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Surazeus Simon Seamount
Epic Poet and Cartographer
Epic Poet and Cartographer


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Hermead of Surazeus
Epic about Philosophers and Scientists
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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Because I Wake Each Dawn With Death
© Surazeus
2017 10 20

Because I wake each dawn with Death
and walk the road of hope
the sun threads through my dreaming brain
sharp rays of aching love.

I search for Death who calls my name
along the river shore
then climb the mountain cliff to reach
the garden of her fruit.

With sticks and stones I fight the snake
to chase him from fruit trees
then pluck ripe apples from their limbs
to give each soul I meet.

We sit inside the ring of stones
where white-haired women chant
and share old tales of warriors
who freed us from dark caves.

When darkness falls and stars gleam bright
I wonder if tonight
my glowing soul will fly away
and leave my body dead.

I dance in gold moon light with Death
who kisses me with love
but when I fill her with my soul
I sink in dreamless gloom.

I wake at dawn and see her face
as she walks by my side,
sweet Death who took my flashing soul
and generates new child.

Because I wake each dawn with Death
I give her fruit to eat
and while she suckles our new child
I build high walls of stone.

#Poem #Poetry #Death #EmilyDickinson #AQuietPassion #Song #Lyrics #AmericanEpic
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Poetry Business
© Surazeus
2017 10 19

The base principle of poetry business
for attaining success is that presenting
a flashy, charismatic poet persona
through flamboyant performances on stage,
and knowing the right people with the power
to publish your poems, hire you for good jobs,
and award you well with prestigious prizes,
count far more in earning laurels of fame
than the actual Poetry you may write.

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Woman In Silver Mist
© Surazeus
2017 10 18

While sitting in my quaint suburban home,
listening to Mozart on the radio,
I gaze out the window past shimmering veil
of our great nation of America
and see frail woman in white on dark road
who grips a knife that drips with burning blood.

Through swirling sparks of mist that blur my eyes
she rises from shadow of ancient woods
and grips my arm with hands of gnarled oak bones,
then her blue eyes, red as the sun at dawn,
pierce my heart with anguish of nameless horror,
and then she faints into my trembling arms.

I carry her through wood of laughing ravens
to river shore where water sparkles bright,
but all the houses of our little town
groan as black skeletons in heaps of ash,
burned by wild flames that sear my aching heart,
and she hisses as she weeps in gray smoke.

"The raiders stormed our feast hall at midnight,
chopped off the heads of all our honest men,
and raped the girls who could not get away,
then burned everything we built with our hands,
while I hid all night in the old oak tree,
shivering in the rain of horror and fear."

I carry her to grove of flowers and herbs
where I clean her wounds, feed her apple juice,
and sing sweet melodies to soothe her fears
when she wakes frightened in moonlight and weeps.

We sit together when the robins chirp
cheerful tunes in the swirling mist of dawn
to eat strawberries and walnuts while they play.

She wakes in evening twilight with soft smile
that shimmers with joy of her healing heart,
so we hold hands and walk on river shore
where moonlight gleams on white wings of the swans
who glide on the pool that reflect gold stars.

I smile with joy and give her blooming rose,
then her blue eyes, clear as lake ice at dawn,
pierce my heart with desire of aching love,
and we kiss like honey bees on white blossoms
of apple trees that fall on our moist skin
as we make love under the singing moon.

I bring her stew and apple juice each day
where she sits singing in sun-dappled grove
while her belly swells like apples that grow
large and round in the kiss of sun and rain,
and I sing as she smiles with pleasant joy.

She bears young boy with eyes blue as the sky
glowing like bird eggs after storm clouds pass,
and he smiles while suckling milk from her breast
as she sits among apple trees and stares
through swirling mist at the red glow of dawn.

Returning with rabbits for evening stew,
I find our boy alone among gold flowers,
giggling as he reaches out little hands
to touch the wings of scarlet butterflies,
so I run through woods of whispering fear,
searching for the lost woman in the mist.

She sits among the ruins of her home
where skulls of her children lie cracked in ash,
and she weeps, clutching at her broken heart.

I cuddle her close to my loving heart
while her gnarled oak hands cling to me in fear.

