Paper Castle Towers
© Surazeus
2025 07 21

I will float gently into the good night
after tromping around the world of dreams
for eighty years from sea to shining sea,
parading with fairies, weirdos, and freaks
in grand procession lead by Dionysus
to break down the walls of Heaven with song.

Dancing at the Oregon Country Fair,
I drink star-angel mead from the rainbow fairy
whose golden eyes reflect eternity,
so I transform into the Spotted Owl
and glide ten million years in mountain woods
till I return to my frail human body.

When I ask the rainbow fairy at dawn
why we are born to struggle in this world,
she smiles and gives me diamond of her heart
in which I see the universe evolve
as galaxies spiral from the first flash
to nurture planets teeming with god souls.

Awake from theory of the floating mountain,
I build transcendent bridge no one can cross
where billions of ghosts gather in gold mist
to hide their sorrows in pockets of time
beneath the strawberry clouds of true faith
so we can live in paper castle towers.

She asks me if I understand the truth
about how water always flows downward,
but I gaze through the mirror of my mind
to watch the beautiful people of pain
paint their faces with blood-colored stripes
while Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury.

Descended from enormous dinosaurs,
the gold-eyed sparrow in the silver birch
sings sweetly of romance that fills our hearts
with shimmering shadows of the mirror mind
that helps us thinking apes accept the fact
that we are not gods and we all will die.

Dress in light yellow gown of lace and love,
black-eyed Shulan twirls by the fountain pool,
then gives me orchid of her lonely heart
so we hold hands and stroll along the river
where Queen Sequana gives us pears to eat
while seer Belenus prophesies our future.

Assembling in sacred Ring of Brodgar,
we palm our hands and hum in harmony
as Kwan Yin floats on white swan-wings of faith
to bestow blessing of wisdom on us
who write our secrets in the book of truth
as we float gently into the good night.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus proclaims in his first sermon after election as President of the Thirteenth-day Adventurist Church that we are not gods and we all will die.

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

Hidden Cave Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 07 20

Emerging from ceaseless stream of my thoughts,
eyes flashing with ten-billion-year-old stars,
I watch people work on the river shore,
and give each person their most secret name
that I cradle as treasure in my hands,
then return to my hidden cave of faith.

Put out my eyes and I will never see you,
seal up my ears and I shall never hear you,
break my arms and I can never embrace you,
and with broken feet I can never go find you,
but close my mouth with anguish of my heart
yet I will call your name with words of truth.

Collecting stones from the deep river bed
along with the bones of demons and gods,
I create new words that convey my thoughts
so seeds of truth bloom in flowers of love
which spur my heart to sing in odorous woods
in harmony with the cloud-soaring lark.

Thick veil of tree branches conceal my vale
from endless torrent of afternoon rain
till I reach out my timorous hands of hope
to grasp the golden shafts of light that fling
eternity through radiant glow of faith
whole stone-smoothing water croons me to sleep.

No matter how far I search in the world,
climbing mountains and striding along rivers,
I will never find myself anywhere,
so I create myself from words I speak
since I realize I am where I am now,
always dreaming strange beauty of this life.

When the Guardian of Dreams in long black gown
wanders the endless landscape of my heart,
with moon-white lily in her gentle hand,
I offer apples I steal from the snake,
so I feel vastness of this shivering world
when she smiles bright as lightning at midnight.

When our souls touch with respectful desire,
the great chord of the universe sings clear
with deep vibration of the pulsing star
that tunes our hearts in harmony with time
so we become one flash of ecstasy
wound tight in matrix of conceptual love.

My heart mirrors image of your pure soul
with heavy honesty of selfless love
that forms the sturdy ship of mutual trust
which bears us safely through the deadly storm
for we are alone together on Earth
in consecrated passion of our love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus gives apples to Ophelia as he rows their river boat to the shore of the fishing village where everyone gathers for the evening feast.

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

Maze Of Edinburgh Castle
© Surazeus
2025 07 20

Having lived in the cold Castle of Maidens
in lush dale on jagged hill of Alauna
for one thousand winters of swirling snow,
I can comprehend weird song of the wind
that details endurance of humankind
as we strive to evolve into star gods.

Three thousand summers ago I arrive,
sailing from Phoenicia to land of Eydin,
and build stone ziggurat on castle rock
where I reign with spirit of Queen Shapash,
commissioned to maintain Lamp of the Gods
preserving eternal Flame of Shahar.

When Wotan climbs slope of the rocky hill
he finds graceful woman with long black hair
who brews sweet honey mead in large brass cauldron
beside round pool before the tall stone tower
where ravens flap black wings of certitude
as he drapes warm wolf-fur cloak on her shoulders.

Each spring equinox eve at the full moon
the Wotadini in lush lands of Eydin
gather in the dale on hill of Alauna
and listen to young dancing women sing
to crown our May Queen for the coming year
while Wotan presides over the tribe feast.

After living in the Castle of Maidens
one thousand years with chirping birds and apples,
I replace my green silk gown of the princess
with white linen dress of the kitchen cook,
and escape Prison of the Patriarchy
to sail with Pilgrims to the Promised Land.

Now three hundred years later my heart aches
to walk again gray halls of whistling wind
that wind in the maze of Edinburgh Castle
where my spirit had dwelled three thousand years
with singing skull of Orpheus in my hand
so I can read runes gleaming in the sky.

When Ophelia returns from the woods,
gathering herbs along Water of Leith,
she asks me if I remember the hour
the world was born from womb of Mother Earth,
so I strum strings of my polished Clarsach
and sing the Lay of Margaret Queen of Alba.

Illusions of our national legacy
flash in the hopeful mirror of my eyes
till pretty fantasies of ancient times
dissipate in glow of the noonday sun
which luminates tall oak trees in my yard
as I hum spells with weird song of the wind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus climbs castle wall to window of the room where Ophelia lives, so they embrace and plan how to escape the Castle of Maidens and sail to start new lives in America.

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

Greatest Hero Who Laughs
© Surazeus
2025 07 19

The greatest hero in history of Earth
keeps crumbling into frail statue of dust,
so I paint his name on the highway sign
that leads the eager crowd of worshippers
to the huge mountain cave where he was born
where they all bow before his singing skull.

Lounging on the back porch of the old pub
beside the river where boats glide at dusk,
the greatest hero ever plays guitar
and sings sad ballad of the tragic fate
the hero always meets on path of life
while people drink beer and chat about sports.

Fingers dancing lithely on the typewriter,
the greatest hero who has never died
writes novels about the heroic fool
who always seems to fail at all he does
and hurts the woman who loves him with care
against the better judgment of her heart.

Fixing engines in the cluttered garage,
hands covered in grease from adjusting parts,
the greatest hero no one hears about
helps people get their cars back on the road
so they can go about their busy lives
driving in circles where gray rainbows cry.

Talking to the clock in trunk of the oak
that opens portals to the multiverse,
the greatest hero who wears mask of God
enters ring of stones in the forest glade
where Oberon and Titania host parties
to play the lyre of Mercury and sing.

