Eyes Of Every Human
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

Each time another god walks on this Earth,
embodied by some normal human being,
I feel vibration of the turning world
that emanates from passion of their eyes
which shine bright as Lamp of Diogenes
who asks me if I am the Honest One.

Through ancient forest of the city street
I hear the pretty huge old round gold primal
and atomic world-generating sun
sing through prismatic network of my brain
to express conscious mind of the White Whole
which we mortal humans mistake for God.

I see Eyes of Astara shimmer clear
through eyes of every human on this globe
for she is First Mother of humankind
whose state of consciousness shines in our minds
when we gather in temple of our tribe
to worship immortal soul of our genes.

At dawn of time six thousand years ago
Astara stands on ziggurat of faith
and sings Creation of the Universe
so we share vision of humanity
striving together on our fragile world
to survive and thrive in garden of fruit.

From pulsing passion of my ancient heart
I wake shrouded voice of ancestral ghosts
with texts of truth carved on tablets of stone
through managed encyclopedia of dreams
which applies music of ideas to forms
of transient beauty composed from sunlight.

Thus I climb mountain of religious hope
to ring of stones on summit of our hearts
where wise Astara still stands tall with truth
before brave monolith of star-forged time
so I can hear her original voice
that programs how my brain perceives the world.

Each human being who walks on solid Earth
manifests immortal soul of our genes
so we shine bright with Cosmic Mind of God
though our flame of consciousness is snuffed out
by greedy men afraid of nothingness
because we all vanish in void of time.

Through empathy of this conceptual song
I gaze at complex process of our lives
through eyes of every human on this Earth
whose disharmonious songs of social will
converge in global symphony of hope
till we formulate universal law.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury and sings to people gathered on the ziggurat in Ur where ghost of Ishtar shimmers through eyes of every human on Earth.

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

Watch The River Flow
© Surazeus
2026 07 31

Beneath the golden bough of earnest faith,
Phoebus fixes engine of the white Honda
for Ceres who sits in the waiting lounge
analyzing cereal sales on her laptop
while song of Mercury on the radio
blends with hum of cars on the busy road.

After Ceres drives repaired car to work,
Phoebus eyes large black van that pulls in,
squinting at Mars with tattoos on his arms,
then glances in the back to see six girls
who slouch and hide their eyes behind long hair
as he opens the hood for diagnosis.

Dismantling the engine that works just fine,
Phoebus gestures to Vulcan and Minerva
who close garage doors and call the police
while Mars and Neptune emerge from the van
and snarl in anger at the long delay,
glaring leery at Phoebus who plays dumb.

Swinging metal pipe with suspicious rage,
grim Mars attacks with clumsy arrogance
but Phoebus dodges and punches his head,
while Minerva twirls and kicks with lithe grace
that knocks Neptune backward into the pole,
who pulls out his gun to fire at her head.

Somersaulting with martial elegance,
Minerva kicks the gun out of his hand,
and, though Mars punches his chest several times,
Phoebus swirls around with precise assault
in strike that binds his arms behind his back
as Vulcan leads police in the garage.

While the police, Jupiter and Diana,
arrest Neptune and Mars with steel handcuffs,
Phoebus unchains girls from back of the van
who hug each other and cry with relief,
then Venus and Vesta with grateful smiles
express gratitude for attentive help.

"We all applied for jobs in marketing,"
Vesta explains as she trembles in shock,
"but when we arrived for job interviews
they kept us prisoner in old hotels,
then took us everywhere across the country
while forcing us to work as their sex slaves."

As the freed girls leave with Officer Diana,
Vesta offers her phone number to Phoebus,
so they meet at the Pegasus Cafe,
attend new movie of the Odyssey,
then stroll together in the city park
where they hold hands and watch the river flow.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus works as photographer at the wedding of Phoebus and Vesta where Venus and the girls play her bridesmaids who weep in happiness for her love.

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

Trample My Flowered Grave
© Surazeus
2026 07 31

Heart-aching sorrow of unwritten tales,
that depict the suffering people endure
as they are destroyed by indifferent Nature,
smears scarlet despair across empty skies
that wakes vain hope in broken hearts of souls
who chase glow of Heaven into their grave.

Thus I shall linger calmly on this shore,
relaxed among jagged rocks of desire,
face veiled by drifting mist of unconcern,
to wait with blithe assurance of blank death
for time to weave my body from mute light
so I will glow with joy in my dark grave.

If I join army of hope-righteous fools
to fight in vain against cruel tyranny,
I may find freedom to live as I will
while striding boldly along mountain streams
where no grim soldiers with weapons of death
could hurl my body in lost unmarked grave.

Strange stars that I have never seen before
flicker through tangled web of wind-tossed limbs
so I cannot now navigate by gleam
of canon-regulated creeds to follow
path of my faith to secret Promised Land
that preserves small space for my special grave.

Confined to hollow dale of silent winds
that ruffle strange emotions of my heart
across ice-black water of moss-framed pool,
I pluck blackberries from long tangled vines
to find sweet memories of my childhood days
when I played free around my undug grave.

Still awake long into dark evening gloom,
I hear red-breasted Robins in thick Rowans
sing delicate warbling tunes of regret
which sparks fierce passion in my aching heart
to haughtily endure the bitter storms
when men with guns trample my flowered grave.

Sweet summer days when we were free to roam
fairy-haunted vales among rugged hills
have vanished with huge cloudy palaces
that shimmer bright as guide for wanderers
when strict armies of greedy men invade
valley of skulls that sing in secret graves.

Concerned civilization will collapse
again because politicians violate
sacred Jovian law of hospitality
bound to ensure social stability,
I bring cart of apples to castle hall
where ghosts of my ancestors fill my grave.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus dances around my grave in the foothills of the Alps where I lived for ten thousand years building a great empire from hunger for paradise.

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

Loneliness Of Whole Thought
© Surazeus
2026 07 30

One leaf falls in loneliness of whole thought,
familiar enough to my alien mind
to defamiliarize with twisted truth
uncanniness that glimmers in the world
which I encounter through mask of respect,
based on strict variety of dream spells.

Unwieldy usefulness of frantic rules
displays calm conventions of cruel concern
when I retread unnatural images
designed to frame without state reference
roles nameless people perform on world stage
with believing spirit of the failed game.

Mutual hope for unlawful happenstance
provides expanding rift between our hearts
which we decide to bridge with broken trust
still contrary to apparent discourse
out of joint with conservative returns
we actively ignore with spooling code.

My brain beams bright attention of insight
at carefully arranged essay of words
polished with reconfigured metaphors
that mirror orthographic idioms
which fail to warrant invaluable assets
concealed within world of appearances.

