Beauty Of Our Broken Things
© Surazeus
2026 09 13

If time elucidates fissures of fear
with shocking beauty of our broken things,
stored on book shelves of late afternoon light,
I may decide to weave wires of my brain
in spiral galaxies of dirt-road pools
that lead me to the river of lost souls.

Strange flashing energy of my brain soul
is no temporary inhabitant
inside frame of my flesh, because it beams
intense self-consciousness of mirrored I,
mapped by entangled sentences of myth
that mark me as tenant of this strange globe.

Awake in forest of tall faceless trees,
frail body formed from mud by hands of fate,
I kneel and pray to no one in the sky
who gazes down at me from swirling clouds
through billions of eyes that all see my soul
leaking from my skin, though I rub the stone.

I am always afraid the world will end
in the next ten minutes of howling wind,
so I play the antihero for God
who stands stiff as stone in grand temple hall
where men in robes chant solemn hymns of faith
till airplanes bomb cathedrals into lies.

Though I live under shadow of respect,
veiled by cherub that hovers over me,
I gather berries and nuts from the ground,
and ask the oldest woman in the world
if she would bake them in sweet pie of faith
so I can sculpt formless God with cement.

Beside every house along every road
one tree of fruit shimmers as ghost of time
who unwinds clock of atoms to expose
my wounded heart on television screens
so everyone can read clinical notes
that diagnose malfunctions of my brain.

Standing on grassy shore of starless lake,
I hear secret song of the whip-poor-will
who senses slow departure of my soul
because I wish to join old Caspian Choirs
to sing of true love with low rhythmic hum,
preserved in language of my wounded tongue.

While gathered around blazing fire of fate
beneath bold jagged peaks on Isle of Skye,
we share tales of weird supernatural beings
which my investigations always show
are lonely people wandering in the wild
to conceal fissures of their wounded hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus translates songs of the whip-poor-will to elegant epigrams which he carves on tombstones of people killed in civil wars of thought control.

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

Tunes Of Apollonian Light
© Surazeus
2026 09 13

Through blazing lumination of my eye
I see semantic sun of timeless why
define how I perceive this world of forms,
though thrashed by hunger of conceptual storms,
when my mind reconciles pain of desire
with facts my urgent heart confirms through fire.

My mind creates the swirling sea I see
as virtual model mirrored by the key
unlocking darkness that expands the night
with honest tunes of Apollonian light
by which my eyes may analyze the real
designed by flash of time-atomic wheel.

Through tangled sentences of psychic verse,
when I evaluate state of my curse,
I signify with psyche-altered name
essential nature fostered by our game
inherent to our bodies that seethe force
of brave emotions from chemical source.

My mind constructs from visions of my eyes
surreal landscape ringed by concentric skies
based on mysterious concepts of weird words
which I invent to imitate swift birds
when we assemble to collaborate
on map of this strange world we navigate.

Through flash of my imagination dream,
while sailing boat of clarity on stream
of endless memories, composed of tales,
I program mental system on taut scales
to balance facts of objects I perceive
with secret truth my mental gods conceive.

When Lamp of Diogenes flickers out
I stumble lost in darkness without clout
till my brain projects ghosts of death I fear
and conjures demons that linger too near,
so I dispel illusions of despair
by reconciling contrasts I compare.

As messenger from otherworld of dreams
I scout demonic caves of mental seems
with mission of reconnaissance to find
whole frame of reference that fears designed
through synthesis of perception that presents
new world view which explains psychic events.

Through burning exactitude of the sun,
reframed by moderate glow of the moon,
I wake while riding passion of the colt
through revelation of the lightning bolt
to see our real world, from abyss of gloom,
as fruit on totem of madness now bloom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus listens as Kant explains how our brains invent the virtual model of the world that we must have faith operates the same way our models define.

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

Your Flower Of Stone
© Surazeus
2026 09 13

Hummingbirds float on wings of happiness
around frilly petals of pink petunias
while Sepideh eats honeyed nuts and grapes
in marble temple on the river shore,
and hums with heart-aching song of romance
that vibrates from small silver radio.

Clutching acoustic guitar with his left hand,
Tithonus leaps over her garden wall
and runs with frantic fear along stone path,
but slides to stop before the startled girl,
so he bows with heart-felt apologies,
then hides behind her couch with shifty eyes.

Stepping quick with sharp clack of high-heeled shoes,
Eos strides through gate to the garden grove
and glares at Sepideh on silken couch,
then demands with sharp voice of wounded pride
that she stop hiding the arrogant boy
whom she hired as her young lover to sing.

Widening her eyes to feign innocence,
Sepideh points to the back garden gate,
then snickers when the jealous woman runs
as she shouts for Tithonus to come home,
then peers smirking over edge of the couch
at the young man who palms his hands in thanks.

Bowing before his savior with sly wink,
Tithonus strums guitar with graceful hands
and sings heart-aching tune, Gole Sangam,
"I am your flower of stone, so what
can I say to you with my longing heart,
for the sun shines not on my cold gray soul."

While Tithonus sings about his stone heart,
Sepideh in long skirt of scarlet wings
dances gracefully in soft summer breeze
that swirls cherry blossoms into her hair,
long black curls like storm clouds on her breast,
then twirls into embrace of his strong arms.

Wrapping her arms around his curly hair,
Sepideh savors shimmer of his eyes
as their lips merge with passion of respect,
then they embrace to make love on the couch
as Eos returns with gun in her hand
and shoots Tithonus in the back with rage.

"I promised you life forever with me,"
Eos snarls as blood fountains from his heart,
"safe in the spacious mansion of my heart,
but you stole treasure of my loyal trust,
so you must pay the price of haughty greed."
Sepideh weeps as he dies in her arms.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus finds blood-stained guitar at the tomb of Tithonus where old woman with gray hair and young son of Tithonus place petunias on his grave.

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

World Of Faceless Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 09 13

Stuck too long in her world of faceless ghosts,
Sylvia lingers outside the new bookstore
in crowded downtown of the thriving city
where she was born and lived for sixty years,
to watch real human beings pursue their dreams
with faces made from masks of long-dead gods.

Staring at brass statue of her ancestor,
that gleams tall on high marble pedestal
on the wide median strip between busy streets,
where faceless ghosts drive cars with bold intent,
Sylvia wonders what drove him to go west
from Massachusetts to wild Illinois.

