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Surazeus Simon Seamount
Epic Poet and Cartographer
Epic Poet and Cartographer

Surazeus's posts

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Code Of Waves
© Surazeus
2017 04 28

I am walking on smooth slippery stones
of the ocean beach in wild Oregon,
watching the sun thread soul-light in my bones
at the infinite flash of silent dawn,
when young girl riding her elegant fawn
comes down from the sky with stars in her hand
and weaves within my brain the code of waves.

I see she is the spirit of the land
so I step forward on rainbow of light
and seem to soar on wind above the strand
as if I just now gained the power of flight,
but I can not speak at the glorious sight
of ten thousand eyes beaming from her mind
to illustrate the secret code of waves.

I hold out my hand when the stars align
to give her the seed I found on the beach
where long strawberry vines grow intertwined
with the dancing wood letters of my speech,
but her soul beams forever beyond reach
when she vanishes in wind of my words
that fail to explicate true code of waves.

I stumble in the grove, where sharp tweets of birds
pierce the throbbing passion of my wild heart,
and watch the quick galloping of horse herds
who swirl wide around my abandoned cart,
so I stop to consult my secret chart
which reveals the way to old treasure cave,
hoping to discover new code of waves.

I stare at runes I carved on polished stave
to comprehend the true nature of fruit,
composed of light and rain, that I still crave,
and eat in ruined temple where the flute
I played lies broken on abandoned route,
so I wait for death to devour my soul
and integrate me with the code of waves.

I sense vibration from the cosmic whole
as if invisible eye watches me
and wonder if my key will fit its hole
and open code of waves that weave the sea
because I would rather fight to live free
though I hide in the mansion of my tree
which sends roots deep into the code of waves.

I wander nowhere on vast spinning globe
and build ten thousand cities from wet mud
complete with library under high lobe
where blind prophet writes verses with his blood
in scroll that gets lost in torrential flood
while children play in the meadow of grain
which they harvest to bake in code of waves.

I accept jewels she inserts in my brain
though I wish for genuine sky-walking wings,
then walk with silence in cold drizzling rain
to find the hilltop where nameless bride sings
but sit in church when the broken bell rings
though I follow Liberty as my queen
who teaches me eternal code of waves.

 #Poem #Poetry #NPM #NPM17 #NPM2017 #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo #Goddess #Quest #Enlightenment #Byron

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Authentic Rules
© Surazeus
2017 04 27

The teenage girl holds camera to her face
and snaps a photograph of the street scene
to capture the true spirit of the place
that highlights drama of man and machine.

She walks backward over the cement bridge,
searching for the perfect angle of fact
that might reveal soul of the ancient witch
who avoids having to make eye contact.

Before she falls into the void of death,
she pauses, staring down at her new face,
then dives into dream while holding her breath
and flies nowhere on wings with practiced grace.

The crocodile transformed into a car
leaps alive when she turns the crystal key
and glides slow with eyes blinking like a star
that gleams on the crown of Queen Liberty.

Approaching cathedral that has no doors,
she photographs shadows where devils lurk
to find the world where crippled angel soars
who will invent a new world-view framework.

Ten thousand children without dreaming eyes
tear white robes while singing hymns in the choir
yet teenage girl drinks wine to win the prize
for the story she wrote about gunfire.

Her blinking eyes magnify hidden truth
that people always seem to require kings
to organize their labor in communes
where blind women sew new angelic wings.

She waves her magic wand with gleaming jewel
that freezes preacher before he spews lies,
then leads exploring children back to school
where she teaches them all how to be spies.

But when she is walking to the book store
she sees weird scarlet fox slip through the light,
so she leaps through the locked cathedral door,
hoping that he will give her second sight.

On entering the Pantheon super dome,
she lays photographs on table of dreams
that reveal secrets of the happy home
where children play hide and seek by clear streams.

While Oden contemplates each photograph
she erases author name from each book
that glows in the library where crows laugh
because truth is stored where we never look.

Though Pythagoras argued human souls
beam back to stars to swim in sea of light
we will die though we invent living goals
hidden in the coded visions we write.

Eager hope urges me to question why
our bodies suffer diseases and pain
though many people believe in the sky
lives a powerful god who weeps the rain.

So teenage girl in long black skirt and blouse
laughs at the joke that no one comprehends,
then stands alone inside the empty house,
watching ghosts design latest social trends.

I want to see the real world behind light
and calculate the process of this act
I perform to capture image of right
that proves the perfect mask I wear is cracked.

Emerging from the mists of Avalon,
the teenage girl who forgot her own name
explains to God why she must travel on
and learn authentic rules of the chess game.

#Poem #Poetry #NPM #NPM17 #NPM2017 #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo #Artist #TruthSeeker #DeadGod

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Croesus Counts Sand
© Surazeus
2017 04 26

Gold sunlight on the lake reveals true face
we hide behind mask of money and fame
since no one can claim ownership of space
so we must each invent our secret name.

When Saturn spins on wings of shining jewels
above the constellation, at midnight,
of Sagittarius, will arrogant fools
attempt to sell us free water and light.

