High Over Laughable Void
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

Outrageous doubt of vital escapades
reflects the tarnished gold of searing tongues
when gangs of wolves with bitter eyes of hate
arrest gardeners and cooks of paradise
by cheating honesty with harsh distress
that poisons well of justice with their greed.

Deserted lovers riding trains of fear
on iron tracks of transparent contempt
swallow sludge of vitreous smoke at dawn
while floating high over laughable void
where tender sorrow of the dead reverts
to gnarly vertigo of broken walls.

Detailing crimes of men in masks of rage,
Blind Bard records in verses of restraint
horrible events people suffer each day
while stumbling on the scales of destiny
through starry years on treeless plain of pain
with voices sealed by horizon of truth.

If she wants to resist her memories
of faces twisted by abuse through faith
she could escape false paradise of rules
to preach new program of social advance
in fierce campaign to run as senator
commissioned to protect rights of their souls.

So when she wins the vote on day of truth,
she stands before the cheering crowd with pride
to vow with earnest voice intent to serve
needs of their hearts so programs she presents
improve conditions of their struggling lives
by framing social issues with love code.

When circus tents where preachers sell sweet lies
burst into flames of holy righteousness,
bright as the fire that burns the Sinai bush,
she carves new proverbs for the modern age
on bones of dragons dug from tombs of gods
so refugees may build productive lives.

Though poetry makes nothing happen well,
poets depict what should happen with laws
that legislate behavior of state heroes
as they record events of social change
in tales where good men strive against all odds
to keep their people free from tyranny.

Preserved in books of fractured fantasy,
epic tales of noble heroes inspire
each generation of children to play
roles in endless drama of world empire
that sprouts from ruins of paradise lost
where the woman gives the man fruit to eat.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Tristan Tzara write surreal poetry with serpent blood on leather suitcases while they ride the train over the Alps where wood elves build airplanes in war factories.

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

Files Of Fractured Fantasy
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

Adjusting photos of fake memories
that I invent from lost mythologies,
I order files of fractured fantasy
to design new global democracy
based on Liberty and Justice for all
whose masks hang on the World History Wall.

Having become this conscious being of bones,
I aim my rifle at idols of stones,
contrived by files of fractured fantasy,
to shoot electric gods of piracy
from charge of intermittent outages
that program universal languages.

I surf swift waves of mental frequencies
that weave brain molecules with decencies,
lost in thick files of fractured fantasy
because they charge us for each ecstasy
we steal from moon-ghost of the misty moor
who hangs my lost mask on cathedral door.

Stripped from the sizzle-frack of flashing screens,
we build to barter hope in time machines,
our scattered files of fractured fantasy
swirl laughing in sea breeze of charity
despite conceptual frame of distinct facts
employed to prop political peace pacts.

We zoom with piston engines of desire
so we can join the global demon choir
to sing old files of fractured fantasy
based on tradition of dream fallacy
since I would never join for membership
in their exclusive club of censorship.

Designing narrative from psychic trash
in arcane magazine funded by cash,
disbursed from files of fractured fantasy,
I steal motifs of truth with blasphemy
to tell new tale of our national pride
in service to gnostic wisdom we hide.

With faith in reason of my disbelief
in transgressive ritual of social grief,
I burn weird files of fractured fantasy
to trash religious ideology
that traps our hearts in the Afterlife Lie
so I can perform my role as God Spy.

Reality must imitate the world
that increments time for the cosmic herald
to study files of fractured fantasy
indoctrinated through dream liturgy
that memory reflects our loss of beauty
so we chant spells with frantic sense of duty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus graduates with a Doctor of Philosophy degree in Psychic Theology from the University of Zarathia.

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

Lightning Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

Exclusive laughter of our bitter truth,
not honest enough for fire-induced waves,
envelops our bodies with barbed-wire words,
trapped in paperback novels pulped by pride,
which beam invincible beauty of hope
when we prevail against silence of fear.

To make friends with enemy of despair,
while managing estate of broken hearts,
I give each angel fallen from the sky
new human name that masks their vibrant soul
with transparent sorrow of falling leaves
that shroud our graves with pages of old books.

Based on filthy discord of tortured words,
tangled in sponge brains of arrogant gods,
my story services elusive good
with mountain shadows of unechoed voice
that cries destruction of the lonely world
where we give our friends what we treasure most.

Each day we wake at flash of bleeding light,
that drips from screaming star of ecstasy,
we walk with smiles of fractured fantasy
at sudden closeness of sweet-honeyed hills
where chickadees explain secret of birth
when dragon souls are born from broken rocks.

When rain of happiness, purchased from pain,
drenches moon-silver sand of the shocked beach,
we vacate bright-lit cafes and dry homes
to dance with ghosts of pessimistic wind
so we can access secret dreams of love
responsible for lightning flash of faith.

Intense expression of miserable joy
expands my consciousness of what is real
with shifting framework of our old world view
so we account for events that occur
in swift succession of soul-twisting games
till all my fantasies are stripped away.

With every song I scribble in beach sand
I chronicle weird changes of the world
so I can analyze through formulas
of psychic gods each political force
that seems to manipulate minds of men
who fight each other for the Promised Land.

Compassion for the common state of being,
we share in brutal fight to rule the world,
adjusts aggressive force of thought-control
when I break free from net of social rules
to soar on beating wings of Icarus
above vast maze of cities where you sing.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus leads thousands of dead souls through maze of city streets to find the person they each love most so they can haunt with sorrow of faith.

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

Agony Of Silent Hope
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

The woman stands in bright circle of light,
pulling the universe into her heart
with brutal smile of arrogant respect
that rearranges all my memories
so she is center of dramatic life
in which I play assistant to her truth.

I long to inhabit body of flesh
and savor pleasures of life on this Earth,
soul curved with agony of silent hope
so I swell huge beyond frame of my skull
till I remember life of every soul
who evolve millions of years into me.

On laughter of our hearts bound with red thread
we pirouette over chasm of trust,
hearts bloated with hot breath of eager faith
as we embrace with passion to transform
immortal soul of genes from fish to god,
then kiss and feed each other juicy fruit.

Despite how long I fall from empty skies,
with bones unbuckled from my naked mind,
I fill the present with dreams of the past
we share as tangled roots of hungry trees
while crawling desperately on river shore
to find sweet mushroom of eternal life.

The blue dragon fly of our pulsing hearts,
that unites our souls in marriage of love,
flits around our faces in summer heat
as we wade slowly in thick-algaed stream
to catch fish and turtles with eager hands,
then roast meat over moon-red flames of faith.

Soft amber glow of innocent desire,
that lights our faces with ethereal glow,
reminds our bodies we pulse hot with blood
as we swim slowly with the river flow,
then rise together from electric mud
and laugh with muffled climax at despair.

While sucking honeysuckle blooms of joy,
to soothe sharp pain of fragile tree-limb bones,
we cuddle among goldenrods of fate
in silver breeze that bears on outstretched wings
sly chestnut-backed chickadee with black eyes
who gives us names we cherish with each kiss.

