Fleeting Beauty Of Now
© Surazeus
2025 07 03

Since nothing is predetermined in life
we live for the fleeting beauty of now
by soaking in this moment with respect
for all the complex interactive scenes
that spiral swirls of molecules through fate
providing framework of fortune to act.

Each person plays the lead in their own life
even if they are some side character
in the grand drama of social control
that forces us to stay in our own lane
though we try to kick the ball in our goal
with ambition to win the laurel crown.

I refuse to stay in my assigned place
defined by faceless people who wield power
in vain attempt to force us to bow low
when people who steal with deceptive tricks
declare themselves the social upper class
and step on other people to rise high.

Through savage competitions to gain wealth
we fight each other in obsessive games
by joining groups with common goal of hope
lead by the charismatic seer of truth
whose insight helps us all survive to live
and fight to control chessboard of the world.

Attempting to survive and thrive with faith,
alone with strength of will to overcome,
we face the fierce indifferent storm of fear
that nature throws at us without concern
so we apply code of wisdom through strength
to live another day in game of life.

We wake each dawn in haven room of dreams
then run through woods along the river shore
in competition to gather more food
by fighting with opponents to the death
so we return with baskets full of wealth
through gates of heaven to the feasting hall.

As each new generation grows up well
we play relentless game of life and death
to find our mate in weird romantic play
so we generate life before we die
by organizing vast empires of farms
where our children succeed better than us.

Yet in the end of every game for power
in competitions to gain wealth and fame
we all wither with age and fall in death
so all we create vanishes in wind
except the children who spring from our hearts
and play their own new game of life and death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus competes in the music competition where he plays lyre of Mercury and sings mind-enchanting spell about the game of life, then Apollo crowns him winner with the laurel crown.

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

Navigate Our Crazy World
© Surazeus
2025 07 02

The road sign that always points the wrong way
disregards decorum people expect
from melodramatic vampire who drinks
one hundred bottles of beer on the wall
while singing the saddest song of all time
to ignore dire consequence of his death.

He wants to visit every weird landscape
of trees across vast fields beneath wild skies
where clouds blaze bright with timeless ecstasy
and wind in grass explains with formulas
why no meaning is inherent to life
except impulse to reproduce the self.

Every atom, that composes frail frame
of this temporary body I am,
once clumped in rocks and ice ten million years
while Earth spun nearly lifeless in the void
till shadow of my soul sprouts from starlight
so I can sing the saddest song of love.

With smile that beams with innocent respect
she gives me bowl of noodles with boiled eggs
so we eat together in our quaint home
in tranquil happiness of global peace
though somewhere someone is killing someone
while we savor this Heaven we create.

Since the falling light of the west still glows
through words of human tales preserved in books,
we walk with Death in crowded city streets
to soothe the faceless people of the world
who wander in stupor of grief and dread
while sunlight glitters on rooftops of faith.

Through self-asserted value of respect
I push against illusion of despair
down path of most resistance to expose
horrible secrets hidden in my heart
so I can navigate our crazy world
on my quest to learn all about my Self.

Stripping away his disguise with sharp laugh,
he projects worst attributes of his heart
on mindless robot programmed to express
official doctrines of our police state
regarding social danger of free will
by wearing mask that deceives himself first.

Emerging from the fertile ground of being
with prime maturity of stable truth,
he substitutes his worst brain qualities
with programmed proverbs rooted deep in fear,
so he adjusts the road sign the right way
which misdirects seekers of loneliness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus and Ophelia live happily in their home during the war that no one remembers happens during the day when everyone is at working earning barely enough to survive.

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

Horse Of Black Flames
© Surazeus
2025 07 02

The rose of noon considers why her heart
explodes with dreams on independence day
despite established beauty of the truth
contrived by ardent followers of light
to blind her passion with fierce loyalty
with eagerness to die in swirls of words.

Beside the tall pink rosebay willowherbs
that shimmer in back garden of her home,
Gothina photographs the hummingbird
that bears sweet messages of holy love
from her guardian angel on the gold cloud
too busy playing his harp when she gets killed.

Strange alphabet of anguish without wings
hobbles crippled down the broken sidewalk
to sweltering kitchen of the restaurant
where Gothina fries burgers and French fries
for construction workers on their noon break
though the meteor hurtles toward the Earth.

Because her heart is hub of the whole world
that spirals nonchalantly through the void,
she measures sureness of the shadow mind
that shrouds the land with faith discrepancy
based on confusing blueprints of contempt
that tumble forgotten in evening wind.

Perpetual purpose of the broken word
seems founded on the warp and weft of wisdom
composing steel crane of his psychic faith
designed for building towers of fake wealth
trapped by intensity of scheduled love
that shivers in the chamber of lost secrets.

Yet when Gothina wanders in dark woods
to find the fallen angel without wings,
aggressive goblin wearing demon mask
leaps from bright shadow of social respect
in bold attempt to shock her soul awake,
but she prefers to float in lake of dreams.

Thus she awakes in body of her doll
one thousand years before birth of her soul,
so she wears flowing cape of honesty
to wander blithely past the market stalls
where hungry artists sell discarded dreams
till the Wolf Man appears on horse of black flames.

Since fame is based on modest artistry,
earned through expression of dire prophecies,
Gothina, bearing wand of Zamboral,
parades on golden wagon of concern
to celebrate with fireworks in the park
fall of America on Tyrant Day.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus investigates the murder of Gothina while millions attend her funeral in the capital city of the Gothinian Empire.

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

Database Of Our Brains
© Surazeus
2025 07 01

Though loveliness increases from our joy,
all things of beauty with treasure of love
pass into nothingness from change of time,
except that ideas of things we dream
persist forever in their perfect state,
recorded in database of our brains.

Through gray cluttered streets of the city maze,
heart heavy with despondence of mute gloom,
I search landscape of vast inhuman Earth
for shapes of beauty glowing in the sky
that dispel pall of fear with timeless glow
so our spirits shine with our calm respect.

Emerging from grandeur of mortal doom,
she asks me if I want to hear her tale
detailing struggles of her aching heart
to strive against fierce obstacles of hate
and transcend limitations of framed flesh
by drinking from endless fountain of truth.

Yet everlasting universe of things,
still flowing in waves of objective truth
through hollow cavern of our hungry hearts,
lends splendor to the source of human thought
where we attend new pilgrimage with faith
on mission to measure the swift river flow.

After picking fruit at street-market stalls,
that gleam red as the dragon blood of faith,
I find my cat, stretched on book of world tales,
savoring warm glow of sunlight on her fur,
so I string fairy lights in apple trees
to claim power of crystals for my eyes.

No horses or eagles live in the stone
that shimmers white and smooth on river shore
with precious beauty of abandoned fears
that angels weave into weird mask I wear
so I can live in this confusing world
detached from material nature of things.

She asks to borrow my blossom of time
so I stay still and silent on the hill
till sparkling frost of moonless solitude
prickles bright with sorrow around my heart
that lies as stone on river shore of faith
where fishermen ponder everythingness.

