Twilight Zone Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 12 17

Half-awake in the twilight zone of fate,
I wander in the waste land of my heart
through endless maze of myths in city streets
where strangers resemble gods of old tales,
yet I perform the role my brain designs
from obsessions my ancestors forgot.

Half-aware that Death stalks my every step,
I gaze through telescope of holy faith
to study how wild stars of energy
generate self-conscious organic beings
like me who search the twilight zone of fate
to find the last fruit seed from Tree of Life.

Along the signless road of Nevertime
I walk toward somewhere I think might be real
on quest for beauty of the aching heart,
yet long to gaze at face of one I love
whose shadow flickers in the shadowed woods
while I search in the twilight zone of fate.

Untwisted galaxies of thriving worlds
birth countless conscious beings with dreaming brains
who give each other names that seem unique
then bloom and wither in vast field of hope
veiled by love in the twilight zone of fate
where children gather by the lake to play.

Unmapped paradise without walls of stone
dreams itself alive in conscious beings
who build empires on ideologies
discovered in the twilight zone of fate
where gods defy laws of physics and faith
till exploding stars burn planets to dust.

Beside the rain-filled lake of watching eyes
we gather in the ring of standing stones
to claim our role in strange story of love
that we play in the twilight zone of fate
before the meteor cracks our spinning world
and scatters faceless souls among the stars.

Half-amused by anecdotes gods tell
to prove their right to rule the spinning globe,
I ask the raven in the apple tree
why all great empires collapse into gangs
who fight till new messiah unites all
in world religion of the puppeteer.

Half-reborn in the twilight zone of fate,
I walk with wife and children of my heart
on signless road of temporary hope
because the meaning of this mortal life
is to generate life before we die,
yet feast and sing while we are still alive.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus sells maps of the multiverse to tourists who flock to the Interplanetary Zoo of Zarathia to observe all the strange species that thrive on billions of planets in our galaxy.

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

Dream Of The Blue Danube
© Surazeus
2025 12 16

This is not the time to fall from the sky
so I float around on breath of respect,
ignoring all the suffering down on Earth
because people will all die anyway
regardless of the good I try to do,
so I become flow of the blue Danube.

I hear no laughter from the bombed-out homes
where children used to play with carefree joy
and parents would teach them how to be good
for they are all bones now, fractured in dust,
yet I am driven forward by sweet lust
to procreate more children till I die.

We waltz together on the river shore
where people have dwelled in groves of fruit trees
for fifty thousand years of blooming flowers
and pledge vows of loyalty through true love
with random stranger we happen to meet
while strolling one day by the blue Danube.

Delicate birds of frantic innocence
flit light between trees of our shared world view,
but since we believe in Providence
that guides how we live with the subtle clue
we forget some people are greedy and cruel
as they build empires where people are tools.

I almost forget cuteness of the deer
who prance with startled ardency of faith
in gentle expression of divine soul
because men fearful of losing to death
organize fierce gangs to fight for control
over who dwells free by the blue Danube.

She never remembers sound of the flute
that emanates sweet from the dark lake
till I appear from weird shadow of gloom
so she beams with joy at sight of my face
and I beam back as mirror of her trust
for we are strangers familiar in love.

Still shocked at perfect surprise of the light
that explodes from fractured stone of my heart,
I search for song of the river I knew
that still vibrates in forest of my dreams
though my ancestors sailed across the sea
yet remain in tune with the blue Danube.

Entranced by strange music of truth she plays
while stroking strings on the wood violin,
I sit with awed crowd in the concert hall
as we feel flow of rivers in our veins
with each graceful melody she performs
till we become dream of the blue Danube.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus and Phoebus play The Blue Danube Waltz while Johann Strauss lies on grass by the river and weeps at the beauty of life in a world filled with death from disease and war.

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

Slow-Walk The Apocalypse
© Surazeus
2025 12 16

I want to slow-walk the apocalypse
by wielding bloody sword Excalibur
which I steal from tomb of the greedy king
so I can free lost people of the Earth
from wealthy minions of the emperor
who slouches on old throne of Bethlehem.

I plan to slow-walk the apocalypse
by calculating worth of human lives
to balance spreadsheet of profit from loss
for return of investment through my scam
that keeps the hungry people of the Earth
enslaved by credit-card debt of desire.

I fear to slow-walk the apocalypse
from getting tricked with glamorous hoax
into buying timeshares to the afterlife
by the man with the calculator brain
who buys homes from the bankrupt unemployed
before the second coming of the Lord.

I laugh to slow-walk the apocalypse
when I strut the catwalk of global fame
to prance with power of the beautiful
disguised as angel fallen from the clouds,
cursed with charisma of devilish charm
while I seek my soul mate to love in vain.

I yearn to slow-walk the apocalypse
by navigating seven seas of hope
while building empire of conceptual banks
to fund civil wars in countries of fools
so I can excavate rich minerals
and construct artificial dream machines.

I dread to slow-walk the apocalypse
across broken Bridge of Forgetfulness
where faceless ghosts of living human beings
scream in horror at rise of tyranny
while demon of the abyss laughs at us
for thinking we can build Heaven on Earth.

I crave to slow-walk the apocalypse
by breathing purple haze of outer space
out of the timeless scrolling of the brain
that spirals far across the multiverse
till I wake in my body on this Earth
and eat scrambled eggs of the frozen star.

I hope to slow-walk the apocalypse
though entire universe of pulsing forms
remains indifferent to my mental needs
because great freedom of the aching heart
is won by how I choose to live each hour
that Earth continues spinning in the void.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus guides millions of dead souls to slow-walk the apocalypse as tourists visiting the Vast Abyss National Park of Zarathia where demons howl in disguise as human beings.

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

Demystify Beauty Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 12 15

Mysterious beauty of assembled words
mirrors visions of Earth my brain designs
when I perceive secret language of birds,
safe in lush meadow where Hera reclines,
while I fix piston engine of her car
so she can drive home to her spirit star.

Feeding Hera with sweet fruit of my heart,
while Phoebus strums the lyre of Mercury,
I relate tale of the girl with fruit cart
whose grandson constructs banking treasury
by which he funds the rise of empire states
with grand palaces behind jeweled gates.

While nymphs dance gracefully in meadow grass
Aphrodite plays heart-expanding tunes
on electric violin forged from glass
extracted from one thousand flashing moons
that spiral slow around bright Jupiter
who once worked as the cosmic janitor.

When heart of Tellus is fractured by pain
because Consus marries Ceres instead,
she sings heart-aching melodies in rain
till Stellius places wreath on her head,
so they drink wine and pledge vows of respect
since they found someone they want to protect.

Enchanting gracefulness of vibrant sounds,
that ring in harmony with swirling spheres,
radiate from instruments of stellar bounds
played by musicians trained by puppeteers
to perform symphony of holy strains
that guide our souls to transcend cosmic planes.