Your long black hair of delicate concern
swirls round your face in gusts of ocean wind
as we trudge wide mudflats of honesty
to gather clams we roast on crackling flames,
then sing together in wild harmony
as we embrace under vast galaxies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia roast clams in ocean cave around glowing fire that attracts wandering tribe of hungry people who kneel to worship the goddess with silver eyes when she gives them food.

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

Road That Never Moves
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

I want to ask clouds in the distant sky
to tell her through the drops of sparkling rain
that I will always journey at her side,
but all I find is shadow of her soul
silent beside me on the meadow grass
far from the endless road that never moves.

Perhaps she will return from somewhere else
and call my name before my sunless tomb
to come forth from cold darkness of my fear
so I can walk with shadow of her soul
one hundred million years of flowing time
as we transform from mouse to faceless god.

If death is secret moving in my heart
with ache of sorrow springing tears of hope,
then I will touch the object of desire
to understand strange essence of this world
so truth invisible to dreamless eyes
may shine as lamp that guides our journey home.

The absent body of her vibrant soul
still resonates with passion of her heart
from hollow emptiness of where she glows
so when I wake from dream I find myself
standing beside myself among fruit trees,
expanding to be everywhere at once.

When our ship splits on the rock of our faith
we will rebuild material of its hope
in home with rooms to keep our memories
preserved in hymns we sing before we die,
and doors that lead our souls to other worlds
so we dwell safe in haven of shared love.

The tree of knowledge on lawn of our home
looms spectral at the silver sky of hope
with shaggy gloominess of pure respect
that weeps to see us humans live and die
through endless generations of rebirth
which surge in waves of innocent desire.

Long branches twisting at the empty sky
map disappearance of our hungry souls
as we blaze trails across the wilderness
to network cities with connective roads
while weaving empire of world-view control
which becomes the truth we cannot dismiss.

Through summer stillness of the sultry air
our lithe bodies emerge from soil of Earth
to harvest food from bounty of its faith
so we share feast of friends in temple halls
while the blind bard sings long-forgotten tales
of heroes whose dreams animate our minds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings for revelers at the glorious feast to celebrate the rise of Zarathia from the ruins of America.

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

Suffering Of Our Land
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

The clear spring in the apple forest counts
how many petals fall from dreamless hands
thousands of years to cover our lost graves
where ravens fly along turbulent streams
with agitated sorrow of my heart
that helps me break through gates of paradise.

Encoding sorrow in weird images
that illustrate the suffering of our land,
I catch words dropping from the fractured sky
and plant them in the soil of aching hearts
for we must part on trail of broken stones
which I transform into the book of dreams.

Each sudden gust of trembling air foretells
terrible storms that crash across the land
and crush our homes and gardens with disdain
of calm indifference for our fragile lives,
so we dance wild with flames of ecstasy
to celebrate rebirth of apple trees.

We paste old photos of our memories
on walls of houses in bomb-blasted towns
to paper over sorrow of our loss
so tourists visiting our quirky squares
will see the charm, and not our suffering,
though ghosts write our stories on walls in blood.

Though bombs of oligarchs destroy our homes,
disrupting museums, churches, and schools,
our children gather in fear-ruined walls
to draw charming pictures of paradise
and write poems of hope with pens carved from bones,
that channel ghost of electricity.

While landscaping lawn at the restaurant,
Narcissus thinks about his honest sons
who fight for our country in the Marines
till nine men wearing masks aim guns at him
and chase him through the streets of paradise,
then slam him to the street and cuff his hands.

Locked in the bitter prison of contempt,
Narcissus leads the nameless prisoners
in songs of revolution against hate,
but voices of their hearts for liberty
dissolve in storm of innocent dismay
till cement walls crumble into beach sand.

In green eyes of Earth Goddess I can see
millions of people yearning to live free,
so I open wide the door of paradise
and beckon they enter the Promised Land,
so they storm the Gates of Heaven with hope
to taste healthy fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus films masked men kidnapping working people from restaurants, schools, and factories, then wins best documentary prize at the film festival.

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

Promised Land Of Peace
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

Through gossamer veil of late evening mist
I leap to taste the pomegranate moon,
but fruit of passion floats beyond my reach.
Stars crumble into glass shards on the beach
that flash in curses concealed in the rune
to burn as your heart pulsing in my fist.

Foraging for apple snails of regret,
the black-winged Limpkin with star-twinkling eyes
gallops swiftly away with ungainly gait.
Kneeling before the locked heavenly gate
that glitters blood-red with diamonds of lies,
I transform as ghost of the ethernet.

Awake at dawn in the ruins of Rome,
Aurora holds star-gold light in her mouth
and threatens to bestow fame on the fool.
Forging gold beams into rings with his tool,
Vulcan plots how to take over the South
and build new empire where goatherders roam.

When water in the cauldron of my thoughts
boils with rage from flames of state tyranny,
I fight the gangs of thugs kidnapping souls.
Ill-fated fortune of my psychic roles
blooms ripe in apple of epiphany
so I wear party masks of long-dead gods.

When lightning strikes the tower of lost tales,
Selene stands in temple of fake time
to prophesy fall of the tyrant king.
Floating lightly on soft angelic wing,
she sings with voice of knowledge at the chime
that rings before destruction of sea gales.

Adrift on raft of honesty at sea,
while searching for the Promised Land of Peace,
we flee from war that engulfs our homeland.
The female Dunlin bird rests on my hand
as I lament that cruel wars never cease,
keeping calm since I wield the secret key.

Though antique towers crown the watery glade
where Science studies nature of our world,
I sport with joy in happy fields of faith.
Possessed by fierce ambition of the wraith,
I perform my role as new cosmic herald
till energy of hope begins to fade.

Acquainted with the light of solemn rain,
I walk the endless maze of city streets
to find stage of my tragic destiny.
The luminary clock of ecstasy
records accomplishment of noble feats
that I perform with nothing left to gain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sells maps to refugees of wars that show the way to the Promised Land of Peace that no one ever finds.

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

Driven From Our Holy Land
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

Fast-forward to the hour of shocking death,
I wander blithely past my pristine tomb
to gather fragrant rosebuds while I may,
for if I exhume body of my bride
to retrieve book of poems I wrote for her,
I may find her long hair has filled her grave.

Retreat from battle of the faceless god
extends courageous warranty of fate
through base security of legal bonds
I purchase with blood money of fake wealth
when I bomb palaces of arrogance
to hide my weakness with false show of strength.

Excessive pride in my accomplishments
misleads attention of my ardent hope
to play knight of the woeful countenance
brave enough to attack glass tower banks
which I mistake for giants of despair
when I sally forth to guard my homeland.

The first step in assertion of false power
to prop frail institutes of tyranny
lies in convincing honest citizens
those immigrants escaping distant wars
are less than human, evil criminals
who should be driven from our Holy Land.

