Quest In The Nether Lands
© Surazeus
2026 03 20

Attenuated by faith in the sky,
I scatter pages of my holy book
on narrow trail in forest of sad ghosts
so I can find my way to Wonderland
but fairies fold them into paper planes
and float my memories on the wordless breeze.

Sponsored by oldest woman in the world,
who dwells in secretive Grand Canyon cave,
I paint complex murals on parking lots
that show whole history of the human race
fighting each other mounds of dirt
while I eat apples on library steps.

Tall skinny women wearing slim sheath dresses
pose on marble steps of the temple porch
while photographers capture their lithe grace
to celebrate graduation from college
as their eyes glitter with hope for the future
in heart of the empire that rules the world.

Kneeling in dust by dry fountain of bones
in central plaza of the crowded city,
the Weeping Woman cradles her dead son
shot by police sent by the bitter tyrant
as he trembles in fear on golden throne
while wolves circle his grand palace of mirrors.

I remember life of every ancestor
whose passion to survive this hostile world
generates my body with urgent faith
that we can overcome hunger of death
to live another hundred million years
on frail globe spinning in the starry void.

Old mother sitting in dark house at midnight
peers out the window at the parking lot
where she thinks she sees her son in dark hood,
so she opens front door and shouts is name,
but faceless ghost of his absence retreats
and vanishes in delusion of faith.

Religion is ligament of life tales
we share around campfire at dawn of time
to depict our quest in the Nether Lands
to find the hidden treasure of the dragon
that highlights exploits of the social hero,
dead mortal we worship as tribal god.

Caressing my cheek with her callused hand,
from working forty years in fields of crops,
the Weeping Woman gazes in my eyes
and beams into cathedral of my heart
enduring passion for justice and truth,
so I cradle pure heart of love she gives.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus joins Dolores Huerta to play lyre of Mercury while she sings ballads of the farm worker in the Library of Congress.

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

Bonfires Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2026 03 20

Thoughtlessly amused at how river stones
float in the sky above houses and cars,
Katya hides under the living room desk
when drones drop bombs on people at the school
getting fresh water and food for the night,
who dance around bonfires of liberty.

Running outside to see the school on fire,
Katya watches Jesus and Mazda fight
for world domination on hill of skulls
while children watch videos of baby goats
hopping about the yard with playful fun,
and dance around bonfires of liberty.

Tugging at door of the silver sedan,
Katya helps the woman with mangled arm
stumble away before her car explodes
with her son, his wife, and kids stuck inside,
while teenagers at music festivals
still dance around bonfires of liberty.

Cradling head of the woman on her lap,
Katya tips bottle of water with care,
but the woman coughs up blood on her dress,
and asks her if she has met someone yet,
because her nephews work hard on the farm
to dance around bonfires of liberty.

Helplessly singing sad hymn of salvation
to guide her spirit to the Other World,
Katya smooths hair of the woman with grace,
and trembles as she caresses her face,
then covers her body with tattered coat
to dance around bonfires of liberty.

Stumbling dazed on the road past bombed-out homes,
Katya approaches Church of Saint Askold,
kneels before statue of Mother Mariya,
and prays for souls of people killed by bombs
who must wander confused in streets of smoke
to dance around bonfires of liberty.

Wail of baby boy thirsty for fresh milk
startles Katya from reverie of prayer,
so she cradles him in her trembling arms
and hums as he suckles milk from her heart,
and their eyes become the sky and the sea
that dance around bonfires of liberty.

Wandering along the Dnipro River shore,
Katya explains to Ilya with hawk eyes
secret riddles about meaning of trees
while drones zip above canopy of leaves
unable to spot shadows of their souls
which dance around bonfires of liberty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds Katya teaching young Ilya how to fish near their secret wood hut on the Dnipro River shore long after the war is over.

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

Phoebus Is Folksy Clown
© Surazeus
2026 03 19

Because each repeated fall of the sun
feels so much like the final end of time,
I growl with animal passion in fun
at sweet enchantment of the breeze-kissed chime
when I lounge in ruins of Carthage town
to confess my Phoebus is folksy clown.

Though my days eat away eternity,
my hours have no need to pardon their loss
for I have joined Jester Fraternity
that Lucilius presides as first boss
since Juvenalis taught me how to praise
Lucifer with mask of the golden glaze.

I still wring my bread from war-bloodied stones
and fence my garden with bones of the dead
whose tales I carve with runes on dragon bones
till clever Athenus springs from my head,
so I pluck fruit that grows from tree of light
my ancestor planted in moonless night.

Seed of the Serpent beams inside my heart
light of salvation on wild ocean shore
where I build glass house on rock of Astarte,
star goddess who teaches me timeless lore
so I construct boats and tend fields of wheat,
yet sing with nightingale and parakeet.

I think it strange that when I kiss the skull
of Pluto on computer screen of fate,
I learn no secret of the laughing bull
who feeds my spirit to the fires of fame
till serpents resurrect my ghost to life
when I drown attempting to save my wife.

Olympus is my home Death cannot bomb
for gleaming dome of mirror-flashing masks
protects my family in vast crystal tomb
where miracles are kept safe in wine flasks
that leave me blind to virtue of weird truth
encoded in riddles by our dream sleuth.

Heartbroken by secret I never share,
that Lethe oozes from my brittle tongue,
I meet Cynthia on the heavenly stair
to give her puzzle from which angels spring,
so we stroll on the apple-sweetened shore
past fruitful garden to the grocery store.

Though honest Herakles struts on world stage
to brag the Roman Empire still stands strong,
I ask strange phantoms of conceptual rage
if they will come when cathedral bells ring,
but Charon waits on shore of River Styx
while Dionysus teaches me his tricks.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus heckles Robert Lowell at his poetry reading at Harvard University, so they wrestle each other till he dislocates his hip and renames him Israel.

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

Signs Of The Times
© Surazeus
2026 03 19

Thrashing in terror of his inner ghoul,
King Midas hurtles thunderbolts of Zeus
to blast safe temple of Persepolis
where Anahita shelters girls from hate
till Mithra is gored by the frantic bull,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

Weeping that his daughter Atusa dies
after missile blasts school where she reads poems,
Kaveh the Blacksmith leads people of Arya
to defend their homeland against drunk Thor
who stumbles around with Hammer of War,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

Startled from slumber in his lion cave
by missiles blasting gardens into wastelands,
Zurvan stands on smoking Mount Damavand
and hurls missiles back at den of Midas
who begs for help to fight his futile war,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

Shocked that Zeus tries to steal oil wells of Persia,
Achilles rallies Myrmidons from farms
and leads them to defend Thermopylae,
but falls asleep when Circe gives him wine
while sirens sing about his global fame,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

Strumming Lyre of Mercury with grief,
Phoebus laments fall of America
that Gabriel and Icarus get shot
by Goliath and Grendel wearing masks
who lock them in vast concentration camp,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

After Galahad finds the sacred key
to unlock Castle of Maidens with faith,
he frees Minerva from dark prison cell
who bears bright Torch of Liberty to write
names of war refugees in Book of Truth,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

Appointed by Minerva with gold wand,
Arthur and Hamlet lead army of farmers
to arrest King Midas, gone mad with power,
who runs with Nebuchadnezzar and Lear
through storm of delusions to escape Justice,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

Howling in rage at nations of the world
that no one accepts him as King of Earth,
King Midas wanders lost in maze of myths,
stuck in hell loop of his arrogant greed,
till Pandora locks him in Box of Fate,
when Sibyl chronicles signs of the times.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus publishes series of encyclopedias which Sibyl writes that chronicle signs of the times when Jesus and Satan again fight to rule the Earth.