Spurred by the mind in motion to express,
with ringing timbre of celestial fire,
attentive perception through consciousness,
I reconcile mute sorrow with desire
to inhabit uncertainty of faith
through heightened awareness of the star wraith.

Through transcendental music of the heart
I seek to embody my spirit frame
with seductive passion of the dream chart
to escape nothingness of the life game
that always ends with blank finality,
sealed by secret code of mortality.

Based on irrational analysis,
that might demystify beauty of hope,
I mimic performance of Tantalus
when I observe through cogent telescope
time-animated history of mankind
as we seek enlightenment of the mind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus plays lyre and sings for Hera as she observes the beautiful people of her entourage perform their roles in the romantic drama of her celestial court.

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

Tuneful Choir Of Nature
© Surazeus
2025 12 15

Nature lures me to join her tuneful choir
so I imagine how I could ascend
with angelic grace the narrow church spire,
but I stay firm on the ground, and extend
bright energy of life that always glows
through my persona mask I wear in shows.

Expanding eye of my perceptive heart,
I tell how bodies bloom from chemicals
to trace beginning of each urgent part
that spirals matrix through bright particles
so we can tell beginnings we express
through nourishment of love our mothers bless.

With spark of hope from seed our fathers give
our mothers generate our dreaming souls,
so, from mistakes, our bodies learn to live
in daily rituals through creative roles
with clear vision on boundless stage of faith
in play directed by no cosmic wraith.

We gather in halls of worship each week
to nourish beginnings of ritual games
that we perform to conjure what we seek
by defining progress with sacred names
so we may feast in many-living home
that hosts homeless refugees forced to roam.

Together on long signless road of hope,
we map weird unknown world of frantic fears
with soul-healing techniques we learn to cope,
because we follow faring stars with gears
adjusting fortune-fueled engine of fate
that drives efficient system of our state.

Through magic words we dream forgotten things
to visualize their beauty in brave hymns
reflecting brain power of angel wings
that pour sunlight to flush organic limbs
so we create good world we want to shine
with ancient spirit wise humans design.

Our birth is half-remembering intense scenes
our ancestors experience till we sprout
from lust of life-generating machines
that mold our souls from brains of urgent clout
so we create Heaven from memories
our ancestors encode in psychic keys.

I wake wild spirit I employ to deal
with the whole compass of our universe
from which my brain mutates conceptual wheel
so I become soul time cannot reverse
while I sing in tune with mercurial lyre
when I join Nature in her joyful choir.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus and his daughter Ostara attend the Zarathian Symphony Orchestra where Phoebus directs the first Brahms Symphony.

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

Lost In Fake Tomorrows
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

While young girl plays sweet melody of sorrow
on heart-aching strings of the violin,
I ponder why, when I express despair
through tangled threads of arrogant dismay,
I win grand prizes for anxiety,
rewarded for how bitterly I scream.

Old gray-haired man in room of shining windows
traps joyful sprites in cores of mandolins
played by blind troubadours at country fairs
whose music leads the lost through crowded maze
where idols worshipped by societies
come alive as puppets in secret dreams.

As young boy stares at keys of huge piano,
to breathe deep spirit of its harmony,
his heart transforms to swan of ardent faith
that guides him from Tuonela to his home
where he attends to faceless ghost of sound,
then plays heart-breaking tune of secret love.

Old sad-eyed woman of the weeping willows
frees crippled slaves from social tyrannies
who preach salvation sold by stellar wraiths
in brave rebellion against righteous domes
built by warriors buried in high mounds
studied by archaeologists with gloves.

If tired mother cries at song of the sparrow
that flutters wings of hope in cage of fate,
mad jester driving full delivery truck
abandons capitalist money game
to meditate outside the mountain cave
while she washes dishes and clothes all day.

Yet angry father, lost in fake tomorrows,
decides to return from fixing house gates
to find his home possessed by playful Pucks
commissioned by Oberon to steal names
and organize roles of newly-freed slaves
who perform boat races on sunlit bays.

Mike counts red chickens by the red wheelbarrow
glazed with rainwater after the sea storm,
then boils one in the pot on Christmas Eve
for his children to feast before they die
of starvation in Land of Liberty
while singing hymns to Savior of the World.

Jane spends all night assembling perfect arrows
that Janus needs while guarding Realm of Forms,
then cooks chicken soup for blind queen who grieves
death of Apollo with electric eyes
who tried to lift mankind from poverty
with help from gang of self-appointed heralds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus knocks on doors that never open to sell Encyclopedia of World Knowledge to lonely housewives who follow him to the Land of Liberty.

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

Broken Ring Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

When young boy walking in heather at dawn
sees pretty rose girl dancing in red gown
he desires to taste sweet fruit of her heart
so he embraces her in eager arms,
and though she pricks his chest with a sharp knife
she melts into passionate kiss of hope.

Down in the verdant meadow of his heart,
Johann hurries to the spinning mill wheel
where Rosalyn waits in shadow of hope,
beaming with joy at the sight of his face
as they kiss with song of the flowing stream,
hearts beating with splash of water in light.

Gazing with joy at beauty of her face,
Johann accepts her token of true love
when she slips ring on his finger with trust,
then waits six days by the spinning mill wheel
for her to return with promise of faith,
but wedding bells ring in soft evening glow.

Standing in door of the stone village church,
Johann stares from guileless shock of surprise
to see Rosalyn recite wedding vows
with first-born son of the wealthy town mayor,
so he breaks her ring with stone of his heart
when he wanders alone in forest of night.

While wandering alone in forest of night
Johann sings with angst to moon-glowing clouds,
asking for angels to descend from stars
to soothe the wretched pain wounding his heart,
then pauses at song of wrens in oak trees
that fills his breast with illusion of peace.

Roaming signless roads far across the land,
Johann strums melodious strings of the lute
and sings by sparkling fountains in town squares
about the faithfulness of honest love,
then drinks beer in the crowded inns at night
while clutching the broken ring of his heart.

Though Beauty many conquer humans and gods,
all beautiful people die in the end
in tragic loss that moves not Sygian Zeus
though Venus tries to heal our wounded hearts
for Orcus brings to cave of faceless death
every beautiful soul who ever lives.

Weeping alone by the stone village church
before the tombstone beside the rose bush,
Johann laments sad death of Rosalyn
who never woke after birth of her son,
then buries the broken ring of his heart
for her to wear by the spinning mill wheel.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus joins Goethe, Heine, Mueller, and Eichendorff at the mountain inn to drink beer and recite romantic poems about the tragic loss of true love.

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

Buy Presents For Everyone
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

This holiday season of lonely lights
that flash with candles in windows of faith
dislodges me from childhood memories
so I wait in the movie theater
for world messiah to descend from clouds
while eating popcorn at the end of time.