Sailing his boat along the River Styx
to catch Cetus and roast his steaks for lunch,
the greatest hero fishing for the dragon
rescues Orpheus and Ophelia
from drowning in the flash flood from rain storms
and takes them to the slopes of Mount Parnassus.

Stringing the sacred Damul Bow of Buryeo,
which he finds in the jewel mines of Hades,
Orion fires arrow of authority
that pierces heart of the cruel dragon Smaug,
then challenges Jesus for the world throne
to rule the United Nations of Earth.

The greatest hero who laughs at blind death
stands guard at pearly gates of paradise
and stares at faces of people who pass
till they all blur into serpent of faith
that slithers hissing in the Tree of Life
as he punches the mirror of illusions.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus finds Orion guarding the gates of paradise in a daze from the vast and endless flow of human history where all fights for power end when everyone dies.

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

Huge Heart On Pluto
© Surazeus
2025 07 18

Since planets are no more than clumps of dirt
that spin relentlessly in void of faith,
I plan to build crystal palace of hope
in the middle of the huge heart on Pluto
so I can sail sea of nitrogen ice
where Nuwa loves to dance in silver waves.

In the darkening twilight of my life,
I revert to the salamander mind
as I crawl rugged mountains of white rocks
to find the tree of knowledge with ripe fruit
that shimmers bright with holy light of truth
high on the mountain of aggressive hope.

West of the mighty Mississippi River
I stand on high plateaus of quiet stars
and listen to the flowers of mankind
sing solemn hymns to calm domestic life
while soldiers clutching guns of arrogance
stare shocked at splendid beauty of the sun.

Through solitude of primal sanities
I worship Nature of incessant birth
with ceaseless excitement of ancient cries
that hail great populations of the land
who trample garden of the holy fool
while seeking to escape his reckless play.

Ascending ghastly mountain of the mind
as phantom moon with sharp amethyst eyes,
I seek salvation through creative force
of generating souls from womb of Earth
whose large transparent face of loyalty
illuminates the timeless vale of tears.

Prophetic voice from carnage of the war
which affects to solve the problems of freedom,
vibrates from buzzing radios of fear
which urges me to guard Columbia
who leads revolution of honest souls
victorious against grim nationalists.

With whizzing bombs exploding from book words
Orion runs across the smoking field
to bring last message of the fallen warrior
to the stone-eyed king on his throne of gold
who feasts on blood of innocence and hope
while asking the moon to cleanse our state guilt.

I fly not from Paumanok on crow wings
but stand instead on abandoned hillfort
and listen to the bloody flag of hope
flap with the voice of people killed in wars
who crowd around me in the summer night
because I carry banner of the cause.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus finds his son Orion wandering in the waste land of the huge heart on Pluto, so they sit on the vast dusty plain and play chess.

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

Build Shadow Homes
© Surazeus
2025 07 18

The bee that hides in anguish of my tongue
leads me to river of the singing stone
where three horses drink lost tears of the world
so we put on our hats of ardent hope
and dance with passion of the disappeared
to build shadow homes on the signless road.

The window that reflects my unseen face
floats in the air without its framing home
awake with words children scribble in dirt
so we hold pencils in our crippled hands
and write false stories of our broken hearts
to build shadow homes among writhing trees.

The shadow of my home glows on the grass
but I cannot with telescope of faith
find that sacred home my grandfather built
so I carry its door on my bent back
and walk over seven hills to the sea
to build shadow homes where rain never falls.

The broken lyre that dangles from my hand
reverberates with songs no angel sings
though this face that looks at me is not me
so I carve mask with mocking satire grin
that leaves me and becomes its own weird soul
to build shadow homes in vast maze of myths.

The tangled string of memory I hold
forgets the story of my random life
encoded in folk songs gods never sing
so I watch children play tag in the park
far from the battlefields of politics
to build shadow homes in the twilight zone.

The agitation of the aging fool
who still insists he is king of the world
crackles secret codes on the radio
so I erase news of all tragic deaths
from cluttered streets where superheroes roam
to build shadow homes on the avenue.

The winter sky of fractured puzzle plates
depicts the wise sage still roaming the world
after six thousand years of selling pears
so I collect frail bones of dinosaurs
on which our ancestors carved shopping lists
to build shadow homes by the bridge of hope.

The distance I must walk to find my mask
that hangs on museum wall of wise fools
keeps stretching rainbows of ambitious angst
so I conceal my spirit in blank words
that clatter marble-mirrored in your hand
to build shadow homes without walls or doors.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus builds new home on shore of the River Styx where Ophelia and their children Orion and Ostara live beside the orchard of pear trees where niker-sprites flutter on gossamer wings.

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

Illusion Machine Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 07 17

Since whispers of the stopped clock cannot show
why wind casts no shadows of absent friends,
I try to find imaginary God
in cracks of my forgetting to explain
why light molds matter in organic brains
that conjure virtual model of the world.

This chair where I sit alone every day
to write the scripture of my holy faith
will glow with absence of my long-dead soul
that blinds the children of the singing sea
who hide photos of the future I dream
so I can understand why I am not.

Each morning the first mother of mankind
bakes apple pies for everyone to eat
so we explore beyond the gates of Heaven
to organize the wild desire of nature
in cosmic garden of the humming girl
who invents language for children to play.

Untethered from timed spinning of the Earth,
I try to soar on wings of Icarus
above the maze of myths where worshipped gods
search for believers to entrance with lies,
so I become sly serpent in the tree
who tempts the young to invent their own truth.

Sweet smell of lavender after spring rain
tempts me to forget political games
when paranoid men with weapons of death
assert they are incarnation of God
commissioned to enlighten men with faith,
so I breathe spirit of enlightened love.

Emerging from stiff words of story books
with lithe assertion of the star-light song,
I reassemble building blocks of bliss
to cast enormous castle of state power
which crumbles in the wind of honesty
and leaves us wandering on the wordless beach.

With childhood wonder devils cannot fathom
I play the action figure who transcends
languid sorrow of cool museum halls
where portraits of rich people hang on walls
that pulse with vibrant energy of hope
which powers illusion machine of faith.

From random elements of chaos streams
I design meaning through meaninglessness
to guide my journey across the waste land
so I can free Prometheus from his chains
so he can teach me how to build airplanes
with wings of Icarus I forge from facts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus carves idols of millions of gods from oak wood and lines them on the window sill of his house by the electric sea.

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

Space Of Wordless Seem
© Surazeus
2025 07 16

Stark voice of loss that echoes in the room
reveals expansive space of wordless seem
contrived by obvious lesson of false peace,
though we recall through prayers that never cease
relentless waves of time that beat our hearts
with subtle pulse of shadow-beaming parts.

Should my confusing memories of your face
vanish from my dream book without a trace,
I might miss one last chance to be redeemed
before blinding gloss of fate is condemned
because I dare to play the sacrament
decoded from tropes of my testament.

Our children whirl in circles of wild joy
inside library of the manic toy
who leads procession of the holy fool
through sorrow-cracked doors of the empty school
too late to earn redemption from the crow
who leads our journey in the bloody snow.

