Horror Of Unspoken Grief
© Surazeus
2025 06 10

Your hard work and your bold sincerity
will always be your secret inner strength
that guides you through the darkness of your heart
to understand strange chanting of the night
which forms firm background of your wordless faith
that you are who you make yourself to be.

What you perceive in mirror of the world,
that shadows horror of unspoken grief,
fulfills essential nature of that being
who lurks in hollow cavern of your heart,
and fuels aggressive passion of each day
with stark supremacy of ancient truth.

So far beyond walls of your solitude
you stroll with casual eagerness of fear
to search deep down in nothingness of death
till silence swells vast as the stormy sky
which cracks your world in fragments of despair
you clutch with desperate hope of calm belief.

Supremely true of nothing you have felt
before this sudden crashing of the sky
is wisdom rotten from excessive hope
you bury in foul grave of your rich heart,
expecting resurrection of the cause
as fruit tree curling roots into your mind.

When you light first light of the silent eve
with reason to imagine intense hope
you feel strange flush of ultimate respect
disturb indifferent honesty of death
with power of miraculous contempt
that rearranges puzzle of your dreams.

Whole knowledge of the way things ought to be
contrives strict boundary of your vital heart,
obscuring order trapped by noble love
at long-sought rendezvous with nonchalance
despite sour sweetness of cool evening air
electric with unspoken truth concealed.

Within straight singularity of being,
defining how we think we should perform
our special role in drama of despair,
persists bright flame of angst authority
because we are within heart of our home
still glowing warm as summer ecstasy.

Our differences bind us in one weird soul
since knowledge that we soon will face the end
and vanish into nothingness of death
exerts essential nature from our core
which makes us human through experience
of pain that grounds our pleasure in true love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while Wallace Stevens plays organ and sings hymn to Apollo in the mossy ruins of the ancient cathedral.

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

We Grant No Kings
© Surazeus
2025 06 09

Based on illusion of our time on Earth
we perform defiance of faceless gods
with tools designed by intermittent need
to adjust slipstreaming atoms of hope
till Lucifer describes how to reconstruct
image of mankind we think is divine.

Intense vibration of the star-god brain
spurs trees to bloom from blood-soaked soil of fate
so we remember every bad event
that traps us in recurring loop of fear
though we stand bold against cruel tyranny,
determined not to care if we are crushed.

Taught by the Star Gazer with diamond eyes
to analyze progress of state affairs,
I climb stairs of the tower to the sky
where God presides at oak desk of insight
to manage corporate empire of his greed,
exploiting human bodies to gain wealth.

Where pink peonies bloom from graves of gods
we dance with wild abandon of despair
till cute white Japanese Snow Fairy tit
lands on frail branch of the old cherry tree,
and gazes in my soul with piercing eyes
black as lightless hole of eternity.

We grant no kings right to exploit our souls
by standing silently on busy streets
with signs that boldly state our point of view
that men who grasp at dictatorial power
collapse from fraught exertion of despair
so we record their failure to adapt.

Since my immortal soul of demon genes
got split in two weird doppelganger idols
I contradict myself with timeless truths
based on impossible code of distrust
despite how I think time should construct fate
with subtle laughter of the falling snow.

Yet sad horse in clothes closet of lost faith
waits amid dresses hanging from my skull,
while young girl sneers at me with sly respect,
then opens every door around the world
that might release from shadow of contempt
brave figures of cosmic authority.

Discarding orders of the angry king
with sharp regression of my mirrored soul,
I recount tale of patriotic boys
who turn against mute tyrant in the tower
till Solemn Jester plays sweet saxophone
to indicate democracy has won.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus grants no kings authority in free democratic republic of Zarathia where we live with liberty and justice for all.

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

Odd City Of Regret
© Surazeus
2025 06 09

Time reconstructs strange sentinels of thought
from shifting colors of skeleton keys
though hope erases emptiness of truth
to highlight crazy concepts that remain
illuminated bright by dreamless words
that clutter pages of communal code.

Death reconstructs fraught boundaries of fear
caught by attention of impulsive minds
who reckon second coming of the rain
that still deregulates how we behave
yet we arrest our progress on the brink
of falling in abyss of everything.

Hope reconstructs odd city of regret
where calm mysterious girl of honest faith
sparks revolution against tyranny
that fractures shadow of democracy
with frantic spectacle of puerile fights
imploding from disturbed inequity.

Love reconstructs new paradigm of truth
to build sustainable rituals of life
through subtle challenge of the humble soul
who dares oppose traitorous greed of wealth
with willful waltz in Wonderland of Weird
to maintain national security.

Faith reconstructs republic of concern
through flash of extraordinary light
that beams from eyes of angels in blue jeans
who block abductions of innocent souls
before their shadows are locked in steel words
that shatter fearful walls of paradise.

Space reconstructs frail firmament of lust
through vast rotation of the gyroscope
that spirals wide on glass demonic wings
to prove that orbed organic lives of gods
still matter to our mortal hearts that ache
with hunger for transcendent dream of love.

Myth reconstructs misinformation math
to measure endless sea of social rage
stirred wild by storms of autocratic lies
which try to penetrate mask of respect
though mesmerized by beauty of weird truth
that shocks awake our consciousness of death.

Truth reconstructs tremendous trial of time
contained by subtle voice of ancient fact
which formulates expressive code of care
encased in doctrine misaligned by fear
when fragments of our horror dissipate
till I make puzzle of my new world view.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus documents protests in the City of Angels against arrest and detention of hard-working immigrants.

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

White Horse Of Pulchritude
© Surazeus
2025 06 09

Since fashion springs from age of charlatans
he blazes his own path in solitude
by plunging on white horse of pulchritude
through bramble hedges of contrarians
on faithful pilgrimage to the Dream Cave
where Muses play electric lyres and rave.

To speak in common language of the soul
he leaps off cliff of fear and soars on wings
sewn from black heart of the demon who sings
heart-wrenching spells composed for sacred role
which he performs on actor-crowded stage
far outside lines of verse that bleed the page.

With deliberate violation of form
he casts decorum on the dirty ground
to contrive mangled spells from code unfound
through artificial laughter of the storm
based on perversions of unvalued ways
fake prophets chase in cluttered city maze.

By stripping beauty from lattice of tropes
through disassociation from state law
his shout from rooftop of the dragon maw
deregulates true meaning from false hopes
inimical to sapped significance
long scrutinized by schemes of arrogance.

Resurgent scrutiny confined by hate
subverts played proposition forged from fear
through fraught distinctions frail seers cannot bear
despite strict rudiments of free-will fate
contrasting measured math with prophecy
which substitutes courage for odyssey.

Drowned by cold water of embittered tears,
he floats in mindless Sea of Nevermore
while she soars high in flames no angel bore,
though both seek true love trapped by social fears
through tragic concept of infertile love
crushed by physics enforced by stars above.

Through no alternative of psychic faith
can souls regenerate again in flesh
except by incarnation as gene mesh
from egg of hope sparked by sperm of the wraith
which must exemplify celestial rule
that we choose fate with the verbalized tool.

