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

Watch Gold Water Flow
© Surazeus
2025 05 22

If we walk together on road of life
while sharing stories of our alone times,
we might find that our independent hearts
become entangled by the words we speak
which form the transient trail of breadcrumbs
that hungry birds of memory love to eat.

Now that we share wings of innocent flight
while wandering in the wilderness of fate
we cannot separate from warm embrace
that binds our souls with passionate respect
for this familiar stranger we adore
who springs to life from idol of hard clay.

Lost in bright shadows of the Everywhere,
with alien self who mirrors our desire,
we explore beyond walls of paradise
as we compose our secret tales in dust
explaining thoughts that motivate our play
which leaves our bodies heavy in soft grass.

Though we have wandered far beyond the known
to map the strange world with our eager feet,
we find that we shall always feel at home
in every shady grove by every stream
where we relax one hour of endless time,
holding hands as we watch gold water flow.

While we are always maudlin with sweet love,
trapped in safe sentimental state of mind,
we shield our hearts from hostile arrogance
with fierce expedience of the paranoid
through cautious attention of startled fear
to violent monsters always lurking near.

We need to grow beyond soft sentiment
to shield our fragile spirits from attack
through calm assertion of selfless intent
without allowing cynical regard
to corrupt our strong compassionate faith
so we can survive indifference of Nature.

This urgent process of cautious respect
provides clear-eyed analysis of danger
that luminates the safest unmapped way
we navigate over rugged terrain
on our sacred quest for the Tree of Life
that blossoms with fruit as gift of the Earth.

Lounging together on lush river shore
where we feast on delicious fruit of hope,
beneath the boundless cerulean sky
where clouds reflect our fondest memories,
we watch gold water flow in change of time
that carries our souls to the sea of dreams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia relax on shore of the River Styx and reflect our their long journey to Elysium.

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

Story Thought Unthinkable
© Surazeus
2025 05 21

Though I have not lived very long on Earth
I know everything that does not exist
because I read about them in the Book,
constructed from feathery bones of birds,
which bleeds oil from my eyes at speed of light
despite how deep I dive in sea of faith.

All good intentions of my argument,
revived from hollow flux of cracking stones,
provide new framework for hard reckoning
when I dispute the obvious state of things
with perverse notions of important facts
based on excited sweepings of regret.

Indoctrinated by ripe fruit of lust
that blooms with weighty opulence of hope,
I note how fast time vanishes in thought
describing fevered passion of fake art
contrived to veil raw wounds of bitter hate
with satisfaction of my random whims.

Time jails accomplice of my fearless heart
with mute abandonment of tattered jokes
too late to check expansive pertinence
with honest aspects I could not discern
before morale may decimate our ranks
each time I laugh at how trees seem to dance.

I know the story thought unthinkable
according to despair of brazen gates
that might record surprising victory
which I achieve with confidence of fate
when I research elaborate assent
with force of my insatiable respect.

Ascendance on celestial planisphere
against the common cause of global laws
provides regressive undulance of truth
which music counteracts with relevance
for patience of exploding stars we lose
when ships sink howling in the brutal sea.

No words illuminate so well as those
I steal from fractured legends of dead gods,
who rage against machinery of delight,
our secret business to replace grand tales
with sullen heroes taught by suffering
for humble memory of gigantic ghosts.

They scatter scent of hazel in green rain
when all their children on the road ahead
evade clear presence of their unlocked doors,
forgotten by the blind librarian
who reads old news to ravens on bare shelves
since we leave treasures of our dreams in books.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus wanders in the bookless library and calls out the names of every god ever worshipped by man but all he hears are echoes of his sorrow.

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

Tiresias In Cave Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 05 21

When I follow the hawk to the waste land,
where thousands of visionaries have gone
to find Tiresias in Cave of Dreams,
I discover buried in sands of time
true Lyre of Mercury by Well of Odin
where mermaid bones gleam in the blazing sun.

Now millions of children with broken phones,
who want to sing with bold prophetic voice,
follow the Piped Piper of Avalon,
while I sit by the Burning Bush of Faith
high on desolate slopes of Mount Takoma
and strum the Lyre of Mercury with rapture.

From Temple of Apollo on the summit
I see lost children of the fallen empire
crawl among tangled weeds of Wonderland
to find the secret Key of Vatic Wisdom
while lusty Fame chooses with magic wand
the most glamorous poets as acolytes.

