Delivery Of The Keys
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Whoever asks the angel for her name
will vanish in wind of meaningless words
by teleporting to the Promised Land
that turns out to be the galactic zoo
where happy children are brainwashed in school
to worship face of the arrogant fool.

Somebody keeps knocking on the back door
so Michael stumbles over divine spear,
but no one is standing on the back porch,
so he drinks beer and watches football game
between Angels and Devils for thought control
when God and Satan gamble for our lives.

Orpheus fills out job application forms
at every busy car factory in town,
but no one wants to hire the psychopomp
who, they fear, would form strong union of workers
to oppose unfair business practices
because they earn low wages for long hours.

When Michael, racing his pickup too fast,
knocks over motorbike Orpheus drives,
they fistfight outside the locked Baptist church,
then eat hamburgers at the country bar,
yet both fall in love with the young blonde girl
who plays guitar and sings of broken hearts.

Venus goes home with the archangel Michael
and gasps with pleasure when he spreads his wings
that shimmer silver as wings of the swan
just as the clock in the oak strikes thirteen
to signal coming of the serpent princess
born nine months later from the queen of love.

While wandering in vast maze of city streets
Orpheus sneaks in library of books
where he sees Aurora with long red hair
reading books about the history of art
so they talk about linear perspective
devised by wise Filippo Brunelleschi.

Invited by the savior of the world
to attend the delivery of the keys,
Orpheus waits on the plaza at dawn
to understand where the sun goes at night,
but decides that angels do not exist
though Michael has become his new best friend.

Piloting the passenger jet in Heaven,
Michael explains over the intercom
that they are passing over Rocky Mountains
where nymphs and satyrs dance in alpine meadows
till they are arrested by black-masked agents
and deported back to Arcadia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus forms union of autoworkers and fights to enforce the rule that they work no more than eight hours a day for fair living wages.

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

Evolving Fish To God
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Startled by how fast the world spins in space,
I sip hot chocolate on the river shore
and listen to weird ghosts of carolers
sing sweetly in the hot late summer night
about the birth of the heir to the king
who will lounge in safe castles till he dies.

Eager to understand why devils laugh
while dancing with abandon of the mad
in sparkling sorrow of the waterfall,
I pet the stray kitten in the bookstore
while people wander lost in Wonderland
to find the oldest woman in the world.

Amazed at beauty of the human race
that blooms in rich variety of forms,
I make one puppet for each human soul
to play their part in pageant of desire
with fierce expression of their blazing eyes
at tragic consequence of bitter fate.

Amused at strangeness of electric stars,
I lie alone beneath the boundless sky
and watch the Pleiades glitter with joy
as apples hanging in the tree of life
where swift Orion stops to rest a while
who weeps because his shy sister is lost.

Hungry to consume words of ancient tales,
I turn my bare face to the urgent sky
to feel eccentric drops of frantic rain
construct assertive format of my mind
while I break bread with hands of honest faith
to feed eight billion people of the Earth.

Absolved of sordid sins my heart denies,
though I do what I must do to survive,
I walk two thousand seven hundred miles
from Seattle to Denver to Miami
where I float on my back in the clear sea
and remember evolving fish to god.

Astonished at the way our world view shifts
expansive scope of faith at shock of truth
that reframes how my brain perceives the world,
I assemble vast puzzle from weird facts
that redefines the meaning of our being
in virtual model of the multiverse.

Embarrassed that my Self might not exist
as more that figment of my imagination,
I wear crystal mask of Zeus Cosmetes
at the wild fantastic Halloween party
that lasts ten thousand years of history,
then trudge home and fall asleep on my lawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus performs the cosmic play of the Olympians with puppets for children gathered at the bookstore on Sunday afternoon.

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

Great American Tree
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Harsh reality of this changing world
never matches ideal state we dream of,
yet I hold high bright lamp of that ideal
as guide to light my way through endless maze
in bold courageous quest to change the world
so we live well through peace of liberty.

Based on grand concept of the ideal state
designed with equality to enhance
justice through truth as the American Way,
I strive to live up to those principles,
though greedy people grasping to gain power
sully our reputation with vile deeds.

All human beings who live on this broad land
across vast scape from sea to shining sea,
regardless of their gender, race, or creed,
possess inalienable rights at birth,
whether in her nest, or across the sea,
to live in freedom from any control.

We confirm innocent state of our soul
through conscious discipline of self-control
within attentive bounds of legal force
to live as we will with creative hope
as long as we cause other souls no harm
when we create good instead of destroy.

Grand vision of our American Way
presents progressive process of creation
through conservative adjustment of action
to produce food and goods we sell in stores
with capital investment for production
then social distribution to all who need.

When Adam needs tools and seeds to grow crops
expanding scope for the Garden of Eden,
he climbs ziggurat of Heaven at dawn
to ask God for investment of gold coins
as loan so he can produce crop of wheat
in fields fertilized by milk-flowing cows.

Adam and Eve tend crops and fruit-tree groves
while Lucifer, the finance minister,
scribe son of the priest, who worked his way up,
contends with son of God, the crown prince Jesus,
to rule the kingdom when the old man dies,
tempting farmers to vote for him as God.

The Garden of Eden, in land of Sumer,
enclosed by sturdy walls of paradise,
which I constructed with my bleeding hands
to protect my wife and children from harm,
expanding far the past six thousand years,
blooms now as the Great American Tree.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings epic tale about the fall of Lucifer and paradise lost for Adam and Eve as they feast with their huge family of descendants.

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

Obelisk Of Infinite Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 08 30

Lost in obelisk of infinite eyes,
body twisted in spiral galaxies,
Orpheus asks the old woman with eyes
gleaming bright in open book of her hands
where he can find the Garden of Delights,
but she gives him the flute she carved from bone.

Headlights of passing cars gleam on the house
where no one has lived for two thousand years
so often beams of energy transform
from darkness into shadow of the girl
who wears the clean white lace communion dress
so Orpheus stops and steps from the car.

Skipping around him in the midnight rain
while chanting Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
the young girl tosses silver butterflies
that flock around him on hurricane wings,
so he unlocks door of the empty house
and walks down infinite hallways of time.

Each door Orpheus passes opens wide
as portal to another mirror world
that all branch off from the only real world
to glow as concepts of what could have been,
then fade away in gloom of yesterday
since each choice we assert creates tomorrow.

While he plays haunting melodies at night
on bone flute carved by Tethys in the cave,
Orpheus ponders why all conscious souls
that animate fragile bodies of flesh
will vanish in the nothingness of death,
but finds no answer in the silent dawn.

Ten thousand ghosts, who keep following him
as he plays eerie tunes on the bone flute,
dissipate when rays of dawn unveil fear
and recreate the teeming world of forms
composed of atoms swerving in the void
while he watches people fish on the beach.

When Orion finds on the ocean shore
tall black obelisk of infinite eyes,
he asks his blind mother Ophelia
if she remembers where the old road goes,
but she sails away on the wind-winged ship,
so he carves idol of Ozymandias.

