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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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Last Christ Of Gotham
© Surazeus
2017 12 13

Hunched in long rain coat and tattered fedora
the old bearded man who lost everything
wanders city landscape of cement streets
to the aching melodies of a violin.
Cast by the light of streetlamps in green mist,
his shadow slides slowly along brick walls
like the lion who glides through ancient woods
when he hunts death to eat the weak and frail.

"Like Satan I have fallen on torn wings
from air-conditioned offices of heaven
and wander lost in alleyways of hell
where junkies sell their bodies for a buck.
I see men cheat other men of their cash
and other men chase them into the shadows
through the maze of courts and prisons to fight
for justice of ordering law against chaos.
The honest man who plays messiah christ
must sacrifice his life for common good
to save mankind from oppression of men
who exploit common people for their gain.
I sat at computers for thirty years
accounting for all profit and expense
of men who exploit the labor of people
to build global empire from ashes of war.
I waited till the day I would retire
to tell my boss he is an evil vampire
building on the bones of men his vast empire
and he threw me out from his tower of power.
He called police to arrest me with cuffs
and charged me with embezzling corporate funds
then locked me in prison for twenty years
and now I own nothing but my frail hands.
My wife and children fled and changed their names
and now I wander past the large glass doors
to banks and shopping malls where people play
glorious gods on the stage of corporate power.
I failed to perform any noble act
in saving the world from tyrants of money
so I was no christ anointed by god
though I was sure his voice spoke in my head.
Jesus is dead two thousand years ago
but he set good example for all kings
to follow when they lead their people well,
willing to die to save them from themselves.
If God is all-powerful, he is not good
for he could create a much better world
where we would never have to eat to live,
yet we must kill the living to live more.
If God is good, he is not all-powerful
for he attempts to enforce rules of law
to ensure equal justice for all people,
but he fails since evil will never cease."

Walking past the large movie theater
after midnight, the old bearded man hears
young woman scream, so he hurries toward sound
where two men clutch her arms as she fights back.
Grabbing long rusty pipe lying on the ground,
the bearded men bashes their arms and backs,
causing them to shriek and release the woman
who runs free into the safe mist of night.
The two rapists growl in rage when she runs,
then turn against the frail old bearded man
to snatch the rusty pipe from his frail hand
and smash his skull so blood spurts on the wall.
Running away, they leave him in the dark,
and the old bearded man stares at the stars
with blank eyes composed of bright molecules
that pulse with ancient consciousness of love.

#Poem #Poetry #Drama #Monologue #Character #Christ #Messiah #Savior #Satan #Law #Justice #God #SelfSacrifice #Justice

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Signless Road Of Truth
© Surazeus
2017 12 12

Performance not perfection is the point
of expressing visions that haunt our minds
so we fly through the shadows of despair
and water the fields with tears of our hearts.

At the call of the waterfall of love
I transform into the raven who knows
how to write our story in lightning strikes
which illuminates our words in the wind.

We run into the tunnel of cold eyes
to chase the hawk of time beyond the loop
that channels back the rivers of our veins
so we remember why we build the tower.

Though I drive ten thousand miles of long roads
through cities where robots drive shining cars
I never arrive at the gates of Heaven
where the last queen writes poetry in jewels.

She weaves the strands of my beard in new wings
so I can return through calculus code
to the castle in the sky where I found
the child of Rapunzel and Icarus.

He looks at me in the mirror of hope
so I break through ancient stone walls of laws
and soar among the clouds on rainbow beams
but wake to find that it was all a dream.

My mother Rapunzel taught me the spells
that beam visions of life on silver screen
so I play the role of every great hero
on the theater stage in church of lies.

My father Icarus taught me the skills
to transform wood into wave-leaping ship
and forge stone into sharp sun-flashing sword
so I rule the island of Avalon.

Since that is how Orpheus found my soul
wandering lost on the signless road of truth
and lead me to the temple of First Mother
who first rose from the Lake of Dreams at dawn.

I am not one person who writes this spell
for we are millions of souls in one brain,
alive in every sparkling neuron eye
to preserve every life we ever lived.

I fall back into the shell of my head
and find myself walking on signless road
through sparkling mist to ring of moonlit stones
where my father plays harp in hall of songs.

I stand outside the temple of Stone Henge
and watch my father and mother on stage
playing sacred roles of Jesus and Maria,
conducting the feast of midwinter night.

When the blind wizard asks me my true name,
I reply, I am Godinus, first son
of Apollo and Iduna, the daughter
of Odin who taught me how to write Runes.

They tell me I will reign as Raven King
in Sarum Temple on Avalon Island,
but I want to tend apple trees in mist
rather than conduct rituals for the dead.

I try to escape the fate they decreed
by running away from castle of power
and seek clear visions in the apple grove
so I understand the nature of things.

