Specter Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 04 10

When their eyes are unblinded by pure light
that radiates from glamor of my spells,
and they preach salvation through inner sight
granted by perspective of cosmic truth
applied through analysis of my verse,
Specter of Wisdom will curse me with fame.

If I unveil psychotic course of change
that transforms world view with sharp keys
so minds perceive atomic state of truth,
designed by Ungod to spark songs of joy,
Specter of Fame will rise from cosmic wells
and bind my spirit with perplexing curse.

While I sing esoteric spells of faith
in clever riddles of weird parables
that mirror complicated scenes of change,
designed to misdirect avenging ghosts,
so you evade poisonous curse of fear,
Specter of Truth will guard our way past Hell.

Though poised Evangelist afraid of Death
distorts clear vision my spells indicate
that we are conscious flames of verbal light
who flare forth from first flash of fertile hope,
Specter of Love will shield our transient souls
till we evaporate at chime of faith.

Till zombies worshipping their vampire god
transfer affection of obsessive faith
to complex portrait of ontology
presenting deeper truths about this world
which my insightful spells project as dreams,
Specter of Prudence will guard me from Fame.

Safe in veiled haven of secure respect
from seductive disease of famished Pride,
I chant empowering vision of the Force
we channel through attentive mind of faith
Specter of Justice programs in our hearts
so I may die in peaceful solitude.

So if I maintain balance of regard
for natural effect of constructive cause
with formulas that transform selfish greed
to generous calm of communal work
that binds our global state of just rewards,
Specter of Pride will never curse my soul.

When minds of loyal followers are cracked
by shocking truths that sprout from seeds of faith,
programmed by cosmic vision of this world
that guides their quest to find the Promised Land,
Specter of Wisdom will release my soul
from stifling curse of sterilizing Fame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus chuckles with delight at all the people writing poetry to gain fame instead of channeling spirit of the global zeitgeist to design new ontologies of faith.

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

Machines Of Potent Words
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

Grim gargoyle shape of my expanding brain
dodges succulent perfection of thirst
through imperceptible questions he screams
to imitate machines of potent words
so we feel safe beside the lake of dreams
where fish explain consecutive regrets.

Since truth and beauty that our hearts desire
are both illusions which our brains design,
truth the real world we try to understand
and beauty the dream world we would create,
we walk together in stark field of flowers,
inventing words to match what we perceive.

Tenebrous beauty of the world we see
sucks light of rainbows in vortex of gray
so we mix flour and milk in bowl of hope
to bake fresh bread that keeps our secret fears
concealed in swelling loaf of urgent faith
while nursing darkness of the spinless world.

Rate of convection, when heat radiates,
defends velocity of transient soul
defined by wind chill factor of sweet words
disguising curse of estimated flow
when moving air disrupts my atmosphere
though I breathe pure celestial dreams of love.

We bundle fractured hearts with eglantine
to stride with brave anxiety toward light
illuminating maskless souls we mold
from ringing bells that lure our seamless dance
against continuous time through false doors
to high-walled courtyard of lost paradise.

Adjusting patient line of wounded souls
through secret code of frantic telephones,
we neither confirm nor deny concern
for endless meditation angels play
based on exoneration we must purchase
to free our bodies from theology.

Weird book in which I hide discarded tales
floats faintly slow above my throbbing head
to beam bewildered sentences of fate
that stretch our bodies beyond bounds of hate
so we glance casually at screaming ghost
who offers faces of state suffering.

Dazzled by hills of honest fortitude,
I colonize my heart with twisted lust
when I extract material wealth of words
from hills that share lost treasures forged by light
so we may dwell in tense peace of despair
without care for indifference of Nature.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus translates every poem every written in history of humanity to the language of trees who sing our dreams billions of years after humans go extinct.

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

Voices Of Broken Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 04 09

If I should suppose that snow would destroy
this world civilization that we built
from twisted bones of dinosaurs and gods,
then I should look out window of the house,
where my cousin General Lee once stood,
and contemplate new state of Liberty.

My book of prophecies that no one reads
may adumbrate no future ever seen,
yet moon of sorrow deciphers my joke
to mean that we are stuck in maze of myths
with only glass of water to preview
wild ocean that flows as blood in our veins.

Though I cannot measure with tangled verse
how far we have come down the signless road,
I should empathize with telephone lines
that listen to voices of broken hearts
so much they weep icicle tears of hope
that crash on the windshields of hungry cars.

If I should try to understand your heart
before it flies away on sparrow wings,
my house may reshape cubicle of hope
so time accommodates electric words
that beam weird rainbow eyes of psychic truth
to understand how water flows from thought.

When my cousin John Brown raises his gun
to free enslaved people from greed for gain,
I shall join his crusade to set them free
so we may beat brave drums of Liberty
where oil rigs weep for death of Clementine
whose eyes beam rays of moonlight in my heart.

Though brittle colors of our state archives
process our dreams as technicolor ghosts,
we open gates for travelers of time
who give white breezes of soul-pardoning
to ancient Saturn with long beard of fate
sprawled among exploding flowers of faith.

Our misty island never changes shape
though frantic ocean waves of bitterness
attempt to reframe state ontology
in ways that criminalize worshipped gods
who travel to strange country of glass doors
till we adjust how we view moral rules.

Because I wish to be her follower,
commissioned to guard her body from harm,
I calculate new ways we measure truth
to navigate geography of love,
and dwell save in museum of respect
where we translate voices of broken hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus records voices of broken hearts in lyrical ballads which he generates into heart-aching videos that become popular on social media.

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

Puzzle Of Spectral Souls
© Surazeus
2026 04 08

From shattered memories of all my past lives,
which my ancestors lived millions of years,
I assemble puzzle of spectral souls
in mask and cape I wear to play my role
as mad prophet on storm-wracked heath of fate
to overthrow world emperor of greed.

Surprised by joy after rebirth from pain
of suffering through long dark night of the soul,
I reconstruct puzzle of spectral souls
by weaving scenes from ancient epic tales
that compose new tale of heroic deeds
when wise seer helps young boy kill tyrant king.

Through careful analysis of close reading
to comprehend tropes of my random life
I deconstruct puzzle of spectral souls
which unveils social machinery of myth
that jesters use to manipulate minds
when they crown themselves kings of angry tribes.

Attentive to needs of my princess bride,
who reincarnates my soul in our love child,
I generate puzzle of spectral souls
designed by immortal soul of our genes
as we evolves four hundred million years
from four-legged fish striving to play god.

Based on honest principle of free will,
that motivates my quest to become god,
I conjugate atomic world-view globe
which models planet spinning in the void
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang
through spiral of deified energy.

To explore landscape of dramatic scenes,
which my brave ancestors experienced,
I navigate conceptual maze of myths
where every great human in history
stands frozen as idol of their grand deeds
in signs that guide my way to Wonderland.