Returning home in hills of Arkansas,
Orpheus drives long winding country road
through ancient forest of the smiling ghost
to rickety cabin by the stony brook
where Ophelia bakes sweet apple pie
beside obelisk of infinite eyes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stares amused at thousands of television screens that show his complete life cycle he lives on countless mirror worlds of the multiverse that does not exist except in his head.

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

Orange Peels Curl
© Surazeus
2025 08 30

The childhood book tucked beneath the floorboard
preserves sad fairytales of long-lost lands
which crawl across the yard of rotting leaves
where orange peels curl in strange innocent rain
that patters softly on piano keys
because letters from her lover dissolve.

He finds strands of her hair swirling in wind
from branch of the apple tree by the pond,
and also on the pillow in dark hall
where the afternoon sun lays her warm head
after rain storms off with angry despair
to leave ghost of her absence in his heart.

Climbing the mountain path before sunrise,
feet crunching rocks where arrogant gods strode,
they search for light beyond the end of time
with vow to build Utopia with their hands
just as Aurora blazes bright with flames
dispelling darkness of their anguished hearts.

Awake with sweet delirium of truth,
shy lovers embrace on the mountaintop
at orgasmic blast of the rising sun
that fills their bodies with billions of stars,
each one nurturing its planet of souls
with frantic miracle of charity.

At sparkling center of our multiverse
Orpheus drinks cinnamon apple wine
with nonchalant contempt of hungry death,
while shy Ophelia swirls the rainbow
to paint the marble statue of her god
who always tries to run away with faith.

Orange juice stains his hands with sweet stickiness
as he peels delicious fruit of the sun
and watches children play chase in the yard
with young horses that shake shimmering manes,
aware that the bright meteor of desire
streaks across enclosed mirror of the sky.

They survey cluttered landscape of the Earth
with eyes of the moon wolf who understands
song of ocean waves which readjusts fate
each time another blind person decides
to sell their family name to the sad clown
who chooses greed as the best way to live.

The farmer stands alone in field of wheat,
hand clutching instrument that programs need,
and asks the princess with torn angel wings
if she would be his wife till end of time,
but she flies away to Elysium
and weeps alone under the apple tree.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stares shocked at his face in the mirror of the multiverse, and asks Ophelia if she is friends with Eurydice.

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

Theorem Of Important Fears
© Surazeus
2025 08 29

Born out of laughter buried in my heart,
I float on waters of awakening,
aware of random words twittered by birds
with throat burrs whispered in the eglantine,
diminished weight of oaths unbalanced near
beyond the fractured limits of our words.

Still tense with apprehension of false time,
against corollary measured by thoughts,
unproved by theorem of important fears,
I squirm from cramped space of my humming skull
through game of elemental urgency,
yet eager to resolve divided tricks.

We know nothing of disillusionment
expressed by ticking of the faceless clock,
trapped in the haunted house of nowhere else,
yet drunk on sugared periwinkle wine
too pungent to wake the lion from dream,
tagged as the sailor lost without his ship.

Hiding in the private place of your heart,
I mingle sorrow with tenacious facts
too original to be elegant
whenever we feel worthless in sunlight
because fate strips away our mask of pride
to show the world raw hunger of false faith.

Inconsequence through tenuous respect
always tells the truth no one dares deny,
yet stricken words stick in the surprised brain
however oversold with ecstasy
too intimate for children to escape,
because we almost hate our noble strengths.

Because not all of paradise is lost,
crystalized by embittered mountain winds,
we build vast temples for the faceless god
who bathes in hot springs on the jagged slope
to protect charming emblem of true love
that glows from phosphorescent clock of eyes.

Admittedly my brain of pulsing lust
is not translucent as Orphean mask
that hungry refugees of war must wear
by drinking milk around the crackling fire
as we hum hymns of hollow victories
we fight to save our bodies from stale fate.

Since we know nothing of the day or hour
we might fall wingless from the crystal tower,
we give each other books we never read
about romance for adolescent girls
who boldly live with liberty in law
in calm defiance of the patriarch.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus strides across bright-lit stage as he preaches about theorem of important fears at the International Conference on Poetics of Transrealism.

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

Uproot Burning Bush
© Surazeus
2025 08 29

Grief lifts torn wings and screams at nothingness
with voice of every soul that every lived
to wake god of the dead from rotten soil,
so I stride busy market street at dawn
to buy delicious loaf of butter cake
then sit and eat with ginger hot chocolate.

Despair unleashes fear-sharp falcon claws
to tear at pulsing veil of earnestness
that rends corpses of gods from our mute hearts,
so I browse pretty books of poetry
in the quaint bookstore by the flower shop
where Alette reads fairytales to young children.

Transforming from rose to owl back to girl,
Alette drifts slowly through the teeming crowd
of people swarming in the shopping mall
to find the Tyrant with the heart of steel
so she can uproot burning bush of hate,
arresting his coup to control the world.

When shy Alette with leap of innocence
descends to underworld of howling ghosts,
she walks with quiet pace of God far west
to drag down mountains from the fractured sky
and scatter apple seeds in muddy creeks
that sprout into radios with happy songs.

Black storm clouds wander blithely over hills
where old wood houses lurk in yellow grass
to hide from dusty roads that stumble lost
past moaning oak trees crowded with blind crows
despite desire that fuels my aching heart
to catch bitter sparks of rain with my hands.

Cautiously stepping along the rain-worn fence,
Alette shines flashlight in eyes of the owl
that flicks its ears with warning of the fall,
so she looks down to see coiled rattlesnake
sleeping peacefully on grave of her god,
so she turns and flies away on swan wings.

Calling out to lost people of the land,
Alette weeps for all those she could not save,
so they walk to school and sit at bone desks
in bright fluorescent-lit classrooms of grief
to carve devil runes on door of the church
always locked with the deadbolt of discourse.

The oldest woman in the world, with eyes
bright as diamonds buried billions of years,
gives slices of cake to lonely travelers
who stop for a rest in temple of skulls
to ask Orpheus if he knows the way,
but he just smiles frail as the butterfly.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stares shocked at the butterfly that descends from the sky while he clutches his rifle and crouches in the trench to hide from bullets of prophecy.

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

Face Behind The Mask
© Surazeus
2025 08 28

Trust laughs at how rain floods the silver plain
with solid evidence of brutal faith
despite foul murder by the lovely host
who putters about in garden of flowers
that bloom from bodies buried in the soil
of thieves who invaded her cottage at night.

Rain patters roof of the crooked hotel
perched daintily atop the skull-round hill
where battered black car with gleaming headlights
parks halfway up on the narrow sidewalk,
windshield wipers squeaking on fractured glass,
watched by the raven on the broken sign.

Black boots crunch shards of shattered window glass
as Samuel pushes open old oak door
and steps into the lobby with one table
lit dimly by one almost-burned out candle
that flickers madly in the eerie gloom
to highlight wrinkled face of the old witch.