Dressed in fancy robes of commercial glamor,
they follow Fame in prestigious parade,
climbing bowed heads on Stairs of Legacy
before the crowd that clamors to join in,
and feast on cakes of sugar-coated praise
in glittering mirrored Hall of Narcissus.

Escaping glamorous Court of the Word King
where the Favored Ones network to gain power,
I leave grand Castle of the Holy Book,
past marble idols of the Famous Seers,
and tread Invisible Trail of the Truth
to secret cave where Tiresias dwells.

Sitting on lotus flower in pool of tears,
I meditate by chanting spell of light
while Tiresias gathers lightning sphere
to channel cosmic energy of truth
and generates virtual model of Earth
that chronicles whole human history.

From spirit egg that flashes divine light
enormous gods composed of human souls
emerge as characters of epic tales
whose masks embody social energies
to perform roles in dramatic events
in culture clash between conceptual gods.

Humans embody social energies
to replay ancient dramas for control
through clash of Titans in the cosmic war
that Jupiter and Jesus ever wage
between democracy and tyranny
till we die and leave the stage for new gods.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus learns from Tiresias how to embody social energies of the times and record winners and losers in the never-ending culture wars of vatic poetry.

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

Choosing Our Own Fate
© Surazeus
2025 05 21

I try to focus on the little things
adjusted carefully in each glass case
in the Great American Museum
of Domestic Tranquility to showcase
my privileged place in story of our state
defined by the random choices of fate.

While eating orange I stole from Tree of Life,
I lounge in park among wind-rustled leaves
beneath tall statue of William the Silent
to honor independence of the mind
from all controlling tyrants of the state
who dare think they can legislate our fate.

I mean to tell about my life at home
with solemn voice of the brave mocking bird,
but my heart sprouts wings and will tend to roam
across the ancient landscape of the Earth
where people fight to establish the state
so they can pretend they control their fate.

The fact that I am related to both
General Robert Edward Lee and John Brown
defines ambiguous nature of being
programming cultural code of my mind
which operates how I function in my state
though I swim against empire tides of fate.

If I analyze my relationships
with my family through quaint fairy tales
I might present in well-masked characters
ancient forces of social theater
which form foundation of our global state
while I perform roles that defy my fate.

Or I could satirize with timeless gods
contemporary leaders of vast nations
who wrestle that angel whom Israel fought
to balance freedom of the individual
with public interest of the faceless state
by enforcing laws that equalize fate.

Though I attempt to fictionalize my life
in tradition of college writers workshops,
instead I sing about global events
in tradition of wandering troubadours
to record chronicles of the world state
which moralize weird principles of fate.

This face-mask from the ancient gallery,
I wear while chanting arcane prophecies,
reflects the psychic mind of Everyman
through mirror of the television screen
to rationalize blind functions of the state
that we enforce by choosing our own fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus shares his latest poem with the writers workshop in which he attempts to mimic the domestic poetics of contemporary academic style, but fails spectacularly.

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

Record Another Testament
© Surazeus
2025 05 20

Everywhere I go in my daily life
I sense the Universe is watching me,
so I act like the star of my own show,
controlling everything I say and do,
but nothing ever results, so I laugh
and make weird faces at the empty sky.

Every afternoon I walk to the street
and check the mailbox of my hungry heart
to see if the holy angels of God
have sent me letters that explain the Why,
but all I get are brochures, store coupons,
and applications for bank credit cards.

I hold the sacred language of the world
that squirms in my hand with ocean-wet scales
and stares at me with gold demonic eyes,
so I explain my sorrow to Moon Witch
who teaches me to translate songs of waves
to tangled sentences no one comprehends.

With hands I measure objects that exist
to find familiar spirit of the wind
constrained by clustered forms of ecstasy
which vibrates buzz of passion from my bones
when I dance with irregular respect
on stage of the sea-desert in the void.

Through startled jaggedness of secret codes
I improvise the reason we exist
from whispered colors of the singing sand
that flow in wrinkled tides of ardency
despite how fast trees crack all parking lots
to free our brains from knowledge of the book.

Though I go everywhere freely on Earth
I can never go back where I came from,
for I must always loop the spiral road
forth into swirling mists of Avalon
where I record another testament
that represents the Ungod of my brain.

Your story enters my heart at your touch
so I carry burden of your mute joy
entrapped in charcoal cavern of my heart,
yet I assert respectful narrative
contrived by fairies of the weeping tree
to soothe shared hurt with prayers of honesty.