Still bent in concentration of the clown,
Morpheus ponders why our thoughts contain
ideal illusions rendered through fraught verse
based on brilliant wings of the sourceless curse
erasing splendor our teachers acquire
from haze of radiance on the ocean shore.

Bright diamonds we extract from rancid caves
declare balanced uselessness of sad waves
for how the shadow god born in hot mud
lingers on buzzing margin of the wood,
caught in fitful gusts of suggestive wind
long after we escape from tricks of the mind.

Each spiraled episode of manic speech
that motivates my laughter on the beach
conceals assertive ambulance toward death
uncalculated through words of the wraith
who sends snowflakes of pointless provenance
wound tight by axis of trapped innocence.

Expansive cosmos cluttered with frail worlds,
crowded like Earth with coltish cosmic heralds,
churns planets from eclectic womb of fate
so we join pageant with the horse-trot gait
though lacking trepidation to stretch time
enough for angels to cleanse hate of slime.

No lady now with stolen wings of pain
climbs stairway to Heaven in bitter rain,
so we assemble in the ring of stones
to worship skeleton of dragon bones
in ritual that revives Goddess of Truth
who appoints me cautious messiah sleuth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus finds Goddess of Truth at the foot of the stairway to Heaven, who is hesitant to get trapped in the celestial court by the old god jealous of her unwanted fame.

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

True Lamp Of Diogenes
© Surazeus
2025 07 16

When I find true lamp of Diogenes
in the antique shop on Tripodon Street,
half-hidden behind the albatross wing
and the typewriter that Elytis owned,
I buy it for thirteen dollars from Hermes,
then wander weird streets of America.

With lamp of Diogenes in my hand,
and wisdom of Athena in my heart,
I walk maze of streets in America
to find the honest man who knows the Why
that programs atomic clock of the brain
to conjure virtual model of the world.

Approaching giant statue in the square
where we once fought for truth and liberty,
I see its head is cast from gleaming gold
that casts glow of charisma on the world,
but its feet are frail clumps of crumbling clay,
so the tyrant will topple from its greed.

Ascending steps of the grand Capitol
that shines on top the hill of global power,
I search its politician-crowded halls
and legislative chambers of firm desks,
but find no honest man with generous heart
among the vampires wearing clean blue suits.

Riding elevators in tall glass towers
to visit hushed headquarter offices
that manage global corporate companies
where thousands of accountants and salesmen
analyze data on spreadsheets of hope,
but not one sees the clear light of my lamp.

When solemn light of credit flickers out
in gusts of change from world-sweeping events,
I rekindle frail flame of fantasy
that radiates from lamp of Diogenes
so I may see the fortune-mapping way
through ever-shifting labyrinth of fate.

Just as I almost give up futile hope
of ever finding the one honest man
who could preside our complex nation-state,
I find in shadow of the timeless book
brave Goddess of Justice and Liberty
who tries to avoid political games.

When clear light from lamp of Diogenes
reveals face of the woman I respect,
whose star illuminates the firmament,
I give her scroll with message from our hearts
imploring she save us from tyranny
and restore our democracy of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus implores Athena to campaign for President of Zarathia to drive out the tyrant and restore democracy to land of America.

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

Blind Hunger For Wealth
© Surazeus
2025 07 15

I wonder if I will be notified
when compassion saves my soul from despair,
or if I will be required to abide
in strange land of the electrified chair
which cracks foundation of our old world view
to shelter our souls in home of the true.

Subtle ding of change that alerts my heart
wakes me from sharp shock of the horror show,
so I consult the ever-shifting chart
to find the river where my angels row
fractured ship of state to the Promised Land
where I enforce rules with my red right hand.

Considered too weird for the normal play
where every lost soul knows their special role,
I build enormous castle out of clay,
then cover its weakness with sheets of gold
which shine with illusions of social power
while I hide paranoid in my glass tower.

With grand army of robots without brains
I conquer the world of rabbits and wolves
when I free people from religious chains
and show them how the human race evolves
through each generation of clever fools
who design more efficient killing tools.

After I defeat the vampire and his goons
to free zombies from blind hunger for wealth,
I build new empire on established tunes
so instead of brute force I rule through stealth,
contriving tricks that fool them to believe
I am the world savior who helps them grieve.

Eccentric spider demon of my brain
weaves vibrant matrix of conceptual truth
from fruit trees that embody tears of rain
so I appear as your messiah sleuth
with vast galactic eyes of flashing spells,
entrusted to purify water wells.

Afraid I will burden you with my fear
and cause you harm with my aggressive faith,
I ride into exile on the white deer
to channel psychic wisdom of the wraith
that would save my nation from brutal war
because I just want to run my bookstore.

When Midas steals gold medal of my fame
and tries to claim bright glory of my deeds,
I misdirect attention of his game
to break his power with small apple seeds
so we can dwell in peace of paradise,
free from world-destructive greed of his vice.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus leads army of ghosts to drive Midas from the ziggurat of world power so he can found the United Nations of Earth where every person lives equal in the law of self-control.

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

Watchmaker Of Lost Time
© Surazeus
2025 07 15

The fallen tree in the forest of names
sends nurse of sorrow to look after me,
and give me darkness with hands of cold fire
so mushrooms of wisdom sprout from my brain
which spawns from ghostly silence of my heart
wild children who gaze at me with strange eyes.

Awake as the Watchmaker of lost time
in my garden home near Vesuvius,
I whisper spells to counter jinx of faith
that unwinds beautiful vision of Earth
my mind creates from random memories
to forget god of unbearable truth.

Amazed by beauty of the butterfly
who transforms into the lame-footed girl
wearing long white gown of delicate lace,
I accept sweet tangerine of her heart
then shelter her from storms of daily life
while she crafts rainbows into pearls of light.

Minerva caresses his cheek with love
as Sylphus weeps for each raindrop of light
that dissolves with beauty of everything,
then holds his hand as they stroll by the lake
and listen to the crickets in the reeds
sing the names of souls who have lived and died.

Despite strange calculus of honesty
he calculates from bitter words of kings,
sly Sylphus steals fruit from the Tree of Life
and gives them to the girl with moon-black eyes
who bakes them into pies with cinnamon
which hungry people stand in line to buy.

When hopeless horror at the state of life,
that twists our nation with harsh tyranny,
cripples her mind with depression from fear,
Minerva hibernates in hollow cave
to nurture tender passion of her heart
so she can emerge reborn from despair.

Lost in the darkness of the holy woods,
where pictures of gods on trunks of old trees
reflect various aspects of her vast soul,
Minerva spins in tapestry of truth
random events from tragic human lives
so we pretend this world is paradise.

Though the dead seem to live in memories
that flash as visions in our aching hearts,
they all will vanish as dust in the wind
when we too sink in dreamless sleep of death
so, since all memories will disappear,
I treasure them in my still-living mind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus and Ophelia visit Sylphus and Minerva at their home beneath the rumbling mountain to eat apple pie till the end of the world.

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

Since Love Survives All
© Surazeus
2025 07 15

We must love one another, though we die,
I hear the mordant oak-tree wizard cry,
for even love is not stronger than death
just because two statues in a cold stone church
hold hands for six hundred years of fierce wars,
yet love survives all our vicissitudes.

