into my garden
where apples hang over the sparkling pool.

Capitalism spurs productive growth,
while socialism distributes the goods
to everyone, so all participate
in vibrant life of our economy.

I nurture food to grow from fertile soil
while government officials regulate
all commercial transactions to ensure
fair exchange of money for goods produced.

I give ripe apples to lost refugees
so they can eat while wandering road of hope,
and they plant seeds of apples in rich soil
to create more gardens on river shore.

Last Angel In Heaven


Last Angel In Heaven
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

Faster than waves crashing against sharp rocks
to remind me my flesh body is frail,
as flowers that blossom in torrents of rain,
I walk toward city of the singing stones.

I want to know how angels know my name
because I designed its vision from mud
of naked river where nothing but light
from sunrays explains strange reality.

Each step I ascend winding trail of hope
brings me closer to shining paradise
where girls in temples harmonize in choirs
with voice of prophecy in roaring waves.

Dead bodies of children, women, and men
lie strewn on golden streets of paradise,
blood staining white marble with tears of death
that shimmer silently in swirling smoke.

Who killed all the angels of paradise,
I cry out in anguish of desperate fear,
and vanish in nothingness of fire smoke
that sucks all sorrow from my hollow heart.

So many beautiful people destroyed
by sharp swords lie mangled on temple floors,
eyes staring blankly at the empty sky
as their elegant names bleed in mute soil.

The last angel in Heaven still alive,
I sit on throne where God judged life and death,
and gaze at empty hall where shadows sing
as God and angels are devoured by worms.

Children From The Lost City


Children From The Lost City
© Surazeus
2019 03 01

No better way can ever be contrived
to understand how ancient tribes survived
hostile wars between Asuras and Devas
when Assyria and India fought fierce wars
than reading legends of Angels and Devils
battling to control Ziggurat of Ishtar.

When Godin, All-Father who ruled Asgard,
allied with Yahweh, Jupiter, and Zeus,
lead fierce Aesir down from vast Scythian plains
to battle Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu
over who rules fertile Sumerian fields,
they fought to control Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Ruling the world from Ziggurat in Ur,
Godin crowns his son Issa as Osiris,
wise heir to rule as judge on throne of power,
so Lucifer, who expected to rule,
rebels and leads his loyal followers
north over Caucasus Mountains to Scythia.

Renaming himself Skyolder, Lord of Light,
Lucifer leads Assyrians in wagon trains
to colonize fertile lands on long rivers
they name Earth for Gearthe, Mother of God,
settling Gerthmania, Witalia, Galatia,
Gothinia, Celtia, Britannia, and Scotia.

We populate those lands ten thousand years
now named Europe for beautiful-faced queen
who rides white bull in parade of lost souls,
thriving in Germany, Italy, Gaul,
Sweden, Denmark, Ireland, England, and Scotland,
children from the lost city of Asgard.

Now sailing wood ships on sea of Atlantis,
children of Godin migrate to the west
and swarm across rich land of Onatah
we name America for Haim Eric,
Home Guard over strong castle of stone walls
rebuilt from ancient Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Since Godin and the Angels of Asura,
fought Deva and the Devils of Bharata,
ten thousand wars between opposing clans
have raged across fertile lands of the Earth,
but I will return as Prophet of Peace
to worship love on Ziggurat of Ishtar.

Now desolate in waste land of despair
the huge Ziggurat of Ishtar stands empty,
bleak temple to the fellowship of man
where Ishtar once sang Creation of Life,
so I sit alone under shining stars
and drink refreshing wine of honest wisdom.

Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith


Nameless Radiance Of The Wraith
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When pain has emptied my heart of all truth
so naked in bleak dark I walk alone,
I become nameless radiance of the wraith
that writhes in ecstasy of psychic being,
hollow voice twisting silence into song
that wrings melodies from cries of despair.

