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

How I Create Life
© Surazeus
2025 05 30

The casual way huge herd of silver clouds
gallops over rolling hills of tough grass,
hoofs grazing canopy of secretive trees
where monsters of my imagination lurk
till they vanish when I look in their eyes,
inspires me with hope that life goes on.

Wild spinning roulette of the mountain wind
rouses woods of my heart from drowsy faith
with shock of thought disorder that disrupts
slow undulation trapped by social words
that shift my world view into overdrive,
swirled by entanglements of honest faith.

Escape from demolished room of my faith
accelerates my transition to new state
of hungry passion for eccentric thoughts
that swim silver-scaled in Memory Sea
where I sail safely in small scarlet boat
toward lighthouse in old temple of dead gods

Beached on the silent island of regret,
I step on shifting sands of actual truth
as alien to this province of contempt,
and reach for shadow of the gleaming moon
that overwhelms my mind with buzzing ring
so I fall backward into well of gloom

Whose warm hand of compassionate desire
catches me from falling into abyss
of harsh traumatic memories I conceal
puzzles my heart with adoring respect,
but when I wake beneath the willow tree
I see no savior other than the wind.

Enormous tower of evasive hope
spears straight up into whale-belly of clouds
that writhe with lightning flashes of despair,
so I climb rocky path of broken dreams
that winds in haunted groves of laughing snakes
to insert key of truth in door of fear.

I lock tight shielding door of fortitude
against aggressive words of Jupiter
who hurls thunderbolts of anxiety
to shatter mirror of my modesty,
but I hide safe in paradise of pain
and nurture life that swells within my heart.

Sharp arrow of desire that strikes my heart
opens wounded rose of conceptual love
so I grasp skull of my mother and stare
tearless into hollow hope of her eyes
till I envision through epiphany
how I create life from anguish of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia under the willow tree where she cradles their new-born child Osiris who suckles milk at her breast with wide-open eyes.

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

Angel In The Dark Door
© Surazeus
2025 05 29

When the angel in the dark door calls me
with eerie voice of ocean waves at dawn,
I rise from bed and walk my charming home
where my wife and children sleep safe from harm,
then fly out the cracked window of my mind
and glide above the maze of ancient myths.

If the angel in the dark door knows why
our frail bodies are chemical machines
that function temporarily on hope,
then I might find ghost of my primal self
performing on the television screen
role of tragic hero the world respects.

Since the angel in the dark door chants spells
of wind that rustles leaves on rugged hills,
I might understand pain of suffering
experienced by the uncrowned king of fate
who hangs of the cross of world revolution
in vain quest to overthrow god of wealth.

Though the angel in the dark door conceals
shocking prophecy of the scarlet horse
concerning who will win the next world war,
I play chess with Death on the beach of lies
till I win eternal life in my head
as my soul dissolves to dust in the wind.

Till the angel in the dark door returns
from palace of Heaven on crystal clouds,
I will climb the stairway of golden keys
forged from bones of dragons in the hills
whose black blood fuels engines of machines
by which we humans conquer the waste land.

Where the angel in the dark door plants seeds,
that she and I stole from Adam and Eve
off Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,
I build new temple of the Holy Ghost
that programs immortal soul of my genes
with memories from lives my ancestors lived.

Yet the angel in the dark door conspires
with laughing devils born in Wonderland
to trick the White Queen with sly money scam
to buy cheap timeshares for the Afterlife
where Hamlet and Juliet wearing crowns
attend Ring of the Nibelung opera.

Lest the angel in the dark door realize
reality is illusion of our minds
and crown himself new Emperor of Earth,
I blow the grand trumpet of Gideon
and wield the wand of Zambor to support
Justice and Liberty who rule the world.

Why the angel in the dark door designs
weird ontology of our new world view
I understand with bright epiphany
that shakes foundation of the old world order
with firm allegiance to Goddess Ishtar
who rules the world from ziggurat of Ur.

So the angel in the dark door explains
the obvious secret of eternal life
how we reincarnate again in flesh
when sperm of man fructifies egg of woman
and generates new chemical machine
that replicates immortal soul of genes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia join Hamlet and Juliet at the restaurant on the riverwalk in San Antonio for spaghetti and wine where Romeo plays romance songs on piano.

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

Absolute Knowledge Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 05 29

If pretty girls wear spiders of respect
then handsome boys wear wolves of honesty
so they contest to match heart with their mate
which generates new life from tragedy
when children spring from ashes of world war
and run toward the angel in the dark door.

Because my heart is crowded with the ghosts
of people I meet on the road of life,
I think of them with affection of hope
that they are living somewhere in this world
with joyful attitude of comedy,
though illusion of our state has dissolved.