If we perform our predetermined roles
on crowded stage of social fantasy,
we might not make it home on time to watch
election of the poet laureate
who chants the fatal elegy of love
that records the fall of America.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus records his testament in scrambled code of riddling runes that only holy angels disguised as swamp toads comprehend.

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

Often Mistaken For God
© Surazeus
2025 05 20

That dying star that no angel can see,
which travels both directions beyond light,
sprinkles snow flakes of religious desire
on faces of the faithful by the lake
where their prophet who tried to walk on water
has not yet emerged from abyss of time.

As I stand on broken edge of the world
ready to dive into abyss of time,
I wonder if I should be sore afraid
of swimming in the ocean of my mind
to find the luminous soul of my heart
that I have often mistaken for God.

Should I surrender wisdom of my faith
to swim in infinite flow of desire,
then I would feel light of that dying star
glow in each neuron of my dreaming brain
so I speak with voice of the oracle
from the model of Delphi in my yard.

The Goddess with one hundred billion eyes,
who created this world of swirling souls,
teaches me how to speak of what I see
so she can know if anything is real,
yet I keep singing visions of my mind
long after she melts as snow into flowers.

Each sentiment of beauty I perceive
can never quench thirst of desire to know
divine concept of the right character
who gives me oranges from the tree of faith
that flash diamond flames in eggs of my eyes
so I record secret names of the dead.

We cannot rightly bifurcate the truth
by twisting wings of sorrow from god skulls,
yet we can dance with the divinely dead
whose faces smile from photos on the wall
when I decide each day which mask to wear
in sacred role of prophet no one hears.

Rewinding details of ideal concepts
from fracture of space collapsed into words,
I hold up the sky with keyboard of dreams
to program how the Earth perceives itself
through myths of fate in television shows
that lonely people sing about in church.

The dying star that flashes back and forth
replaces concept of my world with code
translating visions into fairy tales
that parents read their children as they die
whose luminous souls float in the night sky
that I have often mistaken for God.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus dances with Alice Notley on the bridge that spans the Seine River while Baudelaire plays the violin of satire.

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

Faceless God Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

I need some sit-and-stare-at-the-wall time,
so I sit on the couch of meditation
and stare at the wall above the fireplace,
but not even one minute ticks away
before I see grand vision of the world
which I assemble from puzzle of dreams.

Before my grand vision evaporates
I dip tip of the brush in bowl of paint
and draw baseline of truth across the sky
to frame vast emptiness of everything
within enclosing bounds of time and space
to formulate state of things that exist.

Emerging from nothing of the white wall,
grand vision of the world blooms into shape
as field of shadows that reflect ideas
designed as patterns which objectify
swirls of material atoms into forms
which my brain may categorize with words.

Abrupt expression of ethereal breath
in gust of wind that blows from mountain peak
reframes constituent elements of faith
by scattering puzzle pieces of my mind
that flutter into butterflies of faith
which name each human soul born from the sea.

The old storyteller with oaken cane
shambles across desolate field of weeds,
searching for the cafe among clean shops
where he used to drink coffee and write poems
that vanished when planes with angelic wings
bombed his world into rubble of despair.

Sitting on tattered couch of sad nostalgia,
the old storyteller stares at the sky
where ghosts of ancient heroes float as clouds
till he crumbles into the soil of silence
while millions of people across the land
watch history tales on television screens.

I stare so long at the masks of dead heroes
that hang on the wall of my empty house
that I become the faceless god of truth
awake in every human brain on Earth
who clash in world wars over who plays god
till we become fairy tales in lost books.

Sitting in the Wingless Angel Cafe,
between the bank and the church on Main Street,
I draw the face of every human being
who ever existed in dream of Earth,
then throw Book of Souls in River of Time
so I can stare at the blank wall of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus wanders across the desolate field by the Berlin Wall as she searches for the Potsdamer Platz where he used to drink coffee and write poetry.

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

Desire To Generate Souls
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

Because the whole sky fits inside my skull,
I wake in darkness of the everywhere
to find I am small as the apple seed
which blooms vast as our swirling galaxy
that flashes melodies of rain-sparked words
through undulating matrix of my brain.

The airplane gliding across empty sky
takes me to the past where I should not be
because I get there faster in winged flight
than if I walk on foot across the land,
so I fold my soul in page of the book
that records each forgotten genocide.

