Weaving Nests Of Sorrow
© Surazeus
2025 10 06

Birds always seem to know the reason why
rivers dance with blind spirits of the sky
while weaving nests of sorrow from the wild
in solemn honor of the wandering child
who treasures in his hand the last world orange
that ripens from the ancient tree in Stonehenge.

From round temple hall on the sunlit peak,
that preserves sacred scrolls he longs to seek,
Phoebus gazes at river vale of mist
where he and the sweet water girl once kissed
in subtle passion of soft Autumn breeze
that transforms apple hearts to rigid keys.

Though earthquakes shatter illusion of power
causing towers to fall, but not the flower,
Phoebus designs well-ordered city maze
where everyone who wants to can stargaze
to live well without insecurity
by working together of Liberty.

Assembled with the loyal revenant,
who sing psalms without ersatz sentiment,
we build on ruins of our lost empire
brave democracy of the Testifier
whose riddles reveal wisdom of the stars
preserved in anecdotes of sad memoirs.

After dancing on the tightrope of desire
to sing with Death in the heavenly choir,
Phoebus explores the old castle of stone
with hope to call God on the telephone,
but instead sings hymn of the Divine Self
preserved in books on the library shelf.

Pausing on the highest point of the world,
Phoebus reviews his life as cosmic herald,
achieved while walking winding road of fate
by crossing wild rivers with his soul mate
who reveals they cannot backtrack the past
for all creatures of time will die at last.

Aghast at horrible things cruel men do
in attempt to control the ingenue,
whose spirit represents the holy land
tended by stewards of the guardian hand,
Phoebus legislates inalienable right
of women to control their hearts of light.

Choosing to master mental dominance
to avoid fame-entangled prominence,
Phoebus records chronicle of events
describing war of kings and penitents
till orphaned children find amusement park
while he weeps at song of the meadowlark.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus calls Zeus on the telephone so they chat about their families, then make plans to meet at Lake Nemi for the Autumn Festival.

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

Bomb-Mangled Bodies
© Surazeus
2025 10 06

Against collapsed wall of our old world view
she leans exhausted spirit of desire
with faint hope that new trees of fruit will sprout
from bomb-mangled bodies of faceless children
whose ghosts haunt cyberspace as photographs
that highlight their bright smiles and starry eyes.

Across the desert of unspoken words
she walks toward unimagined nothingness
with secret blueprints for bridges and homes
that she intends to build from broken bones
for people who have lost their history
to crashing thunder of the holy book.

Inside the mountain cave of lonely thoughts
skull of our first mother sings lullabies
two million years while empires rise and fall
for starlight trapped in diamond of her brain
so we dance round bonfire of vanities
to celebrate our victory in world war.

Beside the horse of wind on wings of hope
she runs beyond horizon of blind fear
to find our bodies floating in the pool,
so she constructs new aviation school
to teach us how to fly on angel wings
though we are stuck in elevator cage.

With children dancing on the river shore
she washes blood and sorrow from her face
to protect ancestral language of faith
entangled in false alphabets of truth
which heal our existential wounds with words
that flood vast maze of myths with honest doubts.

Along with phantoms of the broken mind
she walks the lonely road of anywhere
without concern for national politics
fought hard between central authority
and local managers of social games
constrained by fear-wrought laws of liberty.

Beneath grand arch of triumph people wait
to speak in forum of calm argument
despite demented tirade of contempt
that mad King Midas screams at faceless ghosts,
so they all turn their backs in silent faith
till he falls exhausted from frantic fear.

Outside my heart weird angels cry in rain
so I construct stone walls of paradise
to protect my wife and children from harm,
safe haven for private theology
from which I build empire of honest truth
which requires no energy to maintain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus works for Minerva at the think tank to devise new strategies that sustain democratic institutions against autocratic oligarchs who would exploit the people for their private gain.

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

Void Of Glowing Stars
© Surazeus
2025 10 05

I love to float in void of glowing stars
with ancient laughter of sweet dinosaurs
to animate my heart with lust for life
so when I rise on wild Icarian wings
I swoop with joy above vast maze of myths
where now-unworshipped gods live mundane lives.

Sad for the people killed in civil wars,
brave Mercury strums lyre on city streets
to sing enduring anthems of state pride
for our great empire of fake liberty
that crumbles into anecdotes of faith
with fraught assassination of each clown.

Though tides of timeless change, roiled by despair,
erase our footsteps from the storm-lashed beach,
we walk on stairway of wind to the stars
to wash dirt of oppression from our souls
when Mercury arrives from somewhere else
to give us fruit he stole from Tree of Life.

Legality of my existing soul
gets challenged by the faceless banker king
who publishes from blood of fishermen
deceptive maps with grand road to success
which strips our shadows from our fragile flesh
so light tears gashes on our plastic skin.

All traces of state borders drawn with blood
vanish from maps of patriotic wars
now crumpled by scarred hands of Mercury
who searches gray streets of poisonous smog
to find the jester crucified at dawn
who wants to float in void of glowing stars.

Trapped by vampire eyes of the public ghost,
I sail my fishing boat on flooded streets
with guttural laughter of the last full moon
since homeland, where my ancestors were born,
is crowded now with foreign immigrants
who live in house of my lost memories.

On periwinkle sea foam of my heart
I draw meridian lines of fortitude
to rescue child of sorrow when she drowns
since she always feels she does not belong
though Mercury gives her citizen card
which she presents at the museum door.

There is no dream world inside our real world
except what Mercury carves with sharp teeth
on crystal ball of fortunate success
based on how invisible our souls feel
when we buy new memories at the church
where we still swim in void of glowing stars.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus sits in the booth and sells tickets to the amusement park where people want to float in the void of glowing stars to see what it feels like to be a planet infested with humans.

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

Second Coming Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2025 10 05

Disabled by strange smile of ocean tides,
I meditate among humming plum trees
to understand the sound of silent wind
which animates our bodies with brave pride
in vain attempt to share forgiveness
before second coming of Mercury.

Though aching heart of sorrow wakes from dream
by strong scent of hibiscus at midnight,
I gaze through telescope of ardent faith
at planet floating over sea of eyes
where children play chase in ruins of truth
before second coming of Mercury.

She lifts anguish-soft petal to her nose
while sitting on grave where her mother sleeps,
then steeps it in hot water to brew tea
she sips while sniffing pungent scent of time
that pulses through her periodic blood
before second coming of Mercury.

Most days her mind of melons in hot fields
dismeasures censured state of wretchedness
through calm discretion of amusing code
forsaken by mask of beauty she steals
because she hopes to connect all our minds
before second coming of Mercury.

With hyper caution of the treasured key
she photographs faceless specters of faith
who dance in dervish spirals of respect
for something more immense than mountain souls
unwinding spool of frantic memories
before second coming of Mercury.

