2016 05 26
From where I stand, nowhere on spinning globe
of polished faces, I gaze down long road
and see infinite possible worlds bloom
outward through spiraling fan of wild wings
that weave vast galaxies of aching hope
till I step, then half of them disappear.
I built strong wall of stones in circling pale
to enclose haven of secure desire
within paradise of surrounding love
to protect my wife and children from harm,
but even most solid stone will erode
from torrents of tears that degrade resolve.
When my paradise of surrounding walls
that once protected us from slaving chains
transformed into prison that kept me trapped,
I climbed Tree of Life and slipped over wall
after dropping ripe apples in my bag
and walked signless road beyond wall of death.
When I lose everything I made with love
I walk away down empty road of hope
to some far distant town where I replay
role I invented before I was born
through actions that cause flowers to explode
from splattering rain into statues of souls.
To everyone I meet on winding road
I explain why I escaped without books
from my haven of dancing skeletons
where I wove masks of dead souls from their skin
in pages of ancient scroll that reveals
secret name every person wants concealed.
Each universe of possible events,
that unfolds before perception through flash
of laughing lightning consolidates truth,
leads me through labyrinth of open doors
that reflect face which combines every face
in one perfect face till we all drink wine.
I could combine these words ten thousand ways
to weave webs of visions inside our minds,
step on fragile glass bridge, compiled from dreams
we never remember, and leap on wings
of fraudulent promises to cross sea
of bottomless trust, then write this new song.
That is why I turn my back before dawn
and help ancient woman with silver eyes
to board lake boat, then rest on diamond skull
after I steer way through blood-soggy swamp,
and crown myself king of this stone-ring hill
before anyone else steals my true word.
Each action I perform before I die
molds small aspect of giant diamond world
to imitate eye of my brain that weaves
beams of light into virtual world of forms
where all chairs become one standardized chair
which walks behind me on lone dusty road.
If I stop and lie down to rest all day
under Tree of Knowledge near diamond mine,
sorrow will compact memories in words
describing how I propelled myself forth
from cement coffin to assume strong shape
of singing angel mute on temple roof.
#Song #Folk #Blues #Rock #Country #Heaven #SafePlace #MistyIsle #Avalon #Goddess #GardenOfEden #Paradise #AfterLife
14 April 2007
When Persephone shaves her golden locks bald
and Apollon is crippled blind by road-side bomb
who will rise on angel wings from slough of despond
beaming visions from crystal-eyed cameras of truth
to record old castles of power crumbling in winds
that howl from gaping mouth of Money Moloch
hungry for blood and oil from your weeping eyes.
When lost children watch television cartoon
and Mars comes home brain-damaged from war
who will rise on angel wings from broken empire
guiding lawyers and doctors on empty highways
who clutch silent cell phones and blank tablets
unable to gaze in bright eyes of their colleagues
when they find rainbow over burned-out church.
When Venus is kidnapped and sold as a whore
and Athena works nine to five in a greasy cafe
who will rise on angel wings from television eye
reporting truth about corrupt men in White House
who cling terrified to golden god mask of lies
that hide their vampire teeth from Common Man
who watches football drinking beer at end of time.
When Zeus orchestrates another holy crusade
and anorexic Artemis struts on fashion runway
who will rise on angel wings from glossy magazines
organizing army of rich rappers and sports stars
to join crusade stealing oil of dinosaur machines
and establish democracy on bones of mad prophets
so all might slave in factories of capitalist kings.
When Saturn falls asleep in cool senate chamber
and Neptune sends planes to bomb Persian mosques
who will rise on angel wings from desert cavern
to investigate criminals of Arbusto family gang
though Junior tried to establish iron dictatorship
ruling glorious Fourth Reich for a thousand years
after he hurled planes of greed into Towers of Babel.
When Melusine rides on roaring Lion of Judah
and daughter of Jupiter wields sharp Excalibur
who will rise on angel wings from comfortable couch
following bold banner of White Dragon to defend
our sacred rights of honest speech and free will
and wrestle faceless minister of oppressive control
to break chains of ten million credit card slaves.