Repeating harmony of ritual play,
he gathers fruit from Knowledge Tree of light
based on experience through formal plight
molding false idols from sensitized clay
that never come alive with conscious breath
though we play hide and seek with Father Death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus helps Hero and Leander escape from the castle in a hay wagon to live on a farm raising cows in a valley by the sea.

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

Flag Of Innocent Respect
© Surazeus
2025 06 08

Waving the flag of innocent respect,
I run smoky streets where ravens abide
in lustrous lighthouse of the listless sect
who measure misfortune of mindless pride
with pure Promethean passion of the lost
despite attempts to recover the cost.

Blessing brutal battle of honest hope,
I try to stop masked men with toxic guns
who kidnap migrants still learning to cope
with barbarous rules bland devil outruns
in race against domestic fortitude,
fooled by myopic monsters seeking food.

Pressing backs against the prison-bound truck
where tax-paying workers shackled by chains
gamble for salvation with Lady Luck,
we fail attempt to earn capital gains
based on inevitable game of trust,
twisted by language of pecunial lust.

Escaping grasp at flotsam of my mind,
spirit starved by disbrilliant scam of faith,
I grasp with torrid talons undesigned
at tender wonder of melodious wraith
who sells us wishes forged in flames of fate
for spells concocting tricks of transient hate.

Recording heartbreak in screenplay of jokes
that presents deeds of bored backsliding thief,
I strengthen knowledge of the promised hoax
with praised putrescence pilfered from fake grief
by mixing concepts marginal to proof
no Gift-Giver prances on our church roof.

Issuing cards with identity code,
designed to error emulated masks,
I photograph auras through mental mode
with tragic turpitude of menial tasks
the wingless devil thinks he must perform
to vacuum biohazards from the storm.

Soaring across our nation on glass wings
to multitask monumental regret,
I valve strict surgical nature of rings
to protect precious life of my coquette
who rules curious castaways of fame,
nourished by psychic glamor of her name.

Brushing our fragile bodies into Hell,
the thoughtless hand of God nurtures no care
for spirit of the goddess in the well
who asks me to accept her dauntless dare
that must provide no alibi for why
except what we invent with Watching Eye.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus draws water from the well to quench thirst of refugees from the relentless civil war that destroys their homeland.

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

Revelation Of Belshazzar
© Surazeus
2025 06 08

Because I never tire of singing trees,
I hide from mankind in the glowing screen
where cattle are but shadows on the hill
and junipers bleed tears of graveless souls,
so I will carve their long-forgotten names
on stones that crack at rave of petrichor.

Rooks that caw at my window before dawn
teach me to understand song of the Earth
so I plant trees of demons in the sky
that drips wet clay on crystal temple walls
where yearning souls fly round the fractured world
to seal our languages in burning books.

That noiseless patient spider of my heart
which crawls vast promontory of despair
still launches filaments of secret codes
to map the measureless ocean of space
where I build bridge of words beyond my soul
that hangs on gossamer thread of weird truth.

Thus I traverse the globe for sacred lore
so my stern heart may learn experience
designed by prudent tact of angsty wit
by which I light the steady lamp of faith
so I may wander lands beyond my town
till all the world becomes my secret home.

Through science I analyze Providence
to balance reason with passionate hope
supporting wholesome faith of nourishment
which fuels my journey to the Promised Land
where I perform great deeds from innocence
to render fear of absence obsolete.

Dispersed by words across infinity
to rise from Nothing of conceptual light,
I spring from ideals of my memory
through incantation my heart radiates
by caustic prayer confounding my free will
based on Revelation of Belshazzar.

Thus I record sad cries of wind-thrashed leaves
to hint at nothingness of bitter cold
which glows in hollow of my trending heart
based on resistance I must exercise
through fierce exertion of my honest will
to transcend limits of my time-bound space.

Aroused by gleaming fantasy of faith,
my brain asserts authority of fear
to bind chaotic swirl of charity
with mask of meaning for the doctrinized,
forged by electric flame of words I speak
till we become sufficiency of Death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia take their children to the restaurant to eat fried chicken while the wicked witch recites the lost Revelation of Belshazzar.

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

Doom Of My Dilemma
© Surazeus
2025 06 08

Because the sturdy ship of faith I ride
amid swirling waves of uncertainty
bears me through thunderstorm of brutal fear
to safe shores of her kind protective heart,
I sail with calm assurance of her love
with confidence that I will find her haven.

Though I have known romantic potency
through both the male and female forms of being
since I struck mating snakes with piety,
my heart has blossomed for the Queen of Stars
whose fierce eyes cause my heart to ache with love,
yet Juno may not love Tiresias.

I wonder, as I watch her glide with grace
in long scarlet gown of shimmering silk,
waist and head ringed with jeweled bands of gold,
and firm hand bearing wand with ruby gem,
if our proud queen, whose command changes fate,
would ever love some lowly fool like me.

So my heart beats with passion of respect
when Juno gazes in my loyal eyes
and commands I lead gang of warriors
to arrest and deport migrants and thieves
from crowded slums outside Elysium
to guard Olympus from unruly crowds.

Honored to receive command of her heart,
I feel strange anguish pierce my gasping chest
when I realize with shock that she commands
I abuse and injure innocent souls
because they have become homeless and poor
due to misfortunes gambled by Fate.

Leading gang of warriors with sharp swords,
I march through crowded streets of filthy slums
that mushroomed outside marble walls of power,
determined to obey her calm command
to cleanse the fields where apple trees once bloomed
by attacking people who want to live.

After drenching streets of Elysian slums
with blood of people who but sought refuge,
I kneel before Juno in marble hall,
who sits on gold throne in palace of jewels,
then draw sharp sword from scabbard of my shame
and thrust blade of justice into my heart.

Cradling my wounded body in her arms,
Juno weeps crystal tears over my death,
as I gasp I had to obey he words
but punished myself for killing good folk,
then sink blind into doom of my dilemma,
hoping she repents and changes her ways.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury and sings tragic romance of Tiresias and Juno.

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

Our Inner God Soul
© Surazeus
2025 06 07

Dim light of evening after thunderstorm
glows on white page of the blank journal book
that mirrors visions of my dreaming brain
as I trace contours of my mind landscape
to map the virtual world my dreams design
based on memories my ancestors lived.

I hear their voices whisper in the wind
that wanders in broad river vales of hope
to find conceptual Wonderland of Faith
that exists only in old story books
where ghosts of my ancestors replay roles
of their failure and success in this world.

Each individual conscious human soul,
whose genes weave neural network of my brain,
struggled against obstacles of despair,
overcoming confusion long enough
to meet their soul mate on rough road of life
and generate new life before they die.

I describe in plain terms our quest to live
each day we wake in light of energy
that powers our hearts with passion to live
evading death with laughter in our songs
fueled by pleasure of selfless love we share
in tales that teach our children how to thrive.

We code success in joy of comedy
and failure in horror of tragedy
to formulate flow of cause and effect
defining consequence of acts performed
which form foundation of morality
preserved in religious myths of our gods.