Though we stand on the precipice of fate,
we are not yet at the end of the Earth,
so we repeat our journey beyond fear
to never reach the destiny we choose,
for we are wanderers on signless roads
forever trapped in fractured fantasy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus listens to fishermen explain the everythingness of objects we perceive as pulsing formulas of colorful thought.

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

Maze Of Howling Gods
© Surazeus
2025 07 01

Each time he dies in another car crash
he jumps into the portal of his mind
to time-travel back to before he turned
the wrong way down the maze of howling gods
where he goes searching for the lotus pond
to sell delusions of the empty soul.

After escaping from vast maze of streets
by sidestepping slanted cathedral rays,
he wanders in the woods of singing trees
to find the creek monster with rainbow eyes
who always seems to know the way he feels
while staring in silver water of fate.

Standing in tall grass by the silver pond,
he stares at the white house across the field
beneath the roiling clouds of black despair
where ghost of his mother bakes apple pies,
so he wakes in cold water of regret
to baptize his soul in laughter of truth.

The distant point of light that is the sun,
which shimmers through thin veil of eerie mist,
casts sword of fire across the silver bay
where he sits in the boat his father built
and ponders how to find the Holy Grail
beyond the far horizon of his mind.

Born again as nameless baby of hope
after each car crash on highway of greed,
he gets work as nature photographer
who captures image of the white egret
as she snags rainbow-colored pingo fish
that wriggles to escape the jaws of death.

Despite bold confidence of the dark sky,
he sails frail boat of doctrine on cruel waves
across electric absence of respect
to find footsteps of children in beach sand
where feathers hide their laughter of weird joy
in silted shadows of languid desire.

Pungent scent of apples fallen in tall grass
remind him of the stink of bubbling gas
that drags fake prayers of futile urgency
across hot asphalt punctured by grim pride
contained in blueberries of twilit grief
through twisted agony of nothingness.

Since lilies bloom in blameless harmony
that blends toxins of perfumed ecstasy
in bonding chain of petals forged by faith,
he drinks intoxicating worship of the crowd
while shouting spells of fabled prophecies
to express heretical gift of words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/07/…

Orpheus photographs the egret eating the rainbow-colored fish, then walks toward the house across the field that never explodes from false hope.

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

King On The Grassy Plain
© Surazeus
2025 06 30

No man is a king on the grassy plain
for all are equal in cold gusts of wind
that strikes our spirits to the brittle bone
and leaves us shivering in the brutal rain,
so bluster all you want against the storm,
King Lear, then humbly labor on your farm.

Harvesting sheafs of grain with well-honed blade,
the old man who once reigned as mighty king
wipes sweat from his brow as laborers sing,
then sorts bags of wheat according to grade,
loading them on wagons with silent faith
that calm attention soothes the sleeping wraith.

Ten years since losing his throne in fierce coup
lead by ambitious husbands of his daughters,
Farmer Lear finds peace hiding from the plotters
by selling happiness long overdue,
then lounges with humble folk at the feast
to celebrate how their wealth has increased.

Stumbling into the farmyard at midnight,
torn dress stained with blood of innocent souls
killed by armed thugs who steal food from their bowls,
Cordelia cries with sorrow of their plight,
then falls into arms of her father Lear
who gives her cider to banish her fear.

Learning that sons he entrusted to rule
with justice to help common people thrive
like honey bees buzz for good of the hive,
Farmer Lear admits he was a vain fool,
since they exploit the people for their gain,
heedless of how they cause the people pain.

With the courageous jester by his side,
and armed with sharply honed Excalibur,
Farmer Lear transforms into Jupiter,
and leads army of honest folk to fight
against cruel tyrants in tall castle towers
and support justice for people with flowers.

Striding boldly forth in the thunderstorm,
Lear defies injustice of mindless nature
to protect precious lives of every creature,
since nothing matters from the social norm,
and battles oppressors of tyranny
to establish global democracy.

Facing King Midas in the Hall of Mirrors,
where illusions of power blind human eyes,
Citizen Lear and the Jester of Spies
disrupt the capitalist game of horrors,
for he knows well, now that he has grown sane,
no man is a king on the grassy plain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus joins Citizen Lear in his revolution against the tyranny of King Midas, traitorous puppet of the dictator Pluto.

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

Happy Trails Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 06 30

We ride the happy trails of life together
across the waste land in inclement weather
to build new home with eager hands of joy
far away from burning towers of Troy,
erecting empire on law of the sword
to manipulate lives on the wealth chessboard.

Gold sun gleams over the ruins of Rome,
slantwise through eye of the Pantheon dome,
to light the flashing words in book of tales
that describe our life on the happy trails
we follow westward to the Promised Land
where I rule for Death with the red right hand.

The Roman Empire never disappeared
as it transforms into something more weird
with state system of checks and balances
through framework of communal valances
though one man always crowns himself as God
who steals till exposed as the mortal fraud.

With crystal shadow of my dreamless eye
I float on glass wings in the godless sky
to watch humans play on theater stage
in dramas based on suffering with rage
where arrogant tyrants will always fall,
leaving their masks on time museum wall.

Strange silence of the spackled mind reveals
secrets exposed at breaking of the seals
through revelation of the crippled seer
who wanders happy trails with Guinevere
with simple plan to rule the world with love
by invoking wrath of the cloud above.

We drive the happy trails of everywhere
in motor car to find the dragon lair
where sacred treasure that Beowulf stole
funds my campaign for political role
converting European Union straight
to world empire that forms Gothinian State.

So I map history of humanity
that leads to true Astarianity
which unites all religions of the world
through Ecumenia of the cosmic herald
commissioned by Ishtar to compose well
Astarian Scriptures of the serpent well.

If you believe in goodness of mankind
and choose to live with free will of the mind,
if you harm none by giving without greed,
making sure everyone has what they need,
then you are one with universal truth,
riding happy trails with messiah sleuth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums guitar while Roy Rogers and Dale Evans sing Happy Trails in the television studio before the live audience that sings along.

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

Fight For Global Liberty
© Surazeus
2025 06 29

So many traditions of fractured words
exist for aching hearts of hungry minds
to express state of victimized contempt
for arrogance of death that crushes faith
with nonchalant regard of honesty
despite how gold gulf water gleams at dawn.

The Black-necked Stilt strides confidently shy
in shallow waters on the island shore
where Gulf of Mexico distills my heart
with ardent vapor of reliant faith
in mettle favored by assertive doubt,
followed by elegant poise of distrust.

Perpetual shimmer of aggressive hate
drives us along the littoral range of fears,
precarious with hope for the better world
that preachers tell us Jesus will make real
while humans colonize with earnest faith
ghost-crowded wilderness of treasured vales.

Beneath wood bower to pagoda hall,
draped with long Red Mandevilla Vines,
Su Nu, wearing red and green hanfu gown,
plays eerie heart-enchanting melody
on Guzheng zither of Paulownia wood
that resonates in sinews of my soul.

