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Surazeus Simon Seamount
1,954 followers -
Epic Poet and Cartographer
Epic Poet and Cartographer

1,954 followers
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Beach Of My Aching Heart
© Surazeus
2017 02 21

The old bearded man with wild uncombed hair
slowly sips iced lemonade through cracked lips,
then sets tall glass on windowsill with care,
and watches children in the city park
chase shadows in the greenish twilight glow.

"When I was a boy in small Texas town
I ran around the streets for hours at dusk,
shooting at my friends with a silver pistol.
My step-father killed my mother one night,
when I was a wild sophomore in high school,
and the police dragged him kicking to prison,
so I lived alone in our house two years
before some balding man in a gray suit
knocked on the door one winter afternoon
and explained that they foreclosed the mortgage,
and I had to move away, so I drove
my truck to california where I lived
on the beach, beating drums and chanting poems
I improvised after smoking sweet weed.
One night I dropped a hit of lightning acid
and walked along the beach ten billion years,
dreaming the entire flow of evolution,
each generation of our mortal bodies
transforming like waves rolling on the sand,
and I forgot my name my mother gave me
because I became every single ancestor
who lived on this world for millions of years
since we were the first one-eyed Egg of God.
I realized every god that humans worshipped
was based on the life of some human being
who lead their people through the wilderness,
and taught them how to organize their lives
so they raise children and cultivate food.
Therefore every human who ever lived
is god, conscious in the dream of our brains,
so I am god, and you are god, and we
are all god, and we should love everyone.
For thirty years I lived free off the land,
ignoring the progress of civilization
while keeping to myself in quiet tent.
I cultivated a garden of herbs
in a small valley between two high hills
where people worked in factories all day,
but the owners closed their factories down
then opened factories in Mexico,
and the police burned my small garden of herbs.
Now I hang out at the library all day,
reading novels that I hated in school.
After all these years of my search for truth,
the only reason for life I could find
is to have children by making new life,
so our only real reason to exist
is to make more life in cycle of lust.
I failed in that basic purpose of life
because I never found the right soul mate,
the woman I should marry to have children.
I read a story today in the news
about a bunch of refugees from war
who drowned and washed up on the dusty shore
near a small town in Libya called Zawiya.
I saw a photograph that showed the face
of one young woman with curling black hair
whose angular face and elegant nose
struck my heart with anguish of aching love,
and now I know that she was my soul mate,
the one woman I was destined to marry.
I lost her before we could ever meet,
and I will never even know her name,
but her divine face is burned in my heart
forever, at least till the day I die.
My true love and soul mate I longed to find
lies dead on the beach of my aching heart.
I should have learned how to program computers
since that is how everyone works today,
then I could have married her in a mosque,
and I could have bought a house and two cars,
and we could have raised children with our love
who would be a physicist and an artist.
Instead I wander the streets of this town
without a job or home, and sit all day
in the library, reading fantasy,
so now the soul that beams from my coiled genes
will vanish forever like fire in rain."

The old bearded man with wild uncombed hair
finishes drinking his iced lemonade,
then picks up the novel Animal Farm
and sits by the window, staring at words
that swirl like June bugs on warm summer nights.

#Ballad #Poem #Pastoral #Romance #Love #LostLove #MeaningOfLife #BeachBum #Hippy #Refugee #Zawiya

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Missiles On Cuba Island
© Surazeus
2011 04 18

Midnight gloom of black rainless clouds
crouches, glaring over Washington Columbia,
capital city over United States of America,
as lightning flashes silent above White House
where President Kennedy in gloomy Oval Office
glares out clear window over our vast globe,
like crystal eye peering through future mist
to navigate ship of state past perilous rocks.

I grope blind through prickly political maze,
without benefit from thread of Ariadne,
to stand firm against violent brutal threats
with Sword of Justice, forged from star-stone
by King Arthur, shining light of great Camelot,
whose noble deeds, defending his homeland,
form template to guide my courageous acts
when Russian bear behind Iron Wall of fear
growls, baring nuclear missiles in sharp teeth.

