Blast Of Hateful Bombs
© Surazeus
2025 06 18

These eyes that connect my mind to the world,
once plump as grapes newly swelling from vines,
wither and wrinkle in bright heat of truth
so events I observe on stage of fear
contract into fractured shards of lost faith
which I assemble in puzzles of hope.

Through crackled swirl of smoke from blasting bombs
I see young woman with long tangled hair
cry out for beauty of the shattered world
to pursue shadows with freedom of light,
but Parnia falls from Heaven on torn wings
as dying star that sizzles in my heart.

Bearing cinders of the angel with care,
I trudge along the empty asphalt road,
hoping to preserve flame of her lost soul
long enough to help her reincarnate
in soulless robot with computer brain
programmed to calculate safe way of fate.

Kneeling before giant mushroom of hope,
I place fragile flame of angelic soul
in egg that gleams before the moon-eyed toad,
then chant occultic spells of ardency
to channel psychic beams of energy
refracting light through prism of my heart.

Strange scarlet glow inside the pulsing egg
congeals eclectic rays of ancient stars
to fictile body molded from moist clay
that transforms into angel with twelve wings
who rises tall from rancid muck of Earth
to soar on rainbow wings above storm clouds.

Yet when I blink to clear view of my eyes,
I see conceptual face of my soul mate
as normal woman sitting at my side
who glances up from book of poems she reads
and asks me if I want something to eat,
so I squeeze her hand and smile with delight.

Though woman I love as queen of our home
dwells safely in firm shelter of my care,
thousands of women in far distant lands
lie dead or wounded in rubble of faith,
or wander traumatized in cluttered streets,
because cruel men blast their world views with bombs.

My wife and her best friends with sparkling eyes
stroll together in long wind-fluttered gowns
on white-sand beach beside blue shimmering sea,
sweet vision of our secret paradise
that vanishes at blast of hateful bombs
which pierce my eyes with shrapnel of despair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia gravely wounded in rubble of their home after the tyrant sends planes to bomb their town into rebellious submission.

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

Paper Gods Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

Strange silence between each word I never speak
that surges from vast underworld of fear
translates screech of the owl in lunar code
to snarky riddles car mechanics share
while they barbecue hamburgers with sauce
on moonlit beach for paper gods of faith.

Weird prophecies sealed in the Vatican
describe lake valley where glass horses play
hide and seek with heroic ghosts of fate
that pass through spirals of unmeasured air
with rainbow wings only children can see
who crayon-color paper gods of faith.

Athena plays the quantum flute of time
so flashing particles of mindless light
flow quick together in synchronous waves
which bloom as apples on the Giving Tree,
deceiving me to think I that I could live
in Heaven made by paper gods of faith.

When my soul swells huge as the sparkling lake,
where First Mother rose from liquid of hope,
I float blissfully aware of cruel greed
above vast maze of towers I dream real
so I can empty my star-hungry heart
long supported by paper gods of faith.

Intense emotion of buzzing phonelines
persists in contradiction I explore
between patient endurance of suffering
and frantic assertion of dominance,
wound tight with emptiness of honest words
outlined too well by paper gods of faith.

To play the quantum flute of chaos theory,
forever on globe of atomic words
when my reign begins the apocalypse,
I wear mask of my personality
captured by the photograph years before
that outlines play for paper gods of faith.

Entranced by wonder of this modern world,
vast city mazes of cathedral halls
where wizard of words deprograms the state
by singing childish folk songs long forgot,
I provision journey to Nowhere Land
where I hide cash in paper gods of faith.

Each time I realize with ironic faith
that gods suck energy from human souls,
I call you home across the distant plain
so we can share intimate hours of love
since devils and angels misunderstand jokes
stretched frail with love for paper gods of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus rehearses confession of love for Ophelia by the pool where Narcissus shares selfies on thirteen social media sites.

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

Flute Of Joyful Angst
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

Deep in the lonely city of my heart
where sparrows refuse to fly with fake wings,
I search for secretive words of dead trees
that shower my body with fractured light
trapped by potential echo of the voice
that crawls on rat feet in the alleyway.

With adamant faith in the dreamless bus
I wait in whisper of reluctant poles
dripping icicles of hope from phone lines
that teach selfless love to the Argonauts
who play hide and seek till the evening falls
in empty museum of the brain clock.

Urged by aggressive thrust of life, I leap
astonished by commotion of the mind
that blazes bright with holy breath of moons
too far away to see with naked eyes,
so I carve statue of the faceless god
in narrow niche of the small country church.