If I explore hills of Pannonia,
where bearded men mine iron from dank caves,
I may find snakes with diamond eyes of truth
who lead me to ruins of marble halls
where wise Serapis once reigned with fair laws
designed to empower the honest soul.

One noble truth I learn from history,
depicting fate of men who grasp for power,
is that every tyrant who stamps on heads
of loyal patriots to sate his greed
has fallen at the strike of Jupiter
who never allows exploiters to thrive.

With alphabet of Cadmus in her hand,
Agave walks streets of America
to plead for rights of homeless refugees
whose broken hearts bloom from contentious stone
through revolution against tyranny
when we must fight for global liberty.

Weak victims of injustice we are not,
so we will not complain with bitter rage,
and forge instead courageous hearts with hope
to fight against conspiracies of hate
through clever wiles of complex mental tricks
that clear free space for everyone to live.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus joins Agave walking the streets of America to protect refugees from getting kidnapped by thugs wearing masks while Su Nu plays the soundtrack of victory.

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

Mindless Sky Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 06 29

Fireworks of my heart explode in the sky
to shatter vision of America
that shimmers as illusion of fair play
contrived by code through esoterica
from doctrine of justice for everyone
equal under law designed by dead gods.

New blades of grass sprout green in the bare spot
of dirt where I had dug out the dead tree
and tossed it withered by the quiet street
where sunlight on asphalt of solitude
erases manifestoes of art schools
in favor of the heart-enchanting cry.

The aging mother with curly black hair,
streaked with silver from sibylline moonlight,
lifts glass pan from hot oven of desire
with fresh-baked butter cake that scents the house
with festive sense of summer holiday
that fills our hearts with pleasure of the way.

While nearness pauses flash of pulsing waves
we breathe extensive distance of bright stars
outlined against gold afterglow of hope
amazingly awake through dreams of bells
that measure sweetness of new peaceful hills
encased by sorrow of the floating moon.

No marvel hides strange fellowship of faith
we share with hugeness of expanding hearts
since death contrives kind secrecies of love
which bond our hearts with shared experience
despite keen disappearances of time
that wear the whole truth of the humming sun.

Here only freedom purchased by the song,
repressing credit equal to strange years,
reveals true nature of each frantic soul
who plays their role of sudden theater
when faced with transcendent catastrophes
that mask forever-smile of honesty.

We carry hearts of strangers we first meet
without obsessive fear of raunchy fate
since words of wonder keep hot stars apart
with deepest secret of the laughing book
that no one knows before the unlocked door
which opens to the mindless sky of love.

The sky knows not my kind hypocrisy
beneath the suddenly dancing fruit tree
while we swing in the hammock of twilight
to watch fireworks exploding in the sky
so every spark of intense memory
molds new illusion of America.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus with his family Ophelia and Orion watch the fireworks of Independence day at the city park with the crowd of faceless ghosts who could not escape immigration agents.

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

Vibrant Holiness Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 06 28

The navel orange beside the violin
reveals red waves of darkness in the mind,
so I leap laughing in the sordid sea
with intonation of eccentric thought
still taut with vibrant holiness of hope
that twangs with soft abandonment of love.

I like the way you toss your wavy hair
and how you peel the orange of honesty
so juice of passion fuses wooden souls
with sudden silkening of sanguine strife,
though angels strip our hearts of bitterness
before the coming of the hungry horde.

Inscribe our hearts with memories of death
that ripple slowly on blood lake of time
to rock our boat with travesty of truth
despite our pledge to honor wretchedness
endured by holy pilgrims of white sand
who float above the existential void.

Bearing bundle of herbs in gentle arms,
sweet Moon Girl wearing purple gown of faith
looks back at me with eyes of timeless truth,
and smiles with lightning flash that luminates
heart of darkness where I was trapped too long
which frees me from entanglement of fear.

Amazement of blue wind on shore of bones
opens wide my eyes to see beyond time
where double shadow of my rainless hills
reflects weird meaning of the silver sky
since faceless ghosts catch letters I discard,
blindsided by silent echo of strife.

Because the glass moon hides my secret dreams
with waves of pearls on self-fulfilling quest,
I stretch taut canvas of my tensile brain
huge enough to shroud this spinning world
with veil of wisdom woven from our words
that rise from fluorescent shade of our lips

I sail ship of my adventitious faith
across chromatic bay of your deep heart
though monstrous clouds lash me with bitter fear
so we can find our impeccable stars
that fall from quietness of distant worlds
sprouting from seeds of faith we throw away.

Our secret world is island in the bay
where silver storm clouds drench progressive hills
in glowing sheen of stories we express
by selling emptiness as deep insight
to zealous seekers of vast nothingness,
then eat the orange while Death plays violin.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays violin while Ophelia peels the orange and feeds it to their son Orion while he plays with small bow he received from Apollo as his birthday gift.

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

Target Of The Lonely Word
© Surazeus
2025 06 28

I eat the fruit of my labor with angst
to understand why beauty of my heart
gleams bright as target of the lonely word
deployed as weapon of mass disrespect
to translate laughter of water to jokes
that vanquish light of liberty at dawn.

I leave my clean skull on the other side
where tree branches imitate network of words
bound by molecular structure of thought
that forms liquid base for statue of fruit
reflecting how we die from fulgent shame
that blinds fools with imprint of safe triumph.

Illusion of safety digests my brain
with pickled brine of arrogant concern
for empty stomach of the angry ghost
who fails to remember when he was born
from cracked library door of afternoon
too soon to disparage unwelcome spells.

Since we are never meant to survive life
we stand together around blazing fires
and speak about the trauma we all share
that bonds our hearts with strong communal faith
so we can storm gates of Heaven at dawn
with righteous demands for electric hearts.

Inflexion of tree ghosts who search for lies
to eat that fuel grim engine of desire
hopes ardor scatters time from atmospheres
of twirling books that float on raven wings
in hope that butterflies of flowing clocks
might share state formulas for soul rebirth.

Unnecessary tablets of false lore
lament stark weight of memorized grandeur
contrived from grammar of the noble bridge
where Death waits patiently for every soul
whose flame of life escapes to long-dead stars
dedicated to protect faceless gods.

Restricted rites for monuments of fools
work back to bankrolled madrigals of flight
that measure endless spinning of this world
conformed from light of spiral galaxies
by asking how we paint blood on road signs
when humble fishermen overthrow kings.

Instead of demanding computer brains
we praise wise Hymen of the bridal veil
with brutal epithalamion for maid
who steals false stories from my bleeding tongue
and writes them with typewriter of respect
to conceal target of the lonely word.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus joins Tristan Tzara jogging in Central Park where laughing skull of Hamlet prophesies fall of King Midas.

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

Ever-Smiling Maid
© Surazeus
2025 06 28

The dirt-brown donkey with electric eyes
seeks shade on the sun-blazed hilltop in Spain
beside the small white chapel with no door
where the ever-smiling maid of the well
speaks to glowing stones of the white abyss
about the homeland where the murdered dwell.

The one-eyed boy with arrow in his heart
turns away from the ever-smiling maid
because he feels his crippled state of being
is heavy burden she must bear with pain,
but she grabs his arm with electric eyes
and declares how they are on the same team.