When I strike the stone with the bat of truth
I hurl pure diamond of being from my heart
to resurrect the daemon of respect
that spreads wide Phoenix wings of agony
so I play game of life on field of hope
by decoding text of faith with dream keys.

With song I maintain fragile modicum
of dream coherence through identity
as unknown exiled son of Jupiter
bonding my fragmented psyche in whole
which mirrors faces of humanity
who sing solemn hymns at tomb of my soul.

When I wake at the wild laughter of bombs
in unimaginable zero summer
stuffed with knowledge from the apple of truth,
I dance among the rubble of our nation
to regain Absolute Knowledge of Life
with state of wholeness forged from fear of death.

Climbing the ancient ziggurat of Ur,
decayed from eight thousand years of warfare,
I reach high for utopian transcendence
unachievable through knowledge of fate
because my breath sends prayers to empty skies
where no storm god watches over mankind.

Trapped in Absolute Subjectivity
by mind-expanding passion to know truth,
I employ concept of anxiety
to secure treasure of light from the cave
where Plato and Kierkegaard still play chess
though bombs are blasting homes in puzzled code.

Guided by summer knowledge of my heart,
I journey from cluttered maze of glass towers
to luscious Green World of Elysian Fields
and fly to knowledge from reality
where Orlando searches for Rosalind
to dwell in Arden of Eternity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia join Orlando and Rosalind in Arden where they feast on steak and drink wine while fairies and nymphs dance to music of the spheres.

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

Old Telephone Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 05 29

Old telephone of my heart never rings
but I always seem to hear your true voice
in cheerful chirp of invisible birds
who bring me your letters on windy wings
so, though your absence haunts me as your ghost,
I feel not lonely in our empty home.

Reverse psychology of cluttered words,
which fail to analyze romantic choice,
reformulates how I perceive new things
which I record in dictionary tome
before evening hour of the dinner roast
when we discuss weak arrogance of kings.

All day I wander shadows of our house
to organize puzzle pieces of truth
with hope to restore coherence of myth
that underlies weird structure of belief
on which we found ontology of faith
based on ancestral memories of our brains.

Face of Star Goddess on moon monolith,
revealed by dream quest of messiah sleuth,
mirrors fertile spirit of my true spouse
who trusts me as we walk conceptual lanes
on journey to embody cosmic wraith
whose holy light assuages wounding grief.

Old telephone of my heart flies away
beyond enclosing walls of paradise
as holy spirit of the mindless sun
that guides my journey to the Promised Land
where I found empire of the singing skull
through which I prophesy what might occur.

Running on bright beach with psychotic gun
in vain attempt to evade paying the price
of excess confidence in how I play,
I wear sun-blazing mask of Jupiter
to crash gates of Heaven on my white bull
and build new world empire from Samarkand.

All day I wander shadows of my mind
to analyze how I perceive the world
within framework of empirical thought
which exposes artificial approach
programmed by ancient Greek philosophy
my brain employs to motivate my game.

Transcending state as organic robot,
I invent role as new world cosmic herald
to expand world view that Plato designed
where Idea Realm and Heaven share name
that describes linguistic psychology,
so I ride with Emily in her death coach.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus builds enormous world-capitol ziggurat temple in Samarkand from which he rules the United Nations of Earth.

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

Tyranny Of Social Frauds
© Surazeus
2025 05 28

Though our state is doomed to decrepitude
through hypocrisy of failed magnitude,
we will design new structure of fair laws
to render effect equal to its cause
with morals borrowed from the noble wolf
that dwells on shore of the Mexican Gulf.

Inspired by spirit of the Absolute
who falls in love with the kind prostitute,
I calculate path of my destiny
to expand empire for my progeny
who sprout from dragon teeth of my soul seed
with clever wits to disguise social greed.

Hanging on eccentric wall of star time,
Mirror of Truth reflects in ocean slime
immortal spirit of God in my genes
who shows me how to build psychic machines
so I can analyze how my quick brain
perceives worth of the world based on wealth gain.

When Amateur Astronomer records
fall of Lucifer from palace of chords
she dictates long epic my blind muse sings
about crystal dynamo of my wings
that flash as shadow of the humming wheel
which powers motion of the time-mobile.

Majestic mass of our atomic world
sparks revolution of the cosmic herald
who rides white horse up pyramid of gods
to battle tyranny of social frauds
who kill opponents with aggressive tricks
which shatters vibrant mirror of the matrix.

The Emerald Seer on pyramid of skulls
announces refined list of social rules
while emperor he services on throne of gold
presides with confidence on misty wold
over dissolution of world empire
that falls with eerie singing of the choir.

Since many emperors with haughty pride
have fallen from the tower where gods hide,
I attend class taught by Tiresias
for tricks to dethrone Ozymandias
so I can build new empire from weird myth
using psychic tools of the vision smith.