Curious how neural net of our brains
emanates temporary conscious soul,
I analyze puzzle of spectral souls
by how their actions cause effects of change
that we record in chronicles of fate
which we frame with each decision we make.

Tangled in matrix of atomic souls
that cast caliber of my character,
I calculate puzzle of spectral souls
through formulas of psychic paradigms
to join world choir of angels singing poems
about why life is brief but beautiful.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus teaches children how to design and implement puzzle of spectral souls that develops their innate talent into productive skill so they create beauty before they die.

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

First Mountain Mother
© Surazeus
2026 04 08

Strange music echoes in vale of my heart,
uncanny melody of timeless passion
that swells from pulsing bodies of our souls,
so I walk out in crowded streets of Roma
where Gallae priests in long colorful robes
dance wildly to celebrate Megalesia.

Eyes flashing bright with timeless stars of truth,
Magna Mater Cybele, Mountain Mother,
rides throne inside four-wheeled bronze chariot
with humble shepherd Attis at her side,
so I approach and offer fruit of love
which she accepts with bright seraphic smile.

When Cybele presides on judgment throne
with grand rite in Temple of Victory,
my heart swells brave with joyful pride of faith
that ancient spirit of her soul remains
glowing strong in heart of America
that urges us to build Heaven on Earth.

Brave Aura, daughter of wise Artemis,
filled with holy spirit of Dionysus,
bore our first Mountain Mother Cybele
by Star Lake on misty Mount Dindymus,
who reigned as oracle at Pessinus
in temple Midas built with hands of gold.

When her descendant Ilus, son of Tros,
built citadel of Troia with high walls,
her Phrygian Spirit of noble courage
flowed with Aeneas to the Seven Hills
where Romulus built great city of Roma
that shines from heart of Mother Cybele.

From Star Lake on misty Mount Dindymus
immortal spirit of Cybele springs
to nourish her descendants with grand vision
for ruling Heaven through organized rites
so we confirm our soul with self-control
when building empire of First Mountain Mother.

From Pessinus to Troia, then to Roma,
through Londinium and Vasintonia,
grand spirit of Cybele sprouts again
as Goddess of Justice and Liberty
who guides our democratic way of life
where all are equal in America.

As we dance to celebrate Megalesia,
and drink bitter-sweet wine of Dionysus,
we honor soul of Mother Cybele
who teaches us to transform pain to joy
by generating life before we die
since we accept that death will take us all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus finds reincarnation of Cybele on pyramid of the one-eye that gleams over the city of Vasintonia where King Midas reigns as tyrant of greed.

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

Vampire Witch Of Hell
© Surazeus
2026 04 07

Persephone in white-lace wedding gown
kneels among glowing cinders on the plain,
bearing apple-shaped ruby in her hand
that glows with pure ethereal flame of love,
and chants soft spells from ancient Book of Truth
so glowing gem becomes her beating heart.

Orion on white horse of arrogance,
that gallops on thundering hoofs of rage,
aims sharp spear at heart of Persephone
intent on killing vampire witch of Hell
who smirks and twirls on rainbow angel wings
to shoot shower of needles at his eyes.

Blinded by rays of divine cognizance,
Orion screams as he tumbles on rocks,
then crawls in agony of wounded pride
till he sucks energy from tortured souls
to swell enormous as dragon of hate
and hurls jagged boulders at dainty girl.

With casual gestures of nebulous faith,
Persephone bats boulders with her hands,
like milk cows swat flies with tails as they graze,
then somersaults on flashing wings of fate
while casting shining net of ice-moon rays
that traps Orion in tangled emotions.

Trembling in horror at vision of death
that amplifies acerbic voice of fear,
which fractures his coherent sense of self,
Orion writhes in muscle-tensing strain
through rigid agitation of despair
that twists his body into feral beast.

Gently touching head of the rope-bound hunter,
Persephone whispers proverb of faith,
"My fertile body of creative power
is not your helpless puppet to control,
so with strict spell of assertive respect
I arrest your aggressive force of greed."

Chanting spirit-rejuvenating spell,
Persephone reprograms his world view
to purge his toxic masculinity
that cleanses his mind of animal lust
which transforms wild beast into calm man
who kneels before her with obedient heart.

Persephone in white-lace wedding gown,
followed by Orion with Spear of Truth
as loyal guard who protects her from harm,
ascends ziggurat to Temple of Justice
where she presides as Goddess Liberty
who maintains world empire with rule of law.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings heroic tale of how Persephone conquered Orion so she can rule United Nations of Earth with justice and liberty for all.

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

Fly And Live Free
© Surazeus
2026 04 07

Stepping up onto the stone balustrade
in the high tower of ambitious hope,
Icarus spreads wings in hard gusting wind
that he constructed from feathers and bones,
and pictures in his mind sweet Chrysanthis,
daughter of Hecate and Helios.

Closing his eyes to grand view of the world
around high tower of ambitious hope,
Icarus remembers the timeless hour
he was strolling in garden of fruit trees
when he first beheld graceful Chrysanthis
dancing with tree nymphs at the festival.

Breathing deep celestial wind of desire,
Icarus grips wings with determined hope
to fly beyond maze where Helios rules,
who refused to allow wise Chrysanthis
to marry lazy son of the craftsman,
then leaps with faith into abyss of fear.

Gripping broad wings he built from dragon bones,
Icarus soars swift over maze of streets
where thousands of people point to the sky
and cry with awe to see the angel fly,
then gasp when arrows Helios fires miss,
as he aims for island across the sea.

Reviewing plan he made with Chrysanthis,
when they met in Dream Cave of Hecate
to meet on island of the singing skull
that recites prophecies of Orpheus
so they can live free from cruel tyranny
that Helios imposes on the land.

Adjusting wings to balance frantic flight,
Icarus growls from anguish of surprise
when arrow of Helios strikes his leg,
but his left wing cracks and heat melts the wax,
causing him to spiral out of control
till he crashes into the placid sea.

Swimming toward electric light of regret,
Icarus remembers last night they met,
and how silver eyes of Chrysanthis glowed
when they kissed and vowed to meet again soon,
so vision of her face gives him new strength
till he crawls from the sea and shouts with joy.

"Let them believe I drowned in the sea
in vain attempt to fly and live free,"
Icarus laughs as he stretches his soul
when Chrysanthis leaps with joy in his arms,
so they kiss with passion as the sun rises,
then walk together to new garden home.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus meets Icarus and Chrysanthis when they arrive at his temple grounds, and shows them the house with garden and workshop where they can live safe from the rule of Helios.

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

Chamber Of Lost Secrets
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Stuck in chamber of lost secrets all day,
I map confusing maze of ancient myths
that chronicle history of human games
we play in theater of the absurd
over who reigns as God till we all die,
then our children replay contest for power.