Love motivates each action of my hands
to build beauty from random elements
that guard your embodied spirit from harm
so you can savor pleasure of this life
in moments of togetherness we share
that fuels our desire to generate souls.

When I look for God in dream of the world
to understand nature of energy,
I feel conscious sense of my Self expand
beyond enclosing bounds of my soul frame
so I become God I am looking for
that vibrates love in every human soul.

I am illusion of my pulsing brain
that feels itself awake inside my skull
as atoms flashing bright in chemicals
which conjure virtual model of the world
through vision of my whole ontology
that defines structure of our universe.

Before beginning of my sense of self
that speaks dream spells in breath of honest hope
I touch weird image of my secret face
reflected in bright mirror of the pool,
and wonder from what stone of time I spring
through fierce compassion of the angel wing.

Through every conscious choice of faith I make
based on clear vision my brain formulates,
I calculate strict progress of my fate
to build my destiny with stone and wood
by planting fruit trees inside garden walls
where my descendants may thrive and transcend.

Death is no threshold our bodies pass through
for we are composed from atoms of light
so we must generate children of hope
through seed that fertilizes egg of love
to reincarnate soul-genes again in flesh
four hundred million years of soul rebirth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus explains to his son Linus how our souls reincarnate in children when men and women feel desire to generate souls.

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

Art Of Radical Insight
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

To psychoanalyze my state of mind
within framework of the Hamlet discourse,
I enter laboratory of the state
to practice art of radical insight
through performance of madness inside words
that wards off ghosts listening at my door.

On contours of my deep ambivalence
toward secret nature of my serpent heart
I stumble against obstacles of hope
to shift attention of my eager faith
through misdirection of my stated goals
to evade being role model for the world.

I am no mascot for this fractured time
by surfing waves of elemental change
though I lounge in consulting room of fear
to wrestle angels of aggressive cheer
who test fierce loyalty of my shy heart
to the faceless monster who reigns on high.

Wearing mask of the psychoanalyst,
I guide lost souls with lyre of Mercury
that rings with melodies Orpheus wrote
from cavern of illusions trapped in words
they write with blood of angels in blank books
to formulate fuel from sludge of despair.

Attempting to figure out who I am,
I strip away all signs of social status
so I stand naked on the careless field,
unshielded by illusions of false pride,
though I must suffer weird mental dysfunction
because I chant weird prophecies of fate.

Uncanny to myself, I hear my voice
reverberate against walls of the state
which shakes pillars of the establishment,
yet I sing visions from my own deep mind,
which no shadowed muse demands I dictate,
that springs from weird persona of my soul.

When I stop to think about the weird world,
the wires of my brain explode sparks of code
that reprogram how I perceive the real,
perhaps because I sublimate harsh truth
with polished metaphors of sublime art
that traps demonic horror in strict form.

My one big theory tangled in my heart
explains true nature of the universe
that organizes every disparate fact
in sprawling puzzle of our memories
which I assemble from all human tales
to psychoanalyze my state of mind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus writes notes in his book as he listens to me recount the various traumatic moments of my life to help me psychoanalyze my state of mind.

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

Weird Haze Of Yesterday
© Surazeus
2025 05 19

Far from archaic shores of my childhood
I sail to see God in fog of the future,
but find only more lands where people dwell
in cities staged to replay founding tale
of their ancestor who arrives one day
to pluck fruit from the giving tree of hope.

The normal world of truth where I grew up
has vanished now in dim fog of the past
where I left corpse of God inside the church
from which spring nations of humanity
who worship idols of ancestral guides
which guard the garden of our secret code.

After climbing mountains of jagged peaks
to view paintings that depict long-dead gods,
I stand before gate to Towers of Silence
with hope to see the Flame of Zoroaster
that must still glow with spirit of God Mind
which flares forth from first flash of the big bang.

The only place I have ever seen God
is in the shining mirror on the wall
that shows how the fairest spirit of all
animates child of Narcissus and Echo
whose face emanates energy of faith
with charismatic glow of divine truth.

When Oceanus, riding foam-maned horse,
falls in love with graceful star-eyed Aditi,
she transforms his spirit of honest faith
into brave Mithras wearing scarlet cape
who defeats the cruel tyrant Minotaur
in brutal battle to wear Crown of Christ.

Archaic world of my childhood in Texas,
where I ride my bike to the college campus
and read about alphabets of the world,
vanishes in weird haze of yesterday
when I hitchhike Seattle to Miami
and play guitar by fountain of the ghost.