This naked passion from sharp tender shock,
that reveals instinctual capacity
for humans to ignite new flames of love
each time we face terrible circumstance,
tears mask of irony off our love-pulsing soul
so we lie exposed to self-mockery.

Mature sophistication of contempt
through ambiguity of earnestness
shields hearts against ecstatic utterance
with barbed irony of moral respect
which we erect around vulnerable minds
to erase consolatory shame of hope.

Though bitter men with guns of mindless rage
rampage across the landscape of our faith,
arresting innocent people they deem
threats to their weakly false authority,
our love for people living in this land
gives our hearts strength to fight their tyranny.

Though we are all strangers in this strange land,
immigrating from many different lands,
where blood-bound nations unify for strength,
we share one basic principle of faith
that every person living on this globe
has equal rights to liberty and justice.

They try to crush our knowledge institutes
to destroy our world view of measured truth,
for ignorant people are easy to rule,
but we share wisdom our forefathers gleaned
to compose new scripture of global truth
that guides our creative progress with facts.

By wielding sword of truth with fearless faith
that love conquers all arrogant contempt
we find ambiguous courage to defend
rights of every human on spinning Earth
to live free from exploitation of greed
as we build Garden of Eden for all.

We must love one another, though we die,
expressing intense energy of hope
because we create, rather than destroy,
garden of fruit where every human being
lives free to pursue their creative dream,
since love survives all our vicissitudes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus drinks beer with Larkin and Auden as they discuss recurrent rise of fascist thugs who try to exert power of tyranny to exploit the people for their personal gain out of fear of love.

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

Museum of the Lost Face
© Surazeus
2025 07 14

Imperfect as this life can seem to be
I will open the can of sweet cream corn
to eat the beauty of the sunsetting sun
that screams with pleasure in the tangled trees
while I row my boat on the dreamless stream
to free the country of mad prisoners.

Each time she calls me on the telephone
I carve another name on the death bone
to buy bold confidence with fractured coins
while staring at the ceiling of the mind,
then glare down at the wicked human race
and sneer at their pathetic games of fame.

My strength is proof of infidelity
defined by dictionary of street slang
to mean reprisal of the haughty clown
who steals the family jewels from his god
after he swallows handful of red pills
that blow his mind with television truth.

Despite ringing of the bicycle bell
to warn the city of the hurricane,
the lonely girl in her hospital bed
devises ways to keep them occupied
when children wake from their magazine world,
eager to shoot guns at shadows of fear.

Awake in unfamiliar place of faith,
somewhere beyond the rainbow of her fear,
I forge new vision of the holy ghost
wearing flower dress as she fries pancakes
and pours syrup of her mouth on my heart
because our weird world is falling apart.

I search for truth on your side of the river
that splits the difference through theology
based on transcendent vision of the fool
who buries religious lies in the field
that shimmers red with the Indian Paintbrush
so I try to sleep off this tragedy.

Foul aroma of stories in new books,
that whitewash cruel history of slavery
with lies that slaves were happy for the work
and rejoiced in the dirt shacks where they lived
when they sing the blues in hot cotton fields,
infiltrate my brain with wealth privilege.

Stopping in Museum of the Lost Face,
Sylphus stares at portrait of Mona Lisa
who smiles at him with knowingness of love,
so he takes her hand and they walk away
far down the highway of the singing ghost
who sells salvation to the bitter king.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus studies the painting called the Mona Lisa to understand the mysterious complexity of the beautiful human soul.

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

Psychic Code We Use
© Surazeus
2025 07 14

Watching the kestrel glide above the pines,
Sylphus whispers with awe of butterflies,
then scans darkling woods with laser-beam eyes
to find electric beetle of the mind
which tells him of the psychic code we use
to help each other explain world we see.

Driving silver car on the crowded highway,
Sylphus navigates the world-city maze
to find Elysium beneath tall glass towers,
frustrated at elusive paradise
till the star-elf begins to realize
there is no Promised Land that we could find.

Climbing winding stairs in the crystal palace,
Sylphus studies constellations that gleam
on high arched ceiling of the mirrored hall
to find the secretive Weaver of Dreams,
Apollon Oneiros, in library hall,
busy building virtual worlds of our minds.

Cautiously approaching the Shaper Demon,
Sylphus requests with trepidatious voice
if he could dream about the Dancing Woman,
Queen Ishtar, who invented all religions,
so they could dance together on the shore,
but he finds himself outside the locked door.

Attempting to steady the silent glare,
Sylphus rides the white horse of potency
swiftly everywhere along winding rivers
to ask the people farming fertile fields
if they need protection from tyranny,
which traps him in the television screen.

Lifting dream-camera swift to his eye,
Sylphus gazes through kaleidoscope lens
to study the Great Egret with gold beak
that wades in silver waters of the flood,
then leaps on her back and embraces tight
as she soars up into the gleaming sky.

Unwinding atom clock of our strange world,
Sylphus redesigns how we see its forms
by inventing new language that describes
complexity of everything in poems
while he eats holy apple of the sun
that throbs with the ceremonial drum.

Translating song of the Raven to riddles,
Sylphus smiles at how his dream code describes
how rain laughs sideways to cleanse aching hearts
that teem with thunderous claps of the mind
though he weeps for all the good people killed
till they appear as masks on temple walls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus photographs Sylphus as he poses with long robe of great egret feathers in ruins of the temple on the island of vision-chanting skulls.

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

Belili Writes My Name
© Surazeus
2025 07 14

The casual way he talks about the sea
confuses horses of posterity
with valiant monuments to memories
that crumble into sand with turn of time
which shall erase all names of humankind
for we are broken statues of the mind.

With hungry hearts of anguish for the truth
we march with laurel branches and death spears
to escort with wild cheers of angry hope
the banker and the fishwife in gold carriage
knee-deep on muddy roads in pouring rain
back to the Bastille and its bloody flags.

When frightful demon of the cursed abyss,
disguised as star-eyed cardinal of faith,
reveals the entrance to the Underworld,
I strum my lyre to play ethereal tunes
and tread the fragile bridge of groaning bones
to find soul of the woman I love most.

I kneel before Belili on her throne
and offer basket of plums from my heart,
so she accepts with beaming moon-bright smile
and eats my heart with serpent teeth of love
that makes me writhe with ecstasy of faith
till my brain explodes with the lightning flash.

Stuck now in portal of the fractured world,
I feel my body pulse with eager lust
to generate new body for my soul
so I can walk the world of hills and lakes
four hundred million years of bitter strife
to transcend my weakness with loyal love.

Since death is opposite of leaving you
I curl my spirit in your aching heart
which drives your passion to live for each hour
as we walk far around the spinning Earth
one million times to find the Promised Land
that has always existed in my mind.

Belili gives me book of writhing ghosts
and asks me to give each new-designed soul
the secret name that keys their fate in life
so they can make the mask they want to wear
based on how ancestral memories guide
each choice they make that results in rebirth.