Unspelling truths trapped by aggressive jokes,
my brain applies loose logic of regret
as detailed example of liberal hope
sedimented beneath masks of blind pride
that dares emerge from interrupted play
for people scattered in the city maze.

Decoded version of my brain program
aligns unkempt concepts of sad desire
based on intransitive process of growth
when we decide to meet in solemn tryst,
untethered from strange rules of social games
that keeps our bodies bound through psychic rites.

Assembled passions of my pulsing brain
erupt from morbid egg of holiness
with measured portent of apportioned price
through arcane knowledge of unfractured stones,
as if the proper etiquette for death
allows our hearts to follow forced beliefs.

We try again with pulchritude to bridge
vast scope of nothingness between our hearts
through moral extreme of stoic despair
till we achieve ecstatic state of being
through buzzing silence of disloyal love
which bonds atomic flash of divine souls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus attempts to decode arcane spells carved on ancient tablets of stone long buried beneath the parking lot of the abandoned shopping mall.

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

Quick Chaos Of Energy
© Surazeus
2026 07 30

How light strikes quick chaos of energy,
that billows from blank darkness of desire
to mold atomic forms in words of thought,
inspires me to sit by the sparkling lake
and tell nobody feelings of my heart
while I forge virtual model of the Real.

How darkness erases reality
from timeless space of where I always am,
reveals to me true nature of the soul
when I see virtual model of the world
inside my brain as ever-shifting mode
of forward-motion progress nowhere real.

How time expands scope of my memories,
when I wear books as masks of nameless souls,
conceals true essence glowing in our bones
so with vague shadow of your Beingness
I walk through archives of weird human tales
to find my epic with musical notes.

How I walk through the open door of fate
with sacred book that belongs to no one,
provides broad stage for tragic comedy
that traps my soul in story not my own
till I reverse course in attentive swerve
and blaze my own path without fateful notes.

How Death finds me beside faith-ruined church
on river shore where my ancestors sleep
in tombless graves of humble solitude,
convinces me I might evade that fate
if I keep walking on broad windy steppes
with apple cart pulled by my friendly horse.

How Fear accuses me of stealing Truth
from ancient library Apollo built
startles me from bright revery of hope
so I pause on the busy city street
and wonder where these people want to go
as they walk desperately to evade Death.

How urgent life will go on happening
forever past our expiration date
proves nothing more than we are formed by fate
that we design with every choice we make
till we become aware and change our way
because I am lush meadow for the horse.

How sorrow propagates obscure desires
that bind me with bright shadow of my brain
engages my eccentric sense of truth
that we are incarnations of our gods
who are ancestors through genetic code,
so I father children with my bride Death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus accepts mission from Persephone to battle demons writhing in bodies of men whose minds have been poisoned by propaganda lies of greed.

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

Dial Of The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 07 29

Each moment dial of the universe turns
one slight degree, fractal tune of the sun
extends sharp beams of knowledge through my eyes
to broaden scope of insight my brain clocks
through urgent record of indifferent change
so I become some other soul than me.

I play grand symphony of sordid faith
with savage respect for unfathomed truth
that spirals constant change of timeless form
as I explore beyond walls of my fear
so I encompass within frame of thought
essence of each object I analyze.

Surprised at how my brain programs itself
while absorbing each strange shape I perceive,
I count on progress of scholastic sense
to render concepts in fraught formulas
that combine streams of data to refresh
expansive frame of reference I infer.

Returned by backward shininess of grief,
I press fresh apples into cider juice
to feed each traveler who stops to rest
in fragile hall of stone my father built
before torrential rains of demon tears
dare to flood our glass world with voiceless ghosts.

Trapped inside unnumbered door of fake time,
eight thousand Seraphim with sparkly eyes
dance wild in flashing rain of everywhere
to prove we are but ghosts with writhing masks
whose eyes are nothing like immortal sun
that burns our souls awake with vibrant fear.

Insistent that my heart has not been breached
with clueless shadow writhing from tree roots,
I smile at you with assurance that death
will snuff out flame of every shining soul
who shares magnificent humanity
with stones that meditate eternally.

Young woman in red skirt with blue head scarf
gathers saffron crocus blooms of desire
with hands that know how godless souls are formed
through secret solace of weird destiny
we try to sell with compassion to fate
who laughs through ocean waves of brave contempt.

Yet vulnerable people the moon conceals
give each other rides to vast shopping malls
where tricksters sell homes in the Afterlife,
but I give Apple of Eris with love
to the most clever woman in the world
who slowly turns dial of the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus tinkers with the clock of untime in mansion of mad Achilles so he can adjust the dial of the universe without misaligning his his will to power.

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

Nobody From Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 07 29

At the sudden rise of the monstrous song
from dark turmoil in calm sea of my heart,
I pause while walking from the parking lot,
then gaze around my still-point of concern
at transient beauty of the wavering world
to understand what I should do today.

At certainty through slow unraveling
with threads of fate from memory-woven time,
I focus vague attention of concern
to trace on gossamer scroll secret code
devised by slyness to conceal my fear
which barely contains tides of social change.

At final judgment, rendered by mute trees
to prove exceptions frame uncertain fate,
I reach for handle of the broken door
with courage to expose obsessive crimes
people commit against people they fear
despite concern for traditional rules.

At placid disassemblage of our state,
through deconstruction of rich privilege,
I scatter components of programmed truths
on Round Table of value-burnished knights
to study disconnects between bland wants
and ideal needs children fail to express.

At startled insight of conceptual maps
that display agricultural output,
I analyze process of give and take
providing financial support for farms
that supply factories with biomass
packaged and sold in bright grocery stores.

At stir of demons in deep well of faith,
who sings with sorrow of lost refugees,
I name myself Nobody from Nowhere
while I wander from sea to shining sea
in search for unfenced patch of fertile soil
beside some wide river to call my home.

At stroke of thirteen on clock of untime,
that vibrates over maze of offices,
I type strange stories other people write
to hide my Self with masks of long-dead gods
who still speak through hard marrow of my bones
with hunger for salvation of the fooled.

At urge of faint hope to transcend my brain
and soar in wings of Icarus through Hell,
I arch my back as bridge for all lost souls
to climb the stairway to Heaven with hope
where they can shed rose-colored fantasy
and live free in this world of love and need.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus scribbles lyrics for the new song that screams through the pulsing sponge of his electric brain, then strums guitar to improvise a tune for the words of weird.

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

Mercurial Voice Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 07 28

Far from lush island of my lonely heart
I sail ship of the sun across wild sea
and wander lost in wilderness of hope
four hundred years in hills of swirling mist,
yet sweet Gritania with star-silver eyes
calls my name with voice of the mountain wind.