To follow star road that will lead me home
I consult the secret dream-fractured tome
whose pages change the stories they display
each time I read them at the break of day
so I record fall of America
to glorify rise of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus attends astronomy classes that Urania teaches at the University of Zarathia.

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

Music Of My Wounded Heart
© Surazeus
2025 05 28

Extravagant music of my wounded heart
finetunes apples ripening in my brain
which programs how my hands scroll light of faith
in perfect hymn from my ethereal breath
that causes trees to dance in ecstasy
in psychic harmony with surprised rain.

Duration of music in waves of time
measures unmoving distance from the past
reflected in the future I would see
in silent hallway of my optic scope
by which my mind perceives the unnamed world
cluttered with fuzzy objects of contempt.

I wonder if each object I perceive,
that moves through volition of mute desire,
is operated by conceptual soul
which animates its time-bound body well
to sing in harmony with water flow
when the moon in the trees speaks to my heart.

Immediacy of darkness sparks awake
my suddenly cautious mind in respect
of fierce attention to shadowy thoughts
that lurk in doorway of the everywhere
which grants admission to my naked heart
for eating laughter of the rotten fruit.

Gone far beyond the edge of somewhere else
with tenuous knowledge of why rain explodes,
I touch the flexible opening of light
despite soft comfort of untrammeled time
when I suffer sorrowing tone of death
born from consummate face of the whole world.

When falling leaves of time scream in the void
that cracks window of silence with false words,
I run with frantic laughter of despair
through empty houses where faceless ghosts type
beautiful stories of romantic trysts
that drag my heart into the modern world.

Sharp sound of death explodes from happy graves
as ghosts that cause rotting leaves to ballet
across abyss of voiceless honesty
too swift for children who play chase in rain
beside long highway full of broken cars
that envy horses grazing in lush fields.

While she drives down desert highway of skulls
I film the scenery with my psychic phone
while leaning out the open window, eyes
recording everything that should exist
as names in volume of forgotten lore
that lies unread on sand ten thousand years.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus films the scenery while Ophelia drives their van across the desert to the Buddhist retreat in the lonely mountains.

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

Pain And Pleasure Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 05 28

With thoughtless irony of naked truth
I measure tides of constant social change
to analyze how humans compose tales
that organize randomness of events
to invent meaning from traumatic hope
till pain and pleasure merge into strange dreams.

Each time I step out of my comfort zone
and open door of opportunity
where I encounter yet another stranger,
I feel my body buzz with energy
that sparks hopeful currents between our brains
so pain and pleasure solder our hot souls.

Embraced with passion of conceptual love,
we writhe with agony of lusting faith
that generates new bodies from our souls
who scatter far across landscape of hope
with hungry passion to transcend frail bounds
through pain and pleasure that transforms our minds.

Contained alone within bounds of my skin,
wrapped tightly round by aura of desire,
I navigate soul-crowded streets of fate
where millions of my doppelgangers stride
boldly forth with tense tides of human hope,
trapped by pain and pleasure we calculate.

Encased within strict confines of my skull,
my mind, that soars across all time in space,
wonders why I am me and no one else,
conscious only of my single self alone
out of zillions of souls who lived and died
entangled in pain and pleasure of life.

These atoms that compose my thinking brain,
which flared forth from first flash of the big bang,
spiraled in one star of one galaxy,
then congealed in this planet lost in space
that generates my soul from chemicals,
sparked by pain and pleasure with consciousness.

The vast electric field of energy,
which conforms white whole of the universe,
is nothing more that sea of flashing light
that evolves my brain through millions of years
so I am conscious of myself awake,
knowing through pain and pleasure I am real.

My ancestors thousands of years ago
designed concept of universal God
based on our private sense of consciousness,
so I am atoms that form neural net
awake as mortal with immortal glow,
molded by pain and pleasure to believe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus stands on the sea shore, holding lyre of Mercury, and contemplates his conscious sense of being alive through pain and pleasure of the body.

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

Supervision Of Greediness
© Surazeus
2025 05 27

Transparent in the night rain of my heart,
my body channels plenitude of life
from cosmic presence of the faceless god
which originates in dream of my brain
as seed of love that spirals into role
I play in grand theater of free will.

Lost in the darkness of unfettered words,
that writhe in tangled mess of honesty
fraught with emotions of uncanny thought,
I wander beyond bounds of pulchritude
in journey I begin again each life
designed by immortal soul of my genes.

I leave my footprints shadowed in white sand
which reveal pathway of my secret choice
as I search far beyond walls of my home
for sacred pool of water near the sea
where I bathe angel wings of my sad heart
so I can fly over vast maze of myths.

Dressed in gold-furred skin of the beast I slew,
I grip one writhing snake in each tense hand
and dance with people of my forest tribe
in sunlit meadow under boughs of grapes
while Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury
to prophesy coming of the star mother.