Our gods we worship with reverent awe
embody actions that create the good,
presenting ideal personality
that we should emulate in how we live
to transcend animal nature we portray
as we cultivate our inner god soul.

Though gold sunlight fades behind rain-wet trees
I see eternal beauty of this Earth
gleam through essence of organic beings
who all evolve from one First Mother Soul
whose timeless song of love glows in each cell
that preserves immortal soul of our genes.

Immortal energy of atoms glows
in raindrops hanging from leaves of lush trees,
so I open my mouth with thirst for truth
to taste divine soul of our universe,
then sing ache of my temporary mind
in these spells you sing long after I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sits at the window of his powerless house and ponders the meaning life after a tree, blown over in a thunderstorm, knocks down a powerline.

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

Zeppelin On Demonic Wings
© Surazeus
2025 06 07

Not quite as wicked as the burning tree
are all the people yearning to live free
who storm the gates of paradise at dawn
then dance with wild abandon on the lawn
before explosion of the nuclear bomb
that blasts our gleaming cities into gloom.

Apollo dances on the smoky stage,
singing spells in the microphone of rage
about the lady on the mountain top
who sells dreams of success in her golden shop
to rebuild our world after third world war
leaves nothing standing but the greed-locked door.

Enormous zeppelin on demonic wings
soars high over land where Apollo sings
with golden voice of psychic energy
that shakes our bodies from grim lethargy
so we rise up from grave of tyranny
to frighten tyrants with democracy.

Apollo and his band of savage seers
sing hymns of hell that shatter blinding fears
and shake us loose from horror of cruel greed
when oligarchs monetize every need
so we slave in their factories of death
till hope inspires us with the holy breath.

Apollo leads us from gloom of despair
with torch of liberty that glimmers fair
to climb Stairway to Heaven with bold faith
where apple trees bloom from heart of the wraith
who hurls lightning bolts at the Midas Gang
to smash their golden castle with loud bang.

Apollo born on Earth as Robert Plant
sings hymns of oppressed love in certain slant
of light that hefts electric guitar tunes
vibrating spells from ancient Odin Runes
while humble hobbits fight against Sauron
and Neil Armstrong leaps high across the moon.

After Plutus helps Midas grasp world power
they fight each other in the golden tower
till Zeus strikes them both down with lightning bolts,
revealing how their victory was false,
then fierce Apollo leads our march for truth
to pave way for reign of messiah sleuth.

Huge lead-souled zeppelin on demonic wings
soars over America with star rings
to spark revolution of Liberty
that inspires new hope in humanity
to fight for justice and freedom for all
who help Apollo tear down every wall.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays electric guitar while Apollo sings the Stairway to Heaven as hymn to Minerva Goddess of Justice.

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

My Door To Your Heart
© Surazeus
2025 06 06

Because the moon is my door to your heart
I will be bold stars that shelter your world
to keep you safe with gentle words of love
that flow as ocean waves which lift your boat
above abyss of doom so wind of hope
I breathe may bear you to shore of my heart.

Prometheus arches his muscular frame
to shelter Hesione from gusting winds
which keeps her dry from lash of stinging rain
as they crouch low against high rocky cliff
that glitters with each sudden scarlet flash
as lightning bolts strike adamantine time.

Slipping deep into narrow jagged crack
that splits conceptual world of honesty,
Prometheus leads frail angel of his heart
into enormous cavern with large pool
that gleams from light of jewels in its walls
where they cuddle warm in the wounded gloom.

Cuddling together at edge of the pool,
Prometheus and Hesione smile
at reflection of their faces that gleam
with eerie calm of transcendental trust
till drop of water from the cavern roof
shatters clear vision of their alien souls.

If I gaze too long at my own strange face,
my innocent heart might become entranced
with curious obsession to comprehend
true nature of that preternatural soul
which seems to animate my conscious will,
and forget beauty of your special face.

Prometheus turns away from their reflection
and gazes at the face of his young bride,
then reaches out his trembling hand with awe
to caress rose-blushed cheek with gentle love,
so she opens her moist mouth to express
passionate love of her heart for his soul.

If, in desire to please your flighty heart
and keep attention of your loyal love
long focused straight on essence of my being,
I echo concepts of your spoken words
to understand weird mystery of your mind,
I might forget my own peculiar thoughts.

Embracing bodies in cavern of jewels,
the boy and the girl who forget their names
make love in glimmer of eternal truth
so they remember how the universe
still flares forth from first flash of the big bang
to generate new life from fear of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds skeletons of a man and a woman in the mountain cavern forty thousand years after they lived and died, so he displays them in the Zarathian Museum of Natural History.

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

Journey On The Golden Way
© Surazeus
2025 06 06

Awake in dream-cache of my boundless head,
I find the missing persons of the world
whose voices echo in strange empty rooms
because the tilted moon of consciousness
wheels far beyond the city I know well
to gleam blind in dilapidated cairn.

Lost in bright shadow where no devils tread
to watch strange drama of the cosmic herald,
I record tales carved on abandoned tombs
in vain game to analyze selfishness
which motivates each angel of the bell
to write new story for each soul yet born.

Across the cluttered landscape of my mind
I pave new road that weaves ten thousand towns
in one vast network of collected souls
who merge into each other as they flow
till they become the faded photographs
their children keep in luggage of despair.

Each cathedral rose window Fate designed,
that depicts tragic tales of holy clowns,
provides confusing answer for what roles
we choose to play with faith so we can grow
at shocked epiphany when no one laughs
since nothing happens despite fervent prayer.

Oblivious wisdom of our misplaced faith
contrives obscenity of quickened hope
that mirrors trammeled darkness of sunrise
to fill the empty sky with blazing song
which breaks my heart free from cage of desire
through disengagement of the flashing rain.

Heart swelling with power of the star wraith,
I clamber clumsily up the steep slope
through inspiration of divine surprise
to enter sacred groove where clamorous throng
sings frenzied hymns in world communal choir
directed by the social charlatan.

Frail paper flowers in the water vase
astound mind of the prophet with no hands
who preaches every conscious soul will die
which angers fierce believers with glass hearts
confirmed as idols of anxiety
who weep at judgment of the final day.

Dressed in black gown of agony and lace,
young star-eyed woman of the Netherlands
maps new world view across the mirror sky
while bearing Book of Liberty with charts
for codes to solve puzzles of piety
that guides our journey on the Golden Way.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sells road maps of the Golden Way while standing outside ruins of the cathedral where tourists take photos and pray to the empty sky.

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

Precious Dreams We Share
© Surazeus
2025 06 05

When my heart is enchanted by black eyes
of the thousand-year-old vixen I love,
I give up all that is bad for my soul
so we can dwell together in our home,
which we create from precious dreams we share,
till eternity transforms us to stone.

Together in posh restaurant by the river,
at round glass table with bottle of wine
by the three-hundred-year-old marble fountain,
which represents how love flows endlessly,
we hold hands and gaze at each other brightly,
loving life since death could strike any time.