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

Raucous Laughter Of Delight
© Surazeus
2026 03 18

While reading tragic tale of Oedipus,
composed by Cinaethon in epic verse
with elegant curved script Cadmus designed,
I hear someone in dim library gloom
erupt with raucous laughter of delight
that startles me from horror of despair.

Tiptoeing through labyrinth of tall book shelves
that winds deep in library hall of stone,
past statues of gods that stare in my soul,
I search for the mysterious personage
whose joyful laughter echoes in dim gloom,
trembling as I approach demon-carved door.

When I enter Finis Africae room,
hidden at core of vast library maze,
I see tall man in white robe stained with blood,
bearded face and brown eyes lit by stark light
that beams from cracked lamp of Diogenes,
contorted by laughter of frantic glee.

Shocked at sight of the tall elegant man
laughing with delight as he slaps his knee,
I wonder what elicits merriment
from solemn Jesus, son of Jupiter,
who doubles over with dizzy delight,
then wipes tears away as he slaps my arm.

Picking book up off the ground that he dropped,
I see it is the comic play named Clouds
that snarky Aristophanes composed
about that weird snub-nosed philosopher
named Socrates who played ignorant fool
to deflate egos of arrogant men.

Staring at Jesus, bemused by his joy
that seems in excess to the silly play,
I listen as he explains why he laughs
at how that wise fool fools wise men so well
because his clumsy frame hides divine soul
who teaches men to question their beliefs.

Leaning close, Jesus whispers in loud voice
that Jorge de Burgos, that grim buzzkill,
believes laughter ruins authority
the Church must exercise over all men
based on fear of damnation in hot Hell,
but laughter is the source of love in life.

Amused to see the son of Jupiter
laughing with delight at the comic play,
I join him in fruit garden by the pool
where he plays lyre of Mercury and sings
lyrics of Sappho that celebrate love
between friends while kids dance with graceful joy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus sits with Umberto Eco and Aristotle in the Crippled Pegasus Cafe by the Alpheus River to drink coffee and chat about the Poetics of Comedy.

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

Ghost Of The Wind
© Surazeus
2026 03 18

The strange way my thoughts fall into the pool,
transforming into pink petals of hope
that float away on swirls of nonchalance,
startles my heart with beauty of this world
that shimmers bright for no reason at all,
because these feelings are silly and cute.

Though none of my thoughts are original,
having been felt in equal depth of passion
by billions of humans who lived before me,
I savor these feelings with intense faith
because I experience them at this hour
as I gaze entranced by the fragile flower.

Soft grass glowing green with warm rays of light
emanating from one immortal sun,
tree leaves whispering in soft river breeze,
birds chirping surreal language of desire
as they flutter wings with innocent hope,
all conspire to wake feelings in my heart.

I keep those feelings hidden in my heart
where they gently fan butterfly wings
through weird intensity of obvious fear
that shadow of death will spring at my soul,
so I look around at the sudden world,
conscious with eternal suspense of thought.

Breathing deep with shock of scopeless insight,
I stand with sudden clumsiness of fear
as if my heart is sparked by deep alarm,
but I float suspended in changeless thought
and wonder what startles me to observe
demonic silence that knows I am real.

White apparition on the distant hill
alerts my anxious sense of mute surprise,
so I peer with intention to perceive
nature of that beast that stares down at me,
and gasp with joy to see the graceful horse
who often gallops with ghost of the wind.

Yanking apple from basket of friendship,
which I plucked as gift for my ghostly friend,
I hold it out with tense arm of respect,
and almost think the sky-dancer will come
accept it from my heart, but flash of light
briefly blinds me, and the wild horse is gone.

Sudden gust of wind scatters apple blooms
of pinkish disappointment in my hair,
so I eat the apple with grumpy sigh
at sudden tilting of the unknown world,
then I wander back to my secret cave
where I lie in moonlight and dream of flight.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus searches for Pegasus as he wanders along the Alpheus River while filling baskets with apples for Ophelia to sell at the pyramid market.

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

House Of Broken Toys
© Surazeus
2026 03 17

When Jesus calls me on the telephone
to borrow my car I stole from his dad
so he can take Venus to his beach house,
I climb to the mountain peak of world fame
and toss Holy Book in the burning bush,
yet find my mask in house of broken toys.

When Dionysus meets me in glass church
to confess his wish to become a monk
devoted to prayers of self-sacrifice,
I play electric guitar on lit stage
and howl mad wolf-song of the fallen god,
yet find my heart in house of broken toys.

When Apollo hires me to map dire fate
depicting networks of utilities
that provide services to every house,
I fly airplane to Plutonian hills
and bomb the stately dome of Xanadu,
yet find my soul in house of broken toys.

When Jupiter requests I paint his tower
with murals that depict scenes of his life
as chief psychologist of Kingdom Come,
I take Rapunzel home to Avalon
where we live in quaint cottage by the lake,
yet find my mind in house of broken toys.

When Odin grills burgers in parking lots
to feed five thousand refugees from war
who are eager to watch the Super Bowl,
I play violin in the concert hall
while Minerva and Phoebus sing the blues,
yet find my brain in house of broken toys.

When Jehovah steals industrial plans
to build new computer-powered starship
so he can rule the world from Samarkand,
I compose novels of angst-humored man
with old typewriter on shifting sand dunes,
yet find my name in house of broken toys.

When Achilles dresses as Judy Garland
and sings Over the Rainbow with brave voice
that inspires new generation of clowns,
I repair broken lyre of Mercury
displayed inside velvet-lined case of glass,
yet find my skull in house of broken toys.

When Lucifer campaigns around the world
to win our votes as President of Earth
in quest for secret of the Holy Grail,
I construct new radio from bird bones
to chat with Melusine in Oregon,
yet find my ghost in house of broken toys.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus helps Abraham paint marble statues of gods, lined in the temple of the luminous phantom, with bright colors of the rainbow.

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

Mindless Business Of Days
© Surazeus
2026 03 17

Now that spring is approaching with regret,
we organize mindless business of days
with porous unconcern for getting sleep,
adrift on horizon of innocence
because seasons of providence we flee
retaliate for spilled secrets of love
in terrible incidents we ignore.