Who were you, Captain James Sylvester Dudley,
my grandfather five generations back,
who migrated in wagon train of hope
to found this town on the river shore
where Cahokia had lived ten thousand years,
Sylvia asks the lonely evening breeze.

When I was young and full of lust to live
as popular cheerleader in high school,
I saw our great land of America
as brave leader of world democracy,
so I worked thirty years in real estate,
helping families buy homes to live well.

Now grand illusion of our noble state
has crumbled into heaps of stinking lies,
exposing world empire of national pride,
like all other empires through history,
that has grown from farm of Ragnar Lothbrok
to vast Viking State of America.

I see in faces of Americans,
who swirl around me on their private quests,
spirits of Vikings with sharp eyes of hope
who sailed to plunder treasures of the world,
expanding from Britain to colonize
fertile lands with fierce passion to live free.

Since fall of Troy we sailed to Skandia
where we preserved our ancient warrior creed,
then built America with wheel and ax
to form military industrial complex
with computers linked by world wide web
through which we rule empire of factories.

How can we escape world of faceless ghosts
whose spirits drive our conquest of the world
through agenda of the Christian program
to crown our founder Jesus King of Earth,
Sylvia laughs at absurdity of life,
since we build illusions on ancient myths.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus interviews and photographs old gray-eyed woman named Sylvia sitting by the bookstore for his popular social media site Real People of Earth.

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

Language Of Dead Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 12

Pandora gives me old unopened jar
that sat on top shelf in tall cabinet
in kitchen where she cooks for eighty years
to feed gods of Olympus every day,
so I hold it up to the evening light
to see my soul floating in honey liquid.

Stung by consolation of swirling rain
that drives me into vast cathedral cave,
I draw stark breath of stars into my body
to hollow out my heart with ecstasy
that makes room for insight to state of sleep
too similar to nothingness of death.

Dawn light gleams through stained glass window of fate
to illustrate vision of noble strife
depicting Phoebus wrestling Lucifer
over who will redefine how we see
essence of being framed by electric words
that drift as smoke from sacrificial flames.

Exhaust of cars that billows from steel pipes
in crystalline nights on star-frosted streets
highlights strange beauty of eye-twinkling stars
that should illuminate galactic face
of our one world Mother Wraith who provides
bounty of Earth we gather with our hands.

I find myself in language of dead gods,
small spark of life in vast abyss of nothing,
so I lie on lush grass by stream of thoughts
and savor glow of warm light on my skin
to wonder why pain teaches us to feel
alive from suffering in our search for pleasure.

Pandora calls to me across the room,
which is dream of the room where we live free,
framed by quaint narrative of our romance
which we repeat to anchor surge of faith
that tosses us on seething tides of change
so we hold hands till we find stable ground.

She moves quick as bright beams of morning light
across vast field of flowers on our graves
till her fleet flash of temporariness
becomes clear window of my empty house
where I paint image of her smiling ghost
on mirror floating at the core of time.

White blossoms sprout from margin of my mind
so I join Seraphim with brave intent
to organize passion of human will
through exercise of self-control in law
when I patrol the market streets all day
while Pandora cans peaches in glass jars.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus returns home after work to find Pandora baking peach cobbler, so he sits by the window and watches people walking together in the river park.

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

Lyre Of Twisted Truth
© Surazeus
2026 09 12

Time stretches rubber thoughts of innocence
outsized with laughter beyond moon affect
right forth through flapping door of framework wings
that function by handbook of hybrid keys
extreme at giant face of final fame
too trapped by hope to execute escape.

No normal legend outlines optioned facts
pending last payment to my credit card
replaced by process for remote control
against routine of royal providence
though we respond with software update dings
that reassemble statements we submit.

Unknown regret for glow of midnight moon
transforms my cozy house to cold warehouse
at howls of vintage records cracked by lust
where wooden workers reconstruct my dreams
concerned with torture nameless ghosts endure,
too young to meet their soulmate by the sea.

Reborn as avatar to play brave king
now certified to notarize my heart
by beautiful catalyst sparking flight
that clarifies why death always wins out,
I stare confused at mirror of my face
that shows I am sad demon who steals light.

Wingless I should float on fear-frosted road
between midnight and dawn on Christmas Eve
past silent houses where pines flash with lights
though we paint lintels with blood of the lamb
and roll tight in mezuzah spell of fate
that prophesies my reign as global king.

Stars sparkle over lush Seattle hills
where I walk streets at midnight to reveal
electric ghost of my immortal genes
that spreads angelic wings of shocked surprise,
and sing hymns praising Phoebus for his gift
when he brings light to warm our frozen world.

I wrench from deep sepulcher of my heart
demonic soul of my ancestral genes
to comprehend fierce spirit of my soul
that urges me to play forbidden role
as Mercury with lyre of twisted truth
though I am cursed to wander signless roads.

Revealed respect for glow of midnight moon
transforms my frail body to lithe werewolf
so I run laughing dark suburban streets
to preach that Jesus never will return
since soul of Phoebus powers my progress
ascending Hill of Skulls with Book of Dreams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus and Mercury wander streets of Seattle on Christmas Eve where they sing hymns about the second coming of Phoebus to save the world from sorrow.

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

Swirls Of Emotional Dust
© Surazeus
2026 09 12

Songs of joy writhe from deep inside my body
so I sit by cracked window on the world
to watch strange people all around the Earth
play out the tragic fate of their vain lives
for we are swirls of emotional dust
sparkling with energy we think is God.

Millions of people spend so many hours
intently focused on writing their thoughts
to mold amorphous swirls of energy
in concrete stories that capture weird truth
published in books on vast library shelves
which record visions of dissolving minds.

Garbage trucks of time dump discarded books
written by millions of people with love
into enormous mountains of lost tales
where frantic wind of millennial change
flutters pages of words with mockery
that scatters our thoughts into hurricanes.

While our bodies seethe with new unsung songs
that batter our souls with ethereal breath,
we cling to fragile pole of ardent faith
to protect each other from storm of wrath
till all our books are scattered into space
where they transform to eyeless butterflies.

When bright illusions of our sparkling world
disintegrate to swirls of wordless books,
those struggles we cling to with desperate hands
disperse as crackling leaves to molded masks,
which mirror face of every living soul,
that leaves us surprised on the ocean shore.