If I should wait for the apocalypse
before I buy presents for everyone,
then Christmas carolers may pass my home
and leave strange beauty of sad melodies
to birds with frosted eyes in wind-blown trees
who sing of sorrow humans choose to hide.

No restless angels sleep in snow-veiled pines,
yet I hear eerie voices of their plots
disguised as cheerful songs on radios
with haunting echoes in cold lightless homes
where festive ghosts hang stars on plastic trees
then hover over me with dreamless wings.

Snow tangled in bare limbs of apple trees
bends porch lights into hearts wounded by faith
because bright whiteness of pure innocence
resembles wedding dress the blind girl wears
as she parades alone in empty church
beside the polar bear with emerald eyes.

Each moment passing songless into death
adjusts harsh chill of cheerful morning winds
that wake from restless dreams of bearded gods
millions of people who trudge streets of ice
to work sustaining bloom of hungry flame
which flickers anxiously in human hearts.

Though memories of you all may come and go
with flicker of flames on candles of hope,
we walk with noiseless feet down curious stairs
to see if angels haunt our living rooms,
but children vanish in time-swirling snow
to build new homes in towns across the land.

Half lured to Heaven by time-swirling snow,
I concede that our human lives on Earth
are messy with intense desire to thrive
in maze of streets that zigzag out from Hell
where liquid moon floats boatly over trees
with complicated details we ignore.

Caught in bare monochrome of winter days,
we hunch our hearts against brute winds of change
to gather feathers from torn angel wings
so we can weave them in our bitter hearts
through energy of weird religious faith
to make our home in this house where we dwell.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus leads carolers through frosted city streets to sing about the coming of the messiah sleuth who will rule the world as the United Nations of Earth.

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

Haunt Our Empty Home
© Surazeus
2025 12 14

If I get safely home on road of faith
after walking nowhere ten thousand years
perhaps you will see me as the wild fox
that wanders without care in city streets
while you drive your car without angel wings
then call my name when I gaze in your eyes.

When I transform into lithe human being
you take my hand with innocent respect
so we may dwell in possibility
where windows of our hopes frame what could be
if we return to chambers of our hearts
with everlasting love in paradise.

Together in uncertain slant of light
we heft our hearts with brave cathedral tunes
to heal unheavenly hurt of deep love,
hearts afflicted by misunderstood words
that twist true meanings into breathless fear
till we transcend the distance with new faith.

Our lonely sapling town on roadless plain
reveals delirious flowers in our brains
that bloom from inner shadows of desire,
lost deep in fields of golden wind-blown wheat
till glass rain shadows innocent despair
because we paint our names on new-road signs.

Yet when I hear song of the balladeer
assert world view of my merciless bride,
I hide what ails my withered heart at noon
with anguished lily rotten on my brow
for you have vanished at harsh flash of dawn
as fairy child in meadows of blind mist.

Your wild eyes lure me to your elven grove
where we dream endless paradise of love
in fleeting hour of sun-veiled dance with death
till I wake startled in lush dew-wet grass
and wander mute along the busy road
where cars race past eternity of now.

I find you by wood coffin of our son
killed in jungle war across the cruel sea,
red tears of chaos streaming from your eyes
that flash fierce hurricanes of social change
to shatter pillars of our world empire
that crumbles prairie homes in nuclear wind.

If I revert back to my primal form
as wild fox hunting in snow-mountain range
far from the busy streets of city wealth,
I wonder if you will escape its maze
and search for me in valley of tall pines
where we forever haunt our empty home.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus comforts Ophelia as they weep at the funeral of their son Orion killed in the Vietnam war.

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

Aphelion World Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

Because Seraphus knows the way to Hell,
we elect him psychopomp of our tribe
so he guides us to pool of dreaming stars
to show unfinished beauty of our souls
that blooms from mirror of our vast god-brain
so we climb stairs of water to the sky.

Because Seraphus teaches us to fly
with hope and grief as wings of earnest faith,
we follow him beyond the weeping hills
to understand the failure of our hope,
but we hear something eerie in the wind
so we hide faceless in window of knives.

Because Seraphus steals our shadowed bones
to gamble devilish thoughts on success,
we seek quintessence of Zephyrine dust
with Valkyrian reverence for rebirth
through fraught conviction of soul immanence
concealed in cypher of auric respect.

Because Seraphus builds sanctum of lies
where we seek auspice of unyielding truth,
we consider sovereign rights to life
trapped in penumbra forged from vital lust
expressing arcane solitude through myth
that acts as catalyst for social change.

Because Seraphus measures sublime fear
enraptured by vile vortex of our brains,
we seek hermetic code of vigilance
designed to nurture ataraxia
based on exousia that Phoebus assigned
for me to wield Aeonian ardency.

Because Seraphus keys tenacity
through incandescent augury of love,
I feel strange vibe emanate Jovian
from runic core inherent to my faith
based in strict impulse of my discipline,
therefore I seek aphelion world of dreams.

Because Seraphus maps the multiverse
while I trudge river shore of changeless truths,
I invent meaning for this random life
that leaves me stranded on the signless road,
so I erect ten thousand signs as clues
for all the yet-born with Astarian faith.

Because Seraphus plays chess with Despair,
I marry Death and crown her as my bride
so we raise children with conceptual rules
based on how humans employ mental tools
to build from ruins of America
order of justice through Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus mentors Seraphus in the art of performing role of the psychopomp who leads souls of the dead to the world of nothingness.

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

Jump The Clock Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

Surprised by beauty of the sudden sun
that strips cold darkness from essence of things,
I feel my soul emerge from words of books
to float through troposphere of psychic waves
and surf eclectic tides of social change
when I decide to jump the clock of fate.

Gold rays of dawn illuminate my face
as I stride bravely down the signless road
to leave valley home of wheatfields behind
and journey to the castle court of power
to join the justice squad of loyalty
when I conspire to jump the clock of fate.

Startled by serpent of Tiresias,
who guards gate of Heaven with Wand of Weird,
I solve strange riddle of his honey tongue
that man is mask of his ancestral ghost,
then enter paradise with cautious faith
when I arrive to jump the clock of fate.

Assigned to assist honest Sisyphus,
I perform role of psychic architect
to construct cathedral of slanting light
that calculates through angled formulas
immortal spirit of the spinning wheel
when I resolve to jump the clock of fate.

Alert to clever scheme of Tantalus
to crown his son, mad Midas, King of Earth,
I reassign the chess-game characters
by changing rules of interactive play
allowing me to win against his greed
when I contrive to jump the clock of fate.

Inspired by frantic faith of Icarus
to escape tower where Rapunzel weeps,
I soar above the endless maze of myths
to fracture idols of dead gods with truth
whose howling voices scream from violins
when I ascend to jump the clock of fate.

Amazed by wisdom of calm Athamas
to rescue Daphne from the laurel tree,
I dive with courage in the surging sea
and rescue Helle from depths of despair
so we raise children in our apple grove
when I refuse to jump the clock of fate.