If Death comes home with us before our hearts
are ready to breathe dust of obstacles,
we could hide in alcove of singing books
without desire for what matters the most,
because I just want to hear your soft voice
explain why the sky pretends to be blue.

Alone with my madness stuck in third gear,
I study the flower with countless eyes
that tells me love must change every new day
with gradual expansion of honest scope,
because bees sing about color of trust,
authentic with chronic engine of hope.

I cannot repeat puzzles of my dream
over and over of variable thoughts
trapped in books nobody will ever read,
disguised as the turtle of confidence
that boldly traverses waste land of faith,
so I drape my heart in knowledge of self.

Atrocious fanfare of enchanting trees
ignores how I stumble over dead books
with marvelous body of poisoned words,
so I observe torments of wounded hearts
wrapped in laughter of children who know
how to restore discord of fervent faith.

Elegant madness of panicky rout
perfumes austerity of lonely souls
who trade their consecrated memories
for horror that twists faces of the loved
to seek gratification through free will
by choosing to glorify undead gods.

I want to ask for shelter from the ghost
who wanders mutely with the noonday crowd
to find the mansion where no one else lives,
yet nothing happens till the clock explodes
with betrayal of language time invents,
so we speak with one voice of surprised love.

I build the mansion where we will now live,
nursing wounded dignity of soft pain,
so we can find the pattern God will break
when we sleepwalk together back to Eden
if we should watch the geyser dance with grace
as we regurgitate hymns of salvation.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus turns around suddenly and stares at the old man with spectacles who grins with teasing transparency of insane obviousness.

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

Soul Of Star-Eyed Phyllis
© Surazeus
2026 03 16

Though I vow to never allow my mind,
governed by strict logic of intellect,
to be seduced by sweet feminine charms
that emanate from soul of star-eyed Phyllis,
I find I play horse to her Aphrodite
as Aristotle who obeys her will.

Eager to please Goddess of Liberty,
whose gentle voice commands kings to obey,
I let her bridle my aggressive passion,
and rein my ambition to rule the world
with solemn duty to maintain our home
as secure haven for her to raise our children.

Harnessed to wagon of productive hope,
I focus attention of energy
to increase wealth garnished from heart of Earth
when I channel material of desire
through constructive factory of respect,
designing machines that Beauty requires.

Inspired by Beauty embodied as Woman,
who transforms spirit of my urgent faith
to mold new body of organic flesh
that houses immortal spirit of genes
in new child whose face replicates my mind,
I fulfill requests My Love asks of me.

Though I roam mountain forests in moonlight
as wolf-furred woodwose hunting river vales,
wise Phyllis captures me with flashing eyes,
and with sweet kiss through passionate embrace
converts my Enkidu to Gilgamesh,
domesticating werewolf of my heart.

Her bright Ishtarian demeanor translates
my Grendel demon to Beowulf angel,
morphing me from Azrael to Gabriel,
for her sweet smile of amorous respect
civilizes savage ghoul of my heart
from dragon-slayer to philosopher.

Though I wear mask of divine discipline,
concealing demon dance of Dionysus
with rational cantillation of Apollo,
that primitive ape programming my mind
urges my quest to generate more life,
obedient to will of woman I love.

Emotional battery in my heart
powers robotic habits of my body
through survival instinct of anxious rage,
which I restrain with logical project,
so I confirm my soul with self-control
through liberty in law of my free will.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus teaches me how to balance wild spirit of Dionysus with strict logic of Apollo to maintain productive creation of poetic art.

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

Pierrot And Persephone
© Surazeus
2026 03 16

I steal idol of God when I realize
Persephone falls in love with Pierrot
since she adjudicates how angels fly
by driving cars on highways of desire
through thunderstorm of global social change,
so she gives him pomegranate to eat.

While he wanders metropolitan maze
from sea to shining sea of broken dreams,
Pierrot gives mask to every soul he meets
so they can wear his face with honest pride,
then he grows another face from despair
that mirrors how each faceless human feels.

While she administers prison of fear,
preparing hell-loop punishment of pain
for each soul lost in delusions of hope,
Persephone waits on soft leather couch,
sipping wine and watching comedy shows,
for Pierrot to find his way to her heart.

When we gather for the Spring Festival
in Temple of Artemis by Dream Lake,
Persephone brings food to every table
so we feast and share our stories with strangers,
then listen with reverence of solemn faith
when Pierrot plays the lyre of Mercury.

Just as Pierrot, with lyre of Mercury
he found in cave of illusions in Hades,
arrives at jeweled gates of paradise,
Petrus judges he may not enter Heaven
because he cares for all souls lost in time,
so faceless clown of the moon weeps in silence.

Each drop of water sloshing on this globe
of ours that spins in starless void of hope
has animated billions of conscious souls
through four hundred million years of evolution,
so tear of Pierrot that stains Book of Fate
rewrites false judgement of Petrus with blood.

Ascending Stairway to Heaven with faith,
Pierrot enters Temple of Artemis
and kneels before Persephone at dawn
to give her mask he wove from dreams of love,
so they attend grand ball of shining gods,
and dance while Phoebus directs the orchestra.

Amazed with joy, we love to watch unfold
romance of Pierrot and Persephone
as symbol for state of our world today,
Mute Weeper in love with Guardian of Ghosts
who win awards for suffering they endure
with names we write in fairy tales of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus writes new play for Pierrot and Persephone to perform on stage in Temple of Artemis to celebrate the birth of the sun.

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

Tammy Understands Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

When Tammy drinks raindrops on window glass
to taste sorrow of strangers on the Earth
who pick raspberries from the unfenced field,
she feels eternal light gleam in her eyes
so she sees essence of each human soul
that helps her disappear in stream of words.

If Tammy explains lassitude of gods
with words of gold embossed on marble tombs,
we might hear endless cries of suffering
in fields of mourning where milk cows eat grass
because they steal strange memories of our eyes
with anxious experience of trembling joy.

Though Tammy mistranslates edible smells
to shimmer of ghosts on the primrose path,
she hides her naked heart with waves of light
when she invites me to swim in her lake
halfway to completion of her weird dream
blessing heavenly bridge between our hearts.

Yet Tammy discovers with blush of faith
her heart is impenetrable to contempt
contrived by unfulfilled passion of respect
we share with mutual acceptance that death
tries to mislead us with sweet fantasy
that we live forever in paradise.

Before Tammy maps ruins of our love
she intimates that angels without mouths
imitate how she sings with butterflies
to repeal law against our sacred bond
commanded by invisible police
who impose gratitude with scarlet pulse.

Because Tammy dissociates our trust
to stamp purpose of living on our hearts,
she finds me inscrutable to her sense
of freaked amusement without radar vibes
despite our vow to share star messages
submerged in supple waters of the pool.

Since Tammy understands dreams I conceal
with psychic sense of obvious solitude,
she hungers for my face that fades with time
while I sketch writhing maps in blood-stained clay
depicting habitat of horse and owl
to illustrate process of soul decay.

