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Surazeus Simon Seamount
1,948 followers -
Epic Poet and Cartographer
Epic Poet and Cartographer

1,948 followers
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Hermead of Surazeus
Epic about Philosophers and Scientists
http://tinyurl.com/HermeadEditions
Hermead Day 16 July

The Hermead of Surazeus
presents the lives and ideas
of 26 ancient philosophers
in the development of science
over 600 years of western civilization
in 126,000 lines of blank verse.

I Wisdom Of Athena - 1,410
II Lyre Of Hermes - 1,900
III Fire of Prometheus - 4,110
IV Alphabet Of Kadmos - 3,974
V Healing Of Asklepios - 1,270
VI Chaos Of Zethos Hesiodos - 2,400
VII Water Of Thales - 4,114
VIII Map Of Anaximandros - 3,392
IX Measurement Of Pythagoras - 8,552
X Change Of Herakleitos - 4,214
XI Forms Of Parmenides - 1,812
XII Mind Of Anaxagoras - 2,832
XIII Roots Of Empedokles - 2,784
XIV Atoms Of Leukippos - 3,778
XV Orbit Of Philolaos - 3,664
XVI Void Of Demokritos - 4,352
XVII Ideas Of Aristokles Platon - 8,310
XVIII Causes Of Aristoteles - 6,912
XIX Library Of Demetrios Phalereus - 1,548
XX Garden Of Epikouros - 8,008
XXI Spheres Of Arkhimedes - 4,280
XXII Organ Of Ktesibios - 1,510
XXIII Parallels Of Eratosthenes - 5,434
XXIV Globe Of Krates - 3,906
XXV Astrolabe Of Hipparkhos - 3,614
XXVI Hedonism Of Philodemos - 13,154
XXVII Swerve of Lucretius - 14,770
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From Her Broken Heart
© Surazeus
2018 05 22

The endless iterations of our dreams
that dramatize reincarnations of our souls
through every moment when two lovers meet
reveal how sunlight transforms into people
in singing bubbles of clear consciousness
that bulge from primordial ooze of lust.

The young girl kicks her legs on the swing
and ignores the young boy who holds an apple
while three horses gallop along the river
which accumulates from wild falling rain.

The old woman in the long black-lace dress
touches the window with her trembling hand
alone in the mansion with forty rooms
and remembers the names of all nine boys
who loved her in the summer of the world
though none ever asked her to marry him.

The young girl on the branch of the oak tree
gazes at clouds that flash over the lake
and ponders why the words tree, truth, and trust
all spring from the word three, three fingers up.

The old woman gazes at her frail hand,
thin as paper on which she once wrote letters
to people who died centuries ago,
and marvels at how rays of sunlight gleam
through the shimmering web of her old soul
which casts no shadow on the rippling lake.

The young girl turns pages of the large book,
reading long poem Spirit of Solitude
about Alastor exploring the world
to find the girl who could transform his soul.

The old woman cradles in her thin arms
the fragile porcelain doll with blue eyes
and long gold curls made from real human hair,
then sings old English ballad Lovely Joan,
she leaped on his horse and galloped away,
but stops and stares out the window all day.

The young girl walking by the field of wheat
watches the boy ride on the milk-white steed
and hopes he offers her his ring of gold
but blushes like red rose when he rides by.

The old woman turns on the television
and feels her body vanish in sunlight
that slants through the broken window of hope
when she becomes the noble character
of the simple girl who is crowned the queen
and must navigate labyrinth of desire.

The young girl walks the empty country road
then steps on the bank tangled with thick weeds
when the horseless carriage with large wood wheels
speeds by fast as the wind into the future.

The old woman remembers his blue eyes
and gold curls like the statue of Apollo
who stands beside her, frozen in white marble
no matter how many times she would kiss
lips that never speak her name she forgot
so she reaches out to hold his cold hand.

The young girl takes the glasses off his face
and tosses his book of poems in the flowers
then pushes him down and sits on his lap
and kisses his mouth as he grips her thighs.

The old woman lays white rose on the grave
where they buried the dead baby she bore,
breathing fresh wind that blows over the lake,
and thinks about the multitudes of mothers
who lost children, and feels grief amplified
in glare of indifferent sun on her face.