Our sorrows fall away as veil of fear
so we stand stripped of naked agony
beneath the sheltering sky of mindless clouds
where no grim thunder god of bitter rage
hurls storms that smash our cities into ruins
so we float on clear water of the lake.

With wounded heart filled full from fuel of rage
I gun fierce engine of my laughing brain
to sing with sharp mercurial voice of hope
that channels writhing demon of my heart
so I transform to angel without wings
who ballets blithely on telephone poles.

At sharp aroma of fresh orange trees
I rise unresurrected from my book
to stroll with casual grace of fake success
through teeming crowds of people who search close
for secret treasure of the wounded heart
so they can know the song that maps their mind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus sorts through enormous mountain of garbage formed from millions of books with desperate hope to find the Most Important Book of All Time.

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

Cracked Mirror Of The State
© Surazeus
2026 09 12

She drives across country on signless road
past numberless houses with broken masks
through unnaturally calm weather of fear
to ask impatient clouds of everywhere
where she can find the house of singing ghosts
who understand assignment of the hour.

She never finds the house where she feels safe
so she builds home beside the factory
where children of the corn build radios
that channel voice of god to lonely farms
by crafting bones of angels into frames
that form calm haven for her wounded heart.

She stands in open door of voiceless hope
to watch for strangers on the dusty road
who bring no treasures from the hungry land
they took from tower of the golden calf
that screams in horror at the thunder cloud
so we can read books till the crack of dawn.

She sells unpackaged sorrow in glass jars
with pickled peaches from the Tree of Lies
but never bothers to explain the curse
encoded by blind prophet in blood verse
which analyzes economic games
played by the banker with conceptual names.

She hides her sorrow for the nameless dead
in brave epistle to the editor
who hangs her letter on the muddy wall
to monitor harvest through currency
exchanged by people in the market stall
who pray most fervently for secret wealth.

She never asks the children of the stone
why they are weeping on the telephone
while staring in cracked mirror of the state
with plan to outwit Death despite her fate
of getting trapped by fame in movie roles
that were not listed in her book of goals.

She sells the flashlight of the fallen god
to proud devil who runs for president
so he can translate what the river sings
about our new plan for spiritual growth
by breaking free from social comfort zone
through motivation of heart-woken zeal.

She tries to convince me with bitter grin
that bliss is sister of my mental pain
so I pause on the road to anywhere
and swerve with volta of the psychic turn
to readjust my social attitude
in tune with prayers for angry solitude.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus speaks before the crowd after winning election as President of the United States of America and announces his plan to rename our country Zarathia.

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

Ocean Of Her Words
© Surazeus
2026 09 11

The youthfully ancient face of my mother
is the face of the land where I have dwelled
millions of years in valley of her heart
while climbing high to mountain of her head
because her eyes are the moon and the sun
and her mouth is the ocean of her words.

With numberless children of fire-burned homes
I walk along endless road of her legs
and pluck ripe fruit from long trees of her arms
while following wide river of her tears
which nurtures bold wheat blooming from her breast
till we swim deep in ocean of her words.

Some people stay in the land of their birth
one hundred thousand years of solitude,
building homes on ruins of their homes,
because our mother is face of the land
that smiles with thunder and frowns with sunlight
to hide their dreams from ocean of her words.

Some people walk the signless road of hope
far east to find where the bright sun is born,
then west to find where the drowning sun dies,
across the land from sea to shining sea
through orchards of fruit and waste lands of thirst
to sail across vast ocean of her words.

In some lives I live alone in the woods
where I invent language from songs of birds,
and other lives I gather gangs of men
in armies which I use to build empires,
but always I have children, then I die,
that sink downward in ocean of her words.

In this life I am the wandering jester
who maps whole history of humanity
in epic tales of curious adventure
to conjure virtual model of our world,
casting spells of dreams in the Metaverse
that shimmers runes in ocean of her words.

Rain drenches ruins of my childhood home
that vanishes in restless wind of nevertime
so I build new home by the River Styx
then play the Lyre of Mercury and sing
confounding riddles of the antihero
who leads lost souls to ocean of her words.

My mother is always alive in me
because she is the land that nurtures me,
so I dance wild with innocent desire
to transcend sorrow with pure ecstasy
through shocking joy of psalm about how death
dissolves my soul in ocean of her words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus finds his great-grandmother Tethys on the beach so he gives her fish that she roasts on the fire so everyone can eat as he sings about the storm god who loves us.

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

Fate Laughs At Vanity
© Surazeus
2026 09 11

Because Fate laughs at vanity of man,
who dares assert false privilege of strength
to live beyond assessment of despair,
I sit on grass beneath the singing tree
to contemplate why hungry men will fight
to kill grim rivals in harsh game of power.

Therefore I laugh at vanity of Fate
that dares constrain atomic shells of light
by narrow scope of mental attitude
that urges our half-blind souls to assert
concept of free will as pure divine spark
by which we choose to swerve with random hope.

I choose my fate within space-time confines
by how I readjust trajectory
of forward motion when I manage speed
through misdirection of psychic intent
in ways that seem predetermined by state
of my propensity to play my part.

If I am programmed by proclivity,
through disposition designed by my genes,
to analyze and act in certain ways,
I wonder if I could control my fate
since my mind is inclined by preset rules
to make choices I think are my free will.

My brain is programmed by experiences
that my three billion ancestors performed
with just enough wit to generate life
so I am product of each choice they made
as we evolved four hundred million years,
transforming from fish to deluded god.

Since I am programmed to behave my way
through sharp analysis of measured faith,
based on attention to present milieu
forming habitat of my current state,
each choice I seem to assert through free will
is one I would have made at any rate.

Each swerve of my courageous will to power
was programmed by ancestral nerve to act
in quick response to dangers, as observed,
so I continue psychic legacy
of my ancestors to adjust my route
in harmony with tides of natural change.

Since Fate will laugh at casual vanity
that fuels assertion of my free-will choice,
I laugh in tune with mockery to vibe
conceptual vision of reality
so I avoid annihilating death
just long enough to generate new life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus listens as Lucretius explains how we exercise free will through random assertiveness of self-control by swerving off the dutiful path of creative hope.

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

Window On The World
© Surazeus
2026 09 11

Because my heart is window on the world,
I gaze from tower of ancestral souls
based on lives of three billion human beings
whose intense survival experiences
program how my brain perceives the world dream
that guides my journey to Heaven through Hell.