When I first saw satellite photos of missiles,
planted in soil of Cuba by Russian Cossacks,
like safari hunters setting traps of sharp spikes
to impale lion of capital competition with spite
of jealous hatred for our complex way of life,
which values liberty and equal justice for all,
I saw clear evidence, printed in black and white,
exposing vile tricks to threaten our homeland,
in shock of rage at wicked outrageous gall
that Russian bear sneaks into our backyard.

What narrow path through hidden missiles,
like jagged rocks menacing our safe passage,
blanketed by innocent waves of sparkling light,
I must navigate to steer America to paradise
on white-sand shores of Cuba, once paradise
for vacationers and gangsters from cold north,
but now menacing paradise where sly snake
of greed hides, slithering in sweet Tree of Life,
poised ready to strike at our exposed throat.

O America, nation of people from every land,
sweet land of Liberty from sea to shining sea,
home of brave and free men with noble hearts,
and beautiful bold women with visions of love,
and children with innocent eyes full of hope,
land of democracy and equal justice for all,
constructed with grand cities of steel and brick,
fortress America whose borders are secure
yet open, welcoming poor and hungry and tired,
where persecuted people may come to build
new lives in American dream with opportunity
to earn wealth by honest labor of strong hands,
you are exposed to annihilation of hot death.

Nuclear missiles on Cuba Island, standing tall
as silver gleaming bullets of atomic annihilation,
aimed steaming to roar on heartless flames
this horrible hour at brink of shocked abyss,
could rain in one hour flames of apocalypse
from fierce wrath of blind heaven, and destroy
this paradise of freedom to pursue happiness
we love, in white obliterating flash of searing heat
blasting vast metropolitan mazes of mankind
to shuddering swirls of wailing bodiless ghosts.

How firm can I stand against nuclear missiles
shivering our hearts in October Caribbean Crisis
by waving Sword of Justice, but thin metal blade,
and zap a dozen titanic blades of atomic death
to prevent them from blasting cities of people
to dust while I huff and puff like a weary wolf,
threatening to blow down Iron Wall of defiance,
when little bald bear Khrushchev growls in rage,
pointing to nuclear missiles that we installed
in Galatian hills, where Jesus first established
seven churches against brutal swords of Rome
populated by slaves he freed from gold mines.

Freedom rings from my heart in cool defiance,
echoing hymns from purple mountain majesties,
to grip tight and confirm my soul in self-control,
true liberty in law of respect and balanced force,
by acknowledging error of judgment to hide
nuclear missiles in Turkey too close to Iron Wall,
reflected in their retaliation to hide sharp blades
of fear in missiles on Cuba Island for protection
against clear threat in strategic game of power.

How can I stake lives of innocent civilians,
one hundred eighty six million in United States
who live with hope like peasants toiling in fields,
two hundred eighteen million in Soviet Union
who live with fear like pawns on vast chessboards,
where premier and president play with pawns,
like cards we gamble for prize of moral authority,
exposing four hundred million people to fires
of scorching hell released at crack of doom?

Shall I wear gold mask of righteous liberty
to fight against tyranny of monolithic state,
which oppresses its people to control thought
by forcing all to mouth platitudes of ideology
rather than seek truth in democratic debate,
Eagle of America up against Bear of Russia
face to face, implacable enemies of steel resolve
throwing punches in boxing match of strength
to prove who is stronger with moral rectitude,
yet give no foot lest other stake a wasted mile,
and plant more nuclear missiles on Cuba Island?

Or, while standing strong with bold courage
in firm resolve, attempt to negotiate for peace
by offering to remove missiles from Galatia
in return for them removing missiles from Cuba,
by fair exchange of give and take on equal foot
to prevent atomic annihilation of all we love,
for would I sacrifice millions of human lives
to prove superiority of democratic justice,
yet recognize their act of aggression is fear
disguised behind growls of nuclear missiles?

I miscalculated move in our chess game
of global domination for power of truth
when I continued plans of political fight,
organized by our previous administration,
to support invasion of Cuba by secret gangs,
funded by criminal gangsters of Chicago,
whose tricks helped me win close election,
as I returned favors, giving them free rein
to retake lush island of gambling paradise
by allowing them to land at Bay of Pigs
where exiles and spies got bogged in muck
and captured by loyal followers of Fidel
who fears I plan to invade that island again.