Still Tammy leads me to cave by the sea
where First Mother of all humanity
chants ancient song of ardent innocence
which nurtures how civilizations thrive
based on weird mysteries of the common place
that beams from still point of the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds Tammy and Federico eating raspberries at the still point of the universe behind the car-repair garage run by Thor with his hammer.

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

Garish Face Of Busirane
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

The old man stumbles against the red brick wall
so green leprechaun hat falls off his head.
"I should not have yelled at Clara like that,"
he mumbles at the wingless bird of fate.
Gold key of salvation falls from his hand
as he fumbles to unlocked jeweled gate.

The white raven swoops down from power line
and snatches key of salvation away.
The old man shouts at the cloud glowing gold
and shakes his fist at unfairness of fate.
Jesus approaches him slouched at the gate,
sizing him up with sly skeptical eye.

"When Britomart escaped deceptive house,
dismayed at how tapestries disappeared,"
he snarls at bright apparition of God,
"she found herself on the perilous porch,
eyes unveiled by delusions of desire,
so she could see the real world as it is."

Rattling gate of Heaven with fierce concern,
the old man, with plastic leprechaun hat
on his sore head of weed-entangled hair,
pretends he is Jupiter who can change
shape to the graceful swan in love with Fate,
then slips and falls on wet mud of respect.

When Britomart tears off the plastic mask,
printed with garish face of Busirane,
his heart cries out in shock of mute surprise
that glory of his power vanishes
at dreadful flame that writhes with holy angst
as loss misshapes his soul to howling ape.

Groping blind in dark blast of midnight wind,
the old man cries out in his bitter pain,
"I loved sweet Amoret with loyal faith,
but she ran off with clever Scudamour,
leaving me lost in maze of false desires
where Jupiter mocks my brave innocence."

Waking startled at sudden flash of dawn
that pierces his eyes with absolute truth,
the old man clambers to his trembling feet
beside locked gate of his community.
Trudging through front door of his six-roomed house,
Patrick calls Clara in white emptiness.

Kneeling by Clara on the bathroom floor,
Patrick cries in shock at her lifeless eyes.
"I have come too late to apologize,
so I hope you know how much I love you."
The white raven with his key of salvation
stares at him through cracked window of his heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds the Knight of Chastity wandering dazed on the desolate plain, so he gives her juice to drink, and leads her home to Cleopolis.

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

Unanswers That Explain Why
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

Each time I wander too close to the sun
wild spirit of Icarus wakes in me
so I run circles on the White House lawn
with arms outspread as if I can fly free,
then fall on my back under Great Blue Sky
and ponder unanswers that explain why.

Wheels of my bicycle flash in the sun
when I heave deep breath up the steep-hill road
then lounge by the fountain of secret pain
near the Mizpah Gate to gossip with God,
asking about delusions of my eye,
and dismiss unanswers that explain why.

Wearing pink dress and tattered shoes of hope,
Christina crawls across the grassy field
toward gray-wood house on the wind-battered slope
where nothing blooms but the frail marigold,
so I bear her soul in my arms and fly,
and rewrite unanswers that explain why.

Dropping quarter in the dorm pop machine,
I buy ennui in cold can of root beer,
then wear mask of Jesus for Halloween,
because I am son of the Puppeteer,
encouraging hopeless people to try
and design unanswers that explain why.

Inspired by victory of the faceless god,
I build castle in Caledonia,
then search with amusement in putrid sod
for crowns of kings from Macedonia,
because I choose to play the clever spy
and bury unanswers that explain why.

Hands strong with spirit of Odysseus,
I forge sword from stone that blazed from the stars,
since in Scotland I am indigenous
to misty hills where fairies drive fast cars,
so I map ruins where lonely girls cry
and extract unanswers that explain why.

Each hour cathedral bells of anguish toll,
I build wood ship to sail where dragons lurk,
yet in world theater I play my role
with fierce compassion of satiric smirk,
then chant formulas which may not apply,
and tangle unanswers that explain why.

Reborn as Icarus without brave wings,
I ask shy Christina to be my bride,
so she bakes hot apple pies while I sing
folk songs about how lost people abide,
then we kiss at sunset of the firefly,
and record unanswers that explain why.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus visits house on the hill where Icarus and Christina are raising three children who run around in the field and pretend they fly.

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

Wounded Heart Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

I hear the raven in the apple tree
tell me about the old woman who dies
after baking ten thousand apple pies
so children driven from their homes by bombs
may eat the wounded heart of innocence,
but all her pies rot in warehouse of greed.

I hear the toad beside the forest pool
tell me about the hungry man who dies
after delivering mail to every house
where ghosts of angels haunt bright living rooms
to hide the wounded heart of innocence
in stories on the television screen.

I hear the alligator in the swamp
tell me about the young student who dies
after drinking beer in the crowded bar
then wanders in haze of frantic memories
to drown the wounded heart of innocence
in turbid river of the singing skull.

I hear the horse in the wire-enclosed field
tell me about the racecar driver who dies
while speeding on the winding mountain road
and finds salvation with the humming toad
to steal the wounded heart of innocence
if he knows why the caged bird never sings.

I hear the cow in old abandoned church
tell me about the solemn priest who dies
while drinking holy blood from rusty grail
in restless search for virgin girl of faith
to sell the wounded heart of innocence
though she teaches her son to play guitar.

I hear the dog in the misty graveyard
tell me about the brave preacher who dies
before he sees Jesus return from clouds
in starship beaming our lost souls from Hell
to buy the wounded heart of innocence
while tearing pages from Bibles in rage.

I hear the unicorn in the warehouse
tell me about the mad artist who dies
while painting emotions of brave despair
in murals of folk heroes on brick walls
to break the wounded heart of innocence
reborn from farmers on justice crusade.

I hear the demon in the tower vault
tell me about the haughty god who dies
while counting gold coins of his stolen wealth
derived from labor of the working man
to heal the wounded heart of innocence
that slithers on marble museum wall.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus conducts souls of the dead along the signless road across American from sea to shining sea to the amusement park of Wonderland.

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

Energy Of Ardent Hope
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Honey and butter on toasted sourdough bread
delight my heart with pleasure of sweet taste
when I contemplate strange meaning of life
at home with my family on Sabbath night,
soul bathed in nurturing glimmer of light,
revived by energy of ardent hope.

No angel may hear me when I cry out
with terror at beauty of life and death,
but humans on Earth understand my song
when I vanish in power of soul light
that designs my mind with loving insight,
transformed by energy of ardent hope.

Unleashing wings of desire from my heart,
I throw emptiness out of my bound arms
to expand space of joy where I may breathe
ethereal spirit of demonic might
on which I pass fear with intimate flight,
propelled by energy of ardent hope.

Pure Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
rises from rotten desire of my heart
to tremble with silence of timeless change
that intimates beginning of my flight
to sing with Orpheus in sheltering light,
enshrined by energy of ardent hope.