While I meditate by the gushing river
in pine-crested foothills of Mount Takoma,
I see three goddesses of wisdom glow,
Athena, Saraswati, and Kwan Yin,
who bless me with the Voice of Prophecy
so I can navigate safe way through Hell.

Wearing mask of persona I design,
to shield mortal frailty of my heart,
I sing Chronicle of Humanity
disguised in fairy tales of Gothic angst
that record my quest for the Holy Grail
which shimmers in the heart of my soul mate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus kneels before Athena, Saraswati, and Kwan Yin, and prays for guidance to understand the complex currents of human history.

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

Grand Canyon Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 05 18

The gray-haired woman in the river boat
commissions the white raven to retrieve
gold pocket watch from the insolent knight
who sells his armor at the antique shop
for coat of many colors he can wear
when he attends the posh gallery show.

The sad angel curled in the oak book shelf
requests the red-furred cat with serpent eyes
for pair of wings the snowy owl sells
then watches the passenger jet of faith
scatter fake clouds of arrogance with prayer
while the cat and the owl play game of chess.

The spider man with thirty-thousand eyes,
who lives in the Grand Canyon of faith,
weaves tapestry of human history
that presents the prophets in dreamless caves
of every religion mankind invents
to translate wisdom of toads in the swamp.

The young school girl wearing long cotton skirt
climbs down the side of the high red brick wall
on rusty ladder of excessive faith
because she wants to ask the robot clown
how he can always make sad people laugh
with confusing riddles no one could solve.

The car mechanic in the large garage
decides that engines represent the heart
demonic angels build for time machines
that lonely people drive across the land
where Roland blows ivory oliphant horn
though no one rescues his soldiers from bombs.

The small-church pastor wearing silver suit
flips through pages of the Bible to find
elusive passage that explains how faith
can save the fool from dancing off the cliff,
then drinks beer by the oak and laughs all night
at absurd beauty of the butterfly.

The serious magician with yew wand
transforms the toad long croaking in the swamp
into accountant for the country bank
tasked to adjudicate requests for loans
farmers apply to fund their future crops
in field where Mithra tames the Minotaur.

The gray-haired woman in the river boat
gives me the wand she uses to catch fish
so I ask the school girl to marry me
so we can translate song of nothingness
to silly fairy tales children can read
before they grow up to work in finance.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus gives the gray-haired woman in the river boat the radio she purchased to play romantic songs of Edith Piaf.

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

Energetic Faith In Dirt
© Surazeus
2025 05 18

Too long strange silence of the angel wing
vibrates ancestral memories of the stream
that floods the plain one hundred million years
till wingless angel of the aching heart
explores along the winding river shore
and picks up gleaming emerald of her eye.

Alone on grassy plain of floating stars,
she sings the ancient memory of our genes
that fuels her endless journey to the moon
which always gleams above the distant hills
and lures her to the land of apple trees
beyond horizon of the wordless wind.

The child who feels vibration of the rain
throb deep in crystal bones of honesty
knows why she is herself and no one else
in all the history of the universe,
for she collects the masks of long-dead gods
to hang on trunks of trees as ticking clocks.

Long curly hair swirls randomly in wind
as she walks slowly toward demonic light
that glimmers weirdly on the giant stone
which wavers proudly in her aching heart
till she arrives at edge of nothingness
to touch the solid coldness of the world.

What name of energetic faith in dirt
she breathes with vibrant passion of her tongue
defines complete expansiveness of self
wrapped whole in secret warmth of fantasy
which she decides must designate the face
who looks at her from shimmer of the pool.

Through misdirection of the twisted branch
that points beyond vast whyness of the sky
she feels soft hand of love enclose her heart
with gentle protest of the lonesome guard
who feels complete when she stays by his side
while glimmer of the sun binds their hearts firm.

Expressing vision glowing in her eyes
with vibrant words that slither from her tongue,
she tells him why their hearts connect in love
because we calculate our destiny
through each decision our hearts choose to make
when we seek wholeness of our secret self.

Assembled concepts of the fractured world
complete whole puzzle of their separate hearts
when they hold hands and walk in silent wind
to blaze the trail long signless in the sun
where we now drive our cars on asphalt road
that takes us round in loops of strict routine.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia meet on the river shore where she weaves flowers in his hair as he chips flint into arrowheads so he can hunt for food to cook.