When illusions of happy family life
shatter love into fragments of contempt,
cracked by indifference of logical fact,
I escape pure light of the silent home
and stare at the road that winds into stars
to fall into black hole of nothingness.

Nowhere to go now from white empty room,
I look for signs that lead to paradise
that preachers claim shimmers above blue sky,
but wander nameless road far outside town
to stand shivering in rain on muddy field,
heat of the blind sun burning me to ash.

Thousands of starving people from cold gloom,
crawling from shattered television tubes,
zombie toward me to devour my sogged brain
as they whisper they will pray for my soul,
and reach frail hands to claw our throbbing hearts
that hang rotting from black limbs of dead trees.

I want to wake from nightmare of this vision,
but I am awake, alone in red rain
that soaks libraries of books so inked words
of ancient stories bleed into swift rivers
as putrid chemicals from factories
that spew toxic lust in Pool of Narcissus.

Shivering in featureless field outside town,
I look for my ancient friend, the gold moon,
which shatters into fragments of bright eyes
who stare from every drop of falling rain
to wash all memories of pleasure and pain
from my sponge-slick brain till my soul twists weird.

I occupy this empty space with empty heart,
ballooning flushed horror that throbs my head
with gushing flow of rivers through my veins
in swirling cycle of unspoken anguish
to flash my eyes clear with red sun of dawn
when sharp rays gleam on broad infinite glen.

Expanding outside confines of my skull
in billowing flush of intense desire,
I ache with sympathy for suffering souls
who wail on river shore where skeletons
wander together among dead black trees
to eat moist mushrooms of immortal truth.

This is no allegory for our times
of civil conflict between clashing truths
though we scream voiceless into silent void
strange analysis of current events
in psychic battle to control the world
through stories to praise who suffers the most.

Though corporate gangsters try to enslave us
with aching need to sustain soul-flashed body
with blood of angels, siphoned from cave lake,
we fight blind tyranny of institutes
through expression of individual will
to work together and share our earned wealth.

What fierce audacity of loving faith
expands to contain empty space of truth
when howling demons who animate us
spiral coiling from infinite black hole
to weave sunlight into body of flesh
which generates our conscious soul of lust.

Last apple in the world hangs from dead tree
that sprouts greed buds at kiss of morning light,
so I caress moist bark of twisted limbs,
then kiss gray stone that shimmers in swift stream,
because at last from abyss of despair
I crack from egg and become the White Whole.

Natural Expression Of Chemicals


Natural Expression Of Chemicals
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

When I sit outside the building at noon
to savor nature after eating lunch
I feel vibrations of life from the world
emanate through sweet glory of desire.

The moist soil of the Earth which supports me,
the cool air I breathe, the water from rain
splashing my eye, and the sun glowing warm,
they all sustain existence of my soul.

Though soil and air and water and sunlight
nurture my evolution into being
they are indifferent to my living weal,
nor care whether or not I reproduce.

I enforce success of creative will
by investigating nature of things
then organizing elements of nature
to maximize efficiency of life.

I enhance strict process of my success
by programming daily ritual of action
which generates more life-sustaining food
through expression of pleasure to consume.

Though the world of elements loves not me,
swirling my whole body into existence
through natural expression of chemicals,
I love this world that generated me.

If They Harm None


If They Harm None
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

How many times will white men and police
kill innocent people with darker skin,
or women who will not submit to lust,
before we demand justice of the law
punish them with equal severity
for everyone else who breaks social rules?

How can I appreciate beauty of art
and enjoy intense emotions of music
while innocent people are getting killed
because white men cannot control their anger
at feeling impotent in tides of life,
like everybody else who learns to cope?

We all appreciate intense desire
to program rituals for living life well
that maximizes return of investment
so we profit from creative endeavors,
but none of us go on killing rampage
to enforce our will when life is not perfect.

Men annoyed that life does not match their hopes
should exercise self-control within bounds
of social law to respect human lives,
and recognize everyone has the right
to pursue happiness of their desires
by doing what they want, if they harm none.