Caught in swift swirling tides of social change,
I program strict analysis to play
strange games of geopolitical chess
against opponents paranoid as I,
till our vicious conflict shatters respect
that breaks our contract with good government.

Alone in White House shining on the hill,
I ponder psychic force of divine will
which I assert through illegal decree
in desperate gamble adjusting its key
slight calibrated degrees just enough
to crash fortune with my blustering bluff.

Attempting to erase the populace
who dares to challenge my authority,
I fire conceptual missiles at the sky
where Ungod mocks my feeble show of strength
till blowback from my nationalist attack
crushes my illusive bubble of power.

I lead my grand parade of loyalty
in global war to dominate the truth
with lies I weave in tangled web of facts
against the Will of Heaven to mandate
strength of my empire that will never fall
till we are driven from our Holy Land.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds corpse of the tyrant on the lawn of the palace of mirrors who was struck down by the lightning bolt of Zeus.

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

Brave Child Of Immigrants
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

If I can kick the ball into the net
before our empire collapses from greed
then I will leap abyss of honesty
to test my mettle with assertive faith
before I tumble from heavenly wall
and pick fruit in strawberry fields forever.

When gang of men who wear no uniforms,
hiding their faces with black bandit masks,
swarm the strawberry fields of industry
to arrest the hard-working immigrants
and deport them all from the Promised Land,
I film their illegal activity.

Sweat dripping from my brow in blazing sun,
I sing the blues with aching heart of hope
to call the sweet chariot of salvation
which never swoops from faceless clouds of light,
so I meet the devil at the crossroads
and sell my soul so I can play guitar.

Strumming old battered guitar of my heart,
I sing the blues on cold Chicago streets
to howl with wolf voice of the wilderness,
expressing anguish of the immigrant
who flees their homeland overrun by gangs
to seek salvation in the Promised Land.

Because I work my fingers to the bone,
constructing car engines in factories,
I grow new secret pair of angel wings
I try to hide beneath my leather coat
till passion to ascend erupts from rage
with urgency of faith to fight the power.

Linking arms with comrades on picket lines,
I strike against dangerous working conditions
and call for higher wages with respect
so I can afford to feed my family
and send my kids to college of desire
so they can buy new house and car at last.

Bearing my hungry daughter on my back,
I trudge rugged trail of the Darien Gap,
struggling through stark wilderness of pain
where Orpheus leads mute souls of the dead
across the waste land to the Promised Land
where I work as janitor at hotels.

Assembling fragments of my freedom quest
in documentary on this bitter life,
I crack jokes on stage at the smoky bar
about life as brave child of immigrants
who pick fruit in the fields of California
while I perform my television show.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays soccer on the field of dreams while his mother picks apples in the orchard of dancing skeletons.

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

Chic Fashion Store
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

Too simple for mad people of the rock,
I send new robot to the planet Mars.
Casually attempting to pick the lock,
I discover secrets of god-soul stars.
We laugh together on the river shore
then sell our souls at the corner drug store.

Electric glow on the living room wall
expands enormously from weeping books.
Gold statue of Jesus is way too tall
for me to steal recipes from blind cooks.
We wander weeping on the misty moor
after leaving our brains at the book store.

To smash idol of Jesus with clay feet
I play guitar that spins the rolling stone.
Since zombies worship the black parakeet,
we gnaw our sorrows to the broken bone.
The weeping widow in the howling door
sells apple pies at the cathedral store.

By chanting prayers of fraught anxiety
I seek shortcuts to becoming the saint.
If Death impedes my purchase of the key
then I will sell my soul and learn to paint.
To empty my mind to its chaos core
I break fragile clocks in the antique store.

We gather by the river at sunset
before gold throne where the puppet king smiles.
Moon Woman who invents the alphabet
pays me to organize oneiric files.
The white cotton dress that Emily wore
floats faceless down aisles of the grocery store.

At kiss Susanna plants inside my heart
I wake by crystal-blue Italian stream.
She plans my life-journey on her star chart
so I decide to join her music team.
After I finish my afternoon chore,
we eat ice cream at the antichrist store.

Baptism of my soul in Babylon
acquaints my spirit with the eerie night.
On dream quest in dark woods of Oregon
I find the secret of eternal light.
Though nobody but me is keeping score
I evade fate in the popular store.

Time leaves me stranded on the silent beach
so I conceal my treasure in white sand.
As gust of wind from garden beyond reach
I chase elusive grain of mystic sand.
Reborn from hunger of the dinosaur,
I buy new clothes at the chic fashion store.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus operates the store in Hell where souls of the dead go to purchase glass masks they wear when they haunt the people who loved them most.

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

Fake Hill Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

The swift bird chases last song of my heart
far from the human world of motor cars
to weave vast network of telephone lines
that connect our brains in the world wide web
till I become the wild blackberry ghost
when I lie on fake hill of anywhere.

The distant thunder of my aching heart
makes Earth vibrate with clang of angry bells
that ring from churches all across the land
to guarantee that supernatural god
exists in brain of every human soul
so I sing on fake hill of anywhere.

The wind in trees calls out my secret name
but I ignore their desperate cries for help
as I drive motor car of honesty,
that time machine that takes me where I want
despite dire warnings from the scarlet crow
who lures me to fake hill of anywhere.

Stunned by strange beauty of the motor car
that carries me through swirling eye of time,
I ask the angel where she wants to go
and she points to the rainbow bleeding tears
of acid rain dissolving towers of glass
that melt onto fake hill of anywhere.

The snowflakes on the television screen
define eccentric landscape of my dreams
with silent shroud of angst I wear at night
while I stand by the window of my mind
and watch the world destroyed by flood of words
from my house on fake hill of anywhere.

The unicorn of arrogant dismay,
who finds it difficult to arrogate
official duties to the vampire brood,
teaches accounting to old prisoners
at community college by the farm
who picnic on fake hill of anywhere.

The questions children ask of wise adults
confound philosophers of money games
despite how many homeruns Odin hits
in global game of psychic thought-control
he plays with fierce ambition of despair
as fake king of the hill of anywhere.

I hear every tree that falls in the woods
because vibration ringing in thick air
ripples so far across vast lake of time
that I can translate spells it means to chant
about decreasing tax for common folk
who worship on fake hill of anywhere.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sits on the fake hill of anywhere and plays the lyre of Mercury to sing weird wordless songs of fantasy that on one understands.

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

Distant World Of Peace
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

Though beauty of the distant world of peace
escapes reluctant passion of twilight,
the wingless angel wraps his tensile heart
around green hills where mushroom houses sprout
from endless weeping of the river flow
that leads his way to the blueberry grove.

Because he cannot see dreams of his heart
till he sings their passion in eccentric spells,
he walks along the fence of broken trust
with casual observance of stranded facts,
which inspires good citizens to oppose
aggressive program of stratocracy.

The dictionary on the windowsill
provides the wingless angel weird new words
to record shocking conditions of war
embroidered on the handkerchief of Death
depicting citizens of everywhere
working with their hands to create the world.