Arrived at indecision warriors trade
for subtle knowing of our hopelessness,
she shares strange vision of reality
more true than dreams our eyes invent from light
since all we need is bread and hot beef stew
before second coming of Mercury.

Unloosened web of spiral surgencies
reveals sly origami puzzle games
we choose to play with haughty urgency
to find the empty diamond of the mind
that fuels the piston engine of progress
before second coming of Mercury.

Cheerfulness disguised as bitter contempt
alerts my sense for high activity
that drives my journey to the Promised Land
with temperate ambition to rule Earth
while hiding alone in cavern of tricks
before second coming of Mercury.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus leads enormous crowd of war refugees across the waste land of America to gather in the ring of humming stones and wait for the second coming of Mercury.

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

More Rich Than Trees
© Surazeus
2025 10 05

More rich than trees that convert soil to fruit,
my body transforms spirit of the stars
to conscious vision of the universe
which shines in psychic lamp of memory
as light that guides my quest to find the gem
which projects how light conjures my brain soul.

Young woman wearing black shoes and lace gown
glides gracefully in garden of fresh herbs,
delighting in soft dance of butterflies
while contemplating mysteries of the world
preserved as hope with feathers of true love
embodied by the bird perched in her soul.

Holding open her hand filled with bread crumbs,
she smiles with joy to watch the happy bird
consume fierce beauty of the universe
that forms the strangest sea inside her heart
as sudden gale erupts across the sky
that scatters feathers and leaves on the road.

Startled by the carriage painted black
that stops for her on signless road of time,
young woman, holding basket of ripe fruit,
rides with Immortality in white suit
who smiles and tips his hat with calm respect
as they ride past cemeteries and towns.

Rapping ardently at my chamber door,
young woman with eyes bright with ancient stars
sips tea on velvet couch of honesty,
then, while I play solemn tune on piano,
she sings sweet hymn about Eternity
as horses graze in field of daffodils.

Though I want to ask question of my heart
about our domestic tranquility
in peaceful domicile of mutual love,
I smile behind mask of civility
while aching to embrace her with respect
till she waves farewell and rides swift away.

I want to express with ache of my heart
that she is modest Muse of timeless truth
whose beaming smile and ancient starry eyes
inspire these endless songs of ardent hope
that swell ripe from ethereal wind of faith
through pulsing cavern of my fertile heart.

Floating together in dark forest pool,
young woman and I laugh wild with delight
to celebrate that we are still alive,
though tyrants of the world are mad with power,
for greed that demands too much energy
dissipates into peace more rich than trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus presents research paper on the relationship between trees and urban landscapes where humans spend all day inside homes watching endless movies about dryads.

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

Hear Voice Of Iblis
© Surazeus
2025 10 04

I hear voice of Iblis in desert wind,
that sings across the waste land of false hopes,
explain that, though humans are fragile beings
who all grow sick and eventually die,
we shine so bright while we are still alive,
and leave glow of our souls in songs we sing.

Since we are fragile snowflakes of the stars,
that fall in spirals of elegant grace
to sparkle in the holy pond of souls,
we visualize abstraction of the world
in arcane metaphors of fruit-rich trees
through sketch of atoms swerving in the void.

Bright iridescent beetle of my heart
reveals ephemera of tales we share
while gathered round the glowing fire of thought
to analyze how we explore the hills
till we build virtual model of the world
composed of concepts embodied by words.

Incarnate in this body of soft flesh,
my bright immortal soul of tangled genes
unravels stitches of strange memories
to comprehend pure vastness of the world
contained in precious words subject to hope
through endless turning of seasons we grow.

We walk toward mountains of our misty faith
by breathing spirit of the silent sun
to build our homes along the signless road
where children of our dreams may safely play
inside the haven walls of paradise
assaulted by wild gangs of hungry thieves.

If we would understand our urgent prayers,
we deconstruct empire of restless fear
that drives us to build temples for mad gods
who fund construction of the harbor town
from which we sail to map far alien lands
where jesters advise kings to trade, not fight.

Dazzled by delicate mist of the lake
that rises from deep mirror of my mind,
I sing brave anthem of courageous pride
to praise amazing beauty of the heart
because our bodies dissipate to dust
that sparkles as it swirls into the sky.

In love with moon goddess as her ghost seer,
who tends lush garden of our memories,
I drive my body in forest of dreams
where disembodied spirits of the night
translate the voice of Iblis into songs
that teach me to love strangeness of this world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus tricks Iblis with misdirection of abstract concepts about beauty of the human soul so he can no longer drag humans down into Hell through deception.

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

Star God Of Justice
© Surazeus
2025 10 04

While I float in calm blue of the Dream Sea,
I see bright Star God appear before me
as swirling cluster of luminous eyes
so every soul born in the universe
perceives my temporary flash of self
till I rise refreshed to explore the Earth.

Through periodic assessment of fate
I realign how weird stars calculate
progress of mental growth inside my brain
so with faith I can better navigate
conceptual maze of objects born from rain
to keep my family safe from psychic harm.

Asserting calm respect for social games,
I travel ever westward round the globe
ten thousand miles in hundred thousand years
by paving roads of bold religious faith
which I name after prophet of the light
who walks before us with the lamp of truth.

Despite strict prohibition against lies,
losers sell hope to steal wealth from our hands,
so victims form alliances in gangs
who storm the palace at the midnight hour
to crown themselves the victors without pride
so oppressed become oppressors at last.

Each social revolution of the truth,
that sweeps in waves of violent contempt
across the cityscape of mirrored halls,
lifts some lost loner of the hungry crowd
to rise above the mob with righteous words
who prophesies new vision of the right.

Endowed with glory by Fortune at dawn,
new prophet, speaking visions of the heart,
leads people of the land in brave crusade
to fight against the wealthy oligarchs
and cast their idols broken on the ground
to render equal justice for each soul.

If god-born genie in the ancient lamp
would grant three wishes of justice enforced
to victims suffering from brutal abuse,
then we should ask for world system of laws
ensuring equal justice for each soul
so everyone may thrive creatively.

When I escape that fractured fantasy
that humans would miraculously accept
one global system through equality,
I wake in real world where the greedy rich
exploit the poor of vain unanswered prayers
though the Star God of Justice is my dream.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus wears mask of the Star God of Justice while he performs role of the prophet who saves humanity from tyrants and their gangs of greedy oligarchs.

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

Museum Of The Broken Mask
© Surazeus
2025 10 04

If I feel the sudden impulse to sing,
I will scatter my bones in the wheat field
where no one but the sad scarecrow has walked
more than three hundred years of social change
so elves and nymphs may spring from fertile soil
to dance at the Super Bowl halftime show.

If my spirit animal would appear
to teach me secret of physical space,
I might design the factories and ships
my brothers could use to conquer the world
using the Mercator projection map
to sail straight across the sea to new shores.