So we are young, healthy, and beautiful,
two strangers from opposite sides of Earth
who pick each other as our special mate
out of billions of people on this globe,
yet random chance we meet and fall in love
provides principle for our love to thrive.

Though politicians and rich oligarchs
ally together to grasp wand of power,
then fight over who will control the game,
we continue with our private romance,
vowing to work together with strong faith
to survive though civilization falls.

Though she has lived many long centuries,
meeting and losing countless friends to death
as she buries endless lovers in Earth,
she decides with ache of love in her heart
that I have become the most special soul
whom she has met in the past thousand years.

Yet I too will grow old and pass away,
vanishing from vibrant dream of this world
as fragile flame that flickers in the storm
of endless time which sweeps all living souls
into relentless flow of constant change
which crushes all our Heavens into dust.

Walls of our home we build from memories,
we share in drama we perform each day,
protect our spirits with enchanting charm
conjured by selfless respect of our hearts
when we cooperate in honest quest
for treasures that sustain our fragile souls.

This secret home in haven of our hearts,
which we create from precious dreams we share,
provides safe sanctuary for our love
to blossom sweet nutritious fruit of faith
from melancholy muck of cold despair
till eternity transforms us to stone.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia dine at the posh restaurant by the fountain of their hearts, and share stories of their lives in dream of the ever-spinning world.

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

Library of World History
© Surazeus
2025 06 05

As conscious meat puppet of chemicals,
flashing with light of ancient long-dead stars,
I play this charade of fictional I
in psychological performance of hope
while dancing on rope of fake confidence
across abyss of meaningless despair.

Since Nature is indifferent to my life,
though she created me with intense love
as I evolved four hundred million years,
I keep on living my daily routine
of eating food, mapping worlds, writing poems,
and watching dramas of human desire.

After walking signless road of weird dreams
sixty years from my cradle toward my grave,
which remains hidden somewhere in the mist
of some tomorrow I have not yet seen,
I recognize illusions of this world
so my worn-out heart can savor the truth.

Now that I see true nature of this world
after dispersing illusions of faith,
I can, with knowledge of what drives my song,
dispel negative emotions of fear
that threaten to damn me with impotence,
for I am fertile with fruit from despair.

Though despair once crippled my angel wings,
so I stumbled half-blind in maze of Hell,
desperately searching for the Holy Grail,
I found that treasure in heart of my mate
who generates new body from my mind
to replicate immortal soul of genes.

Encoding memories of ancestral lives
which program how my brain perceives the world
in myths and proverbs of compelling verse,
I chronicle long history of mankind
in tales of heroes who fight against hate
to generate new life before they die.

As librarian tasked with preserving books
that record epic tales of human life,
I guard Library of World History
so our descendants see how we behave
to avoid tragedy of selfish greed
by sharing love with generous respect.

Though we are meat puppets of chemicals
as temporary nodes of conscious life
who generate bodies of hungry flesh
to replicate immortal soul of genes,
we create beauty of truth about life
when we gather to share fruit and sing tales.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus guides researchers in the Library of World History to find the secret book of fate that each person writes each day they perform as meat puppet of chemicals.

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

White Savior Privilege
© Surazeus
2025 06 05

Where are the angels who know how to fly,
the little boy asks blind robots who cry,
then runs to the lake where book letters crawl,
eager to build new conceptual wall
enclosing lush garden of apple trees
where arrogant devils sigh in the breeze.

Why are good people who work every day,
the little boy asks waitress with the tray,
paid far less than wealthy men who play golf
who keep secret shrines to worship Adolf,
then sail golden yachts to isles of fruit trees
where innocent angels tend honeybees.

With every new question that plagues his heart
the little boy wanders off the world chart
deeper in maze of reluctant white knights
engaged with justice to guide social fights
against vicious bullies who wear black masks
on covert missions of illegal tasks.

Clandestine quest of the jesterized king
the little boy tracks with angelic wing
leads his path too far beyond walls of truth
till he transforms into messiah sleuth
whose journey of faith to state of respect
changes how words depict the trope concept.

Stumbling throughout the transubstantial void,
the little boy, programmed to play android
based on artificial intelligence,
constructs new world view on fake evidence
describing how tribes follow the Strong Man
who claims he is the savvy businessman.

Dancing across the bridge of nothingness,
the little boy shouts, all is meaningless,
then visits every garden paradise
where local tyrants calculate the price
that he expects they pay to stay in power
by keeping their daughters locked in his tower.

Wild horses astir in organized stalls
the little boy paints on bomb-blasted walls
of grand cathedrals where tyrants once ruled
over humble farmers whom they had fooled
with resurrection of the mortal soul
as rainbow-spectacled elusive goal.

To free us from our disempowered life,
the little boy, with sharp god-killing knife,
twists body wild with social energy
and shouts dream spells in psychic ecstasy,
which represents white savior privilege,
entitled to commit strange sacrilege.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus exercises his white savior privilege to free millions of people from economic slavery around the world.

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

Illusion Of Our Nation
© Surazeus
2025 06 04

Assassination of the happy clown,
which always happens at the dawn of time,
startles everyone in the ghostly town
where brave shepherds cry at the fractured chime
that vibrates from crystal ball of the witch
who sees the future in my broken heart.

Still arrogant pride of the weeping judge
annoys the lonely raven on the sign
which indicates which way the turtle goes
to play with joyous goats in ring of stones
that transform into square towers of glass
designed to regulate passionate faith.

Extracting wisdom from the foul swamp muck
despite how doors howl at the math exam,
I am determined to marry Queen Luck
whose spirit face postulates which engram
represents stone angel of my fierce heart
when I spread wings of my consular chart.

Climbing narrow trail in forest of pines
to gypsy camp in lush Avilion,
I find statue of Star Goddess Ishtar
that depicts Mother of Humanity
holding crystal jewel of the God Eye
which beams bright rays of truth into my heart.

Extending loyal worship of my soul,
I weep that Ishtar vanished from this world
though she assigned me to play guardian role,
so I return to Earth as cosmic herald,
sent by Sun Spider of spirit rebirth
to maintain United Nations of Earth.

Hungry for beautiful truth of the mind,
I eat hamburgers with root beer and fries
in the busy cafe where troubadours
recount fantastic legends of great heroes
who sacrifice their lives to save the state
from tyranny of oligarchs blind with hate.

Mesmerized by grand painting on the wall
with Odysseus and Penelope
feasting together in their new-cleaned hall,
I think about my love Persephone
who was abducted by the tyrant king
who cut out my tongue so I cannot sing.

Through resurrection of the happy clown
some think we can restore America,
but illusion of our nation we dreamed
has vanished with factory smoke at sunset,
so we build new concept of Zarathia
based on Justice and Liberty for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus lays wreath of flowers at my tomb beneath the statue of Ishtar who holds crystal jewel of the God Eye.

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

Her Grave In My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 06 04

After I turn back at shiver of fear,
when shadow from the angel of death looms
cold as dark thunderclouds blotting the sun,
Death turns into small stone angel with wings
past which small kitten with fierce dragon eyes
prances boldly toward me on hell-bent paws.