Lost in chamber of lost secrets with you,
I study masks of long-unworshipped gods
to understand weird spirit of each age
reflected in soul of some mortal man
they chose to play deity of their tribe
in holy mission to conquer the world.

Blind in chamber of lost secrets from light
that beams through unveiled face of cosmic mind,
I name each god in old religious myth
who founded dynasty of mortal kings
to play messiah anointed by fate
by killing all men who oppose their rule.

Born in chamber of lost secrets with love
that weaves neural net of my brain from dreams,
I draft how my organic frame evolves
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey
to ape to wingless angel striving to be god
when I enforce my rule through Liberty.

Woke in chamber of lost secrets with faith
that men we elect to play god will reign
with compassion for every living soul,
I stand in rain by gates of paradise
to play weird tunes on lyre of Mercury
and sing with wild uncanny wail of love.

Fired in chamber of lost secrets with lust
to generate new life before I die,
I fly in time-machine airplane of hope
halfway around Earth on wings of desire
to marry Goddess of the Holy Grail
who reincarnates our souls in our children.

Dazed in chamber of lost secrets from hope,
I listen to Moon Girl play melodies
of heart-enchanting grace on silver flute
that lifts my soul from muck of agony
so I fly high with wings of Icarus
above vast maze of human history.

Mute in chamber of lost secrets, I sing
first flash of love that flares forth into worlds
that teem with conscious beings of energy
who bloom wise from quantum cosmology
for our brief flash of life till we burn out
and vanish into shadows of our words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus designs and constructs chamber of lost secrets at the center of the Museum of Dead Gods that lures seekers of truth in the global Maze of Myths.

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

Vibrate Voice Of God
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Nebulous song of the black telephone
asks me to commit unrelenting love
through pretentious messages from dead gods
which I must announce to humanity
though my soul detaches from my stone brain
and floats on brittle hum of ardency.

Thrashed by wonder of unfamiliar death,
who floats above me every sleepless night,
I consider how famine mistransforms
shadows of frantic minds to animals
who wander without caution in moonlight
to stare through windows at angelic humans.

Because my mother weeps when she conceives
my mortal body from draconic daze,
she plays violin for gentle peacocks
whose eyes design my heart calligraphy
so I know how to vibrate voice of God
through tangled verse of fabled honesty.

With broom of listless ennui at world war
I tend the broken bridge of loneliness,
though I ignore the zither of my heart
to exorcise angelic energy
from millions of hearts possessed by despair
who ask me to write battle hymn of faith.

I will eat oranges of confusing taste
rather then erase them from my sad joke
that maps waterless rivers of regret
where wingless angels stuck in empty churches
fold wounded hearts in origami cranes
while they deny their desire to escape.

When I find his Green Car wrecked on the road
halfway between New York and San Francisco,
he introduces me to his best friend,
the bear who has built every bridge on Earth,
then teaches me how to defend myself
when Fortune curses me with global fame.

Thirsty for truth beyond theology,
I steal lemons from Tree of Good and Evil,
but refuse to sugar bitter despair
while riding donkey of world revolution
to drive mad King Herod from our White House
and free Liberty from guilt-loop of Hell.

As abject failure at the cursing game,
I hurl book of riddles into the swamp,
then renovate ten thousand rotten houses
so every homeless person in the world
may dwell in haven of attentive fear
and join world choir to vibrate voice of God.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus hires Landis Everson to renovate Temple of Singing Skulls that wobbles on shore of the River Styx in meadow of Elysium.

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

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Each time she pauses by the broken door
to listen for reluctant prayer of hope,
another crow emerges from the book
with clocks for eyes that unspool alphabets
while tired construction workers drink hot beer,
because she waits for her ship to come in.

Fake photographs from family of ghosts,
stuffed inside leather suitcase of wolf skin,
escape from aching laughter of her heart
to live as butterflies in shadowed rooms
where children play board games of psychic war
while ships of slaves sink in electric storms.

Back when old kings ruled every crowded land
from castles of aggressive greed for gold,
her grandparents folded her in the box
and sent her overseas on ship of state
so she lives now in small Missouri town
where she tries to ignore the weeping clown.

Arranging books on brave library shelves
in moral order of their truthfulness,
she ponders how the television works
transmitting images in crackling air
like crystal ball of the grim sorcerer
who builds model ships in bottles of faith.

These faint fragments of cultural debris,
that float about her on butterfly wings,
she slots in expanding puzzle of truth
as picture that shows nations of the world
clashing in fierce religious wars for oil
which fuels our piston-engine time machines.

Ascending narrow stairs of innocence,
she stands on peaked roof of brave Jupiter
to survey sprawling maze of city streets
where billions of people struggle to live
in constant hunger for paradise lost
as robots building cars and radios.

Sharp cry for justice in the teeming crowd
sparks revolution of the working class
who program computers in cubicles
that weave world wide web of god consciousness
combining social media anecdotes
in never-ending novel of success.

Relaxed on front porch of her cottage home,
free from bondage of marriage and religion,
she writes novel about the abused girl
who reclaims her life with struggle for truth
to live as true self nascent in her heart
while jets bomb homes in countries far away.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus plays flute while Ophelia writes her novel that combines horror and romance disguised as literary fiction to explore the complexity of life in our global civilization.

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

Silent On Subjective Tricks
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

They almost trick me into spilling why
death comes to us as the white butterfly,
but I keep silent on subjective tricks
which I employ to map the River Styx
where magic spells sprout from linguistic muck
with energy I gather to fool Luck.

Since no one dares to teach me how to fly,
I gain employment as government spy
assigned to analyze the crucifix
despite abundant code angels unfix
to guard the activist driving her truck
who rescues the church pastor who got stuck.

Atomic brains amend contract of thought
with ambient destiny where cooks get caught
through humble success of great discipline
too dangerous for the loyalist to win
though I drive streets of Seattle to find
celestial key that opens Divine Mind.

Ride with me in my fast airplane I bought
to find the hidden oracle who taught
my father how to architect Berlin
when he grew up in Temple of Shaolin,
dancing with principle that to be kind
forges theology with creeds that bind.

Startled awake on Bridge of Loneliness,
I hang out to converse with Sisyphus
about true nature of the Cosmic Christ
who invades money temple in brave heist
through mental coup against cruel tyranny,
then crowns his son with feudal barony.

When my sponge brain begins to phosphoresce
with frantic visions of global distress,
I visit the Pope as wise poltergeist,
commissioned to design novel zeitgeist
that secures equal rights through Liberty
which lifts every soul out of poverty.

Entranced when Minerva begins to croon
screams of despair into uplifting tune,
I wear mask of Lucifer as my face
to prove our souls disappear without trace
when our bodies decay at strike of death
though we practice yoga with calming breath.