Together side by side on road of life
we will face all the hardships of the world
and support each other with loyal faith
as we push through the bitter storms of fear
so we emerge from waste land of despair
to stand in paradise of calm respect.

We share resolve encouraging our hearts
to build our life from promise of true love,
though road we walked is littered with regrets
and road we blaze is veiled with blinding fear,
for we share glowing bead of self-respect
that helps us find each other in the gloom.

Holding hands with firm resolve of shared faith,
both one-eyed boy and ever-smiling maid
advance together on uncertain road
without knowing what dangers lie ahead,
for even if their souls are crushed by fate
they choose this path together to the end.

When nine knights in shining armor appear
on noble horses prancing with grand pride,
the young couple walking the dusty road
move aside and bow with humble respect,
but the good knights decide with sneers of greed
they want to take the maid as their cute pet.

When the one-eyed boy tries to stop their deed
they crucify him on dead apple tree,
so the ever-smiling maid runs away
but stumbles at edge of the windy cliff,
tears streaming down her cheeks with bitter angst
to see the boy she loves suffering in pain.

Hanging crucified on the twisted tree,
the one-eyed boy who grasps the snake of love
screams in despair when ever-smiling maid
leaps off the cliff and soars into the sky
as she transforms into the sparrowhawk
who bears his fractured skull back up to Heaven.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds the skeleton of Odin hanging on the tree and the skeleton of Minerva at the bottom of the cliff, so he buries them in the chapel where a donkey seeks shade from the heat.

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

Moon-Eye Diamond
© Surazeus
2025 06 27

Sunlight flashes through trees into her eyes
as Orphne runs swiftly round gnarly trunks,
and slips through thick veil of blackberry vines
to escape gray wolves snapping at her heels
along Gorgyra River in huge cave
where she falls exhausted to catch her breath.

Shuffling toward her from the underworld,
Marsyas, draped in tattered wolf-fur cape,
holds up bright diamond to observe her face,
then grins and offers lime for her to eat,
so she accepts the fruit with gentle smile,
but as she peels he swings wand at her head.

Just before the thick wand fractures her skull
Akheron grasps it with his brawny hand,
then punches face of the lascivious satyr
who shrieks in rage that he found the nymph first,
but Orphne grins and snatches from his hand
huge diamond that gleams with light of the moon.

While Marsyas crawls away in fogged gloom,
Orphne and Akheron follow the river
to their secret cave in the underworld
where she places the bright Moon-Eye Diamond
beside the emerald, ruby, and topaz
that she had stolen from the satyr gang.

Setting son Askalaphos on her lap,
Orphne tells him the legend of the gems
when gang of satyrs many years ago,
lead by Hades, fought the dragon Typhon
to help Pluto attain the underworld,
and gain control over huge jewel mines.

Searching for strong workers to mine the jewels,
the satyr gang attacked farm villages
to kidnap young men from their weeping wives
and forced them to labor in caves of death,
including her brave father Orion,
who died when he was crushed by falling rocks.

Giving Askalaphos sliced pear to eat,
Orphne explains that she now seeks revenge
by finding each member of the satyr gang
and stealing precious jewels from their hands,
then smiles as her little boy with big eyes
plays with the jewels that gleam with eerie light.

While Akheron fishes in Gorgyra River,
Orphne plays heart-enchanting melodies
on long flute she carved from arm bone of Typhon,
but neither notice the large eagle owl
that watches their boy on the river shore,
eyes gleaming red as pomegranate fruit.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus leads visitors through the Natural Science Museum of Zarathia, showing school children the collection of jewels that once belonged to the notorious satyr gang of Hades.

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

Map Of Blood On Her Skin
© Surazeus
2025 06 27

Because sad eyes of wingless crows perceive
flow of my blood in body of the world,
the water of the river speaks to me
about my faceless lover of the wind
who glows from flaming beams of the dawn sun
that eject despair from darkness of hope.

Your flaming heart that dispels gloom of fear
reveals the world to be more beautiful
where human beings are butterflies on flowers
who find new strength from turmoil of the sea
to walk upon wild waves of changing times
with balanced courage of dream-singing tress.

Your moon-bright eyes of holy solitude
illuminate dark signless road of hope
where I walk toward the future I invent
by weaving words in tapestry of tales
defining how I think the world should be
where every person lives happy and free.

Celestial whispers of the long-dead stars
infuse the air we breathe with vain desires
that fuel our journey to the Promised Land
where bitter rebels wrestle giant gods,
then give their treasures to the cheering crowd
as gifts that seal social contracts of faith.

Wings of gulls conceal vastness of the sea
where Mother of Mankind walks on gold sand
while suffering draws map of blood on her skin
which shows me how to live with honest joy
as I hold hands with the soul I love most
who gives me fruit she steals from snake of lust.

When shadows of my words reverberate
as subtle echo of my formless thoughts
across the hollow space between our souls,
I feel influence of my heart vibrate
in symbols that project my fantasies
within flexible framework of respect.

Bright shadow ring of thoughts formed into words
undulates outward from crystalline core
through strict concentric spirals of respect
in ripples that weave matrix of our minds
as organic bodies souls animate,
which translates genetic memories to dreams.

The solid ground of Earth on which I walk
spreads out from hearth of my blood-heated heart
in all directions to form giant globe
which slowly spins in void of glowing stars
so I listen to trees and rivers sing
elaborate tale of adventure I seek.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus transcribes map of blood on her skin to preserve ancestral memories that program ideologies which motivate our struggle to survive.

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

House We Never Build
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

My heart has never tasted death of time
sweet as honey dripping from toasted bread
in tangled words devised by humble priests
to fool kind farmers with fantastic tales
of men who fly among the glowing clouds
with sheen of darkness smeared by wings of crows.

The house we never build from broken bones
conceals our daring hearts with shadow hands
less quick than lightning that unlocks the door
behind which mermaids sing of snowflake tears
by keeping watch with guns of holy days
while strange men walk in fields of singing skulls.

Untwisted vines of saviors born from stones
preserve our dandelion hearts of faith
where mothers never bake sweet apple pies
as if time charges weird electric codes
that merge frail body with the dreaming mind
for jagged effervescence Death regrets.

Yet nameless millions walking signless roads,
souls sacrificed to idol of blind god,
emerge from fractured television screens
to prove equations of clipped algebra
expressed with salt of bitter happiness
before the coming of the dumpster clown.

Too high on pedestal of wondrous thoughts,
concealed by fabulous respect for truth,
Tiresias photographs the cheerful crowd
of students learning how to prophesy
fall of the empire from the stolen book
designed by Kwan Yin to preserve the truth.

Despite fierce sorrow freezing my heart stiff,
the river kingfisher with turquoise wings
leads me safe to gray area of hope
between the worry and the happy states
so I sit quietly on couch of thought
to contemplate history of human wars.

If pungent scent of seaweed on the beach
reveals the selfish nature of my love,
then I release desire to share your fate
so we together walk our separate ways
along the river of romantic faith
where angels drown from fighting dragon spawn.