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

Frame Of What Is Real
© Surazeus
2025 05 18

Each scene of unresolved false memory
that flashes blurred across his fuzzy mind,
as Seth floats through the quiet afternoon
in peaceful sadness of eternity,
sparks dull anxiety of numb despair
that makes him chuckle when he snaps awake.

Nobody cares about my memories,
Seth mumbles to the finch on the back porch
that hops along the rail of eager hope,
then drinks cold faucet water of concern
in small home nestled in the grove of oaks
along suburban street lined with dead cars.

Submerged in half-dream of the afternoon,
Seth rides the horse across the windy plain
to catch the shadow of objective fear
embodied by the man with doorless key
whose laughter twists the oak tree into rope
that dangles from the beam of unjust law.

Haunted by faceless god his father feared,
Seth walks quickly past every empty church
because he knows the doors are locked all week,
then browses fiction section of bookstores
to read short summaries of unreal plots
about men numb with angst of modern life.

The plush green couch in middle of his house
floats just above the ground of principles
in shy defiance of grim gravity
each time his brain designs new alien world,
completely different from the state of Earth,
where he is the brave angel who can fly.

When Seth decides to fish on lake of dreams,
where he casts line into abyss of fate
to catch the Loch Ness Monster of his heart
who knocks him off balance from his wood boat,
he falls nine days and nights in wingless flight
to hum half-awake on his floating couch.

Through sudden field of shocking certainty
Seth runs through thunderstorm of laughing gods
to find the girl he loves beside the lake
who kisses him in drenching rain of time
till she reminds him of her secret name
which reconstitutes frame of what is real.

Shouting at the empty sky of false faith,
Seth asks divine zookeeper of the Earth
if he can perform with elastic grace
roles of both therapist and referee
as pope who rules empire of fairy tales,
then stares out the window as evening falls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus waves to Seth in the window as he walks up the path, then they sit on the porch to drink mead and play chess while thrushes sing in the evening dusk.

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

Almost See The Face
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

As star of my own solar system, I
wake in the quiet house of screaming ghosts
that beam from every brain alive on Earth
as radiant static of world emptiness
without sad story of the human race
that flickers on blank television screens.

Eight billion houses on our floating Earth
blink eyeless windows in the rancid night
though crackling stars burn human hearts to ash
because we walk alone on signless roads
together yet apart in void of time
just close enough to almost see the Face.

Anxiety appears in old-man form
crouched in mute horror of the sunless room
who follows me as shadow of my body
which thirsts to drink fermented blood of fear
that bleeds from pulsing sponges of my eyes
till I push him in swamp mud of my heart.

To build the baseline of our real-life tale
we start with honesty and end with lies
we carve as masks from skulls of ancient gods
to hide our aching hearts with bold bravado
that shields our wounded souls from vampire lust
on which celebrities of fame must feed.

By singing riddles of exotic hymns
I hope to achieve what my heart desires
when I create virtual Earth in my brain
to mirror real world composed of atoms
that seethe from heat to form organic souls
who writhe with pleasure to create new life.

With incomprehensible breath of hope,
I crawl hand over hand to mountain peak
where I stand on one leg of tense respect
to reach the first star of the universe
that still shines pulsing deep inside my brain
since its first flash flared forth from the big bang.

I feel how very atom of my soul
has pulsed with energy of lust for life
fourteen billion years of spinning time
through various forms of chemical concepts
transforming from ideal ghost of the I
who evolves billions of lives to be me.

Reframing problem of the afterlife,
I explain that I am the incarnation
of my parents in the flesh again now,
designed by immortal soul of our genes
as bodies that replicate our God Mind
in new brains where I almost see the Face.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus almost sees the Face in the swirling mist so he reaches out his hand and finds Ophelia floating on the river as she clutches flowers.

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

Lake Of Dancing Wolves
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

Disturbed by how fast Death claims human souls,
Juturna watches television shows
about life in the ancient Land of Oz
where elves build palaces of dreams from snows
that never cease swirling from weeping moons
which hang as mirrors on black starless skies.

Each time she returns to scene of the crime
to find conceptual evidence of fate,
Juturna lingers on the ocean shore
till Arion arrives from end of time
on star-leaping dolphin of Zathamar
to give her golden apple of the sun.

Running together in the river grove
from horde of assassins wearing black masks,
young lovers search for somewhere safe to hide,
till they find cave where Plato waves glass wand
to teach them secrets of the universe,
so shy Juturna kisses Arion.