When Hera rides Pegasus over Sumerian ziggurats
and King David plays harp on ruins of Manhattan
who will rise on angel wings from plutonium mines
to hurl a thousand nuclear missiles of hot death
that will obliterate all life on our spinning globe
except for one apple tree sprouting in parking lot
of a glass shopping mall full of dancing skeletons.
When Narcissus wakes up from drugged-out haze
and Mercury shoots up another high school gang
who will rise on angel wings from corporate maze
to program a new religion of historical world views
so prophecies from Astarian Scriptures may inspire
wandering Children of Israel who left gasless cars
to build a New Washington in fertile Oregon hills.
When Virgin of Guadalupe offers her Holy Grail
and Richard Lion-Heart sings into a microphone
who will rise on angel wings from crowded jail
fomenting revolution of prisoners against blind law
to ski on waves drowning Los Angeles and New York
though Trebla calculator robot of statistical poems
prays for salvation from Blue Fairy of plastic eyes.
When Al Werewolf wears crown of Charlemagne
and Little Red Riding Hood is elected President
who will rise on angel wings from dark Notre Dame
bearing torch of liberty to illuminate Way of Truth
though tablet of stone bearing sacred Bill of Rights
was broken and cast down by Bible-thumping goons
until Robin Hood funds free health care for everyone.
When Ariadne leads me back from Caves of Hell
and Cinderella places plastic crown on my head
who will rise on angel wings from crumbled church
proclaiming new laws to govern chaos of desire
and channel hot lava to mold faster computer chips
so Buddha Christ patrolling on flying police saucer
may record drama of human life in metropolitan hive.
When Alice pushes me backward into Wonderland
and Orpheus gives me ring of his diseased bride
who will rise on angel wings from hospital bed
reborn from death in whirling galactic eye of light
to walk cement streets of America without Bible
and preach moral values but not accept donations
though worshippers carve stone statues of my face.
When Sargon stumbles off ziggurat of world power
and Krishna expands beyond body shell of flesh
who will rise on angel wings from cathedral skull
taming dragon of war to preside over marriage rite
that couples people of many nations into one tribe
so children born from Sacred Egg and Holy Spirit
populate Eden tending fruit trees by Lake of Dreams.
#BobDylan #Song #Folk #Blues #Rock #Country #Satire #Archetype #Jung #SocialCriticism
2016 05 22
Floating away from the long pine-wood hall,
where her father hosts their tribe at a feast,
Gyda gazes at swirl of sparkling waves
that splatter steep slopes of pine-shrouded mountains.
Watching long wood ships with high curving prows
rock back and forth on silver-pebble beach,
Gyda sighs and clutches her long gold hair,
as gray mist shrouds narrow fjord with despair.
I am nothing but sunlight leaping bright
on endless swirls of dark swallowing waves,
nothing but wind billowing among pines
that whistle in deep hollow of my head.
My grandmother Alfhild clutched both my arms
and whispered how she saw with her own eyes
shadow become dragon with hundred eyes
that soared on wings of fire from mountain cave.
My father and everyone in my clan
look through my face as if I am not real
and no one ever calls me by my name,
though I feel mute wind gusting at my face.
I am not real unless I speak words loud
and then I feel my chest vibrate with breath,
which causes my heart to beat like sea waves,
so I must sail away to Fairyland.
Stepping in small boat with bag of fresh bread,
Gyda sails past towering mountain peaks
and follows the bright sun wheel rolling west
across the bottomless abyss of hope.
Billions of stars gleam in river of milk
that streams across infinite sky of time
and spirals down into her gazing eyes
to glow as eyes of everyone she loves.
Floating forward at dawn on silver sea,
Gyda aims toward faint gleam of ringing bells,
and wonders if she floats forever lost
like the planet of Idhun among stars.
From swirling mist I saw emerge fair isle
of lush green hills where flocks of white lambs grazed,
and sailed winding river past vast estates
where fairies in white gowns chanted sweet hymns.
Arriving at huge city of great halls,
I stepped ashore this magic Fairyland
and walked into the vast hall of White Tower
where the Fairy Queen sat on a gold throne.
Wearing a gold crown with a moon-sized diamond,
Victoria gestured with a thin gold scepter
so the Wizard Alfred Tennyson stood
before the crowd and read long epic poem.