Five hundred years ago in swirl of time
more than one million separate human beings
over twenty generations converge
to wake as memories in my dreaming brain
so I expand my divine consciousness
when I contract to jump the clock of fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus employs conceptual tools to repair the clock of fate that seems to have gotten broken from overuse by people jumping across the multiverse of various Earths.

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

Between Her World And Mine
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

If angel of light descends from the stars
and chooses to glow outside my locked door,
the vast distance between her world and mine
haunts my heart with intense desire to know,
so I sing ache of my hope to embrace
grace of her beauty long lost from this world.

Stunned by assertive passion of strange eyes,
I wander mute in forest of sad winds
to lie beside the shallow pool of frogs
till I sense invisible shift of light
that pulses with palpable vibe of truth
since I contain the world inside my breast.

Surrounded by waving ferns of concern,
I reach out to touch white moth of the moon,
and muse if angel of light may return
while I curl roots of my passionate hope
in sun-thawed soil of our slow-spinning globe
to contemplate relentless change of forms.

Awake in moon-shadow of ardent faith,
I gather dismembered fragments of dreams
to patch strange memories with threads of fate,
framed by clumsy gratitude of bright eyes
that stare through useless clouds of urgent joy
as unseen bats that constellate my heart.

They crowd my empty room before midnight,
those faceless ghosts of people I once knew,
who gather to discuss risk management
by filling boxes with thick documents
that analyze how floods destroy small towns
where mothers cook us potatoes and corn.

I study densities of river stones
in long reports about anger repressed
based on paintings that crowd ten thousand rooms
where angels dwell in landscapes of lost worlds
to ponder why choices result in how
we sail boats on floods from electric storms.

Invulnerable books of recognized myths
detail each time in history of mankind
angel of light hovers by my locked door,
so I record another song of love
contrived from psychotic anxiety
that flashes meteors across my mind.

I shall organize schedule of events
to render strong semantics mirrors seal
through iridescent thoughts of angel wings
that bring my true love safe around the world
when she appears outside door of my heart
and I open wide to embrace her close.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus welcomes Ophelia home when she returns to Scotland after visiting her mother in the distant river valleys of Scythia.

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

Soul-Generating Art
© Surazeus
2025 12 13

The sweet little girl in lush field of flowers
plays with the shiny key-words of her heart
which her father forged from water and stone
by catching lightning strikes with gentle hands
so she transforms wild swirls of energy
to fruits and vegetables that bloom from dirt.

Loading pushcart with baskets of ripe fruit,
Pomona travels across bumpy fields
to large ring of stones on the river shore
where people gather every afternoon
to exchange rich produce of the fertile Earth,
then feast and sing in the cool evening dusk.

Working all evening in the restaurant,
Pamela brings plates and glasses of food
to people gathered at tables of faith
where they eat and talk with passionate joy,
then lies exhausted on her bed at home
and thinks about the ancient times in Rome.

While imagining simple ways of life
in ancient times before technology,
Pamela sketches young girl with long hair
who sells fruit from her pushcart by the tree,
then shares ripe apples with the handsome boy
who roasts fish he caught for them both to eat.

Though life seems simple in those ancient times,
stronger people often exploit the weak,
but today government agents run laws
providing everyone who wants to work
protections against exploitative greed,
though that system seems to be breaking down.

I cannot tell if life in ancient times,
tending trees of fruit with attentive hands
to protect them from harsh weather and thieves,
or life today as waitress serving food
then watching shows on computer at night,
is the lifestyle I would prefer the most.

This organic body of chemicals
that conjures my conscious soul from its brain
requires constant input of biomass
that we produce from fertile soil of Earth
so we must gesture with physical craft
to sustain body-vibrant glow of life.

When immortal soul of Pomona wakes
in mind of her descendant Pamela,
her spirit of soul-generating art
inspires her to maintain strict daily rite
working to provide food people must eat
so she can eat and enjoy painting comics.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus finds Pamela at the comic book convention where he buys the latest comic book in her series about Pomona, the fruit girl of ancient Rome
who helps Phoebus solve murder mysteries.

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

True To My Secret Self
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

True to my secret self against all odds,
I savor sparkle of mist on my face
from endless melodies of waterfalls
that measure vastness of my consciousness
wide as the swirling sea with each new chance
by which I mold weird fortune into fate.

Down endless street of arrogant dismay
I walk past swords of angels made of flame
to follow Morning Star of righteousness
while floating wingless in hypnotic trance
by singing hymns that wake the dead from dream
who wonder at the blood that stains my coat.

Dressed in black lace dress of elegant grace,
Death walks beside me on my road of life,
revealing beauty in each mundane thing
since sunlight glows on walls of silent stone
so I clap hands in rhythm with sea waves
because the wind takes all my parts away.

Time scatters me on tragic plain of faith
though I inspire celestial breath with fear
so people born long after I have died
assemble fragments of my memories
to build their own new personality
encased in faceless monument of Me.

Because each Me I live as each new day
emerges bright from stone of haughty grief,
I drink from sparkling fountain in the square
while strangers watch my face appear from rain
so I strum lyre of Mercury with joy
through call for truth in valley of my heart.

Secure in realm of sudden consciousness
that sings through tree of affectionate trust,
I publish our undeniable tale
based on sincere candor of crumbling cliffs
because divine insight broadcast by Death
remains unpublished through dire prophecy.

Trained as calm architect of healthy homes,
I build cathedral of human despair
where sorrows embodied in human minds
correct assertion of the holy fool
through maladjusted hours of wizardry
because rain writes my misery in flowers.

Without strong angel wings on which to fly,
swooping high over hot telephone lines,
I study nonsense of the human heart
that wants true love against reason of faith
so we share drinks in moonlight on the snow
while never exposing failures in tales.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus teaches classes at the Zarathian Institute of Psychotic Anxiety to help people remain true to their secret self despite obsession with social success.

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

Play Orpheus Psychopomp
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

About as subtle as hammer of hope,
my heart beats wild with speculative faith
that delusions of hope and faith dissolve
at shocking vision of the bloody sword
that emerges from my Chaldean Star
each time I need to understand the Why.

Though I inhale celestial god of light
to energize my body with intent,
I analyze progressive quest for faith
that beams as moonlight through tangled tree limbs
each time I need to understand how come
time breaks organic bodies into shards.

If I emerge from veil of apple leaves
to observe situation of concern,
I measure distance to the danger zone
each time I need to understand how far
my body falls from cloud of innocence
though I grasp at feathered wings of blind gods.

So I approach gold idol of the king
that shines with beauty at the fear-locked gate
each time I need to understand how long
Death takes to tally names of hungry folk
trapped inside ancient walls of paradise
till tyrant on fake throne falls over dead.

