Surazeus Simon Seamount

The secret to writing poetry every day is to write what my brain needs to sing, not what I think an editor might publish.

Slime Evolving Into God
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Orpheus studies how slime evolves into God through eight hundred million years of evolution till we transform Earth into a starship and fly away.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/slim...

I build new Heaven on ruins of Hell
from spiraling orbs of terrible truth
where Isaiah sees six-winged Seraphim
create our bodies from atomic rays
that radiate waves of frantic molecules
from God Brain at core of the universe.

Since I am slime evolving into God,
I join the barbarous brotherhood of faith
to fight for who will own Narcissus Pool
till all weak losers crumble into dust
so warriors alone inherit the Earth
destroyed by bombs exploding in our brains.

Perplexed at sight of planes in turbid skies,
Mercurius runs through maze of crowded streets
till bomb destroys illusion of his state
so he lies mangled in museum ruins
still clutching lyre of turtle shell he made
that rings romantic songs on radios.

Since I am slime evolving into God,
I fly ingenious plane with angel wings
among bright clouds where crystal temples shine,
then drop aggressive bombs on ancient towns
that shatter schools where young girls sing in choirs
whose bodies float on bloody wings of light.

Wrapped in cocoon of letters Eve designed,
I transform from small furry dinosaur
to long-legged cat that scampers in tall trees
where I sing heart-enchanting tune of love
in mind-expanding code of tree-root truth
from which I weave vast tapestry of tales.

Since I am slime evolving into God,
reborn from heart of darkness seven ways
from fractured kingdom of the gothic rose,
I wear skull of the dragon on my head
to reign as Pope for thirteen thousand years,
tending fruit trees in Garden of Zathar.

I sing through solid stone of my sponge brain
the sacred name my angel dreams for me,
so I invent the primal alphabet
depicting people fishing by the sea
which traps productive souls in myths of gods
who wield sharp knives to carve death into time.

Since I am slime evolving into God,
halfway along mutation way of truth,
I play chess with blind angel of the sea
who smiles at me from her aquarium tank,
but when I break her free from stereotype
she flies away into the Great Blue Eye.

Slime Evolving Into God
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

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

Quick Atoms Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings prophecies with Isaiah as if every day where the last day of the world apocalypse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/quic...

Rude riddles of unruly rectitude
recalibrate our world colonial state
when Midas and Nebuchadnezzar fight
world war over who owns oil wells of power,
and will marry Rapunzel in gold tower
whose lamentation unwinds clock of time.

No quirky character of mental mirth
appears from patriotic fog of war,
except for cruel knight of the dented axe
who throws his shining armor in the dirt
and shoots brave angels with rifle of fear
to oppose strict democracy of time.

Concerned about the state of politics
unspooling principles of sacred laws,
old half-blind jester of the castle court
lounges in library of melting books
and laughs at dissolution of world views
disassembled by quick atoms of time.

Sun gleams gold in raindrops on window glass,
refracting spirits of eight billion brains
in wordless whirl of shimmer-shattered myths
too neatly packaged and labeled in stores
for purchase with the credit card of faith
that startles me awake at flash of time.

Early spring rain of the gold-shadowed sun
drenches houses in towns of rolling hills
where no nymphs or satyrs have ever played
because they wander stuck in glowing screens
as ghosts of fairy tales no one believes
so we go to work in the nick of time.

Behind every locked door on silent streets
faceless women hide from arrogant men
who fight each other in world cyberwars
till safe temples and schools in distant lands
are blasted by the microphones of hate
which leaves souls twisted by the curse of time.

Bare gray trees wait for bells of hope to ring
but no one in the oak-wood suburb speaks
about the ghost horse with emerald eyes
that haunts the car-less streets on afternoons
when butterflies transform into old books
unread by children till the end of time.

Paid by the hour to invent clever lies,
I mow dusty lawn of my glass moon house
beneath uncanny sky of innocent whisps
that swirl from sparkles of typewriter keys
while I study ancient Little Red Dots
that gleam one billion years at dawn of time.

Quick Atoms Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

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

Quaint Suburban House
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Orpheus the real estate agent shows the quaint suburban home of my heart to Romeo and Cinderella who want to buy a home after their marriage.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/quai...

Reborn with brave spirit of Lucifer
dedicated to predicting the truth,
Jesus will return as messiah sleuth
to crown himself emperor of the world
by wearing gold mask of the cosmic herald
that hides his state as son of Jupiter.

Trapped in weird castle maze of Avalon
with zombies who insist on loyal faith,
I transform into dream-controlling wraith,
projecting visions with words of my mouth
that lead refugees of civil wars south
to build world empire based in Oregon.

Inspired by noble soul of Onatah
whose spirit haunts my quaint suburban house
in sacred body of my secret spouse,
I feed all the hungry people in town
who cheer when she appears in red silk gown
with wand to kill wealth-sucking Dracula.

Done singing her part in the opera
in theater without official lease,
Roma weaves my cape from the Golden Fleece
so I can battle ghost in the machine
manipulated by Queen Melusine
whose star shines in our national cinema.

Discussing wisdom in the portico
as key to enter gates of paradise,
Bragi and Mercury fry eggs with rice
to share with Juliet and Clementine
who wear jeweled crowns from the Pluto Mine,
then ride gold carriage home to Jericho.

Exiled from my throne in Babylon
through clever trick of the deity ruse,
I find new employment as crazy muse
for sad poet who writes enchanting tune
that pictures face of his love on the moon
till he falls dead in hills of Aragon.

Lost on my way to find America
to which I have never even got close,
I open sacred book to diagnose
song of mad gods that radiate from the stone
because I walk the desolate hill alone
where I worship the sweet tarantula.

Every time I focus my camera
on special beauty of some human face
that glows clear in crowd of the vampire race,
sunlight fractures perception of my brain
so I see essence of spiritual stain
transform our souls through psychic formula.