Young man wearing a suit, tie, and top hat
took my hands and twirled me around in dance,
then took me to tower where Gwinevere sang,
and kissed me till the stars became his eyes.
That is how I came here to Fairyland,
or England, as this misty isle is named,
from Gotland, in the misty fjords of Sweden,
many years ago and found a new life.
Gazing for a long while at seven children
and twenty-four grandchildren of her heart,
Gyda wipes a tear from her silver eyes,
and they all crowd around to kiss her cheeks.
Now that the Germans stopped bombing our town,
we can return upstairs from this dank cellar
and share a feast around the glowing hearth
where I will tell you more tales of my life.
#Poem #Poetry #Story #FolkTale #FairyLand #Immigrant #Viking #Adventure #JourneyOfLove
from Parallels of Eratosthenes
Hermead Volume 5
"No matter how bright I project my wish
my mind cannot change force of natural laws
since human frame is not shaped light to fly.
All things are bodies formed from solid atoms
that push each other in spiraling swarms
which spark animation of change and growth
through endless timed waves of cause and effect.
Though Epikouros says nothing exists
except solid objects composed of atoms,
I wonder if Aristoteles is right
to argue Prime Mover outside world shell
causes motion through spark of divine will?
I feel spark of will animate my person,
so is that spark from divine mind of Theos,
or nothing more than energy of fire
caused by hot force of atomic desire?
Am I emanation of Theos in flesh
or do I see nothing more than my face
reflected by mirror of boundless nothing?"
2016 05 16
Light flashes gold eyes of infinite truth
as sun rays bounce off wind-shimmering waves
rippled by wind of my spiritual breath
when I sit on stone and gaze at small lake
to dream memories my ancestors stored
in genetic coils that weave my bright soul.
I sense someone standing close by my side
in waking dream so I turn to express
secret name carved on white stone but flash
of sunlight on wind-rippled pond unveils
ghost of their featureless face when my brain
conjures their phantom to keep me alert.
One trillion people who live on this globe
over one hundred thousand years of lust
eat apples that sparkle with sun and rain
so their brains assemble from rays of light
model of this world and people they love
which appear in dim flashes of my dreams.
We walk together along river shores
that wind around hills tangled with grape vines
so long on path of five hundred life times
our brains develop sensitive radar
that conjures their presence as shining ghost
which sparkles whenever I drift in sleep.
Through trees I see shimmering ghost of light
so I walk forward to blaze trail of truth
while my loving heart beats wings of desire
and my eyes envision woman in gown
of white silk and crown studded with twelve gems
then call her true name in silence of hope.
I stand alone on shore of sunlit lake
and see image of woman I desire
dissolve to flickering beams on lake waves
that flash across surface of watching eye
in regular pattern of circling coils
that beam threads of atoms to bind my soul.
Ghost of light leads me through vast labyrinth
of roads that thread across flowering plains
and doors that open to rooms where I paint
faces of every ancestor who dreams
their memories flashing inside my brain
to reveal secrets of social calculus.
I dream endless waves of cause and effect
when people wear persona mask of names
and appear from door to speak without words
we invent in dictionary of dreams
to explain archetypes designed with shapes
that blossom from fruit trees on river shore.
I am your ghost of light, she whispers soft
while caressing my mind with hands of rain
till I spring from soil of lost memories
and metamorphose as father to son
from Helius to Hamlet and beyond flesh
so I evolve from fish to man to God.
I shall evolve into bright ghost of light
that sparkles from intricate web of wires
woven by atoms of clear conscious eyes
into neural network where virtual world
shimmers in weird universe of my brain
where we sit together and watch light dance.
#Poem #Poetry #Evolution #Perception #Psychology #TrueLight #Spiritualism #SpiritGuide
2016 05 13
You will never find the face I took off
and hid inside the book of lost folk tales
that no one ever reads in hall of lies
until I turn around three times and lock
oak door that leads beyond the last dead stream
because I escape from your waking dream.
I stuff too many sheets of paper tight
in suitcase of lost memories to fly
away from home you built on signless road
to catch fluttering words and count ocean waves
and yet we gather around bright camp fire
to give each other new names before death.