The young girl watches the young boy walk away
to join the army and fight for his country
where bombs blow his body to smithereens
so the fruit tree grows from her broken heart.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #Romance #TrueLove #Family #Relationship
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Library No One Visits
© Surazeus
2018 05 22

I draw a map of the world on the window
of the last stone cathedral in the world.

The waves of the ocean swirl around rocks
smoothed round by the stories of our dead souls.

Three times the little girl in a white dress
stands under the apple tree in the park.

Where can we go when the road is erased
and all the signs are drowned in the sad sea.

Tearing pages from forgotten phone books,
the little boy with no eyes laughs the rain.

I walked across Europe ten thousand years,
along every river that still flows free.

I see an old man painting a self portrait,
but when I get close the colors are words.

The hyacinth girl cries in the blue rain,
clutching roots of flowers in her numb hands.

Precise mechanisms of televisions
reveal masks we pretend we do not wear.

She comes over the hill with the ripe sun
and holds me in her arms wide as the sea.

Because the map of Europe I redrew
shrinks around the bodies of naked lovers.

Although you lick the stamp with my blank face
a white horse lies down beside you and cries.

In the city where no one has a name
the girl invites me to ride in her carriage.

The twelve-year-old girl with long curly hair
walks me through the museum of blank masks.

All of this will never end anywhere
since the unseen hand opens the last book.

We are loved though no one can love us back
now that we have everything we can give.

The young man who steals paintings with his eyes
follows footsteps of Baudelaire through Paris.

He drops torn fragments of poems on the street
like Hansel dropping bread crumbs in the woods.

Ten thousand robots follow trail of words
through the maze where the skulls of prophets sing.

You climb these lines of verse down the night
to make shadows dance on cave wall of Plato.

You stand on the high Brooklyn Bridge with Hart
and sing with vibration of divine wind.

You dive in River of Forgetfulness
and swim backward from the Land of the Dead.

You follow Alastor to the Black Sea
where blustering storm overturns your boat.

You carry dead Adonais in your arms
and write his true name on the flowing water.

We watch every movie every composed
on the television no one can see.

The spotted owl on the oak branch contrives
to realign stars that favor true love.

The blind man wearing broad-rim leather hat
sings backward every novel ever written.

The prophet no one can hear explains why
the sky is silk as wings of butterflies.

I copy all my memories on disk
and store it in library no one visits.

She writes my name on the last fallen leaf
then kisses me when it crumbles to dust.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #Surrealism #FrenchPoetry #JohnAshbery #Painting #Dada
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Brings The Distant Light
© Surazeus
2018 05 22

Across the windy wilderness I stride
to bear the glowing Light of Liberty
into the waste land of despair and greed
where poor people struggle in poverty.

The Angel of the Lord comes down to me
from glass halls of heaven on wings of fire
to fill me with love for humanity
on mission to save mankind from desire.

Far westward in the wilderness I go,
leaving behind decadent Babylon,
to preach the gospel in desert or snow
like Pheidippides ran from Marathon.

I stand on hilltop in the blowing wind
to bear the Word of God to heathen tribes
with Light of Truth to give sight to the blind
and teach them letters so they can be scribes.

I struggle through the waste land of despair,
feet sinking in the swamp of mocking lies,
then when I lose the Bible turn to prayer,
calling out for help to the empty skies.

I wander alone in mute wilderness,
searching in vain for the fountain of life,
then curse my pride with laughing bitterness
because I bear with human strength hard strife.

My preacher costume in torn tatters falls
so I stand naked on the sun-hot hill,
clutching at dust where no bright angel calls,
then humbly kneel to drink from trickling rill.

While slouching by the river in dark gloom
I ponder why I feel the call to preach
as if I could save humans from our doom
since all I can do well is love and teach.

I shiver in long dark night of the soul
and tumble in the emptiness of truth
till I become one mind with the White Whole
and transform into the truth-seeking sleuth.

When dawn sun gleams bright over silent hills
and shines warm on me with indifferent light
I employ my meager survival skills
to walk forward on way I hope is right.

When the gentle tribe finds me wandering lost
they take me to their home and give me food
then I look back on wilderness I crossed
and listen to their songs that lift my mood.

I listen to them chanting under stars
and in the flash of vision from their eyes
I see the journey their ancestors took,
searching for lush vale under timeless skies.

They welcome me into their roving clan
and teach me words they speak with laughing play,
so I join their exploring caravan
to learn the landscape of their ancient way.