As I kneel down in cemetery grass
to pet the kitten with green dragon eyes
I ponder weird question of origins
embodied by the stone on the sea shore
where girls veiled by rain dig oysters and clams
while they sing in rhythm with sunlit waves.

Balanced on tip of the slow-spinning world,
contained by structure of cerulean skies,
I hesitate to reveal secret dreams
in which the world crumbles into weird words,
though I arrange syllables of cold hours
with absolute assurance of the truth.

Because the ever-flowing stream of time
illuminates strange concepts of my mind,
I adjust dark melancholy of fate
to awaken divine consciousness of self
from sloughing agony of wretched pain
through clarity of language I design.

Drowsy with innocent naivete
that crouches on the stone in mute toad form,
I measure strict vibration of despair
contained within minute eye of the sun
that gleams gold above horizon of hope
while silver waves erode the rocky shore.

When Death knocks on my mirrored chamber door
the star-eyed Angel of Hope shields my heart
from agony that millions of souls suffer
though I hear shriek of their desperate prayers
in songs of birds that flit in apple trees
while people drive cars on highways of fear.

Her voice shimmers in shadow of the cloud,
floating over harbor of broken ships,
which darkens roofs of houses full of ghosts,
and cools blank stone of her grave in my heart
slowly moving across immobile hills
while the sparrow flies at the window sky.

The stone angel with wings in dew-wet grass
in cheerful cemetery by the sea
watches me with moon-black eyes of respect
while I consume and create surreal dreams,
because if I look away from her face
Death will transform from mute stone and attack.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus stares at the small stone angel with wings at the grave of Minerva for ten thousand years, hoping Death would be stayed by knowledge.

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

Melodies On Oak Flute
© Surazeus
2025 06 04

Zillions of people who have lived and died
follow me around in the air I breathe,
and fall on my head as cold drops of rain,
so I stop by the river in the woods
and try to recite their forgotten names
which I hear whispered in song of the sea.

Eyes black as the new moon behind rain clouds,
she smiles at me with beaming gaze of love
as we sit on the rocky shore of time
so I place in her hand the tangerine
which I plucked from tree of eternity,
then she touches my cheek with her warm hand.

Always gazing in abyss of my heart,
she tells me how the universe was born
and how light weaves wild atoms into spheres
where conscious creatures crawl up sparkling streams
and how my admiration for her being
sparks new soul in warm cavern of her mind.

After herding goats for six thousand years
in rugged hills of lush Arcadia
beneath the sloping knoll in myrtle shade
where they drink from sparkling springs of Cranae,
I ask sweet Daphne if she knows my name,
but she just smiles and gazes at the moon.

Where heifers low beside the crystal stream
young Daphnis gazes at the rising sun,
amazed at how its light seems to create
varied shape of this world which undulates
with river valleys between rocky hills
where nightingales sing sweet among tree boughs.

Gold honey flowing from the sticky comb
tastes sweet in liquor bubbling in the pot,
so Thyrsis plays melodies on oak flute
while Daphnis strides with apples in his arms
which he throws to each couple on the shore
who feed their children around glowing fires.

Sweet visions of life in the countryside
where my ancestors dwelled in paradise
long before men invented spears and swords
blind my eyes to the world empire of towers
with connected world wide web of computers
that expands each day on our spinning globe.

Though no one weeps for death of Daphnis now
four thousand years after he herded goats,
yet still I think about his gentle ways
and how the village girls wept at his grave
that was blasted by bombs in the world war
which burns every library to the ground.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sits on sloping knoll in myrtle shade beside the grave of Daphnis while holding hands with his twin sister Daphne who smiles through her tears.

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

Radiant Doors Of Time
© Surazeus
2025 06 03

Each time I step through radiant doors of time
to walk in wilderness of hopping books
I follow hum of the great Buddha Toad
who gives me juicy tangerine of faith
so I can taste beauty of selfless love
which I extend to every living soul.

Attempting to fix radiant doors of time,
broken by arrogance of my bold youth,
I search the world for pieces of the puzzle
which I assemble from dreams of lost souls
on Round Table in court of Camelot
till I design new world view for you all.

Once I emerge from radiant doors of time
my face fractures into millions of souls
who sprout from my descendants in new clans
to colonize river vales of the world
two thousand years since I fought to restore
kingdom of my ancestors with the Word.

Measuring egg in radiant doors of time,
I cast weird prophecy from words of blood
written with flames of truth on temple walls
where fearful people of illiterate farms
worship starry eyes of the Buddha Toad
who teaches them how to add and subtract.

Driving fast car through radiant doors of time,
I search for Museum of Singing Skulls
where Orpheus and Hamlet prophesy
rise and fall of tyrants each eighty years
who destroy institutions of old faith
so messiah sleuth can build the new world order.

Stumbling hungry from radiant doors of time,
I lift up my eyes to the golden hills
where the American Eagle soars high
to lead army of angels in white robes
in holy crusade of courageous hearts
to establish Empire of Godin on Earth.

Stuck in dream loop past radiant doors of time,
I recalculate the route to success
with geographic positioning system
of satellite-based radionavigation
which provides precise location of Heaven
where I play guitar outside its locked gates.

Carving rune spells on radiant doors of time,
I formulate fast flow of energy
contained by particles in their rest frame
as product of mass with speed of light squared
that defines relative motion of love
urging my body to sing in moonlight.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Albert Einstein sit lotus together to meditate in the swamp before Buddha Toad who hums on the red mushroom of infinite wisdom.

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

Frantic Fear Of Death
© Surazeus
2025 06 03

Conglomerate souls of the singing sea
assert beacon of light to wake from dream
arrogant peregrine with glowing wings
who calls to Morpheus with aching cry,
so he eats juicy tangerine of faith
where voices of angels reverberate.

No convex mirror in cathedral hall
could well reflect new mask that Nerthus wears
when she bakes apple pies with cinnamon
for Nordic heroes of the third world war
to eat when they return from battlefields
with paintings they stole from the House of Zeus.

Anyone who speaks the language of birds
knows how to lament when blind angels fall
to become humans as robots of flesh
who drink root beer while waiting by the phone
for Prometheus to call with secret code
that we could use to cure the dream disease.

Yet white chrysanthemums of solemn death,
that bloom from sponge brains of innocent gods,
reveal strange kaleidoscope view of life
that we adapt from radiant doors of time
with eager faith to cross threshold of fear
and face the devil who tricks us with lies.

The spider that floats in water of hope
wants to teach me art of weaving dream words
in tangled tapestries of tortured truth
presenting story of messiah sleuth
who should be arriving any day now
to unite warring states in global faith.

Or we could give each other secret books
in which we paste photographs of our friends
whose names and tales we write on autumn leaves
that blow away in hurricane of change
which sweeps across our land of bleeding doors
when angels and devils fight for world power.

Since turtles allocate with careful votes
who gets to join exclusive club of gods,
we rebuild houses destroyed by thought bombs
that tyrants hurl from frantic fear of death
in social game where everyone must prove
they have the right to live with free respect.