Belili writes my name with sizzling blood
on stone walls of cathedrals in the sea
to conjure demon of my heart from Hell
so I have power of the honest sword
to cast the tyrant from the throne of truth
so she can reign again as Queen of Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus offers Belili gift of the scroll he made with dragon skin after writing epic tales of her achievements with demon blood.

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

Tombstones Of Weird Fame
© Surazeus
2025 07 13

I have too many reasons not to waste
long rainy evening of the albatross
attempting to locate the island ghost
who steals my questions in the country song
with anguished cry of angels in the woods
who sell no happiness to mortal souls.

Returning to the country of my heart
where I kneel in stark ruins of the church,
I hide sweet sorrow of the falling rain
with bitter laughter of my ugly pain
because we travel on the road of dreams
to smile forever almost reaching home.

Tonight I serve rendition of false thoughts
to pilot plane of grace beyond my death
with eager passion of oblivious faith
to modify fierce action of my heart
with honest arrogance of Gabriel
when I refuse to mute my messages.

Electric rivers of conceptual words
flow through taut veins of hungry potencies
enough to open doors of wrinkled fear
contrived by gleam of fractured surfaces
easy enough for children to regret
erasing names from tombstones of weird fame.

No angels dare to speak to me of truth
once ribald horn of pulsing light escapes
fleet glances lovers trade for time of faith
since ribbons of respect unravel ruth
more miserable than dreamers without eyes
who seek to understand the art of love.

With sacred passion of the fractured mind
I burn discarded fragments of my life
through ardent ecstasy of avid hope
for flawed regression of unspoken grief
contained in fragile features of the leaf
which traps my spirit flight in supple bone.

Mysterious wing of transient prudency
bears me to cave of sun-reflected trees
where kind Medusa offers me sweet wine
that stirs my long-numb heart with earnest faith
that I may yet survive the balanced day
through resurrection of the shadow mind.

The rain that always falls from dreamless eyes
refracts attentive prophecy of fate
that blooms from hungry hollow of the well
though wind may lift my body from the Earth
and waft my spirit to the Promised Land
where you will find me waiting by the door.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus plays romantic tunes on the lyre while Gabriel asks Medusa to marry him after their romantic dinner at the restaurant by the river of tears.

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

Fake Wings Of Icarus
© Surazeus
2025 07 13

Searching for heroes to defend the people
against exploitation of oligarchs,
I fly over lands of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
till I fall exhausted back in my room
where faceless ghosts call out my name for help.

Translating songs of trees to clever jokes
that mock obsessive greed of oligarchs,
I stumble through maze of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
despite belief of all my loyal fans
that I can drive Godzilla back to Hell.

Leaping into swirling portals of time
to wrestle oligarchs on every world,
I map multiverse of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
beyond the waste land of our singing skulls
alone down highway of loud radios.

Kicking soccer-ball moon across the sky
to score more goals against cruel oligarchs,
I study ruins of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
long fallen from grace of democracy
and fettered by the chains of tyranny.

Recording soundtrack of the howling wolf
to fight the vampire oligarchs for wealth,
I deconstruct fate of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
before the second coming of the lord
who claims he alone rules the universe.

Patrolling frontier of our nation-state
to defend Garden of Eden from thieves,
I plow lush wheatfields of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
to free migrant workers from slavery
so every man can farm his private land.

Painting murals that depict social heroes
fighting conspiracies of oligarchs,
I maintain justice in America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
though I fall into sea of twisted laws
to battle truth-starving Cetus of greed.

Climbing Mount Parnassus in dawn light
to seek oracle of the singing skull,
I calculate faith of America
forever on fake wings of Icarus
for Orpheus Christ in temple of truth
who prophesies rise of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus walks the vast maze of America, singing hymns as countless people join his march for justice and freedom for every person living in this land.

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

Faceless Ghosts Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 07 12

When the red skimmer dragonfly alights
on edge of my book to gaze in my eyes
and seek the true facts about my weird life,
I sell nostalgia to the hungry souls
who seek to understand the precious thoughts
that drive me mad with wisdom of the sky.

Souls of all my ancestors in one ghost
wind clock-spring cobwebs of my dreamless mind
to unfreeze undulating wheel of time
which teaches my heart wisdom of old pain
with creak of wings that crack idol of faith
too like my fake face carved in effigy.

Stuck in the Garden called Gethsemane
with the cup of sorrow I wish to drink,
I give my twisted heart to my true love
who reaches down into the underworld
to grasp my hand and lift me from my doom
so we can drink and dance on rain-wet grass.

Thus I unthink the roaming storm of fear
that wanders carelessly across our land
wrecking destruction of uncertainty
when people swim in sudden flood of truth
that washes all we built far out to sea
where we become fish skeletons of death.

Yet, calm in sturdy riverboat of faith,
I glide across the waveless gleam of light
that shimmers clear with glass of ancient minds
frustrated that dark shadows of desire
writhe still concealed in books of holy writ
which bloom as apple trees from muddy shores.

Out of that empty sky our eyes fall slow
with snowflake dizziness of anguished hope
for metaphysic birds from humble hills
unfolding endless pages of new books
that help us center our wild hearts with love
in piles of leaves that rustle in the breeze.

Bent over chessboard of world history,
I note how kings maneuver gangs of thieves
while I play blindfolded against kind Death
who shows me angels on telephone poles
hung from electric wires of ardency
through voices from the faceless ghosts of faith.

Stuck in the hell loop of my random life,
reliving every moment when I failed
to play standard role of obedient fool,
I tear off black robe of false penitence
and dance with wild abandon of the lost
when I find myself deep inside my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus drinks wine as he watches home movies of his childhood in Olympus that shows Apollo trying to teach him to play the lyre while Aphrodite dumps mud on his head and laughs.

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

Equal Under One Fair Law
© Surazeus
2025 07 12

Each time I return from oblivion
I find the secret voice of my old heart
buried in wretched suffering of the Earth
from which I break free at call of the wild
to flash awake from center of my life
as deep blue shadow of the singing sea.

Far out between the shadow and the form
I orchestrate conceptual game of dream
to measure vastness of my wordless prayers
that veil this world of sorrow from your eyes
so you believe this hell is paradise
with laughter of stones in the river flow.

We drive out to the endless ocean shore
where wind and light are tangled in the stones
which form foundation of the sideways sea
that glitters mirror-perfect with our souls
concealed in swans that flock along the waves
with headstrong passion of the knowing heart.

With flight of eagerness to capture joy
we crest excessive waves of frantic faith
through ordered neitherness of soft despair
despite cold-hearted loyalty we trade
to guard this garden built with bleeding hands
till events clutter our forgotten past.

Bewildered by nextness of anywhere,
we go nowhere on signless road of fate
to recognize achievements of great fools
who plunge into dangerous state of affairs
with pride to risk the comforting reward
for the fleeting chance to win glorious fame.

Replacement for my hand of broken wings
arrives with weeping skeletons of fame
who kneel to greet obscure reality
with solemn hymns that shake cathedral walls
that cost us our belief in justice served
unfolding with the consequence of hope.