Commissioned by guiding star of my heart,
embodied by wise Ishtar as my Muse,
to play role of Phosphorus Lucifer,
I hold high Lamp of Liberty with faith
to highlight my own private way of life
around obstacles of selfish desire.

Though I meet Child Roland on signless road
who searches for dark Tower of Despair,
I search for my own Tower of Delight
where brave Rapunzel, with star-sparkling eyes,
plays Harp of David as she sings sweet psalms
to heal wounded hearts of all wanderers.

I climb Purgatory Mountain of hope
with courage to transform state of my soul
from hungry ape to angel who maintains
strict discipline of self-control through law,
but ghosts of failure haunt my secret way,
revealing pitfalls of death I avoid.

Because my brain is window on the world,
I gaze beyond shadows of transient forms
in Cave of Illusions to comprehend
essential design of eternal ideas
that provide pattern for matter to form
organic bodies of chemical flow.

With Light of Ishtar shining in my heart,
which emanates from vision of her love
for all creatures awake in dream of Earth,
I traverse complex landscape of world myth
to find Wonderland of shared value systems
for framework of Astarianity.

Ascending steps up Ziggurat of Ur
with reverent awe for vision of the world
that Ishtar conjures in model of truth,
I join her feast in hall of cultural heroes
where she sings tales that recount deeds of souls
who fail or succeed to wake God in their hearts.

These lyric songs of sentimental verse,
which I compose as psychic formulas,
frame vision of my mind from memories
as window on the world of changing forms
when I analyze its physical state
so I generate life before I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus eats in Windows on the World restaurant in the North Tower of the World Trade Center and sings as the plane flies straight into his heart.

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

Dream Cave of Hecate
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

Though I wander crazy maze of lost hopes
too many years from sea to shining sea,
singing out of tune about wounded hearts
that batter wings against cage of desire,
I find strange demon of love in my heart
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Dark shadow of guilt in pit of despair
twists my heart with agony of hope
that spurs me to resist with eager heart
calm acceptance of oppression from greed,
so I writhe in wild Dionysian dance
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Driven mad by anguish of searing pain,
inflicted by the gang of laughing thieves
who tortured me with dreams of paradise,
then stole accumulated wealth of work,
I leap with joy and twirl beyond despair
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Cheated by the rich man with fake contract
who funded my farm, but stole it in court,
then chained to slave for him for twenty years,
beaten by the wife who tricked me with love,
I fly free when lightning strike breaks my fear
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Returning from harsh wilderness of pain
after training in martial arts for revenge,
I break through gate that protects my own farm
and fight one hundred minions of his greed,
then smile with demon of truth in my heart
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

To reclaim garden my fathers designed,
and tend Tree of Justice heavy with fruit,
nourished by water well my own hands dug,
then sit in chair of judgement I once built,
I wrestle demon of rage in my heart
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Terror twists face of the haughty rich man
who cheated me with legal tricks of greed,
so, offering thanks for tending my rich farm
while I sought truth in waste land of regret,
I marry his proud daughter as my queen
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Twelve sons who spring from seed of my faith
expand empire of our fruit-blooming farms,
and hundred grandsons worship me as god,
so with sweet joy of courage born of pain
I meditate under tree of blind gods
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus visits the ancient half-blind king who sits under the sprawling tree and records his story on clay tablets that he stores in temple library of fallen gods.

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

Persona Mask Of Strength
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

When he unfastens his soul from the world
while snatching apples from telephone poles,
then pretends to be the angel-winged bird
that never migrates when the empire falls,
Zachariah decides to prophesy
how storms of truth sweep all tyrants away.

When Kwan Yin alights on the rocky shore
and shows him how the sun unwinds false time
with psychic laughter that reprograms myths,
Zachariah dips his hands in swirling waves
and lifts the writhing dragon of his heart
high enough for her to bless his huge eyes.

When Death emerges from dawn-red sunbeams
with flock of souls on wounded wings of faith,
and visits preachers grasping book of myths
to steal the polished masks of pride they wear,
Zachariah recalls weird voice of Yah
that vibrates through our bodies as tense songs.

When airplanes crash in twin towers of wealth
as thunderbolts Yah hurls to bring down pride,
Fate wakes our spirits from dream of world peace
and tells us we must understand true love,
so Kwan Yin and Zachariah hold hands
then fly as angels in the sun-bright sky.

When random tornado of social change
erases his farm from river vale of hope,
and deconstructs the family home he built
from memories of their struggles to survive,
Zachariah dives in the shallow pool,
then emerges when war storm dissipates.

When Kwan Yin strolls along the boulevard,
giving peaches to every passerby
with gentle blessing of her generous love,
Pluto blocks her way, envious of her grace,
then stabs her in the heart with jealous rage,
so she kisses Zachariah as she dies.

When he removes persona mask of strength
to breathe ethereal wisdom of fruit trees,
while Kwan Yin paints new vision of world peace
as portraits displayed in Museum of Fate,
Zachariah rides white horse of concern
to bring justice to victims of abuse.

When he strums guitar by the Tree of Life,
and sings about knowledge gods make us buy
with suffering our bodies must endure,
Zachariah sings that the Spark of God
glows bright in heart of every conscious soul
who ever lives in all the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus officiates at wedding and funeral of Zachariah and Kwan Yin who died when they held hands and jumped together off the World Trade Center on the day of wrath.

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

Rapt By Psychic Light
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

Rapt by psychic light of our spinning Earth,
I dream forever sorrow of mankind
awake in darkness of the silent moon
who always seems to know just how I feel
when I project my spirit at her mask
which I wear to play angel of high noon.

Though we build safe illusions of our faith
from bones of devils we defeat with love
in homes that play as temples of our tales,
time crushes all our dreams to swirls of dust
when angels bomb our hopes with selfish greed
while I am rapt by psychic light of fate.

Though air I breathe from ancient wind of hope
appears to animate with intense love
my fragile body made of flesh on bones,
my mind is rapt by psychic light of fear
that motivates my quest to transcend rage,
and map Hell with courage of Zephyrus.

Stuck on the beach of soul-tormenting wind,
where Ovidius records our tragedies,
I gaze at oceans sloshing mountain slopes,
heart rapt by psychic light of comedy,
when Odysseus gives me used bag of wind
which bold Aeolus gave him with sly wink.