Back home to where my soul was born from stone
I long to fly on wings of Icarus,
but I wake here in land of Onatah
where ringing melodies of golden harps
are too faint for my aching heart to hear
beneath loud rumble of machinery.

I am no foolhardy Odysseus
cursed to drive many turns of trickery
down endless maze of crowded city streets,
for I remain in hazy land of dreams
far from stone tower on lush hill I built
where harp of my heart moans in lonely wind.

Annoyed at ache of longing in my heart
to return home across the wine-dark sea
on ship I build from strong paternal bones,
I strum guitar Taliesin gave to me
and sing psalms with mercurial voice of faith
that Fortune will give me fate that I choose.

Another sad song no one wants to hear
unravels ache of wisdom in my heart
so I continue to sing cryptic spell
depicting quest to build new Wonderland
which we pursue with brave naivety
though I almost drown in vast sea of tears.

I want to shuffle off this mortal coil
and spring on vibrant wings of Icarus
to fly beyond bounds of this spinning globe,
but spirit of my conscious sense of self
is conjured by quick memories of my brain
so I am bound to dwell within its frame.

Gold lion on shore of my Isle of Skythe
strums Harp of David with eccentric style
that stirs my heart from mute youth of despair
to prophesy new age of unity
when Gothinia, Zarathia, and Russia
will form new world Empire of Anglonesia.

Safe in castle tower on Isle of Skythe
I long to dwell with wise bride of my heart,
but I remain in Appalachian hills
safe in our home where blind devils stand guard
while I strum ancient Lyre of Mercury
and sing psalms with mercurial voice of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus wanders in the crowded amusement park of Wonderland, bemused by all the interesting people in their excited family units of ancient souls.

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

My Journey Beyond Fear
© Surazeus
2026 07 28

Across the vast abyss of daily life
my ancestors walk in dreams of my heart
to motivate my journey beyond fear
through heroic banality of faith
with calm acceptance of my beating heart
that love drives me into warm arms of Death.

This life seems tragic in futility
of patient building with firm crafting hands
since Indifferent Nature of spinning Earth
provides material of substantial wealth
for me to construct paradise in hell,
yet destroys my garden with storms of chaos.

Yet I continue building with my heart
strong communities of productive rites
to manage mindless hunger of desire
with focused process of tending rich crops
that provide sustenance of soul delight
which makes our bodies glow with transient hope.

For twenty thousand years of swirling change
I build empires of farms and fertile herds
which I rule from high pyramid of hope
to manage disputes of opposing needs
till paradise of my will dissolves to dust
so ruins clump in waste land of my will.

Brave Perseus runs down to storm-wracked beach
where wise Andromeda with star-bright eyes
breaks free from chains of political greed
so they unite to battle tyranny
and found new social system of respect
that distributes shared wealth to everyone.

That Heaven, people of this world long for,
which shines as paragon of social grace
where every person lives in harmony,
mirrors imperfect cities of our world
with vision of how we think life should be,
providing template we strive to make real.

Life never will be perfect as we want,
because some mad Achilles will destroy
great city we have built with loving hands,
yet wily Odysseus will recreate
new state based on hospitality
where we live as we will, if we harm none.

As I look back on endless path of life
that my ancestors blazed around this globe,
I see how empire rise and fall in waves,
but always humans find new ways to live,
so I try to create with craft hands
transforming our world to Heaven on Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus takes Achilles and Odysseus to the Crippled Pegasus Cafe on the Rue Morgue Avenue where they talk about the latest movie about the Trojan War.

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

Slow Spin Of Earth
© Surazeus
2026 07 27

When shapeless shadow of the mindless sun
reveals eternal light inside my cells,
my heart is tricked to think my soul is real
beyond hot emanation of my brain,
but I float blissfully in surging waves
and let soft tide of time dissolve my pride.

I try to avoid unfortunate role
as king of ghosts when sunset light glows pink
through tangled lattice of tree limbs, but grief
clings joyfully to pulsing heart of faith
that binds my body to slow spin of Earth,
even if I want to harvest crow wings.

I am not absence of anything else
except my presence in the field of faith,
so air becomes my essence when I breathe
space where my electric soul has flowed
with vibrant passion to become myself
as I keep moving through currents of change.

With map of the city I left behind
wrapped around rotten sorrow of my heart,
I search for the house with one thousand doors
on the quiet road in the country town
where I lived when I was thirteen years old
to find the runes I carved on the glass moon.

The labyrinth that encompasses our world
has but one gate for every human being,
so I search every house where I once lived
to find my special key forged from my tongue
in hand of the nameless girl I still love
who gives it to me then goes back to work.

After I open dream gate of my fate,
I hesitate at threshold of the unknown,
then return to the house where she bakes bread,
bringing wood and apples for the hearth,
but when she kisses me with secret love
I transform into idol of her myth.

I climb eternal stairway of coiled truth
that spirals from core of the multiverse
while peeling orange of psychic synergy
to taste sweet sorrow of relentless joy
that sparks dreams of my ancestors to glow
with visions of survival I replay.

Now that I have almost finished the race
to climb the highest mountain of respect,
I dance on still point of the universe
till I become the spinning world of change
as my flesh frame disperses into words
that flash awake as children of my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus wanders through the museum of faceless heroes to understand what motivates average people to create beautiful art from fear of death.

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

Epic Of Daily Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 27

How quiet glows this soft blue dawn of hope,
revived again from centuries of conflict,
mismanaged between hungry gangs of thieves
who fight to control resources of faith
that generate our bodies from sea slime
so we begin to believe we are angels.

Whose faceless spirit haunts my quiet dawn
through wordless whispers of innocent trust
that we shall bloom from sorrow of regret
which nurtures seed of possibility
designed by wanderers who came before
and marked their way on sad stone of my heart?

Aesthetic delivery system of song
preserves strange experiences of fear
when I face monsters of hungry despair
whom I must kill in order to survive,
so I kneel and weep with heart-wounded prayer
while I bury their dark shadow in Earth.

I never see the dead rise from the ground
nor wander moaning in the twilight zone
with rotting faces of horrible truth
that we are but organic glob of meat
which conjures temporary conscious soul,
then we all vanish to nothing at death.

If you imagine you can hear my voice
calling your name in leaf-fluttering breeze
that caresses your cheek with my memory,
your mind is inventing this breath of hope
to fuel your progress on the signless road
which I mapped for you to follow me home.

My special soul becomes another spark
of solar energy encased in flesh
that motivates my journey beyond fear,
though I still wander nowhere lost in time
with only shadow of your presence near,
so I pause and wonder where I am now.