I step backward on road I paved and clap
in rhythm with heartbeat of last blind queen
who takes off her painted mask to reveal
she is mother of my mother in house
I painted red to hide it behind veil
of shining waterfall where we played chase.
Run laughing with me over hill of grass
to chase wind and play horses before dawn
obliterates real dream world we create
that disappears lost every time we close
door of faces which fall from weeping souls
who hide within cracked windows of starlight.
I can never find my way back home if
flapping sails on ship of silence skips waves
too fast in blustering wind that will erase
island where Fairies still live and drive cars
though I found it again on new glass globe
in library ten thousand miles away.
I paste old masks made from leaves and cobwebs
on door of faces whispering secret codes
I forgot to copy while I lay mute
and numb from searing pain at pointless death
of everyone I loved and reach thin hands
to clutch mutating clouds then sing their names.
I wish I could laugh at heart-twisting joke
of life and death that molds from spinning sparks
these sinuous bodies of atomic flesh
which generate this conscious dream of self
that animates my hot desire to kiss
your apple-red lips and become your soul.
I stand alone on island of the world
and everywhere I look I see the sea
of surging waves that slosh shore of smooth stones
which reflect gold sunlight of longing ache
to swim far bottomless abyss of love
where you are not misty ghost of my dreams.
Gusting wind blew my boat from star-gold shore
where you still stand in tattered dress of weeds
and smashed frail shell of my hope on sharp rocks
though now I wander singing on lush hill
of island paradise far from your breast
so we embrace each other with cold wind.
Though door of your house on lone silent shore
is locked against hunger of bleeding rain
I will emerge from shadow when glowing beams
of sunlight slip across the floor of faith
to prove I am no longer wavering wraith
of heart-aching love you fashioned from leaves.
We stare at each other for seven days
of flashing sun and moon surprised with joy
that weaves our fingers and hearts in firm web
of laughing songs to share words of our thoughts
because cold wind wraps our bodies in wings
of white ravens who leap from shining clouds.
White ravens bring new masks from flowing stars
carved on oak door to house of many rooms
where children look up at me with my eyes
so I lead them to ring of stones on hill
of secrets and teach them how to sing spells
that transform wind into faces of flesh.
#AmWriting #Poem #Poetry #FairIsle #Shetland #Scotland #Avalon #IsleOfMist #fsmpy #micropoetry
2016 05 25
We trudged together on the signless road
and though the wingless angel of time fell
we climbed aboard the iron horse and rode
doorless labyrinth to the farming dell.
How many of us, without perfect eyes,
fell alone in the lightless gloom of hope,
and lay unchanging under starless skies,
then sang prophecies from the fruit tree rope.
I give you mask I wore at the church dance
when angels and devils swore loyal faith,
and you play me on stage in laughing trance
to prove at last that I am now a wraith.
We are not ready for this new world war
so we play must chess on the clockless beach
till our Fairy Queen knocks on the cracked door
and sends me back home with new book to teach.
I write another bible you will need
to comprehend weird calculus of truth
so stand before congregation to read
secret of happiness retaining youth.
He smears mud with seeds on our holy book
and from its pages grows an apple tree
so when Rapunzel sings spells from her rook
we will vote for her to set us all free.
#Song #Folk #Blues #Rock #Country #QuestForTruth #Church #Prophecy #Conversion #Salvation #Bible #Scripture #Election #ImWithHer
2016 05 23
After sunset the dead crowd around us
and whisper secrets in our ringing ears
that we forget right after we are born.
While looking at photographs of old art
painted by men now bones in rotting boxes
I remember when I was in warm flesh
that person depicted in smears of paint
so I walk outside library at sunset
and stare at faces of dead gods reborn
to inhabit bodies of normal humans.
Sun gleams red through limbs while I stand alone
among cherry trees on huge spinning globe.
I refuse to play any ancient role
recorded in legends, epics, and novels,
painting my name across the land in blood.
I will not play king or prophet to gain
everlasting fame in stories men read
that define narrative which supports base
of ancient empires that my fathers built.
I wear masks of their faces when I write
stories about people searching for truth
about physical nature of this world
to preserve heroic deeds of their quest
for holy grail that reveals pulsing spark
of atomic energy which weaves web
of shimmering molecules to form our souls.