While catching large fish by the sparkling stream,
I tell them sacred story of my heart
how my father died to save man with dream,
then show them the whole world on my road chart.

Young woman named Hopping Bird asks me why
I walked so far away from my own home
so I explain, I bring the distant light
of truth, then sigh because now I but roam.

While I sit by warm fire in gold moonlight
Hopping Bird paints my face with one white stripe
then gives me new name, Brings the Distant Light,
so I kiss and make love with my new bride.

Seven children spring from our mutual love
who follow me as I explore the land,
so I show them the Great Spirit above
who holds the whole world in his loving hand.

I came here long ago to preach the truth
about the Son of God who saved mankind,
but your ma taught me love in my lost youth
so now she is the Angel of my mind.

Treat other people with loving respect
as you want them to treat you in return
so every act from love will be correct
and always open your wise heart to learn.

Together with my loving family
we walk forth across the bountiful lands,
living divine love in humility
while tending lush gardens with crafty hands.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #MissionFromGod #WasteLand #TrueLove #Family
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God Evolving Awake
© Surazeus
2018 05 21

I have looked for God for ten million years,
exploring beyond garden of my childhood
to experience all the lands of the world,
but all I can find are mountains and seas
teeming with conscious creatures who devour
each other in hungry war for control.

I gaze at the sun blazing in the sky
and see giant spider mother who spins
rays of light in beams of bright molecules
to weave organic forms on spinning sphere,
breathing life into my body and brain,
then devouring me in blank sleep of light.

I eat the mushroom sprouting from the sun
and dream entire process of evolution
our bodies metamorphed from single cell
through each form our fetus investigates,
fish to lizard to mouse to ape to man,
as we evolve into Idea of God.

Every event in their struggle to live
my ancestors experienced in their brains,
from their conception and growth to adulthood
through conception of the next child in line,
is wired into my brain as archetypes
based on specific memories they dreamed.

So each time I am faced with some hard problem
my brain analyzes dramatic scenarios
with various processes of cause and effect
based on experiences of countless ancestors
till my brain programs strict logical steps
I can perform to gain result I want.

While dreaming every step in evolution,
how we develop new technology
by manipulating material with our hands,
I gaze into the blazing light of death
and see my face in the abyss of time
composed from faces of all my ancestors.

While searching for God I find my own soul
glowing from billions of atomic sparks
my mother generated into my body
so I explore the landscape of this world,
measuring its beauty with words I sing
to augment my consciousness of the light.

I uninstall old program in my brain
to erase the world view that I received
from authorities who know what is true,
then design new world-view ontology
which incorporates elements of truth
from every philosophy in the world.

The universe is a structure of atoms
so force of our actions will cause effects
of integration through flow of construction
or disintegration from blow of destruction
in constant reformation of new structures
so we are born and live and die forever.

I stand beside the forest pond at dawn
and watch sunlight flicker bright on the water
where I see reflection of my own face
and laugh with joy when I perceive the light
of divine consciousness within my eye
because we are God evolving awake.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #SpiritualAwakening #Enlightenment #Samsara
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What Story Will You Perform
© Surazeus
2018 05 21

While I am walking down the busy street,
heading in to work to earn a paycheck,
the oldest woman in the world grabs me
and gazes in my soul with eyes of fire,
then asks me with voice of thunder in clouds,
"What story will you perform through your life?"

I walk the ancient gallery of masks
through endless maze of personalities
designed and maintained by the Faceless God
who emerges from shadows of my fear
and takes for Her collection my real face
so I must perform tale I write myself.

I pause on the street amid swirl of people
and gaze at the sky blazing with red fire
as weird amazement shivers through my flesh
that I am here alive at this strange now
in all the history of the universe,
conscious that I could die ten thousand ways.

Since I could die any moment, I stop
and turn aside from my predestined path
to sit in the grass of the city park
and sing visions that flash before my eyes
that detail the struggle of human souls
to escape death by incarnating children.

I gaze at every woman walking by,
astonished at the beauty of their souls,
then laugh with wry amusement at my heart
that aches to reproduce eternal soul
which sparkles in springing coils of my genes
from tense biological urge of desire.

I must allow the woman to choose me
who wants to bear children sparked by my soul
so I conjure money with crafting hands
to prove potency of my social power
building her safe home and providing food
so we can raise successful children well.