Because the noble country I grew up in
has vanished into haze of tyranny,
like so many times in world history,
I grip the sword honed sharp with honesty
to defend my right to live as I will
if I harm none through bold integrity.

I am the wisdom of the rolling stone
that smashes clay-foot idol of the tyrant
who tries to impose psychic tyranny
on people trained to support liberty,
secure equal rights through justice for all,
and support the weak with generous care.

People enslaved by unfortunate fate
in every land around our spinning globe
have built the infrastructure of their state
under supervision of greediness,
but garner no rewards from their hard labor,
not even in the fantasy of Heaven.

Unfettered by soul-chaining lien of power
exercised by men who claim to be gods,
I design my fate with each choice I make
till I get lost in labyrinth of hope
where I hang my face in the gallery
and float away as faceless god of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus wears mask of my face as he performs role of Poet Prophet no one believes.

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

Glorious Sun Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 05 27

The flock of wild swans descends to the lake
with flurry of wings woven from starlight
that scatters shadows of fear in the reeds
where seven girls gather mussels and eggs,
for they are graceful daughters of Moon Mother
who boil stew in cauldron of the blind crone.

The woman in the lounge chair on the beach,
wind-tangled hair bound by floppy straw hat,
gazes through gold eyes of eternity
to contemplate each node of human life
that strings our bodies across the landscape
where we build fragile castles in the sand.

Beneath umbrella of the careful sky,
she listens to her seven daughters sing
while they fill buckets with clams and sand crabs
for holy mother on the ziggurat
to roast for supper as the evening falls
ten thousand years along coast of the world.

Faces glowing gold from the crackling flames
just as the bright blazing sun vanishes
beyond the far horizon of desire,
the seven sisters of the rising moon
sing heart-enchanting tunes of aching hope
while crowds of people listen reverently.

Sharp eerie melody of their sweet choir
suspends the frantic sense of passing time
so stars gleam bright forever overhead
as people gathered round the ziggurat
feel their bodies swell with divine respect
and all their hearts beat in love harmony.

How strange the glow of orange fire in the sky
just on the edge of sharp infinity
as subtle rays pierce hearts of voiceless souls
with ache of melancholy tinged with love
that radiates from our bodies as we hum
in tune with hymn the seven sisters sing.

On pure white swan wings of my ancient heart
I glide along the winding coast of time
ten thousand years from Egypt to Sumeria
to India to China to Alaska to Mexico
where millions of small ziggurats glow bright
with fires as families gather for the feast.

I see on ziggurat of motherhood
First Mother Amen stands with arms outstretched,
head haloed by the glorious sun of faith,
as she recites Creation of the Earth,
then fills each cup with sparkling wine of truth,
so we sing and dance till the end of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury to praise First Mother Amen who sits on ziggurat of motherhood to rule her empire from Egypt to Mexico.

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

Box Of Secret Scrolls
© Surazeus
2025 05 27

Ripe peaches on the oak-wood table gleam
with melancholy hopefulness of fall
so the kitten with serpentine eyes
leads me along shore of the pebbled stream
across canal bridge to abandoned wall
that encloses strange beauty of the skies.

Through ravenous mythology of fate
she stares in mirror pool at her weird face
contrived as abstract concept of the mind
which aspires to transcend that divine state
recorded in lost chronicles of space
matching likeness of Heaven I designed.

Implausible for ghosts of anywhere
to open padlocked box of secret scrolls
with unspeakable obsession of faith,
yet when I abstract truth with haughty dare
of audacious innocence through my goals
I conjugate visions from the star wraith.

I walk the long way into the new world
with shadows that stagger into the dawn
to find everybody I lost to time
who fade away into the distant past
too remote for me to remember how
sorrow erased them from dream of my heart.

With whole ethereal breath of honest hope
I sink into the absence of their souls
to find raw naked energy of love
still glowing in the deepest core of fate
which I extract with haunting melody
that writhes from silent agony of loss.

Renunciation spoken with harsh words
through sharp elucidation I accept,
from familiar risk of imagined fear,
diverts my attention when wingless birds
fly spirals backward in sunlit transept
to disprove power of the puppeteer.

Unmetered romance of aggressive love
based on commodified value of truth
fuels colonized expansion into land
where angels enslave devils in hell cave
to extract from Earth transformable wealth
through exploitation of the red right hand.

Ardent interest of the blind archivist
inspires my heart to comprehend the fact
that people die unjustly all the time
despite fierce protests of the passivist
who sees real essence in the uncarved block
with quotidian progress of the wind chime.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus stands on the bridge of tomorrow and eats peaches of wisdom, then goes back to work in the archives of lost souls.