While I collect cracked skulls of long-dead gods
from cave of illusions with diamond eyes,
rapt by psychic light of national pride,
I find Endymion sleeping in moonlight
on rock of faith that Lucifer will use
as cornerstone for new religious creed.

Before the burning bush of wounded hearts,
rapt by psychic light of angels with swords,
I breastfeed daughter of star-fallen god
whose laughter conjures storms of social change
that sweep away oppressive gangs of thieves
which frees world lands for brave democracy.

Through luminous drift of false memory,
Zephyrus comes to garden of dead trees
to spark their souls awake with warming wind
so apples bloom from fractured tears of snow,
but, when I call his name with haunted voice,
he weeps, heart rapt by psychic light of death.

Rapt by psychic light of eternal love
that gleams with timeless Lamp of Liberty,
I teach Endymion how to map the world
so we can know where we are in the dark
when we reach out our hands of honest faith,
transformed by knowledge that we all will die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus grins with sly amusement to see his audience rapt by psychic light of timeless truth that projects visions of Elysium from his hymns about souls lost in despair.

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

Ungod Of Ten Billion Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

I wonder how to explain with calm faith
to my ancestors awake in my mind,
who prayed so fervently up to the sky,
that there was no one up there in the stars
strumming harps in crystal halls on the clouds,
nor did Ungod do anything to help.

I feel intensity of their hard faith
as they knelt by the river of dark tears
among the rustling leaves on starry nights
and gazed up at the sky with fervent hope,
while moonlight glowed bright in their faithful eyes,
and prayed for help to overcome their fears.

I see in startling vision of my heart
their three billion faces glowing moon-white
as they knelt scattered in ten thousand towns
over six thousand years since Adam prayed
with Eve for wisdom to comprehend truth
and understand strange nature of our world.

For so many long restless centuries,
while Earth spun slowly among shining stars,
my ancestors gazed up at the sky
and asked the Faceless Spirit of all things
for help deciding how they should behave,
then chose to create and to not destroy.

Though they asked Ungod of ten billion eyes,
whose spirit they felt glowing everywhere,
endless questions about how to live life,
they always found the answer in their hearts
through application of logical code
when they analyzed effects of each cause.

Sharing wisdom they learned from bitter loss
in proverbs that explain how actions cause
effects to flow in consequence of change,
they set foundation for our social law
condensed in statement all agree is good
that we do what we will, if we harm none.

Though my ancestors prayed hard to the sky,
seeking wisdom from Spirit of the Light,
they always found deep inside their own hearts
clear answers for how to perform their role
so our actions create good things to grow
as we help each other survive this life.

Though I know now no conscious God of light
glows from all atoms spinning in the void,
I exercise logical function of prayer
to analyze each moment of my quest
so I generate life with my soulmate
in our children who live after our death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus gazes from the eyes of all three billion of my ancestors who lived the past six thousand years and teaches us how to sing the spirit of Ungod with joy.

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

Wings Of Perpetual Respect
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

When my first home transforms into the crow
which flies on wings of perpetual respect
across the blind sea of forgotten dreams
that my ancestors left in empty rooms,
I model each new family home I build
to mimic stage of home my mother crafts.

Lured by illusion of the Promised Land,
that shimmers on horizon of false fate,
I sail forever over restless seas
where eyeless demons of primal desire
lurk in the darkness of my hungry heart
to block my progress toward lost paradise.

As Lonely Jester with new Holy Book,
which I preach to blind people building homes
on river shores from sea to shining sea,
I erase grand idols of long-dead gods
to clear space for newcomers to lush vales
who must rebuild homes their fathers designed.

Each time the crow-winged ghost of my first home
lands by the singing river of true faith,
I gather words as flowers from lush fields
to prove this world of bitter suffering
remains more beautiful because of death
that limits our time on this spinning globe.

Trapped by nostalgia for the mundane past,
that each person remembers differently
as their own situation comedy,
I search for secret treasures of your hearts
that gleam with private memories of pain
transformed to pleasure by bleak hour of song.

Though angels deconstruct my childhood home
to measure limits of my learning goals,
defined by scattered puzzle of weird truth
which I assemble with blueprint of myth,
I build expanding palace to contain
ghost of every ancestor in my genes.

Because my temporary soul of light
animates Zero Body with my name,
I tell each stranger I randomly meet
my name is Hyacinthus, new sun god
born from terrific hills of Nevertime,
but they ask if I have apples to sell.

Reborn as Lucifer from Cave of Doom,
I bear long-lost Lamp of Diogenes
to prove my duties secure our world state
against decay of arrogance and greed
corrupting my childhood home with despair,
therefore I burn it down and walk away.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus watches his childhood home unburn from ashes to pristine condition the day when his grandfather finished screwing in the front door with a grin.

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

Long Road Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

Though long road of my heart leads me to you,
forever winding around obstacles
across bleak landscape of lonely desire,
I will not stop in any paradise,
nor linger in lush garden of sweet hope,
till I arrive at door of your calm faith.

With trembling hand of persistent intent,
Daphne writes verses of stark sentiment
with quill from angel feather of despair,
inscribing blood of devils on wood tablet
while bitter rain of sharp ice cuts her cheek,
streaked with bright tears of spectral innocence.

Clutching tablet of her romantic song
with supreme voltage of enduring faith,
Daphne struggles to ascend mountain trail
past trees of vital witness to her crime
transcending arrogance of loyal love
with pregnant prayer to find haven of hope.

Assertive progress of her slow ascent
across unmeasured vector of her heart
inspires each step of volatile concern
despite excessive magnitude of failure
through slight displacement of velocity
projecting force of honest ardency.

Since long road of my heart guides me to you
with fragile light of passion in your eyes
that clears space beyond tangled bitterness,
I strive with potent energy of faith
to churn acceleration toward my goal
though mindless nature blocks my urgent way.

Collapsing from exhaustion of respect
at constant blast of cold indifference,
Daphne stumbles into fraught reference
of disconcerting wisdom to lie prone
on muddy path of limitless regret,
paralyzed by agony for success.

When Phoebus emerges from cave of dreams
after terrible thunderstorm dissolves
to haughty breezes rustling laurel tees,
he finds young woman with long tangled hair
still clutching tablet of romantic verse,
but stiff from desertion of her faint soul.