What divine angel of history was sent
from providence to protect Fidel Castro
who strides across that little island, bold
to preach on crowded plaza of revolution
as doves land on his shoulder in sunrays,
like Hercules swinging strong club of justice
to chase mafia gangsters of Chicago out,
whose greedy crimes against innocent folk
aroused wrath of justice against their heads,
and provided bearded Zeus right of truth
to establish communism in our back yard,
hissing as a wiley serpent in tree of paradise?

Standing, like Churchill firm against Hitler,
to prevent fascist oppression of our state,
I sent iron ships bristling powerful bombs
to blockade access to little island of rebels,
preventing Russian ships on glittering waves
from delivering more missiles of cruel threat,
yet I will call Khrushchev on our red telephone
with offer that we remove missiles from Galatia
in return for him evacuating missiles from Cuba
to ensure peace preserves vitality of Earth,
though we may shiver still in mutual cold war.

I stand tall, staring down into abyss of death,
and envision our world wasted by atomic fire,
great cities of steel and glass shattered by fear,
frail bones of millions of people bleached
and cracked in shimmering wasteland heat,
when all hopes and dreams of aching hearts
are blasted to nothing, and from nothing songs
of wordless wind howl over our democracy,
for what good is Liberty if every soul is dead?

We must back away from this bleak abyss
of bottomless terror that gapes flames of hell,
and shake hands in agreement to maintain
security through mutual assured destruction,
for if we go to war, hurling missiles in rage,
both sides will suffer catastrophic destruction,
and two great civilizations, that have grown
from strength of Caesar and love of Christ,
will blast our heavens into a bitter wasteland,
when we could share this globe in paradise.

Midnight gloom of black rainless clouds
dissipates over sprawling Washington Columbia,
and morning sunlight of illuminating dawn
beams down in gold rays above White House
where President Kennedy, in bright Oval Office,
gazes out clear window over our vast globe,
and sees shining path through future mist,
illuminated clear by liberty and justice for all,
to navigate ship of state past perilous rocks,
then dials red telephone to negotiate peace.

#Poem #Monologue #DramaticMonologue #Kennedy #Krushchev #Castro #CubanMissileCrisis #BayOfPigs #NuclearWar #USSR #SovietUnion

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Soul Of Apples
© Surazeus
2017 02 20

Richard lounges on wet grass under tree
heavy with pungent green apples that shimmer
in rays of sunlight beaming through scattered clouds
that splashed the running hills with silver laughter.

Twisting gold curls of hair around her finger,
Evelyn caresses his cheek with sad smile,
then fills his wood cup with more apple cider,
and kisses his throat while he drinks it down.

Wiping his mouth he laughs, then kisses fast
her sun-red lips, which makes her blue eyes sparkle
so she drapes her plump arms around his neck,
and sighs while licking his soul on her lips.

"You drink so much apple cider, my love,
I believe you now have sweet soul of apples,
so their dreams sparkle in words of your heart
since your eyes shimmer green as fruit of life."

Richard gazes down into her blue eyes
and sees vision of a rainbow-winged serpent
slithering through branches of apple tree,
then imagines that he would snatch it quick.

"When I look at the round blue sky above
I think the world is contained in your eyes,
so I want to dive in lake of your soul
and drink soul cider from cup of your heart."

Evelyn whispers hot breath in his ear.
"Fill my heart with holy spirit of love
so I may reincarnate your gentle soul
and teach our son how to brew apple cider."

Richard breathes deep apple scent of her breast.
"I will always protect your soul from danger
and teach our daughter how to sing sweet spells
that enchant minds of people with pure wisdom."

I examine my eyes in the clear mirror
which shows a green ring surrounded by blue,
like a lush island in the sparkling ocean,
and perceive their love story in its glow.

I pour apple cider in glass of ice
then watch sunlight shimmer on the small lake
which preserves name of every conscious soul
who ever lived in the dream of our world.

#Ballad #Poem #Song #Romance #Love #Ancestors #Genealogy #Reincarnation #Apple #HolySpirit #Cider

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Sunnydale Retirement Home
© Surazeus
2012 08 10

Soak wood in water, heat it over flame,
and bend beams in elegant curves to build
boat that glides smooth on rippling river waves.