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

Bright Clouds Of Evertime
© Surazeus
2025 05 26

Too cheerful for Bright clouds of Evertime,
Yuri stares at sparkling blue river flow
while stepping across large round smooth wet stones
toward falls that gush down the moss-slathered cliff,
drawn by eerie song of the water voice
that calls her name with breath of timeless hope.

Tall man with long wind-flowing moon-black hair
rises from ancient aspect of the stone,
transforming from the old uprooted tree
to stand before her with sun-blazing eyes,
heart beating hawk wings of reserved desire,
fierce passion he conceals with mask of ice.

Reaching our her hand with curious grace,
Yuri lightly touches skin of his cheek,
cold as snowflakes fluttering from black skies
where small long-dead stars fracture gloom of night
with rays of light that streak across the void
millions of years till they gleam in his eyes.

Awed by transcendent sense of timeless now
which expands her view through eternity,
Yuri offers ice-cold plum to Stone Man
with smile warm enough to melt glacier peaks
that send cold water swirling round their legs
as he accepts her gift with frigid smirk.

Nine ninja assassins veiled in black robes
leap swift from silent shadows of despair
and strike with silver blades honed sharp on hate,
but Stone Man twirls with elegant ballet,
protecting woman in yellow kimono
while he decapitates them one by one.

Cradling Yuri in arms tense with respect,
Stone Man gazes in her wide surprised eyes,
entranced by fragile beauty of her soul,
then gently helps her stand on river stones
stained red with blood that gleams in water flow
which pulses in harmony with her heart.

Boiling rabbit stew on the crackling flames,
Yuri sprinkles in onions, yams, and radishes,
then offers wood bowl of soba that steams
warm in narrow vale of snow-frosted stones,
so he bows and eats soba with meat strips,
startled at flush of joy that fills his heart.

Holding hands with affectionate respect,
Yuri and Stone Man stroll across the bridge
of wood planks arching over Ooka River,
gliding with comfortable grace of strong love
in swirling crowd of shoppers passing stalls
as cloud of white cherry-tree petals swirl.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus pours rice wine into small porcelain cups and offers them to Yuri and Stone Man, who drink while Kwan Yin plays haunting tunes on jade flute.

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

Since Cain Killed Abel
© Surazeus
2025 05 26

If I must sing the hymn of hope solemnly
then I would find the sea too beautiful
to claim the modest courage of the sun
that fills my final self with phantom light
which fuels my transformational progress
beyond the strangeness of this world I love.

Before I became this physical being
who wears the mask of anguished honesty
I sought to change with restless tides of time
to grow into my secret unnamed self
whose face appears in vision of the world
though I dissolve in shoreless sea of souls.

Through infinite spaces in Mind of God
I fly against fierce tides of moral rage
to bomb the social structure of despair
that traps our bodies in vast maze of hope,
and free the frightened souls from church of lies
to fight against indifference of the sky.

No rage from suffering of victimhood
could rouse your noble loving God
from dank cathedral tomb with angel wings
to save mankind from brutal wars of greed
when men bent blind on conquest of the truth
declare divine right to defend themselves.

Since Cain killed Abel at the dawn of time
their sons have fought ten thousand years of wars
to prove whose God is real by chance of fate
through contest of quick wits against mute strength
which scatters orphans far across the land
who build new empires to control the lake.

Across the waste land of America
I search for secret of the Holy Grail
past shadows of despair where devils lurk
to seize the moment with aggressive greed
till I rebel with boundless love for truth
and fight with breath of comprehensive facts.

Each tree that writhes from corpse of some old god
ignores my questions through insanity
till my tears water roots of their desire
then they reveal weird secret of rebirth
that in hindsight now seems so obvious,
burned in eyes of billions killed in world wars.

I give fresh flowers to the one I love
so she can brew sweet liquor from their juice
which I drink with intense alacrity
while dancing high on bombed tanks of their god
then build from ruins of America
world democracy of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus directs the reconstruction program after America is destroyed in civil war.

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

Mask From Sumatra Island
© Surazeus
2025 05 25

The demonic mask from Sumatra Island
gazes down at me from clean painted wall,
so I become the chipmunk on the lawn
eating seeds, mushrooms, worms, insects, and nuts,
eyes gleaming with the softness of spring evening
while the robin wonders why she is sad.

When Sri Devi dances in twilight glow
among oak trees in Appalachian hills,
her hands wrap silence of shadows in books,
that sing with prayers of crickets in backyards,
recording story of the human race
with jagged runes on bones of dinosaurs.

The wingless angel with the rotten orange
walks crowded streets of town in twilight glow,
his gaunt face hungry for the fateful cry
Jesus shouts from his palace in the sky
which dangles on wired cable of fierce faith
above lush valley of the singing skulls.