I spread angelic wings of brave esteem
each time I need to understand how high
palace of achievement looms above me
because I strive to earn fame-forged award
through bright apotheosis of my soul
till I tumble wingless down to the Earth.

Each time I need to understand my heart
I stand on breathless plain of everywhere
and cry out to blind angels on bright clouds
for dream-key to unlock huge gates of Hell
so I can play Orpheus psychopomp
who leads mine slaves back home to Liberty.

Each time I need to understand the world
I map features on landscape of its form
in virtual world that programs how my brain
perceives social functions of the real world
stratified as radiant layers of truth
through linguistic structure of linked ideas.

Because the author of these puzzling codes
is no more real than gust of humming wind,
you, as the reader with observant eyes,
create the virtual world of psychic truth
your brain designs as you read lines of verse
each time I need to understand my song.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus discusses the concept of the author and the reader with Roland Barthes as they hang out on the ocean beach and drink peach-flavored honey mead.

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

Necessity Of Paper Skulls
© Surazeus
2025 12 12

Unruined stillness of my lucid heart
expresses anguish of supportive flaws
we share with mottled voices darkly clear
when we advance across the seamless span
that bounds our sober thoughts of rippled rage
in naked wilderness of circled sense.

Yet eyes of painters staring beyond time
laugh at proverbs perched on putrefied walls
since innocent hearts of togetherness
are coarsened by feckless grief we must sell
based on necessity of paper skulls
we mass-produce in factories of fake words.

Sad spiders spin somnolent jealousy
that we exchange with bold alacrity
till manic chagrin for positive change
fools us to think relationships are real
as festered shackles of contractual code
dissolved by storm clouds of our loyal love.

Not even the wildest music of clowns
could drive me mad with brave telepathy
since path of my insistent quest for truth
gleams brightly on horizon of my fear
from garish light of my Chaldean star
that softens jeers of brute banality.

All aspects of my pulsar heart refract
miasmic tunes of structured harmony
on which I march for beauty to escape
conceptual slaughter of dream piracy
when we invent new melodies of faith
that scam us with sweet fantasy of life.

Diminishing returns of honest love
invested to earn profit from regret
reveal our complicated states of mind
contrived by marketing budget of lust
despite foreclosure on my flooded heart
that leaves my beneficiaries poor.

My gazed fixed firm on face of fantasy
requires grand celebration of our feast
as we approach our hidden skeletons
with golden joy of arrogant dismay
that seals our contract with elated pay
through swelling surges of new social change.

That lifeless image in mirror of eyes
explains my graceful dance of aching hope
to leap beyond our solid bounds of faith
with bloodless ecstasy of festive fear
till I sing dreadful prophecy of truth
encoded in weird puzzles no one gets.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus considers the possibility that death annihilates the self-created fantasies of our brains which dissipate into mindless energy of hope.

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

Exchange Fake Money
© Surazeus
2025 12 11

Excessive anguish of my loving heart,
encased in copper sulfate crystal shell,
might radiate nuclear passion of respect
when I explode with silver fog of dawn
to join festivities on ship-wrecked beach
where castaways buy and sell books of blood.

Reluctant penance of obsessive waves
inscribes our bitter loss with hieroglyphs
we carve on plangent gravity of fate
against clarified habits we exchange
through lucid effort of accomplished thoughts
based whole on choreography of love.

No faint electric trail of muddied steps
lures us to unplowed fields of warrior skulls
where honest heralds will conspire to fool
the hungry crowd with phonemes of disgust
because we dig with shovels of contempt
to rip soft heart of Earth for treasure chests.

Yet wounded by uncertain words of faith,
we translate climate of confusing truth
based on the certain slant of winter light
which cracks cathedral walls with ardent bells
where young girl in black dress sings coded hymns
to prove imperial affliction of air

Escape from Heaven shows why nameless god
traps souls of seekers in shadow of truth
through oppressive laws of false bravery
despite internal meanings we conceal
though we wait in round temple on the hill
for bakers to turn pearls to loaves of faith.

Sounds of our voices exclaiming with joy
may disappear in breath of crashing waves,
yet we hide feelings inside polished jokes
to prove our memory of corrupted homes
provides foundation for new way of life
when we exchange fake money for good lies.

This road we walk may lead us far away
but we will find ourselves back home again
though emptiness of faith inspires mad kings
to bomb museums full of singing masks
because we sell true evil to our friends
in exchange for dead leaves wet from cold rain.

Clean masks of polished personalities
hide brutal emptiness of loud desires
valued by the fearful who worship brutes
constricted by approval of fake strength
when we embellish skills through agency
till motives drown our hearts in tears of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus meets Jesus in cracked cathedral where they listen to Emily Dickinson sing hymns about the certain slant of light that exposes human hearts to fateful love.

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

Tomb Where Jesus Rots
© Surazeus
2025 12 11

Each time the door of our house opens wide
I feel the universe invade my heart,
so I step through its liminal divide
to leap across abyss of innocence
and stare at statues of people who wear
mask of god to prove they should be alive.

I hear gravelly voice of the old man,
who calls everyone he meets Mister Bones,
clatter loud as boulders of the landslide
that wipes empires off map of Wonderland
when he recites proverbs from holy books
that praise the man who shovels mud with pride.

The sturdy woman in torn peasant dress,
whose face shines gold as pumpkins at sunrise,
recites the alphabet with water voice
which sparks arousal of my hope to learn
secret code she recites to indicate
proper behavior for every event.

Sudden roar of demonic energy
startles me from tending my pumpkin patch
so I spin the circular multiverse
angled enough to see blur of wings
when the horseless carriage zooms past my field
and trundles over horizon of hope.

When golden stairway to Heaven beams down
through frantic storm clouds of urgent respect,
I kneel with brave expectancy of faith
and watch for Jesus in long fluttering robe
to float on vibrant wings of piety
with huge eyes of nuclear divinity.

Though I pray deep with calm solemnity
at vision of Heaven transforming Earth
from cluttered messy hell to paradise,
Jesus never appears in glorious blaze
long after darkness shrouds the world in gloom
so I hide shocked in the windowless room.

When Phoebus wakes at flash of ecstasy
from smoky ruins of my aching heart,
I channel spirit of harmonious Muse
to sing about the brave philosophers
who journey forth on quest of curious faith
to understand true nature of this Earth.

Lost in the endless maze of history,
I follow glowing light of wisdom close
that radiates from Lamp of Diogenes
to measure structure of this universe
and analyze physical states of being
when I explore from tomb where Jesus rots.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus acts as tour guide for tourists from many countries as he shows them the tomb where Jesus lies as fragile skeleton of glass that waits for the day of resurrection that never comes.

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

Echo Of Transient Fire
© Surazeus
2025 12 10

We fall from echo of transient fire
when bodies dissolve in oceans of light
that forges our bones into frantic words
we sing to channel sorrow into love
preserved on pages torn from holy books
that flutter wings of sly ambitious hope.