Narcissus gazes in the mirror pool
till Eve gives him ripe apple of his fate
so he climbs ladder Jacob built from bones
and rides with Noah on the crowded boat
to find old Plato mumbling in his cave,
where Galileo gives him his telescope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus designs blueprints with standard principles of architecture to build house where Ophelia can raise their son Orion while he leads dead souls to Elysium.

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

High Over Laughable Void
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

Outrageous doubt of vital escapades
reflects the tarnished gold of searing tongues
when gangs of wolves with bitter eyes of hate
arrest gardeners and cooks of paradise
by cheating honesty with harsh distress
that poisons well of justice with their greed.

Deserted lovers riding trains of fear
on iron tracks of transparent contempt
swallow sludge of vitreous smoke at dawn
while floating high over laughable void
where tender sorrow of the dead reverts
to gnarly vertigo of broken walls.

Detailing crimes of men in masks of rage,
Blind Bard records in verses of restraint
horrible events people suffer each day
while stumbling on the scales of destiny
through starry years on treeless plain of pain
with voices sealed by horizon of truth.

If she wants to resist her memories
of faces twisted by abuse through faith
she could escape false paradise of rules
to preach new program of social advance
in fierce campaign to run as senator
commissioned to protect rights of their souls.

So when she wins the vote on day of truth,
she stands before the cheering crowd with pride
to vow with earnest voice intent to serve
needs of their hearts so programs she presents
improve conditions of their struggling lives
by framing social issues with love code.

When circus tents where preachers sell sweet lies
burst into flames of holy righteousness,
bright as the fire that burns the Sinai bush,
she carves new proverbs for the modern age
on bones of dragons dug from tombs of gods
so refugees may build productive lives.

Though poetry makes nothing happen well,
poets depict what should happen with laws
that legislate behavior of state heroes
as they record events of social change
in tales where good men strive against all odds
to keep their people free from tyranny.

Preserved in books of fractured fantasy,
epic tales of noble heroes inspire
each generation of children to play
roles in endless drama of world empire
that sprouts from ruins of paradise lost
where the woman gives the man fruit to eat.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Tristan Tzara write surreal poetry with serpent blood on leather suitcases while they ride the train over the Alps where wood elves build airplanes in war factories.

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

Files Of Fractured Fantasy
© Surazeus
2025 06 26

Adjusting photos of fake memories
that I invent from lost mythologies,
I order files of fractured fantasy
to design new global democracy
based on Liberty and Justice for all
whose masks hang on the World History Wall.

Having become this conscious being of bones,
I aim my rifle at idols of stones,
contrived by files of fractured fantasy,
to shoot electric gods of piracy
from charge of intermittent outages
that program universal languages.

I surf swift waves of mental frequencies
that weave brain molecules with decencies,
lost in thick files of fractured fantasy
because they charge us for each ecstasy
we steal from moon-ghost of the misty moor
who hangs my lost mask on cathedral door.

Stripped from the sizzle-frack of flashing screens,
we build to barter hope in time machines,
our scattered files of fractured fantasy
swirl laughing in sea breeze of charity
despite conceptual frame of distinct facts
employed to prop political peace pacts.

We zoom with piston engines of desire
so we can join the global demon choir
to sing old files of fractured fantasy
based on tradition of dream fallacy
since I would never join for membership
in their exclusive club of censorship.

Designing narrative from psychic trash
in arcane magazine funded by cash,
disbursed from files of fractured fantasy,
I steal motifs of truth with blasphemy
to tell new tale of our national pride
in service to gnostic wisdom we hide.

With faith in reason of my disbelief
in transgressive ritual of social grief,
I burn weird files of fractured fantasy
to trash religious ideology
that traps our hearts in the Afterlife Lie
so I can perform my role as God Spy.

Reality must imitate the world
that increments time for the cosmic herald
to study files of fractured fantasy
indoctrinated through dream liturgy
that memory reflects our loss of beauty
so we chant spells with frantic sense of duty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus graduates with a Doctor of Philosophy degree in Psychic Theology from the University of Zarathia.

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

Lightning Flash Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

Exclusive laughter of our bitter truth,
not honest enough for fire-induced waves,
envelops our bodies with barbed-wire words,
trapped in paperback novels pulped by pride,
which beam invincible beauty of hope
when we prevail against silence of fear.

To make friends with enemy of despair,
while managing estate of broken hearts,
I give each angel fallen from the sky
new human name that masks their vibrant soul
with transparent sorrow of falling leaves
that shroud our graves with pages of old books.

Based on filthy discord of tortured words,
tangled in sponge brains of arrogant gods,
my story services elusive good
with mountain shadows of unechoed voice
that cries destruction of the lonely world
where we give our friends what we treasure most.

Each day we wake at flash of bleeding light,
that drips from screaming star of ecstasy,
we walk with smiles of fractured fantasy
at sudden closeness of sweet-honeyed hills
where chickadees explain secret of birth
when dragon souls are born from broken rocks.

When rain of happiness, purchased from pain,
drenches moon-silver sand of the shocked beach,
we vacate bright-lit cafes and dry homes
to dance with ghosts of pessimistic wind
so we can access secret dreams of love
responsible for lightning flash of faith.

Intense expression of miserable joy
expands my consciousness of what is real
with shifting framework of our old world view
so we account for events that occur
in swift succession of soul-twisting games
till all my fantasies are stripped away.

With every song I scribble in beach sand
I chronicle weird changes of the world
so I can analyze through formulas
of psychic gods each political force
that seems to manipulate minds of men
who fight each other for the Promised Land.

Compassion for the common state of being,
we share in brutal fight to rule the world,
adjusts aggressive force of thought-control
when I break free from net of social rules
to soar on beating wings of Icarus
above vast maze of cities where you sing.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus leads thousands of dead souls through maze of city streets to find the person they each love most so they can haunt with sorrow of faith.

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

Agony Of Silent Hope
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

The woman stands in bright circle of light,
pulling the universe into her heart
with brutal smile of arrogant respect
that rearranges all my memories
so she is center of dramatic life
in which I play assistant to her truth.

I long to inhabit body of flesh
and savor pleasures of life on this Earth,
soul curved with agony of silent hope
so I swell huge beyond frame of my skull
till I remember life of every soul
who evolve millions of years into me.

On laughter of our hearts bound with red thread
we pirouette over chasm of trust,
hearts bloated with hot breath of eager faith
as we embrace with passion to transform
immortal soul of genes from fish to god,
then kiss and feed each other juicy fruit.

Despite how long I fall from empty skies,
with bones unbuckled from my naked mind,
I fill the present with dreams of the past
we share as tangled roots of hungry trees
while crawling desperately on river shore
to find sweet mushroom of eternal life.

The blue dragon fly of our pulsing hearts,
that unites our souls in marriage of love,
flits around our faces in summer heat
as we wade slowly in thick-algaed stream
to catch fish and turtles with eager hands,
then roast meat over moon-red flames of faith.