Unsure of how he feels about her heart,
Juturna strides across the windy plain
to weave fantastic visions from green rain,
so Arion chases shadow of hope
to find her on solemn Cliffs of Moher
where he explains to her how he much cares.

Determined to escape the falling bombs
that blast all fantasies to kingdom come,
young lovers drive highway of singing skulls
till they arrive at lake of dancing wolves
where they build temple to the Faceless God
whose apple trees sprout from the fertile sod.

Back to reality on fairy wings,
Juturna flies home safe to Illinois
where she shows photos of her time in France
to strangers on the street she meets by chance,
till secret agents of the government
arrest her for tricking the president.

Alone on mountain of the burning bush,
Arion ponders social provenance
that sparks the rise of prophets who give voice
to grievance of the people sore oppressed
who dare revolt against the status quo
to favor equal rights for every soul.

Deported to the Isle of Avalon,
Juturna reunites with Arion
by lake where snowy egrets flap their wings,
then holding hands they sit on wooden porch
to watch empire of America fall
so Zarathia can rise on Phoenix wings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia visit Juturna and Arion at their home in the forest on the western shore of the Caspian Sea.

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

Reason Time Is Weird
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

She wonders if the reason time is weird
could flash from how the raven wing transcends
eccentric jokes contrived by ringing bells
despite how fast the book shelves have been cleared
except for why sweet cuteness still depends
on serpent princess stealing words from wells.

So drives steel motorcar of honest hope
swift on the writhing highway of fake wealth
to catch the falling star with angel mask
born as her daughter on the mountain slope
who grows up hunting butterflies with stealth
to finish well each fate-appointed task.

Yet each house glowing by the dragon sea,
where children play and laugh with fearless joy,
explodes from bombs hurled by the angry god,
so they crawl limbless in land of the free,
then work in factories to assemble toy
sold in shopping malls by religious fraud.

Annoyed by attitude of haughty pride
displayed by football captain on their date,
she joins the army of the howling horse
to arrest preachers and scammers who lied
in schemes to steal money from naive fate
who sells mineral rights to the holy source.

When Attila camps at the gates of Rome
with purpose to enslave the populace,
fierce Leo meets him on the battle field
and casts demonic spell from arcane tome
that sparks compassion for the human race
so the mighty warrior decides to yield.

In every age of human history
demonic spirit of the anti-christ
incarnates in some tyrant blind with greed
whose rage oppresses man with misery,
till from the people rises new brave Christ
who leads our revolution in dire need.

Attired as warrior goddess we respect,
Minerva waves bright flag of our just cause
to organize our fight for liberty
and pave way for the social architect
who will design new set of global laws
that maintains justice through democracy.

When she concludes the reason time is weird
based on analysis of fairy tales
that people share on social media sites,
she trains her son to play role of the bard
who prophesies that Liberty prevails
through war that paralyzes parasites.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus joins Minerva in her fight for Liberty against the tyrant Attila, and help Leo send that greedy oligarch back to Hell.

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

Wealth Gap Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 05 17

Inspired to narrow the wealth gap of fate
by investing in flights of fantasy,
Faunus plays hide and seek with Libitina
who wants to kiss him with sweet vampire eyes,
while Salacia boils oyster seaweed soup
to feed the crowd of refugees from war.

Bright effervescence of the swirling sea
sparkles deep in his eyes with selfless love
when Faunus sees long-haired Venilia
chase butterflies in lush Elysian fields,
so he leaves Libitina in the cave
and chases her along the windy beach.

Enraged at how Faunus abandoned her,
Libitina crouches on the cliff edge
and hurls large stone with jagged points of hate
that cuts the shoulder of Venilia
who stumbles to her knees and cries in pain,
so the curly-haired boy tends to her wound.

Cradling Venilia in his caring arms,
Faunus leads her safely to the dream cave
where Salacia gives bowls of oyster soup,
so he feeds her while she blushes with hope,
then whispers how she wants to marry him,
but shrieks in fear when Libitina glares.

Declaring that Faunus belongs to her
because her built her temple of the dead
where she burns corpses in the holy fire,
Libitina grabs his reluctant hand,
but he proclaims attention of desire
to focus love on life rather than death.

Fuming with anger at his hurtful words
spoken by one she thought cared for her heart,
Libitina runs on the windy shore,
then sits on large black stone of arrogance
that guards mouth of the gushing snow-fed stream
to cry at rejection of loyal trust.