Though flowers bloom in light of April moon
where river on this spinning rondure flows,
and girls in white gowns sing a merry tune,
the old blind king may claim he owns the Rose.

Great leaders of nations, ruling with truth,
are often followed by tyrants and clowns
who will try to enslave us care-free youth
by charging rent to live in our own towns.

Ten million people who all lost their eyes
follow the signless road in search for wealth
unaware we create our paradise
by joining the vast global commonwealth.

This wild chaotic show of human lust
we call civilization is ruled by God
invented by men who betrayed our trust
and tried to enslave our minds with the rod.

No director waving scepter of wisdom
manages our daily lives with insight
but we play mindless robots of the system
who fly to Heaven on the stringless kite.

The little girl with twinkling silver eyes
arranges blocks of letters on her desk
to communicate secrets with blind spies
who play their roles in political burlesque.

Soon Raven of Justice will come to me
where I slouch forlorn by river of hope
and inspire me to fight for Liberty
by watching stars flash through my telescope.

Counting the sand on the shores of the sea,
Croesus crowns himself emperor of the world,
but we drive him from the land of the free
and reclaim truth with Stars and Stripes unfurled.

I ask blind Pythia in Castalian Cave
where I will find true treasure of my soul
so she explains both particle and wave
compose true nature of the vibrant whole.

The young girl who wants to play movie star
films herself dancing by the gleaming lake
but witch explains, if you want to go far
you must outwit the spell-enchanting snake.

#Poem #Poetry #NPM #NPM17 #NPM2017 #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo #Politics #Satire #Wealth

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Justice Before Revenge
© Surazeus
2017 04 24

After chasing him through meadows of trees,
up winding trails in jagged mountain vale,
I corner him at narrow canyon cliff,
aiming sharp spear at his chest as we pant
for breath in blustering wind of despair.

"When my sister refused to marry you,
you shattered her head with a jagged rock
and blood of her soul stains the garden soil
where she tended fresh herbs to spice our meals,
and now her spirit is gone from this world."

Fierce rage for revenge seizes my wild heart,
so I grip spear and brace my feet on rocks,
then lean forward to thrust spear in his heart,
but I look at his eyes and see despair
at horror of his act tear through his heart.

Sucking deep cold wind of hard mountain ice,
I fill my soul with spirit of calm strength,
secure as silent mountains that stand tall
since before the rising of the first sun,
so I strike spear against the stone of truth.

Gripping his neck, I drag him down the trail
and bring him into the ring of black stones
where thirty women from dozens of clans
sit in sun circle and judge deeds of men,
and declare before all, "He killed my sister."

Messengers bring members of both our clans
who stand facing each other in stone ring,
and I explain, "While my hard-working sister
tended herbs he asked her to marry him,
then smashed her head when she refused his hand."

Young woman in white robe, who bears brass scepter
with gleaming sapphire that flashes in sunlight,
stands before his face and asks, "Tell us all,
why did you strike her head with stone of hate,
knowing women are free to choose their husband?"

Face twisted by lust and grief, he cries out,
"I brought her baskets of flowers and eggs,
I brought her bundles of wood for hearth fire,
and I gave her cauldron for cooking meals,
yet she refused to bear children for me."

Snarling in rage, he hisses at her face,
"I gave her many gifts from generous heart,
and she accepted all with open hands,
and everyone knows that accepting gifts
means she will attend my hearth as bed mate."

Young woman whacks his head with sapphire scepter,
and proclaims with stern voice for all to hear,
"While acceptance of gifts from hand of man
means woman may bear children of his seed,
yet she reserves the right to change her mind."

Shaking her head at his blind ignorance,
she exclaims, "No matter how many gifts
you gave her, expecting gift in return,
you should never kill should she refuse you,
for her will to choose is most sacred law."

Turning and pointing scepter at his face,
she cries, "You did not give her gifts with love,
expecting nothing from her generous heart,
so since you gave expecting more from her
your gifts were tainted foul with selfish lust."

Old woman with long silver hair and eyes
that flash with golden light of midnight stars,
rises and speaks, "Because woman bears children
she chooses who will spark life in her womb,
thus life of every woman is most sacred."

Pointing gold scepter with bright emerald
at his face, she declares judgment of justice,
"You killed sacred woman who creates life,
therefore you will bring firewood to all hearths,
but no woman will ever bear your children."

Two men clutch his arms so he screams in horror,
then a third man clutches his genitals
while young woman saws it off with a knife,
and everyone cringes at screams of pain
that cease when he faints and falls on the grass.

Young woman stands before my face and smiles,
"Because you brought him to our Hall of Justice
instead of killing him in mountain vale,
we appoint you Hunter with noble task
to hunt criminals and bring them to us."

Entranced by the glow of light in her eyes,
blue as the sapphire gleaming on her scepter,
I blush and kneel as she places gold crown
with glittering sapphire on my humble head,
then after I stand she kisses my mouth.