Engaged in holy work of regime change,
transforming warring states into empires,
the beautiful model in white silk gown
poses for cameras with sparkling eyes
to prove she is the eidolon of Helen
who lounges on the beach in Mexico.

When atoms of our bodies flash with stars
and circle Earth in gusting winds of fate,
we fill warms bodies of still-living souls
with fleeting thoughts of dreamy memories
so they weep softly with loving respect
while searching for the books we leave behind.

If Hamlet gazes in eyes of my skull
and asks about my carefree gibes of joy,
the wingless angel leads him by the hand
to glass museum of the singing skulls
which prophecy strange burning of the world
in wordless whispers of sad apple trees.

Standing on high pyramid of eyes,
she measures broad heavens of twinkling stars
by stretching long measuring cord of truth
across the rugged landscape of the Earth
to map the history of humanity
where cities grow at mouths of major rivers.

Since twinkling brightness of eternal light
never fills nor empties our hoping hearts,
we cherish conscious eagerness of love
woven in constellations of our hearts
as steady guiding light of honesty
which shows the way to our authentic selves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus hosts workshops at the University of Zarathia, teaching people how to measure the dream landscape of the mind.

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

Archives Of Fake Memories
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

Because I am the flowering sea of hope,
this century of burning monstrous thought
collapses into laughter through respect
for shadow angels who live ardently
with blasphemous desire to rewrite truth
based on drama that we must think about.

Against stark background of harsh tenderness
we disregard surprise of history
through melancholy meanness of dream code
that programs us to play survival mode
in tangent with abstractions trees extend,
encased in archives of fake memories.

Stone cottage hidden in suspicious woods
sends purple thistles with mission from god
to extricate blind robots from glass banks
so they can reproduce strawberry jam
for lonely princess on the red mushroom
who crowns the greedy frog king of the Earth.

Reflected in sad mirror on the wall,
nine literary heroes fold their brains
in huge delicate origami cranes
that float around as books with serpent eyes
chased by brass keys with bat wings of contempt
when they pose for the random photograph.

I disappear in painting on the wall
to live forever as the Fisherman
sitting peacefully in small wooden boat
on the misty lake in lush mountain woods
till sly Bianca opens door of time
to tattoo words of my song on her arm.

I ride the bus in maze of city streets
all summer to songs on the radio
about clean firmness of the naked soul
which dances laughing on shore of the lake
where wingless fairies steal keys of our homes
till planes bomb our paradise into hell.

Through chaotic necessity of truth
I dig holes in the asphalt road of faith
to find the secret treasure of the troll
who wears blue business suit and long red tie,
then end his reign of terror with the Word
that shatters crystal temple of despair.

Fixed by tragic stare of the noble clown,
I summon demons from Sunday cartoons
who teach us how to inhale oxygen
after we fall to the Earth from dreamless stars
so we can gather fruit in summer rain,
concealed in archives of fake memories.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus accepts job from Apollo to reorganize and expand the global archives of fake memories for humanity to preserve the rise and fall of empires.

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

One Homeland For All
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

When I hear sparrows in the sycamores sing,
even though soldiers have shot them all dead,
I declare with endless voice of the sea
that I support the people of each land
against the oligarchic terrorists
who control their countries with angry fear.

When I return to homeland of my birth
I find strangers living inside my home,
so I listen for the voice of my mother
but I hear rain splashing against the window
and the bread she baked has become the land
that forms the flesh of my embodied soul.

When I search for my homeland in the world
where my ancestors lived ten thousand years,
constructing homes from the songs of their bones,
I find nothing now but buildings in fields
veiled by stories in books nobody writes
that escape my hands on wild sparrow wings.

When I tell the strange story of my life
in the language my ancestors devised,
I hear their voices in the lonely wind
that scatters photos of my family
across the alley of trashcans and cats
who tell me of sadness with silent eyes.

When the old wizard in the empty church
drinks wine from skull of Hamlet with remorse,
he tells the blind king chained to the gold throne
that every war weapon he manufactures
costs money that could fund the daily lives
of his people he should protect from harm.

When the sun concentrates sharp beams of light
on kitchen garden of my aching heart,
I ask the silent sparrows in dead trees
if they will sing for us of victory
against the tyrants in their towers of glass
who charge us taxes to live on the land.

When Ariel Spirit of Creation flies
above volcano of my hungry soul,
I design my destiny with each choice
I make through principle of liberty
to help the honest people of the Earth
raise crops and feast though bombs destroy it all.

When Jesus brings the sparrow back to life
by breathing song of beauty in its heart,
perhaps the tribes of wandering refugees
may all return to homeland of their hearts
though we find other tribes living there now,
for Earth has become one homeland for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus journeys thousands of miles to find the original homeland of his tribe, but finds graves of his ancestors in every land around the Earth.

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

Names Written In Sand
© Surazeus
2025 06 21

Shocked by how far the wingless angel falls,
I carry bodies of the nameless dead
from smoking rubble of frail vanity,
heart broken at the sight of pretty faces
smeared with blood of innocent despair,
too sad to record political crimes.

Young father, clutching hand of his shocked wife,
carries two wounded children on his back
as they stumble from tall apartment building
engulfed in roaring flames of arrogance,
leaving behind photos of memories
that vanish in bitter winds of despair.

Arriving at the airport terminal,
crowded with thousands of war refugees,
the small family huddles on hard asphalt,
but no airplane with angelic wings
bears them safely to land of apple trees,
so they discard their names written in sand.

Attempting to compete with lonely death
in game of chess by striving to escape,
young father leaves his dead wife on dry sand
with their children embraced in her frail arms,
then walks across the waste land of his heart
to find art gallery by the River Styx.

Sipping wine in tall slender grail of faith,
young father observes works of abstract art,
red strips of cloth hanging from angel wings
to symbolize blood of our sacrifice
when people die in wars between rich men
who buy and sell their skulls as cryptocoins.

Diving in blue Mediterranean Sea,
young father swims with fierce demonic rage
past colossal Pillars of Hercules,
then rides graceful dolphin of Arion
to glass pyramid by Chesapeake Bay
where he works in the cellphone factory.

Though I am no Aeneas with brave heart
to shine as light for refugees to follow,
I will build empire based on enterprise
that provides analysis of events
defined by framework of conceptual peace
which requires nerves of courage to attack.

Surprised at impact of the wingless angel
that explodes with nuclear blast of contempt,
I wear television tube as strong helmet
to protect virtual model of the Earth
that crumbles into fake coins in my hands,
so I read all their names written in sand.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sifts hands in dunes of the waste land composed of sand from bodies of millions of people killed by bombs in endless wars to control the oil.

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

Oracle Of Frenzied Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 21

I carry my heart to the lonely sea
whose strange silver waves sing indifferently
with careless disregard for honesty
which I express against the empty sky
where faceless Ungod watches over me
so I return to town with charity.