I lift her from the cold ash of the past
and guide her through the woods of swirling mist
to grove of apple trees where our new child
coos bright at the sight of her tear-streaked face,
and reaches out his hands for her embrace.

She lifts him from the flowers with soft sighs
and cradles his head while she smiles through tears,
then gazes at him with adoring love
while he suckles fresh milk from her warm breast,
and hopeful sorrow clutches at my heart.

Returning to the present in my home,
I wonder at their names and where they lived,
and if that boy, born from sorrow of death,
was my ancestor who lived long ago.

I smile while watching birds play in the trees
outside my window where red apples hang,
and wonder with weird sensation of awe
why that memory glows in my mind now,
and what sparked it to play in waking dream.

Rising from my seat, I walk through my home
and watch my children in computer room,
one painting pictures and chatting with friends,
and the other editing video clips
to make a movie of her friends at school.

All our ancestors live inside our minds,
and the memories of their lives glow warm light
to dispel the shadows of ancient fears
which guides our way as we live each new day.

#Poem #Poetry #Ancestors #History #GothicRomance #Horror #Rebirth #Survival #Psychology
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Global Empire Sonnet
© Surazeus
2017 10 17

While watching evening news on television
about our new president threatening war
against some small and weak commonist state
imprisoned on the far side of the world,
I saw Homer, blind sage of brutal war,
strumming his harp in the Capitol Dome.
I whistle for Pegasus to descend
from clouds where Plato and Jesus play chess,
then direct his swift flight to Stone Henge plain
where I snatch Excalibur, blade of Justice,
from the ancient heart of the Stone of Scone,
then hide my face with mask of Hercules.
When Destroyer and Creator contend
our nation mushrooms into global empire.

#Poem #Poetry #Sonnet #GlobalEmpire #MAGA #America #USA #PaxAmericana #NuclearWar #WWIII
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Patriarchal Walls
© Surazeus
2017 10 16

Snow swirls at midnight on the Bridge of Spies
where the Weeping Clown waits in tattered cloak
to be exchanged for young Bellerophon
who carries broke wings of Pegasus.

Appearing from the swirling mist of fear,
the Eyeless King, clutching his silver gun,
holds out the ancient Book of Secret Tales
for Cinderella who receives its spells.

"The names of everyone who ever lived
are written on its pages with my blood,
so when you read their secret thoughts in code
their idols beam from holographic gem."

While Cinderella turns each crumbling page
the letters fly away like buzzing bees
and drink the pollen from our dreaming brains
that sparkle as honey in falling rain.

She gazes from the tower of laughing skulls
and strums gold harp while chanting wordless spells
that sew wings of Pegasus on my back
so I can fly above her labyrinth.

Then Cinderella pauses from her song
and tries to tell me how she was abused
by her uncle, boyfriend, date, and professor,
but all her words are twisted into flowers.

I wander lost in labyrinth of mirrors
where every man reigns in his home as king
but women dressed in long white gowns who fight
for liberty are smeared with tar of hate.

How shall we smash strong patriarchal walls
and build new social system that portrays
woman as the goddess who creates life
by planting seeds that sprout to apple trees?

#Poem #Poetry #Patriarchy #Politics #Assault #Rape #Empowerment #Healing #Spy
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American Pastoral Of Death
© Surazeus
2017 10 15

Halfway through my life, lost in city streets,
I meet Richard Wilbur by garden gate
who teaches me trick of Dionysian beats
so we rewrite weird formula of fate.

From crowded city streets of honking cars
moon-eyed Richard leads me to fertile fields
of lush Arcadia that glows from white stars
and teaches me secret of sparkling seeds.

The roots of flowers and trees from ancient core
of our huge pulsing planet curl through gloom
deeper into granite mountains to bore
cracks across spinning galaxies that bloom.

Inside each egg that beams from eyes of stars
living creatures wake to dream evolution
so we grow fish to monkeys driving cars
till everyone sings spells with elocution.

At gleam of dawn when Aurora will kiss
my sponge brain awake from oceanic dreams
I kneel in meadow to tend blooming herbs
while singing hymns in tune with flashing streams.

When ancient father with long snow-white hair
lies weak among flowers to drift in death
I plant seeds in his heart and eyes that share
woven vines of memory through my breath.