The silver river shimmers with sunrays
beneath the ancient bridge of hopefulness
where children play along the bushy shore,
and old men fish with meditative calm
to catch the hidden dragon of world power
that rises on frail crystal wings of time.

Half-functioning brain of the robot clown
records how meat-bags lacking angel wings
pursue bright rainbows of their fantasies
while expecting rich reward for good deeds,
then analyzes their obsessive strife
to accumulate dim shadows of wealth.

With magic feeling of electric faith
I change the future to reflect the past
in tumbling tumult of swift social change
based on conceptual design of my dreams
arranged in digest of organized tales
stored in library of the lonely moon.

Though I cannot read the secretive hearts
of people I interact with each day,
I remember sharp scent of apple trees
that conjures memories of years long ago
when we would kiss beside the sparkling stream
and talk about the Heaven we create.

Uncertain comment of the gliding owl
translates thunderous voice of the roaming storm
to holy song of rain on asphalt streets
that shimmer gold beneath slender streetlamps
where I find hanging in the evening glow
my demonic mask from Sumatra Island.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus studies the demonic mask from Sumatra Island to analyze cultural content of its inherent social value of communal power.

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

Barbed-Wire Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2025 05 25

Though churches in every city are packed
with fervent believers who pray to God
for salvation from Sahara of snow,
I crawl across shattered glass of old faith
on unevolved fins of arrogant hope
to rule the mountain as the reptile king.

Pressed against sharp barbed-wire of Paradise,
I howl with anguish of the mountain wolf
to watch dinosaur steamshovels devour
dead Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
that was mangled by bombs in the world war
so Jesus can build cathedral of glass.

Clutching wrought iron gate, studded with pearls
transformed from eyes of sailors drowned in tempests,
I laugh wild with maniacal disdain
at angry vigilance of the blind crow
who rejoices in sufferings of mankind
by gambling for fake salvation with Death.

Stone statues of soldiers from tragic wars
glare down at people of the modern world
who text each other on glowing eye-phones
about awful crimes of the empire state
built by the bleeding hands of immigrants
and slaves shackled with debt of grim despair.

Gathered in millions of churches at noon,
men in suits and women in flowering dresses
sing "Rock of Ages" with the solemn voice
of terrified people desperate to believe
that we will all meet again up in Heaven
to dwell forever free from pain of life.

The grand museum built from human bones,
designed to imitate the Parthenon,
stands firm on mountain of the burning bush
ten thousand years after humanity
destroys itself with prideful vanity
attempting to control bodies of women.

If we survive nuclear blast of the truth,
we would exist as nothing but bright ghosts
who play on fuzzy television screens
roles scripted for celestial gods of fate
who haunt us with the absence of their power
corrupted by desire to live forever.

Orpheus wearing black suit with green tie
stands on the stage in crowded Church of Hope
and preaches to the faceless crowd of ghosts
how leaders embody Spirit of God
who treat every citizen with respect,
providing social structure for success.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Jesus play chess for the souls of humanity.

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

Justice-Borne Democracy
© Surazeus
2025 05 25

So often I forget the sky is blue
while staring at the television screen
so I can analyze what truth is new
in psychic vision of the world machine
that reformats how our brains see the world
so we miss coming of the cosmic herald.

Regret for how rainwater flows away
in rapid tumbling of soul energy,
which represents why meaning fails to stay
trapped in puzzle of social lethargy,
inspires my sense of cosmic urgency
to marry faith with atheist fervency.

Though we are destined in this life to meet,
we miss each other on the road of fate,
so I sit on river stone with sore feet
to reinvent true nature of my mate
who cannot call me on the telephone
so I carve our love song on dragon bone.

Heart twisted into spirals of weird words,
I gaze in ghostly eyes of my first love
who haunts me with her absence as swift birds
who bear her lonely spirit far above,
so I reach out my hands to empty sky
and break the haughty world with anguished cry.

Through endless witty quips of bitter hope
I hammer weak foundation of beliefs
that fail to give me tools I need to cope
when I unite our state of warring chiefs
with marriage alliance of families
who transcend role of rival enemies.

Young children born with innocence respect
variety of cultures which compose
global nations with values that transect
our traditional world views blind gods impose
in fractured puzzle of opposing cults
cobbled together on racist insults.

I want to live in paradise of truth,
constructing temples with prophetic scrolls,
but Fate requires I play messiah sleuth
appointing each person creative roles
so we can build world empire on one law
ruled by vatic wisdom of Onatah.

When I remember why the sky is blue
while singing psalm that shines my mirror brain,
I program code to conjure new world view
for every person in the world to train
so we unite against harsh tyranny
to nurture justice-borne democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus crowns Onatah Empress of the United Nations of Earth where she reigns on the towering pyramid of justice and liberty for all.