I erase all the names of my ancestors,
blasting their words from the tablets of stone
with howling wind of my voice, but their eyes
stare at me from the wall of nameless souls.

#Poem #Poetry #Ballad #Avalon #Jesus #Mary #Icarus #Rapunzel #Apollo #Iduna #Apple #Romance #Metamodernism

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Last Book Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2017 12 12

Malik walks amid the ruins of cities,
cluttered with the cracked skulls of movie stars,
to search among the ashes of lost knowledge
for the last book of wisdom in the world.

He stands before statue of Albert Einstein,
who plays atomic notes on violin,
and asks where he can find amid the ruins
the last book of wisdom in the whole world.

Trudging on highways full of rusting cars,
Malik pauses by bus of skeletons,
then watches nothing fly in empty skies,
and listens to wind hum through broken doors.

Entering another city of tall towers,
fragile skeletons of red rusting steel,
Malik peers at bright indifferent sun,
and steps through door into library hall.

Dust particles swirl from steps of his search,
each one a lost letter from pages of books
that crumble when he opens them to read,
and sighs at the vanity of his quest.

Locked behind unbroken glass in large case
the textbook gleams in rays of light that beam
through broken windows, lost treasure of truth,
the last whole book of wisdom in the world.

Leaning close to the glass with reverent eyes,
Malik reads the title of the textbook,
"The Basics of Physics and Chemistry,"
then gasps and folds his hands in prayer of thanks.

Cleaning away mounds of dust and debris,
Malik creates a shrine around the case,
and cleans the glass till it glitters bright blue,
then sits to guard the holy book of truth.

For sixty-eight years the last man on Earth
sits guard and cleans the glass case every day
so sunlight gleams in halo of pure truth
around the last book of wisdom in the world.

Closing his dim eyes at moment of death,
Malik smiles satisfied that he kept safe
that last book of true wisdom in the world,
just as bricks fall and smash the book to dust.

#Poem #Poetry #Ballad #Apocalypse #BookOfWisdom #HolyBook #Shrine #SearchForTruth #SacredTreasure #Chemistry #Physics #Einstein

I am an atheist theologian,
fascinated with how the human mind
designs the concept of God as idea
in archetype we base on our tribal leaders
who embody in one clear character
the best behavior of our cultural heroes.

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Gods On Earth
© Surazeus
2017 12 11

When I was young I saw Gods walk on Earth,
enormous people who stood tall as clouds,
and when they reached their hands they touched the sky,
and held the blazing sun with grasping hands,
and hurled lightning bolts in battles for power.

I saw those giant Gods with flowing hair
and eyes that flashed with laughter of the rain
perform amazing deeds of awesome strength,
lifting mountains and trees with their huge hands
and building giant towers that housed the sun.

When I was young those Gods who walked on Earth
reached down from shining sky with open hands
and lifted me up high toward flashing clouds
where I could see the whole world they create,
and they gazed up at me with loving eyes.

But as I grew the Gods I once adored
diminished from their grandiose size of power
and shriveled into weakening human beings
who gazed into my eyes from level plane
until they vanished from their wrinkled corpse.

The Gods who once strode tall across the sky
shrank down to humans walking at my side
then vanished into dust that swirls in wind,
and then I found myself growing more tall
and one day looked down at my awe-struck child.

When he was young my child gazed up at me
as if I were some giant grandiose God
who reaches up my hands to touch the sky,
and hurls the blazing sun with grasping hands,
and heaps huge stones to build the temple hall.

So then I realized with great booming laugh,
like thunder echoing between high mountain peaks,
that God was my own father with bright eyes,
and now I am God who rules the whole world,
and one day my son will be God on Earth.

So now that I am God who walks on Earth
I reach from shining sky with open hands
and lift my son up high toward flashing clouds
where he can see the whole world I create,
and I gaze up at him with loving eyes.

#Poem #Poetry #Ballad #Theology #God #Forefather #Father #GodFather #Mythology #Zeus #Jehovah #Odin #Ancestor #Religion #Family

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Now My Light Is Spent
© Surazeus
2017 12 10

When I consider how light of my mind
emanates bright from pulsing molecules
to generate the will to urgent action,
I channel to maintain health of my soul,
I worry not that I may one day go blind
for epic tale I sing celebrates fools
of courage who evolve from bland abstraction
so the weird hero represents the whole,
because no conscious supernatural god
designed and created our universe,
thus I design the virtual world I dream
and code these spells of mind-enchanting tales
that tell how seekers gather loyal squad
who battle tyrants and dispel the curse
by cooperating as well-organized team
in games of power so justice prevails,
for I play god, and perform role I write,
composing vision that reflects the light,
and through active force create and destroy
by cause and effect, then savor my joy.