Sculpture Of The Horse


Sculpture Of The Horse
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

White marble smooth as slick ocean iceberg
carved in elegant curves of leaping flow
expresses anguish of hungry desire
in taut-muscled form of the wind-swift horse
that races in frozen motion of hope
far beyond silence of museum hall.

Epona touches sculpture of the horse,
sliding slender fingers along its curves
to taste taut tension of its seething force
contained in solid mineral shape of stone,
and savors beauty of its leaping flight
that shimmers white in vast museum hall.

Hidden in leaf veil of the apple tree,
Epona watches the white horse run swift
along the sparkling river in slant rays
of sunlight that illuminate taut force
of bundled energy uncoiling limbs
to leap over logs and skid in lush grass.

Rearing high, the white horse strikes its sharp hoofs
at hissing danger, whinnies quick alert,
and stamps the writhing snake to crush its skull,
then prances among flowers and butterflies,
arching its head with ears pricked and eyes wide,
while swishing long tail with arrogant pride.

Eager to win affection of the horse,
Epona stands still on lush river shore
and holds bright apple glowing in her hand,
catching her breath when the horse sidles near,
and keeps as still as the tree in the wind
as the horse sniffs the apple in her hand.

Standing every day on lush river shore,
Epona offers apple to swift horse,
till wind-swift leaper trots up to her side
with eager affection of trusting love,
so she caresses his mane and smooth skin,
then slides on his back and kisses his neck.

Holding tight with arms around his full chest,
Epona gasps for breath when he runs swift,
galloping fast as wind to high hill top,
then charging down the slope with eager flight,
and dodging around trees in playful game,
to stop at last by her tall apple tree.

Caressing the horse sculpture with bright eyes,
Epona smiles at memory of their play,
then stern museum guard glares and demands
that she not touch the art, so she withdraws
trembling hand and blushes in rays of light
that highlights its soul in museum hall.

Origami Shadows Of Desire


Origami Shadows Of Desire
© Surazeus
2019 02 28

Through origami shadows of desire
I unlock doors of possibility
on noble quest to build the perfect world
where we exchange equal energy flow
to sustain honest love that binds our hearts
and fuels our journey to share joys of life.

Yet no matter how many times I leap
alternate timelines of possible ways
to interact with you that will ensure
perfect happiness that harmonize flow
of psychic energy between our hearts
I unfold word-smeared paper-airplane script.

No matter how many times I jump worlds
of possible scenarios for our love
in restless quest across our multiverse
to stay on track that harmonizes ways
we interact in drama we design
I fall on paper wings of Icarus.

No matter how many times I slip past
moments where I say words that hurt your heart
to realign machinery of our love
by shifting gears of psychic attitude
so we connect in harmonious desire
I tumble on wind of anguished regret.

No matter how many times I adjust
dial of quirky attitude to program
conceptual expressions that charm your heart
with vision of my loyal loving trust
to balance our exchange of energy
I give and take hot charge of sparkling will.

On origami wings of trusting flight
I soar through mirror doors of dreaming eyes
to open looking glass of flashing hope
and navigate infinite maze of faith
through twisting corridors of signaled truth
to find you safe in haven of my heart.

As We Sleep Together


As We Sleep Together
© Surazeus
2019 02 27

Quiet sadness of twilight tingeing bones
blue with strangeness of waving guitar twangs
soothes transient ache of slow remembering
for each moment we are together close
as silence and death which binds are lone hearts
in spiral dance of empathy through whispers.

So close we are together on this globe,
yet the entire world bulges out between
our faces when we turn away to mute
clashing argument that entangles us
in convoluted contest about what
we could do to survive horror of death.

Exhausted by constant struggle against
threat of annihilation that hurls gloom
of silent despair, we sit under tree
of rotting apples full of wriggling worms
and listen to wind batter fragile leaves
when it explains why everything decays.