I see grand vision of human achievement
flashing on the screen of the boundless sky
so I weave sentences in flashing verse
that conjures visions in your reading eyes
so you see vision of the universe
swirling atoms into our conscious souls.

While writing poems under vast Tree of Wisdom,
I feel weird presence of eternal soul
who beams concentrated light through my brain
so I transform into immortal God
till my frail body crumbles back to dust
and sparkling atoms disperse into air.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #Marriage #Society #Art #Business #Employment #Duty
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New Capital Socialist Empire
© Surazeus
2018 05 21

Sitting on the bench in front of the building
where he attends Christian academy,
Richard gazes across the broad front lawn
past the highway where cars glide some place else
and listens to wind in the forest pines
whisper proverbs for secret of success.

The pages of the Bible on his lap
rustle unread in the afternoon breeze
while he waits for his parents to arrive,
then imagines himself as the church pastor
preaching before attentive congregation
but his words swirl away like leaves in wind.

"What can I present about the Ways of God
that no other preacher has ever said
since we approach almost two thousand years
since Jesus walked the Earth as mortal man,
so he may not ever come back again
and maybe we misunderstood his message."

Immense heartache of meaningless despair
empties his mind like gushing waterfall,
so he floats dizzy in the hollow sky
deep inside the vast abyss of his heart,
then Richard breathes air to flash his eyes,
still sitting on the bench outside his school.

"To reckon process of cause and effect
I arrange concepts in rational row
which calculates steps of the changing form
and thus reason the progress of each action
that Jesus was mortal man who sired sons
who have reigned as kings for two thousand years."

"If Jesus was not God who made the world
and will not come to resurrect our souls
then I will become nothing when I die
and I would waste my life preaching the gospel,
nothing more than lies of preachers and parents,
so what would I do with my life instead?"

"I have spend my whole life reading in books
and watching on movies and television
stories about people from every era
struggling to live in the face of death,
so I will study art of narrative
that presents characters in human drama."

"Since Jesus was son of the tribal king,
whom he called God to present social power,
he claimed authority to rule as king
when he said, I and the Father are One,
then went on first campaign to claim the crown
and take it from the puppet of the Romans."

"If I see Jesus as one mortal man
I can better explain his role in history,
preaching that a good king rules hearts of men
instead of enslaving men to work land,
then married Mary Magdalene to sire
dynasty that has ruled two thousand years."

"Jesus was incarnation of his father,
descended from David, King of Israel,
as his son was incarnation of his soul,
in dynastic doctrine of God the Father,
then God the Son, and God the Holy Sperm,
thus claiming divine right to rule the world."

"The sons of Jesus for two thousand years,
Pharamundus, Meroveus, Constantinus,
Arthurus, Karolus Magnus, Guilhelmus,
have ruled the kingdoms and empires of Europe
by wielding the magic Scepter of Zambor
and wearing the gold Triple Crown of Christ."

"The divine spirit of the noble king,
first generated by David and Jesus,
returns again in bodies of their sons
reborn from the womb of the Holy Grail
to reign over each new kingdom and empire
based on Heaven, the first commune of Jesus."

"In this age of technological advance
we see God is metaphor for the Good King,
so I will preach new gospel of the Leader,
how every mortal man plays role of Christ
to manage business of his family company
in our new capital socialist empire."

Watching sun blaze gold beams through swirling clouds,
which resembles paintings of Jesus Christus
descending with angels to restore the Earth,
Richard feels divine Voice of Prophecy
swell in his heart from vision of his mind,
then stands to follow Golden Path of Truth.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #Jesus #SecondComing #VoiceOfProphecy #NewWorldOrder
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Child Of Ocean Waves
© Surazeus
2018 05 20

From lightning flashing in the naked sky
and flowers blooming from my bleeding eye
I see the demon of the blazing sun
reflected in the face of every one
who walks the city streets each day and night
and tries to charge me for breathing the light.

I wear the gold mask of Shelley and Keats
then wander singing through signless town streets
to steal the vibrant souls from faithful fools
who always obey God and follow rules
that thieves invent to keep them in control
as long as each one plays their assigned role.

They think I am the demon of the sky
but I am human with my dreaming eye
that weaves sunlight in model of the sphere
which nourishes our happiness and fear
till death annihilates our hungry souls
and swallows us into bottomless holes.