Sparked awake by first blissful tone of love,
which Orpheus teaches me to express
with ringing melody I play on lyre,
I ask Death to elucidate mortal plight
as theme that consumes me with anguished fight,
restored by energy of ardent hope.

Alert to monstrous horror of desire
that drives men to kill each other for power
in mindless rage to gain immortal life,
I seize divine strength to play slender lyre
with passionate breath of pneumatic rite,
contrived by energy of ardent hope.

Message that creates itself from my voice
when I declare with optimistic faith
that we weave our fate with each choice we make,
grows monstrous when exposed to cogent light
that glow of our conscious mind is finite,
unbroken by energy of ardent hope.

Possessed by spirit Orpheus radiates,
I sing redemption of passionate love
that fills our hearts with mountain strength of faith
to aid each other when our souls recite
holy hymns we help playful sprite ghostwrite,
designed by energy of ardent hope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus takes me to meet Rainier Rilke in Duino Castle where I play guitar to translate song of ocean waves against jagged cliffs into solemn hymns angels sing in cathedrals of skulls.

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

Nameless Son Of Jove
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Draped in ermine robe of authority
with assignment to adjudicate laws
designed to rein aggressive lust of men
within bounds of respect for other men,
I wield sulfurous bolt of thunderous Jove
from Merciful Heaven to humble pride.

Though wrath of Oberon attends my heart
with plot to train each wild child of dark woods
as loyal warrior of my scouting train,
I channel passion to manage estate
of rich productive farms with guardian gangs
while lounging in the spangled starlight sheen.

Though I am merry wanderer of the night,
I jest on stage in temples of rich feast
to play role of Oberon with fierce joy
that sparks sweet laughter of relief from men
who sweat in labor to tend fields of wheat
which flushes resentment from their hard hearts.

Dismissed with mocking jest of pungent fear,
I twirl in whistling winds by flashing sea,
lost in contagious fog of jealousy,
but fall fatigued by stone-paved fountain pool
full of crackling leaves instead of fresh spring,
and weep for beauty drowned in tears of truth.

Disturbed by crackling shifts of jolted time
which readjusts world view of what is true,
I realize wealthy mean in towers of glass
conspire to enslave common citizens
to labor in vast factories of regret,
producing goods that profit bank accounts.

Alone on yellow sands where Neptune dwelled,
I watch fragile ships tossed by swelling waves,
pregnant with products of slave factories,
so I search in my heart for warrior soul
of Jupiter or Zeus that strengthens me
with courage to oppose cruel tyranny.

Heart pierced by love-shaft blind Cupid discharged,
I rise transformed from tomb of Oberon
to lead lost boys disenfranchised by hate
in noble army of brave warriors
to follow Minerva on bold crusade
dedicated to restore Liberty.

While my peculiar quest for truth is bound
with rational armor of my strict mind,
I grasp electric bolt of honest hope
as nameless son of Jove, son of Yahweh,
to reign as king in nutshell of heart
which frees our world democracy to thrive.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus records noble deeds of the new Oberon who assists Minerva in crusade to expel greedy King Midas from throne of authority.

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

Language Devils Speak
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Dehydrated in sunlight of all time,
I wander waste land of the urban zone,
lured to paradise by angelic chime
that rings from beating heart of the God Stone,
so I climb to the highest mountain peak
where I invent weird language devils speak.

Amused by dancing skeletons of fate,
I collect bones of huge dragons and gods,
assemble them in Museum of the Great,
and teach children how they grow from soul pods,
which inspires new generation to seek
books of legends in language devils speak.

Revealed to be son of messiah sleuth,
who once roused revolution of soul change,
I set out on quest to find the real truth
that leads me along the world mountain range
till I transform into ring-powered freak
and sing grand hymns in language devils speak.

Assured I will reign next king of the world
if I dethrone my father Jupiter,
I accept sacred role as cosmic herald
and play my part with mask of Lucifer
since killers inherit Earth from the meek
by propagating language devils speak.

Awake from sorrow of the broken land
where homes are shattered by religious bombs,
I journey back to hills of Samarkand
where I find apple queens in ruined tombs,
so I kneel and weep by the timeless creek
that whispers spells in language devils speak.

Strengthened by support of the faceless dead
who flock around me when I sing their tales,
I birth Athena from expanding head,
who rescues Jesus from cross of sharp nails,
because they exude uncanny mystique
when they perform star language devils speak.

Startled by loud horns priests of Joshua blow
to invade Garden of Eden with thieves,
I defend lush Heaven of Jericho
while the crippled widow of Hector grieves,
so I preach that, though life on Earth is bleak,
we will survive with language devils speak.

Inspired by Isaiah to sing satires
that spur tyrants to mend oppressive ways,
I connect world minds with computer wires
that help mankind evolve to our next phase
which provides voice for the abused and weak
who write fair laws with language devils speak.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus compiles and publishes official dictionary for language devils speak after eight thousand years of research and editing.

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

Weird Spirit Of Salorin
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Sea breeze shimmers green-gold feathers of pride
when Salorin, Poet of Zathamar,
appears on stage in crystal temple hall,
and strums seven strings with celestial chimes
in harp from rib bone of Queen Zathamut,
then sings epic tale of her life and death.

I sense her gold eyes gleam inside my heart
when I stand on street corner in Miami
and feel weird spirit of Salorin wake
brave courage to express her ancient song
that vibrates eighty million years of light
in waves that gleam on bright Florida coast.

My callused fingers pluck six coiled bronze strings
that vibrate through shell of spruce wood guitar
to wake soul of Salorin in my heart
so I sing grunge folk songs of human life
beside small fountain in the market square
while pedestrians and cars traffic past.

Long curly brown hair of the Anglo Bard
blows around my face as I play guitar,
dressed in leather boots and green woolen coat
caked with red dust of New Mexico hills,
while I sing surreal ballads that depict
rough journey of the brave Quester for Truth.

Grand vision of life on our spinning globe,
that flourished eighty million years ago,
glows from projection of my humming verse
that depicts evolved race of dinosaurs
who built vast cities of enormous diamonds
where they performed tales of Saurian gods.

Diamond cities in land of Zathamar,
where civilization of dinosaurs
thrived for millions of years on Earth,
have all been ground down to sands on the beach,
tiny fragments that gleam with their great songs,
and ring with chimes of their long-silenced voices.

I see their ghosts in glitter of the sand
when I lounge on Miami Beach at dawn
after sleeping all night among tall reeds,
and hear their voices of sharp ringing chimes
in susurration of green ocean waves,
so I channel their tales in my street songs.

As Quester for Truth on the signless road
that winds along rivers among tall hills
across this ancient land of Zathamar,
I ever walk toward Pyramid of Ishtar
whose song of wisdom shines in every heart
who thrives in United Nations of Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus gazes at statue of the ancient dinosaur bard Salorin with his rib-bone harp that stands in the endless Temple of Tellurian Gods.