One eye blue as the sea after the storm
glares up at gaunt face of the visitor
who smiles with sinister joy of the jester
wearing black fedora and black trench coat
as he asks if she knows the pastor named Fink,
but she just taps the sign-in book and sneers.

The young girl with long blond hair and green eyes,
who wears cute yellow dress and pink felt hat,
descends the narrow stairs beside the desk,
then smiles brightly at the jester in black
as she unfolds the red rose of her hand
to reveal the gold grail studded with jewels.

Though he reaches hand to acquire the grail,
the star-eyed girl whispers with thunder-soft voice
that echoes solemn prophecy of fate
how time will readjust conceptual frame
programming how our human brains perceive,
which transforms the grail into the black owl.

The lovely host appears with tray of tea
so they all sit at round table of faith,
the jester, the girl, the witch, and the host,
to play recurring game of psychic chess
till jester reveals his face behind the mask
to be detective from the court of Hell.

While the wily detective without his mask
weaves tapestry of crime from random clues,
the three fates unravel web of his brain
in writhing tendrils that connect the stars
through our enormous galaxy in swirl
of singing angels when he tries to run.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus asks the lovely host if she can show him where she buried the bodies in her garden of beautiful fragile flowers, and she smiles.

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

With Spirit Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2025 08 28

If I fall from Heaven and crash on Earth
in blow that hollows out space for my soul,
I will hide wings of sorrow in my heart
so I may walk the signless road of time
to understand how bodies bloom and fade
through surge of growth and crumbling of decay.

With spirit of Mercury in my heart
I fly on frantic feet of fortitude
to map our spinning globe composed of dreams
that human brains weave from experiences
in animated tapestries of hope
that chronicle our quest for Wonderland.

Forever through the endless maze of myths
I search for persona face that presents
intimate contours of my secret soul
so I reveal innate nature of my mind
in mask that shields my heart from searing pain
when I whistle nonchalantly in rain.

Before locked temple door of honesty
I wait for goddess of my aching heart
to heed my plaintive cry for amnesty
for actions I perform to save her life
till she appears in blaze of divinity
to reinstate my role in her grand court.

I walk east to follow the rising sun
one hundred thousand years of mountain trails
from Africa across Persia and India
to climb the towering peaks of Guilin
where I eat peaches and sing for Kwan Yin,
then chase the sun west to the Caspian Sea.

I pave the road of my ancestral quest
with skulls of my fathers solid as stone
ten thousand miles from sea to shining sea
to build foundation of my world empire
where every human fights for liberty
to gather in grand temple of Ishtar.

These visions of the past one million years
flash in sunlight on surface of the lake
as mirror that reflects weird memories
for how my ancestors survived each day
which program how I live my life today
in endless journey to the Promised Land.

After falling from Heaven without wings
one hundred thousand years of history
I lie on my back on the grassy lawn
and listen to the ceaseless river sing,
then translate its song into human code
so I can navigate way back to Heaven.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus learns how to play the lyre and sing ballads of human history from Mercury as he grows old and dissolves into dust in the wind.

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

Each Choice I Make
© Surazeus
2025 08 27

Everything leads to the twist of fate
I try to avoid with each choice I make
when I dance with abandon on the wall
and laugh in despair at heavenly fall
on thoughtful angst of wingless solitude
to crawl in the million-year interlude.

Lost in dreamless haze of the drifting boat,
I ponder code of the practical joke,
trapped in phenomenon of the weird rule
that requires employment of mental tool
to finetune engine of angelic flight
in starship powered by conceptual light.

Each fragment of thought encased in the word,
which I invent from twitter of the bird,
contains linguistic reference to strange truth
designed by hum of the messiah sleuth
who stops surprised in the vast maze of myth
to study tales carved on the monolith.

Defined by name on identity card,
with proves my right to play the global bard,
I strip off mirror mask of holy faith
to expose my soul as the godless wraith
that swirls in flashing spirals of pure air
through undulations of the anywhere.

Though every living creature on the Earth,
through tangled web of fortune wound at birth,
lives soul-connected to all other souls
in complicated game of clashing goals,
we all dream alone inside our own heads
as three half-blind sisters entwine our threads.

Depicted on the tapestry I weave,
the living gather by the lake to grieve
while building walls of Heaven from our bones
constructed by maidens, mothers, and crones
who invent one world language we all speak
with aggressive ghost of the mountain peak.

Though I translate ancient song of the wave
that echoes in hollow heart of my grave,
I calm my mind by whistling happy tunes
to bless lost children who ask me for boons
though I hide in glass tower by the lake
and preach salvation of the mindless fake.

Gods cannot calculate what life is worth
to measure value of misery and mirth
as we crawl hungry from electric stones
to shout obscenities at empty thrones
by deeds of hope that unbalance time scales
for homeless refugees on desert trails.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus takes Ophelia flying above the maze of myths in the airplane powered by conceptual light that beams from center eye of the universe.

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

Snarky Crow Of Prophecy
© Surazeus
2025 08 26

She walks in misty woods of anywhere
forever toward bleak light of loneliness,
though she tries so hard not to miss the life
she never lived in craving for relief
since she cannot find shadow of her soul
in solid wilderness of nothing real.

She wants to establish the window frame
as whole transparent plane of reference
which separates the vast world of the viewer
from three-dimensional illusion of space
to imitate nature with logical portrait
depicting how our brains perceive the world.

She arrives at the fractured gates of Hell
to ask the smirking centaur standing guard
if she can give mask of her earthly self
to someone else so they can live her life,
but he gives her required identity card
with her secret name no one understands.

She looks for love in the forest of ghosts
because the sun always explains the truth
but instead she finds love in the wild man
who dances laughing in the waterfall,
but he disappears in the flock of crows
who tell her the sun never had a face.

She asks the snarky crow of prophecy
about the future of her fate in life,
so he declares with stark ominous voice
that her casual indifference to fate
will lead to her demise, but she just laughs
because she knows that everybody dies.

She lives with demon of her hungry heart
who always treats her with gentle respect,
giving her fruits and herbs to prepare meals,
but she watches him with suspicious fear
while he constructs sturdy shelter of wood
where they huddle close when thunderstorms rage.

She decides she will always think good thoughts
about grand progress of humanity,
but not too good or else she might get stuck
in fantasy that causes her demise,
so she keeps her view of life realistic,
nurtured by constant alertness to danger.

She feels tomorrow creep its petty pace
to last particle of discarded time
when candle of her soul will flicker out
and leave her stranded on the empty stage
where tears of sorrow water pretty flowers
that bloom from the dust of her nothingness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus listens as Ophelia explains how she has survived wandering the bleak wilderness for one hundred thousand years of hope for tomorrow in the land of milk and honey.

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

Electric Waves Of Words
© Surazeus
2025 08 25

Sinking down into dark lake of my heart,
I spread my arms wide as demonic wings
to float in sunless abyss without breath
till I become electric waves of words
shaped by ideas that our brains design
so I can stand awake on shore of time.