No matter how close you look at my face
contours of my soul become vast landscape
of this world while I vanish into mist
of words I express while singing new hymn
to honor woman who holds flower sun.
Sun gleams gold over snow-capped mountain peak
while I walk around lake where we evolved.
I am eternal soul reborn each life
who migrates body from father to son
and mother to daughter in vine of being
and I wear masks of every person born
whose names are written in books no one reads.
Sitting in ring of stones on island hill,
I pour wine in gold cup and drink sweet blood
of Mother Earth who fills my brain with sparks
that wake memories of every life we lived
so I know how we evolved from One Eye.
You recognize this feeling I express
when we gaze forever in mirror of words
and see our own face reflected in stars
where we all thought we saw God in ourselves.
#Poem #Poetry #Evolution #Ghosts #Psychology #AncestralMemories #God #Atoms #Reincarnation
2016 05 21
Wandering down the city street in gold mist
near the hour of midnight in your dream,
I hear the ghosts of singers and their bands
who sang love songs in night clubs long ago.
I pause under gold light on empty street
and hear Frank Sinatra on smoky stage
singing Maybe You Will Be There in voice
that cements every brick hall in New York.
I look through rain-streaked window in cafe,
peering closely to see faces and eyes
of lonely people who crowd smoke-filled hall
but they vanish in mute shadows of time.
Then somewhere far down narrow city street
sweet music spirals forward through gold mist,
rhythmic melody of heart-beating hope
that swirls around me like flowing silk cape.
From shadows of time I see them appear,
every singer who stood on bright-lit stage
in ten thousand years, sea to shining sea,
and sang dreams of our hearts in dancing words.
Leaping and twirling, they dance as they croon
songs of every social status and type
from every age, sacred and secular,
rich and poor, voices blending in one choir.
How their faces glow with sorrow and joy
as they hold hands and leap in swirling curves,
ten million ghosts of singers who once lived
and rang the air with voices of desire.
I feel myself awake in every hall
and church, around campfires on river shores,
and in living rooms of every small town,
listening to every song ever intoned.
Around me forever in swirls they dance,
serenading my mute soul with sweet choir
of mind-enchanting melodies that spell
visions of human character we feel.
So lost in harmony of all their chants
that ring in calculus of chiming words,
while twirling around in wild ecstasy,
I fail to see ghosts of singers dissolve.
Snapping awake at sudden flash of light
from distant car turning down a side street,
I look around and find myself alone
on city street at midnight of gold mist.
Yet still sweet echo of their humming choir
ripples across bottomless sea of time
that swells from my heart in fountain of love
and surges to propel me forth in life.
Every singer who lived and died on Earth,
since Amen stood by shining lake of stars
and taught us how to sing dreams of our eyes,
gazes out from my eyes and hopes to sing.
I stand on street corner in warm sunlight,
watching people walking by, so I breathe
spirit from ghosts of singers in my heart,
and chant never-ending song of mankind.
#Poem #Poetry #Song #Folk #Blues #Rock #Hymn #Jazz #Rap #HipHop #Singer #Choir #Music #Chorus
2016 05 17
I grip handlebars of my bike
and pump pedals with all my might.
I race up the hill toward the church
and spin wheels toward the morning light.
I ride around town with my friend,
hoping summer will never end.
I race with David down the road
on the college campus to ride.
We climb high the library wall
then drink cold root beers side by side.
I explore campus with my friend,
hoping summer will never end.
I sit at the library desk,
read the Hobbit all afternoon,
gone with the wizard on a quest,
and chant tales under the gold moon.
I walk Middle-Earth with my friend,
hoping summer will never end.
I ride my pony with a bow,
who gallops in the Texas heat.
I sing for Brenda by the door
who invites me in for a seat.
I sing in Texas for my friend,
hoping summer will never end.
Leaving heat of Texas behind,
we return home to Oregon.
We all ride in the pickup truck
up Colorado mountain road.
I wave good-bye to my old friend,
hoping summer will never end.
Inventing new language and world,
at sprawling university,
I draw Takoma Mountain peak,
and study spells of poetry.
I think about my long lost friend,
hoping summer will never end.