Soft amber glow of innocent desire,
that lights our faces with ethereal glow,
reminds our bodies we pulse hot with blood
as we swim slowly with the river flow,
then rise together from electric mud
and laugh with muffled climax at despair.

While sucking honeysuckle blooms of joy,
to soothe sharp pain of fragile tree-limb bones,
we cuddle among goldenrods of fate
in silver breeze that bears on outstretched wings
sly chestnut-backed chickadee with black eyes
who gives us names we cherish with each kiss.

Your long black hair of delicate concern
swirls round your face in gusts of ocean wind
as we trudge wide mudflats of honesty
to gather clams we roast on crackling flames,
then sing together in wild harmony
as we embrace under vast galaxies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia roast clams in ocean cave around glowing fire that attracts wandering tribe of hungry people who kneel to worship the goddess with silver eyes when she gives them food.

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

Road That Never Moves
© Surazeus
2025 06 25

I want to ask clouds in the distant sky
to tell her through the drops of sparkling rain
that I will always journey at her side,
but all I find is shadow of her soul
silent beside me on the meadow grass
far from the endless road that never moves.

Perhaps she will return from somewhere else
and call my name before my sunless tomb
to come forth from cold darkness of my fear
so I can walk with shadow of her soul
one hundred million years of flowing time
as we transform from mouse to faceless god.

If death is secret moving in my heart
with ache of sorrow springing tears of hope,
then I will touch the object of desire
to understand strange essence of this world
so truth invisible to dreamless eyes
may shine as lamp that guides our journey home.

The absent body of her vibrant soul
still resonates with passion of her heart
from hollow emptiness of where she glows
so when I wake from dream I find myself
standing beside myself among fruit trees,
expanding to be everywhere at once.

When our ship splits on the rock of our faith
we will rebuild material of its hope
in home with rooms to keep our memories
preserved in hymns we sing before we die,
and doors that lead our souls to other worlds
so we dwell safe in haven of shared love.

The tree of knowledge on lawn of our home
looms spectral at the silver sky of hope
with shaggy gloominess of pure respect
that weeps to see us humans live and die
through endless generations of rebirth
which surge in waves of innocent desire.

Long branches twisting at the empty sky
map disappearance of our hungry souls
as we blaze trails across the wilderness
to network cities with connective roads
while weaving empire of world-view control
which becomes the truth we cannot dismiss.

Through summer stillness of the sultry air
our lithe bodies emerge from soil of Earth
to harvest food from bounty of its faith
so we share feast of friends in temple halls
while the blind bard sings long-forgotten tales
of heroes whose dreams animate our minds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings for revelers at the glorious feast to celebrate the rise of Zarathia from the ruins of America.

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

Suffering Of Our Land
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

The clear spring in the apple forest counts
how many petals fall from dreamless hands
thousands of years to cover our lost graves
where ravens fly along turbulent streams
with agitated sorrow of my heart
that helps me break through gates of paradise.

Encoding sorrow in weird images
that illustrate the suffering of our land,
I catch words dropping from the fractured sky
and plant them in the soil of aching hearts
for we must part on trail of broken stones
which I transform into the book of dreams.

Each sudden gust of trembling air foretells
terrible storms that crash across the land
and crush our homes and gardens with disdain
of calm indifference for our fragile lives,
so we dance wild with flames of ecstasy
to celebrate rebirth of apple trees.

We paste old photos of our memories
on walls of houses in bomb-blasted towns
to paper over sorrow of our loss
so tourists visiting our quirky squares
will see the charm, and not our suffering,
though ghosts write our stories on walls in blood.

Though bombs of oligarchs destroy our homes,
disrupting museums, churches, and schools,
our children gather in fear-ruined walls
to draw charming pictures of paradise
and write poems of hope with pens carved from bones,
that channel ghost of electricity.

While landscaping lawn at the restaurant,
Narcissus thinks about his honest sons
who fight for our country in the Marines
till nine men wearing masks aim guns at him
and chase him through the streets of paradise,
then slam him to the street and cuff his hands.

Locked in the bitter prison of contempt,
Narcissus leads the nameless prisoners
in songs of revolution against hate,
but voices of their hearts for liberty
dissolve in storm of innocent dismay
till cement walls crumble into beach sand.

In green eyes of Earth Goddess I can see
millions of people yearning to live free,
so I open wide the door of paradise
and beckon they enter the Promised Land,
so they storm the Gates of Heaven with hope
to taste healthy fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus films masked men kidnapping working people from restaurants, schools, and factories, then wins best documentary prize at the film festival.

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

Promised Land Of Peace
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

Through gossamer veil of late evening mist
I leap to taste the pomegranate moon,
but fruit of passion floats beyond my reach.
Stars crumble into glass shards on the beach
that flash in curses concealed in the rune
to burn as your heart pulsing in my fist.

Foraging for apple snails of regret,
the black-winged Limpkin with star-twinkling eyes
gallops swiftly away with ungainly gait.
Kneeling before the locked heavenly gate
that glitters blood-red with diamonds of lies,
I transform as ghost of the ethernet.

Awake at dawn in the ruins of Rome,
Aurora holds star-gold light in her mouth
and threatens to bestow fame on the fool.
Forging gold beams into rings with his tool,
Vulcan plots how to take over the South
and build new empire where goatherders roam.

When water in the cauldron of my thoughts
boils with rage from flames of state tyranny,
I fight the gangs of thugs kidnapping souls.
Ill-fated fortune of my psychic roles
blooms ripe in apple of epiphany
so I wear party masks of long-dead gods.

When lightning strikes the tower of lost tales,
Selene stands in temple of fake time
to prophesy fall of the tyrant king.
Floating lightly on soft angelic wing,
she sings with voice of knowledge at the chime
that rings before destruction of sea gales.

Adrift on raft of honesty at sea,
while searching for the Promised Land of Peace,
we flee from war that engulfs our homeland.
The female Dunlin bird rests on my hand
as I lament that cruel wars never cease,
keeping calm since I wield the secret key.

Though antique towers crown the watery glade
where Science studies nature of our world,
I sport with joy in happy fields of faith.
Possessed by fierce ambition of the wraith,
I perform my role as new cosmic herald
till energy of hope begins to fade.

Acquainted with the light of solemn rain,
I walk the endless maze of city streets
to find stage of my tragic destiny.
The luminary clock of ecstasy
records accomplishment of noble feats
that I perform with nothing left to gain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sells maps to refugees of wars that show the way to the Promised Land of Peace that no one ever finds.

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

Driven From Our Holy Land
© Surazeus
2025 06 24

Fast-forward to the hour of shocking death,
I wander blithely past my pristine tomb
to gather fragrant rosebuds while I may,
for if I exhume body of my bride
to retrieve book of poems I wrote for her,
I may find her long hair has filled her grave.

Retreat from battle of the faceless god
extends courageous warranty of fate
through base security of legal bonds
I purchase with blood money of fake wealth
when I bomb palaces of arrogance
to hide my weakness with false show of strength.