While building sturdy house of scented wood
on stone foundation of arcane beliefs,
I savor pleasure of using my hands,
which modulate electric waves of words,
to transform raw material of desire
in sacred haven that shelters my soul.

Shocked by strange beauty of the midnight sun,
I wander endless maze of humming trees
in rays of sunlight slant with bright insight,
expressed clear by electric waves of words,
that gleam from sapphire gem of the sky,
primeval with detachment of the heart.

Though I seek riddles in eccentric books,
composed by faceless heretics of faith,
my lamp-bright heart guides me past paradise
once revealed by electric waves of words
since angels dwell in groves of apple trees
till they transform into swift motorcars.

With quill of curiosity I write
declaration claiming shelter from fear
that links ten thousand bridges in one road,
mapped again for electric waves of words,
down which I travel to the Promised Land
where people give each other unread books.

Heart beating calmly in chaotic times,
I run the opposite direction from death
one hundred thousand years across the land
to follow on electric waves of words
through psychic agency of broken books
into white butterfly of divine truth.

Despite how the sun transforms every night
into mothers who mimic the warm moon,
we give each other holy eyes of god
that gleam clear with electric waves of words
because this country becomes strange to us,
crowded with singing doors of Nevermore.

Detached from my body of aching flesh,
and sealed in casket of the serpent witch,
I sing my adoration of the queen,
now inspired by electric waves of words,
who gives tangerines to the hungry poor,
trapped in delirium of the helpless heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus measures electric waves of words that flood the land with visions of the new world order where the teacher of truth is revered.

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

Theology Of Global Fame
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Refusal to accept star-tangled fate
fuels my ascendance to the gate of truth,
alone for twenty thousand years of change
while writing brain programs from clownish rules
that form theology of global fame
for people who refuse to play the game.

Exposed to bitter elements of fear,
I gather words of flowers from dark fields
with hope of unconcerned naivete
to reassemble world view we designed
from fragile tokens of assertive faith
that fools employ to prove their right to laugh.

Reluctant to remember how I die
each hour the fractured sky of gleeful glass
falls as snowflakes on the naked land,
I huddle by the ever-flowing river
to study how my stream of consciousness
nurtures trees that grow from rotten brains.

I have no innate need of being versed
in country things for houses in the wind
or stony roads that wind into sunsets,
regardless of how often we face death,
so I invite sly birds of everywhere
to fly through broken window of my heart.

I dwell long on what has been in the past
in order to see where I need to go
across the muddy field of innocence
in fruitless bid to rebuild friendly walls
where lilacs bloom around the rotten elm
now staged as home for honey bees to live.

On snowy evenings under diamond stars
I stand on back porch of suburban house
where I lived when I was sixteen years old
with book of essays Ralph Emerson wrote
to stare at ancient gleam of Mount Rainier
while waiting for my angel wings to grow.

As swinger of birches, born in the woods,
I study cobwebs dripping gold with dew
to understand perfection of the eye
that generates virtual world in my brain
where I can fly up to Heaven with wings
instead of stumbling lame on mindless earth.

Indifferent Nature understands my heart
stirred by desire to cultivate the land
with seeds of fate I scatter with my hand
in soil that willfully misunderstands
puzzle of fate I assemble from dreams
that leave me sad when I wake before dawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus gazes at Mount Rainier glowing gold at sunset and wonders if the sleeping volcano may erupt from wrath of Jupiter.

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

Broken Country Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Lost in the broken country of my heart,
I offer love to my friends in the art
of sentences composed of fractured words
expressed by thought cadence of chirping birds,
though our midnight audience is now gone,
musical voices fading with the dawn.

Sometimes I am so happy with myself
I leave my sorrows hidden on the shelf
in secret library of weeping books
by which people are defined by their looks,
so I open locked doors with sword of truth
to prove I should play the messiah sleuth.

Though I have lived with blindness of the mind,
compelled by experience acting kind,
I overcome with laughter obstacles
through automatic flash of molecules
threading gold light with circumscribed intent
to achieve objective without precedent.

If I prove intent of serious grief
by holy nun who wanders wish massif
with prayer book written with green dragon blood,
I kneel with her where lotus blooms from mud
along the pebbled brook of honesty
where she derides our social travesty.

She gives me precious token of her soul
with vague concern that I should meet her goal
of building paradise in the fear zone
to preserve our memories in the rolling stone
which crushes clay-foot idol forged from gold
defined by set points of the manifold.

Though twitter I hear opposite the sea
reveals how to attain land of the free,
my heart may subdivide from gratitude
in wounds healed never by the platitude
which arrogant people shout to assert
unproven right to own the fertile dirt.

With generous passion of strange privacies,
contrived from paintings of anxieties,
I choose allegiance that quells vain regret
for sacred goddess in the minaret
who sings heart-aching spells of loyal faith
to travelers haunted by the lunar wraith.

We struggle to transcend delirium
with ambiguous chance for Elysium,
yet share mysterious wisdom of the rain
that seems to wash away all mental pain,
so if we follow riddles of the chart
we may find broken country of the heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus sells maps to the broken country of the heart in the gift shop next to the Zarathian Museum of Never-Famous Poets.

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

Wish Clock Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Through clever realignment of the mind,
adjusted by wish clock of Nevermore,
I redefine strange beauty of the world
with psychic formulas of selfless love
that get erased from hungry brains of hope
by shattered silence of indifferent moons.

With frantic swirling of calm ocean waves,
reprogrammed by wish clock of Nevermore,
I climb steep mountain slope of loyal faith
by gripping roots from ancient trees of truth
till I achieve the highest point of fame
from which I fall on wingless flight of fate.

Despite reluctant passion art requires,
telecast by wish clock of Nevermore,
I illustrate strange progress of my life,
farmer to jester to wizard to king
crucified on telephone pole of power
till I freeze into statue of Apollo.

Eager to explore our vast galaxy,
mismeasured by wish clock of Nevermore,
I see long string of forty satellites
glitter white as pearls from eyes of gods
as they float slow above the mountain ridge
before they merge in matrix of the stars.

Aware that winners invent history,
rewritten by wish clock of Nevermore,
I build conceptual walls of paradise
from painful memories of the war-displaced
who linger at locked gateway to success
and whisper names of dead people they love.

Unsure if I am still alive or not,
forgotten by wish clock of Nevermore,
I bend my head, heavy with noble horns,
to drink from sparkling pond of earnest faith
where phantom of my soul smiles back at me,
so I prance haughtily in misty woods.

Reluctant to participate in games,
assisted by wish clock of Nevermore,
I map each water tower and lighthouse
which link every small town across the land
in social network that makes strangers friends
so we together lament death of God.

Inspired by graceful woman I adore,
unfathomed by wish clock of Nevermore,
I photograph her standing in the hall,
in many-roomed mansion where no one lives,
gazing at portrait of Truth on the wall
then we eat supper with laughter and love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus arrives at the many-roomed mansion where Artemis asks him to repair the broken wish clock of Nevermore, then afterward they drink wine and kiss.