Artful eccentricity of my aim
communicates aberrant thrust of truth
to vary avoidance of willed intent
which misdirects attention of the mind
focused on comprehension of respect
so we can evade delicate despair.

Yet pink lotus that blooms from mud of hate
conjugates straight rays of eternal light
through that delicate frame of reference
which seeks to revise the world view we share
so every person living on this Earth
is treated equal under one fair law.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus films flock of swans gliding along the ocean shore for his documentary on how nations fall under tyranny.

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

Stuck In Walls Of Tyranny
© Surazeus
2025 07 11

If my heart were to close in moonlit woods
before I can measure scale of the world,
I will have to prove to the faceless ghosts
that my body casts no shadow on Earth,
therefore I have no fear of nothingness
for my atoms are everything that is.

Since I inherit warm breath of my mother
I hold silence of the garden with care
to meditate beneath the ancient oak
about why people still believe prayer works
when expressing their will with intense faith
makes nothing happen in the world of forms.

Yet truth about foreverness of faith
emerges from constricted heart that knows
between explosions of collective fear
which sprout from seeds of hidden memory
since time is endless flow of molecules
that swirl through psychic waves of energy.

If I take tattered sandals off my feet
to kneel before the burning bush of faith,
aware that everything alive will die,
I might almost understand tweets of birds
who argue over who will breed with whom
with intimate play in the urban space.

I am no stranger without mask of god
who stumbles lost in spiritual terrain
for I perceive this world of changing forms
through framework of nostalgic ardency,
too honest to get trapped by agony
because I speak with fiery tongues of angels.

We comfort each other with loving touch
through endless devastation of world wars,
hearts stuck in frozen centuries of gloom,
till with nuance of outrage at injustice
we sell each other honest sympathy
that teaches us the smell of ripened fruit.

Now safe in sanctuary of our hearts
we dwell in homeland of our memory
through survival mechanism of hope
that lights our winding way among our graves
so we can drive to work just before dawn,
stuck in traffic on the capital bridge.

Despite our tragic emptiness of faith
we program new perspectives of the Earth
to look beyond the surface of our pain
so we can find the hidden root of rage
that fuels our headlong rush to paradise
where we get stuck in walls of tyranny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus gives us roadmaps that show us how to unstuck our souls from unjust walls of tyranny.

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

Harsh Times Of War
© Surazeus
2025 07 11

Alert to how car engines imitate
angelic song of waterfalls in moonlight,
I race through shadows of the lonely woods
to find glass temple of the laughing god
so I can save the person I love most
from losing their face to the tides of time.

The charming ring of bells at opened door
startles my heart with anguish of new hope
when bombs destroy the quaint world we create
since people fight to play the roles of fate
yet leave their happy children to grow fierce
in beautiful ruins of fallen empires.

Bitter lessons learned in harsh times of war,
long hidden in bleak hollow of the door,
leak bloody tears of sorrow at the hour
when the lame angel who fell from the sky
returns to seek vengeance against the queen
who killed anyone who opposed her rule.

Yet all I want on summer afternoons
is peaceful hours of timeless lassitude,
relaxed in soft embrace of your respect
while we read books of heroes fighting wars
in lands too far away to be this real
when helicopters flit across the sky.

Our shuttered library of mourning ghosts
reluctantly conceals our naked souls
when we are dazzled by electric faith
that swells our hearts with greatness of true love
till we all dissipate to mindless dust
that forms foundation of the city maze.

Elastic shadow of my solar soul
stretches fiscal strategies of faith
with trickery of the temporal poltergeist
who ransacks my brain for lost memories
to build new empire of glass hospitals
that heal the sick with music of the spheres.

Regret for tangled roots of energy
disburses wealth in splashing rain of faith
when Jingyi walks along the wooden bridge
with everything she knows in her white purse
to kneel before Kwan Yin in temple dome
who gives her peach of salutary grace.

Though we vacation on the pristine beach
far from centers of global politics,
strolling leisurely lost as we hold hands,
gangs of angry boys with machine guns run
through maze of streets to shoot the holy ghost
where Mary cradles her crucified son.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus and Ophelia stroll along the beach in Florida while the rest of the world gets tangled in geopolitical conflicts over nationalist ideologies of religious faith.

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

White-Crowned Eagle
© Surazeus
2025 07 11

Through infinite nesting of my dream state
I spiral inward to dark core of being
by boring roots of neurons from my brain
to find original source of all light
that gleams with bright eternal flame of thought
in hollow nothingness of everything.

Recessive advance back to the first seed
from which the universe flares forth in form,
containing every atom of my soul
which clusters hope with components of faith
designed by immortal soul of my genes,
fuels my progress to become my true self.

When Michael wakes from early morning dream,
he dons combat fatigues with carbine rifle
and patrols mountain valley in Alaska
where he sees Morpheus, grim lord of dreams,
wearing wolf-fur cape blown by river breeze,
as he builds enormous castle of sand.

Ten thousand airplanes, bearing the red star
on silver wings, loom over mountain peaks,
so Michael gasps when millions of lithe soldiers
parachute from heaven on white silk wings,
to occupy the whole Pacific coast
from Alaska stretching to California.

For over four thousand four hundred years
my ancestors with bold courageous hearts
have guarded homelands of their fertile tribes
since Sargon the Great ruled the Akkad Empire,
so I must ask myself this forfeit hour
how I shall now guard America well.

Weakened by fierce nationalist divisions,
based on racist creed of superior worth,
the peoples of America contend
over who claims right to live in this land
instead of joining forces with firm faith
to protect our states from invading armies.

All three nations of North America
should unite in state of Wohalia,
lead by the white-crowned eagle of our faith,
to fight invaders from across the sea
who seek to divide us with racist hate
so they can conquer and control our land.

America is based on Liberty
and Justice for each person in this land,
regardless of their race, gender, or creed,
for every tribe that lives on spinning Earth
is welcome to join our experiment
in state that unites all humans in one.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus founds Wohalia Empire and builds new capital city in North Dakota along the Missouri River.

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

Cold Indifferent Moon
© Surazeus
2025 07 10

Ghosts of the dead float glowing in the sky,
dangling from long electric wires of faith,
eyes gleaming bright as billion-year-old stars
that make our aching hearts torn by despair
feel as if the universe cares for us,
so we pray to the cold indifferent moon.

The moon knows nothing of our suffering,
yet we pray up to her with fervent faith
for calming comfort of her gleaming rays
that pierce our heart with silence of contempt
so we throw stones that transform into stars
which glitter in the window of our home.

Kate walks along the dirt road at sunset
to find Dave lingering by the chain-link gate,
bolted shut against his helpless urgency,
that leads to large deserted factory
where he worked twenty years after high school
till the owner fled with the cash to Russia.

The silver moon gleams bright rays on his face,
gaunt cheeks unshaven under brittle skin,
and eyes that search for faith in the dim gloom
with frantic shifting of the victimized,
so Kate reaches out warm hand of concern
though Dave babbles with lunatic despair.

The moon is nothing more than clump of rocks
that floats around the Earth in airless void,
but Dave cries out to her with anguished hope
that she will understand his suffering
and thus manipulate the gears of time
to shift our world on track for liberty.