I sail the blue boat of my aching heart
across the future shameful sea of faith
to study hunger of the human soul
through psychic resonator of concern
by smuggling treasures of lost empires home
to stock museum of the broken mask.

Reluctant to perform as optimist,
I like awake beneath the starless sky,
and count the humans living on this globe
who leave their faces hanging on home doors
as we design new theories about hope
for children who draw visions at dark schools.

Yet no one listens to the desert god
who howls solemn hymns on the radio
in preparation for the next world war
that we must fight against cruel oligarchs
who charge taxes for water and sunlight
so we eat stew of bones and bitter truths.

Though if feels as if the rocks and the clouds
are also dying through weird social change,
we call each other on the telephone
that translates voices into ocean waves,
so we drive across the country of hope
to listen to our blind god sing the blues.

Lost in rugged hills of integrity
where pine trees discuss old philosophy,
we find wind-erased tomb of the first god,
whom men once worshipped on the ziggurat,
who welcomed homeless migrants to the feast,
except the witch who lingers on the bridge.

Connected by network of singing wires,
that weave old prophecies in movie plots,
we crowd museum of the broken mask
where ravens gather on idols of gods
though every human in America
goes fishing on the river of glass skulls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus contemplates the mystery of the universe as he scrolls through photos he took in the museum of the broken mask while he fishes on the Mississippi River shore.

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

Flag Of The Bloody Cross
© Surazeus
2025 10 04

If they must ask why we are still alive
we could unwind fake clock of naked hope
to readjust perception of the world
revealing truth about our hungry hearts
that misdirects our progress beyond faith
till we are floating on the sea of tears.

She pauses on the signless road of hope
to glance back at progressive path to see
if she has gone quite far enough to find
the secret treasure of her broken heart
that writhes with anguish in grave of desire
despite her vow to find the Promised Land.

Ten thousand warriors on the dusty plain
stand at attention to await command
she issues through voice of the faceless god
to fight for our manifest destiny
in bid to conquer wilderness of pain
by riding black snake of divine insight.

Each warrior who returns from battlefield
reveals his tale of how he died in vain
at thrust of sword or spear that tears his flesh
and rips his body into shards of glass,
that quiver mutely in the bloody soil,
and hurls his howling soul in cave of rage.

She watches warriors of the empire crawl
on bloody stumps across vast parking lot
in wretched anguish of their twisted bones
as they clutch at cracked credit cards of faith
that pay for luxuries of blinding greed
to float in sparkling hotel pool of lust.

With graceful gestures of her fight-scarred hands
she raises million warriors from the dead
who march on puppet strings of her free will
to conquer every nation of the world
in war to overthrow each greedy king
and free people of Earth from slavery.

Now resurrected from imperial graves,
brave warriors of the Promised Land enforce
aggressive law of brute national pride
as they rush forward with the heat of rage
into obliterating bullet-rain
that splatters souls of gods on prairie grass.

No bearded prophet of the Promised Land
now lounges on the meadow chewing grass
so his elaborate Song of Myself fades
as hollow echo in Grand Canyon vales
where ghosts of warriors trudge on endless march
to bear flag of the bloody cross to Hell.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus follows Minerva as she leads grand army of the republic to overthrow the last few kings who still cling desperately to illusion of their divine right to rule.

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

Pilgrimage Of Bitter Ghosts
© Surazeus
2025 10 03

Because Fortune crowns her the superstar,
endowed with glamorous beauty of the soul,
she rides on the white horse with rainbow wings
in golden twilight over city streets
to scatter pages torn from holy books
as gifts for children of the Promised Land.

Encased in simplicity of the flame,
that glows from cosmic wheel of innocence,
she blooms as flower of Elysian Fields
to masquerade as Queen of Liberty
bestowing meaning on the useless souls
who play in abstraction of paradise.

Alert on pilgrimage of bitter ghosts
through esoteric function of the heart,
she proves our bodies glow with divine souls
that flicker bright on mirror of the mind,
convinced that reverence means nothing more
than mimicking the roles dead gods perform.

Trapped in the silent language of our breath,
that we forget we forge from lightning strikes,
she measures emptiness of hollow hearts
which vibrate loud on lonely mountain slopes
where we explore split echo of despair
that floats mute in transparent thoughts of rain.

To lift her gaze unto the mountain peak,
that shimmers white from timeless snow of faith,
she reassembles darkness of the mind
with crimson sorrow of astonishment
that jolts our bodies from grave of contempt,
corrupted by the certainty of death.

Though weightless in electrified concern,
fragmented by the crack of laughing glass,
she paints weird portrait of my normal face
with putrid beauty from Utopia
on fractured wall of earnest honesty,
disturbed by endless jokes policemen pray.

Concealed in moss-cloaked stone of bitter faith
by white breath of the silver birch at dawn,
she paints grand mural of the human race
evolving into empires ruled by kings
who drink blood of the people with fierce greed
from terror that we understand their fear.

Garuda rises from volcano cave
with heavy slowness of demonic pride,
so she considers why all gods will die
once they are forgotten by followers
who seek another god to venerate
while lost on pilgrimage of bitter ghosts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus leads ten thousand refugees from global wars in pilgrimage of bitter ghosts to build new homes along the Mississippi River shore.

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

Pilgrimage Of Bitter Ghosts
© Surazeus
2025 10 03

Because Fortune crowns her the superstar,
endowed with glamorous beauty of the soul,
she rides on the white horse with rainbow wings
in golden twilight over city streets
to scatter pages torn from holy books
as gifts for children of the Promised Land.

Encased in simplicity of the flame,
that glows from cosmic wheel of innocence,
she blooms as flower of Elysian Fields
to masquerade as Queen of Liberty
bestowing meaning on the useless souls
who play in abstraction of paradise.

Alert on pilgrimage of bitter ghosts
through esoteric function of the heart,
she proves our bodies glow with divine souls
that flicker bright on mirror of the mind,
convinced that reverence means nothing more
than mimicking the roles dead gods perform.

Trapped in the silent language of our breath,
that we forget we forge from lightning strikes,
she measures emptiness of hollow hearts
which vibrate loud on lonely mountain slopes
where we explore split echo of despair
that floats mute in transparent thoughts of rain.

To lift her gaze unto the mountain peak,
that shimmers white from timeless snow of faith,
she reassembles darkness of the mind
with crimson sorrow of astonishment
that jolts our bodies from grave of contempt,
corrupted by the certainty of death.

Though weightless in electrified concern,
fragmented by the crack of laughing glass,
she paints weird portrait of my normal face
with putrid beauty from Utopia
on fractured wall of earnest honesty,
disturbed by endless jokes policemen pray.

Concealed in moss-cloaked stone of bitter faith
by white breath of the silver birch at dawn,
she paints grand mural of the human race
evolving into empires ruled by kings
who drink blood of the people with fierce greed
from terror that we understand their fear.