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

Eyes Of Flaming Stars
© Surazeus
2025 08 23

Almost forgotten in the hour of moons,
six thousand years of battle for the land,
the nameless child with eyes of flaming stars
picks fruit from trees along the river shore
and sells them in the market of desire
where God sits on ziggurat of the eye.

I dream this waking vision of the past
after the truck crashes into my car
while I lie paralyzed on red asphalt
and watch history of wars play on the cloud
when men kill men to control fertile land
embodied by women who create life.

Strapped to the gurney of bold innocence,
I wonder at miracle of the car
propelled by piston engine of desire
that zooms through spiraling tunnel of time
with eerie demonic wails of rectitude
past parks where families picnic without fear.

Uncertain about the future event,
we wait for hummingbirds to bring the news
that we are trapped in fake contingencies
defined by conditions of providence
required by law to state false messages
painted on the Grecian Urn of romance.

Since no one hears the sweet nightingale sing,
except in fantasy novels of fate,
I open fridge door of curious angst
to find spoiled memories, rotten with faith,
so I eat sorrow of the fallen god
who shouts that he is still Hyperion.

Though I die for beauty with arrogance
I will not stay adjusted in the tomb
next to the tragic clown who dies for truth
yet seeks to solve the social mystery
that pervades angry well of honesty
because I cannot simplify her ghost.

Related somehow to the maybe soon,
mute with timidity of haunted homes,
I ask the grass about nature of man
as she emerges from soil of the Earth,
but she refuses to explain the why
encoding formulas that measure fate.

When she insists with velvet-tender voice
that hope is strange invention of the weak,
I run with fierce embellishment of faith
through tuned momentum of angelic form
in unremitting action that adjusts
stiff attitudes in men afraid of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stops before the market booth of the nameless child who sells fruit from the Tree of Life to buy three apples of divine knowledge.

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

Demon Wings Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 08 23

Stark silence of the canyon-hearted soul
expands beyond walls of the spinning globe
where children of the ocean crawl on rocks
to reach for stars that bloom as golden fruit
which sparks their hearts with visions of world peace,
yet fight over whose version is the best.

Blank door of my soul opens in the sky
so I soar down on demon wings of hope
to scatter apple seeds on parking lots
so trees consume towers of steel and glass,
providing shelter for birds of the mind
that laugh at how I weep for liberty.

Strange sunset glow of timeless urgency
gleams deeply sad on endless winding road
that leads our quest round grim Ohio hills
on hopeful journey to the Promised Land
that always shimmers with inviting dreams
just beyond dim horizon of tomorrow.

Young woman wearing black mask of the crow
stares longingly at sky of empty words
while silver rain slithers down her long hair
since words do not always agree with deeds
without context of calm perplexity
till I return from sailing the world sea.

Except for how time redesigns my face,
I never change essential state of being
that radiates from cracked clay bowl of my heart
through fraught reverberations of blind gods
who ride the wagon train on signless road
that winds along the river of black blood.

Awake on bridge of frantic energy,
I am concerned how rocks on lonely roads
chat about artificial intelligence
since I am working on a much higher level
that anyone else in the crowded world
as top critical thinker of all time.

At the hour of our birth each human being
is assigned our name, religion, and race,
then spend the rest of our preprogrammed life
defending that fictional identity
that remains as mask of our private tale
hanging on museum wall of lost souls.

In our unseasonable reprieve from fate
after climbing sunless mountains of fear
we remove our fur coats with aching sighs
to dance among the apple trees of faith
after our civilizations collapse,
then tell each other stories as we die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus sells demon wings of hope from his roadside stand at the weekly farmers market in the quaint college town where people from all over the world wander lost.

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

Chase The Rainbow Ghost
© Surazeus
2025 08 22

Atrocious process of the supine mind
expands contrary hope for fractured rain
that readjusts how eyes perceive strange wind
except when children chase the rainbow ghost
who gambles for the fool to win the game
though she just started learning yesterday.

Lost in dark Paris streets of tangled fate
one hundred years ago from this taut hour,
my spirit seeks in maze of mirror masks
defrayed excuse to chase the rainbow ghost
in fight against the clown of everywhere
whose tricks defraud the faithful of their truth.

Yet time unwinds electric clocks of fear
defined by numbers twisted to reflect
irreverent code for programming weird shows
that depict how gods chase the rainbow ghost
who slithers from deep well of Melusine
with broken lyre no angel wants to play.

If best way to experience primal faith
is hiking rugged river trail of pines
where silver water tumbles famously
with eager flight to chase the rainbow ghost
across enormous boulders of respect,
I sit and smell sharp scent of mountain dirt.

With playful leaps of artful gratitude
I hop enormous boulders of my heart
to ask weird wizard of surreal airports
secret we need to chase the rainbow ghost
who builds new hydrostone church of the goat
we should expunge from list of lonely halls.

Her white dress spread on lawn of sacred trust,
Faith smiles with innocence of golden flowers
that shimmer at soft breath of her moist lips
as she watches me chase the rainbow ghost
embodied by the horse with flowing mane
whose eyes glow with honest flames of her heart.

Death invents new way of speaking our hearts
so we wave flags of national intent
to protest neglect of our serpent bones
left behind when we chase the rainbow ghost
in sepia rain that helps us understand
shades of umber extracting clouds of thought.

Dire crickets pixilate snowflakes of passion
which proves the afterlife never occurs,
described by monologue of pretty souls
who carve machines that chase the rainbow ghost
in vain attempt to recreate the world
in image of the beast with fragile wings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus hangs out with Tristan Tzara in the Paris cafe who chat about the latest trends in art created by artificial intelligence of maladjusted language tricks.

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

Sharp Ache Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 08 20

He opens the notebook with sudden urge
to record the random thoughts of his mind,
but taps his fingers on blank page of doubt
with idle nonchalance of the snide seer
amazed at meaningless sublime of life
that pierces his heart with sharp ache of truth.

The microscopic thought of measured words,
that myths will die with makers of their truth,
accelerates his plunge in solid sea
imperceptible to most honest tribes
who attend church of the mental disease
with crypto-mystic code of abstract faith.

Exact assertion of lightness we share
luminates inner core of secret homes
with upward motion onto downcast stars
where devils crawl across the pleasant sky
with universal sadness no one buys
though knowledge dawns before the end of time.

Untethered spirit of angelic faith
floats over fields of unwalled paradise
where we attempt to raise the dead with prayers
that crack brute lamentation of the sky
despite abysmal waste of stubborn lust
that almost drowns us in our bitter tears.

Since he has time to live well in this world
against all odds of arrogant respect,
he dances with immune abandonment
where fairies of midsummer gamble fate
against conceptual clock of each new hour
that renders aspect of the forest pool.

All children know that God was never real
except ideal our parents advocate
as goal for which we strive with rectitude
to transcend limitations of our brains
by wearing fur in harsh Antarctic hills
at sudden thoughtlessness of ecstasy.

Good fluencies of routines mimicked well
infect Hadean source of spirit pain
with frantic gestures of our personage
when he decides to photograph the sun
who lounges naked on fluffed clouds of fate
to taste disfigurement of mortal masks.