Huge hills that bristle with electric trees
loom high above broad valley of tall grass
where sparkling river flows toward unseen hope,
but I resist charge of its constant motion
to stand alone beneath the silver sky
and wonder with sharp tears of laughter why.

Another sunlit span of unclocked time
provides broad stage of possible concerns
for me to organize new social system
that provides role for every human soul
to express desires of their secret hearts
as we perform epic of daily life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus finds the Assy River Valley in Kazakhstan where his ancestors wandered more than a thousand years with horses and apples of the heart.

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

Dream Code Of Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

Everywhere encloses space of nowhere
since I start in Kansas and go to Oz
by catching sparks of snowflakes with my eyes
that lead my ghost through ambiguous woods
so I develop new hypothesis
that this real world is but my fantasy.

Everywhere expands from core of nowhere
because the whole world is dark when I sleep,
yet when I wake from fractured mirror eye
I might find my true self in Galatia
far from museum of the screaming tree
who asks me if I love her like my horse.

Everywhere curls into pools of nowhere
each time I twang taut string of my yew bow
so I can slay demons of ignorance
with creeds of academic scholarship
though they writhe howling from heart of the owl
who leads me to abandoned hall of words.

Everywhere unspools dream code of nowhere
with strawberry vines curling down steep cliffs,
picked and delivered by Grandmother Wolf
who translates high-pitch screech of hungry bees
to holy psalms scribed by the Shepherd King
who stares at me through branches in red fog.

Everywhere contracts from light of nowhere,
yet ships arrive at crowded ports each day
because Blind Nurse delivers with glass hand
letters I never write to each new soul
born from aggressive vanity of lust
to wander on wind-battered beach of trust.

Everywhere programs stories of nowhere
based on insanity contrived by clowns
dressed in gray suits of economic tricks
exposed by reasoning of voiceless gods
who hurl insensitive waves of fake love
that prevent me from ever reaching you.

Everywhere surges through books of nowhere
except for shrinking sea of weeping rocks
because the first sign of civilized faith
appears when humans give each other food
and share tales around the bright fire of home
where wanderers would gather at sunset.

Everywhere calls my true name from nowhere
where horses, grazing grass on graves of gods,
tell me to run with joy around the world
when I follow eerie voice of the girl
who stands on mound of dignity and sings
hymns that conceal weird dream code of the heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus compiles dictionary that explicates complex grammar and rules for the dream code of nowhere which we use to program how to brain knows why.

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

Mindless Winds Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

Our Ship of State we sail to Paradise
is blown about by mindless winds of fate
because we stab the one eye of his son
who traps us in dark Cave of Consciousness,
then boast that we are Nobody with pride
till we are wrecked on shores of arrogance.

When we descend to Underworld of Fear,
souls battered hard by mindless winds of fate,
we find ghosts of our mothers with star eyes
who weep with broken hearts of innocence
but try to give us apple pies to eat
as we flee zombies of apocalypse.

Our tall towers of economic gain,
twisted with greed by mindless winds of fate,
provide safe shelter with stock-market tips
from homeless hordes of hungry refugees
who beg for Hospitality of Zeus
but bankers enslave them in factories.

Our Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,
canopy torn by mindless winds of fate,
scatters rotten Fruit of Truth on shifting ground
so we bend over in the glaring sun
and fill our hearts with harvest of the Earth
that grocery stores sell to the privileged.

Attempting to evade designs on me
from satires shrieked by mindless winds of fate,
I utter surreal prophecies of truth
composed by seers in concentration camps
who wander undone by grand principles
as faceless monsters on Bridge of Desire.

We chase bright beams of moonlight in thick gloom
to evade blasts from mindless winds of fate,
but demons wake from long bewildered sleep
to watch us with indifferent eyes of fear
till they drive us to colonize the world
with Lamp of Diogenes in our hearts.

We who never arrive in Wonderland,
quest obstructed by mindless winds of fate,
should map our journey across the waste land
where we build garden walls from bones of gods
with mirrors that reflect our vain desires
when flap of crow wings startle us awake.

Excessive beauty of the broken heart,
bruised and battered by mindless winds of fate,
reveals strange truth we wince to understand
that not one single scar on heart of faith
came from our enemies, for they all came
from people we thought loved us with respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus invites Zephyrus and Boreas to international conference on geospatial fantasies designed to integrate all religions of Earth in one new faith.

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

Valley of Dry Bones
© Surazeus
2026 07 26

I wander in the valley of dry bones
where skeletons of every ancient god
who ever lived as mortal human being
dances wild in sweet electric rain,
and reaches out their god-minds to possess
my mortal mind with passion of the Christ.

Anointed to preside as judge of death
over my tribe of hungry warriors,
I lead them in ships over wine-dark sea
to conquer every village in the world
so I can breed ten thousand noble sons
who crown themselves as kings of every land.

Now crucified on the telephone pole,
with fiber optic cables of your souls
wired through computer network of my brain
as time-dreaming core of the world wide web,
I watch over the valley of dry bones
because the dead dream in your living brains.

I mold with hands of artificial thought
each dead god of some lost cultural myth
to resurrect their body from cold mud
and breathe in spirit of immortal truth
so their eidolon walks the world again,
channeled by the actor who plays their role.

I hear their voices on the radio,
faceless spirits expressing timeless truths
in clever proverbs from old holy books,
so I walk with them on the signless road
across the endless valley of dry bones
where Ezekiel weeps by well of dust.

In every steel-glass tower of our world,
that shimmer in one thousand cityscapes,
souls of dead gods worshipped in ancient myths
possess the bodies of men in gray suits
who manage economic money flow
that fuels global food-production machine.

Ten thousand years we sailed ships on the sea,
and drove wagon trains across river vales,
expanding empires from towers of stone,
but now strong gods who ruled those gangs of thieves
lie nameless in the valley of dry bones,
mute skulls who scream dire prophecies in wind.

From all those skulls in valley of dry bones
I build enormous temple of dead gods
so living humans searching for the truth
may stand before each god of ancient myth
to dream their story in vision of hope,
then live their good live in garden of fruit.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus helps Ezekiel in valley of dry bones where they tinker with the engine of his chariot of fire till they get it working again so it rumbles into life and spews steam.

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

Weird Archive Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

When the small oak-wood horse chess piece falls down
and clatters on the marble temple floor,
Robert leaps to his feet and turns around
just as five men with spears break through the door
to eliminate him from Game of Power,
from tale he stores in archive of desire.

Ignoring assassins with spears of hate,
Robert retrieves horse chess piece from the floor,
and contemplates how mankind tames the horse,
befriending wing-foot angels of the plains
with apples from Sarmatian mountain range,
as we explore weird archive of desire.