Excessive pride in my accomplishments
misleads attention of my ardent hope
to play knight of the woeful countenance
brave enough to attack glass tower banks
which I mistake for giants of despair
when I sally forth to guard my homeland.

The first step in assertion of false power
to prop frail institutes of tyranny
lies in convincing honest citizens
those immigrants escaping distant wars
are less than human, evil criminals
who should be driven from our Holy Land.

Caught in swift swirling tides of social change,
I program strict analysis to play
strange games of geopolitical chess
against opponents paranoid as I,
till our vicious conflict shatters respect
that breaks our contract with good government.

Alone in White House shining on the hill,
I ponder psychic force of divine will
which I assert through illegal decree
in desperate gamble adjusting its key
slight calibrated degrees just enough
to crash fortune with my blustering bluff.

Attempting to erase the populace
who dares to challenge my authority,
I fire conceptual missiles at the sky
where Ungod mocks my feeble show of strength
till blowback from my nationalist attack
crushes my illusive bubble of power.

I lead my grand parade of loyalty
in global war to dominate the truth
with lies I weave in tangled web of facts
against the Will of Heaven to mandate
strength of my empire that will never fall
till we are driven from our Holy Land.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds corpse of the tyrant on the lawn of the palace of mirrors who was struck down by the lightning bolt of Zeus.

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

Brave Child Of Immigrants
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

If I can kick the ball into the net
before our empire collapses from greed
then I will leap abyss of honesty
to test my mettle with assertive faith
before I tumble from heavenly wall
and pick fruit in strawberry fields forever.

When gang of men who wear no uniforms,
hiding their faces with black bandit masks,
swarm the strawberry fields of industry
to arrest the hard-working immigrants
and deport them all from the Promised Land,
I film their illegal activity.

Sweat dripping from my brow in blazing sun,
I sing the blues with aching heart of hope
to call the sweet chariot of salvation
which never swoops from faceless clouds of light,
so I meet the devil at the crossroads
and sell my soul so I can play guitar.

Strumming old battered guitar of my heart,
I sing the blues on cold Chicago streets
to howl with wolf voice of the wilderness,
expressing anguish of the immigrant
who flees their homeland overrun by gangs
to seek salvation in the Promised Land.

Because I work my fingers to the bone,
constructing car engines in factories,
I grow new secret pair of angel wings
I try to hide beneath my leather coat
till passion to ascend erupts from rage
with urgency of faith to fight the power.

Linking arms with comrades on picket lines,
I strike against dangerous working conditions
and call for higher wages with respect
so I can afford to feed my family
and send my kids to college of desire
so they can buy new house and car at last.

Bearing my hungry daughter on my back,
I trudge rugged trail of the Darien Gap,
struggling through stark wilderness of pain
where Orpheus leads mute souls of the dead
across the waste land to the Promised Land
where I work as janitor at hotels.

Assembling fragments of my freedom quest
in documentary on this bitter life,
I crack jokes on stage at the smoky bar
about life as brave child of immigrants
who pick fruit in the fields of California
while I perform my television show.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays soccer on the field of dreams while his mother picks apples in the orchard of dancing skeletons.

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

Chic Fashion Store
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

Too simple for mad people of the rock,
I send new robot to the planet Mars.
Casually attempting to pick the lock,
I discover secrets of god-soul stars.
We laugh together on the river shore
then sell our souls at the corner drug store.

Electric glow on the living room wall
expands enormously from weeping books.
Gold statue of Jesus is way too tall
for me to steal recipes from blind cooks.
We wander weeping on the misty moor
after leaving our brains at the book store.

To smash idol of Jesus with clay feet
I play guitar that spins the rolling stone.
Since zombies worship the black parakeet,
we gnaw our sorrows to the broken bone.
The weeping widow in the howling door
sells apple pies at the cathedral store.

By chanting prayers of fraught anxiety
I seek shortcuts to becoming the saint.
If Death impedes my purchase of the key
then I will sell my soul and learn to paint.
To empty my mind to its chaos core
I break fragile clocks in the antique store.

We gather by the river at sunset
before gold throne where the puppet king smiles.
Moon Woman who invents the alphabet
pays me to organize oneiric files.
The white cotton dress that Emily wore
floats faceless down aisles of the grocery store.

At kiss Susanna plants inside my heart
I wake by crystal-blue Italian stream.
She plans my life-journey on her star chart
so I decide to join her music team.
After I finish my afternoon chore,
we eat ice cream at the antichrist store.

Baptism of my soul in Babylon
acquaints my spirit with the eerie night.
On dream quest in dark woods of Oregon
I find the secret of eternal light.
Though nobody but me is keeping score
I evade fate in the popular store.

Time leaves me stranded on the silent beach
so I conceal my treasure in white sand.
As gust of wind from garden beyond reach
I chase elusive grain of mystic sand.
Reborn from hunger of the dinosaur,
I buy new clothes at the chic fashion store.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus operates the store in Hell where souls of the dead go to purchase glass masks they wear when they haunt the people who loved them most.

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

Fake Hill Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2025 06 23

The swift bird chases last song of my heart
far from the human world of motor cars
to weave vast network of telephone lines
that connect our brains in the world wide web
till I become the wild blackberry ghost
when I lie on fake hill of anywhere.

The distant thunder of my aching heart
makes Earth vibrate with clang of angry bells
that ring from churches all across the land
to guarantee that supernatural god
exists in brain of every human soul
so I sing on fake hill of anywhere.

The wind in trees calls out my secret name
but I ignore their desperate cries for help
as I drive motor car of honesty,
that time machine that takes me where I want
despite dire warnings from the scarlet crow
who lures me to fake hill of anywhere.

Stunned by strange beauty of the motor car
that carries me through swirling eye of time,
I ask the angel where she wants to go
and she points to the rainbow bleeding tears
of acid rain dissolving towers of glass
that melt onto fake hill of anywhere.

The snowflakes on the television screen
define eccentric landscape of my dreams
with silent shroud of angst I wear at night
while I stand by the window of my mind
and watch the world destroyed by flood of words
from my house on fake hill of anywhere.

The unicorn of arrogant dismay,
who finds it difficult to arrogate
official duties to the vampire brood,
teaches accounting to old prisoners
at community college by the farm
who picnic on fake hill of anywhere.

The questions children ask of wise adults
confound philosophers of money games
despite how many homeruns Odin hits
in global game of psychic thought-control
he plays with fierce ambition of despair
as fake king of the hill of anywhere.

I hear every tree that falls in the woods
because vibration ringing in thick air
ripples so far across vast lake of time
that I can translate spells it means to chant
about decreasing tax for common folk
who worship on fake hill of anywhere.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sits on the fake hill of anywhere and plays the lyre of Mercury to sing weird wordless songs of fantasy that on one understands.

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

Distant World Of Peace
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

Though beauty of the distant world of peace
escapes reluctant passion of twilight,
the wingless angel wraps his tensile heart
around green hills where mushroom houses sprout
from endless weeping of the river flow
that leads his way to the blueberry grove.