No reader stays to observe doom of death
that spreads my virtue in the narrow tomb
where minds too generous for the harsh world
mingle with dust of the dark shining Earth,
since luster of my name forever fades
like star that gleams long after it burns out.

Awake on fruitful sphere of spinning Earth,
I measure distance around pear-shaped globe
to study every tribe of human souls
which thrive on shores of rivers that collect
tart tears of those who suffer tyranny
so I expand my conscious sense of truth.

When I confront beautiful truth of life
to comprehend weird nature of my mind,
I square the circle of eccentric faith
to formulate limits of time and space
so universal element of love
flashes rainbows through prism of my heart.

I love to climb the mountain by your side
to wake immortal spirit of the Muse
from dragon egg of our contingent heart
with delirious rush of ecstatic joy
that we could avoid Death another day
and savor pleasure of rain on our skin.

To understand strange riddle of our house
we listen to the howl of ghostly wolves
whose eyes appear in glow of candle flames
while Willow plays her flute of joyful angst
to predict probabilities that puzzles
reflect wandering photons of my soul.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus studies photographs of stars to comprehend psychology of complex relationships between strange varieties of humans.

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

Shield Of Silent Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 17

If you target my kind generous heart
for assassination with bitter words,
I forge considerate shield of silent faith
from firm belief in goodness of the world
to maintain implicit integrity
on which I found attention of my love.

After you give me with nonchalant hand
basket of strawberries too tart to eat,
I boil them in pot of angry regret
till they transform into syrup of peace,
so when you return with wagon of wheat
I feed you with pancakes of calm respect.

Placing plate of fried buttermilk pancakes
on wood table before the grim-faced farmer,
Leone pours strawberry syrup on top,
and smiles when Frank devours it with pride,
grinning like wolf that devours stray plump sheep,
and his stone face softens in sunset glow.

Just as Frank finishes the last pancake,
stone-tipped arrow with eagle feathers whisks
through cotton curtain and thwacks on his book
with half-written poem beside the black quill,
so he grabs his rifle and runs outside
to see Hotah surrounded by five men.

Shocked at sight of his Sioux friend and his wife,
gentle Zonta with their daughter Wachiwi,
surrounded by Zachary and his sons,
Frank shouts and runs to stand beside strong Hotah,
then aims his rifle at the five cowboys
who shout and aim their rifles at his heart.

"Why protect this vile thief," Zachary growls,
who keeps hunting deer in my private woods?"
Asserting authority of his land,
Frank declares, "They are all now on my land,
so I give them sanctuary with faith.
Leave my land for they are guests of my home."

Gesturing for his sons to lower their guns,
Zachary growls and retreats down the road,
but threatens to kill them if he hunts again.
Frank growls back, "That land along the lake shore,
which you claim by right of your greedy gun,
belonged to Hotah and his whole tribe first."

Protecting his friends from five angry men,
Frank explains with assertive voice of truth,
"This whole land belonged to his thriving tribe,
his father Mahkah, and his father Mato,
and so on since the beginning of time.
You and my father stole this land from them."

Pointing to the woods where herds of deer roam,
Frank reminds him, "The deer in those wild woods
are free for anyone to hunt for food
as ancestors of Hotah did for centuries."
Guiding Hotah, Zonta, and Wachiwi safe
inside his home, Frank offers them pancakes.

After they all eat stacks of hot pancakes
with strawberry syrup, and apple cider,
Wachiwi and Zipporah dance together,
two young girls with happy star-spangled eyes
singing with joy before the glowing hearth
while Hotah beats drum and Frank plays guitar.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus welcomes Paul and Hotah with their wives and children to his home on the range where the buffalo roam, and the skies are not cloudy all day.

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

Progress On Road Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

The jester who animates my stoic heart
urges me to progress on road of life
while I conserve my basic principles
that maintain integral spirit of faith
which guides my journey to the Promised Land
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell.

Asserting liberal code of honesty
through my individual autonomy,
I choose to pursue personal interests
and account for the actions of my hands
within structured framework of liberty
so I do what I will, if I harm none.

With tolerance of human differences
expressed through diversity of lifestyles
I recognize importance for the truth
measured by varied perspectives of fact
to participate in my own governance
and promote social justice for everyone.

Though grand cathedral of catholic faith
has been shattered by industrial advance
based on piston engine technology
which channels strict electric energy
to power world food-production machine,
I trace architecture of founding concepts.