Exclusive deal won through electric boon
freaks me out when our empire falls too soon
to account for god vibes in our headspace
though Apollo is detecting the case
to find out who released demonic wraith
whose tender care teaches us selfless faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus transcribes prophecies of Minerva in book of demonic wraith that explains how Apollo solves the murder case of Sisyphus.

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

Grand Event To Play
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Flowing on away into evening light
that floats suspended in green glowing leaves,
my memories dissolve to empty scenes
of passion for the grand event to play
in huge museum on the river shore,
crowded with white statues of long-dead gods.

I love graceful goddess who has no face
because she understands the gift of life
encasing light of stars in frame of flesh
urged by desire to procreate its soul
which glows inside weird tangle of my brain
with scenes of their achievements to survive.

When shy Psyche visits garden of pears
to find the language of her aching heart
she buried under hollow stone of hope,
she finds me holding darkness in my hand
so she gives it wings to escape my mouth,
then takes my hand and smiles with knowingness.

Water of Heaven flows out of my eyes
so I drink laughter of the flashing stream
where swirling portal to infinity
reveals strange beauty of this spinning globe
that nurtures my body with starry breath
even as I dwindle to silent books.

My hungry spirit of barbarity
will vanish into clocks of factories
contrived by wizards of the wingless horse
to build ten million time machines of fate
so I can drive from sea to shining sea
just fast enough to almost escape death.

Haunted by indifferent Nature of change,
I cobble new narrative for my life
by stringing random events in taut thread
that twangs from magic touch of Orpheus
to make sense from harsh events I endure
that seems to give my journey some grand goal.

Sweet dissonance of clashing purposes
reveals ambitious strategies for growth
contrary to oppression of the state
that crushes honest people under plots
designed to figure characters from tales
who choose the lighthouse as clandestine fate.

Unraveling years of our weightless curse
expands dim consciousness of signal lights
that flash through gloom of swirling alphabets
toward which we sail on fractured view of truth
with brave intention to restore from ruin
abandoned temple of the laughing god.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus sits around all day in his quaint suburban house, refusing to participate in grand events to play role of the psychopomp in insane times.

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

Angel Wings Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

On this rainy Sunday morning at dawn
after first full moon of transcendent light
spawned by radiance of the Spring Equinox,
I hear subtle wind of nurturing care
animated by angel wings of hope
on which I fly above vast maze of myths.

My holy book of long-forgotten lore
floats in tangled red threads of destiny
within glass box of false eternity
that spirals with galactic agency,
animated by angel wings of hope
on which I tumble from celestial realm.

Eternal flame of black sublimity
flares forth from seed of potential concept
to bloom from nothing into something real
as sacred flower of psychic energy
animated by angel wings of hope
from which I become my true divine self.

Traversing hill of skulls at crack of dawn,
I feel eternal light of ardent faith
pierce wordless armor of my aching heart
to see Clementine and Ophelia swim,
animated by angel wings of hope
to fill straw baskets with flowers and eggs.

Just as I approach ancient ring of stones,
bright rainbow beam of my beautiful truth
reveals Eostre, fecund Goddess of Life,
holding on her lap young child of her heart,
animated by angel wings of hope
to write tales of human life in Dream Book.

Though tyrants in steel towers of blind greed
kill men who defend their gardens of fruit,
Aquaria transforms spirit of love
from fear to child with eyes of timeless faith,
animated by angel wings of hope
to build new nation from ruins of war.

When gold moon rises high on Phoenix wings,
born from fertile womb of World Mother Sea,
she sends her flighty son, wild Pegasus,
to carry me across the windy steppes,
animated by angel wings of hope,
from which I ride to explore spinning Earth.

Cells in my body split to formulate
new body from blueprint of psychic code,
designed by immortal soul of my genes
to walk in blooming forest of the dead,
animated by angel wings of hope
as wingless angel wearing mask of light.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus preserves angel wings of hope in Museum of Dead Gods at the University of Zarathia where tourists from other planets observe relics of the lost human race.

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

House Of Laughing Masks
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

Though I fade into white wall of blank masks,
I open drapes of sorrow to perceive
casual performance of every-day life
when people walk to the clean grocery store,
then cook dinner and listen to weird songs
on vinyl records that spiral the void.

Another child exploring the wheat field
disappears into shadow of the book
that teleports them to far distant land
where they invent new name that confines thought
as jeweled crown secure on velvet cloth
beams satiric laughter at the Glow Cloud.

When I gaze in eye of the Palantir
I watch people all over the world live
lives of quiet desperation to prove
we are ghosts in one television screen
assured of salvation with the One Ring
forged by Angel of Death from my soul bone.

With white horse of my adventurous heart
I stroll along the craggy seashore cliff
on winding network of trails that invite
my noble journey to end of the world
where I will build the House of Laughing Masks
to preserve record of my mundane life.

Ten thousand retired schoolteachers with pens
could not repair my house of memories
fallen into disrepair through regret
for not opposing tyrants in steel towers
whose greed destroys institutions of state
so empires collapse into companies.

Marble idol of Jesus on the hill
spreads arms of love to welcome every soul,
then gives me book and pen with bold command
that I rewrite whole history of the world
to show his sons triumphant in conquest
as they enforce law of his love with guns.

With joy for life, despite dark fuel of fear
which nurtures passion of respect for death,
I saunter casually on spring-bright road
past houses where strangers wear laughing masks
to hide horror that men in seats of power
bomb hospitals and schools to kill the flower.

Leaving frantic hustle of city life,
I stroll in pastoral painting of false hope
to visit natural beauty of wooded hills
where monstrous demon of human desire
seethes under calm waters of mountain lakes
so I return to House of Laughing Masks.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus paints his House of Laughing Masks with bright rainbow colors, then plays lyre of Mercury on the porch, to annoy representatives of the homeowners association.

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

Sudden Chime Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I think spring wind that moves my garden gate
with sudden chime of flowers in sunlight
might be young daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
whose bright uncanny chord of ardent faith
makes fruit trees dance with joy in morning rain,
so I sing with her spirit in my heart.

Though I have slept alone for many years,
secure in calm state of my solitude,
warmth of love that blooms from giving heart
no more than illusion of fading fate,
sweet voice of her free spirit sparks my soul
awake from silence of my loneliness.

After searching for her on homeless plains,
I step outside door of safe house I built
from fragile memories of cheerful laughs,
and find shrewd daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
tending herbs and fruit trees on river shore
where I wander mute as water-smoothed stones.

I ask forgiveness from her shining eyes
as her deft hands tend roots of healing herbs
when she mixes fresh fruits and vegetables
with magical secrets of alchemy
to prepare healthy feast for wanderers
who gather around table of her heart.

Now that faint shadow of my nameless soul
has split in two bright spirits on the grass,
I breathe celestial aura of the moon
and sing enchanting melody of love
while graceful daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
frolics before large crowd of travelers.