Amid colossal wreck of the wood ship
dead bodies of my family on soft sand
stare blankly at the empty sky with faith
in resurrection at the judgment day,
but I watch bodies crumble into dust
till glowing skeletons dance in moonlight.

I know the splendor of the singing sea
that pulses hot in tangled web of veins,
presenting evidence of clarity
through rational critique of chastity
irrelevant to code of psychic games
beyond fraught nature of absurdity.

Intense ecstatic high of verity,
which complements the legal game of greed,
compels my soul to cartwheel over Hell
in shattered blink of light which catapults
my wingless body at the empty sky
till I fall back to Earth in breathless flight.

When I explore dilapidated cairns
where secret hall of books preserves lost dreams,
I find mask of my face on shadowed wall
deep in tangled thicket of my true heart
since I still ruminate on what we lost
through ravenous credulity of hope.

With vatic gaze of social energy
I study human faces on bright streets
and wonder where in maze of hard-locked doors
they go to find the person they love most
based on unexplained wonder of desire
composing destinies of strange affairs.

We write our questions in the book of fate
before the oracle of frenzied faith
can cheat our hearts with fantasies of fear
because we all vote for the charlatan
who renders judgment on what we deserve
then throws our bodies in the ditch of death.

Inspired by shock of fraught anxieties,
we ride our horses in calm prairie wind
in search for Justice in the wilderness
while praising valor of the honest soul
who never bows before authority,
exiled to wander by the lonely sea.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus leads souls of the dead to the lonely sea where the Librarian gives each one the story of their life which they wrote with every deviant choice.

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

Brave Bavarian Spirit
© Surazeus
2025 06 20

For Halloween on next October night
I will go dressed as the honest Kurt Eisner
who ruled the Folk State of Bavaria
after they drove out the arrogant king
with program to attend prosperous peace
till he was shot in the back by despair.

Cruel tyrants always grasp for social power
with fierce intent to found their dynasty
through aggressive violence against dissent,
but honest philosophers like Kurt Eisner
rise from the crowd of earnest discontent
to support fair justice through liberty.

Though none remember Kurt Eisner today,
his ghost crowded off stage of history
by hordes of vampires fighting for the wand
that Charlemagne wielded with self-control,
his spirit focused on rights of the people
inspires honest folk to fight monarchy.

From ruins of shattered political states
wise seers enlightened by philosophy
construct republics based on equal rights
with liberal principles which constitute
functional departments that should provide
broad services for every citizen.

The brave soul motivated by respect,
who dedicates their heart with solemn vow
to cultivate skills of talented hands,
employs courageous art of sacrifice
that nurtures loyal love of citizens
to work for the greater good of their state.

Though I live far across the globe
from fertile valleys of Bavaria
where my ancestors thrived ten thousand years,
my heart remains in ancient misty woods
where spirit of my courage still runs free
with moon-eyed wolves of courteous liberty.

My face, reflected in clear Chiemsee Lake,
reveals Elysian landscape of my dreams
where I perceive pure essence of the Earth
refracted clear through hearts of human souls
who gather on lush lake shore every year
for grand festival on midsummer eve.

With brave Bavarian spirit of the wolf,
alive with passion for beautiful truth
that glows sun-hot in core of my true being,
I fight for strong communal charity
to reinforce justice and liberty
that pulses as heart of democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury and sings the Niebelungenlied to enraptured crowd on midsummer eve.

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

Runes On Bones Of God
© Surazeus
2025 06 20

When my heart aches with the sorrow of loss,
remembering souls of people killed by bombs,
I carve their names with runes on bones of God
to preserve spirit of courage and hope
though their conscious minds dissipate in wind
so their voices sing when I play the flute.

Recording variants of the human soul
with measured templates of precise details,
I draw beauty with runes on bones of God,
trimmed by the flawless angst of earnest hope
with twirling blocks that should align all time
with savage moment of our holy kiss.

Forgetting sorrows that drip from wet leaves
as bitter rain long tangled in sly knots,
I smear passion with runes on bones of God
to raze enormous castles of blind greed
that levels playing field for social game
when merchants sell wishes to haughty fools.

Because the future still changes the past
despite intensive force of happiness,
I weave stories with runes on bones of God
that highlight guilt of the vulnerable heart
who plays charade of romance for the crowd
when angels execute the lonely queen.

With blessed assurance of the endless game
adjusting harmony of urgent speed,
I recalculate runes on bones of God
past far horizon of the happy horse
who shows me where our words in silence drown
at startled recognition of the clown.

Soft petals of mulberry violets
sprout from stone idol of the Buddha skull
each time I scribble runes on bones of God
no matter how long devils meditate
in vain attempt to transcend human needs
for us betrayed by weakness of the flesh.

When fierce Athena gazes down at me
with eyes that flash bright lightning bolts of love,
I kiss her lips with runes on bones of God
to show how deeply I adore her soul
through signs that indicate alternatives
to sharp equation of her wedding dress.

When she wears mask of luminous concern
to face unfiltered light of cosmic truth,
I map the trail with runes on bones of God
where she wears sacred artifact of faith
as white lace dress iconic from her art
to show me wisdom at the cliff of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus eats apple pie baked by Emily Dickinson who shyly plucks strings on the lyre of Mercury and asks if he will teach her how to play and sing spells of truth.

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

With Courage In My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 06 20

I rise each day with courage in my heart
on tattered wings of fierce angelic hope
and fly across our land of liberty
to fight for freedom and justice for all
when I confirm my soul with self-control
and save America from tyranny.

I rise each day with courage in my heart
in road-worn boots of opportunity
and stumble signless road of urgency
to work with hands of grim humility
constructing engine of stability
and save America from tyranny.

I rise each day with courage in my heart
from rancid soil of arrogant desire
as warrior springing from sharp dragon teeth
to challenge greed of false authority
based on stark horror of soul-hungry death
and save America from tyranny.

I rise each day with courage in my heart
encased in armor of noble respect
with sword and shield forged from experience
to break heart-crushing chains of slavery
when the rich exploit the poor to gain wealth
and save America from tyranny.

I rise each day with courage in my heart
through boundless energy of honest faith
asserting moral strength of rectitude
to support brave Goddess of Liberty
who manages our world democracy
and save America from tyranny.

I rise each day with courage in my heart
with valid information of the light
exposing propaganda falsity
to prove the real with scientific facts
dispelling haze of cruel mendacity
and save America from tyranny.

I rise each day with courage in my heart
through stoic fortitude of loyalty
attending duties of my daily work
to build our nation with tenacity
where every person pursues happiness
and save America from tyranny.

I rise each day with courage in my heart
and chronicle events that change the world
with quill of truth from fallen-angel wing
to strengthen United Nations of Earth
where every soul is equal in one law
and save America from tyranny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus marches with millions of honest citizens who protest tyranny in no kings demonstration to support democracy.

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

Goalless Road Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 06 19

Once I encompass desert of despair,
proceeding on the goalless road of hope,
I feel unconscious jury of my heart
expand beyond blazing width of the sun
with accurate attention of One Mind
to estimate strange bitterness of pain.