Foundation of western civilization,
composed from conceptual ideas of things,
was designed by Plato to explicate
how linguistic psychology defines
objects based on universal ideals
that persist in Heaven Realm of Ideas.

Things are formed from Idea of the Thing
through categories of special examples
so trees that exist in bounds of time and space
shape matter into pattern of its form,
constructed from atoms of pulsing light
that shimmer in vast matrix of our souls.

Though people blind with fear will congregate
into nationalist states of paranoid greed,
desire for freedom to pursue our dreams
defies aggressive grip of tyranny
when various people unite separate states
to design United Nations of Earth.

Instead of performing rites of state power
through grand ceremony of solemn acts,
I prance across landscape of Earth with joy,
and sing while strumming lyre of Mercury
as jester loyal only to myself,
choosing to create rather than destroy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus teaches class in philosophy about ideas of Plato that describe linguistic psychology for how the brain designs a world view from human memory preserved in scriptures of stories about great people.

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

How To Unface The Mind
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

Clear eye of truth that sees the great beyond
describes exigency of divine fate
that we invent from ripples in the pond
when storms of sorrow suddenly abate,
which leaves us stranded on the beach of hope
to clutch at nuisance of the need to cope.

The half-open door, tangled with long vines,
discretely reveals costume for the role
I play on stage where I speak solemn lines
that apply art of unselfing the soul
when I follow crows in the labyrinth
in vain search for daughter of Hyacinth.

If the sky is birdless ten thousand years
then I will lead the rabble out of town
to find torn letters soaked with bitter tears
snagged on sharp points of the dejeweled crown
which shimmers brighter than the fickle moon
at heart-wrenching anguish of the rain tune.

Preparing food on marble counter top,
wicked witch of the west, in white lace gown,
glares at me with the knife, ready to chop
apples I stole from garden of the clown
who teaches me how to unface the mind
to reveal true history fraudsters designed.

Immutable with shock of ocean song,
she brews sweet antidote to soothe my pain
so I ask Hydra about what went wrong
who strides with glamor of the social vain
till I build our home on the misty moors
where we raise flock of gentle manticores.

Yet thief who marks my words with ink of blood
leaves nothing I would value in my bones
so I mold body for my soul from mud
though violins haunt empty tombs with groans
for perpetual glitter of secret thoughts
hidden in gloom where my sincere love rots.

Locked inside the lidless box of my heart,
my demon writhes against dutiful laws
till Pericles asks me to draw new chart
that maps way of success for our great cause
since I will never tire of this weird world
which I have designed for the cosmic herald.

From bottom of the ocean I return
to stand tall with regal authority
on pyramid of power where globes turn
through living laughter of true charity
because I am faceless brain of the sun
dedicated to always having fun.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus teaches children how to paint masks in class on art of unselfing the divine soul of atoms.

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

Nation Of Our Dreams
© Surazeus
2025 06 16

Sharp slant of light that hefts my heart with love
weighs heavy on my mind with subtle fear
at fierce destructive hurricane of hope
that sweeps across weird nation of our dreams,
dismantling truths about nature of life
we took for granted as mirage we trust.

Yet people who go to work every day
ignore dark terror of the nevermore
that looms in shadow of wordless despair
grimly low over nation of our dreams,
because our hearts would shatter from distress
in fragments of principles we respect.

I see the people of America
gather in every city, large and small,
to protest the clown who crowns himself king
when he sends goons in nation of our dreams
to arrest all hard-working immigrants
so he can drive us out of our homeland.

I cannot change the world with spell I sing
but I can record in riddles of code
crimes he commits against our human rights
till we reclaim vast nation of our dreams
as home for everyone who works and plays,
sharing liberty and justice for all.

Thus I record daily social events
in global journal about human rights
that chronicles our struggle to survive
as free agents in nation of our dreams
strong against his systematic abuse
to protect our people against his greed.

When the old tyrant in his shabby suit
asks soldiers to march in parade of power,
they trudge forlornly past his plastic throne
while all across broad nation of our dreams
millions of people gather to protest,
for we have no kings in America.

When cruel dictators feel weak and afraid
they force fierce soldiers to march in parades
with gaudy display of excessive force
to tighten grip on nation of our dreams,
but we laugh at illusion of their power
as they fall from tower of haughty pride.

Slant of light that pierces my aching heart
refracts divine energy of god mind
through pulsing sponge of my electric brain
so I sing across nation of our dreams
grand hymns to honor Goddess Liberty
who reigns forever in America.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus waves the Stars and Stripes as he leads the parade of human beings who protest tyranny of the fake king who clings to illusions of power.