Garuda rises from volcano cave
with heavy slowness of demonic pride,
so she considers why all gods will die
once they are forgotten by followers
who seek another god to venerate
while lost on pilgrimage of bitter ghosts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus leads ten thousand refugees from global wars in pilgrimage of bitter ghosts to build new homes along the Mississippi River shore.

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

Wordless Anguish Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 10 03

Needless to say that happiness is weird
which only lonely people need to play
while we smile for the broken cameras
which photograph the silence of the mind
though everything we build has turned to ash
till angels blare solemn anthems of pain.

Forgetfulness of angry sunset glow
reveals streetlamps on naked city streets
that tremble with wordless anguish of truth
we choose to share for the falling away
of wheat we harvest at the midnight hour
till turn of every season strands our hearts.

Whoever waits caged in the Wicker Man
regrets dark curses of his bitter mouth,
yet stands erect in uniform of pride
he stole from father of the stagnant state
in frantic bid to rule the crumbling world
till great empires collapse in warring tribes.

Each god who pulses with blood of desire
will harden into clay of river shores
when stars fall from the sky of crackling ice
to crush cathedrals of false piety
which leaves us drifting over hungry hills
till songs of seashells echo in the breeze.

We kneel before hollow statues of gods
garlanded with red flowers of despair
by sweet Ophelia wearing tattered gown
to play wise Justice with blindfolded eyes
who declares birthright of the bleeding soil
till everyone learns to breathe with one voice.

Outside the haven walls of fragile homes
we linger in the moment of insight
on signless roads that lead our eager steps
beyond the far horizon of respect
framed by ontology of selfless love
till memories drown us in tears of contempt.

Our faceless shadows attempt to escape
constraining cage of flesh bound by the soul
which leaves us staggering in the temple hall,
hearts split between belonging and exile
beneath the pride-stiffened sky of soul dust
till flames consume the world view we invent.

Dust of our bodies obscures the blood moon
when warplanes scream above vast maze of myths
to bomb opinions through theology
which blasts the promise of justice for peace
still pulses raw in bones of our glass souls
till laughter desecrates our dreamless world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus prays before statue of Saraswati that gleams white with sixteen arms to symbolize her power to administer justice with equality of objective insight.

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

Faceless Terran Wraith
© Surazeus
2025 10 03

If people think about the shattered light
as if grass grows from corpses of old gods,
we might soon comprehend weird rules of flight
accentuated by gold lightning rods
fixed firm in round array of star-code rays
which guide our journey in the dreamless maze.

Each building we construct from photographs
will crumble into fragments of strange lies
that program riddles of thought cryptographs
devised to fool the faithful psychic spies
who still believe this land belongs to them
though no one now can wear the diadem.

Ishtar commissions Phoebus to construct
religious institution based on dreams
from framework of our psychic aqueduct
to model meaning of life on vale streams
through ontological scripture of faith
embodied by the faceless Terran wraith.

Because truth is beauty, and beauty truth,
eccentric proverb of the angsty seer,
I find my calling as messiah sleuth
appointed by the global puppeteer,
so I lounge alone in my Nowhere Land
to program visions with my red right hand.

Though our great nation is falling apart,
the land remains from sea to shining sea
as we have mapped our tales across its chart,
because it is illusion we are free
that dissipates beneath dictatorship
which attempts to control our membership.

Born from the pungent soil of Oregon
with wings my father Icarus gave me,
I oppose tyranny of Babylon
where Star Dragon rises from Liberty
to transform how we view our nation-state
in changing landscape we must navigate.

People of America gather round
the fallen angel once named Gabriel
who writhes in anguish on unholy ground
to make our nation more imperial,
uniting Europe as Gothinia
to ally with new-born Zarathia.

When soldiers with green crosses on their shields
march with cameras instead of death guns
to conquer lost tribes of Elysian Fields,
we gather in stone ring where the horse runs
to vote for our new world democracy
presided over by Queen Liberty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus assists Queen Liberty as she reigns over the united empire of Zarathia and Gothinia where every person lives safely in equality of justice under one global law.

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

Game Of Catch The Snake
© Surazeus
2025 10 02

Out in the lonely hills of somewhere else
she walks with shadows of people she loves,
and gathers wings of angels from the dirt
that quiver glumly in her trembling hands
till her tears transform them to butterflies
which flock around tombstones of dead gods.

Amazed at beauty of sunlight on hills
that glow with stark admission of mute guilt,
she asks the toad on mushroom of respect
about the meaning of life, but he croaks
eccentric psalm of bitter honesty
for how he always seems to lose the game.

Fame mocks our vain attempts to garner wealth
from cracked foundation of our quivering globe,
yet we continue to gouge hills of hope
for minerals to construct empire of power
based on endless calculating machines
that analyze data of human events.

Startled by snow drifting up to the sky
while Death plays haunting melodies on flute,
she turns her face away from human games
and dwells alone in high tower of mirrors
where she can see, beyond the mask of beauty,
inherent spark of weird divinity.

Uncanny vision that refracts our brains
glows clear before her eyes of fractured glass,
depicting mural of social events
where gods perform dramatic roles of power
in fierce contention between nation-states
to control the world narrative of truth.

Before snow falls again on unbowed heads
of humble pilgrims in the Holy Land,
she scatters apple seeds on sunbaked sand,
while horses gallop in exuberant hills,
to prove she knows the secret of success
as ageless Pythia in her golden cage.

Engaged in joyous game of catch the snake,
schoolchildren gather fragments of their dreams
to greet the jolly man in long red robe
who teaches them the joy of giving truth,
but he transforms into the plastic idol
who can do nothing but chuckle in glee.

Exploring merry hills of somewhere else
where ravens spy on children of dead gods,
she climbs the highest peak of honesty
to view whole world narrative of truth
in which each person plays appointed role
with strict obedience to the laws of Death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus kneels before Ophelia in the Holy Land and asks her to be his wife, and she hides her blushing cheeks behind bouquet of plastic flowers in her hands.

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

Endless Wind Of Time
© Surazeus
2025 10 02

When I grasp beauty of life in my hand
that pulses with hot blood of eager faith,
I hold it towards you with generous love
to give you artefact of my bruised heart
so I can transfuse passion to your soul
based on unique form of intimacy.

Heart burdened with strange wisdom of the world,
I sleep on treeless plain of humming ghosts
where peacocks strut before idol of Zeus
who reclaims formal tale of victory
through untraditional puzzles of faith
which urges we confront our naked souls.

I kneel beneath the gleaming silver sky,
before the silent rugged mountain range,
and ask God for the purpose of my life,
then wait in meditation for his voice
that whistles in the endless wind of time
swirling dust around my weather-worn face.