He likes this version of himself much more
than solemn language of irreverence,
so he invents new theologic code
that defines fake parameters of fear
though trapped in self-delusion of lost faith
still piercing his heart with sharp ache of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus pulls spear of truth out of his wounded heart, then asks the child if God is real before he floats away on ocean waves to prophesy the rise of Zarathia from ruins of America.

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

World Battle Of Wits
© Surazeus
2025 08 20

As cartographer for strange world of myth,
the poet maps wild landscape of our dreams
based on memories of all our ancestors
programmed into how our brain operates
through actions they performed in face of death
to generate new life before they died.

As mechanic for engine of our souls,
the poet finetunes weird conceptual tropes
that program how our dream-brain operates
adjusting systems through ontology
our bodies use to function in routines
we employ to create life before death.

As dancer on the stage of global tales,
the poet inhales memories of the past
and exhales hopes for the future with faith
to leap across abyss of nothingness
when we attempt to overcome ourselves
and create new character we perform.

As insurance broker for our games of chance,
the poet sells illusions people wield
to shield their fragile spirits from despair
in brutal fight against tellers of truth
who dare expose hypocrisy of pride
that crumbles in relentless storm of change.

As bold unacknowledged legislator,
the poet glorifies the honest soul
who works to create rather than destroy
by depicting how they suppress false views
through logical analysis of cause
that computes effect of world social peace.

As mathematician of the psychic code,
the poet calculates firm formulas
assembling puzzles of surreal terrain
through undulating matrix of the mind
that forms foundation of our state contract
contrived by task orders of divine perception.

As jester in the academic court,
the poet mimics personalities
by wearing intricate mask of the I
to play comedy of success in love
or tragedy of failure in blind pride
that adjusts moral behavior of fools.

As spellcaster in world battle of wits,
the poet chants wyrd hexagraphic spells
projecting virtual model of the world
in vision of the way thoughts ought to be
that transform through alchemical virtue
how we perceive Ideas of the real world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus guides visitors through the Zarathian Museum of World Famous Poets to present the various stereotypes they employ to trick mankind into seeing beyond the veil of illusion.

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

Subtle Winds Of Memory
© Surazeus
2025 08 19

Though subtle winds of Memory sweep the lyre
with rays of wisdom luminating truth,
I walk from exile of neglected faith
to bear the quivering beams of rectitude
that paint the flowers of entangled thoughts
with jeweled joy I buy through suffering.

Though morning light expands its timeless glow
on all that answers shimmer of its truth,
I wander lost in tangled woods of doubt
to find bright crystal of eternal hope
that fractures when I grasp its fragile beam
which animates anew my wayward heart.

Though I attempt to map the wilderness,
composed from swirl of wild ambitious sands,
I hope with eager consciousness of cause
to quote old universal laws of time
how Reason turns her dazzled eye away
from rapturous beauty of this changing world.

Though death chains pinions of my wildest thought
to set the cosmic laws of fate at naught,
I measure fantasy of Earth we love
with strictest eye of art forged from starlight
to swirl ethereal light of wordless souls
with radiant mystery of poetic charm.

Though I glide over Earth on zephyr wing
to conjure fruit trees from greed-wasted soil,
I land in broad elm, empress of vast hills,
my spirit surfeited with fancy state
recorded in sly idyls of our greener age
to live with instinct in survival mode.

Though first-born pulse moving in my mind
seems to narrow path of fortune I choose,
I dance in lonely vales of fertile faith,
unsullied by loud engine roar of cars,
to make Arcadia in my secret glade
beneath the star-crowned cliff of honesty.

Though garish guardians of the galaxy
map fabled valleys on Elysian isles,
I open gates of Eden for the world
to visit vast amusement park of God
who teaches us to dial tone of the spheres
where we play happy games with seraph wings.

Home of my childhood in small Texas town
burned down at strike of lightning in fierce storm,
so I lie unknown in lush empty lot
to ponder sweetness of this painful life,
when Memory sweeps electric strings of love
that vibrate radiant on lyre of my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus tries to record the eerie melodies of fate that vibrate from subtle winds of Memory when he strums strings of the cordial lyre of truth.

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

Give Their Eyes To Time
© Surazeus
2025 08 19

When I fall from wish of the winking sun,
I consider the fish inside my mouth
that seems to speak about wisdom for me,
so I strip mask of my face off the sky
to reveal the divine soul of my heart
which consumes darkness to radiate light.

When I adjust my mind to understand
strange language of the stubborn ocean waves,
I travel country roads to farmless towns
where children practice secret devilry
in spite of music wailing from dead trees
where lonely people give their eyes to time.

When I wake from suffering of river stones
at shocking laughter of the mirror brain,
I channel voice of the people in jokes
that deconstruct our social privilege
related to how ravens trick mad gods
to lose their keys in frantic game of chess.

When I drive slowly on the winding road
among tall oaks long rotten from sad rain,
I calculate the distance I must travel
to reach the holy temple on the hill
where singing skull of Orpheus relates
chemical formulas that light the soul.

When I design new concept of the gun
as camera that beams vision of doubt,
I film progress of social liberty
every great empire grows from how to why
till moral doctrines on the legal chart
are outlined to define the wrong from right.

When I taste bitter sorrow that turns bland
at glow of jewels in electric caves,
I attend college for jesters and clowns
who lead war refugees in revelry
to forget bombing of their homes with ease
when they elect as president the mime.

When I carve prophecies on dragon bones
in attentive gamble to ascertain
obvious features of the conceptual hoax,
I unpuzzle gospel through sacrilege
which proves the best soul-forms are tetrapods
who strive to uphold freedom of the press.

When I find temple of the humming toad
in voice-echoed swamp of psychotic rain,
I study truths of history that unravel
adamant doctrine that we have free will
to perform actions decreed by the fates
who challenge each other for the god role.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus teaches people of every age at the Academy of Skull Poetics how to give their eyes to time with calm acceptance of random chance.

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

Hundred Isles Of Skythe
© Surazeus
2025 08 18

Native to sorrow of my Mother Land,
where ghosts of my ancestors live in trees,
I send song of my heart on wind of time
so you can hear voice of my deathless soul
sing in silver laughter of the wild stream
that bears my memories to the golden sea.

Yet silent beauty of gold mountain slopes,
veiled by moon-glittered mist of aching hope,
call me to return across the fierce sea
to rugged island where my mother Skythe
stood tall as jagged peak of honesty
against rampaging horde of bitter thieves.

Heart-aching song of flute she played at dawn
still echoes soft in valley of my heart
three thousand years later with haunting tone
that shoots shiver of awe along my spine
so tears of loss flow down my wrinkled cheeks
because her face still glows clear in my mind.

I want to build huge castle of strong stone
to shelter her from storm of hungry greed
that drives aggressive men to clutch at wind
as they shout vainly that this land is theirs
till their bodies crumble into mute dirt
where their bones form foundation of her power.