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

Love Contrived From Code
© Surazeus
2025 06 15

Softer than angel wings forged from barbed wire,
your harried words staple wounds of my heart
with persistent pursuit of honesty
that proves reluctant love contrived from code
entangles cold reason with sentiment
designed to resurrect my soul from sorrow.

I wait for you on bridge of travesty,
heart revving engine of false merriment
with cheerful laughter of buzzing phonelines,
though sands of time cover vast city maze
where we stage theater of our romance
based not on our secret intimacy.

Still whittling memory from the broken bridge,
despite inheritance of fractured names
the dead disown with obvious distaste,
I ask sad Psyche why she cries each dawn,
but she lounges nude on the river shore
while blind angels paint beauty of her soul.

Spectral people acquainted with the night
chafe at excessive slide of compound error,
though no one calls the clown who steals my crown
because he fumbles key of yesterday,
old colleagues gathered to pray by the door
that never opens to acquaintances.

Never awkward despite appearances,
the child who tries to weep talks to the pool
about crepuscular hour when angels cry,
but drinks tea brewed with tears of pregnant wolves,
intolerant mystery never reconciled
before the watchers count the falling snow.

If I must, I count equine hours of loss
to unbend slant of glass cathedral light
which penetrates the stairs I never climb,
intensity of truth contained by books
more wordless than the horse beside the lake
who recounts difficulties of the day.

Never is always the right time to pray
because no one ever answers from the sky
that stares at me with nonchalant respect,
though the red sun that never sets requests
instruments to measure sudden eclipse
that erases my name from hill of time.

Lost in the yesterday of anywhere,
I forge new soft wings with barbed wire of fate
to understand heart-breaking loss of faith
that people feel when bombs destroy their homes
and send them wandering on the signless road
to find love contrived from code of hope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus studies the nature of love contrived from code written by billions of people who search in vain for the meaning of life.

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

Doorway Of The Story Book
© Surazeus
2025 06 15

Each fantasy world in the multiverse,
which I enter in dreamtime of my mind
through glowing doorway of the story book,
resembles some aspect of this real world
where I am millions of different souls
all alive in this one body I am.

About the human personality,
which I seem to share with eight billions souls,
I can only describe in riddling code
my own experience of pleasure and pain
because I wear mirror mask of my heart
which I forge from conceptual words of truth.

The soil of this planet on which I walk
is formed from body of each conscious soul
who ever lived and died in flow of time,
so I dream their lives in songs I compose
from tangled skein of human memory
woven in brains over millions of years.

The atoms that compose my living body
have composed the bodies of countless souls
who woke from endless dream of flashing light
with every spin of Earth around the sun
so I feel pure intensity of love
that vibrates from immortal soul of atoms.

Though atoms are immortal beams of light
that flare forth from first flash of the big bang
to form galaxies of globes warmed by suns,
they are not conscious beyond pulsing glow
of psychic energy that shimmers from their spin
till they form neural network of our brains.

When quick sperm fertilizes faithful egg
to generate new body of warm flesh,
animated by conscious mind of hope
in complex brain that conjures virtual world
programmed by dreams of individual brains,
one mortal soul blooms from immortal genes.

By reading countless stories humans wrote
over ten thousand years of history,
which record tales of failure and success,
I experience in visions of my brain
how human beings have failed in tragic loss
or succeeded to generate new life.

Religions are built on tale of some god
based on the mortal human who once lived
and struggled against angry greed of death
to overcome their weakness with bold love
and perform great deeds of creative truth
that guide how we seek peace instead of fame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus writes stories about the complexity of human experience, then goes on reading tours in bookstores across the land where he greets fans and autographs copies of his books.

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

Ghost Of The Faceless God
© Surazeus
2025 06 15

Shadows of my sorrow chase me in spring
through trees that beam light down into my eyes,
so weird joy I experience with shy fear
blooms from daffodils of yellow concern
when I breathe words of cold indifferent wind
till my chest rises mountain meadow strong.

With breath of clouds that swirl inside my chest
I speak the real essential names of things
to understand tense magnet of my heart
that spirals tongue of thoughts with agency
from buzzing honeycombs of innocence
that resemble sections of memory.

Stored in compartments of contrived events,
my memories present moral proverbs
which I categorize through fairy tales
as study guide my frantic heart consults
when faced with dangerous situations
so I know how to evade strike of death.