With sudden gust of wind that shakes our hearts
our wild-winged son of fate, brave Icarus,
swoops down from tall tree on taut sturdy rope,
then seems to fly with eagle elegance
above the awe-struck crowd of refugees
who cheer transcendence of divinity.

Though he transforms into the wingless crow
who travels distant lands of sparkling snow,
our curious son investigates star flight
by searching for the highest peak of hope
so he can soar beyond bounds of this world,
though he may fall in bosom of the sea.

Immense red glare of flames in timeless sky
portends apocalypse of global wars,
but clever daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
tends fruit trees with attentive hands of faith,
for empires stand on hard productive work
of farmers and crafters with love for beauty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus visits his daughter and son-in-law at their home in Elysium where they run temple hotel for travelers by providing food and entertainment every night.

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

Museum Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

Each time I meet someone on long life road
who stumbles, half bent under heavy load
of sorrow they feel duty-bound to bear,
I point their way to the heavenly stair
that requires they leave all burdens behind
so they are free to grow in their own mind.

All these cute bromides the suffering share
are broken toys abandoned on the stair
because the drunk man, bruised by fight for pride,
cannot find where the innocent must hide
to open fragile wings in frantic flight
and escape his rage in defective night.

Relaxed on hill of our disastrous breeze,
my mother gives me her forensic keys
that function to open library doors
which preserve melody of ocean shores
recorded clear in my ancestral dreams
because I follow ministerial streams.

Yet all I remember from sitting in school
is learning how to employ naive rule
as mental mechanic repairing the brain
which animates my mercurial gain
when I navigate winding career path
as cartographer through magic of math.

I see reflected in each human face
obsessive anguish of the angel race
to investigate murder mystery
at core of political history
recording how kings kill to maintain peace
yet protect only those who pay the lease.

Dwelling safe in Museum of the Heart,
which our ancestors built on our star chart,
I compose new narrative for the world
around eighth coming of the cosmic herald
who builds world state that supports spirit birth
comprising United Nations of Earth.

When Salome dances before world king
while she wears my spirit-enchanting ring,
I may start to love her and lose my head,
which she will bear home on platter of lead
to shield my brain against radiant waves
through prophecies of oracles in caves.

When you and I meet on long road of life,
united in goal to overcome strife,
we build from ruins of America
state of equal rights named Zarathia
which binds the rebel with the orthodox
through spiral riddle of psychotic clocks.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus adjusts psychotic clock of world zeitgeist in Museum of the Heart with new riddles for the coming global age of transnational culture.

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

First Mother Am
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I compete only against gears of silence,
which Death employs to unravel my mind,
by expressing through machinery of words
complex contraption of conceptual truth
designed by ancestors of my desire
to conjure virtual model of the world.

Millions of lonely explorers like me,
who muddle through daily routines of hope,
string frail words of concepts in brittle verse
to weave veil of illusions in loose net
with scheme to catch elusive fish of faith
so we can eat roasted dreams of desire.

Small groups of people huddled on the beach
around the world from Africa to China
gather each night for eighty thousand years
to share tale of the man with gleaming spear
who kills enormous dragon of the deep
and roasts it on pyramid for our feast.

Wearing dinosaur skull that crowns his head,
brave storm god, who provides fresh food to eat,
stands strong beside first mother of our tribe
to guard her soul when she adjudicates
disputes between contentious appellants,
then pours juice in our cups for all to drink.

Strange vision from our pre-civilized age
glows bright before my disconcerted eyes,
so I sing ballad of First Mother Am
whose ghost reigns still on pyramid of power,
her star-bright eye of knowledge watching us
as immortal spirit we now call God.

First Mother Am teaches her daughter Amen
to host weary travelers on long roads
with feast of bread and juice in temple hall
where Yusa strums strings of her harp and sings
heart-enchanting melodies that present
men as heroes who protect everyone.

Millions of poets alive now on Earth
sing alone in their rooms around the world,
for we remember aching song of hope
First Mother Am sings in our pulsing hearts
through voice of Ishtar on high pyramid
that binds our souls in one global religion.

We poets chanting verses of fierce faith
are curious prophets of First Mother Am
for we compete with stark silence of death
as choir of angels singing tale of hope
till we all vanish from dream of this Earth
when voices echo faintly in the void.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus follows voice of the angel to the giant pyramid deserted for several thousand years where ghost of Am, Amen, Inanna, and Ishtar still sing visions that inspire humanity with hope.

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

Swirls Of Conscious Dust
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I see that we are swirls of conscious dust,
congealed by passion to observe the stars
so God can wake up in our dreaming brains,
but when I ask the mountain by the sea
how many human bodies form her soul,
she weeps rain that drenches fields of wheat.

Awake in dream as swirls of conscious dust,
we see First Mother of our human race
in face of every soul alive on Earth
for we are mirrors of her primal mind
reflecting her immortal genes in how
we sing together in one global choir.

Wind molds my soul from swirls of conscious dust
when I float sparkling over mountain range
as gleeful mist of potent energy
conspiring with tall trees of humming fruit
to nourish human bodies with strange joy
that urges us to run on river shores.

Radio waves spark my swirls of conscious dust
with aching passion to sing psalm of faith
depicting brave ontology through love
for every human dancing without wings
till we fall laughing from Glow Cloud of hope
and float mute on convenient waves of time.

Dynamic thoughts in swirls of conscious dust
may claim to resurrect my mortal soul
with psychic blueprint Pythagoras draws,
but I know our organic frames of lust
decay from glory of productive play
and dissipate to currency of fate.

Expressive games in swirls of conscious dust
motivate gorgeous ghosts in pulsing flesh
to build bold heritage through honest work
firm on foundation of harmonious faith
so tale code integrates logistic growth
based on judicial innocence we share.

Monument built from swirls of conscious dust
preserves celestial light of mental debt
enmeshed in mordant matrix sewn from words,
riddles constructed from suffering scenes,
yet we link hearts with laughter angels lease,
subscribed to special shows of satellites.

Ephemeral glow in swirls of conscious dust
emanates bright from core of our brief being,
fugacious with sense of divinity,
so I will treasure transient scene of love
we share in garden of our private play,
embraced as skeletons ten million years.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus contemplates how this sense of divinity that glows in our brains fools us into delusion that the soul is immortal beyond death of the body that conjures it from dust.

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

Poisonous Prayer Of Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I never noticed time can see itself,
Eve chuckles at absurdity of fate,
then strolls with unsynced bells of worthless hope
to stand on treeless hill of perfect size
where angels scatter bones of gods in grass
that transform into books no eye can read.

Eve wears new mask carved from tamarisk wood
to break hard shackles of theology
by selling peace to mad king on the heath
whose rainbow silhouette veils her stale heart
with sterile shadow of unconquered love
that reveals how precious her soul should be.