Because purpose is the man-made concept
which binds our bodies to the wheel of time
with stress of social fame driving our work
to fulfill great goal of civic success,
I choose to free my body through my mind
from intense pressure to assert my pride.

Leaping to my feet on the windy plain,
I laugh with delight of enlightenment
through lithe ebullience of vast insight
that even God, I think floats in the sky,
has no idea in his cloudy brain
what grand purpose our existence might serve.

When I stand naked on the dusty plain
with honest process to nurture my love,
I sing enchanting vision of my heart
that enacts play of self-regeneration
based on my honest self-examination
to strengthen weakness of my loyal mind.

Nobody knows the way to Wonderland
so we all gather in Stonehenge to sing
hymns of honor to Mother of the Earth
who molds our bodies from soil of her heart
so we feel sweet vibrations of our globe
that spins forever in the void of light.

Through endless iterations of new change
we dance with modern passion of the lost
in vain attempt to calculate the cost
of losing all our social principles
to hungry turtles haunting mental pools
that ripple in the endless wind of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus directs the choir of angels and devils singing together in Stonehenge under the wild sky that blazes with a thousand sunsets of holy fire.

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

Butterfly Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 10 02

With thoughtless disregard for how light bends
the water-smoothed river stone of my heart
spreads delicate butterfly wings of faith
to flutter harmlessly about the room
where people desperately pray against doom
that lurks as shadows in their dreaming minds.

The young man with old guitar in his hand
walks along the cement sidewalk of time
in search for the best spot in the dream maze
to sing his heart-felt prophecies of fate
with vain hope that his words of revelation
will wake lost people of the fractured nation.

Cars glide by in sunlight of busyness
with piston engines of magical flight
that roar louder than his Cassandra voice
so no one knows they have to make the choice
for siding with the disenfranchised poor
who protest when the government shuts down.

Eager to vote for the eccentric clown
who promises wealth he cannot deliver,
millions of people in long winding line
wait mutely beneath the collapsing sky,
but no one thinks to ask their dead god why
they must go blind to play the bold believer.

Regret still motivates our social games
when we assemble at amusement parks
to buy and sell theologies of power
in vain attempts to redesign our names
derived from frantic spells of meadowlarks
who worship nothing but the silent flower.

Yet just around the corner of the church
the man of wealth and taste in slick black suit
buys votes from legislators with cold cash
to pass laws favorable for his program
exploiting labor of the common man
who wanders listlessly in streets of trash.

Exposing ills of our society
corrupted by corporate power of greed,
the prancing jester on the moon-lit stage
mocks senators with ocean-leaping yachts
who send assassins with rifles of rage
to destroy the Statue of Liberty.

Despite our earnest hope that truth prevails
supporting justice based on equal rights,
we always lose the chess game played by Death
who sends wise Lucifer with Lamp of Truth
to lead lost refugees from civil wars
safe to the pyramid where Ishtar sings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus prances about on stage in the temple where war refugees feast to entertain them with impersonations of greedy politicians.

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

Butterfly Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 10 02

With thoughtless disregard for how light bends
the water-smoothed river stone of my heart
spreads delicate butterfly wings of faith
to flutter harmlessly about the room
where people desperately pray against doom
that lurks as shadows in their dreaming minds.

The young man with old guitar in his hand
walks along the cement sidewalk of time
in search for the best spot in the dream maze
to sing his heart-felt prophecies of fate
with vain hope that his words of revelation
will wake lost people of the fractured nation.

Cars glide by in sunlight of busyness
with piston engines of magical flight
that roar louder than his Cassandra voice
so no one knows they have to make the choice
for siding with the disenfranchised poor
who protest when the government shuts down.

Eager to vote for the eccentric clown
who promises wealth he cannot deliver,
millions of people in long winding line
wait mutely beneath the collapsing sky,
but no one thinks to ask their dead god why
they must go blind to play the bold believer.

Regret still motivates our social games
when we assemble at amusement parks
to buy and sell theologies of power
in vain attempts to redesign our names
derived from frantic spells of meadowlarks
who worship nothing but the silent flower.

Yet just around the corner of the church
the man of wealth and taste in slick black suit
buys votes from legislators with cold cash
to pass laws favorable for his program
exploiting labor of the common man
who wanders listlessly in streets of trash.

Exposing ills of our society
corrupted by corporate power of greed,
the prancing jester on the moon-lit stage
mocks senators with ocean-leaping yachts
who send assassins with rifles of rage
to destroy the Statue of Liberty.

Despite our earnest hope that truth prevails
supporting justice based on equal rights,
we always lose the chess game played by Death
who sends wise Lucifer with Lamp of Truth
to lead lost refugees from civil wars
safe to the pyramid where Ishtar sings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus prances about on stage in the temple where war refugees feast to entertain them with impersonations of greedy politicians.

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

Puzzle Code Of Esoterica
© Surazeus
2025 10 01

The way sunlight glints off windshields of cars
annoys my heart with beauty of our world,
so I fly my soul to conceptual stars
on steel wings designed by the cosmic herald
who records the fall of America
in puzzle code of esoterica.

I want to rebuild world view of our brains
so we can perceive the True Reality
which seems to disappear in autumn rains
till I reveal Nature through cartography
depicting human face as soul of faith
that writhes with anguish of the solar wraith.

I knock on every door in maze of myths
to find the secret home where I was born,
but Fortune crowns me Queen of Monoliths
responsible for fields of blooming corn,
so I wait stoically in the glass tower
far from the crowded church where people cower.

The way wind ruffles leaves of naive trees
inspires my heart to know your suffering,
constrained by shocking curse words of the breeze
since God disdains our sincere offering,
though no one wants to criticize the king
who shrieks blasphemies when he tries to sing.

False prophets stand before the microphone
and preach salvation of the noble race
whose monuments, crushed by the rolling stone,
glare bright with gold that hides his haughty face
behind polished mask of sincerity
while stealing wealth of our prosperity.

I hear fraught voice of people in the streets
decry sudden fall of democracy
beneath greed of totalitarian boots
that crush our faith with abject fallacy
despite our firm resolve to resist hate
that topples tyrants based on rule of fate.

The man who crashes his truck in the church
to shoot the hippie prophet much too woke,
fires bullets at the gargoyle on her perch
who punishes him in Hell with stupid joke
which makes him writhe with anguish of despair
since he feels equality is not fair.

While I map history of humanity
on time-animated atlas of change,
Orpheus programs psychic sanity
that helps us measure cryptographic range
so we can calculate when to adjust
focus of our state on truth we can trust.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus arrests King Midas and locks him in Azkaban Prison where he shrieks in rage that everyone is persecuting him for his numerous crimes against humanity.