Reading verses written with devil blood
that express emotion of sweet desire
to bind their hearts matrimonial vows,
Phoebus cradles Daphne in trembling arms,
hoping tears of love will resurrect her,
then wreaths his brow with laurels of respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus listens as Phoebus sings elegy for the girl whose romantic verses of true love inspire hearts of lovers to endure despite all obstacles of fate.

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

Real Raven Boy
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

Leaning over drawing board of her heart,
Eunah concentrates focus of her eyes
to draw conceptual framework of her mind
in image of young woman with Star Soul
who glides with fragile grace of wordless fear
through swirling chaos of big city life.

Presenting printout of her new webtoon
to bearded boss behind cluttered oak desk,
Eunah transforms into delicate finch
that flutters wings of nervous hopefulness
while he considers storyline with frown
that twists her heart small as the fractured seed.

Riding crowded bus over midnight bridge
across glass abyss of purple despair,
Eunah stares at endless rows of tall towers
where thousands of small faceless windows gleam,
and wonders about all those human beings
who live and die beyond scope of her heart.

Curling on the couch in blanket of faith
while sipping hot chocolate from the black cup,
Eunah mumbles with tense anxiety
that now she has to draw whole episodes
every week before the Friday night deadline,
then beams at payment in her bank account.

Observing swirl of people on the streets
for inspiration for new episodes,
Eunah calculates how assertive cause
of individual will people express
conspires with fate to compose taut events
where they perform consequence of desire.

Surprised by appearance of the weird boy
prancing wild so tattered coat flaps as wings,
Eunah conspires to capture spirit flare
of his unique way with new character
who sets heart of her anxious heroine
at ease with carefree play of calm insight.

Blushing at attention of loyal fans
who love hot romance of her characters,
Eunah reads new chapter of her webtoon
in bookstore crowded with hushed listeners
who gasp with pleasure when her Raven Boy
sings psalm that shows he understands her heart.

Signing books for hundreds of eager fans
who rave about her vivid characters,
Eunah looks up to see real raven boy
in tattered coat who inspired her male lead,
whose eyes perceive deep sorrow of her heart,
so she smiles and asks for his secret name.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus watches as Eunah and Reibeun walk together down the crowded street as they chat about the strange beauty of all the interesting people in the world.

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

Sibyl Visits War Zones
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

Through reports in documentary voice
by which I register brutal events
when men battle men to control the land,
I unspeak true lies about the regime
rising from heart of darkness to enforce
divine laws of their cloud-based thunder god.

Airplanes that angels fly among the clouds
obey command of God to bomb our homes
with thunderbolt as missile forged from steel
on mission to secure with law of fear
global hegemon of our empire creed
that we bring freedom to poor lands of slaves.

When Sibyl wearing mask of providence
confronts uncertain place in game of thrones,
which prophets dare assert with riddled verse
through inexhaustible faith in the truth,
King Midas aims toy gun straight at her head
and whispers pow, then snickers, blind with fear.

While Sibyl walks in field of severed ears
that hear commands of tyrants without curse,
she chants with arduous intensity
polished proverbs from ancient holy book
that Tutankhamen wrote with trembling hand
to sweep streets of the city maze with prayers.

When Sibyl visits war zones of the world,
with camera to document harsh crimes
of Eden Angels armed with flaming swords,
she tries to record with cute fairy tales
suffering of the people in mountain towns
who hold burnt photographs of faceless ghosts.

Translucent language of the wounded heart
expresses tales of witness in bookstores
to raise awareness of fascists regimes
that trample rights of people in the street
with hope to catalyze action through faith
that justice will prevail through code of fate.

Amid smoking ruins of bombed-out towns,
where children gather tattered photographs
from mangled hands of zombies in the rubble,
brave Sibyl documents harsh tyranny
that captures barbarism of cruel men
who dwell in mansions built from bones of farmers.

Extracting stone of ennui from her brain,
with hands stained gold from blood of fallen gods,
fierce Sybil builds grand palace of concern
to house scriptorium of the Jester Seer
who throws fractured mask of authority
before locked doors of cathedrals, and laughs.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus joins Sibyl on her trip to the Holy Land where she documents how beautiful angels guard the fragile bodies of humans lost in the waste land as refugees of war.

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

Alive On The Nowhere Road
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

One day at a time on the Nowhere Road
I follow my heart to the end of fear,
but find myself back where I first began
somewhere in the middle of the world maze
where people without faces make new masks
to hide immortal god-soul of their genes.

I try to find one secret tale to tell
that illustrates vanity of it all
as cosmic myth that explains why we love
though we suffer indignity of pain
that crushes us to nothingness at death,
but indifferent nature mocks my attempts.

Because there is no conscious afterlife,
nor resurrection of the soul from death,
all cases of injustice we endure
will never be righted in turn of time
for all organic creatures of warm flesh
with dreaming brains will crumble into dust.

We are Achilles, Job, and Lear gone mad
with grief at painful loss of those we love
that leaves us wandering on the river shore,
lashed by indifferent storms of mute despair,
to howl with wordless agony at truth
that fate kills us with equal randomness.

The daily news of tragic suffering
through unjust death the innocent endure
becomes one endless Metamorphoses
that Ovid sings of bodies changing shapes
from vibrant humans to spiritless stones,
or writhing trees, or birds that shriek at us.

Once I read their tales of shocking death,
that twists my heart with discathartic rage,
their ghosts haunt me along my winding road,
so I carve their names and faces in masks
on every tree on mountain of their skulls
till our swelling sun incinerates Earth.

I hear voice of Isaiah, that rings clear
from temple of truth on the hill of skulls,
denounce crimes of the rich and powerful
while I transcribe his prophecies in verse
so records of injustice outlast kings
whose bodies rot beside people they kill.

Shocked I am alive on the Nowhere Road,
I search for you in global maze of myths
so I can perceive and know your true self
that blooms frail as bright flower from the Earth
to celebrate strange beauty of your being
before we all vanish while others bloom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus joins Achilles, Job, and Lear in the group session at the Pegasus Psychiatric Hospital for Manic Manipulators to talk about how they feel about the injustice of death.

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

Matrix Of World Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

We are all nodes in matrix of world souls
that flash with temporary consciousness
to dream strange beauty of our multiverse
that forms galactic tapestry of worlds
where we transform from fish to singing god
till we dissolve back to roots of our dreams.