Leaning on staff under broad willow tree,
I tend sheep like sun herds fluffy white clouds,
and sing my love for the girl of the sea
who veils our marriage grove with wind-blown shrouds.

Ten thousand years of armies crossing plains
pave webs of roads from stone and asphalt sheen
so villages mushroom from bitter rains
into vast cities that conquer the scene.

Alone in small glass rooms of city towers
the blind shepherds paint quaint pastoral scenes
of couples making love among lush flowers
that sparkle in the memories of our genes.

When I left wild rugged hills of Arcadia
on noble quest to save the world from war
I got lost in American Bohemia,
searching in vain for the world-linking door.

I stood for years on street corners to sing
about the age of pastoral innocence
in meadows now paved with vast parking lots
where cars instead of sheep and horses play.

While wandering through the labyrinth of tales
I swerve sideways off the expected path
and blaze through the waste land new secret trails
that calculate truth with soul-slanting math.

With eager hands before apocalypse
I gather sweet blackberries for Amelia,
returning to Elysium on weird trips
to swim the Mississippi with Ophelia.

When we both enter the museum hall
to sing the ancient myths in new pop songs
we dance forever on the broken wall,
unable with magic to fix all wrongs.

We gaze beyond the veil of skin to dream
how swirling clouds reveal the naked truth
that though we must bathe in the flowing stream
we die drinking from the Fountain of Youth.

That shining idol, image in your mind,
you think is me, is but ghost your words conjure,
so take my hand with trust and we will bind
weird visions into one world view we ponder.

These calculations hidden in weird words
trace intricate tracks of psychic details
so I protect my brain with mental wards
that weigh cause and effect on moral scales.

The banker with quick calculator brain
gazes at pastoral paintings on steel wall
while glass towers blink in forever rain
and shepherds now work to build border wall.

Virgin Maria bearing the Christ Child
huddles behind cactus in blistering sun
to hide while agents patrol border wall,
hoping to reach the wealthy Promised Land.

Shrouded by blackness of eternal night,
Maria counts stars that flash through the gloom,
and maps Golden Way through the blinding light
till she wakes in the doorless Oval Room.

While sketching faces on cracked glass of hope,
Maria calculates process of change
that helps herd electric sheep on steep slope
before the satellite glides out of range.

I am the last robot composed of flesh
since my mother generated my soul
by weaving atoms from rays of the mesh
that links our hearts in superconscious whole.

Rising from cool stream in the heat of June,
Maria leads me through the brambled night
where laughing skulls of kings and gods are strewn
so spirits disperse in psychotic flight.

So through the woods by stone walls on old lanes
we pick blackberries by prophetic cave
and brew sweet rum from timeless sugar canes
to drink as Maria sings in the nave.

How words convey my thoughts on each brain wave
the eyeless wizard in the ruins chants,
so when Ophelia in clandestine conclave
revives me, we see God blossom in plants.

Join us on stage before the end of time
to sing American Pastoral of Death,
though secret of life is hidden in rhyme
that we reveal with our last dying breath.

#Poem #Poetry #Elegy #Pastoral #RichardWilbur #Eden #Paradise #Arcadia #WasteLand
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Solariad of Surazeus

Solariad of Surazeus - Guidance of Solaria presents 114,920 lines of verse in 1,660 poems, lyrics, ballads, sonnets,
dramatic monologues, eulogies, hymns, and epigrams written by Surazeus 2006 to 2011.

Cover Image: The Birth of Venus, Nicolas Poussin, 1635.

#Poem #Poetry #AmericanEpic #Lyric #Ballad #Sonnet #DramaticMonologue #Eulogy #Hymn #Epigram #Literature
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Temporary Clusters Of Atoms
© Surazeus
2017 10 14