#Poem #Poetry #Sonnet #Milton #JohnMilton #Destiny #Religion #Deity #Atheism #Monothesim #Grace #Salvation #ActByNotActing #Stocism #Materialism

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I had no political agenda in writing my epic the Hermead of Surazeus about philosophers except in direct response to the Waste Land of Eliot and the Cantos of Pound.

Eliot lamented the shattering of Western civilization like a bombed cathedral, so I rebuilt the cathedral by presenting the originating philosophers as cultural heroes of epic.

Pound tried to recreate the philosophical tradition by presenting fragments of biography and ideas of great thinkers in a collage, so instead I wrote traditional coherent narrative accounts in verse of the lives and ideas of the greatest philosophers whose teachings form the foundation of our advanced technological society.

I feel both conservative and liberal impulses were key to my writing such an epic.

Hermead Epic of Philosophers #Poetry #AmericanPoetry #Epic #AmericanEpic #Philosophy #GreatAmericanNovel #Cinemism #MetaModernism #HistoricalFiction #FolkLore #Modernism #Eliot #Pound

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Queen Of Apples
© Surazeus
2017 12 09

She stands on the mountaintop in starlight,
singing beautiful songs that no one hears.
She gazes at eerie enchanting sight
of endless mountains rolling into years.

She walks the forest, listening to trees,
which twist hungry branches to flashing skies,
explain the mystery of whispering breeze
to draw pulsing forms in her dreaming eyes.

She touches fluttering leaves with curious hand
to understand the song of their true name.
She blazes unseen trails across the land
and chases prancing deer in spriteful game.

She walks from wilderness of singing wind
into the crowded maze of city streets.
She smiles at everyone as trusted friend
and seeks to understand each soul she meets.

She gives away everything she makes free
but weeps hungry when they turn her away.
She leaves the city to find her name tree
and eats sweet apples while branches sway.

She brings wagon of apples to the town
where hungry children kiss her generous hand.
She sings under the tree in fluttering gown,
our beloved queen of the starving land.

#Poem #Poetry #QueenOfApples #Feminism #Goddess #WomanPower #GoddessOfNature #Mythology #MotherMary #QueenOfHearts

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Run With Trees In Rain
© Surazeus
2017 12 09

When the laughing tree came running at me
out of the rain that falls from eyes of mothers
I hid in the light of forgotten dreams
till I could discover her secret name.

She sent flocks of ravens on beating wings
to bring me mushrooms from the cave of dreams
so when I ate them at the flash of dawn
I saw the evolution of all things.

While I was floating in the dream of time
on shimmering waves of transforming masks
I heard the music of the universe
pulsing from each particle of my soul.

Though my flashing brain can only control
this body of bones and flesh through the maze
of dancing trees, I feel the vibrant flow
of mountains and rivers inside my heart.

Each atom of my body was designed
by pulsing sun that forges from hot flames
bright neurons writing visions in my brain
so I blossom from the seed of my star.

So when I wandered lost in maze of shadows
the singing tree came forward from the rain
and showed me how to walk her secret way
beyond the blinding walls my fathers built.

I climbed the smiling tree to reach the sky
and there she showed me how the twinkling stars
beamed molecules to weave from aching rays
this beating heart that longs for raven wings.

But when my father woke me before dawn
and placed the sharp axe in my trembling hand
I wept that the trees I love could not run
through comforting rain to escape from death.

My father showed me how to build this dome
of solid timber perched on ring of stones
to shelter your souls from enlightening rain
who teaches us the ancient song of stars.

I laid my dead father in river mud
and berry vines curled from his beating heart
to bleed his pure soul in succulent berries
that nourish our minds when we drink his dreams.

Now his spirit of wisdom glows in me
that proves I am the tree who runs in rain
and plants the seeds of stars in fertile eyes
so children spring singing from open hands.

Hold hands in ring of stones on winter night
and sing sweet hymns about the shining sun
that will return to revive the dead world
and kiss apples blooming again from trees.

That, my curious child, is what I perceive
when I visit Stone Henge, the ring of stones
where we once gathered on midwinter night
to sing of stars and feast on apple pies.

We carry their ancient songs in our hearts
that teach us how the stars beam vibrant soul
to animate our minds with hungry love
so we can run with trees in flashing rain.

When you want to understand how our souls
were born from the blossoming seeds of stars
run with trees in rain and sing secret names
that beam from heart of every person born.

The trees rose from the ripe womb of the sea
billions of years before we crawled up streams,
and filled the sky with oxygen we breathe
then gave us fruit to wake our minds from dream.

#Poem #Poetry #Ballad #Evolution #Tree #Nature #VibrantUniverse #UniversalSoul #StoneHenge #MidWinterFestival #TomasTranstromer #RobertBly
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