Alone in solitude of crowded Earth,
I sit at window of perceptive faith
to watch dark gloom of nothingness enshroud
vast maze of buildings where blind angels sing
and dance as beams of psychic energy,
entangled in atomic lust of being.

Emerging from dark shadow cave of fate,
I pass unsanctified into this world
as writhing demon of intense desire
contained in bounds of mortal ardency
so through initiation into truth
my heart is purified by self-control.

Though rage against cruel monsters of despair,
who rampage over landscape of our hopes,
drives me to fight for soul security,
protecting my family from slavery,
my heart shatters into children of faith
who journey along rivers of desire.

Though we are strangers in garden of skulls,
we dance together in grand hall of mirrors
with grace that binds our hearts with mutual love,
so we build safe home inside haven walls
to teach our children secret of long life
that no one ever writes in holy books.

One thousand years we build city of homes
where children play in gardens of fruit trees,
till men driven by greed to control wealth
destroy this beauty they could never build,
which leaves us homeless in Garden of Eden,
yet we still love that paradise we lost.

Though thieves of bitter jealousy destroy
beautiful paradise our love creates,
our children will spring from roots of our dreams
as nodes that flash in matrix of world souls
to build new nation of Zarathia
from shattered ruins of America.

When I attend clean kitchen of our home
to prepare fresh spiritual sustenance,
I see ghosts of all my mothers and fathers
feasting on light of the universe
that flash as galaxies inside their eyes
since I am temporary node of thought.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus plots psychic nodes in matrix of world souls to generate complete time-animated globe atlas of world history so we can find where we are on the way to illusion of Heaven.

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

Howling Wind of Woe
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

When sunset screams in silent ecstasy
through frantic spirals of flashing rainbows
that glitter eyes of the hypnotic toad
whose song creates the multiverse of worlds,
I breathe ghost of fertility and sing
in harmony with howling wind of woe.

I try to talk about my family vibe
in pristine tale of pop psychology
about my parental relationships
that root my heart in doorless hall of time,
but I hear cries of children in the rain
entangling me with howling wind of woe.

With threads of memories drawn from my brain
as gleaming strings of tangled honesty,
I sew new tapestry of ancient tales
depicting Oedipus and Icarus
as brave brothers watching the world cup game
that channels rage with howling wind of woe.

Through hawk eyes Prometheus steals for me
I try to read silver calligraphy
my ship writes on the seething waves of change,
but time erases story of my heart
when cold indifferent storm blows me back home
where I dance weird with howling wind of woe.

Eternal mask of our electric moon
obscures intentions of my divine mind
to resurrect the dead in words of songs
though their bodies rot in mud of bomb blasts
that wake blind angel in tomb of the church
battered to shards by howling wind of woe.

Investigating clues about the crime
committed by the man with hands of gold,
I find Idol of Helen with red hair
buried under ruins of the White House
where she blesses children killed by clean guns
that imitate their howling wind of woe.

When church bells scream in agony of prayer,
casting curses of doom on thieves and liars,
mute woman who knows why the caged bird sings
stares at God Face in gleaming pool of fate
that knows every secret she dares not hide,
cast as torn books in howling wind of woe.

Abandoned in the field of tangled wire
where rainbow skeletons dance in red rain,
white horse of wisdom teaches me new code
for logging my soul in the world wide web
for which I translate psychic formulas
that measure words in howling wind of woe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus designs machine that can translate secret messages hidden in the howling wind of woe that angel blind angels can hear on a normal day.

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

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Simple quietness of long afternoons
expands moments to vast eternity
with timeless floating of delicious light
that gleams on walls and lawns of silent homes
where people hide from chaos of desire
to relish peaceful tales of fearful hope.

Unruly laughter from proprieties
of gleeful disdain for old social rules
animates eager hearts with ardency
of brave attention from heart of the soul
who seeks salvation in pleasure of play
that channels energy through graceful minds.

When she appears from shadow of lost faith
with hawk eyes that observe our changing fate,
our spirits run with eager hope to learn
strange secret of spirit framed by clouds
that emanates from iron core of being
so she laughs with delight at chill of death.

If time unravels hope for paradise
that fuels our progress against grim despair,
we gesture with attentive hands of hope
to weave taut tapestry of innocence
depicting state of mind we wish to frame
as narrative remembered in our name.

Toward strange tomorrow with impassive voice
we ever stride to realize in real time
bright vision for the future state of things
we wish to play on stage of our free will
though we wind somewhere in vast maze of lies
that still divert us from elusive goals.

While resting on soft leather couch of fate,
dark eyes penetrating shadows of fear,
she ponders strange security of wealth
that builds illusion of unspoken hope
in brick-bound palace of sun-spacious rooms
where ghosts of possibility haunt us.

She comes with sunlight breaking through storm clouds
that cast stark eerie glow of timeless truth
on treeless mountains drenched with eager rain
so sparkling laughter of her voice revives
fear-poisoned hearts of lonely wanderers
who gather close to hear her clarion song.

Though all we built, lush gardens and strong homes,
are shattered by disastrous storms of rage,
swept clean off Earth in brutal waves of change
by fierce indifferent Nature, her bright song
swells wounded hearts with passion to survive,
so we fly with black ravens in gold skies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus assists Ophelia when she arrives with food and medical supplies to help the people whose homes were destroyed by catastrophic floods.

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

Become The Faceless Sky
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Blank sky reflects face of eternity
which my brain conjures from weird memory
to project complex vision of itself
at wholesome roundness of the universe
which mirrors what I think about myself,
so I see beauty shine in every soul.

Young shepherd who guides sheep on narrow path
through rock-strewn wasteland of hungry despair
to grass-lush meadow on high mountain slope
where sparkling river flows from glacier snow
which mirrors face of stranger in my mind,
I name each beautiful spirit I see.

When giant one-eyed man in bear-fur cape
attempts to steal sheep of my mountain flock,
I set smooth river stone in leather strip,
twirl courage high around my head with hope,
then sling authority of legal right
that cracks his skull and knocks him to the ground.

Gripping sharp sword he forged from meteor stone,
when he beat it in cave of shadow flames,
I hack off his head to free our fertile land
from oppressive greed of his grasping hand,
then stand on flat-top pyramid of speech
to show the world my victory over hate.

Crowned by Ishtar new king to reign as judge,
I sit on flat-top pyramid of speech
and render judgement of authority
with fair equality of social rules
when I adjudicate conflicts to rein
aggressive passion of the human will.