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

Brave Tritonian Faith
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

Long since grown from child of the wandering sea,
where I once ventured vast unshadowed main,
I lounge with nonchalance of purpled wings
on wave-smooth stone to sun my streaming hair
and study fragments from my ship of pearl
that shimmers gold with lustrous coil of faith.

From sunless crypt of aching solitude
my father Triton wanders in wild gust
of laughing wind, that gallops from stark peaks
of jagged mountains, to kneel on cold sand
and blow wild tune in chambered nautilus
that rings forlorn on desolate beach of faith.

Awake with howl of my unresting sea,
that slithers silver waves around my feet,
I stretch frail frame of flesh with ache of hope
that broad sky-dancing wings of fortitude
may sprout from beating passion of my heart,
that fills my heart with brave Tritonian faith.

Though Triton, ancient withered ocean god
who sired my soul from fertile womb of light,
lies sprawled on glistening sand of arrogance,
unsouled by ruthless blast of grinding time,
I feel spark of his ocean spirit gleam
with weird immortal energy of faith.

When I kneel and weep by round pool of light
that glitters framed by empty shells of truth,
I see face of my father Triton glow
with animated urge of my own heart
as if I wear mask of his bearded face,
for I am reborn replicant of faith.

Fair phantom of my pulsing heart appears
through emanation of courageous fear
with fierce intention to investigate
source of power that compels my quest
to transcend bounds of self-enclosing name
and claim commission to preach deeds of faith.

Now that my father Triton vanishes
from dream time of my fate-perceptive eyes,
I measure segments of transforming change
that gears strict increments in scale of growth
so dawn light swells from nothing of my heart
to shape this world of forms from wordless faith.

Inspired by scripture of footprints on sand,
which I compose in magic runes of dream
with wand I forged from sharp draconic bone,
I run with carefree joy in wingless flight
by breathing clear Zephyrean air of hope
to fight despair with brave Tritonian faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus laughs with delight when young Oliver Wendell Holmes blows Tritonian tunes with the chambered nautilus he digs up from glistening sand of time.

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

Spectrum Of Strange Truths
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

When my Muse reveals spectrum of strange truths
arrayed as statues of demonic clowns,
I fuse my mind with weird riddles to bind
devious virtues through feverish respect
from solemn turmoil of typewriter thoughts
unspooling world view I always believed.

Despite intermittent sequel of moves
attending game of mirth against bleak death,
I push against bounds of physical hope
that limit expansion of ardent scope
radiant with fractured words I never speak
till I reach interval of intact breath.

Each time our world changes with subtle grace
through duplication of existing states,
I leap deceptive loom of glorious fear
to weave convincing vision of events
yet to unravel with undefiled force
at sudden dreaming of explosive fate.

Uncertain glory veiling mindless trust
blossoms in flowers from corpse of our god
corrupted by greed for global control
where humming children gather by the pool
to vote with laughter for the haughty fool
as king of nothing because he lies well.

Reluctant fallacy of social prayer,
embodied by galactic ghost of time,
vibrates with overtones of magic math
enthralling searchers for evasive truth
who seal humiliating deeds in jars
buried in graveyards of outdated creeds.

Gigantic cactus of conceptual law
waits lonely in putrid grotto of stones
tangled with hair of thirty thousand queens
whose names Time erases with flood of tears
when sluggish vampire king of loyalists
charges rent for houses he never owns.

New discoveries in scientific labs
alter matrix of reality with jokes
squeezed from crackling machines of twisted bones
through convoluted atmosphere of words
invented by doctors with fractured eyes
who wander bright shores of Hibernia.

Unsteady dance on twanging rope of faith
tempts naive ballerina to transcend
bottomless abyss of bright nothingness
from church steeple to the honey-bee hive
with lithe discipline of angelic soul
because she likes to hum our river song.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus listens with interest in his role as psychic psychiatrist while Juliet raves about how Hamlet never treats her with honest respect.

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

God Of My World
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

Now that I have become God of my world,
I can erase my body from Dream Time
so my name will vanish in gust of wind
that wanders whistling casually along
with no care for fortune or fame, those traps
that suck innocent souls down into Hell.

Projecting Glow Cloud as God of my world,
I give sandwiches and bottles of juice
to homeless people in the city park
who tell each other tragic tales of loss,
then follow Moses to the Promised Land
somewhere over the rainbow of my heart.

Ascending marble stairs of timeless truth,
I enter Parthenon where Athena reigned
since she planted olive tree of true faith
to feel her spirit glow inside my heart
as ghost of absence still alive in me
that molds chaos in loving harmony.

Loving Athena as God of my world,
I sing this endless eulogy of faith
that Liberty inspires the human heart
to fight for Justice with courageous hand
through opposition against tyranny
that maintains progress of democracy.

Since deathless wisdom is God of my world
I walk the signless road of honesty,
evolving from hungry ape of wild woods
to wingless angel on high pyramid
singing about creation of the Earth
when we build Garden of Eden from mud.

Bathed in Holy Light from God of my world,
I walk with crowd of people on the street
in metropolitan maze of the Earth
where I see angels in all human eyes
forever searching for pure beam of light
that fills our bodies with celestial song.

Measuring time to play God of my world,
I map extensive patterns of desire
to plot complex graphs for effect of cause
which calibrates our mental state of being
resolving formulas of psychic math
that program reason in passionate brains.

Wearing mask that portrays God of my world,
I conjure virtual world from dream of Earth
through simple proverb of conceptual faith
that we get in return whatever we give
since we reap what we sow with crafty hands,
then become dirt of Earth from which we bloom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus wears mask of Jove son of Yahweh to become God of his world who creates the vision of the universe with magic spell of the song of life.

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

Pactolus River Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

If rain erases motorcars from time,
deleting time machines from dream of light,
then I will reinvent the piston engine
so I can teleport on rubber wheels
in chariot designed by Ezekiel
with wheels Helios fashioned from desire.

When Janus locks temple door of respect
against small hands of King Midas at last,
we shall find wealth, that bitter king of hate
stole from treasure bank of our thriving state,
washed into Pactolus River of Fate,
so we may restore world democracy.

Then humble Philomel, shepherd of souls
attuned to emotional needs we hide,
shall rise with divine power of the sky
to lead us along Tagus River shore
in our quest to find the lush Promised Land
to thrive with peace in hills of Zathamar.

Lounging on lush river shore by tall elm,
Sirena herds sheep with attentive eyes,
and sings harmonious melodies of hope
in tune with swans that float on silver waves
when comets blaze in brightness of her soul
with calm in raging tempest of the world.

Crowning her gold curls with wreath of pink blooms,
Philomel plays haunting tunes on wood flute
as graceful Sirena in long red skirt
dances joyfully with cool evening breeze
with gray-bearded Zephyrus brings them pears
and teases her to marry his shy son.