Because he cannot see dreams of his heart
till he sings their passion in eccentric spells,
he walks along the fence of broken trust
with casual observance of stranded facts,
which inspires good citizens to oppose
aggressive program of stratocracy.

The dictionary on the windowsill
provides the wingless angel weird new words
to record shocking conditions of war
embroidered on the handkerchief of Death
depicting citizens of everywhere
working with their hands to create the world.

Engaged in holy work of regime change,
transforming warring states into empires,
the beautiful model in white silk gown
poses for cameras with sparkling eyes
to prove she is the eidolon of Helen
who lounges on the beach in Mexico.

When atoms of our bodies flash with stars
and circle Earth in gusting winds of fate,
we fill warms bodies of still-living souls
with fleeting thoughts of dreamy memories
so they weep softly with loving respect
while searching for the books we leave behind.

If Hamlet gazes in eyes of my skull
and asks about my carefree gibes of joy,
the wingless angel leads him by the hand
to glass museum of the singing skulls
which prophecy strange burning of the world
in wordless whispers of sad apple trees.

Standing on high pyramid of eyes,
she measures broad heavens of twinkling stars
by stretching long measuring cord of truth
across the rugged landscape of the Earth
to map the history of humanity
where cities grow at mouths of major rivers.

Since twinkling brightness of eternal light
never fills nor empties our hoping hearts,
we cherish conscious eagerness of love
woven in constellations of our hearts
as steady guiding light of honesty
which shows the way to our authentic selves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus hosts workshops at the University of Zarathia, teaching people how to measure the dream landscape of the mind.

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

Archives Of Fake Memories
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

Because I am the flowering sea of hope,
this century of burning monstrous thought
collapses into laughter through respect
for shadow angels who live ardently
with blasphemous desire to rewrite truth
based on drama that we must think about.

Against stark background of harsh tenderness
we disregard surprise of history
through melancholy meanness of dream code
that programs us to play survival mode
in tangent with abstractions trees extend,
encased in archives of fake memories.

Stone cottage hidden in suspicious woods
sends purple thistles with mission from god
to extricate blind robots from glass banks
so they can reproduce strawberry jam
for lonely princess on the red mushroom
who crowns the greedy frog king of the Earth.

Reflected in sad mirror on the wall,
nine literary heroes fold their brains
in huge delicate origami cranes
that float around as books with serpent eyes
chased by brass keys with bat wings of contempt
when they pose for the random photograph.

I disappear in painting on the wall
to live forever as the Fisherman
sitting peacefully in small wooden boat
on the misty lake in lush mountain woods
till sly Bianca opens door of time
to tattoo words of my song on her arm.

I ride the bus in maze of city streets
all summer to songs on the radio
about clean firmness of the naked soul
which dances laughing on shore of the lake
where wingless fairies steal keys of our homes
till planes bomb our paradise into hell.

Through chaotic necessity of truth
I dig holes in the asphalt road of faith
to find the secret treasure of the troll
who wears blue business suit and long red tie,
then end his reign of terror with the Word
that shatters crystal temple of despair.

Fixed by tragic stare of the noble clown,
I summon demons from Sunday cartoons
who teach us how to inhale oxygen
after we fall to the Earth from dreamless stars
so we can gather fruit in summer rain,
concealed in archives of fake memories.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus accepts job from Apollo to reorganize and expand the global archives of fake memories for humanity to preserve the rise and fall of empires.

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

One Homeland For All
© Surazeus
2025 06 22

When I hear sparrows in the sycamores sing,
even though soldiers have shot them all dead,
I declare with endless voice of the sea
that I support the people of each land
against the oligarchic terrorists
who control their countries with angry fear.

When I return to homeland of my birth
I find strangers living inside my home,
so I listen for the voice of my mother
but I hear rain splashing against the window
and the bread she baked has become the land
that forms the flesh of my embodied soul.

When I search for my homeland in the world
where my ancestors lived ten thousand years,
constructing homes from the songs of their bones,
I find nothing now but buildings in fields
veiled by stories in books nobody writes
that escape my hands on wild sparrow wings.

When I tell the strange story of my life
in the language my ancestors devised,
I hear their voices in the lonely wind
that scatters photos of my family
across the alley of trashcans and cats
who tell me of sadness with silent eyes.

When the old wizard in the empty church
drinks wine from skull of Hamlet with remorse,
he tells the blind king chained to the gold throne
that every war weapon he manufactures
costs money that could fund the daily lives
of his people he should protect from harm.

When the sun concentrates sharp beams of light
on kitchen garden of my aching heart,
I ask the silent sparrows in dead trees
if they will sing for us of victory
against the tyrants in their towers of glass
who charge us taxes to live on the land.

When Ariel Spirit of Creation flies
above volcano of my hungry soul,
I design my destiny with each choice
I make through principle of liberty
to help the honest people of the Earth
raise crops and feast though bombs destroy it all.

When Jesus brings the sparrow back to life
by breathing song of beauty in its heart,
perhaps the tribes of wandering refugees
may all return to homeland of their hearts
though we find other tribes living there now,
for Earth has become one homeland for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus journeys thousands of miles to find the original homeland of his tribe, but finds graves of his ancestors in every land around the Earth.

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

Names Written In Sand
© Surazeus
2025 06 21

Shocked by how far the wingless angel falls,
I carry bodies of the nameless dead
from smoking rubble of frail vanity,
heart broken at the sight of pretty faces
smeared with blood of innocent despair,
too sad to record political crimes.

Young father, clutching hand of his shocked wife,
carries two wounded children on his back
as they stumble from tall apartment building
engulfed in roaring flames of arrogance,
leaving behind photos of memories
that vanish in bitter winds of despair.

Arriving at the airport terminal,
crowded with thousands of war refugees,
the small family huddles on hard asphalt,
but no airplane with angelic wings
bears them safely to land of apple trees,
so they discard their names written in sand.

Attempting to compete with lonely death
in game of chess by striving to escape,
young father leaves his dead wife on dry sand
with their children embraced in her frail arms,
then walks across the waste land of his heart
to find art gallery by the River Styx.

Sipping wine in tall slender grail of faith,
young father observes works of abstract art,
red strips of cloth hanging from angel wings
to symbolize blood of our sacrifice
when people die in wars between rich men
who buy and sell their skulls as cryptocoins.

Diving in blue Mediterranean Sea,
young father swims with fierce demonic rage
past colossal Pillars of Hercules,
then rides graceful dolphin of Arion
to glass pyramid by Chesapeake Bay
where he works in the cellphone factory.

Though I am no Aeneas with brave heart
to shine as light for refugees to follow,
I will build empire based on enterprise
that provides analysis of events
defined by framework of conceptual peace
which requires nerves of courage to attack.

Surprised at impact of the wingless angel
that explodes with nuclear blast of contempt,
I wear television tube as strong helmet
to protect virtual model of the Earth
that crumbles into fake coins in my hands,
so I read all their names written in sand.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus sifts hands in dunes of the waste land composed of sand from bodies of millions of people killed by bombs in endless wars to control the oil.

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