Playing guitar on city streets,
I hitchhike far across this land.
I chant the history of the world
and beam galaxies from my hand.
I forget about my old friend,
hoping summer will never end.
I search for David on FaceBook,
remembering Texas afternoons.
He gassed himself inside his truck
more than twenty-five years before.
I stare at picture of my friend,
hoping summer will never end.
#Poem #Poetry #Ballad #Blues #Country #CountryMusic #Song
the Vatican is to Catholics,
and the Kaaba is to Muslims,
so the Parthenon is to me,
holy temple of Goddess Athena.
- Cartographer PoetCartographer Poet, 1986 - present
Buy Hermead Epic of Philosophers http://tinyurl.com/HermeadEditions
Hermead Vol 1 - 15,000 lines on Hermes, Prometheus, Kadmos, Asklepios, and Hesiodos
Hermead Vol 2 - 16,000 lines on Thales, Anaximandros, and Pythagoras
Hermead Vol 3 - 19,000 lines on Demokritos, Platon, and Aristoteles
You can read 5,000 lines, part of the invocation, several speeches, and the complete tale of Platon, free at http://scribd.com/surazeus
My legal name is Simon Seamount though I was born Albert Bruce Craig II. My mother's maiden name Seamount is from the Swedish name Sjoberg.
I use the name Surazeus as my pen name.
I have been writing narrative poems for 25 years and have recently organized them into books and ebooks.
eBooks for Kindle on Amazon.
I posted about 200 songs I wrote and composed at http://youtube.com/surazeus but do not expect anything more than amateur fun folk singing.
I was born in Oregon in the Year of the Beatles, grew up in Texas in the 1970s, went to high school and college in Takoma (Washington state) in the 1980s. I earned a Bachelor of Arts in Liberal Arts in 1988 at Washington State University. After living in Seattle for a few years, I hitchhiked around the country playing grunge folk in the 1990s.
I got a job as web designer at State of Michigan 1999-2004, then earned a Master of Science in Geographic Information Science 2005-8 at Michigan State University.
I have since lived in North Carolina and now in Georgia working as a cartographer. Where will I go next on the journey of life? My goal is to become a Professor of Literature at Harvard, which was founded by my ancestor, Thomas Dudley.
In SecondLife I am Surazeus Thor
I married an Indonesian Muslim woman from Java Island and we have two cute daughters I named for goddesses of wisdom -- Saraswati and Athena.
I am generally a Gnostic Humanist. I do not know if there is a God or not, but the gods of history were humans who had a large influence on their times. What is most important is that I know myself and understand my perceptions, and recreate them in verse.
I am descended 13 generations from the Puritan Poet Anne Bradstreet. Her father, Thomas Dudley, signed the charter to found Harvard, and was descended from the Sutton-Dudley clan of Elizabethan England, who were descended from Joan of Acre, daughter of King Edward I and Eleanor of Castile.
Astarism honors First Mother Astara Ishtar Athena.
Ishtar sent Abraham and Sarah west and they founded Assurism, Olympism, Apollonism, Zoroastrianism, Mithraism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Sufism, and all their branches and offshoots.
Ishtar sent Brahma and Saraswati east and they founded Hinduism, Vaishnism, Shaivism, Buddhism, Krishnaism, Sikhism, and all their branches and offshoots.
Astarism includes all those religions as one.
- Washington State UniversityBA in Liberal Arts - History and Literature, 1986 - 1988
- Michigan State UniversityMS in Geographic Information Science, 2005 - 2008
- Auburn Adventist Academy1979 - 1983
The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry - Harold Bloom - Google Books
books.google.com - Harold Bloom's The Anxiety of Influence has cast its own long shadow of influence since it was first published in 1973. T
BookLikes • book: Scientia Hermetis, Science of Hermes Volume 1 - Suraze...
Human Ancestors Crafted Advanced Tools Earlier Than Thought
Early humans made sophisticated stone tools like hand axes 1.8 million years ago, a cache of artifacts from Kenya suggests.
"Simple, Sweet, & Romantic" by Bonnie Phan
Explored the newly finished pedestrian overpass that stretches across a Surrey portion of highway 1. Pretty sweet piece of architecture huh?