Adorned with pearls that gleam on her white breast,
Sirena gathers berries, nuts, and eggs
in baskets with her mother Ostara
who teaches her to brew liquor from fruit
which Philomel pours in clay jars of hope
they bury by the river to ferment.

Driving time-machine car from urban maze,
swift as wind along winding country roads,
Ezekiel arrives in Garden of Zatham,
bringing Cinderella and Romeo
to visit Juliet and Percival
whose daughter Epona rides her white pony.

Gathered at large round table of the feast,
everyone drinks red wine to celebrate
birth of our new nation Zarathia
we build from ruins of America,
then Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury
while Ophelia sings Ballad of Hamlet.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds Hamlet down by the Pactolus River pouting because Juliet married Percival instead of him, and tells him bad jokes to make him laugh.

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

Bougainvillea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Lost in harsh waste land of the modern world,
I find bougainvillea of my heart
thriving through resilience of suffering
with cool menace of eye-enchanting flowers
concealing unnoticed thorns of despair
with treacherous allure of sirenic beauty.

Enduring legacy of my grandmothers,
within bougainvillea of my heart,
thrives with fragile compassion of respect
connecting my body with my ancestors
as scarlet flowers shroud crumbling tombstones
with persistent beauty in ruined homes.

Flourishing in vast cement maze of myths,
vital bougainvillea of my heart
conquers the world with scarlet privilege
through nostalgia for lost time of ripe oranges
that drip with blood of angels on my lips
when I consume resources of the Earth.

Flower-crowned mask of my delicate nymph,
who tends bougainvillea of my heart
with nurturing hands of innocent faith,
reflects divine face of wise Mother Earth,
reborn each generation from her womb
through brave extension of life after death.

Vibrant beauty of resilient strength,
that blooms bougainvillea of my heart,
veils shattered ruins of democracy
where skeletons dance with bears in red rain
with the grateful dead of our burning land
as immigrants displaced by endless wars.

Kneeling in hilly jungle of Brazil
to sketch bougainvillea of my heart,
Jeanne Baret studies its delicate leaves
that hide treacherous thorns of bitterness,
amazed at how it flourishes in ash
as deep pink gash of death-defying beauty.

Both beautiful and dreadful, fragile blossoms
that mask bougainvillea of my heart,
sprout from roots that curl deep into hard soil,
gripping rocks of mountains with angel hands
which suppresses depression with fierce joy
of urgent passion to live beyond death.

Tangled in excessive tendrils of faith,
wired from bougainvillea of my heart,
I struggle against bounds of time and space
to expand scope of curious consciousness
broad enough to enclose every lost soul
who attends show in garden of blind ghosts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus attempts to rip huge tangled vines of bougainvillea from walls of the Garden of Eden, but their thorny tendrils trap him in anguish of paradise.

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

Voice Of Faceless God
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Voice of faceless god reverberates
through weak eyes of mortals who testify
to inner beauty of dream-beaming brains
that bind psychotic scales of timeless hope
with absolution of fantastic guilt
which leaves us floating in oblivion.

My heart curves into silence of the Earth,
imploding boldly with brilliant words
unbound by principles of blithe respect
through unconditional rules based on fear
defined by sea waves swirling on hot sand
on which I tumble with tedious faith.

Constrained by monotonous disbelief
in ceremonious rites of mental growth,
I manufacture miracles from lust
for mind-expansion of absurdist wind
which entertains my sense of dignity
through recreation of humility.

My voice dares mountains to explain why pain
contrives our wishful bleariness of thirst
by trudging vainly toward garden of gods
while I pray with serendipitous rage
for brave interludes in false paradise,
demanding haste of madness to debate.

If I succumb to sudden shift of fate
with untainted love for merciless skies,
my heart may swell against locked doors of truth
to reach absolute void of heartless love
because my body decays with each day
I dream magnificence of fruitful trees.

Disturbed by alien anguish I deny,
I prepare to leap shade of wretched chime
with yearning passion of never-read books
by craving darkness of death-anxious fruit
where wordless thoughts whisper in humming trees
so I catch rain with shadow of my hands.

Insignificant doll of rotten flesh,
birthed by wet sorrow of maternal moon,
I break conceptions of unperformed wrongs
that could destroy illusions of strange joy
cherished by nameless strangers who contrive
to fool the laughing ghost of broken stones.

No fervid wish of seamless fortitude
could crack my dreadful trust in shameless death
despite investment of my hungry heart
in grand delusions of unwanted fame
that cripple my assertive vanity
with shocking wisdom of genetic gain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus sits in his private office in the bank built of white marble like a Greek temple and ponders the strangeness of being real.

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

Expansive Scope Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

When I am worthy of myself at last,
after my random journey through the world
on roads in both natural and urban zones,
I shall attend with cloud-calm dignity
to treasure my expansive scope of truth
designed by divine workmanship of hope.

If Nature seems to frame my fragile being
as favored worshipper of her weird state,
this award bodes as generous testament
to faith-focused progress of my intent
with honest will to transcend weak account
in dispute with fear that discharges guilt.

Exposed to harsh elements of despair
that blast my soul with grim indifference,
I ramble rugged terrain of false dreams
with troubled pleasure of aggressive stealth
to discover source of time-sparkling light
that casts ethereal glow on craggy steep.

Clear pool of water among humming trees,
that seems Plutonian phantom to conceal
with supple mist of voluntary faith,
extracts from framework of my filtered heart
judgmental horror as keyword revised
by lurid lecture of contemptuous wind.

Awake with eerie insight of respect,
I row tenuous boat of my heart forth
across moon-shattered lake of bold grandeur
while vulgar passions seethe with discipline
to intercourse with Nature against Death
among gloomy hills of sweet solitude.

Resounding echo of my wordless cry
cracks no ice-hard precipice of weird truth
with good intentions of my anxious heart
to earn kind favor of Nature with song
of tranquil sleeplessness in morbid dreams,
though my soul emanates from River Stone.

Awed by Presences of Nature that glow
on surface of this universal globe,
I hide delight of triumph behind mask
of calm ennui, impressed with character
of my brave spirit molded into mask
I wear to shield my heart from hungry fear.

When I devise puzzle of virtual Earth
through scheme to map whole history of mankind,
I carve runes in cyphers on trunks of trees
recording names and deeds of forest kings
till Fortune taunts me with lightning-blazed fire
that erases our story from the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strides with William as he explains the words-worth beauty of Nature whose indifference reveals truth of this universe.

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

When Kingdoms Collapse
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

Chronic concept of the fortified mind,
compiled from facial circuit of blank fate,
contributes to spate of unlicensed fame
contained by keyword of improved impact,
based on fair complexion of my grim mood
which notifies my colleagues of the news.

Unfractured friendship of forgetful faith
reveals my desire to prepare canned goods,
jars of peaches, applesauce, beets, and pickles,
because I must stock basements shelves with hope
that I could survive collapse of the state
alone on prairie of my nameless ghosts.