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

Marble Statue Of Orpheus
© Surazeus
2025 10 01

This meaningless hour of unsinging thought
disturbs calm surface of the universe
with wretched respect of honorable faith
that tears pristine fabric of time and space
from tears that stain the most beautiful face
while boulders tumble down the mountain slope.

Sad how wild children of the broken road
decide not to build their new city maze
beside the tumbling river of contempt
because if they could organize their plans
they would conquer all empires of the world
to unionize rival gangs in one state.

Yet the more the tyrant tries to control
how we assemble facts in grand world view,
the more we construct new theologies
that clash in fierce conceptual war of truths
till all our stories tangle strands of fate
in one great tragedy of fractured faith.

So I stare at calm surface of the pond
with vain hope to perceive the face of God
reflected back at me from depths of doom,
though I decode my calculated plan
with strangled formulas of social games
for which no winners are ever declared.

Still lost in never-ending maze of myths,
I try to repair with gold as the glue
the broken idol of each nameless god
once worshipped by millions of breathing souls
whose voices dissipate in winter winds
that whistle wistfully around brick walls.

Too many idols of forgotten gods
lie strewn in fragments on the holy ground
where archaeologists search through lies
to find the simple beauty of each life,
which they performed while blood fueled their hopes,
preserved in records by the tongueless clown.

With every hour that flashes through my eyes
I reinvent same meaning for my life
as lamp to guide my journey in the dark
where I still hope to find the magic ring
that renders me invisible to Death
so I can find the hymn-praised Promised Land.

Stuck somewhere in the endless maze of myths,
with book and pen to write tale of my quest,
I stare at marble statue of Orpheus
to understand true nature of his love
for sweet Ophelia floating in the stream
who journeys west with flowers in her hair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus and Ophelia hold hands as they stroll through the global maze of myths to study the idol of every forgotten god.

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

Weird Energy Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 10 01

Alone in grove of maple trees at noon
she stares down in the dark bottomless well
where the meaningless horror about truth
glitters silver as mirror of her mind
reflecting timeless beauty of the sky
that ripples solemnly from falling tears.

Because time flows as slow as sparkling stream
that quivers beneath canopy of leaves,
she winds the clock with tight contingency
so gears of fierce intensity click soft
through calm unwinding of infinity
that ticks each passing moment of lost faith.

Besides the letter she receives each month
that details exploration of the world,
she reads the slender volume of quaint verse
expressing passion of the princess bride
who stands on cliff of gusting wind with pride
before she leaps from faith into the light.

False positive of sudden pregnancy
corrupts her peaceful arrogance of faith
with haughty compassion for anyone
who walks the rugged road of anywhere
beyond the far horizon of despair,
and then she sighs and turns another page.

Across the windy moor of honesty,
followed by the blind raven of desire,
she hurries toward nowhere with measured steps
to ask the old man on the broken rock
why he keeps shouting her classified name
to lure Orpheus from the Underworld.

Accepting ticket for the country train
with trembling hand covered by black lace glove,
she turns away from locked door of his heart
and waits on platform with the hungry ghosts
who wonder if she has fallen from grace
despite her frail crown of civility.

One hundred years after she was not born
as gentle daughter of the magistrate,
she walks the wagon road in Idaho
toward the white-painted house among tall pines
where she plays piano for the blind god
and sings, "I come to the garden alone."

Death always walks beside us in the world
so we choose to savor beauty of truth
that shimmers wordlessly through everything
which vibrates with weird energy of faith
to motivate our journey beyond fear
when she holds my hand and smiles in my eyes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/10/…

Orpheus wanders around looking for the woman whose name he keeps hearing in the voice of the wind that blusters in the rugged mountain vale of somewhere else.

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

Blinding Glamor Of Fame
© Surazeus
2025 09 30

Sad how weak men try to puff themselves up
to appear strong in their terror of Death
who lurks in shadows of their fragile souls
cast by stark sunlight on indifferent Earth
as they struggle against blinding despair
while they strut arrogantly on skulls of gods.

From shadows of their bodies demons rise
on asphalt wings torn from conspiracies
contrived by clowns who bluster fancy words
to shield their battered hearts from claws of greed
through frantic obsession for finding truth
concealed by morbid jokes in holy books.

Startled by flicker of sunlight on dirt
that flashes through taut quiver of tree limbs,
they stumble disgracefully in cold gloom
while grasping feverishly at shining fruit
with subterfuge to control fertile trees
through hostile tactic hoarding ample wealth.

While I attend my private enterprise
extracting nutritious produce of health
from verdant substance of generous Earth,
weak men, too lazy to focus their work
on harvesting material with crafty hands,
attempt to filch wealth from my stock of goods.

I ponder how I might protect my worth,
which I produce through wealth-concocting craft,
by framing legacy of consequence
with conceptual products my hands design
when I, with copyright of labeled sign,
present effects of my attentive cause.

Strong men on base of humble confidence
construct from raw material of this world
processed artifacts they design from ideas
to fashion models from conceptual forms
which provide assistance of easeful thought
through strict formulations our brains conceive.

Yet weak men trapped in labyrinth of lust
steal useful products from hardworking men
through crass deception of inherent dread
which obfuscates with glamorous trickery
honest creator inspired by vast love
as creative source from whom great art springs.

Though weak men trample original works,
designed and created by adept artists
who earn proficient mastery of creation,
to plunder valor of productive pride,
strong men avoid blinding glamor of fame
by working alone with their galvanic Muse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus creates maps that present history of human society on Earth while King Midas struts about claiming those maps as products of his imagination.

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

Curved Trajectory Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 29

I watch the shining crescent boat moon glide
with stately grace above the ancient oaks
where Venus stands in flowing gown of clouds
holding high her lamp with the Morning Star
above the prow to guide her journey west
along the curved trajectory of faith.

Through parabolic symmetry of time
I somersault across the rolling hills
to bend my body lithe in graceful leap
by dancing balanced on taut wire of hope
that we embrace with passion for the truth
that fuels our journey to the Promised Land.

She half-remembers parable of trees
that knowledge is empty function of being
preserved by zero sum philosophy
that we contrive from humming wings of words
upon returning to the lake of skulls
which dissolve into sparkling sand of time.

While Venus lounges in the last row house
left standing on the street of leafless oaks,
I slouch on cracked steps of eternity
and watch cars rumble down the broken road
till drones with cameras float overhead
to record how our great empire will fall.

Still stuck between the rock and the hard place,
I hold snarling wolf of Rome by her ears
before I decide to apologize
for any inconvenience I may cause
since I intuit feelings people hide
through necessary indulgence of false pride.

Through urgent bestowal of clemency,
based on psychotic waiver of respect,
I plot world revolution of the weird
based on amazing grace of faceless clouds
because the lonely prophet on the train
calls out my name from in the hurricane.

Reaching my arm up to the empty sky,
I try to touch the mirror face of god
who murmurs honey spells of tender fear
in tangent with the burning sun of dawn
when light creates the shadow of our souls
by forming magic ladder to the moon.