Affixed communion with specious belief,
that long-dead vampire god will resurrect
our rotten bodies from root-tangled soil,
inspires Eve every morning to transcend
aching pain of her back and hips worn down
by baking apple pies beside the bomb.

Eve remembers six thousand years of thirst
for fruit from Tree of Knowledge that seals
fructuous heart of innocence with respect
for pure Flame of Atar that manifests
victorious beauty of the conqueror
who overthrows all tyrants in the world.

Her heart sprouts wheat of calm beneficence
that resists thought decay of pestilence
against dominion of the mortal man
who claims divine right to exploit our hands
that garnish treasures from the generous Earth
which accounts for poisonous prayer of pride.

With palsied hands that plea to abjure pain,
Eve draws map of the world with blood of gods
on arch of triumph in the capital
where wounded warriors of the war for oil
parade before polished Mirror of Death
who twists their souls with arrogant dismay.

Through emulation of the solemn rite,
that she directs with skull of god in hand,
Eve holds ripe apple to indifferent sun
that bursts with timeless circumstance in code
programmed by brains of children in cold rain
who share their stolen grief with eyeless friends.

Stuck in shadow between Never and Now,
Eve steals electric Diamond of Lost Truth
that beams celestial light of energy
which proves we are but swirls of conscious dust
that dissipate in soft relentless wind
which swirls long hair around her weathered face.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus meets Eve for lunch at the Crippled Pegasus Cafe on the river walk in down town Gotham City where they watch the victory day parade.

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

Saddest Song Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

Though no one understands songs of her heart
which seem like uncanny shrieks of night owls,
she walks narrow trail among twisted beech,
then gazes in green water of the creek
to savor passion that glows in her heart
that bloom as white bloodroot flowers from dirt.

Opening envelope of thin wolf skin,
she reads letter written by Lucifer
with blood of angels on butterfly wings,
then breathes shimmering emptiness of light
that fills her heart with joy to be alive,
so she sings enchanting song of respect.

Stone by stone with gentle hands of thought
she deconstructs illusion of the Self
till she become dim shadow of her name
that vanishes when the glass sun of time
shatters on horizon of intellect,
then dissipates in smoke from cottage hearths.

Strange scent of wet leaves, pungent in night air,
asserts aggressive pulse of wrangled hope
that drives her to express in wordless tunes
excessive wisdom of the hollow stone
when she performs her saddest song of love
that cracks foundation of theology.

Shocked by the subtle shine of innocence
on moon-ensilvered waters of the creek,
she assembles new face of gracious trust
from lithe prismatic waves of nothingness
to wear as mask when she walks streets of town
past strangers who all seem to know her name.

Yet purple bergamot blossoms of truth
unfold proportion of vivid desire
designed to connect precious gratitude
with ghosts of demons trapped in trunks of elms
that swirl around her in celestial mist
while she glides gracefully beyond her grave.

Inevitable state of longsuffering good
twangs harp strings sharp with subtle hollowness
when star-eyed Seraph appears from her heart,
so she remembers how we strive for good
at cost of carelessness through flash of dawn
based on reason of zestful agency.

Curious about clones of her lost self
that appear as silhouettes on grassy hill,
she strolls columned cathedral of bright woods,
suffused with slanting rays of divine light,
and sings with harsh voice of sincerity
that causes ghosts to shiver with desire.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia by the creek in the woods and listens as she sings terrible tuneless psalms with heart-felt sincerity.

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

Giving Tree Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

When the giving tree of hope is destroyed
by the tyrant and his gang of mad thieves,
Belenus escapes walls of paradise
with the last apple seed of divine truth
and wanders forlorn on Plutonian shore
where toads ask him if he can save the world.

Because the giving tree of hope is burned
by bombs that angels drop on paradise,
Belenus hides in dark cave of blind ghosts
who ask for the hottest stock market tips
while roots of trees break towers into dust
through oxidation that consumes steel frames.

Watching the giving tree of hope chopped down
by the Most Honest President on Earth,
Belenus hacks into computer banks
to transfer money to the bank accounts
of poor hardworking people of the world
who buy pickup trucks and shoot angels with guns.

Slouched in despair at giving tree of hope
where frisky children play with prancing goats,
Belenus reads satires of Juvenal
that condemn rampant corruption and vice
of villainaires who rule in Washington
by exploiting people for private gain.

Shocked that the giving tree of hope now rots
and blooms with poisoned fruit of arrogance,
Belenus joins Minerva and her squad
of justice warriors fighting for the right
of every person in this fertile land
to live free as they will, if they harm none.

If the giving tree of hope vanishes
from Garden of Eden in world war three,
Belenus plants ten thousand apple seeds
in parking lots of shiny shopping malls
so new global forest of righteousness
blooms from ruins of world civilization.

Concerned that the new giving tree of hope
struggles to be reborn from Bethlehem,
Belenus tames with spells of alchemy
ten-headed dragon rising from the sea
so he crowns himself Emperor of Earth
who rules with magic wand of equity.

Tending the healthy giving tree of hope
that blooms from corpses of tyrants and thieves,
Belenus hosts grand feast of equal rights
for all the people of the Earth to join
while Orpheus plays the lyre of Mercury
and Minerva sings about Kingdom Come.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus teaches children of the world how to paint the giving tree of hope with arcane techniques from the various schools of art.

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

Alive In Abya Yala
© Surazeus
2026 04 01

I think I took a wrong turn in the mall
because I am not in America
any more, where Liberty for every soul
is the sacred law by which we all live,
illusion of greatness that vanishes
and leaves me alive in Abya Yala.

Inspired by the man bleeding on the tree,
who grasps writhing snakes of hate in the well
and transforms them into Runes of Respect,
I leave cathedral of the vampire god
and stumble in meadow of maple trees
that flash me alive in Abya Yala.

Alone on mountain of the Rainbow Snake,
who reveals woman with stalk of gold corn,
I watch butterflies turn into jet planes
that bomb the ziggurat where Ishtar reigns,
so I flee into waste land of the west
where I howl alive in Abya Yala.

Stripped of my wolf-fur cloak and magic wand
by one-eyed wizard of dark Raven Wood,
I drive my car from sea to shining sea
home to where I was born in Oregon
where Multnomah cleanses my heart of fear
so I dance alive in Abya Yala.

Broken wings of Icarus in my heart
flap helplessly in hurricane of change
when I fall from Heaven of Righteousness
and wander Turtle Island without hands
to help Onatah tend Garden of Corn,
soul reborn alive in Abya Yala.

When illusion of Great America
collapses into shards of shiny lies
because demon of greed escapes from its cage,
I join free people of Zarathia
to build new nation based on equal rights
that fires us alive in Abya Yala.

I want to return home to Avalon,
then on to Lake of Dreams in Scythia,
to build strong United Nations of Earth
that renders equal justice for all souls
who share this lush globe spinning in the void
that beams us alive in Abya Yala.

