Surazeus Simon Seamount

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings epic tale about each great tribal god of human history who lived and died in ancient mists of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/shin...

This fantasy of one wise global ruler
inspires nationalist pride of every tribe
who believe their own god will rule the Earth,
but I know they are all but mortal men
who fight each other over dirt and rain,
so I walk with the person I love most.

Perhaps one man descended from them all,
combining their divine souls in one mind,
may appear from turmoil of history
and unite warring nations of the Earth
with open hands of generosity
that rule justice and liberty for all.

Bright apparition of some great world savior,
robed in white, hair blowing in divine wind,
appears on white horse with gold horn of power
and shining wings of star authority,
so I wonder what god my eyes perceive,
Zeus, Brahma, Jesus, Odin, or Shangdi.

Gazing east far over mountains and seas,
I strain to see around curve of the Earth
Mount Olympus where All-Father was born
who strode on rugged clouds of broken stones
to fill his heart with courage of the wind
in fight against cruel Titans to live free.

Far from people-crowded streets of commerce
that wind through cement canyons of ambition,
I stand tall in rugged meadow of flowers
among the vast Shining Mountains of Light,
and watch with awe how dawn rays of the sun
luminate Tava Kaavi, Mountain of the Sun.

Exhausting though the climb may be, rough path
of glacier-fractured stones winding sideways
in rolling basin of the mountain vale,
I breathe patient endurance of orange clouds
with persistence of pioneers, that fuels
progressive quest of my immortal genes.

Attentive wisdom of snow, crusted white
with timeless beauty of starlight, displays
faceless beauty of our immortal soul
all humans share, molded by suffering
from passion into social mask we wear,
which almost mirrors divine mind of light.

The purple columbine of my aching heart
blooms beside rocky mountain valley spring
that sings with ancient voice of wordless joy
while washing all my sorrows to the sea,
so I almost believe that I can fly,
but I breathe spirit of the sky instead.

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

Orpheus studies star chart for the new world order that he intends to build with help from Phoebus, Jesus, and Jesuvius.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/tabl...

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart,
I rebuild our lost world with new star chart
to shelter every refugee from war
who shares labor in the field and the store,
while Aeneas reigns in tower of dreams
to guard our tribe that dwells by flowing streams.

Wise Shepherd in lush field of sparkling wheat
guides us with his staff of comforting light
through the valley of the shadow of death
to the lake that teems with delicious fish
where he prepares table of feast and song
so we dwell in house of wisdom he built.

I worship the Sun as Solaria
that weaves our bodies from soul-beams of light,
and worship the Earth as Telluria
that generates our souls from singing waves,
for I am temporary name-masked soul
attentive to perform my chosen role.

With Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds,
I walk crowded streets of America
as prophet who returns from the waste land
with sacred proverbs based on moral rules
that define good and bad as acts we play
to construct or destruct structures of atoms.

Wearing discarded mask of Orpheus,
I search through endless swirls of verbal fog
to find my brain expanding from dream trance
with solemn beauty of wise ocean whales
who float with jeweled crowns and red silk robes,
and discuss organic life on earth globes.

Learning how to shape dreams from Morpheus
so Ideas of Plato catalog
objects I perceive with subjective stance,
I weave vast tapestry of fractured tales
that represent patterns of psychic tropes
which nurture how our hearts survive on hopes.

Programmed with dreams of the language machine,
my brain assembles from weird puzzling facts
patchwork world view that frames what might be real
through fraught ontology my thoughts design
that centers everything on Death and Tax
since Earth is indifferent to how I feel.

When the wind blows through doors of my heart,
I wake from dream where our world falls apart,
so I stroll among flowers of the field
to contemplate virtual world on war shield
which Achilles bore with defiant arm
when he fought great war of feminine charm.

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism

When I turned 18 in September 1982 I had to register for the draft. My half-Blackfoot stepfather, who had been a tank mechanic in Vietnam, and had eagerly voted for Reagan, was quite insistent in making sure I was registered.

If I Adjust Cycle
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Orpheus adjusts cycle of his emotions to match the television show about the girl who calculates how to fly to the moon while eating burgers.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/if-i...

If I adjust scale of false modesty
to join holy cult of the Water Book,
I might sidle past the house of dead gods
to rendezvous with Death down by the river
that flushes human bodies to the sea
with indifferent auspice no one perceives.

If I adjust standards of moral values
to style our fight as matter of survival,
I might sense absence of psychotic color
by starting enterprise of stolen wealth
with uncommon manners of noble clowns
who fight each other for the secret key.

If adjust flight of arrogant breath
by swooping wingless over power lines,
I might remember who gives me their mask
by calling my name on the telephone,
which I deny outside of time and space
because I am spectator of the race.

If I adjust lassitude of each season
that returns with ostensible perversion,
I might reclaim discolored photograph
that proves I committed those evil crimes
based on defeated memory of chimes
gracious with flowers of frantic endurance.

If I adjust celebration of wisdom
in spite of artificial victory,
I might taste resolve of the Gardener
to rebuild Garden of Eden in Hades
that matches permanent state of respect
fractured by pendulum unwound by fate.

If I adjust ingenuous mode of reason
to lock my brain with alternative truth,
I might caress sensuous contours of time
to surf tidal wave of continuum
silhouetted by dramatic regret
when I follow claw-prints in bloody snow.

If I adjust temperature of my rage
to counter pain of patient pertinence,
I might wake on the moon in time to see
God break every pattern of human faith,
yet I anticipate the second coming
while typing at my desk in the hot swamp.

If I adjust cycle of my emotions
to match exploding stars of naked words,
I might find Lost Princess with seven eyes
singing in forest of eccentric clowns,
yet when I turn on the glass radio
ghosts from distant stars call my secret name.