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

Angels Always Sing
© Surazeus
2025 05 24

Because angels in Heaven always sing,
praising glorious beauty of the Sun Soul,
I love to dive down in the messy world
and walk in fragile meat-bag of this self
that wanders ungracefully anywhere
to imitate songs angels always sing.

Forgetting I am real with hungry heart,
I gaze with awe at beauty of the sun
that weaves this messy world from rays of light,
so I float blissfully on futile wings
to experience freedom of surreal dreams
till pain drags me back down to solid Earth.

Soft sea breeze wafting from sun-sparkling waves
embraces me with surging energy
that fills me with compassion for all beings
though some attack me to control my soul
which forces me to fight for liberty
so I weep I must kill to remain free.

Sometimes, while wandering on the signless road
far beyond crowded city maze of hope,
I wonder if I fell on tattered wings
from flaming wisdom of the shooting star
for I feel urgent passion to transcend
corruptive framework of this seething world.

Because this messy world of tragedy
throbs with silent agony of faith
I feel eternal music of the stars
pulsing deep in clenched knot of my heart
so I relax and open flower wings
releasing music of angels in song.

Though my mother calls me Persephone
with soft voice half-whispered in restless wind,
I become one mind with the gate of death
to walk with courage of bold dignity
in rancid cavern of the jewel mine
where I sing sacred music of the stars.

Deep in dank cave of suffocating gloom
I scatter flowers on the sun-starved ground
as wind whistles tunes in my hollow bones
that wake the dead from slumber of despair
who follow me back to the upperworld
where they transform into white butterflies.

Shocked at bright beauty of the Sun Soul,
I gaze at Phoebus with adoring eyes
who gives me apple of the bleeding star
that cures my body of poisonous fruit,
so I embrace him with passionate love
as we transform into child of our hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus officiates at wedding of Persephone and Phoebus in the grotto of Aphrodite on shore of the River Styx in Elysium.

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

Grim Pablo Walks Nowhere
© Surazeus
2025 05 24

Out on the dusty hill of angry shrubs
grim Pablo pulls red wagon of despair,
heaped with the broken dreams of nameless souls
whose tattered wings he rescues from the trash
when he escapes from asylum ward nine
to find dank cave where skull of Phoebus glows.

Chased by the goon squad in black leather boots,
grim Pablo darts among the twisted trees
that scream in dire laughter as he high-steps
so fast his bare feet bleeding from Christ thorns
kick clouds of dust that hide him from the bulls
who grin as he grills steak for the mad king.

High on the quivering phone line of fake words
that hum in wind across the desert plain,
grim Pablo dances with electric grace
to catch the ballerina with snake eyes
who falls from the moon with the secret book
in which is written fate of the blind bard.

Yet when the silver bus full of wild clowns,
crippled ballerinas, and serious jesters,
roars by on the desert road into Hell,
grim Pablo jumps on board with broken lyre
he stole from tomb of Apollo last year,
and drinks the gasoline of ancient truth.

When the lion in sunglasses of faith
throws him off the silver bus of world fame,
grim Pablo dances with cool cactus queen
who transforms his guitar into the toad
that leaps into the still pond of lost time,
so he leans against the telephone pole.

Driving rusty red truck with one headlight
through endless maze of ugliness and greed,
Cinderella stops on the desert road
and asks grim Pablo if he wants a ride
so the lost knight rides her chariot of fire
to his grave in the cemetery trees.

Awake in the twisted sycamore tree
to see Cinderella on her white horse,
grim Pablo strums old lyre of Mercury
when people ask if he is their messiah
come to save the land of America
from Mad King Midas who steals all their gold.

Searching desert hills in delirium,
grim Pablo walks nowhere with empty gun,
then kneels in ruined temple of Apollo
while demon wings writhe from his aching heart,
so he flies over Gotham City maze
bringing gospel of salvation to mankind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus meets Pablo and Cinderella at the tomb of Apollo, so they form a folk bank called the Wallbreakers to perform from sea to shining sea.

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

Time River Of Skeletons
© Surazeus
2025 05 24

Nothing exists in my dream of this world
except the time river of skeletons
invisible to laughter of star gods,
so we kneel together on its lush shore
to grasp emeralds and diamonds that gleam
with eyes of our ancestors in our hearts.

Spring wind appears in wispy willow form
to toy with fleeting flash of light on grass
that flares in blossoms of still unborn fruit,
dazing my soul at flicker of soft wings
with passion that intoxicates my heart
till my body radiates immortal charm.

My heart escapes clumsy frame of my soul
as white-winged butterfly frail as the moon
to flutter swift around my head with grace
of tender compassion for suffering souls
who find enlightenment of sacred truth
equal in weight to harsh pain they endure.

Wings of my heart with unforeseen desire
sign unmapped corner of my secret world
with seal of spring that sparks my aching heart
through anguish to unfold itself from fear
though no one calls it forth from silent gloom
so I become mute cloud that drifts alone.

