Farm Fields Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2025 04 15

Warned by stones in the walls of paradise
about fish flipping the sky upside down,
we untangle memories of this wild land
which we name after first mother of faith
who walked these lush hills centuries ago
to hide our bodies in egg of her heart.

Vulnerable to hungry machines of hope,
which plow fields of grass into furrowed verse
where wordless men with taut wind-weathered faces
scatter seeds of stories in graves of fear,
old paradigm of Earth we cherished deeply
hides redolent spirits of our dry bones.

Words ferret mysteries with the sense of touch
we connive to prove Earth remembers us
so cities of stone we build on her breast
creak with anguish of forgotten desires
that bloom from rain-wet fields into gold wheat
we bake into bread to weep for Adonis.

Consorting at twilight with honest lovers,
we weave strange loneliness of midnight flowers
in wreaths we wear to May Day festivals
with unrelenting passion to transcend
cadence of broken hearts in sprightly dance
though we relapse to status of lost fools.

Our bodies vanish into fields of wheat
where we first rose from corrugated tombs
to map eccentric meadows teeming angels
who chase each other twenty thousand years
as we gather berries from tangled vines
which represent weird history of our race.

Buoyant spawn of our hearts escaping caves
grasp roots of trees with elegant disgrace
to organize wild herbs from shadowed woods
into neatly aligned rows of fruit trees
which flourish thick in hush of river winds
for sweet unsingable hymns of old faith.

Amazed at startling beauty of gold mist,
that frames the rising moon with arrogance,
we calculate our peaceful absences
with daring urgency to comprehend
crystalized wisdom of our drifting house
that shelters our children from angry storms.

Conjured by gale-warning voice of the sea
that sings with sibilance of honest hope,
our spirits beam with marvelous intent
to count each raindrop shining with its star
that animates seeds with ambitious pride
we feel tending farm fields of paradise.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus plows the field and sows seeds, then joins villagers at the sowing festival to celebrate the bursting vital energy of spring.

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