Great empire she constructed with bold words,
that once enclosed the Hundred Isles of Skythe,
vanished from songs of people in the wind,
yet spirit of her heart, bright as sunlight,
gleams still on rugged hills in swirling mist
where ravens flock above lush Fairy Glen.

When I wake from dream of green hills in mist
three hours after midnight of flowing time,
I see elegant face of Skythe lit gold
as she grips serpent writhing in her hand
and tells me secret of eternal life
hidden in the scarlet egg of her heart.

Forever running toward the mountain peak,
I breathe attentive spirit of the sky,
then gaze back on long winding road of hope
I blazed from Skythia to the Promised Land
to understand how I achieved my aim,
then gaze far west with blazing eyes of faith.

Few may remember gleam of her green eyes,
verdant as looming mountains of her heart,
yet voice of her immortal spirit sings
in anguished cry that spirals from my breast
for Skythe still dreams in visions of my brain
that guide my journey to her isle of mist.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus climbs mountains slopes on the Isle of Skye to gaze with awe across the sparkling sea where Skythe stood singing in the mist of time.

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

Isolation Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

When he realizes with shock of cold wind
that woman he loves is about to die,
he allocates regressive plight to bend
ardent dismay by floating in the sky,
attuned to muted angst of humming wire
that translates electric song of the choir.

They walk together on the river shore,
catching fish with their alligator hands,
then gather pebbles from the sparkling stream
to build enormous mountain of fake words
where children play hide and seek with their ghosts
till first mother teaches us how to sing.

Extracting wisdom from the nuclear core,
he watches woman of time where she stands
in gleaming spotlight of apportioned dream
where typewriters give birth to psychic birds,
glad we find our mother on distant coasts
because she transforms into angel wing.

Since I want to join your curious journey
beyond enclosing walls of paradise,
you hire the most undevious attorney
to calculate the psycho-social price
we pay for isolation of the heart
quarantined through fortune of the star chart.

Embraced with graceful elegance of trust,
they dance in April breeze of yellow flutes,
rehearsing for the fantasy of dust
Morpheus sprinkles on their love-grown roots
as if they have no reason for regret
beyond eloquence of the alphabet.

She would decipher his pandemic code
based on flight of their reality scale,
but she explains that every soul on Earth
is soaked by the same rain from the same sky,
so we climb inside the language machine
to steer our ship of state past rocks of fear.

I would walk ten thousand miles on the road
to be with you, though we succeed or fail
in game of life, to disprove social worth
that people use to judge the state of why
through analysis some dare contravene
in grand convention of the puppeteer.

He holds her hand with gentle loving care
while she goes about her business of death
which divides concept of the mutual pair
committed to union of mental breath
so she becomes the glowing beam of light
that guides his way in long lament of night.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus holds hand of Ophelia as she lies ill in bed after their long romantic journey on the road of life since he first rescued her from drowning as she clutched the flowers of evil.

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

Write Our Secret Thoughts
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

Flowers bloom from bodies of fallen angels
through skeleton beams of arrogant water
with abnegation of conceptual wealth
that heals assertive wound of silences
which form attentive matrix of the mind
since we are born to write our secret thoughts.

Awake with energetic fallacies
encased in psychic pod of spiral wings,
I study how tarantula of truth
explores vast arboretum of my heart,
veiled by frantic curtains of hotel rooms,
to explain how we write our secret thoughts.

Through zigzag travesty of pestilence,
frozen with penumbras of holy night,
I float with pollen from attractive flowers
that crack through boxes of suave predators
who leap on pedestals of pompous pride
to pretend Death will write our secret thoughts.

Fierce wound of moisture flooding hollow hope
exposes sorrow through abandonment
that nameless children in orphanages
exchange with verdant petals of fruit trees
since ghosts play games in columbarium
where we must learn to write our secret thoughts.

Red liquid fabricates constructed slowness
through hyperfixation on the same chair
based on brilliant sensory overload
designed to help my stumbling honesty
to function through strict routine of bad faith
despite attempts to write our secret thoughts.

Undiagnosed weirdness I choose to own
reveals mislabeled attitude of fear
contrived by jesters through rebellion
to seek comfort in fraught danger of war
because the fluffy black cat knows the way
which helps us learn to write our secret thoughts.

Four horsemen of the new apocalypse
consider ways to improve politics
based on hope, justice, empathy, and truth
as we storm citadel of apathy
through bid to redesign America
from plans for which we write our secret thoughts.

I pour my soul in mirror of my child
who crawls across the mountain range of stars
with winding uncertainty of old rivers
when we bequeath our social legacy
in harmony with vast tectonic plates
encoding tricks to write our secret thoughts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus compiles dictionary to help our children translate and analyze the conceptual spells in which we write our secret thoughts.

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

Nature-Wise Woman
© Surazeus
2025 08 17

The nature-wise woman in the white dress,
who disappears in vast mirror of words,
scatters puzzling fragments of her glass soul
as seeds in pungent soil of anywhere
so children of the laughing tree spring tall
to float in rotating sky of the mind.

Let Death come slowly as drifting snowflakes
with frail perfection of the glacier mask
that cracks awake at surrender to fate
when we explore the wilderness of words
because she believes that if Time is God
then Memory is the Devil we still follow.

Because the dead can never hear me sing
through whistle of the tea kettle and train,
I strive to transcend the ghost of my brain
who weaves my sorrow into angel wing
so I lounge safe in backyard of my home,
refusing to misunderstand desire.

Dazzling silence blows cold with tenderness
despite frank fullness of the thoughtful moon
though dreams I hid with limited surprise
always seem to be for sale at the store
trapped in the voice box of the naked god
who asks me to close my eyes with new faith.

My heartbeat records history of mankind
who sails the sea that shimmers in my eyes
without admitting that we weep with hope
for somewhere to build home of singing skulls
with both hands extended to the rich sky
in restless search for meaning in the stone.

Searching outside paradise, I engage
with diverse voices of strangers I love
who stand on stones by rivers of respect
to sing strange ache of sorrow from their hearts
in psalms preserved by tongueless scribes of faith
who write our secret thoughts with angel blood.

Sweet miracle through the spider of fate
inspires my heart to slog in swamp of words
with delicate wings of swift hummingbirds
so laughing girls who crowd around the gate
share fruit they gather in the misty woods
while weaving wreaths from sorrow of my heart.

Though all the people I have met in life
are somewhere far away on road of hope,
I see their faces in waves of the sea
shining with feathers of electric birds
who flock around woman in the white dress
to savor blueness of the timeless sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus accepts the challenge to sing about strange beauty of the naked soul that humans attempt to mask with faith.

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

Angel Blood Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 08 16

When I am old and on the verge of death
I will travel back through spiral of time
to meet young hopeful version of myself
and embrace my breast while I weep with love,
then fill my heart with courage to endure
long journey where I lose before I gain.

Now that I near the end of my life road
I turn back to see how I lived each day
traveling my land sea to shining sea
as I created with craft of my hands
safe garden home from vision of my heart
so my children may live after I die.