Since no voice booming from the starry sky
confirms request to grant his soul success,
Dave aims large pistol at his pulsing skull
to drive the howling demons from his brain,
but Kate grabs his wrist and stares in his eyes
as if to activate his will to life.

Lone truck with gleaming headlights crunches past
to whisk the heretic of blinding faith
to large detention center in the desert
where he is chained and forced to kneel and bow,
but he conjures from rotten brains of rage
attentive mission to restore our faith.

Faith in the cold indifference of fate
swells fiercely bold in aching heart of hope,
so, holding hands with Kate in loyal pride,
he strides determined to open new shop
where he repairs engines of cars he built
but someone torches his garage with hate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus lounges in the lobby, reading War and Peace, while Dave works on fixing the engine of his Mazda and Kate paints history mural on the wall.

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

Special Gift Of Openness
© Surazeus
2025 07 10

When angels form alliance of the heart
with honest devils through acuity
derived from laughing elegance of flight,
the star-eyed kestrel of the burning bush
bears silver tablet of my naked mind
that maintains special gift of openness.

When I achieve stark stillness of the heart
on breath of floating calm aghast with faith,
receptive passion of blue mountains links
aggressive storm of animating wind
to shocked surprise of strange iconic truth
that elevates thought beyond silent walls.

Beyond next level of false paradise
my shadow-winding heart transcends this plane
through ardent wisdom of the falling snow
when death arrives to measure how my heart
forgets vain vastness of brave victory
when leaping into the future unknown.

Insurgent art of fame-signaling flames
provides framework for savior without wings
to lead quest for manifest destiny
by plunging into chaos of desire
to answer challenge of meaningful code
that realigns apocalyptic times.

Since I never tire of demanding love
from our indifferent universe of forms,
my talented friends with eccentric tools
explore bleak wilderness of money games
designed to kill all contestants for wealth
when cells transform with spinal filaments.

My buoyant body floating in the sea
seeks subtle flight of elemental peace
when pressure produces fissures of faith
to scramble knowledge spells with wretched jokes
while seeking beauty in truth of the world
when people kill and die to rule the dirt.

Controlled toxins regulate my soul
with gradual revolution of mind change
that sparks beginning of our global rise
from peaceful farmers to fierce conquerors
inspired by self-sacrifice that Jesus made
to save his bitter tribe from slavery.

Concealed in coded fairy tales of fate,
by proverbs twisted into moral rules,
our dreams for world peace of United Nations
blooms fragile as the tattered tapestry
Penelope unravels from our brains
with hands that know the structure of our hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus films Ophelia while she weaves tapestry of silk that shows Penelope unraveling the tapestry which shows the rise of Zarathia from the ruins of America.

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

Ghosts On Mount Olympus
© Surazeus
2025 07 10

When I inhale forgotten memories
fierce feelings sprout wings from my wounded heart
so I fly far across the spinning world
to find the place I invent in my mind
where I may overcome my opposite,
and dwell in comfort of sorrow expressed.

This world is not the one in which I fell
asleep with blanket of religious faith
as time shifts gears of knowledge one notch more
which leaves me stranded on the windy shore,
so I rise from my bed of tangled roots
to don my wolf-fur cape and leather boots.

Ascending steep slope to the mountain peak
to find beyond horizon of my faith
sun-gleaming towers of our Shangri-La,
I peer in wind-whipped swirls of moon-white snow
to see golden arches of that cafe
where tourists eat hamburgers with root beer.

Bewildered by vision of paradise,
I stumble in large cave of shadowed fears
to shelter from the reckless storm of time,
but find large statue of Copernicus
holding armillary sphere in his hand
that represents the roundness of our world.

When the snowstorm dissipates with soft voice
of cupids fluttering wings by rivulets,
I see Ganymede with Liberty Cap
kneeling on the broad rocky mountain slope
with bowl of wine for his eagle to drink
as he caresses feathers of her head.

Stepping gingerly over jagged stones
splintered loose from cliffs by expanding ice,
I see young mother with gossamer wings
lift baby cupid from the crowded crib,
kiss his cheek, then toss him into the air
so my wild angel soars into the clouds.

Startled by herd of goats clattering their hoofs
on river stones, I huddle by pine tree
twisted by four thousand years of wild wind,
and find myself beside their grinning shepherd,
Faunus lounging in goat-fur pants and boots
while Latinus plays panpipes on his knee.

Snapping photos of ghosts on Mount Olympus
with my eye-phone, I wander in mute ruins
of that ancient temple where Zeus played host
with feasts and stage shows for time travelers
till relentless shifting of the universe
erased their memories from all human minds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus teaches Latinus how to play the lyre while singing epic narrative tales about the human adventure exploring the world of mountains and seas.

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

Tangled Web Of Tales
© Surazeus
2025 07 09

Striated currents of strange memories
stamp my face with token of swaddled luck
consistent with self-knowledge of mute rain
based on analysis of fractured facts
collected by angelic satellites
to map asynoptic patterns in charts.

Retributive disguise my ghost contrives
teaches me how to prepare for the hour
when I will stand before tribune with pride
to challenge angels wielding swords of flame
with cultured grace of pretentious contempt
based on indifference of nature I code.

Old-fashioned beauty hidden in her heart
exposes glorious passion for the truth
which still inspires lethargic clowns to fight
for equal opportunities to work
after we testify in court of power
about adventures to the Promised Land.

Eager to channel psychic energy
through tangled roots of simulated words
designed to imitate the albatross
as symbol that must designate free will,
I lift weight of my ardent soul to prove
spiritual breath fuels engine of the brain.

Somewhere in sunburnt pastures of lost hope
my heart explores vicinity of fear
to empty hollow arrogance of faith
from forgotten traumatic memories
contained by powerlines on ice-cracked poles
that weave our hearts in tangled web of tales.

Ophelia sweeps dry leaves in piles of souls
who whisper sorrows with windchimes of whimsy
which urges me to wake from lethargy
and speak of crimes that oligarchs commit
which contains their destructive force of hate
within bright apparition of some god.

Unnoticed by strangers in our strange land,
I build new city of sadness and laughter
to show our doubts are insignificant
compared by formulas for mental states
invented by the woman with twelve wings
who bids me record for posterity.

Since I am able to write from the grave
about objective things with words I love,
I hold my sweetheart in protective arms,
then gaze with curiosity of trust
in mirror eyes black as the midnight moon
to see real beauty of her inner soul.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus unravels tangled web of tales to find true history of his mother who was murdered by the tyrant for refusing to be his nineteenth wife.

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

Bridges Of Remembrance
© Surazeus
2025 07 09

The river we all cross with cautious hope
remembers secret sorrows of our hearts
that we never share with penurious words
because we choose to howl with mountain wolves
instead of hiding inside walls of stone
where apples bloom that we can never eat.

So I fling soundless radiance of my voice
far out beyond frail bubble atmosphere
to gleam as silver pearl of my god brain
that streaks as ghostly beam of aching truth
encoding dreams of my experience
in frantic fairy tales through ecstasy.