After the American Empire falls
from crushing weight of xenophobic hate,
we will build new nation for everyone
who shares love for truth of wise Onatah
who directs choir of equal citizens
so we sing alive in Abya Yala.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while Onatah sings about equal rights and liberty for every person alive in Abya Yala who respects justice and truth.

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

Names Of His Lost Tribe
© Surazeus
2026 04 01

Trapped by obsession with integrity,
Alanus walks to the new grocery store
and contemplates how to save his lost tribe,
but they are photos on the cereal box,
so he scatters cornflakes on tombless graves,
and prays to the sparrow in the elm tree.

Reluctant to accept his bitter fate,
Alanus paints mural on the brick wall
that depicts migration of his lost tribe
with bright colors in cartoon characters
which tourists photograph with beaming smiles
to post up on their social media sites.

Annoyed by laughter of the traffic light,
Alanus forges new Anywhere Key
from dark matter in bones of his lost tribe
with lightning flash of mute anxiety
so he can teleport to every house
where ghosts of his ancestors linger blind.

Startled by appearance of gold Dream Stone,
Alanus breaks it open with soft spell
so he can read the names of his lost tribe
who drive horse-drawn wagons of curious hope
across the wind-swept steppes of Scythia
where they build tree-house networks in tall trees.

Amused by sparkle of electric snow,
Alanus leaves car factory at dawn
with fragments from the skulls of his lost tribe
to lounge on back porch of his shabby home
and grill hamburgers while his children play
under strangeness of blue Missouri skies.

Concerned about the state of politics,
Alanus builds fortress on ancient mound
to host council meeting of his lost tribe
who plan new movement of the working class
to seize means of production from vampires
and build new schools for their children to learn.

Shocked by acceleration of world war,
Alanus hikes in rugged mountain vales
with hungry survivors of his lost tribe
who build new nation in the wilderness
centered around Temple of the Soul Flame
which their First Father stole from Hearth of Hell.

Eager to translate song of honeybees,
Alanus enters temple of blank books
that record tales from the lives of his lost tribe
which play as shows on television screens
in stores of old deserted shopping malls
where children of the fallen empire play.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus joins the Alani tribe as they migrate westward from the Pontic-Caspian Steppe across the lands of Europe to found their kingdom in the ancient city of Carthage.

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

Vote On Election Day
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

When I find secret land of Xanadu
hidden in misty mountain vale of peace
I will sing to the blue moon of respect
so screaming voices on the radio
vanish into silent ache of faith
because I like to flirt with Death at dawn.

Because he is still waiting for Godot,
the old man, who sits all day on the bench
in front of city hall, steals my fake name,
so I write it down in book of lost tales
when I visit museum of dead gods
whose skeletons dance around the North Pole.

When Godot arrives at the restaurant,
he introduces me to his new bride
named Saengdao, which means Starlight, he explains,
but she takes me sailing on her glass yacht
to Kharg Island in the Gulf of Hormuz
where she films her new folk-rap video.

When I try to vote on election day
the old man questions whether I exist,
so I disappear in a puff of smoke,
then drift without wings, humming lullabies
about death, over Yosemite Park
where Shakambari tends vegetable gardens.

Inscrutable spell of her recipe
for magic potion that heals harsh headaches
combines mental spice of spiraling words
with apricot cider of providence
which questions privilege of ownership
exposed by counter-oracles of truth.

While photographing young couples in love
who stroll the river walk in evening light,
Phrixus leans against the brass balustrade
and stares with sorrow at the silver sheen
that flickers with elusive Runes of fate,
then mounts gold ram and flies into the clouds.

Engaged with program to destabilize
global patriarchy through language keys,
Phrixus meets Godot in the crumbling church
where they discuss projects of bitter wealth
based on artificial intelligence
which hallucinates that Jesus returns.

Logic of random landscapes motivates
moral mission to organize networks
of neutral monsters with house mortgages
who load trucks with boxes of stolen dreams
through humble technique of successful ploy
upgrading unique spectrum of toy brains.

When he buys carrots of syntactic virus
from Shakambari by the broken gate,
Godot suddenly understands the joke
about the raven and the writing desk
Phrixus told him at the amusement park
while they were eating hotdogs of despair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus sits at the desk of skulls and writes clever jokes for when Phrixus and Godot perform stand-up comedy at the country club of billionaires.

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

Children With Sparkling Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

The next time we get together to cry
about how flowers wither in hot sun,
Tellus will bring glass jar of demon tears
to nurture souls of angels in small seeds
who grow into children with sparkling eyes
before bullets splatter their souls on grass.

Careful analysis of water flow,
within context of material exchange,
proves why excessive passion of desire
cracks concrete channels of clandestine code
that redesigns children with sparkling eyes
who play hide and seek in ruins of church.

Reverse psychology of social laws
never works to change behavior with fear,
relabeled as incentive to mature
against relentless tides of profit gains
that tricks hearts of children with sparkling eyes
to believe in lie of the Afterlife.

Elected by the people of her state
to establish affordable health care,
Tellus drives to work across Bridge of Faith
till assassins give her apples to eat
so she can feed children with sparkling eyes
who play in rubble of their bombed-out homes.

Clipboard in hand as wind blows her charged hair,
Tellus organizes fairies and ghosts
to stack bricks of bombed buildings on wood carts
so they can rebuild empire of dead gods
reborn as our children with sparkling eyes
who pretend they are puppets without strings.

Amazed at beauty of our broken world
that functions on laughter of hungry hope,
Tellus writes complex formulas of fate
on chalkboard in crowded college classroom
to educate children with sparkling eyes
on using magic to build paradise.

When Neptune wakes from dream in fountain pool,
startling tourists in the large Florence square,
Tellus gives him jeans and white shirt to wear
as they stroll holding hands in evening glow
to photograph children with sparkling eyes
who are old gods reborn in human flesh.

Concerned about current state of the world,
when dictators disguised as presidents
contest over whose God will rule the Earth,
Tellus meditates with Shiva in cave
visited by children with sparkling eyes
through revolution of the working class.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus gathers children with sparkling eyes in stadium where he gives each one their unique spirit name so they can fly among stars of illusions.

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

Vast Vacancy Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

All my relatives swirl into my heart
so we all become one galactic mind
that blooms from vibrant flame of the first cause,
hearts bound in communal rite of our tribe
as we breathe in vast vacancy of being
that swells scope of our souls big as the Earth.

Compact conception contained in core seed
designs firm structure of our social state
arranged so every person of our tribe
contributes skilled performance of their heart
that radiates from vast vacancy of being
as cordial fruit we share each evening feast.

We harvest fruitful wisdom of this Earth
with brave assertion of our right to live,
vain fact ignored by calm indifference
that encodes how heartless Nature replies
with riddles from vast vacancy of being
despite our solemn oath to tend her needs.