Unbearable coldness of hurried breath
constrains elastic brains with moral laws
contrived by strict procedures angels use
to wake as elemental beings of soil
inspired by incidental leap of faith
till I stop breathing at the end of time.

We watch attention of our hungry minds
shift through each writhing spiral curve of fate
with humble wonder at flowers that bloom
from eyes of corpses trapped in trunks of trees
because we welcome birds on trembling limbs
secure with knowledge that we all will die.

We float in moon boat on time-steady stream
to learn about the dead who disappear
because we fear they wander bodiless
somewhere behind us on the vanished road
and call our names with voices soft as wind
that causes leaves of anguish to retreat.

If we stop breathing subtle honesty
when stones allow adjustments of regret
through mental focus on exploding words
we might react with physical intent
to register random absurd events
based on identity we claim with prayer.

Pathetic laughter sparks new flame of hope
through urgent anguish to transcend our pain
so we discuss heart-shocking sense of loss
that twists subjective ambience from fate
based on unflappable resolve to live
with brave attention against fractured lies.

Thus we transcend multidimensional planes
through complex registry of secret names
despite our catalytic trust in books
that burgeon text in rockets of brave snow
stuck in proverbs that detonate our hearts
which leaves us stranded on the signless road.

I search myself for alien mysteries
and find that no one thinks I am alive
so I become reflection in the pool
who questions if my face is even real
till I turn around and gaze in your eyes
as we rise from echo of transient fire.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus chuckles with delight as he opines that there is no greater joy than creating art for the sheer joy of creating art.

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

Siren Call Of Social Fame
© Surazeus
2025 12 10

Because my plutonian heart is laid bare
by stolen passwords of classified code,
I raid the treasure house for secret tropes
so with each sentient spell my tongue recites
I may free demon of my inner child
to dance while laughing on the ocean shore.

When I hear songs of sirens on sharp rocks
who seek to lure me with visions of love,
I sail away through swirling mist of fear
to find the Garden of Eden in Hell
where angels in white robes of feathered wings
compose our tales on scrolls of energy.

Disarmed by meter of relentless waves
that wrack indifferent cliffs of solitude
with anxious thoughts of wordless ecstasy,
I seek to trick the woman with sad eyes
by giving her sweet fruit from Tree of Life
then sell her wisdom of the holy light.

Yet she buys nothing from box of my dreams
because she sees behind my fractured mask
while gazing amused in my mirror eyes
where face of beauty gleams with sudden power,
so she embraces me with urgent faith
to generate new life before we die.

Her heart-enchanting melody of hope
possesses me with vision of Star Truth
so I become small part of her grand play
where I perform creative tasks with faith
that build world view of sacred guardianship
where she reveals true nature of all things.

Though I keep falling from Tower of Truth
because my fantasy of flight fails me,
I stand again on ardent legs of faith
and search the endless maze of Wonderland
till I find thirteen keys of magic mirth
to spring the locks of churches without doors.

When chronicles of human history,
which I compose with pure angelic blood,
appear unclassified with secret codes,
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing
brave odes about anti-heroes and fools
who heed the siren call of social fame.

Almost forgotten in the Promised Land,
Muse Calliope finds me by the tree
where I assess mind-state of misery,
and gives me crystal sphere of potent power
so I can dream history of the Earth
till waves of time wash me out to the sea.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus enrolls his son Orion in the Zarathian Academy of Music where he learns to compose narrative poetry from Calliope.

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

Titans Versus Dinosaurs
© Surazeus
2025 12 09

The painful awkwardness of growing old
never ceases to amuse me, he sneers,
and snuffs out his half-smoked Cuban cigar
on muscled thighs of the statue of David,
then walks along the river with the ghost
of his intellectual bride Persephone.

Three men in leather jackets with black guns
approach from shadow of the fractured door,
demanding he give them his pulsing brain,
but he recites divergent Latin spell
that binds their bodies in one turtle shell,
then spins them whistling in the river depths.

Arriving at the Pegasus Cafe,
hidden between the cathedral of skulls
and the department store of demon masks,
he hangs out with Milton, Dante, and Skald
as they discuss with animated pride
the latest trends in global poetries.

King Midas and his gang of thugs arrive
in fleet of huge black cars with flashing lights,
and claps prophet of the apocalypse
with golden chains of delicate despair,
then locks him in mirrored hall of Versailles,
demanding he sing praises of his reign.

Mad poet of the boggy Scottish vales
transforms into the weasel with quick heart,
then slips away from prison of false wealth
to soar on black wings of angelic fear
above vast sprawling maze of city streets
that covers the whole Earth with asphalt gods.

Enormous monsters emerge from asphalt,
irradiated by stark rays of rage,
and stomp delicate cathedrals of glass
to mash achievements of the human race,
so he transforms from awkward mortal man
into Archangel Michael with flaming sword.

Zooming around in spiral loops of hope,
Saint Michael battles asphalt behemoth
in clash of Titans versus Dinosaurs
till Hyperion defeats cruel Godzilla
by disassembling puzzle of his dreams
when he obtains key to decode his soul.

I wish these scenes of grand heroic deeds
were nothing more than boyish fantasy,
he grins while riding merry-go-round horse
as planes drop bombs on churches, schools, and homes,
then lies down weary in ancestral tomb
after wandering many years from the womb.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus admires stuffed-head of Godzilla on castle wall above the glowing hearth as Saint Michael offers glass of wine after they feast on Godzilla steak grilled by the misty loch.

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

Find Spirit Of Korth
© Surazeus
2025 12 09

Without systematic building of lies
our eyes could almost see the perfect skies
where angels dance in mirror of the brain
because their tears are not refreshing rain
despite contrivance of the circus clown
who weeps to see the pretty mermaids frown.

When lions prance on sidewalk of my heart
to show me secret treasures off the chart,
I draw the universe you wish to see
since art my hands create must remain free
for children to rebuild their bombed-out homes
as chronicled in dust-caked history tomes.

Though people like to other me with tags
that box my wild demonic soul with rags,
I follow flock of ravens to the north
where Scottish fairies still worship the Korth
who incarnates through every thirteenth witch
which means I am example of her glitch.

So I appear before the wandering tribe,
as angel radiant with celestial vibe
by wearing gold crown of the star-eyed god,
recruiting them to join my justice squad
on sacred mission to reframe the world
as dramatic stage for the cosmic herald.

But all my grand visions of paradise
are gambled away by roll of the dice
which leaves my spirit destitute of truth,
yet I clutch cracked mask of messiah sleuth
that I wore last year to the palace ball
before my spectacular social fall.

While climbing mountain trail of my failed quest
to actualize through play my human best,
I cling with false bravado to my scroll
which details functions of my corporate role,
till I find idol of Korth on the hill
carved with her motto, Live through your free will.