From silver abyss of my dreamless brain
ghost of my will emerges on broad wings
of urgent gossamer unwoven from dead stars
that leaves me standing mute on river shore
when I forget that terrifying scene
of broken bodies lunging at iced air.

Deep beneath endless layers of blank words
soft whispers forged by holy tongues of fire
describe how ocean waves program my brain
with swirling thoughts of visionary fate
which urges me to rise with intense will
from mute paralysis of honest fear.

Erased by sudden lighting flash of truth
that luminates the timeless world of change,
I sink into bright abyss of my heart
where flame of cosmic atoms pulsing deep
proceeds with coils of carbon catalyst
as agent that provokes evolving souls.

Fierce wind cracks silver mirror of the sky,
stunned by aggressive voices of our hearts
with calm consideration we exchange
for burning stones extending thoughtless grace
that transforms how we see the universe
through realignment of electric faith.

Deliberate laughter fraught with bitter angst
reveals with sudden strike of fantasy
truth vandalized by tangled roots of trees
when threading secret codes in skeletons
that dance with lightning flash of potency
contained in framework of the holy book.

Therefore we congregate with honest hearts
to build bridges of remembrance from despair
connecting distant lands of rigid rites
with common elements all humans share
that prove we all are equal on this Earth,
born on the level playing field of respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus studies the lightning storm, recording data with machines in his van, to analyze electric personality of Zeus.

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

Amused By Games Of Power
© Surazeus
2025 07 09

While falling head-down in abyss of faith
with pages of books as feathers on wings,
Fyodor and Fanny sing heart-warming hymn
about strange beauty of this cluttered world
to find inside cracked stone of timeless light
fate-rooted cipher of seductive truth.

When gold cathedral bells of holy angst
ring in the mist that shrouds conceptual ruins,
Fyodor and Fanny kneel with humble hope
by Pool of Narcissus to slake their thirst
so they can speak of things that must exist
encoded in weird language they invent.

Filled with excess idolatry for fame,
which they wear as crown of thorns in church pageants,
Fyodor and Fanny climb the dusty hill
where deviant angels of the empire live
beneath grim shadow of the giant sign
which advertises fun in paradise.

Though names we speak give birth to faceless ghosts
who tend Garden of Eden with bare hands,
Fyodor and Fanny visit the last God
grown so old from worship of blind fools
that he is now the prototype he hates,
whose blood is syrup of the singing tree.

Rescued from sharp delirium of fear
by the Big Bad Wolf with beautiful eyes,
Fyodor and Fanny carve our secret names
on tombstones lined along Highway to Hell
to earn through interior monologue
blessed assurance of life after death.

While wearing costumes of the famous dead
to lead lost children to the Promised Land,
Fyodor and Fanny realign the Earth
to match the ninth dimension of her brain
while dancing with the Joker in his lair,
aware that we are figments of his dream.

Still unremembered by the sacred house
where faces of the dead are photographs,
Fyodor and Fanny bake chocolate cake
to feed five thousand pilgrims by the lake
who wait for second coming of the White Whale
since absence arouses the evil clown.

Though infinity seeps into her hair,
and dynamite forms how his brain perceives,
Fyodor and Fanny sing hymn of true love
about how everything in life is fake
for those who spit at their hearts with contempt
realize they are amused by games of power.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus offers wine to Fanny Howe in cathedral ruins on the hill of laughing skulls, so she grins as they drink and talk about the weather.

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

My Consciousness Is God
© Surazeus
2025 07 08

Though my childhood faith is the fairy tale
that deludes billions of people with lies,
I throw it in mud of the river shore
where it sprouts tall into the Tree of Knowledge
from which I eat the fruit of ancient wisdom
which poisons fools but strengthens me with truth.

Ice skating on vast mirror of the mind
in final journey of the curious fool,
he glides with grace of curiosity
to catch the rainbow writhing in the sky
with serpentine subtleness of surprise
that discounts charges of false modesty.

Death is the greatest adventure of all
so I walk silent in the falling snow
to count the footprints of demons and ghosts
till I realize with unironic smirk
they are mine I leave in labored largesse
to marshal module of the metaverse.

With long-expired passport of my bruised heart
I wield rudimentary ability
to guard gas station of the wilderness
constrained by subtle strangeness of regret
till I can prove my consciousness is God
invented by the blind frog in the swamp.

Disheveled angelically cute at dawn,
she grins at me from tangled mane of hair
despite forlorn state of her ocean mind
while tossing petals on her empty grave
to caress marble urn of wilted roses,
fidgety with angst of global success.

Though beautiful dust of my rotting corpse
comprises fertile soil of farming fields,
I testily remark on how great heroes
cling to their pride with terrified despair
till atheist scorpion of the lake returns
to preach with passion about suicide.

Domestic certitude of sewing machines
considers pleasure of daily routines
in harmony with cicadas at sunset
revealing demons hiding in the well
reborn as children who play hide and seek
while quoting magic spells of the mind freak.

Orphaned before the falling of the wall,
she asks for payment in credit or cash
based on poised preview of physical prayer
by joining franchise of the holy clown
at sudden exposition of her fortune
when she eats gourmet food in the glass house.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus tries to break out of the conceptual rut to transform his train into an airplane so he can find Heaven among the clouds.

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

Time Of Laughing Trees
© Surazeus
2025 07 08

Too far back in the time of laughing trees
we lose ourselves in games of hide and seek
through frantic contest for king of the hill
in which each madman grasping wand of power
declares himself the winner by default
till I arrange all their skulls on bookshelves.

More fragile than the flower of desire,
he finds his aching soul eager to die
under vibrant emptiness of the sky
while walking once again the same old route
he always takes to find the true way out
till he returns and lounges by the fire.

While writing analysis of the world,
in the late evening when wild crickets chirp,
he pauses typing without knowing why
to stare at shadow of the unknown moon
that teaches him how to endure long days,
forever trudging wrong way down the maze.

If he admires with soft ungrafted thoughts
water-wavering architecture of faith,
he might discover pebble road of truth
while wandering in the swirling mist of hope
to find he wears the wrong name in his heart
when he codes evanescent certainty.

Thus when she finds him by the ruined church,
where he clutches glistening horse-chestnuts,
she conjures bright phantasms from his eyes
that vanish when he grasps essential words
composed of slippery fish he fries to eat
while shouting in the thickened air of fate.

Pure satisfaction of elusive truth
reveals how puzzle of his cosmic brain
lacks crucial pieces of the absolute
which means more than he is willing to say
on brink of revelation in the haze,
hypnotized by illusions we create.

How deep in maze of ever-winding streets
he goes to find the garden of her heart
where ghostly renderings of bitter truth
haunt every waking hour of complex brains
about sincere mourners of the mad king
who dances naked on the storming heath.

With canny calculation of contempt
she scatters spells considered obsolete
through unpredictable progress of jokes
that drive his rattling wagon off the cliff
where certainty of faith will misdirect
intense attention of the analyst.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus calculates countless timelines that unfold as consequences from the fall of America so he can figure out how to save democracy from the oligarchs.

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