Perched on the park bench like a hunting dog
about to run while chasing down a prey,
Joshua watches people in picnic halls
or walking around the lake at sunset.
"How I wanted so much, with aching heart,
to believe that we will live after death,
that, if we believe with unwavering faith
that Jesus is God who created all,
he would resurrect our eternal souls
after we die in this material plane
to live again in perfect body forms
for all eternity in realm of light.
Yet when I observe this world with clear eyes
I see the truth that we are nothing more
than temporary clusters of quick atoms
that vibrate with soul of hungry desire.
Each atom of this boundless universe
vibrates with energy of conscious flash
that when composed in neurons of the brain
attains higher level of consciousness,
evolving through each generated body
to transform from fish swimming in the sea
into potent god soaring among stars.
But for now we are frail humans of flesh
who struggle to survive in hostile nature
so we can copulate with fertile mate
to generate new body that sustains
dreaming brain which records all memories
each generation of ancestors lived,
and hope we develop society
that fosters talents of each individual
so we can evolve beyond mortal coil
and become supernatural gods with power.
Thus I can understand why people cling
to archaic belief in the afterlife,
desperate to live beyond blankness of death,
but I extract those lies from my world view
and seek to understand nature of things
so I can reincarnate in my children
since I will know nothing after I die
and vanish from the seething flow of time
while my atoms reassemble again
into another person with bright soul.
I long for the superpowers of a god
but I am content with the simple powers
that humans gained in game of evolution,
tasting the fleeting sweetness of this life
before I vanish in the lightless void."

#Poem #Poetry #Evolution #Religion #Consciousness #AfterLife #Reincarnation
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Fantasy Of Solarian
© Surazeus
2017 10 13

Across the galaxy of sparkling stars
the god Zarathian with flowing wings
soars singing on wild waves of flashing light
and weaves lush planets from his brain neurons.

From sloshing ocean waves on countless spheres
new life forms bubble from hot thermal vents
and crawl up silver sparkling streams to lakes
to stand in waterfall with dreaming eyes.

The ancient cosmic god glows in the mind
of every living creature who first wakes
from mute atomic dream to hum weird words
in magic spells that conjure dreams in brains.

We look into the mirror of the pool
and see our own face looking back at us
and so we dance in grove of apple trees
with others who reflect our secret face.

Old bearded man appears from swirling mist
and tells us he created us from mud
and breathed the animating breath of life
to flash our eyes awake with beams of light.

"I am Zarathian, father of all,
and you are replications of my soul
whom I created when I sowed my seed
in womb of Mother Yartha before dawn."

I run on leaping legs back to the pool
where I stare down at mirror of my mind
and see my own face separate from the others,
and whisper, "I am me, Solarian."

Young long-haired boy runs leaping through the trees
and climbs the mountain high to touch the moon
but shining silver eye gleams out of reach
and all the world spins far below his feet.

"Each time I talk I hear his voice, not mine,
speak words I heard him speak since I was born,
and when I gaze in mirror of the pool
I see his face behind my unique face."

Solarian descends steep mountain slope
and steps into the ring of giant stones
where white-haired Zarathian sits on throne,
gripping beam of light he pulled from the ground.

"I am Solarian, son of the sun,
and I created all this world from light,
weaving mountains and seas from flashing beams,
so I will sit on throne of words to reign."

Leaping quick from the throne with howling scream,
Zarathian lunges to smash his head,
but wily Solarian ducks and strikes
swift to thrust sharp diamond blade in his heart.

Eternal soul of light gushes as blood,
red beams of spirit spurting from his breast,
and old Zarathian falls on his back,
chanting wordless music of aching death.

Grasping ring of gold that glitters twelve gems,
Solarian places crown on his head,
snatches scepter with gleaming emerald,
then sits on throne before astonished eyes.

"I am Solarian, born from the Earth,
reincarnation of Zarathian,
so now I reign as wizard on high throne
and speak with voice of eternal stars."

Crumbling mushrooms in brass cauldron of juice,
Solarian stirs potion while he hums
melody about how bees brew sweet honey,
then drinks it deep into his thrumming heart.

Across the galaxy of spinning stars
the god Zarathian on beating wings
soars singing on wild waves of pulsing light
and weaves lush garden from his brain neurons.

Looking up from the vision of his face
in shimmering pool, Solarian sees
young woman with silver eyes gleaming stars
who smiles and hides her face behind gold mask.

Opening his eyes in the meeting room,
Samuel looks around at his counselor
and circle of patients who heard his tale,
then smiles nervously and spreads his arms wide.

"I love to fantasize I am a god
or powerful wizard in ancient times,
because this wretched world we live in now
gnaws like rat poison at my aching heart."

#Poem #Poetry #Fantasy #Wizard #Magic #God #Myth #Legend #Malaise #Depression #Annui
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