Though ignorance is angel of my heart
that pilots me along the goalless road
past apparitions of our faceless souls
that bloom as petals on the wet black bough,
I build conceptual church of solitude
on burdened landscape of the shadowed moon.

Chromatic opposite of my pale brain
vibrates with fractured shards of arrogance
that spirals out from core of my heart void
with rich embellishment of wordless wind
through cyclic whiteness of stark assonance
as subtle sorrows rippling on the pond.

Though I indulge myself with faithful fear,
contrived by rich refusals of respect,
no proverb can suffice to allocate
extensive puzzles scattered on hot sand
across the flat horizon of my hope
because I hone my heart to edge of time.

My body maps the goalless road of fate
from birth to death in progress beyond why
by plotting course across the restless sea
as floating frame of shining molecules,
programmed with light to sing the river tune
which binds emotional reserve with love.

I see myself costumed in robe of fire
each time I enter stage of time and play
role of dire fate I choose to sacrifice
my mortal soul with shrewd sincerity
and save the world from horror of desire
though I continue to consider why.

When torrents of regressive rain disturbs
heart-tangled roots of ancient sprawling oaks,
they tumble down the rugged hill of faith
to crush the howling skulls of vampire gods,
exposing privacy of secret thoughts
which ravens steal from corpse of my blind soul.

Lost in dark maze of asphalt city streets,
drenched in relentless drizzle of cold rain,
I growl with primal dragon soul of lust
to fuel aggressive energy of power
so, reborn as Apollo from cracked Earth,
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus visits Emily Dickinson in her flower garden where she serves him tea and crumpets while they chat about despair amid the butterflies.

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

Behind His Invisible Face
© Surazeus
2025 06 19

Stopping in the woods one warm summer eve,
Narcissus gazes in pool of his heart
to understand weird secret of his soul,
but all he sees are shadows of desire
that flicker with beams of sunlight on water
hidden behind his invisible face.

Tiresias, that beautiful young man
wearing long red robe that priestesses wear,
told me with ominous voice of the sky,
when my father brought me to his dream cave,
that I would live well with wealth and success
if I never get to know my true self.

While gazing at his face in the clear pool,
Narcissus hears sweet voice of a tree nymph
echo among trees in the apple grove,
so he hurries toward heart-enchanting song
to find young woman in red priestess robe
who sings as she weeps with tears of the sky.

Your face reflects with beauty of sunlight
ache of desire that motivates my heart
to understand beast nature of my soul
so I confirm my soul with self-control
to treat you with selfless love of respect
rather than attempt to control your body.

Leaping from shadow of angry despair,
Nemesis grabs young Echo in his arms
and presses sharp knife blade against her throat
as he demands that she accept his love,
but she cries that she rejects him again,
then asks Narcissus for help to escape.

Notching arrow in yew bow of his heart,
Narcissus aims past her beautiful face
and shoots sharp point that kills the angry youth,
then bears sweet Echo in comforting arms
safe to the haven of his temple hall
where he tends her wound and serves healthy food.

Gazing at delicate shape of her face,
eyes gleaming blue as water of the pool,
Narcissus whispers as their soft lips touch,
by looking outward at face of your soul
I understand inner state of my soul,
for I know real me in strangeness of you.

Echo bears child from spirit of Narcissus
who names the beautiful boy for his father,
brave river god Cephissus with green eyes,
so he takes growing son to apple grove
to show him face in mirror of the pool
and explain how to understand himself.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia visit Narcissus and Echo at their temple home in the apple grove to drink wine and share stories while their sons Cephissus and Orion play by the pool.

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

Hearth Of The Parthenon
© Surazeus
2025 06 19

Fifty years ago children would play wild
in the wide streets all summer afternoon
with eager passion for the roles they choose
in carefree timelessness of grassy lawns,
but now they sit at computers on desks
and weave visions across the world wide web.

I want to go outside in the bright glow
and ride my bike along the quiet streets
past houses where children play on small lawns
to the library on the college campus
where the round fountain splashes peacefully
in the wooded hills of northeastern Texas.

Pausing outside the brick library door,
I gaze up at clouds in the pale blue sky,
but see no airplanes from the last world war
dropping bombs to destroy our way of life,
so I stroll inside and sit at the desk
to read of languages and alphabets.

Strolling with Bilbo in the Misty Mountains,
then through spidery shadows of Mirkwood,
I join his quest to find the secret treasure
of gold and jewels in the Lonely Mountain
where dragon of tyranny rules the world
till Bard shoots him down with arrow of truth.

We travel north in the blue pickup truck
to dwell in the shadow of Mount Takoma
near the Cascade Mountains in Washington,
called the Yamakiasham Yaina range,
where ancient tribes of forest people dwell
along the sparkling Nichiwana River.

Hiking in pine woods around Mount Takoma,
I search for ancient treasure of my heart
in timeless quiet of the lake-side grove,
till northern spotted owl calls my true name,
then Calliope, daughter of Apollo,
gives me the ancient lyre of Mercury.

Orpheus teaches me how to sing spells
with power to enchant the human mind
with tales of heroes who write history
to build foundation of philosophy
on which our world civilization stands
that spreads bright from hearth of the Parthenon.

I chuckle at how my creative brain
invents grand legend of heroic deeds
from random journey of my mortal soul
across the crowded landscape of this world
where thousands of prophets preach their world views
till we die and our books crumble to dust.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus tells the young singer he is ready to go out into the world on his own private quest to find the ancient treasure of truth in stories of human life.

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

Giant Fish Of Urgency
© Surazeus
2025 06 18

Thoughtless ice plate that floats above the book
decides to redecipher puzzle code
contrived from jokes by old man of the sea
who wrestles giant fish of urgency
while accounting for all profit and loss
regulated by the odious machine.

Therefore we humans worship the sly cook
who prepares delicious meal from the toad
that swallows arbitrary jealous key
in attempt to redefine potency
achieved by laughter of the global boss
who keeps falling in love with Melusine.

Refusing to sleepwalk much of the time
by redeveloping weird arcane ways,
we choose how we assert socialized force
though they regurgitate anthems of power
when things get more difficult to avoid
if asked to prove the past is paper thin.

Communal laws define state of the crime
with dream about our journey in the maze,
too difficult to maintain steady course
through brutal storm to tall demonic tower
where Frankenstein builds the clever android
to rule as king of those who never win.

Deciding I am the rascal of truth,
I jump over the fence of ancient rules
in bold defiance against tyranny
controlled by the preacher without the book
we use to fly on wings of fantasy
after escaping from the underworld.

Waiting for reign of the messiah sleuth,
who decides what children study in schools,
I trade my freedom for the barony
at the opportune time when angels look
deep in heart of the bashful Pharisee
who mocks our star faith in the cosmic herald.