From nothing I constructed sturdy home
that shelter souls of my children and spouse
from hostile forces of weather and fear
by building empire with surrounding walls
that enclose the whole world in paradise
though time will erase us all from its dream.

Though stone of fear, bound to my soul with hate,
drags me down into swirling sea of hope,
I cut myself loose from doctrines of pride
to emerge from lightless depths of despair
and walk again on road of fate I blaze,
pregnant with stary-eyed goddess of the sky.

On iridescent thoughts of angel wings
I walk among world crowd of staring eyes
to fight against injustice of blind greed
with fierce attention to needs of their hearts
so with full hands of generous respect
I bestow gifts of the stars for their growth.

From cave of sorrows in waste land of fear
I walk the signless road to Wonderland
where I fight thieves and tyrants in the rain
till new star of my fate shines in the sky
bestowing grace of wisdom on my head
in diamond of insight that guides my way.

By right of birth with angel blood of truth,
beamed in my heart with holy sword of faith,
I forge vast empire of lost refugees
who build flourishing gardens of fruit trees
that spread from temple on the ziggurat
where I watch over people of my land.

Against all odds of brutal obstacles,
hurled at my heart with grasping hands of greed,
I overcome assassins wielding rage
to stand tall on high mountain of the truth
with Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds
to guard fertile land of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings epic tale about the life of the Great Queen Seondeok who laid the foundation for Shingook Shilla to unite the three kingdoms of Sam Ham in one Korea.

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

Yearly Laughter Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 08 15

Eager to share yearly laughter of fate
with millions of workers in cubicles,
I deal cards of fortune to manage hate
that cracks foundation of our noble state
because I measure waves of particles
that program crystal brain of the robot.

Unconcerned about whether or not
anyone loves me, I dance among bees
to map arch of the bridge Lucifer bought
when he revived the angel who got shot
attempting to control the river breeze
as incarnation of some long-dead king.

Therefore I will take you under my wing
to shelter your spirit from social storm
that shakes hearts of the people as they sing
hymn of honor to demon with the ring
that renders invisible mental form
to bind my soul in swirl of time and space.

My emotions are written on my face
since I am qualified by psychic right
to talk about my secret knowledge base
when I analyze aspects of the case
through investigation of divine light
refracted through theology of fame.

When I consider new rules for the game
we play to decide who has right to rule,
I order puzzle in conceptual frame
to arrange whatever is not the same
that we construct with help of the dream tool
when building naked walls of paradise.

Therefore I stop to consider the price
that Fortune requires our bodies to pay
if we avoid going through it all twice
by exercising privilege through vice
to search the waste land for the Golden Way
in quest that resembles the rolling stone.

I carve tale of my life on dragon bone
with Runes of Power designed by the girl
who explores the vast multiverse alone
with radiant elegance of the star tone,
then carves virtual Earth on the shiny pearl
which twirls in air above the pyramid.

Great Eye of Wisdom at core of the grid,
which weaves tight matrix of calculus brains
in humans frail as sly ephemerid,
reveals through mirror that devils forbid
eccentric code of linguistic domains
where worshippers of laughter congregate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus records the yearly laughter of fate in the Chronicle of Lost Causes that now lies open in glass case in the Zarathian Museum of Ridiculous Truths.

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

Want To Build My House
© Surazeus
2025 08 15

I want to build my house with sturdy walls
inside wide bend of the sparkling river
so we can play beneath lush apple trees
in fertile valley among verdant hills,
but dream of paradise vanished in mist
six thousand years before hour of my birth.

Orange mist sparkles in maze of cement streets
from lights in windows of tall square steel towers
as I walk cluttered sidewalk past street lamps
to red-brick apartment with fear-locked doors
where I sit at wood desk by the cracked window
and type lines of verse about paradise.

Slicing beef, onions, peppers, and tomatoes,
I grill supper on apartment rooftop
while ravens gather on sagging phonelines,
then eat hamburger in eerie moonlight
in sad attempt of my time-aching heart
to recreate paradise of the past.

Strumming guitar with callused fingertips,
I sing, "Today is last day of my job,
so when I get home I will write weird poem
of how my hopeless heart still longs to roam
sea to shining sea in land of the free,"
then quick-pick old heart-breaking melody.

While typing endless lines of tangled verse
to help my restless spirit navigate
confusing maze of myths in human dreams,
I look up at flutter of eager wings
to see the citrine wagtail with sharp eyes
that seem to see weird beauty of my soul.

So I think about the day years ago
when man first walked on surface of the moon
to find that angels live in paradise
where thousands of crystal cathedrals gleam
because I want to understand how fate
is written by each choice our wild hearts make.

I want to return to Calabria
to live in Aragonese Castle I built
with noble purpose to guard paradise,
but I stroll down to the corner cafe
to eat beef sandwich with cheese on rye
while helicopters putter in the sky.

Old woman who survived the holocaust
paints portrait of me as angel with wings,
then conjures the moon from song of the sea
so I understand truth of liberty
earned by the courage of great warriors
willing to die to protect paradise.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus gazes out the window of his apartment to watch hundreds of people in the street below going to dance clubs on late Friday night.

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

Ledger Of Failed Projects
© Surazeus
2025 08 14

My name is incarnation of the sky
that reflects faces of people who search
nowhere for the ledger of failed projects
in formulas written with hot swamp mud
so we can hear the silent voice of God
that never speaks the name we cherish well.

Our skeletons of glass dance in the rain
to hold aggressive gusts of lonely wind
with hand of honesty no one respects
despite the woman in the howling train
who sings strange wisdom of the burning book
so I can see the face of god again.

She carves excessive elegy of faith
in veil of dust that swirls in ecstasy
deep in green silence of exploding trees
because we keep on dying before dawn
when sunlight strikes blow at the gloom of time
while counting casualties in civil wars.

Sweet bluster of brass cannons in the mist
expresses sorrow for each soul who dies
as flicker of shadow gleaned from my eyes
that sparks songs on the radio of fate
where faceless ghosts on mournful landscape vote
for demon hidden in the singing book.

Infected with experience of hope,
we search for hillside where all knowledge ends
to find how love springs from the anguished heart
trapped in library of the burning book
where faceless ghosts preserve dreams of lost scrolls
in glowing embers of seraphic eyes.

Adrift on great emptiness of nine seas,
I peer through spectacles of glowing glass
to read verse riddles of atomic nodes
describing solemn artifacts of faith
which I cast carelessly in divine flames
when I push boldly in fog of the future.

Fierce consciousness that shimmers in my brain
scores notes of music in grand symphonies
to praise demonic child of wordless dreams
who opens wide every museum door
to release faceless ghosts of my ancestors
who gather in coliseum of hope.

Though candle of truth flickers at midnight
she guides the seraphim in silver gowns
with eerie music of the golden ring
that spirals tight with old ancestral genes
preserving all our memories in tale code
that writhe in vision of the world I make.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus wanders endless museum where nothing man has made has ever been preserved except in shadows of sponge-wet brains.

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