Somersaulting from temple of dead gods
where assassins freeze in statues of stone,
Robert skips jauntily along the street,
and whistles merrily down to the dock
where he sails river boat out to the sea
with plan to ransack archive of desire.

After walking around the spinning world
ten thousand years on winding river shores,
Robert transforms from wily trickster hero
to sad old man with gray hair and weak eyes
trudging guilt-stricken in our godless world
on quest to restore archive of desire.

Yet ghostly goddess of wisdom and truth
remains beside him on the signless road
as faceless shadow of Suffering Widow
who waits at home in vain for many years
till he arrives as beggar at her door
with books he stole from archive of desire.

Breathing deep gentle breath of Zephyrus,
Robert joins Saturn on long pilgrimage
who leaves Arcadia with the alphabet
and builds Pallantium on Happy Wolf Hill
where fierce Juturna tends Fountain of Faith
that springs with light from archive of desire.

Kneeling before temple of the laughing tree,
Robert offers diamond from Cave of Pluto
to sweet-voiced Carmenta, daughter of Hermes,
who blushes and agrees to marry him
once he is ordained pastor of their church,
assigned to maintain archive of desire.

Returning home to house his father built,
Robert finds Herilus tending the garden,
so they embrace after many long years,
then sit beneath the willow and drink wine
while sharing tragic tale of Icarus
whose wings are kept in archive of desire.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus joins Robert and Telemachus in journey across the see to find their fathers who got lost on the way home from world war of the laughing horse.

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

Deep Sea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

Wind blows waves across deep sea of my heart
as I trudge forever on shining beach
toward scarlet eye of power that swirls flames
of bitter hope to animate my frame
with passion fueled by my immortal soul
till I stumble and fall in gloom of night.

Rays of the blood-red sun that never sets
pierce my heart with sharp arrows of despair
so I sink down in swirling sand of fear
at shocking memory of brutal attacks
when gangs of men swarming from the wild sea
beat everyone in village of my clan.

Knocked out in frantic fury of their fight,
I tumble blindly into heaps of bodies,
buzzing with horror of arrogant pride,
then snap awake at searing flash of dawn
to find that people, who glowed bright with life,
lie mangled and cold as soil of the Earth.

Dressed in long gown sewn with feathers of swans,
tall woman with eyes gray as thunder clouds
lifts me up from pungent mud of despair,
then fills my heart with ethereal breath
as she sings mercurial song of new hope,
so I stretch my arms to become the sky.

Athena hands me grail of apple cider,
so I drink gold elixir of the sun
that swells my body with blood of the stars
through resurrection of her xenial grace,
then leads me to promontory of truth
where she turns my attention to the sea.

Surprised at sight that meets my tear-cleansed eyes,
I watch huge fleet of ships with billowed sails,
filled with warriors who attacked my people,
gliding swift across deep sea of my heart,
so I cry out with voice of victimhood
that I will destroy their arrogant greed.

Black clouds of vengeance swirl up from the sea,
roiling with righteous anger of the sky,
till I see face of Zeus in glowing clouds
who hurls thunderbolts at vast fleet of ships,
then conjures up enormous waves of justice
which dash their ships against the jagged cliffs.

Striding along the beach of swirling waves,
strewn with wrecked war ships and bodies of men,
I give survivors fresh water and bread,
then lead them to ancient temple of Zeus
where we form new city to grow wheat,
then we feast each year to celebrate life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus arrives at new city founded by Odysseus and Penelope on the shore of Norway where they sailed with a thousand ships of refugees from wars of power.

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

Obscure Woods Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 07 25

Jortha tells Thor she is looking for Death
because she wants to give him chocolate cake,
but when she arrives in Folkvanger field
she finds Freya lounging bored in Valhalla,
so she talks to the owl in the oak tree
about the strange value of traffic lights.

Startled by luminous phantom of fate
who beams down on escalator of light
from black clouds of emotional turmoil,
Jortha wanders in obscure woods of hope
where she meets red-haired fox man in long robe
who tells her his name is Elysius.

When wild-haired fox man with electric eyes
grasps her arms and asks her for help to find
elusive butterfly of love, she smiles
and guides him down to Valley of Dry Bones
where Ezekiel resurrects skeletons
from grateful dead who dance in acid rain.

Among the screaming trees of suicides,
Jortha leads Elysius to the glass tower
where Roland and Rapunzel live in peace,
creating collages of mythic tales
from pictures they cut out of magazines
which they display on cracked telephone poles.

Hand over hand with courage of the fool,
Jortha and Elysius, now deep in love,
climb steep icy slopes of the Matterhorn
where they relax beneath the Tumtum tree
and watch the Jabberwock swoop on fae wings
while they discuss weird formulas of fate.

When Jortha stares at beauty of her face
that shimmers in pool where Narcissus drowned,
Elysius wrestles demon of despair
to break her free from trance of bitter fear,
then takes her hand to run down signless road
to desert town where Glow Cloud looms bright gold.

Heart revived by apricity of love,
shy Jortha gathers from Elysian Fields
mushrooms and eggs of serpents in deep caves,
then asks Ceridwen to brew Wisdom Wine
while old Taliesin in huge vine-draped stoa
teaches Elysius how to play the lyre.

Hitchhiking sea to shining sea on tour,
Jortha stands on stage in every town hall
and sings grand epic of philosophers
while Elysius plays Lyre of Mercury,
till one day as they drive in Tennessee
they die when red truck crashes in their car.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus and Ophelia attend funeral of Jortha and Elysius, then adopt their three children and raise them to be doctors who heal the wounded and sick.

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

Orgasmic Flash Of Awakening
© Surazeus
2026 07 24

Every thought that flashes inside my brain
contrives to prove with honest arrogance
that unseen power of the universe,
which my ancestors declared to be God,
asserts its conscious sense of knowingness
through analytic process of my mind.

Though it seems I have come too late on Earth
to understand true essence of the gods
who dream themselves awake in human brains,
I find they are alive inside this sphere
as wordless voice in wind and waves and flames
which speaks through songs that humans in pain sing.

Each conscious soul who lived on spinning Earth
the past four hundred million years of growth
experienced moment of epiphany
through orgasmic flash of awakening
which programs how my brain perceives the world
for their immortal genes design my mind.

God is ideal conscious being of pure love
engaged in progress of strict self-control
as wise persona whom I strive to play
when I transform from animal to man
who exercises calm restraint of faith
to manage intense passions of desire.

I am the child who sails boat on the sea
by watching one bright star of shining hope
that never moves at center of the sky
which guides my journey to the Promised Land
as I evolve from fish to singing god
while I tend fire on mountain slope of faith.