Waiting for nothing to happen tonight,
I stretch my soul in swirl of symmetry
through bid to establish friendship with Fate
as permanent mirage of thoughtless seeds
that glimmer with electric mask of Zeus
which I wear on my endless journey west.

Counting puzzle pieces fractured by light,
I attend state college of puppetry
to learn how artists transform bitter hate
into rigid doctrine of social creeds
that set rules for how we should reproduce
in the treasure book I find on the weird quest.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus burns thousands of his paintings in the bonfire on Mount Parnassus to prove he is not motivated by money or ideology.

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

Church Of Arrogant Doors
© Surazeus
2025 06 18

Despite the nothingness of rotting apples
people gather in small groups by the lake
to share anecdotes of their aching hearts
while giving each other boxes of dreams
that flutter away in the gust of wind
which erases everything they should know.

The broken statue in the large town square
watches them go about their daily lives
with diamond eyes that see dreams of their brains
washed clean by eagerness of evening rain
at the hour when only the one-armed boy
keeps watch by the fountain full of snakes.

Yet the man on the horse with silver eyes
appears at dawn with the new book of lies
which he opens to investigate how
happy citizens think about the bees
swarming from the church of arrogant doors,
distracted by eerie cry of the owl.

Though we drive wagons for ten thousand years,
that harnessed horses of the windy plains,
we now drive piston-engine cars of fate,
those time machines of urgent wizardry
we race across the vastness of the world
forever chasing rainbows to find gold.

When monstrous demon of excessive greed
haunts the bright castle shining on the hill
till the caring king goes mad with sharp grief,
the glamorous vampire with blood-painted face
dispels doubt from the hearts of citizens
with gleaming pearl of pure draconic truth.

No guardian angel with electric wings
hovers over the small village by the lake
protected by brackish swamps of huge snakes,
so I play spectator of charity
to protect my people from thunder storm
by dancing in the rain and shouting madly.

The honest rooster wakes them all at dawn
so they gather around corpse of the Hydra
which I roast on the fire for all to eat
delicious despair seasoned with sour sauce
designed to reflect beauty of the heart
so every person has their own address.

Romantic realm of individual seers
who wander mountain vales of hungry ghosts
attracts the lone wolf from the empty church
who paints portraits of gentle country folk
which hang in the big city gallery
to celebrate the paradise we lost.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sits by the statue and paints portraits that glamorize the strange beautiful faces of people who live in the fishing village.

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

Blast Of Hateful Bombs
© Surazeus
2025 06 18

These eyes that connect my mind to the world,
once plump as grapes newly swelling from vines,
wither and wrinkle in bright heat of truth
so events I observe on stage of fear
contract into fractured shards of lost faith
which I assemble in puzzles of hope.

Through crackled swirl of smoke from blasting bombs
I see young woman with long tangled hair
cry out for beauty of the shattered world
to pursue shadows with freedom of light,
but Parnia falls from Heaven on torn wings
as dying star that sizzles in my heart.

Bearing cinders of the angel with care,
I trudge along the empty asphalt road,
hoping to preserve flame of her lost soul
long enough to help her reincarnate
in soulless robot with computer brain
programmed to calculate safe way of fate.

Kneeling before giant mushroom of hope,
I place fragile flame of angelic soul
in egg that gleams before the moon-eyed toad,
then chant occultic spells of ardency
to channel psychic beams of energy
refracting light through prism of my heart.

Strange scarlet glow inside the pulsing egg
congeals eclectic rays of ancient stars
to fictile body molded from moist clay
that transforms into angel with twelve wings
who rises tall from rancid muck of Earth
to soar on rainbow wings above storm clouds.

Yet when I blink to clear view of my eyes,
I see conceptual face of my soul mate
as normal woman sitting at my side
who glances up from book of poems she reads
and asks me if I want something to eat,
so I squeeze her hand and smile with delight.

Though woman I love as queen of our home
dwells safely in firm shelter of my care,
thousands of women in far distant lands
lie dead or wounded in rubble of faith,
or wander traumatized in cluttered streets,
because cruel men blast their world views with bombs.

My wife and her best friends with sparkling eyes
stroll together in long wind-fluttered gowns
on white-sand beach beside blue shimmering sea,
sweet vision of our secret paradise
that vanishes at blast of hateful bombs
which pierce my eyes with shrapnel of despair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia gravely wounded in rubble of their home after the tyrant sends planes to bomb their town into rebellious submission.

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

Paper Gods Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

Strange silence between each word I never speak
that surges from vast underworld of fear
translates screech of the owl in lunar code
to snarky riddles car mechanics share
while they barbecue hamburgers with sauce
on moonlit beach for paper gods of faith.

Weird prophecies sealed in the Vatican
describe lake valley where glass horses play
hide and seek with heroic ghosts of fate
that pass through spirals of unmeasured air
with rainbow wings only children can see
who crayon-color paper gods of faith.

Athena plays the quantum flute of time
so flashing particles of mindless light
flow quick together in synchronous waves
which bloom as apples on the Giving Tree,
deceiving me to think I that I could live
in Heaven made by paper gods of faith.

When my soul swells huge as the sparkling lake,
where First Mother rose from liquid of hope,
I float blissfully aware of cruel greed
above vast maze of towers I dream real
so I can empty my star-hungry heart
long supported by paper gods of faith.

Intense emotion of buzzing phonelines
persists in contradiction I explore
between patient endurance of suffering
and frantic assertion of dominance,
wound tight with emptiness of honest words
outlined too well by paper gods of faith.

To play the quantum flute of chaos theory,
forever on globe of atomic words
when my reign begins the apocalypse,
I wear mask of my personality
captured by the photograph years before
that outlines play for paper gods of faith.

Entranced by wonder of this modern world,
vast city mazes of cathedral halls
where wizard of words deprograms the state
by singing childish folk songs long forgot,
I provision journey to Nowhere Land
where I hide cash in paper gods of faith.

Each time I realize with ironic faith
that gods suck energy from human souls,
I call you home across the distant plain
so we can share intimate hours of love
since devils and angels misunderstand jokes
stretched frail with love for paper gods of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus rehearses confession of love for Ophelia by the pool where Narcissus shares selfies on thirteen social media sites.

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

Flute Of Joyful Angst
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

Deep in the lonely city of my heart
where sparrows refuse to fly with fake wings,
I search for secretive words of dead trees
that shower my body with fractured light
trapped by potential echo of the voice
that crawls on rat feet in the alleyway.

With adamant faith in the dreamless bus
I wait in whisper of reluctant poles
dripping icicles of hope from phone lines
that teach selfless love to the Argonauts
who play hide and seek till the evening falls
in empty museum of the brain clock.

Urged by aggressive thrust of life, I leap
astonished by commotion of the mind
that blazes bright with holy breath of moons
too far away to see with naked eyes,
so I carve statue of the faceless god
in narrow niche of the small country church.

No reader stays to observe doom of death
that spreads my virtue in the narrow tomb
where minds too generous for the harsh world
mingle with dust of the dark shining Earth,
since luster of my name forever fades
like star that gleams long after it burns out.