Not wanting to care about death of people
whose animating spirits of desire
vanish in overripe wind of contempt,
I justify the way I talk about
conglomerate souls of the swirling sea
who gather by the apple tree to sing.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus gathers billions of autumn leaves with the tale of every human who ever lived and binds them in the Book of Laughing Trees.

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

God Turtle In The Pond
© Surazeus
2025 06 03

Startled by how fast light creates my brain,
I hide in the temple where the wolf rests
so children dancing in the field of skulls
become ghosts in the television screen
that grows so huge it swallows the whole world
and crawls across the stars on turtle wings.

People keep telling me about the war
where the powerful country with more faith
tries to conquer the weak country with guns,
so I become god turtle in the pond
whose shell Mercury uses to invent
the lyre poets play when they tell tall tales.

I wonder why, as I stand on the bridge
and watch cars with bright yellow headlights glide
below me on secret missions from God,
cars look like turtles with round metal shells
and diamond eyes that prophesy events
that never happen except in fairy tales.

How awkward this acknowledgement of pain
that I record in the county courthouse,
notarized by the blind prophet of love
when Tiresias places in my hand
psychic certificate that verifies
conceptual nonexistence of my soul.

Kneeling in small shack on the river shore
under round lamp that glows with gentle grace,
I hum in harmony with cricket song
as moon rays stream through limbs of cherry trees,
then, with horse-hair brush dipped in dragon blood,
I write short verse expressing lonely joy.

If the old man with long gray beard, and eyes
that saw his family shot by guns of hate,
plays violin by cement ghetto wall,
he might find salvation in songs of sorrow
that make people cry without knowing why
though their sons are the boys who killed his clan.

Instead of killing each other with hate
the people of nations who fight cruel wars
should invent new religion of one faith
then marry each other in hall of mirrors
so their children become one holy state,
but no one likes his idea that much.

Because I am god turtle in the pond,
awake with divine consciousness of water,
I fail to ignore all the suffering
that humans endure with their fragile bodies
animated by temporary soul
of moon rays stream through limbs of cherry trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus walks in the Holy Land, preaching the new world religion of tribal intermarriage that merges all nations into one global family, till nationalists shoots him dead.

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

Singing Scorpion Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 02

Though sorrow erases mouth of my mind
I feel the singing scorpion of my tongue
emerge from shadow of unspoken hopes
to sting blind demon of despair with love
though misery suffocates enduring souls
who follow Eurydice from Sheol.

With tedious recitation of dream spells
in glass church of the singing scorpion
I open ten thousand mouths of the dead
who wish to partake in the sacrament
to seek dubious blessing of divine grace
embodied by ghost in the empty chair.

Impassable threshold of broken doors
obstructs progression of the hungry spy
who transcribes riddles hidden in smooth stones
based on code of the singing scorpion
who performs role of my psychotherapist
according to morals of butterflies.

Scraping political posters off walls
of cathedrals and museums with fear,
Sirius searches forest of glass oaks
for quaint cottage where Eurydice dwells
to tend garden of the singing scorpion
despite how fast the clock of her heart ticks.

Building tables, dressers, and writing desks
that shimmer brightly in gray morning fog,
Sirius tells the singing scorpion
tragic tales blind ballerinas perform
though bombs blast theater of the absurd
into fragments of mirrors without eyes.

Raspberries glisten with red dew of dawn
where the hypnotized robot princess walks
each morning in apple groves of weird fate
to feed the singing scorpion of faith
dream words she scrapes from television screens
because time blurs into false memories.

No baffling system of the government
will stop the complicated game of wealth
that Sirius plays with cheat code of faith
invented by the singing scorpion
who asks Eurydice if she would like
to rule the world as princess of the tree.

These lies we tell in tangled verse of pride
unravel with each truth we hide in eggs
refracting light rays of the cosmic wraith
in psychic bond that nurtures our respect
though we keep winding clock of charity
still controlled by the singing scorpion.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus returns from Elysium to find Sirius and Eurydice tending the garden of the singing scorpion who transforms into their daughter Ophelia.

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

No Castles In America
© Surazeus
2025 06 02

I find glass castles in America
where tyrants and their greedy gangs of thieves
oppress people who work with their hands,
so I build democracy to guard their rights
till oligarchs seize control of our faith
and crown their puppet Emperor of Earth.

Asserting right to exercise free will
to pursue my dream of producing wealth
so every person in my company
thrives through creative force of energy,
I balance private need with public good
to maintain my country through peaceful growth.

Some people want to exploit working people
to keep them ignorant and obedient
through nefarious plot to enslave their dreams
with low pages and no union support
by weakening system of education
that traps them in cycle of poverty.

I want to empower people with knowledge
so they can perform the job they enjoy
working with their hands to design and build,
or working with their minds to transcend fear,
which fuels engine of our economy
so everyone has money to buy goods.

The old chief executive officer
stares at the young man with rebellious eyes
who aims plan of revolution at his heart,
and smiles with hope to calm his trembling rage,
but he shouts, death to tyrannical thieves,
and discharges credit to erase greed.

Striding boldly past tall towers of wealth,
the knight in shining armor climbs stairway
to enter grand cathedral of state power
where he lays his weapon of social faith
before idol of the crucified king
and prays that he performs the Will of Good.

When police break through sanctuary doors
to arrest the man with the red right hand
for terminating power of the king,
he transforms into raven with white wings
and flutters past gangsters with guns of fear
who fire at apparition of despair.

I find no castles in America
where tyrants could assert authority
by claiming they own people and the land,
yet, lurking in castles of stolen wealth,
oligarchs hide from effects of their greed,
imprisoned in fake heaven of their fear.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings legends of when Jupiter rebels against Cronus, when Lucifer rebels against Jupiter, and when Jesus rebels against Lucifer.

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

Time Machine Of Books
© Surazeus
2025 06 02

Since the day I arrived on this weird Earth
I have tripped haphazardly anywhere
on vast unmapped landscape of erased myths
recorded in the time machine of books,
so I have compiled from random events
coherent narrative of my grand legend.

In conversation with dead faceless ghosts
I chat with invisible birds in trees
whose secret language describes anecdotes
for psychic revolution of true faith
encoding social values in folk songs
based on epistemology of truth.

Scarecrow of guilt in field of humming wheat
reaches out to touch frail moth of my heart
lacerated by sunset of desire
when bodies of innocent people, killed
in famines from destructive wars for power,
bloom into flowers where young children play.

The whole family in the small mountain town,
who were all born from river rocks at dawn,
sit on wood stools in front lawn of their house,
and sing with pop songs on the radio
as they shuck corn to find the golden treasure
in holy seeds from which the world is born.

I care about every soul in the world,
amused that none of them care about me,
because we bloom together in the sun
from river stones and flower seeds and feathers,
for each contains scent of eternity
recorded in the time machine of books.

The only stories humans ever tell
depict the sadness of women in love
for they generate the bodies of children
designed by hope in alternate dimensions
who tell each other tales of their survival
which compose holy scripture of their nations.