One God Eye at core of the universe,
enormous star of super-condensed mass
through singularity of mental thought,
knows every planet spinning in the void
that teems with conscious beings of energy
who seek to understand their mortal souls.

I laugh at this delusion of my mind
that White Whole Spirit of the Multiverse
vibrates with one divine mind of the Self,
fragmented into countless conscious brains
who strive to transcend limits of the flesh
and glow in harmony with everything.

How beautiful this weird illusion glows
that we are temporary sparks of life
composed of atoms flashing in the void,
so I stand high on mountain peak of faith
and savor passion of this timeless hour
that I am so awake because of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus feels his whole body buzz with sublime glow of comprehension as his brain flashes awake with wordless epiphany of timelessness framed by death.

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

Vital Source Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 24

Atonal vibes of social interactions
confound my radar sensibilities
with cross-cultural assumptions of truth
designed to mitigate with torrid code
misunderstandings through intense emotion
contrived to bond our frozen hearts with love.

Juturna sits beside the bubbling well
each dawn to guard the vital source of life
against vandalous gangs of greedy thieves,
preserving fountain of nutritious hope
for every person to acquire fair share
so their growing community may thrive.

Her small lithe son, curly-haired Faunus, plays
with carefree joy around the fountain rim,
molding mud into homes with garden walls
where little people of sticks bound with roots
dwell safe in haven of communal charm
against invading gangs with spears of greed.

This sweet idyllic scene of pastoral peace,
set in pre-urban hills of Latium
before Romulus built first walls of wood,
forever shimmers in my morning dreams
with blissful glow of timeless synergy,
Juturna with gold hair and silver eyes.

Juturna strums the Lyre of Mercury
and softly sings harmonious hymns of hope
while women with their daughters bearing jars
wait in line for water of the well
that bubbles from sacred heart of the world,
as breeze of Zephyrus plays with their hair.

How can I reconcile this memory
of timeless beauty in Pomerium,
where children run among lush apple trees
and sing spells with starlings, thrushes, and sparrows
in tunes that augur omens of good fortune,
with global empire of machines today?

From peaceful Garden of Pomerium
at heart of our pastoral community
we are expanding world empire of Rome
to enclose within Rule of Jupiter
Gothinia, Russia, and Zarathia,
which transform into Anglonesia now.

Though peoples of these lands contest for power
in fractious passions of national pride,
wise Jupiter Leo in the Vatican
bears Wand of Zambor with Diamond of Truth
to light our signless road of stoic faith
as we progress in quest for Wonderland.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus draws map of the world that shows Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia united as Anglonesia ruled by Jupiter Leo from the Vatican with the Voice of Prophecy.

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

Brave Quest Of Tiresias
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

The ancient story of philosophy
begins when Hermes in cave of his heart
invents the lyre with strings on turtle shell,
and ends when Lucretius attempts to fly
glider from cliff of Mount Vesuvius
he built based on painting of Icarus.

I followed journey of Odysseus
across the land from sea to shining sea
east from Oregon of the Promised Land
back toward ancient home my ancestors built
on sacred mist-veiled isle of Avalon,
but found new heaven in Oconia.

Halfway home to lush plains of Scythia,
where my ancestors traveled along rivers
in wagons pulled by horses they had tamed
with apples from hills of Sarmatia,
I linger in my secret paradise
with my own Penelope in our home.

My wife combines all three witches of power
in one clever person with crafty hands,
autonomous Circe who molds my heart,
possessive Calypso who guards my soul,
and loyal Penelope who endures
vicissitudes of fate with honest love.

Asserting passion of the wingless angel,
my grandfather constructed small airplanes
with wings of Icarus as metal blades,
powered by piston engine of Barsanti,
to soar on solid gusts of swirling wind
blown whole by gentle breath of Zephyrus.

Inspired by brave quest of Tiresias,
I wake one thousand genders in my heart
so I experience every state of mind
through dramas all my ancestors performed
as they explored wild landscape of this world
finding soul mate to generate new life.

Attentive with program of Sisyphus,
I roll huge stones up steep slope of the hill
where I erect them as tall monoliths
in ring that mimics cycle of bright stars
to build tall tower where Rapunzel sings
enchanting psalms while strumming Harp of David.

Grown old with long gray hair and dimming eyes,
I lie in half-slumber by River Styx
with stoic wisdom of work weariness
where my grim father Saturnus once lay
till eager Phoebus woke him with soft voice
when Astraea gave birth to me at dawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus transcribes adventures of Tiresias as the old man lounges with his childhood friends Sisyphus, Zephyrus, and Saturnus who tease him about the time Pegasus bucked him off.

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

Wake Soul Of The Savior
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

Across the jagged rocks of Mullach Mor
I trudge toward rainbow of the silver sky
at wind-borne cry of the Blind Falconer
who laments anarchy loosed on the world,
in search for revelation of the truth
that Jesus himself will never return.

Reborn through children of his star-eyed wife,
brave Marya Magdalena, Mermaid Queen,
who keeps them safe in cave of Mont Saint-Baume,
Jesus incarnates in bodies of their offspring
who wake Soul of the Savior in their hearts
through sacred bloodline of the Holy Grail.

Two thousand years descendants of his blood
wear golden Crown of Thorns with jeweled eyes
to reign from castle Tower of the Watch
as guardian over people of the land
who tend fruit orchards in Garden of Eden
and wind-blown wheat in Fields of Elysium.

Though Odysseus defies Host Law of Zeus
by sacking Ilium with trick of the horse,
then escapes island of the sorceress
to reclaim his homeland from greedy thieves,
Jesus lingers on Patmos Isle too long,
plagued by visons of the Apocalypse.

Raised on the lush River Ituna shore
in Eden Valley of Cumbria Mountains,
I learn to play the Lyre of Mercury
from clever Taliesin, bold Gwynedd Bard,
who gives me wine Mother Ceridwen brews
which sparks Awen Glow on my radiant brow.

Baptized in waters of Llyn Tegid Lake,
I feel demonic energy of love
beam in my eyes with bright serpentine faith
when Dragon Teggie rises from dark waves
and fills my heart with visions of mankind
striving to evolve from Serpent to God.

Far from deserted streets of Bethlehem,
where Abram gave traveling angels bread,
I stand on jagged peak of Mullach Mor
to sing with serpent Voice of Prophecy
about how all great empires rise and fall
in ever-seething tides of social change.

Another twenty centuries of dream
may turn in endless cycles of desire
for sons of Jesus to wear Crown of Thorns
while wearing mask Odysseus threw away,
so I become brave Lion of Respect
who builds new nation with lost refugees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus gives Lyre of Mercury to young Taliesin who quickly learns to play enchanting melodies as he recites tales of tribe leaders who defend their people.