Awake on fruitful sphere of spinning Earth,
I measure distance around pear-shaped globe
to study every tribe of human souls
which thrive on shores of rivers that collect
tart tears of those who suffer tyranny
so I expand my conscious sense of truth.

When I confront beautiful truth of life
to comprehend weird nature of my mind,
I square the circle of eccentric faith
to formulate limits of time and space
so universal element of love
flashes rainbows through prism of my heart.

I love to climb the mountain by your side
to wake immortal spirit of the Muse
from dragon egg of our contingent heart
with delirious rush of ecstatic joy
that we could avoid Death another day
and savor pleasure of rain on our skin.

To understand strange riddle of our house
we listen to the howl of ghostly wolves
whose eyes appear in glow of candle flames
while Willow plays her flute of joyful angst
to predict probabilities that puzzles
reflect wandering photons of my soul.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus studies photographs of stars to comprehend psychology of complex relationships between strange varieties of humans.

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

Shield Of Silent Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

If you target my kind generous heart
for assassination with bitter words,
I forge considerate shield of silent faith
from firm belief in goodness of the world
to maintain implicit integrity
on which I found attention of my love.

After you give me with nonchalant hand
basket of strawberries too tart to eat,
I boil them in pot of angry regret
till they transform into syrup of peace,
so when you return with wagon of wheat
I feed you with pancakes of calm respect.

Placing plate of fried buttermilk pancakes
on wood table before the grim-faced farmer,
Leone pours strawberry syrup on top,
and smiles when Frank devours it with pride,
grinning like wolf that devours stray plump sheep,
and his stone face softens in sunset glow.

Just as Frank finishes the last pancake,
stone-tipped arrow with eagle feathers whisks
through cotton curtain and thwacks on his book
with half-written poem beside the black quill,
so he grabs his rifle and runs outside
to see Hotah surrounded by five men.

Shocked at sight of his Sioux friend and his wife,
gentle Zonta with their daughter Wachiwi,
surrounded by Zachary and his sons,
Frank shouts and runs to stand beside strong Hotah,
then aims his rifle at the five cowboys
who shout and aim their rifles at his heart.

"Why protect this vile thief," Zachary growls,
who keeps hunting deer in my private woods?"
Asserting authority of his land,
Frank declares, "They are all now on my land,
so I give them sanctuary with faith.
Leave my land for they are guests of my home."

Gesturing for his sons to lower their guns,
Zachary growls and retreats down the road,
but threatens to kill them if he hunts again.
Frank growls back, "That land along the lake shore,
which you claim by right of your greedy gun,
belonged to Hotah and his whole tribe first."

Protecting his friends from five angry men,
Frank explains with assertive voice of truth,
"This whole land belonged to his thriving tribe,
his father Mahkah, and his father Mato,
and so on since the beginning of time.
You and my father stole this land from them."

Pointing to the woods where herds of deer roam,
Frank reminds him, "The deer in those wild woods
are free for anyone to hunt for food
as ancestors of Hotah did for centuries."
Guiding Hotah, Zonta, and Wachiwi safe
inside his home, Frank offers them pancakes.

After they all eat stacks of hot pancakes
with strawberry syrup, and apple cider,
Wachiwi and Zipporah dance together,
two young girls with happy star-spangled eyes
singing with joy before the glowing hearth
while Hotah beats drum and Frank plays guitar.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus welcomes Paul and Hotah with their wives and children to his home on the range where the buffalo roam, and the skies are not cloudy all day.

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

Progress On Road Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

The jester who animates my stoic heart
urges me to progress on road of life
while I conserve my basic principles
that maintain integral spirit of faith
which guides my journey to the Promised Land
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell.

Asserting liberal code of honesty
through my individual autonomy,
I choose to pursue personal interests
and account for the actions of my hands
within structured framework of liberty
so I do what I will, if I harm none.

With tolerance of human differences
expressed through diversity of lifestyles
I recognize importance for the truth
measured by varied perspectives of fact
to participate in my own governance
and promote social justice for everyone.

Though grand cathedral of catholic faith
has been shattered by industrial advance
based on piston engine technology
which channels strict electric energy
to power world food-production machine,
I trace architecture of founding concepts.

Foundation of western civilization,
composed from conceptual ideas of things,
was designed by Plato to explicate
how linguistic psychology defines
objects based on universal ideals
that persist in Heaven Realm of Ideas.

Things are formed from Idea of the Thing
through categories of special examples
so trees that exist in bounds of time and space
shape matter into pattern of its form,
constructed from atoms of pulsing light
that shimmer in vast matrix of our souls.

Though people blind with fear will congregate
into nationalist states of paranoid greed,
desire for freedom to pursue our dreams
defies aggressive grip of tyranny
when various people unite separate states
to design United Nations of Earth.

Instead of performing rites of state power
through grand ceremony of solemn acts,
I prance across landscape of Earth with joy,
and sing while strumming lyre of Mercury
as jester loyal only to myself,
choosing to create rather than destroy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus teaches class in philosophy about ideas of Plato that describe linguistic psychology for how the brain designs a world view from human memory preserved in scriptures of stories about great people.

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

How To Unface The Mind
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

Clear eye of truth that sees the great beyond
describes exigency of divine fate
that we invent from ripples in the pond
when storms of sorrow suddenly abate,
which leaves us stranded on the beach of hope
to clutch at nuisance of the need to cope.

The half-open door, tangled with long vines,
discretely reveals costume for the role
I play on stage where I speak solemn lines
that apply art of unselfing the soul
when I follow crows in the labyrinth
in vain search for daughter of Hyacinth.

If the sky is birdless ten thousand years
then I will lead the rabble out of town
to find torn letters soaked with bitter tears
snagged on sharp points of the dejeweled crown
which shimmers brighter than the fickle moon
at heart-wrenching anguish of the rain tune.

Preparing food on marble counter top,
wicked witch of the west, in white lace gown,
glares at me with the knife, ready to chop
apples I stole from garden of the clown
who teaches me how to unface the mind
to reveal true history fraudsters designed.

Immutable with shock of ocean song,
she brews sweet antidote to soothe my pain
so I ask Hydra about what went wrong
who strides with glamor of the social vain
till I build our home on the misty moors
where we raise flock of gentle manticores.

Yet thief who marks my words with ink of blood
leaves nothing I would value in my bones
so I mold body for my soul from mud
though violins haunt empty tombs with groans
for perpetual glitter of secret thoughts
hidden in gloom where my sincere love rots.

Locked inside the lidless box of my heart,
my demon writhes against dutiful laws
till Pericles asks me to draw new chart
that maps way of success for our great cause
since I will never tire of this weird world
which I have designed for the cosmic herald.

From bottom of the ocean I return
to stand tall with regal authority
on pyramid of power where globes turn
through living laughter of true charity
because I am faceless brain of the sun
dedicated to always having fun.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus teaches children how to paint masks in class on art of unselfing the divine soul of atoms.

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