Waves slap wood hull while she holds fishing line
and watches white clouds glow in silver sky,
and glitter sunlight that dazzles my eyes.

Disconnect my mind from anchoring tree
and lost I float on waves of dreaming hope
from truth that drops ripe apple of temptation
in grasping hand, before sunset dissolves
timeless landscape of meadow and calm lake.

What is more secure and real, tree or truth
with roots of words soaking dreams from my mind?

I spit apple seeds in river-bank grass.
Hopping robins eat seeds, then flutter wings,
and carry my discarded words to nests
where baby birds keep memories I lost.

Solid Earth feels strange when I step from boat
to anchor rope on trunk of ancient oak.
We snuggle in boat rocked by gentle waves
and watch stars weave our minds in one dream.

Who knows what he is thinking, that old man
in wheelchair staring at highway of cars.

#Ballad #Song #Poem #Elegy #BoatWright #BoatBuilder #Boat #OldMan #Ageism #Senility #RetirementHome

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Return With Book Of Truth
© Surazeus
2017 02 19

I follow the road to the river shore
to escape the city of greed and noise
and watch the water that flows without care
down the mountains to the shimmering sea.

I hear the voices of people cry out
but the wind carries their words of desires
to hide among dead trees in the waste land
but I carve their dreams on the mountain cliff.

I pluck ripe fruit preserving the sunlight
that grows on the tree of wisdom and love
then walk alone on the trail with no signs
while people riot in the city square.

I see the face of the man who plays king
beaming on the cracked television screen
after he broke a thousand angel wings
and stamps new coins in the money machine.

I feel the whirling hurricane of war
building to a frenzy for twenty years
descend from the mountain of singing stones
to destroy the palace where kings play god.

I feel hard rain falling to soak my eyes
when the voice of truth blowing in the wind
proclaims new name for the nation of fools
which enslaves all minds with new set of rules.

The woman in white, whom only I can see,
commissions I return with book of truth
to preach her vision in the city square
but I tend my garden by the bright stream.

#Ballad #Poem #Song #Prophecy #Oracle #Epicurus #Politics #Arcadia #Pastoral #HiddenProphet

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Forty-Two Roads
© Surazeus
2017 02 18

When I climb the mountain of singing snow
the blind woman gives me blank dreamless book
so I walk the streets where laughing doors fly
and take masks from strangers who have no names
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

Through whispering play of origami dance
she teaches me how to find memories
that vanish at dawn on butterfly wings
and sketch their true secrets on melting snow
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

Though life is a journey on changing road
the final destination that all find
is death that folds our souls like stateless flags
transformed to wings of ravens who love words
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

I scatter blocks of letters on the floor
but watch my mother talk about the light
that gleams through windows frosted with blue snow,
and rearrange them all in epic songs
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

Faster than wind in long white cotton gown
she runs along the river of my eyes
and weaves telephone lines across the hills
to connect our thoughtless tongues with gold rays
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

The letters I carve on trunks of young oaks
transform from Runes to children with three eyes
who snatch jewel of my heart and run away
so I pretend I own the sparkling skies
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

While stumbling alone in dark maze of doors
that lock me out of the garden of fruit
I see her standing on the pyramid
glowing white with love of ten thousand stars
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

I give her the book now filled with new tales,
eager for reward from her generous hands,
but she burns it to ash in flames of time
causing my characters to spring to life
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

Each person I dream from the skull of lies
appears before me on mountain of dreams
and places sweet apple inside my mouth
that blossoms new tree from soil of my brain
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

My arms transform into feathered wings
and words I carved as Runes on mountain cliff
shoot arrows of light into eyes of readers
and tears of sorrow nourish our sad souls
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

I place signs with names on forty-two roads
till mother with ten thousand eyes proclaims
at last I mature into noble man
and transforms my soul into wordless child
then walk forty-two roads on quest for truth.

#Ballad #Song #Poem #Quest #Journey #HowManyRoads #Dylan #BobDylan #Enlightenment #Poet #Writer

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