Slim Alpanus in gown of raven feathers
appears beside her on the river stone,
who wipes her tears with skeletal hand
and offers pomegranate with red seeds,
so Libitina follows master of death
down into cave of diamonds and despair.

Turnus, son of Venilia and Faunus,
rides young horse across the Esquiline Camp
where he sees young girl with long flowing hair,
Lucina, proud daughter of Libitina,
so he embraces her with eager arms,
and she kisses him with intense desire.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury at the feast after the marriage of Lucina and Turnus, while their mothers ignore each other with dignified contempt.

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

Matrix Of Our Mutual Mind
© Surazeus
2025 05 16

Delicate yellow flower of my heart
blooms through crack in Church of America,
so I rise up from cavern of desire
and walk toward shadow of faith I accept
as way more real than Heaven preachers sell
who curse their enemies to burn in Hell.

The prophet rises from the common folk
when they are trapped in hostile circumstance
to speak with clear voice of the clairvoyant
what action they could take against despair
to overcome oppression of the rich
who exploit energy of crafting hands.

Because there is no supernatural God
who created this world from spoken word,
I am unprophet of the tribal soul,
composing spells of complicated code
to cast clear vision of the virtual world
that mirrors real world which creates our souls.

Dedicated to truth of the Ungod,
who watches not over all that I do,
I unspool matrix of our mutual mind
to mirror real world in my dreaming brain
so I can calculate cause and effect
to help predict the coming of the sun.

When people of my nation, fraught with fear,
cry out with voice of patience in despair,
I recompile their most outstanding fears
to seek sanction from shadow of the god
that emanates from fractured stone of truth
so I recite clear vision as their guide.

If we are still on signless road of fate
that leads from sea shore to the mountain cave,
we will relax in Temple of Blind Gods
where flame-caster forges new Wisdom Wand
for me to wield as Emperor of the Yarth
despite how clocks unwind my neural soul.

Each book I eat with alabaster teeth
contains concepts of twisted energy
so with apparent flap of angel wings
my brain uploads new set of memories
just fading bright from instrument of truth
which I wield now in crippled state of being.

With calm alacrity of peaceful pride
I assemble fragments of fractured truth
from countless tales of vain experience
to conjure virtual world of faceless souls
based on real people who invent new names
woven in matrix of our mutual mind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus teaches Methods of Prophetic Elocution for the graduate seminar at the University of Zarathia.

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

Ghosts Of Fake Words
© Surazeus
2025 05 16

Along bright beam-path of the lonely moon,
heart beating wild with dark misshapen wings,
I run toward glowing shadow-heart of hope
that winds out spiral-flight of honesty
for eye-swirl mist of harrowing desire
to aim my soul straight through eternity.

Accelerating leap of earnest faith
propels my soul across night-wide abyss
with fierce intent to reach infinity
on eager wings I bought from Icarus
who hides in cave of illusions to weave
expansive matrix of our mutual minds.

Enclosed within courageous form of faith,
that whirrs from tides of nothingness I feel,
my heart embraces time-strong vanity
to drive fate of my heart against harsh rules
restraining fierce aggression of my hope
to play competing game of arrogance.

Regret winds taut with anger self-control
by which I rein assertion of my rights
to manage flushing flow of energy
that fuels my mission to investigate
confines of caverns gleaming rich with wealth
I wish to extract with world-crafting hands.

Attained by bloated conceit of false faith,
through aggrandizement of bland boastful pride,
I glut my heart with insolence of praise,
disposed toward innocence of vacant nymphs
who feast on rumors swollen with grim tears
despite offensive charge of charity.

Each object pulsing with Solarian light
vibrates bright outlines of existing forms
beyond horizon of our consciousness
in mountains haunted by ghosts of fake words
whose hands caress my brain with pungent lust
for bitter juice of my sea-mirror soul.

Trapped by eternal glow of evening dusk
that challenges rich substance of my faith
with naked longing of my heart heart,
I exit pale of sacred temple hall
so I experience struggle to survive
till I return home with treasures of truth.

Trite manifestation of empty choirs,
when I paint mural of our tribal tale
with blood that oozes from my reckless mind,
deranges how my brain processes facts
now symbolized by divine characters
misconstrued as normal people we are.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/05/…

Orpheus directs choir of ten million poets to sing grand epic tale of human experience, then we all go out and eat plates of nachos with ground beef, cheese, and guacamole.

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