Yet I mistake dread for end of the world
as tragic romance of every good marriage
that produces each new world generation
whose childhood games in schoolyards of despair
become civil wars societies fight
between liberals and conservatives.

Released from prison of the optimist,
I assemble puzzle of new world view
from every story any human told
since our first mother in the apple tree
expressed frustration in conceptual sounds
that inspired her daughter to invent language.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while Ophelia sings Ballad of the First Mother Who Invented Language.

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

Fly Beyond Our Graves
© Surazeus
2025 06 01

When I hold my face still for timeless truth
history hangs my mask on the wall of souls
so I can watch my descendants explore
dream of this world for eighty thousand years
while all their empires rise and fall in waves
between tyranny and democracy.

Unaverage hollow that fashions skull shapes
reflects flesh of the morning star that molds
souls of weird humans who search for the truth
while walking cautiously on broken roads,
yet stop before house of the rising sun
where the blind girl invents language we speak.

If I memorize promise of the land
that curves wide with responsible respect
I hope you find me more reliable
than obsolete angels of paradise
who hang as paper puppets from the wall,
nameless ghosts of the sad psychiatrist.

Death will not tolerate casual mistakes
made by the Thought Machine with blinking eye
whose truth anticipates conceptual faith
based on assurance of the always-known
contrived when Sirius rings the lonely bell
because our world whirls in visions of words.

Halfway along the signless road of everywhere
we camp beside the lake of screaming fish,
and tell each other stories of our lives
while flames of eternity light our masks
designed to replicate ancestral souls
based on artificial intelligence.

Drunk from liquor of peaches and mushrooms,
I search for my infant on the white moon
who hides in shadow of the window ghost
to preserve family heirlooms in her heart
till they sprout into swan-angelic wings
so she grows into the woman who knows.

Black horses race across the gloom of fate
to cast eyes of stone in the church graveyard
where the Turnstone ponders how waves play chase
because star of silence possesses me
with psychic stillness of the photograph
which preserves my soul long after I die.

Since death is not the walls of paradise,
I teach the children in the school of dreams
how to translate old songs of wind and rain
to cheerful laughter of innocent love
we share as family in temple of books
that spread their wings and fly beyond our graves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus meets Sirius for ginger mochas at the Pegasus Cafe where they talk about philosophy of family.

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

Beforetime Of The Soul
© Surazeus
2025 06 01

We build our world through generosity
to express compassion for every life
with machinery of honesty and doubt
through performance of our material minds
which animate bodies of flesh and blood
for we are lilies blooming from the mud.

Motivated by ineloquent grief,
we strive for fluency of psychic spells
to escape tight tunnel of unforgiveness
so we can bloom into our divine selves
by leaping from beforetime of the soul
to eat citrus fruit of divinity.

Tricked to believe God is River of Time
by how atoms swirl loose in constant change,
I create new planet from orange of hope
where every person breathing in one world
has equal opportunity to live
so they fulfill potential of their being.

Wedged too tight between the hill and the cloud,
I writhe with agony of fierce belief
that I am born with inalienable right
to live as I will through dream liberty
as long as I cause no destructive harm
when I play chess with Death till end of time.

Pinned to whirling disk of Eternal Now
by frantic fact of material form,
I tend lush garden of trees bearing fruit
and sing sweet wordless melody of faith
because we share resources of this world
though tyrants fight over who defines truth.

To reassemble fractured dream of faith,
which still programs how we perform our roles
as citizens of this world-straddling state,
I climb frail telephone pole of desire
somewhere in the waste land of yesterday
to connect broken wire of the world brain.

When I was alone in dream of this world
I kept walking forward on signless road
to find the paradise of anywhere
till I found the stranger I love forever
who lived on the other side of the world,
so now we stay together in our Heaven.

While we sit in the outdoor theater
watching romance of Romeo and Juliet,
rain cracks electric mirror of the sky
so we run away from that tragic fate
and live our own romance in paradise
that we create from shattered memories.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia perform roles of Romeo and Cinderella who fall in love and elope from Boston to start a new life in San Francisco where they wear flowers in their hair.

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

Weird Voice Of Death
© Surazeus
2025 06 01

The house the grows inside house of my heart
reaches out to hold hands with the oak tree
who whispers tales written in code of leaves
about the fallen angel of the moon
whose face hangs on the bedroom wall each noon
and talks to me with the weird voice of death.

The giant stone of smooth white solitude
that glimmers in grass beside the driveway
explains to me why the sky appears blue
so I gaze in the humming hole of hope
where ghosts of every soul who ever dreamed
sings spells to me with the weird voice of death.

The god who dances on telephone wires
teaches me how to fly with psychic breath
so when I master lithe swoop over homes
he names me Sirius for the primal soul
who weaves immortal spirit of our genes
encoding truth in the weird voice of death.

Dressed as the Mad Sun King for Halloween,
I channel soul of Sirius through my brain
when I knock on one hundred thousand doors
to cast out shadow-ghouls that haunt bare rooms
who fight tyranny of time with glass words
programmed to imitate weird voice of death.

Wearing mask of Sirius forged from glass,
I perform grand role as world pantomime
to highlight mystery of the shocked sublime
enthusing mortal brains with divine truth
which swells our spirits huge as singing whales
whose sea motifs translate weird voice of death.

When I scale the wall of difficult dreams
to glide with moon breeze in the orchard grove,
my primal soul, incarnate as Sirius,
catches water-sprites streaming from bright stars
that teach me how to live the modern life
alert to beauty from weird voice of death.

When I am young boy at the dawn of time
I sleep on my back with hands on my heart
so young girl who knows my real secret name
gives me apples for free with charming grin
so we run together in flower meadow
to sparkling pool that hides weird voice of death.

Each time my soul mate calls me Sirius
we kiss beneath the sprawling Tree of Knowledge
which sparks flower of electricity
to gain enough power of honest faith
so we assemble puzzle of our love
designed to organize weird voice of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus listens as Sirius explains how to guide souls of the dead from the Underworld so they can get jobs, rent apartments, and drive cars as part of the Zarathian Dream.

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

God Walks Through My Soul
© Surazeus
2025 05 31

When God walks through my soul with burning wings
I rise up from dark webbing of the sea
to crawl along bright river of fierce hope,
and climb up sprawling tree to grasp ripe fruit,
then feast on beauty of the sun and rain
so I can sing of how I love this Earth.

If God walks through my soul with flashing dreams
recording memories of ancestral brains,
I sprout from matrix of the mountain cave
that molds my body from soil of the Earth
so I emerge from darkness of my heart
woven from roots of trees that feed my flesh.

Since God walks through my soul with whirling wings
of wild transcendent anguish to soar high,
I breathe ethereal spirit of respect
when I look back on road of life I blazed
to see my face reflected in the pool
till I hear Echo call my secret name.

Till God walks through my soul with gleaming eyes
I dive deep in dark abyss of my dreams
where my god-soul is darkness of the Earth
composed of atoms swerving in the void
that flare forth from first flash of the big bang
to weave weird neural network of my brain.