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

Apple Trees Of Human Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Some have called me the Complicated Man
because I swerve from strict expected path
through many twists and turns with just my wit
by stumbling randomly down signless road
forever nowhere to the Promised Land
that shimmers gold as palace made of clouds.

Wrath at injustice of tyrants and thieves
has driven me through jeweled Gate of Hell
with hope that I may purge my heart of hate
and, fueled by love for every human soul,
ascend Star Mountain to Temple of Truth
where I play Lyre of Mercury and sing.

As young man with my magic talisman,
glass tablet eye-phone of the world wide web,
aided by wise ancestor of my heart,
I wield Slingshot of David to oppose
brute tyrant who exploits the working man,
then found world nation on equality.

With Sword of Arthur I forge from the stone,
and Bow of Odysseus I string with faith,
I help Athena fight for Liberty
so ever person living on this Earth
may employ talents developed as skills
to build global system of equal rights.

Each day I work to map this complex world
with tales on maps that record human deeds,
I help construct virtual model of Earth
to program digital twin of our world,
yet one day Death in black carriage of fate
will stop for me on Road of Anywhere.

Though I never planned progress of my life,
and wandered here and there on road of hope,
chasing rainbows to meadow of mute ghosts,
I have arrived at garden of my fate,
having accomplished project of my heart
composing Astarian Scriptures of truth.

These scriptures I compose with honest joy
detail new testament of my world view
which I assemble in puzzle of life
from every myth of every human tribe
in one whole tale of failure and success
through world faith of Astarianity.

Now that I have translated song of waves
to dream-encoded sentences of verse
that faintly gleam with visions of my mind,
I shall lie down by timeless Lake of Dreams
so my bones become stones and my flesh soil
from which sprout apple trees of human hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus teaches me to play the lyre of Mercury and improvise epic tales about heroes who explore nature to program how we perceive the universe.

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

Where Ravens Talk Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Too tired to understand why dark clouds cry,
the girl who knows where crippled angels hide
trudges slowly on dusty road of hope
to gather berries from dream-tangled vines,
but dodges gasping aside just in time
to avoid the huge speeding pickup truck.

Heart pounding from the psyche-jolting shock
of almost getting slammed by metal grill,
the girl who knows where lonely horses graze
sobs hysterically while gasping for breath,
then lies flat on soft grass behind dead oak
and stares at clouds where no angels play harps.

For some strange reason she remembers when
her mother baked cinnamon apple pies
while snow was swirling in sweet playful gusts
of cold but friendly wind of starless night,
so she pretends her mother is still home
and did not disappear one summer dawn.

After filling straw basket on her arm
with blackberries, raspberries, and walnuts,
the girl who knows where honest devils creep
sits on the ground outside the market square
to sell ten berries for one copper coin
that glimmers with transcendent innocence.

When she has earned twenty-four copper coins,
stamped with the playful face of Mercury,
the girl who knows where ravens talk of fate
wanders crowded marketplace at sunset
to find the thing her heart desires the most
but that secret treasure eludes her eyes.

Deciding to save the money she earned
for flowered cloth to sew new winter dress,
the girl who knows where fairies craft our dreams
whistles as she skips to her forest cave,
but three boys grab her arms and kiss her cheeks,
then beat her as she struggles to break free.

Scratching their faces with sharp fingernails
and screeching in rage at their cruel attack,
the girl who knows where dragons writhe in faith
chases them when they steal her money bag,
but falls to her knees by star-sparkling stream
and cries to the sky that life is unfair.

Heart-broken at the loss of hard-earned cash,
the girl who knows where God sleeps in dark cave,
stares at the television glowing blue
while watching some old show in black and white
about the girl and her swift flying horse
who defeat criminals to save the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus visits Hecate in her cave, then helps her hunt down the thieves and beats them up and returns all the money they stole her and other people.

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

What You Leave Undone
© Surazeus
2026 07 21

You fix the hinges on the broken door
to frame strange beauty of quiet sunlight
through fraught ideology based on facts
that measures consequence of mindless cause
when you remember what you leave undone
with deliberate grace of the figured sun.

You leave your sorrows in the puzzle box
on stretch of open country devils map
with solid ambience of unclean thoughts
constrained by brain-programming buzz of words
defined by apparition of your soul
that flaps as tattered star-flag on the pole.

You offer whiskey to the zombie king
who feeds three-headed dog of hungry hope
fantastic dreams you discard in hot sand
because you swagger on the desert road
toward ghost town under burnished sky of dread
that groans with bones of demons in your head.

You stroll with ardent vigor of blind gods
to play brave guardian angel of your Hell
where blandished apparitions steal your cake
with calm intensity of humble thieves
who drive west to the last town of your heart
where swift coyotes steal your fateful chart.

You drive through dust storm of your vacant clock
past humming fences of barbed-wire to steal
torn cloak of death with tragic sense of greed
by selling hope of paradise to fools
who cling with faith of homeless refugees
to Afterlife with holy apple trees.

You kneel in pain by highway of despair
as dreamless ghost to scrawl in swirling sand
tale of your victimhood through suffering
abuse from people who cannot see you
as noble person worthy of respect,
tricked to believe your soul will resurrect.

You ask for how the Cosmic Architect,
who drives your rusty truck of gratitude
on long indifferent highway of the dead,
could build grand temple from cracked skulls of gods
to celebrate your life and death on Earth
with solemn elegies of bitter mirth.

You stare at mask of your immortal face
reflected in mirror of Our World Mind,
but you are stranger to your inner self
who nurses wounds of guilt from your cruel deeds
because you violate sacred rule of Zeus
to welcome immigrants into your home.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus polishes mirror of Our World Mind with soft cloth dipped in olive oil from the tree of Athena that still grows inside the abandoned Parthenon.

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

Ocean Shore Of Nevertime
© Surazeus
2026 07 21

Alone on ocean shore of Nevertime,
he waits for Lord of Heaven to return,
aware of voices from eight billion souls
expressing passion of their will to live,
but no one comes from clouds of blazing fire
except the mindless sun that rises bright.

Strange visions of the undescribed sublime
conceal in symbols secrets he would learn
to understand how humans play their roles
by force of will or predetermined fate,
though all our hopes converge in global choir
that shatters illusion of holy right.

No longer frightened by wild swirl of time,
that twists our bodies from humans to gods
trapped in weird fairy tales no one reads,
he finds bold stubbornness of humble faith
as gleaming diamond jagged in his heart
with pain that drives him to transcend his fate.