To stabilize affairs of our shared state,
ensuring legacy of my fair rule,
I choose wise woman with insightful eyes
who bears from holy spirit of my mind
three sons with eyes that comprehend the truth,
but they kill each other to take my crown.

Setting jeweled crown on the judgment seat,
I desert flat-top pyramid of speech
and wander back to grass-lush mountain slope
where wind in leaves of pines whisper my name,
so I lie by sparkling river of time
and gaze at blank face of eternity.

When Ishtar finds me on the mountain slope,
she reminds me that she crowned me as judge
to maintain balance of social affairs,
but I explain my time to reign as gone,
so she holds my hand till glimmer of dawn,
then leaves me to become the faceless sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus visits tomb of King David on the slope of Mount Zion to remember the Shepherd King who set the standard for ruling with fairness and honesty.

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

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

She wants to deconstruct unbroken mind
to program spell linking cause to effect
that curls her heart with plumes of innocence,
so when she wears gold ring of loyalty
no fool would doubt her brave sincerity
she purchased at the secret magic shop.

Therefore she hears wild spirits of the world
mutter arcane spells of verity,
providing framework for her lost world view,
which still includes regret and guilt as signs
that she is making progress toward rebirth
by struggling to maintain integrity.

By stretching her shadowless soul at dawn
to enclose vibrant pulse of cherubim
as shelter that protects her fragile brain,
she channels shudder of the river flow
through angst-flushed veins of passionate concern
for health of strangers she will never meet.

Assertive focus of her time-blazed eyes
requires her body to float on gauze wings
through sudden nothingness of nameless self
that wakes as robot running over hills
till she stops by the jagged stone of fear
and asks the faceless angel why we die.

When pine trees of elegant pride transform
to telephone poles with electric wires,
she counts every snowflake that never falls
so she can welcome homeless travelers
she meets on broken bridge of anywhere
against cool judgement of palpable faith.

We fall outside our minds to comprehend
expansive boundlessness of nevertime,
so she wants to speak the unhearable
with courage to oppose the oligarch
whose shadow looms in storm cloud of despair
though she bears fragile lamp of liberty.

Excited by new opportunity
to travel in the waste land of our faith,
she shoots bright pistol of her aching heart
at mindless stars that scream infinitely
before she finds her way in car of hope
back to the garden of blind skeletons.

She knows we are not who we play in life,
so she strides gracefully along the bridge,
wearing slender black skirt and frilly blouse
to advertise them for sale at the store
hidden in top room of the stone church tower
where angels weep for every suffering soul.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus listens while Persephone explains her mission in life since she divorced the greedy oligarch who operates a huge data center in the underworld.

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

Ideal Persona I would Play
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Bright in glass constellation of my heart,
transcendent god, who has never been real
beyond imagination of wild priests
drunk on wine from mushrooms of ecstasy,
reveals ideal persona I would play
to maintain dignity of daily life.

My heart pours torrents of expansive words,
unmeasured by attentive spate of faith,
which conjure strangers who steal hungry trees,
to see enormous city towers gleam
in evening clouds that loom above deep vales
where surfaces of pools reveal our eyes.

Adorned with jewels of fantastic truth,
my heart attempts in vain to calculate
ethereal breath of angels in fruit trees
whose lust embodies serpents with gold eyes
who tease me with delicious energy
to think I may achieve eternal life.

Weird thoughts of wisdom, I untwist from light,
crawl through dim shadow of my aching flesh
so I pretend I am First Man of Time
commissioned by Cloud-Ghost to name all things
that exist within bounds of time and space
because they glow beyond mask of my face.

As daughter of Tiresias, I guard
Gates of Eden with spear Longinus carved
to catch the dragon falling from rain clouds
disguised as glorious angel with nine eyes
who teaches me how to fly the airplane
so I can make more accurate map of Earth.

Though serpent of the apple tree retains
extensive sets of books blind devils write,
she dares reveal to me, calm mortal fool,
collective wisdom of prophets and seers
whose bones are letters of riddles we share
while feasting on hamburgers by the lake.

Long wick of my temporary heart glows
with timeless grace of pure immortal flame
which fills my heart with long-unspoken spells
that fly as ravens from my open mouth
when I campaign for President of Earth
while seeking treasure in Elysian Fields.

Whole in glass constellation of my brain,
my soul accepts its temporary state
as mortal body of hungry desires
animated by immortal gene soul
through chaos bound in limits of my being,
so I want to tell you about my love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus meets daughter of Tiresias in the Garden of Eden where she asks Adam if he will marry her, but he declares how much he loves Aphrodite instead.

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

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

In tune with spate of vulpine protocols,
designed to process economic growth
through awful worship of transcendent gods,
who cannot comprehend computer codes,
we must interrogate how bitter faith
sidelines assertive patterns without goals.

Against false spate of vulpine protocols,
defined by crackled creeds of chocolate cake,
we disperse funds to arrogant households
beholden to provisions of gold gates,
too widely closed for horses to relate
because we hear bees sing romantic jokes.

Far after spate of vulpine protocols
for welcoming lost refugees of wars,
fought over right to breed on river shores,
we share concerns on television shows
for how soon immigrants may learn to pray
while waiting in bleak offices of faith.

Never should spate of vulpine protocols
debate programs for social pertinence
reversed from previous states of brokerage
that trap certified catalogs for freaks
to prove consensus of spliced chromosomes
for how we calculate incompetence.

Through active spate of vulpine protocols,
contained in brave citations of false faith,
we mold fresh avatars of enterprise
from inconclusive studies engineers
sell back to demons in the factory
who manage fisheries of unborn souls.

Time-fractured spate of vulpine protocols
expands exotic documents for farms
where clumsy ballerinas detain clowns
with extreme prejudice for inquiry
against invasion of blind astronauts
who want to purchase mansions of dead gods.

Illegal spate of vulpine protocols
disturbs logistic progress of rebirth
for model membership of loyalty
in frazzled concepts of the multiverse
where children contract magazines for games
mechanics still refuse to play at dawn.

Magical spate of vulpine protocols
teach young professors how to deconstruct
social privilege of the less powerful
who refuse to obey state ordinance
against observance of the holy day
when we rebuild socialist paradise.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus interviews with an artificial intelligence robot in an online virtual meeting for an official job at the International Department of Vulpine Protocols.

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