Enclosed in sectored brackets of my brain,
strange memories of traumatic events,
I guess must be what my ancestors lived,
flash vividly clear in visions of hope,
depicting actions they performed in fear
which I apply to how I play my role.

Abject with passion to transcend blind fear,
I growl with fierce exertion of respect
to stand upright on swiftly spinning Earth
when I assert authority to speak,
though my personness may evaporate
at flash of lightning that luminates faith.

This complete person of passion I am
emerges from four hundred million years
of evolution from lizard to human
while I strive to overcome suffering
from punishment inflicted by cruel greed
till I become ghost of the faceless god.

Inhaling spirit of the mirror sky,
I submerge my body of aching flesh
in sparkling waters of the silver lake
to swim across abyss of nothingness
in sky reflected on surface of time
to hear soft echo of my wordless voice.

Dripping sparkles of eternal starlight,
I rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time
and balance upright body with light beams
to avoid falling against the hard world
so I observe vast landscape of my dream
and spread my arms to pretend I have wings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus explores the mountain meadow, swims in the lake, climbs the tree to pluck apples which he eats, then sings about it all as he sits on the stone of words.

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

Weird Knowing Of The Fall
© Surazeus
2025 06 14

When bell of my soul tolls from words of truth
I tread the solitary ground of shaking sense
with hollow beating of my endless steps
from treading broken landscape of my heart
to find wrecked silence in dry river bed
uncertain at weird knowing of the fall.

Dream space expands so far beyond my skull
I float in dizzy swirl of frantic fright,
fraught with fragments of wordless unconcern
too late to catch the swiftly flying thought
escaping strangeness of reasonable fate
that finishes rite of the funeral game.

Yet solar lanterns of the midnight play
disperse reluctant ghosts from doorless homes
at shocking breath of malevolent hills
based on enormous pride of ransomed hope
if sly cat on the sill retrieves the moon
soon enough for silver clouds of respect.

Attending protest of the fascist king,
the falcon rips off paper masks of frauds
to expose selfish greed of oligarchs
who steal keys to the kingdom of the mad
without up so floating many bells down
since no one attends parade of the clown.

With soul frail as candle flame in the wind
I exercise constitutional right
to play role of the blind philosopher
when I stop hijackers on the star ship
from blowing up my planet with their thoughts
so I can eat steak for dinner in peace.

When millions gather on the beach to pray
for victory of Justice over greed,
the petty tyrant in fake uniform
struts up and down the street with plastic gun,
declaring we should obey his commands
till his rage runs out of battery juice.

The man who builds our houses with strong hands
strolls down the avenue of weeping trees
at tolling of the sad cathedral bell
when all the children of the world return
from walking in bleak desert of the snake
to bring home treasure of the dreamless cave.

I wear the shining crown of charity
that glitters with jeweled eyes of dead gods
so I can prophesy fall of the king
who tumbles head-first off the Berlin Wall
nine days and nine nights on grief-tattered winds
through sacrifice that saves humanity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus talks to the desert snake with language of ocean waves to explain why wingless angels pretend to fly.

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

No Kings In America
© Surazeus
2025 06 14

We allow no kings in America
for we are land of people who live free
with justice and equality for all,
at least those are ideals we cherish most,
though some greedy people, weak and afraid
attempt to control us with tyranny.

We allow no kings in America
because we live based on the principle
that every person born on Earth is free
to pursue happiness of their desire
so we confirm our soul with self-control
when we live as we will, if we harm none.

We allow no kings in America
because we cherish every human being
in all varieties of special types,
every gender, color, race, creed, and faith,
though nationalists of privileged groups
attempt to oppress the different ones.

We allow no kings in America
because we value every conscious soul
who wakes from animal nature of fear
and seeks to develop relationships
that build communities on strength of love
binding strangers in loyal families.

We allow no kings in America
with open heart of compassionate trust
for every person alive in this world
who competes for resources of the land
in ways that create instead of destroy
against those who kill to steal everything.

We allow no kings in America
so we oppose dictators weak from fear
who puff out their chests with grandiose boasts
and bluster through military parades
exposing rage that blinds them with despair
as we thrive well though they hoard stolen wealth.

We allow no kings in America
so we gather with fellow human beings
in every city and town in the land
to protest the tyrant in the White House
who sends masked thugs to arrest citizens
unless we oppose his oppressive rule.