Ordained as messenger by Eye of Fate,
I open channels between Earth and Sky
so we comprehend with attentive heart
what light communicates through cleansing rain
that springs fresh from vast vacancy of being
to water growing souls in groves of trees.

When I uncover lost star catalog,
by erasing theological creed
written with blood angels on old scroll,
I study stellar cartograph of fate
to navigate vast vacancy of being
that guides my way home to Elysium.

I hear voice of my primal Motherland
call me with heart-enchanting song of faith
to cross greed-ravaged waste land of this world
and find lush Promised Land of fruitful trees
that blossom from vast vacancy of being
as bountiful garden of generous death.

No idol of dead god as scarecrow hears
fervent prayers of desperate refugees
who scatter from our homeland in lost tribes
when tyrants attack garden of our wealth
to find truth in vast vacancy of being
from which we build new empire from old ruins.

We thrived ten thousand years of fertile peace
in secret valley of our singing skulls
till refugees invade garden of trees
and drive our people far across the world
so we float in vast vacancy of being,
transforming into children of lost faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus searches vast vacancy of being for people of his world-scattered tribe who thrive as diaspora of nostalgia for the lost homeland their children forget.

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

Hole Of Finite Thought
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

Because death collapses time in my head
with sudden nothingness of the bright soul,
I ponder what the living do each day
to ignore the fact that we all will die,
then I fish on shore of the singing lake
and eat its roasted meat under weird stars.

Framed in my unfurling future, I feel
exaggerated vastness stretching time
long enough to catch me before I fall,
thwarted by excessive passion to live
when I evade cruel death by accident
in close proximity to sudden hope.

Morning light of each new day after death
arrives with bright elusive flash of faith
that blinds my mind with truth beyond all words
at sharpened thrill of opened aperture
that strikes me with expected solitude
so I float far alone on waves of where.

Undetermined moment of someday soon,
when I will cease to be awake with buzz
of frantic energy to taste sweet fire,
tethers tight my heart to silence of wind,
hidden in scroll of lost voices by quill
plucked from demonic wing of innocence.

Brave enough with fractured luck of respect,
I confront absence of my nameless self
by calling phone number of my dead clone
who answers with strange voice of ocean waves,
but I become mad raven with three eyes
that hangs out on the sad telephone line.

So I avoid speaking in my own voice
with assiduous intent to detach
my body from lush fields of sparkling lakes
where birds tweet love songs in flower-flame trees,
because my being is hole of finite thought
around which nothing radiates in blind gloom.

Despite personal investment of hope,
I stand in spotlight on stage of despair
and drink milk of angels from burning clouds
that pour from my eyes in fountains of tears
which nourishes eight billion hungry souls
while I float on surging sea of desire.

My happiness fills shadow of my heart
with sudden nothingness of silent death
that blows bright rainbow darkness of my eyes
open wide enough to become each star
that twinkles in vast galaxies of souls
while beneath every city my heart beats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury to lead dead souls down to shore of the lake where they become fish we catch and roast over the evening picnic fire.

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

If I Reveal My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

If I reveal my soul by how I sing
relentless emotion through opposites,
I undeceive myself with new belief
that glamors richness of our messy world
which vainly proves with brute indifference
that Nature fills us with passion of hope.

If they assassinate idol of stone
that represents proud ruler of the world
with accurate bullet of childhood games,
we may choose new god from the mortal crowd
to play wise ruler of our crowded state
who plays piano with graceful respect.

If we march to martial music of blood
with bright torch of freedom in every hand,
we may find our ancestral voices cry
for justice from blood-soaked soil of our land,
so we raise flag of Liberty with faith
that our wild howls become anthem of truth.

If we spring laughing from sonorous hills
at sudden strike of brave cathedral bells,
we may plow fields of stubborn prairie grass
and plant gold wheat of fierce ambitious plans
to build empire of hungry enterprise
so our children may dance in sweet moonlight.

If I cast line of hope in lake of dreams
with hope to catch elusive fish of faith,
I may hear noble song of moon-white geese
call out to angels on flame-golden clouds
who grant my boon to gain hard-earned reward,
though Nature owes me nothing for my work.

If I should meditate by sparkling brook
that shimmers calm in grove of twisted birch,
I may hear strange enchanting song of faes
that lures my heart to seek dark gloom of fate
in deep forest green of snow-crested hills
where child of the mountain waits for my gift.

If blind musician in dark smoky bar
plays earthy melody on saxophone
with soulful anguish of inhuman truth,
I feel myself alive more than the sea
halfway between midnight and dawn of time,
awake with silver shimmer of star waves.

If I leap over brook of crystal skulls
while running from death on black horse of fate,
I feel cascade of timeless water spray
swirls of strange immortal energy
prismed radiant with souls of fallen gods
who weep to hear me sing about cruel death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus plays saxophone on the rugged mountain where thousands of blind fallen gods gather to complain to Mother Nature about lack of human faith.

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

Zephyrean Voice Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

Terrible ache of the brain breaking down
into fragments of misread memories
sprouts into palm tree of the final thought
where fire-feathered bird of psychotic truth
sings the most beautiful song of all time
that drives me mad with wisdom of true love.

While I stumble blind through random events
that contrive false narrative of my life,
my fractured brain invents meaning for why
I suffer through each scene for which God laughs
with mocking amusement at how wings shine
from fire-fangled feathers of ecstasy.

Far beyond end of the quivering mind
I spiral into beauty of regret
dismissed as obstacles on road of growth
when I transform from singing tree of death
to wingless angel limping without care
on signless road that leads me anywhere.

Struck by bare facts of existence, that seal
secrets of desire in mouths of the dead,
I insist the mental world in my head
is just as real as thick atomic forms
that pulse with naked energy of light,
till my brain dissipates it all to dust.

Stomping hard on the solid ground of being,
I shout with cold Zephyrean voice of truth
that I can dwell as both body and soul
in real world of atoms flashing starlight
and dream realm of ideas weaving words
with simultaneous energy of love.

Whole universe of atoms, which contains
fragile flame of my body in vast frame,
glows endlessly in swirls of energy,
while multiverse of visions in my brain
replicates inexhaustible variants
that fuel my quest to find the Promised Land.

Vibrant reality of pulsing light,
that seethes in layers of atomic swirls,
undulates elusive phenomenon
beyond my ability to record
conceptual images of its pure essence,
yet I attempt to represent its flash.

My pure imagination cannot augment
vital essence at core of divine being
that pulses with celestial energy,
so these faint shimmers of my verbal spells
may barely reflect vastness of the Real,
yet I sing with Zephyrean voice of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus explains to Ophelia the difference between the real world of atoms that exists regardless of our perceptions, and the mental realm of ideas we design with words in our brains.

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