Heart beating fast as wind in clanking trees,
I sit still as stone throbbing river flow,
body still tense from memory of my actions
running through woods as I grip sharpened spear
to hunt deer forty winters of aggression,
now aching with weariness of my race.

Hunger drove me to kill swift animals
of lithe leaping beauty so I could roast
sweet flesh over crackling flames in twilight,
and feast to empower my body with heat
of pleasurable life, but now I look back
on winding path of my hunt with surprise.

I killed and ate so many animals,
which filled my body with aggressive force
to dominate landscape with my sharp will,
but now I wither and weaken from age,
instead of transforming into swift bird
so I can fly high among glowing clouds.

I cease strumming guitar to hear blue wind,
and float bodiless through immensity
of silent consciousness without my name,
for I disappear in dark nothingness
to become the last ray of light that glows
over distant mountain peak of lost joy.

I consumed wild spirits of animals
so they all wake inside my throbbing head,
aching to run swift along winding streams
and chase blustering wind to the sunless sea
where we become the dancing swirl of sand
whose laughter echoes into bleak moonlight.

I touch your emptiness with breath of hope
when I dip fragile hand, gashed by sharp rock,
in sparkling river so my singing blood
taints yellow sand with sorrow of my love
till I become shadow inside your eyes
when you return and touch me with soft words.

Kneeling together among wind-swept reeds,
we dip our hands in water of the world
and drink sweet sunlight to revive our hearts
with silent joy that we are still alive,
then I cuddle you in my warming arms,
to become moonlight as we sleep together.

How Can We Both Win


How Can We Both Win
© Surazeus
2019 02 25

When we rebel against authority
to assert equal rights through liberty,
we challenge right to rule of those who rule
and declare our bold right to rule ourselves.

We act on vision to assert our rights,
designing project to fulfill our needs,
but when our right to live contests your right
we clash in horrible destructive war.

Whoever wins endless contests for rights,
whether by brute strength or by clever wits,
the winners tell the story of the fight
to glorify the justice of their fate.

All gods are based on people who won wars
while devils are based on people who lost,
but all were people, neither good nor evil,
so how we can both win this present fight?

Quaint Right To Exist


Quaint Right To Exist
© Surazeus
2019 02 25

Strange darkness of the clear infinite truth
swallows all my intricate plans to win
social game of power and become the god
my tribe worships as representative
of that divine spirit which motivates
how we interpret quaint right to exist.

I hesitate to assert sacred right
to exist that emanates from my heart
because I sympathize with aching hope
for right to live that other people feel,
since through aggressive force of my desire
I may wound or kill some innocent soul.

Yet I will not allow aggressive force
of blind desire that conflicts with my hope
to destroy my spirit-conjuring body
so I will act with forceful right of proof
as bold insurance to protect myself
from harsh oppression of pugnacious greed.

To avoid oppression from someone else
who would subdue my will to their desire
I will assert my liberty to live
and destroy those who seek to destroy me
so I must rule in order to avoid
being ruled by those who care nothing for me.

What a strange paradox of right and wrong
that I must rule other people with wisdom
of compassion through equal justice for all
to prevent other people ruling me,
so I must play the ruler I dislike
to maintain harmony between all people.

Maid In The Shadows


Maid In The Shadows
© Surazeus
2019 02 24

The maid cleans all the sorrows from the house
and sweeps the dirt of angry words outside
to clean the hollow heart of broken dreams
and mops to erase steps of bitterness.

The maid sits by the window of her room
after helping ease the business of life
by playing supporting role on family stage,
and dreams about the river where she played.

The maid retreats into shadows of hope
and vanishes from sight of cameras
that cannot see her face in the sunlight
when she serves drink to the actors who laugh.

The maid cooks food for everyone to eat
and cleans the houses where everyone plays
by performing as pillars of society
to keep the empire from falling apart.

The maid sits under the broad apple tree,
eating ripe fruit and watching children play,
for she is the roots nourishing the world,
bleeding tears so fruit may bloom on the tree.