Searching for true heritage of my clan,
I escape America while I can
to explore sacred Isle of Avalon
far from where I was born in Oregon
till I find Spirit of Korth in my heart
as humble girl with her apple pushcart.

As thirteenth witch descended from cute Korth,
I build new home beside the Firth of Forth
so collapsing empire affects me not
since I am just another landless Scot
who wanders nowhere in the Evening Land
with nothing but weird Dream Book in my hand.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus kneels before radiant goddess Korth whose eyes illuminate mysterious psychic dream world of our computer-programmed brains.

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

Opal Sea Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2025 12 08

I love to sail the opal sea of ghosts
along emerald Sunado Mountain Range
where sly trickster raven Kwekwaxawe
transforms from shadow of uncanny truth
to unleash wanton wisdom of the heart
that worms demonic spirit in my brain.

Soft breezes of voluptuous mountain pines
reveal strange boundless beauty of this Earth
when silent flashing wings of silver gulls
emerge from flaming fog of sudden hope
to prove immortal spirit of my genes
remembers every life of bodied lust.

When snarling man disguised as feral wolf
hurls bitter spear of rage at my soft heart,
I somersault on rainbow bridge of faith
to dodge aggressive grasp of hungry hands
by leaping with black feathered cape of hope
so I soar far beyond greed of his hate.

Strange howl of aching wisdom in my heart,
that surges harsh from visceral angst of faith,
expands exotic consciousness of truth
through fierce arousal of fluttering wings
to seize somatic structure of my soul
so I become true person of my brain.

Ferocious beauty of the opal sea,
refracting demons through my sapphire eyes,
inspires my heart to solve anomaly
contrasting discipline of holy works
with frantic faith of psychic cryptograms
that encode memories of ancestral lives.

With graceful stroke of luck in random fate
I row sleek riverboat with urgent flow
past crystal mountain range of jagged peaks
where raven spirit of immortal genes
has flown my body twenty thousand years
through mist-veiled valley of our singing skulls.

Occult theology devised by monks
reveals celestial beauty of the horse
who watches me with star-black eyes of trust
when I approach her sacred apple grove
to offer succulent fruit of my heart
with furtive playfulness of honest love.

Soul nurtured by the opal sea of ghosts,
I flap arm-wings of raven-feathered robe
to dance around bright solar eye of truth
in sacred pale of heavenly respect,
then gesture hands to carve from Tree of Life
sleek ship on which I sail vast tides of change.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus explores cave in the Olympic Mountains where he finds an ancient lyre made from a turtle shell with strings from stomach muscles of the swift-galloping horse.

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

Heal My Exploding Heart
© Surazeus
2025 12 08

Sweet jasmine bush of my exploding heart
veils happy skeleton of the dead god
who lounges on tattered couch in the yard,
beaming his face on television screens
which pixelates our nation into tribes
who get together to drink lemon wine.

Yet joyful wolf of my exploding heart
swims far across the opal sea of ghosts
to teach our children how to build new homes
from ruins of pomegranates and bombs
so we prove existence of our souls
who roam along wild rivers of the mind.

If cracked fossil of my exploding heart
is ever dug up from the temple floor,
I might remember my ancestral soul
embodied as the woman with four hands
who managed vast orchards of lemon trees
where I want to return from Neverland.

Till scrawny tree of my exploding heart
writhes gallantly from grave of Frankenstein,
I map immensity of Earth with grid
to trap new settlements with naming points
so we can reinvent language of love
that translates hunger into marriage vows.

If I should wait till I am almost dead
before I float toward cosmic light of truth,
I might miss terrible masks of dead gods
that glow red through foggy ruins of time
to luminate our skin with tattooed codes
that show us how to levitate our minds.

Though crystal mask of my exploding heart
conceals demonic energy of faith,
I walk beside Goddess of Death each day
to comprehend weird vastness of our world
where humans congregate in anxious gangs
that found religions to conquer the Earth.

Relentless sea of my exploding heart
provides clear legal precedents of faith
for me to claim inheritance of lies
which frame grand heritage of my lost tribe
with noble narrative of our brave quest
to federate world tribes with our world view.

Festooned with garland of my victory,
my face portrays immortal god of words
as vibrant pulse of tuneful energy
that radiates from each atom in the void
to cluster conscious mass of divine light
so your words may heal my exploding heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus hosts gathering of all the major prophets of human history at the International Conference of Mad Prophets held annually at the University of Zarathia.

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

Secret Gate Of Bones
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

White horse that always walks up to my door
pretends to be the gold-red clouds of dawn
that no human on Earth can ever see,
so I encase my soul eternally
in gleaming amber on trunk of the tree
that wanders curious to the restless sea.

When Orpheus opens door of his house
he gasps surprised to see outside instead
young woman in black dress with golden hair
who plays the silver flute of his soul spine
while ancient stars glitter in her blue eyes
through melody that entrances lost spies.

When Greta takes his hand with gentle smile
they walk together on the river shore
to enter town through secret gate of bones
where she reveals through magnifying glass
angels dancing on taut telephone lines
who sprinkle apple blossoms on their heads.

Though natural disasters destroy our homes
we master stoic acceptance of fate
by noting that we only lose with grace
things we create with eager hands of hope
for all illusions dissipate in words
designed by compassion of haughty birds.

My words give birth to children of the lake
whose bones of ice and blood of flashing snow
provide bold substance of framed confidence
for them to play in forest of blind ghosts
where angels string wires with small flashing lights
around pine trees to mitigate despair.

Two strangers face to face on stage of love
recite sweet liturgy of sacred hours
that hide world empire of the aching heart
behind lace veil of ardent honesty,
Kwan Yin and Jesus startled by desire
to found new dynasty of generous gods.

Through frozen doors of radiator hearts
we stride with indignation of respect
toward far horizon of conceptual towers
where people sing hymns of our long-dead god,
then give each other gifts on winter nights
to invent meaning for communal lights.

Because the moon has always been our home
where angels dwell inside the crystal dome,
we play sweet music with harps, drums, and flutes
in transient melodies of feathered faith
that weave nostalgic matrix from our hearts
embodied by white horse outside our door.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus takes Greta out to dinner at the Broken Column Restaurant to celebrate the silver anniversary of their wedding in Elysian Fields.

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

Potatoes In Wet Fields
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

I walk in every city of the world,
holding signs with names of their long-dead gods,
so they arrest me with chains of fake laws
and lock my soul in prison of their fears,
but I transform to butterfly of faith
and leave them weeping in their doorless rooms.

Children spring from potatoes in wet fields
and run circles around large army tanks
till falling snow melts metal of mute rage
in face-reflecting pools of history
that trap our memories in photographs
tossed about by wind from bomb-shattered homes.

Wheels made of sticks bound with innocent lies
roll over muddy plains of rotting wheat
till endless stories dripping from our tongues
pave signless roads with asphalt demon blood
that shimmers with mirage of sacred truth
which distracts us from our quest to find god.

