Yellow Wood Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

The crumbling stone bridge over the brown river,
on which the statue of the poet stands,
waits for my ghost to cross its wildered way,
humming with gusts of arbitrary wind
that scatters pages of verse from frail hands
so our dreams dissolve into silent song.

Delicate plum stone of my rotten heart,
charred by sad flame of the arrogant lamp,
contains original purpose of life
designed by Raven Witch of Serpent Lake
who brews honey wine in Cauldron of Faith
while chanting hex of wisdom from the stars.

Atomic light of pure love in my cells
began to gleam before our world was born
from frantic swirls of penitential lust
that sparkles carbon molecules to bind
aggressive force of hope with grim desire
which aggregates proverbs in Book of Dreams.

Startled awake by the wrinkle in time,
that folds every universe of my mind
in vibrant matrix through radio waves,
I study flashing quarks in supple words
preserved as letters writhing on white page
that prove ten dimensions spiral through eggs.

When I come to the road less traveled by,
that has never appeared on any map
drawn by Lone Wolf in monastery cave,
I find pregnant woman by the blind oak
who seems to know the secret of my name,
so we walk in the yellow wood of hope.

Alert in classroom full of changeling sprites,
I teach how Mercator projection map
provides the best navigation device
for brave explorers who sail Seven Seas
across ten dimensions of time and space
to colonize the world with fantasies.

My sensitive spirit of eager faith
writhes with rancid bitterness of gloom
when I transverse the endless realm of words
with yearning to retrieve Diamond of Death
by crossing threshold of the Otherworld
that leaves me stranded in my first hometown.

I drift in dreary reverie of fear
to seek asylum in your weary heart
where grief corrupts sagacious honesty
through quaint cathexis in your faceless soul
for which I leap to cross eternity
as swirling shadow of atomic words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus finds old gray-haired bard standing alone where two roads diverge in the yellow wood of ten dimensions, so they sit by the fire at midnight and think about why.

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

Absence Of Auspicious Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

To buy dragon eggs at the grocery store,
I carry magic box of blinking eyes,
reluctant to transcend limits of thought
as if I am the tragic money man
who always stumbles on the muddy road
though I stare at the ghost on the front porch.

To dive in lake of pain before dawn light,
I watch collapsing century resurge
with monstrous tenderness of berry jam
which teaches me importance of dream facts
to avoid the trap of hiding regret
for living blasphemously without pride.

To ransack archives of personal taste,
I dismiss surprises of history
smeared with melancholy colors of hope
which suit my vibrant life style on the town
when I perform dramatic scenes to prove
lessons of survival trick me with wealth.

To relax in burning building of faith,
I write strange thought formulas on chalk boards
that describe how flowers explode from brains
through social ideologies of power
that divide us into factions of blind greed,
impersonal as mountains that drink clouds.

To analyze photographs of blurred ghosts,
I stand beside the stop sign near the park
and count how many chances I have missed
in vain attempts to evade curse of fame
that dogs my footsteps past the Promised Land
till I attend inauguration balls.

To formulate myself as almost real,
I break into meaningless tomb of fear
where skeleton of Jesus, cracked by fate,
crumbles into gold dust of burned-out stars,
so I stand trembling on the global stage
and erase heroes from national myths.

To join my neighbors at the barbecue,
I untwist proverbs from roots of dead trees
disguised as telephone lines of contempt
that beam puzzling riddles to glowing screens
reflecting faces in masks of dead gods
whom we perform all day with reticence.

To try ingenuous mode with bitter guile,
I measure changing contours of the world
where priests lead believers in maze of lies
because in the end every person dies,
for every fake belief in holy books
blinds me to absence of auspicious love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus fixes the broken door of the abandoned church by the bankrupt refrigerator factory near the railroad tracks of the small midwestern town where grandson of Jesus runs the gas station.

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

She Almost Wonders If
© Surazeus
2026 04 18

She almost wonders if time is not real
based on how water flows through veins of steel
till silver raven, from dim vale she fears,
explains strange magic of machinery gears,
so lame girl walks downside up to her room
where faceless fairies flicker in sad gloom.

She never questions why stars glitter gold
because she savors water that seems cold
while reading romance tales in canny books
that were sewn from butterfly wings by cooks
who hide crystal keys in loaves of hot bread
which she can use to resurrect the dead.

She always asks each ghost their secret name
because she wants to learn their psychic game
which gives her social tools to fool the fools
who gather in workshops to design tools
that devils use to manipulate minds
except for her who loves to feed shy hinds.

She ever wanders garden of fruit trees
in search of new words she can use to tease
grim angel standing guard by jeweled gate
whose sky-blue eyes require she defy fate,
but when she climbs through window of her heart
he flies away without celestial chart.

She often leans in window of high tower
to watch her favorite horse consume star flower,
and dreams of racing swift beyond far hills
to eat fresh apples and drink from clear rills,
but wakes from daydream in gray mirror frame
to smile and pretend she was not born lame.

She mostly paints fierce dragon on ice peak
whose rage is tamed by lame girl who is meek
since she is doomed to inherit the Earth
according to chart of her royal birth,
so she limps quietly down narrow hall
past portraits of ancestors on the wall.

She nearly steps through unlocked door of hope
in frantic mission to expand her scope
by slipping free from castle of despair,
but pauses halfway down steep winding stair
to ponder abstract numbers of blind faith
that help her mind perceive the eyeless wraith.

She rarely thinks about mute nothingness
while waiting on Bridge of Forgetfulness,
so when Rapunzel gains her liberty
she strums taut strings on lyre of Mercury
and sings heart-wrenching psalms of bitter love
while busking in strange towns where she may rove.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus hears heart-wrenching tune so he finds lame girl singing by the fountain in the town square to crowd of people who weep.

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