World God walks through my soul with weaving light
that flares in flames of heart-surrounding walls
containing stories of humanity
in one expansive sphere of vibrant minds
who dance in circle of tall monoliths
where vision screens portray our psychic myths.

Tree God walks through my soul with blooming fruit
that draws nutritious energy of faith
from teeming darkness of the Underworld
where ghosts of every soul who ever lived,
sucked by hungry roots, fatten me with love
when I consume fruits of Earth Energy.

Your God walks through my soul with chanting spells
that program how my brain perceives the world
from holy scripture of prophetic code
presenting Mother Madonna with Child
who dwell safe in lush monastery garden
where roots of trees drink blood of fallen angels.

Star God walks through my soul with humming words
that pull my darkness from vortex of truth
to spiral far across the universe
as sperm that fertilizes egg of hope
which generates this body of my soul
so I burn with song till I become dust.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Rainier Rilke explore cathedrals of Europe where paintings of God and Jesus and Madonna and angels and saints glitter with gold of faith.

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

Jesus And Nine Devils
© Surazeus
2025 05 31

Along gritty railroad tracks into town,
past dilapidated houses and stores
through forest of rotten telephone poles,
I trudge lost toward my unknown destiny
while I strum guitar with four rusty strings
and sing cerulean ache of my heart.

The old gray-wood store with bags of horse feed
rises tall as the old abandoned church
where ghost of Jesus lingers in the window
then wanders out in cowboy hat and boots
to drive white Buick Rivera sedan
clanking over the railroad tracks of fate.

Cruising slow along the cracked asphalt road
past rows of houses with scruffy-grass lawns,
where children in coats laugh as they play games,
Jesus taps fingers on the steering wheel
while Jim Reeves sings, "I guess I am crazy
for loving you" on the car radio.

Nine devils in black leather jackets roar
engines of motorcycles loud as demons
as they surround the savior of the world,
flapping bat wings and unleashing sharp claws
when they kick the sides of his white sedan,
and throw rocks that crack his windshield of faith.

Gunning engine of white Buick Rivera,
Jesus races fast down the road to town
where people shopping in department stores
turn in shocked surprise at unholy roar
as Jesus and nine devils race through red lights
in battle over who will rule mankind.

Swerving back and forth in serpentine curves,
Jesus knocks several devil bikers hard
who spin out of control and crash in poles,
then speeds ahead just far enough to veer
sideways angled sliding on screeching tires
that burn rubber hot in billowing smoke.

Stepping from open door of white sedan,
Jesus in cowboy hat and snake-skin boots
stands firm against the tyranny of greed
to aim silver double-barreled shotgun
and fires blast of holy righteousness
that knocks cruel devils off their motorbikes.

Driving back home to his gray-wood feed store,
Jesus carries paper bags of groceries
upstairs to the kitchen on the third floor
where pregnant Mary Magdalene in blue dress
helps teen Tamar tend Justus in the highchair,
so they kiss as he grills burgers for supper.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus plays guitar and sings country ballad in the smoky bar about the legend of the showdown between Jesus and Nine Devils in an old Illinois town.

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

Chaotic Swirl Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 05 30

Why clouds glow silver in the boundless sky
I cannot speculate nor ponder why,
absorbed by beauty of the shocking light
that pierces my sad heart with ache of right
as I drift in drowsy uncertainty
at source of mysterious sublimity.

I see in mirror of eternity
face of my Muse born from absurdity
who will take mask of my face off the wall
and kiss my unfeeling lips when I call
her sweet name with song of the nightingale
who leads me through the misty roadless vale.

I dare not doubt romance of the heart
calculated well on my stellar chart
based on inherent uselessness of faith
contrived to trap concept of the star wraith
in holy hymns believers sing in church
beneath the gargoyle on his lonely perch.

Though my horse of freedom strains at the bit
I urge her race beyond the counterfeit
to scatter oak leaves scribbled with dream verse
across fake planets of the multiverse
which proves the living cannot love the dead
whose ghost of absence haunts the pulsing head.

Stuck in dank danger of my memory,
through puzzle of my documentary,
I love the evil witch who hates my soul
so I play necromancer as my role
to resurrect the dead in ballad tales
who mock the process mental health entails.

I long for bodied contact with my Muse,
though beauty fails to support old world views,
so I go through the Underworld of lies
without looking back to ancestral spies
who remember my frail dismembered frame
strewn on the beach as bones without my name.

I dig the skull of Orpheus from hard dirt
to learn code of his weird prophetic art
so I can weave chaotic swirl of hope
in solemn proverbs that help people cope
with lack of meaning in this brutal life
where gods gain power by killing through strife.

The dead we buried in tomb of grand myths
return as zombies in ringed monoliths
who disassemble narrative of truth
that foretells coming of messiah sleuth
who wears mask of god to hide nothingness
though we sing on bridge of forgetfulness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus wears the mask of Jupiter and preaches salvation through compassion for everyone in the church of the laughing gargoyle.

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

Blue Crane Of Longevity
© Surazeus
2025 05 30

Riding the blue crane of longevity,
I fly high over Kunlun Mountain peaks
and land by jade waters of Lake Heihai,
then climb secret trail past the tiger cave
through orchard where Peaches of Wisdom bloom
to Sapphire Palace beneath Whirlwind Peak.

Attending banquet in the jeweled hall,
I offer gift of my heart with respect
to Xi Wangmu, Queen Mother of the West,
who accepts Emerald Tablet from my hand,
then takes Big Dipper from the starry sky
and fills my grail with honey-spiced peach wine

While Zhongli Quan strums strings of the guzheng
that vibrates bright from the Grand Empty Space,
Wijimu Infinite Mother of Life
dances gracefully across the rainbow
to scatter sparkling rain on fields of crops
where farmers celebrate with grateful songs.

At sudden blast of swirling mountain wind
the two-horned dragon-bodied Qilin horse
emerges from pine woods on flaming wings
and gallops with thunderous elegance
in Sapphire Palace to bow before throne
where Xi Wangmu offers ripe peach to eat.

Strange vision glows before our dreaming eyes
that plays dramatic scenes on wall of mirrors
foretelling birth of the new world-famed sage
who will arrive during the great world war
to help us overthrow nationalist tyrants
and create United Nations of Earth.

Returning to my home in Okoni,
nestled in lush foothills of Appalachia,
I offer cracked corn to the blue-winged crane
who gives me scroll with fifty thousand songs,
then bows and soars into the silver clouds
with blessings from the heart of Xi Wangmu.

Though dream of America seems to fade
from ideal state where every human being
is treated equal under one fair law,
threatened by white nationalist supremacy,
I will nurture growth of Zarathia
where every person in the world lives free.

Inspired by Xi Wangmu, Mother of Earth,
who offers soul-nurturing Peach of Wisdom
for every human living on this Earth
to savor pleasure and beauty of life,
I work to build our new America
based on Liberty and Justice for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia bow before Xi Wangmu in Sapphire Palace, then he plays lyre of Mercury and she sings hymn to praise Mother of Earth.

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