On sparkling beach I stand in white moonlight
and sing heart-aching tunes to soothe my fright
then in the voice of howling ocean waves
I hear laughter of girls from secret caves
who reincarnate my soul in watching child
doomed to wander beautiful world exiled.

The child of ocean waves bursts from my head
and dances on my skull when I am dead
so all the tales of people never told
might fit the standard archetypal mold
which shapes the characters we choose to play
when she writes script that each person might say.

She stands on Pyramid of Watching Eye
and answers questions when people ask why
while holding flame of freedom that shall light
true way to liberty of second sight
when lost souls gather in her feasting hall
and write names of the dead on bleeding wall.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #Muse #Liberty #Lucifer #SeaDemon #Goddess
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Lamentation Of Ophelia
© Surazeus
2018 05 20

How bright my eyes once glowed with love for life,
admiring beauty of the natural world,
how sun gleams bright to illuminate spirit
of joy that emanates from every creature
who populates this spinning ball of dirt,
expressed in flowers sprouting from cool rain.

Now anguish of despair tears at my heart
and sucks all light of beauty from this world
so sullen misery of horror at death
bleaches nature gray and stains my soul black,
lightless disgust swallowing light in gloom,
expressed in weeds cracking gray cement walks.

My mother, driving home from work one night,
was smashed against the brick wall of a building
by a drunk man who was racing too fast,
and she died screaming in horrible pain
as roaring flames devoured her tender soul,
and someone caught it all on video.

This wrenching agony of visceral pain
sears my body and brain with flames of rage
to hurt this man who killed my loving mother,
because his selfish disregard for rules
of decent behavior destroyed her life,
and how I wish to dissolve into nothing.

I want to melt away into this puddle,
that shimmers on the sidewalk after rain
indifferent to this agony I suffer,
so all my pain would dissolve to relief
of numb unconcern to embolize torture
that jolts my mind with horror at her death.

I once enjoyed the process of my life,
savoring sweetness of my daily routine,
but now sharp lethargy of aching horror
paralyzes my heart with rancid torpor
that renders me unable to extract
sufficient energy to play my role.

How stale and foolish now appear my actions
that I performed with cheerful stimulus
of avid eagerness for appetite
inspired by passion welling from my heart,
so now I want to hide inside my room
and never face again the hungry world.

This vast world devours our bodies and souls
in constant transformation of our forms
when atoms that constitute thinking minds
disintegrate at crushing blow of death
which strikes with sudden violence of force
to smash the fragile shell of hope we prop.

How strange to realize that our world view,
our minds generate from perceived concepts,
is nothing more than illusion of light
our brains create in model of the world
like map of intent we follow through action
which keeps us moving through this hostile world.

Now that the world view, I always believed
reflected accurately this changing world,
shatters at the blow of her violent death
I walk naked in the dark of this globe
through ever-shifting maze of truth and lies
so I must seek the truth of light or die.

Yet in the sucking darkness of despair
that pierces throbbing anguish of my heart
with ever pulsing beat of passionate lust
I find strange light, not outside in the world,
but deep inside the burning of my soul
for all this pain of suffering sparks weird glow.

Long staring in the abyss of my heart
I find new fountain of light bubbling clear
to fill the empty hollow of my soul
with serene contemplation of my death
for though I will die like my mother died
yet light of pain still flashes through my mind.

Though frail body of my mother was destroyed
in horrible accident of careless greed
yet she created my body and mind
from the loving passion of her bright hope,
so she lives still in body of my soul,
dreaming in the awareness of my heart.

To give her gentle soul eternal life
and reincarnate her again in flesh
I will generate new child from my womb
to concentrate the passion of her heart
in living person who will see this world
with the same eyes that she bequeathed to me.

Now that desire to rejuvenate soul
of my mother in grandchild of her genes
motivates my heart to seek out new life,
my eyes glow bright again with love for life,
and I perceive in the light of the sun
eternal love that illuminates joy.

This spirit of love in the human heart
though beaten by the brutal force of death
will sprout again and blossom from grim doom
for light will always glow from hostile friction
and flash rejuvenating light of love
to light our eyes with willful love for life.

#Poem #Poetry #ArtOfPoetry #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #DailyPoem #Death #Accident #Suffering #Sorrow #Loss #Love
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