Suspicious Person Report


Suspicious Person Report
© Surazeus
2019 02 22

I want to report a suspicious person
I just saw lurking in my neighborhood,
walking up and down the street several times
as if he is scoping out our nice homes
with the vile intention of breaking in
after dark to steal money or rape girls.

Our neighborhood is good and middle class,
full of nice houses with at least three bedrooms,
owned by fathers who work at local banks
or work as managers at factories,
and earn enough to buy a fishing boat
and take their family to Florida beaches.

The children of our neighborhood are clean,
always wearing nice clothes they bought brand new,
and they ride bikes together to the park,
and always go to school where they learn well,
and they look out for each other each day,
and treat parents of friends with respect.

No, the suspicious person is not black,
for his skin is pale like he hides all day
in the basement where he lives with his parents
and plays war video games or watches porn,
so he is middle-aged, white, with brown hair,
and I said his skin is white and not black.

No, he is not wearing a large black hoodie,
rather he is wearing a red baseball cap
that says, Make America Great Again,
and he is wearing jeans and a ski jacket
as if he likes to snowboard in the mountains,
and works as a mechanic at a garage.

No, he does not look like a terrorist,
nor a Muslim come from the Middle East,
rather he looks more like a Midwest farmer,
and someone who attends church every week,
a Christian who prays and studies the Bible,
and quotes how wives should obey their husbands.

No, he does not look like a Mexican,
nor a refugee from South America
who took his family north thousands of miles
to escape gangsters making him sell drugs,
because fewer refugees cross the border,
and most of them are looking for good work.

Hundreds of people in the last ten years
who have killed thousands of people with guns
in violent shooting rampages from hate
are all white men who vote republican,
motivated by religion or politics,
angry young white men who feel insecure.

Because angry nationalist men, who believe
white Christians are better than everyone,
are killing innocent people with guns,
the white man stalking our good neighborhood
frightens me more than black neighbors and friends
who are just going to school or to work.

The people in my pleasant neighborhood
come from many countries around the world,
so we live together in harmony,
but that white man who thinks America
belongs to him alone is the terrorist,
so I report him as the suspicious person.

Moon Eye Of Juana Ines


Moon Eye Of Juana Ines
© Surazeus
2019 02 24

Silver sky reflected in the glass door
of the sprawling grocery store reveals why
the whole universe in my eye designs
writhing flame of signs that express my soul
through naked wonder of the pure White Light
the glows in every neuron if our brains.

Laughing people who play in mindless rains,
far off signless lanes where wild rivers sing,
find broken wing fluttering in the rose bush,
so they pull and push taut strings of my heart
to free my tattered chart from mouth of death
if I take deep breath and kiss them all now.

What faith I can learn from the river flow
about how seeds grow from soil of despair
since life is never fair for good or bad
who are happy or sad when pure sea waves
keep our voices in caves of hollow light
since eccentric flight of birds reveals why.

Tangled in moon eye of Juana Ines
as grape vines and raven wings, love proclaims
ethereal ring of names that binds our hearts
to unknown counterparts in distant lands
designed by crafty hands to reflect mask
though our souls bask in warmth of our world core.

I Still Care Blindly Forever


I Still Care Blindly Forever
© Surazeus
2019 02 23

The shadow in the door is not my heart
wingless on the floor of our memories,
though every story written on the chart
hides secret location of our lost keys,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.

Whatever I told the deaf star last night
about our journey on the signless road,
you know our togetherness must be right
sanctified by meaningless bells that fade,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.

Reversals of faces we wear reflect
binding expressions in mirroring thoughts
to backward track process of true respect,
reborn as world-exploring cosmonauts,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.

Together in moonlight on ocean beach
we harmonize visions of world we dream
though perfect Heaven is far beyond reach
so we make love by slow apple-tree stream,
because no matter how hard I try not to,
I still care blindly forever about you.