Pure cloud of my most sacred memory
will soon stitch veil of frost across my vale,
but hides warm blush of spring in shadowed folds
while Death leans casually against stout bough
with coy repose of knowledge I must learn
that writhes long-buried in grave of my heart.

While we discuss slow spinning of the Earth
in crenellate shade of the garden wall
we feel the sudden gust of lonely wind
bear our unanchored souls into the sky
so we gazed shocked at valley of tall trees
where river of life flows to sea of death.

Trapped in the stony dream-cache of my heart,
I find all the missing people of time
imprisoned in the cave of sunless sorrow,
so I play lyre of Mercury and sing
to lead them from dark underworld of fear
but none can follow me from grave of death.

Webbed darkness of the forest round the lake
diverts my journey to its hungry cave
where I extract from sorrow of my heart
diamonds of faith that gleam with clarity
as my soul floats on bright oblivious waves
along with time river of skeletons.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus tries to lead freed prisoners from the diamond mine, but they flee back into its safe gloom at the blinding glare of sunlight.

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

Ocean Of Celestial Tears
© Surazeus
2025 05 23

When I understand the mind of the world
I will run frantically in rain-dark streets
to leap through fractured windows of the truth
to swim in ocean of celestial tears
which bleed from eyes of children without homes
who gather at the library to read.

I hear deep voices of the prophets call
when they assemble in library hall
to read weird stories of their broken hearts
so I can understand their secret minds
by reading names of roads on half-bent signs
while driving past abandoned factories.

They hide their sorrows inside locked church doors
which writhe with agony of fractured rules
encased in blasting sentences that blind
eyes of false citizens through irony
whose children play inside the schoolyard fence
entranced to lies of strange authority.

With dubious attention of regret
we realize we artists must cultivate
unreasonable enthusiasm for reality
based on banal faith in the proud profound
wrongly attributed to ancient seers
with intention to subvert fools in charge.

Rare opportunity presents itself
for me to shirk responsibility
so I declare with Terminator Voice
I will be back from Heaven with the Sword
assigned to me with right to execute
right of the court to adjudicate laws.

If best minds of my generation write
daunting spells fueled by our demonic blood
to operate machinery of night
with dynamic stars that illuminate
motionless world of time between our hearts
then I vibrate with ecstasy of love.

Shocked by the number of human beings killed
in wars of genocide around the world
that men have waged the past one hundred years,
I wander foggy streets in red lamp glow
and listen for the terror in the wall
that explains economic formulas.

Obscene odes of ambiguous contempt
I paint with blood on congressional halls
record the crimes of visionary clowns
who whisper curses through telepathy
while wandering lost in lonely country towns
where ravens in oaks by my grave call me.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus carves the name of every person killed by war, disease, and famine in the past one hundred years of solitude.

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

Heights Of Unloneliness
© Surazeus
2025 05 23

Obsession with stark blueness of the sky
alerts me to strange songs of animals
that buzz in acrid timber of my skull
when I stomp grapes with eager feet of hope,
though blinded by excessive light of rain
which I collect with baskets of my eyes.

Quickening fear of frantic afterthoughts
displays ostensible reason ghosts hide
from real eyes of the mindless universe
who completes its purity through my brain
that soaks in tears of broken continents
which shift and crack on seething waves of fire.

With sad voice deep as mountains writhing rocks
she sings electric melody of faith
too sweet for plain existence to ignore,
so we invent weird reason we exist
through profound beauty of heart-haunting tunes
the moment we lock eyes with fateful death.

Returned from country of the rancid lake,
we gather in wide circles on bare plain
to drink sweet sorrow people hide in songs
tinted with aggressive desire for life
since we survive assault of arrogance
contrived as prayers the righteous steal from fear.

Trapped in deep well of my truth-hungry heart
from which I attempt to crawl with bent claws,
I realize nothing matters I can change
since I have figured out the secret truth
about why people give each other ghosts
woven from shadows of unspoken fears.

Dark clouds of never-falling rain expand
over asphalt road shining blue with rain
where frail metal cars on rubber tires glide,
driven by angels crushed from loss of faith
in silent meditation on despair
that fuels assertion of alienable rights.

Obsidian mask of the nameless sky god
reflects true face all my ancestors wore
which I see in thick window of the car
gemmed gold with sparkling drops of evening rain
each time white lightning splits eternity
so I can comprehend nature of love.

So when she glances back at me with joy,
eyes glowing golden as the midnight moon,
I vow to protect her from pain and fear
and bring her fruit and flowers of the Earth
as we perform our complicated lives
in reverse from heights of unloneliness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus tells Ophelia about a strange memory from his childhood when he rode in a red Volkswagen on a highway in Texas during a lightning storm.

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