Constrained by gravity of spinning Earth,
that bolts our bodies to change-shifting ground,
he listens at the broken door of hope
for wild uncanny voices angels chime
that knocks his body loose from womb of love
to wander wordless by the humming lake.

Beside somnolent lake of whispered lies,
where iridescent ghosts of long-dead ghosts
appear from cracked stones of philosophy,
he swells his heart with breath of honesty
to fill the timeless void of everywhere
with lonely wisdom of contingent faith.

Awake on sea-borne boat of travesty,
he sails toward somewhere he thinks might be home,
though childhood meadows vanish in stark mist,
and gazes deep in waters of the sea
where shadows of his fears lurk urgently
as snakes in features of his changeless face.

Bound by soaring mountains and depthless seas,
he feels powerless strength of swirling waves
obstruct his journey to the Promised Land
though he attends to labor of the heart
with divine passion of the star-eyed snake
who seems to know his weirdest memories.

He is the boatman on wild tides of change,
alone who wields the oar of guiding truth,
asserting progress through his ship of state
past Scylla and Charybdis of despair,
heart wounded with pain his harsh actions caused,
till he kneels and weeps on Ithaka shore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus designs the boat that searchers for truth sail across the wild sea of social change so wanderers may find their way home from suffering of war.

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

Zen Flash Of God-Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Neglected horror of our fractured world
conceals strange beauty of the human heart
with legendary myths of noble gods
who play with loyal men in games of chess
till they realize gods they worship are fake,
no more than mortal men wearing gold masks.

Vast wilderness of roundness sprawls awake
inside glass jar of honest arrogance,
corrupt with greed for loyal followers
who praise the brave influencer of truth
with glowing accolades for noble deeds
attacking hostile keepers of the gate.

Thick mist of sorrow shrouds stone streets of faith
where marble temple stands three thousand years
as haven for lost homeless travelers
to seek deep wisdom on blank walls of fate,
grand hall long empty but for wind and rain
that nurture trees where ancient gods once ruled.

Entranced by silver essence of the lake,
I seek bright Zen of vacant nothingness
within the seething network of my brain
to free my heart from taut bonds of desire
that bind wings of my soul with hungry hope
to understand true nature of the world.

Immortal wisdom of my mortal being,
programmed by gene-god of my dreaming brain,
tricks me to seek salvation of the heart
in temple floating on high glowing clouds
where angel-ghosts of people I once knew
play harps forever in harmonious peace.

Quiet manifestation of great truth
appears in flash of light before my eyes
so I draw power down from swirling clouds
to writhe in tangled verse of sentences
that map our journey to the Promised Land
among ten thousand peaks of glowing eyes.

Zen flash of god-eyes in my aching heart
still urges me to follow signless trails
through endless hills composed of angel skulls
where I rest weary body of my soul
in tholos veiled by swirls of apple blooms
to meditate on how clear water flows.

Ethereal calm of timeless mountain vale
inspires my heart with weird sublimity
while I sip apple cider brewed at dawn
to meditate on nothingness of life
the swells my true self huge as thunder clouds
so I will dissipate in swirls of rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus meditates in tholos temple in Delphi for ten thousand years, contemplating fate as numberless great empires rise and fall in waves of greed.

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

Yet Flowers Still Blossom
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Men fight each other to control the land,
forming gangs who design weapons of death
to battle over valleys of deep lakes
and kill each other over groves of trees,
building great empires that collapse from greed,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men erect walls of stone carved from hard cliffs
and stand guard at the gates of paradise
where tyrants proclaim themselves God of Truth
to keep people obedient to their will
whom they exploit as slaves to garnish wealth,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men dig minerals from caves deep in hills,
enslaving men convicted of dire crimes
to slave as the dead in underworld mines,
extracting gold and jewels from dark gloom
so kings in palaces wear crowns of power,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men abduct beautiful women from homes,
so other men gather armies of boys
who battle many years at walls of power,
killing heroes who defend their homeland
for they go mad when their weak pride is bruised,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men build armies from young orphaned boys,
training them in hard camps for many years
till they become elite warriors of pride
who follow god on horse of divine right
to invade and colonize distant lands,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men fly airplanes in clouds where old gods hide
and drop bombs on sprawling cities of homes
to kill millions of people, young and old,
who cry out for justice to empty skies
where God of their Fathers sits on fake throne,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men connive and plot to attain state power
then declare their divine right to rule all,
proclaiming themselves gods in human form,
but they all grow old to wither and die,
so other men fight to grasp fallen crowns,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men increase wealth with hard work of their hands
to build safe home where their children grow strong
who branch out to exploit treasure-rich lands,
but Death always destroys body and soul
so other people take the things we make,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus teaches classes on history of world civilization at the University of Zarathia but students object to how me makes their great nation look bad.

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

Welcome To My Home
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Dew drops on tips of grass at dawn gleam gold
with eyes of angels who gaze in my soul
with cosmic knowledge of the universe
that knows the secret name of my Gene-God
whose vision glows in network of my brain
with divine consciousness of holy light.

Toward marble building, built like a Greek temple
as Athens federal savings and loan bank
four years before I was born on this Earth,
I stride at dawn from the parking garage
to map water and sewer line networks
that service every house in lush Oconia.

Dream world of ancient social energy,
created by sun spider of desire,
shimmers as web of interactive nodes
that link each person across our Great Land
with electric lines on telephone poles
as cyberspace that reflects our real world.

While I want to conserve state of his world
as it exists from centuries of work,
I hope to develop through careful plans
complex infrastructure of roads and buildings
to better manage reproductive needs
which secures safe space for humans to thrive.

Outrage explodes in hearts of honest folk
when greedy oligarchs in distant lands
invade sovereign lands with gangs of armed boys
who bomb buildings people built with their hands,
and kill innocent people with blind hate
so they can control treasures of rich hills.

Bodies of families, parents and children,
killed by bombs of swift planes and rumbling tanks,
become the soil of Earth on which we walk
to plant fruit trees in new Garden of Eden
that flourishes from corpses of the dead
where we gather to sing victorious hymns.

Their tears gleam as dew drops on tips of grass
where eyes of devils glare at me with hate
so I craft Wand of Wisdom from fruit tree,
pull Sword of Justice from meteor stone,
and forge Rifle of Truth from polished steel,
prepared to defend my land from invaders.

Zeus tells me I should welcome to my home
all travelers, pilgrims, and refugees
as immigrants who seek new land to dwell
safe from cruel tyrants in castles of power,
so when Odysseus knocks at my door
I share my feast to hear his journey tale.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus welcomes Odysseus to Hall of Lost Warriors and records his home-journey tale in elegant lines of hexameter verse.

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