Young woman with long hair flowing in wind
arrives with the hurricane after dawn,
and gives me book of ancient fairy tales
that tell strange stories of powerful gods
who play with humans as puppets and pawns,
so I turn my face to gold fields of wheat.

Heaping bags of wheat on the wagon plat,
with four sturdy wheels Helios designed,
I transport goods to warehouse of stone walls
where the Loaf Ward buys bags of wheat with coins
of gold stamped with face of Phoebus Apollo,
so I forge coins into crown with twelve rubies.

While driving black car down the dusty road,
teleporting in time machine of hope,
I wonder at the speed I race away
far faster than the swift-galloping horse,
then lean against the brick wall of the bank
and sing folk songs while I play beat guitar.

Death comes to me as the woman in black,
with eyes that flash bright as the Morning Star,
who gives me my heart trapped inside the rock,
which she breaks free with hammer of desire,
so I transform into the moon-eyed owl,
and my heart beats when the mountain wolves howl.

Maybe I will understand the world war
being fought between England and Germany,
lands where parents of my parents were born,
so my divided heart now fights itself,
unless I climb jagged mountain of snow
and cry out to the blind angels of Heaven.

Let the grandsons of Queen Victoria
fight each other over the Crown of Jesus,
while I plow my fields with hands of respect
and can the produce of my honest heart,
for nations will rise when kingdoms collapse,
designed and built by hands of loyal men.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus teaches the young farmer how to drive the new tractor to more efficiently plow fields to plant more wheat for the boys in uniform.

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

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

The purple columbine of my aching heart
blooms beside rocky mountain valley spring
that sings with ancient voice of wordless joy
while washing all my sorrows to the sea,
so I almost believe that I can fly,
but I breathe spirit of the sky instead.

Attentive wisdom of snow, crusted white
with timeless beauty of starlight, displays
faceless beauty of our immortal soul
all humans share, molded by suffering
from passion into social mask we wear,
which almost mirrors divine mind of light.

Exhausting though the climb may be, rough path
of glacier-fractured stones winding sideways
in rolling basin of the mountain vale,
I breathe patient endurance of orange clouds
with persistence of pioneers, that fuels
progressive quest of my immortal genes.

Far from people-crowded streets of commerce
that wind through cement canyons of ambition,
I stand tall in rugged meadow of flowers
among the vast Shining Mountains of Light,
and watch with awe how dawn rays of the sun
luminate Tava Kaavi, Mountain of the Sun.

Gazing east far over mountains and seas,
I strain to see around curve of the Earth
Mount Olympus where All-Father was born
who strode on rugged clouds of broken stones
to fill his heart with courage of the wind
in fight against cruel Titans to live free.

Bright apparition of some great world savior,
robed in white, hair blowing in divine wind,
appears on white horse with gold horn of power
and shining wings of star authority,
so I wonder what god my eyes perceive,
Zeus, Brahma, Jesus, Odin, or Shangdi.

Perhaps one man descended from them all,
combining their divine souls in one mind,
may appear from turmoil of history
and unite warring nations of the Earth
with open hands of generosity
that rule justice and liberty for all.

This fantasy of one wise global ruler
inspires nationalist pride of every tribe
who believe their own god will rule the Earth,
but I know they are all but mortal men
who fight each other over dirt and rain,
so I walk with the person I love most.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings epic tale about each great tribal god of human history who lived and died in ancient mists of time.

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

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

When the wind blows through doors of my heart,
I wake from dream where our world falls apart,
so I stroll among flowers of the field
to contemplate virtual world on war shield
which Achilles bore with defiant arm
when he fought great war of feminine charm.

Programmed with dreams of the language machine,
my brain assembles from weird puzzling facts
patchwork world view that frames what might be real
through fraught ontology my thoughts design
that centers everything on Death and Tax
since Earth is indifferent to how I feel.

Learning how to shape dreams from Morpheus
so Ideas of Plato catalog
objects I perceive with subjective stance,
I weave vast tapestry of fractured tales
that represent patterns of psychic tropes
which nurture how our hearts survive on hopes.

Wearing discarded mask of Orpheus,
I search through endless swirls of verbal fog
to find my brain expanding from dream trance
with solemn beauty of wise ocean whales
who float with jeweled crowns and red silk robes,
and discuss organic life on earth globes.

With Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds,
I walk crowded streets of America
as prophet who returns from the waste land
with sacred proverbs based on moral rules
that define good and bad as acts we play
to construct or destruct structures of atoms.

I worship the Sun as Solaria
that weaves our bodies from soul-beams of light,
and worship the Earth as Telluria
that generates our souls from singing waves,
for I am temporary name-masked soul
attentive to perform my chosen role.

Wise Shepherd in lush field of sparkling wheat
guides us with his staff of comforting light
through the valley of the shadow of death
to the lake that teems with delicious fish
where he prepares table of feast and song
so we dwell in house of wisdom he built.

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart,
I rebuild our lost world with new star chart
to shelter every refugee from war
who shares labor in the field and the store,
while Aeneas reigns in tower of dreams
to guard our tribe that dwells by flowing streams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus studies star chart for the new world order that he intends to build with help from Phoebus, Jesus, and Jesuvius.

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

If I Adjust Cycle
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

If I adjust cycle of my emotions
to match exploding stars of naked words,
I might find Lost Princess with seven eyes
singing in forest of eccentric clowns,
yet when I turn on the glass radio
ghosts from distant stars call my secret name.

If I adjust temperature of my rage
to counter pain of patient pertinence,
I might wake on the moon in time to see
God break every pattern of human faith,
yet I anticipate the second coming
while typing at my desk in the hot swamp.

If I adjust ingenuous mode of reason
to lock my brain with alternative truth,
I might caress sensuous contours of time
to surf tidal wave of continuum
silhouetted by dramatic regret
when I follow claw-prints in bloody snow.

If I adjust celebration of wisdom
in spite of artificial victory,
I might taste resolve of the Gardener
to rebuild Garden of Eden in Hades
that matches permanent state of respect
fractured by pendulum unwound by fate.

If I adjust lassitude of each season
that returns with ostensible perversion,
I might reclaim discolored photograph
that proves I committed those evil crimes
based on defeated memory of chimes
gracious with flowers of frantic endurance.

If adjust flight of arrogant breath
by swooping wingless over power lines,
I might remember who gives me their mask
by calling my name on the telephone,
which I deny outside of time and space
because I am spectator of the race.

If I adjust standards of moral values
to style our fight as matter of survival,
I might sense absence of psychotic color
by starting enterprise of stolen wealth
with uncommon manners of noble clowns
who fight each other for the secret key.

If I adjust scale of false modesty
to join holy cult of the Water Book,
I might sidle past the house of dead gods
to rendezvous with Death down by the river
that flushes human bodies to the sea
with indifferent auspice no one perceives.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus adjusts cycle of his emotions to match the television show about the girl who calculates how to fly to the moon while eating burgers.

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