Heart beating fast as a galloping horse,
I turn to leave but she clutches my arms,
and whispers, "I want you as my hearth mate,"
so I follow her to small temple hall
where I stand guard before the carved oak door.

When moon gleams silver on the shining lake
she holds my hand and pulls me to her bed
where we kiss and make love in midnight breeze,
and I fill her heart with spirit of love
as we fly together among white stars.

Bringing bundles of wood to temple hall,
I build new wagon with four spinning wheels
while she tends apple trees of swelling fruit,
and our son, sitting upright in oak box,
claps his hands and laughs when I dance and sing.

#Poem #Poetry #NPM #NPM17 #NPM2017 #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo #Justice #Law #Revenge

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Statue Inside Paradise
© Surazeus
2017 04 23

Through the prism of social media
I catch a glimpse of the poetry scene
that thrives across land of America,
composed of a thousand small local groups
of people chanting verse in coffee shops
who each construct poetic paradise
then throw snowballs at each other and laugh.

Tall statue inside paradise gleams bright,
guiding me through waste land of silent wind,
but when I knock on gate of iron bars
that leads through garden wall to flowing fountain,
the jewel-eyed angel with a flaming sword
drives me back into dry wilderness.

Running from the beast with soul-ripping teeth,
I clutch an iron wand buried in dirt
to fight against annihilating despair,
and crush its skull while chanting song of truth,
then I drink its hot blood and eats its flesh
to become the angel with flaming sword
who devours the beast of horrible death.

Trembling in the dark cave of naked fear,
where I hide from hordes of more hungry beasts,
I strike the wall of mute death with my wand
that shatters silence to release a fountain
gushing clear water from the heart of darkness.

Carving blocks of stone from mountain of time,
I create my paradise of fruit trees
by ordering chaos in the wilderness
then surrounding it with protecting walls
to keep my family safe from death a while,
my little Cosmos from infinite space.

Wandering in the waste land of hungry hope,
I gather seeds that fell from withered plants
and plant them by the secret bubbling fountain
that I hide inside wall of angry stone.

At midnight inside gray stone garden walls
I see moonlight glitter on silent snow
that hides seeds of hope frozen in my heart.

On top the fertile slope of Mount Parnassus
my garden paradise blooms in warm sun,
so I call to the crowds of hungry people
who wander lost, scratching at withered roots,
then welcome them into my paradise.

We dance around the statue of Apollo,
that stands forever inside paradise,
drinking apple juice and feasting on bread,
while everyone takes turn to stand alone
on pedestal of truth and chant their song,
and thus we bind our hearts in one religion
by sharing secrets of how we survive.

This statue of Apollo we all worship,
is its soul composed of marble or snow?

#Poem #Poetry #NPM #NPM17 #NPM2017 #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo #Shakespeare #Paradise #PoBiz

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Returned From Waste Land
© Surazeus
2017 04 22

Where rainbows beam from broken skulls of kings
blind children sit alone in small white rooms
for they are angels who have lost their wings
since true fate is never woven on looms.

One angel stands and turns off box of dreams,
then pushes open door of wordless hope
and stares past bright indifferent sun that schemes
to blow his mind with vast eternal scope.

He shuts his eyes and all the world of shapes
vanishes, but inside his mind he sees
streams flowing among trees on broad landscapes
where sun glimmers over mountains and seas.

Kneeling at the fountain by broken gate,
the wingless angel stares at his own face
and wonders at the ache of heavy weight
that pulls him twirling down in boundless space.

Each solid tree I touch with seeking hand
pulses with the heartbeat of glowing light
as if some timeless master craftsman planned
design of pattern that makes it seem right.

But when he looks around in grove of trees,
searching for the presence he seems to feel,
he perceives nothing more than stream and breeze,
and only his own body that is real.

Each tree or rock repeats its patterned form
as if they manifest standard design,
variations on one eternal norm
contained within circle of binding line.

Since everything real seems so well designed,
I feel glamorous temptation to believe
the whole world was created by one mind
who animates creatures with vibrant weave.

Though every form of object he perceives
composed of matter will dissolve to nothing
in seasonal blooming like fragile leaves,
he hopes their perfect forms remain unchanging.

Though every tree may vanish from this world
perhaps strict pattern that composes tree
persists so flow of matter will be knurled
when seed transforms dirt, inspired by its key.

Material of our cosmos seethes in waves,
transforming into plants and animals,
then die and dissolve in devouring graves
as everything returns to radicals.

No master craftsman created all things
since matter swirls in vortex of mutation,
and I am no angel who lost his wings
since we evolve in process of gradation.

Watching the rainbow beaming after rain,
the wingless angel plucks fruit from tall trees,
then dreams evolution inside his brain
while carving apple tree on marble frieze.

Where rainbows beam from broken skulls of gods
children dance together around bright hearth
while angel who returned from waste land lauds
form regeneration from Mother Earth.

#Poem #Poetry #NPM #NPM17 #NPM2017 #NationalPoetryMonth #NaPoWriMo #Metaphysics #Evolution #Plato
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