Wearing pink gown for the midnight ball,
Venus walks in prairie of star-kissed wheat
while holding folded-paper boat of hope
to ask the demon of the jungle why
we ache with sorrow for the souls who die
with calm acceptance of the endless rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus runs eighty thousand years to follow the Morning Star of Venus so he can find out where the sun is born.

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

Swirls Of Shining Words
© Surazeus
2025 09 28

When swirls of shining words from my dream book
lift my body up at death to the sky
and bear my conscious soul to ancient stars,
I wake from morning dream to realize
my brain invented this vision from hope
that my memories may survive my death.

The boy decides to float up in the sky
and soar on his featherless outspread arms
over houses where people sit in chairs
while he swoops around loose telephone wires
because nothing matters in this short life
except we love the person we are with.

We often think about the way time flows
in similar fashion of tumbling chaos
to how water swirls between banks of dirt
bound by long twisting roots of thirsty trees
that shout at us with silent arrogance
from mocking dare to eat their healthful fruit.

Great voice of the sky echoes between hills
with tireless focus on polishing stones
based on solemn conviction of the fooled
that common sense will lead to destiny
from stale perfume of never-expressed thoughts
gleaming with luminous faith in romance.

At moments when we are startled alive
with grandiose vision of society,
that functions to reveal shadow of fear
in glaring light of wisdom from the sun
which watches us as lidless Eye of God,
we will sing well-rehearsed banalities.

Or else we might regret the lost lament
we hide in clam shell of the laughing toad
that cracks foundation of theology
on which we build world empire of fake wealth
propped up by innocence of youthful faith
that every person is equal in life.

Though always the same in efficacy
through power of action to transform the truth,
Nature asserts indifferent laws of physics
that spark intense emotions of desire
which motivates our actions to create
while we investigate crimes gods commit.

Through positive distraction of the song
that flashes from deep hollow of my heart
I redirect contempt to grim respect
when I refocus logic of my brain
to mirror mental health in mocking hymns
while shining words lift me up to the sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus strolls about the peaceful streets of Portland in land of Oregon where he was born from Minerva and Mercury after Jupiter was assassinated by Mars.

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

Vision Of One Social Law
© Surazeus
2025 09 27

Since the strong will always oppress the weak
the weak unite their hearts in clever band
inspired by wisdom of the holy man
who wrestles demons in the desert land
then preaches vision of one social law
where we do what we will, if we harm none.

When greedy tyrant terrified of truth
seizes control over the social state
and sends warriors with weapons of death
to defy celestial mandate of fate
by exploiting the people for his gain,
the savior appears with sword of the law.

Forged in the fires of bitter suffering
that innocent people of Earth endure
under oppression of the rich elite
who enslave our bodies and minds for wealth,
the savior rises high on wings of truth
and wields the sword of justice with respect.

When crowded nations of our spinning world
languish under authoritarian greed
of tyrants disguised as wise presidents,
Ishtar appears on ziggurat of Ur
and sends her prophets with angelic wings
to free the people from dictatorships.

Though I am one lone individual
stuck in little cave of my world view
somewhere in vastness of this spinning globe,
I hear mysterious voice of Ishtar hum
with frightened courage in my aching heart
to be the savior of my private life.

I cannot save anyone in this world
except myself through choices I design
as I perform role of my divine soul
programmed by insight my ancestors learned
as they survived vicissitudes of strife
to generate new life before they died.

Ishtar designed religions of mankind
by gathering people in grand hall of dreams
and teaching basic laws of decency,
then sending prophets all around the world
to organize tribes in thriving empires
which fight within the framework of one power.

United strong against dictatorship,
we pledge allegiance to star-spangled banner
that represents communal liberty
based on equal justice for every person,
forever vigilant with honest faith
to preserve our global democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus returns from the underworld with holy vision where all nations of the world are united under one social law designed by Ishtar the Wise.

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

Mask That Fear Designed
© Surazeus
2025 09 26

Too lazy to remember why I care
about the sorrows of the suffering,
I hide my sorrows in the river stone
and savor suffering of my broken wing,
pretending happiness comes when I share
secret treasures I detect when alone.

Mixed up about why love nurtures our souls
with tender bitterness of strange routine,
I choose to hide in shadows of my mind
to study psychic gears of dream machine
which programs how we play our social roles
in tandem with the mask that fear designed.

Untouchable by angst of hungry hope
despite collapse of our civilized state,
I publish broken hierarchies of faith
to break obstructing wall of random fate
so I maintain system I use to cope
with global fame contrived by the star wraith.

Despite my effort to find fulfillment
through binding emotions in riddling spells,
I free attentive thoughts as wingless birds
that shriek in flames from disconcerting hells
with courage to be more resilient
as shameful feelings get trapped by brave words.

When the moon is born from womb of the Earth
through wrenching explosion of naked love,
I wonder listlessly if I am good
enough to earn key to the treasure trove
so I can analyze what faith is worth
while I run with horses in Apple Wood.

Because I walk the low-tide beach at dawn
to gather eggs of demons with my hand,
I cannot steal what writhes inside my heart
reflected by the variegated land
that twists with angst of the innocent fawn
who teaches me how to draw my star chart.

Amazed at strange beauty of the orange moon
dismembered by theology of lust,
I gather eyes from animals in jars
so I can study arrogance of trust
with purpose to ascend the slippery dune
before the world is heaped with rusting cars.

If pearls record how humans fight for power
deceived by shadows of glory and fame,
I choose fall in love with Sylvia
who grins at me and gives me secret name
so I have right to climb her sacred tower
and help her raise our daughter Pythia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus teaches Pythia how to enter dream state of hyperawareness so she can perceive invisible forces of desire to chant riddles in prophecies that fool the greedy so they defeat themselves with their pride.

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

King David Weeps
© Surazeus
2025 09 25

Sitting on the street corner by the bank
where cars and people stream by in sunlight,
King David plays the psaltery on his lap
and sings with eerie voice of aching hope,
"the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,"
barely heard behind rumbling traffic noise.

We live the strangeness of our mystery
unsolved by magic-eyed sleuth of the moon
who sells salvation to the gullible
with certain agony of sweet contempt
for ancient woman of the lonely field
who scatters seeds of flowers in my heart.

To penetrate the shadow of despair
with words carved from the meteor of the mind
King David bends steel beams with his bare hands
through calcified regret of withered veins
by measuring beauty on scales of desire
despite unhappiness of wretched joy.

Though everything is pulse of molecules
that flash in boundless void of everywhere,
we search for primal cause of all existence
in hollow dream of everything we bought
before the Devil tries to sell it all
while we search oblivion for true love.