These sprawling cities that map maze of streets
insist they are the self-portrait of god
who always stares down from castle of clouds
to see his soul embodied by us humans
who play subconscious energies of lust
he tries to subsume in sacrifice myths.

Risen from dank grave of forgotten fate,
I walk lush undulating hills of time
with serpent-writhing spine of urgent faith
to dance with taut proximity through rain
that shatters treasure chest of my frail heart
in gleaming fragments of my mirror brain.

Yet plasma waves from bright crown of the sun
eject assertive mass of psychic light
to magnetize our bodies with god-souls
so we feel divine spirit in our bones
radiate electric words through gusts of breath
to fill our flashing cells with holy eyes.

She plants tomato seeds of humble faith
in lust-rancid soil of my fertile heart,
then beams with joy when they burst into bloom
that leaves sweet odor in harvesting hands
when we relax beneath the Knowledge Tree
and share sweet kisses with our juice-smeared lips.

Fluorescent angel flashing in green rain
reveals weird beauty of our universe
as we walk holding hands down empty street
but stop surprised by the art gallery
to see the full moon fill our hearts with joy,
then run to make love in our doorless room.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus harvests potatoes from wet fields, filling his pushcart with bushels of earth-apples, then whistles as he walks to the market where housewives buy them with copper coins.

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

Clock Of Divine Will
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

If I could rewind clock of divine will
to unspool whole atomic brain of light,
then I would choose to love you just the same
as I perform role of my character
programmed by actions my ancestors played
as we evolve from fish to god with hope.

I will fix broken clock of divine will
with psychic tools of myth-constructed tropes
by readjusting wheels of programmed thoughts
as I shift gears to swerve away from track
framed by strict rules my ancestors designed
to ensure success of fertile rebirth.

When I radiate from clock of divine will
in spinning swirls of flashing rainbow beams,
contained by solar mask through deities
transforming mud to angels with vast wings,
I wake from frantic nightmare of despair
to dance with lithe expression of desire.

Trapped in maze ruled by clock of divine will,
I hurry down shifting halls of Dream Thrall
through endless iterations of one scene
in vain attempt to leap abyss of faith
and swerve away from preordained pathway
as I blaze new trail in waste land of lust.

As human bound by clock of divine will,
my body incarnates spirit of Star God
who lives forever in coil of my genes
as I evolve four hundred million years
to wake this hour in body of this brain
and dream my progress to become myself.

As spirit swirled by clock of divine will,
my brain remembers every conscious life
when my ancestors wake from frantic dream
to pause by tree of knowledge and review
our quest to generate life before death
through sky-expanding consciousness of love.

Evolved as god from clock of divine will,
I map time-animated atlas on globe
recording history of humanity
in virtual model of our pulsing world
which analyzes tales of human life
to weave religion from opposing creeds.

Surprised at timeless clock of divine will
that preserves strict concepts of formal shapes
in pure Heaven based on Realm of Ideas,
I construct palace of humanized truth
that invents meaning through absurdity
so we feast and laugh together in church.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus goes house to house in the vast Zarathian Empire to fix each clock of divine will that gets broken by people failing to exercise their free will.

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

Genetic Code Of Strife
© Surazeus
2025 12 07

Framed by obvious state of nothingness,
turtles journey with relentless attention
across never-changing landscape of dreams
to find primal pond of their memories
where they may meditate on the Moon God
whose timeless face shines down at us from Heaven.

Despite this extraordinary search
for private paradise in the waste land,
my turtle soul navigates global myths
designed by people grasping for state power
to misdirect my self-improvement journey
away from achievement of divine status.

I wake from endless dream of aching hope
to analyze progress through maze of myths,
and in Arcadia I am God reborn
as mortal creature with conscious desire
who strives to actualize that ideal state
inherent through genetic code of strife.

Whether I wear mask of Jesus or Zeus
as frame of reference by which I progress
to program how my brain perceives the world,
I redesign conceptual character
which I perform in theater of life
to become Surazeus, my true self.

Assigned as replicant of Jupiter
by acute compassion of Artemis,
I mold intense energy of my soul
to morph from idol into demigod,
urged by rebel streak of Lucifer
to leap over high walls of paradise.

These ancient energies of divine souls,
that fuel aggressive focus of respect
for strict investigation of my mind
to comprehend true nature of all things,
direct attention of clear scrutiny
to build virtual globe of my new world view.

Since people see statue of Jupiter
embodied in my elder bearded face,
incarnate from fountain idol of stone,
they readjust performance of their role
in harmony with unseen social rules
to be wary of lightning in my eyes.

Yet I just want to consume grilled beef steak
with glass of tannic red wine from Bordeaux
while Clara Cho in scarlet silk gown plays
piano concerto composed by Brahms
in glass-cube cafe by the star-gold river
as you smile with pleasure at being alive.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus designs new frame of reference by combining every mythology of world religions into one global system of belief based on fantasy of the human desire to evade death.

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

Obvious State Of Nothingness
© Surazeus
2025 12 06

If silence is paper money of hope,
worth less that words of desire people speak,
then I will hold illusions in my hands
and give them to strangers on sun-bright streets
who leave their wishes hanging in fruit trees
above the graves of long-unworshipped gods.

Words I write on blank pages of dream books
function as linguistic barometers
that measure emotions of citizens
who ignore harbingers of social change
encoded as puzzles in magazines
that scholars read in libraries at dawn.

They would be wise to listen with deep care
of honest attention through active faith
that requires isolation of the heart
to spark conceptual wattage of respect
through search for solace in the doorless room
far from the crowded church of holy hymns.

Today I do not record words of pain
that bomb-mangled children attempt to sing
while lost in ancient forest of mad birds
that share secret proverbs of hungry seas
slashed by startled scimitar of the moon
which gleams incarnadine in apple brains.

Each strawberry I dig from crystal snow
reveals radiant beauty of everywhere
that mirrors unpublished records of crimes
committed by people desperate for wealth
while dancing dizzy on telephone lines
as they consume ripe apples of the tomb.

Atonement drawn from fractured stone of faith
programs instincts of alert cautiousness
that fuels progressive thrum of thought cadence
while scanning dark expanse of hammered breath,
obscured by grim summation of true love
shared by parents and children without fear.

Inspired by social duties to exchange
value for products from fresh rivulets,
I polish metal wings of patient flight
when I attend to tales blind ghosts relate,
though sorrow erupts from sealed heart of love
which refracts words from immortalized stars.

Whatever side of history we choose
in brutal war of state ontologies,
I maintain stance for global liberty
based on strict endlessness of social change
in play nourished by brave naivete
which we perform in orchard of dead gods.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/12/…

Orpheus teaches history of humanity at the University of Zarathia, then goes to the Globe Cafe where he eats hamburger and writes poetry in blank book of obscure riddles.

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