In this brief moment called eternity,
where we live in confusion of blind faith,
King David draws weird vision of our hearts
presenting cave homes on the river shore
where we have lived for thirteen thousand years
by carving laughter from heart-warming stone.

Because the ocean drains into the sky
in burnished waterfalls of restless words
we scour clean blood-stained cathedral walls
so spiders weave vast web of mirror eyes
with obsolescent spells of ardent faith
designed to make our lives more interesting.

Though the sun fits inside his living room,
which partitions time in fragments of dream,
King David paints the American Crow
as divine savior of our broken world
that urges us to cherish obstacles
which make us stronger as we strive to live.

Nothing appears to be attainable
as magic treasures of the talisman
that alerts us to the treacherous trap
when we build walls of paradise from lies
to nest our homes in cavern by the sea
where King David weeps for his lost Lenore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus teaches young shepherd named David how to improvise narrative verse tales about social heroes while he strums melodies on the lyre carved from dinosaur bones.

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

Expose Brutal Crimes
© Surazeus
2025 09 24

The startled ice horse on the arctic shore
considers why the white-haired sage of truth,
half-morphed from red-furred mermaid state of mind,
bears emerald lamp of ardent dragon eyes
with foolish plan to expose brutal crimes
committed by the king with small gold hands.

Two slender hobbit brothers in brown cloaks,
Gardo and Berto, sons of Rindo Tor,
approach Minotaur in cardinal robe
to ask if they can buy the crystal ball,
but his snake-eyed daughter, wearing white veil,
tosses bruised rose on the polished oak floor.

When blind Artemis in white silk gown
dances rigidly down long moon-lit hall,
brave Gardo lifts two sapphire dragon eyes
from velvet-lined chest of his secret heart
and offers gift of light so she can see,
but the red owl snatches her gems away.

Once she accepts new pair of sapphire eyes,
that gleam blue as the sea after noon storm,
Artemis climbs the rugged hill of skulls
till dryad oak-boy with butterfly wings
grips her slender arms with tender care,
so she turns and kisses him with sad faith.

Holding triangle magnifying glass,
red-feathered owl princess of Zathamar
refracts light of the sacred avian star
to design dynamic wings of the wren
with pen attached to taut violin string
that vibrates with concerto tune of faith.

Pushing through tangled vines of misty woods,
Berto searches for her lost violin
which skitters away on six crooked legs,
but pauses when he sees tall Artemis
in black lace dress, holding large heart-shaped ruby
that pulses with blood of angelic lust.

Gripping ax of wisdom in her left hand,
Artemis analyzes world affairs
while giant cruise ship wrecked on barren shore
shrouds the city skyline with choking smog,
so Berto stands on stump of the oak tree
and asks the ice horse if he understands.

Still attempting to expose brutal crimes
committed by the thief in golden suit,
the hobbit brothers follow Artemis
who leads ghost army to the pyramid
where One Eye watches people of the world
sit at global table of empty plates.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus bears plates of food for every person living on the Earth gathered in the Temple of Artemis, so they smile and eat while they listen to Apollo on stage sing the Hermead Epic of Philosophers.

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

Windy Beach Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 09 24

Reborn from sorrow of the hungry sea,
with wings designed by eager hope for truth,
I wander windy beach of everywhere
with sweet surprise that I am still alive
since I have returned from the Otherworld
with book of wisdom written in my blood.

Attentive pain of mental suffering,
that dissipates at echo of kind words,
lurks somewhere close in shadow of my heart
with hunger to devour my bitter ache
so I become more hollow than the sky,
awake in clockwork orange of divine dreams.

Once I note the abyss gazing at me
with monstrous visage of hungry desire,
I hide my true demonic soul with mask
I carve from Tree of Life my fear cuts down
so no one will mistake me for the mad clown
till I wake dark ghost sleeping in my heart.

Embarrassed by fierce hunger of my heart,
I build sprawling cathedral of grand halls
from giant diamonds poking from the plains
where the great dinosaur empress of Earth
rules global empire for eight million years
while singing heart-enchanting hymn of hope.

In frantic stillness of the evening glow
I hear soft eerie radiance of her voice
beam from the radio tower on the hill
through sane persona of her cat-black soul
which flushes tight veins of my throbbing mind
with weird ecstatic passion of lost faith.

When I return from dungeon of my heart
with writhing alligator in my hand,
I channel spirit of Orpheus clear
to navigate my journey through the maze
compiling ruins of America
in heap of old discarded principles.

Across the field of angry goldenrods
we build metropolis of pulsing graves
based on weird architecture of dream code
composed by nightgown ghost of honesty
who wears mask of the woman I love most
while eating cantaloupe by the fireplace.

Far east of Eden we explore the world
to find the mountain of the weeping girl
who cultivates her soul ten thousand years
to evolve from White Snake of Silver Lake
through psychic phases of social respect
when she creates new body for our souls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus leads thousands of refugees from war and homeless immigrants on the windy beach of everywhere to build new city of homes in the Promised Land.

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

Eternal State Of Beauty
© Surazeus
2025 09 23

While Phoebus plucks soft melancholy tune
on old guitar, his grandfather once built,
beneath the college-campus willow tree,
Fauna photographs flowers by brick walls,
fascinated by the contrast in shape and color
that represents humanity in nature.

Strolling together in the alleyway
that winds for miles between brick office buildings,
Phoebus and Fauna chat about how art
frames normal scenes of the everyday world
with magic beauty of the focused eye,
imbuing gloomy scenes with divine glow.

Holding the camera before her face,
Fauna perceives how frame of reference
seems to transform the filthy alleyway
of trashcans and poles entangled with wires
from bleak hellscape to sacred paradise
luminated with mystic fairy light.

The way beams of light from the glaring sun
slant through clouds to glow on the wretched brick,
highlighting preternatural forms of desire
with ghostly shimmer of nostalgic fear,
enchants her heart with ennui of respect
for beauty based on shadow of despair.

Approaching large glass window of the bank,
that reflects the delicate boat-shaped moon
which gleams before dawn by the Morning Star,
Phoebus and Fauna see ghosts of their souls,
Phoebe and Faunus, gazing back at them,
so they wave to their opposite-world selves.

Since our genders are fluid as the sea,
swirling with contradictory emotions
that drive us to reproduce immortal genes
in new organic packages of hope
through which we humans evolve into God,
we explore this planet with loving eyes.

While Faunus inspects bright blue azurite,
he pries from jagged cavern wall of Hell,
Phoebe photographs Queen Persephone
as she poses in long elegant gowns
to capture essence of her goddess spirit
because she radiates beauty of the heart.

With every photograph she snaps with care
Fauna chronicles our changing world
with timeless images of sacred truth
which preserves within frame of humble awe
essential nature of our hungry hearts
when we invent eternal state of beauty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus celebrates his birthday with his wife and children beneath the willow tree by the River Styx that flows in the hills of Elysium.

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