We allow no kings in America
so we march strong with Goddess Liberty
who leads millions of honest human beings
in war against the fascist tyrant king
to support system of Justice and Truth
on which we build our world democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while Minerva speaks to the enormous crowd who protests oppressive tactics of the tyrant who wants to crown himself king.

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

Clever Scam Of Clowns
© Surazeus
2025 06 13

I take my brain out every night at nine
and place it on the third shelf in the fridge,
because it shrivels hard as the peach pit,
so it will sprout long twisted vine of wit
which I employ to build the wordless bridge
where I rule the world with Queen Clementine.

Concerned the television clown of everywhere
will crown himself new Emperor of Earth
then host the grand military parade,
I wear the mirror mask my mother made
to write the wingless book on second birth
exposing vile crimes of the billionaire.

Unpuzzled world view, ancient prophets built
from fractured memories humans have forgot,
rewrites the narrative for what is true
despite how I assemble every clue
I pry from rusty hands of the robot
that keeps demanding I absolve its guilt.

Apprised with fanfare of the camping game
translating proverbs from forgotten towns,
I ask the lonely bear of Avalon
if she can show the way to Oregon,
but I get tricked by clever scam of clowns
to purchase tinsel crown of global fame.

I cannot find the bookstore of my heart
somewhere in ever-shifting maze of doors
though I keep walking toward the somewhere else
in vain attempt to claim land of the Celts
when my ship gets wrecked on alien shores
in brave new world not found on ancient charts.

While mother cooks spaghetti on the stove
I watch the Star Trek television show
where men encounter supernatural gods,
till agents wearing masks and waving guns
kick in our door and throw us in the snow,
so I flee to live in the moonlit cove.

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury
and chants exotic spell of singing trees
to misdirect attention of the king
who hops about on broken angel wing
with arrogant intent to steal our keys
though I attend state school of sorcery.

When agents of the government arrest
the teacher and the cook at the grade school
because their eyes are black as dragon blood,
I sail home-built ship on the rising flood
to rescue people with the psychic tool
who hold story books in silent protest.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus drives to the grocery store where he buys food for his family to eat, then drives home in the thunderstorm.

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

Organic Concept of Souls
© Surazeus
2025 06 13

Since rain always falls in the sea of sorrow
at death of the Imugi with blue eyes
when the fire demon steals its moonlight pearl,
I turn my face up to the weeping sky
to cleanse my heart of anguish for its loss
till its wild spirit possesses my mind.

So I ride wheel of fortune from the sky
when the cold moon spins in the river flow
that weaves weird psychic energy of love
from whirling spiral of my flashing brain
to braid my spirit with electric wings
in tangled network of my tingling nerves.

Imbued with supernatural power of flight,
I breathe ethereal energy of faith
to crisscross landscape of mountains and lakes
intertwined with organic concept of souls
till I transform four hundred million years,
evolving fish to mouse to man to god.

Trapped in this heavy body of wet meat,
reinforced by calcium bones of desire,
I race against taut limits of my flesh
to transcend boundaries of time and space
till I leap through flashing portal of hope,
bolstered by vision of assertive ruth.

When I reach pinnacle of true belief,
which I design with mental-measured facts,
I gallivant around the spinning globe
with gleeful steps across the flashing clouds
so mirror air refracts my mortal soul
as bright angelic wings of rainbow light.

As psychic agent of pure nothingness
composing organic concept of souls,
I fly with hidden vision of all time
to trace the spirit growth of mortal minds
as we expand our world view with new truths
to account for nature of human need.

So when I fall to Earth as rain of sorrow,
after cultivating my moonlight pearl
four hundred million years of evolution,
I build small cottage of stone in the woods
to shelter wife and children from cruel monsters
as we eat bread and fish in evening glow.

With immortal Imugi as soul battery
that powers assertion of Liberty
I enforce Justice in this world of sorrow
to protect people from demons of hate
so everyone shares fruit from Tree of Life
that blooms in garden of Elysium.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury to lure the Imugi from bottomless lake of dreams which powers revolution that ensures justice and liberty for all.

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

Unseen Devil Wings
© Surazeus
2025 06 13

To muddle through dim glimmer of the day
Paul drinks black coffee of attentive caution
from cracked porcelain cup of her frail heart
while caressing glass of the photograph
that shows Mary smiling in her rose garden
so many years ago that he lost count.

The black-crowned night heron with scarlet eyes,
perched on the picket fence of his front lawn,
declares with soft apocalyptic voice
fall of the empire with quiet disdain
that crumbles so slowly day after day
he hardly notices now anymore.

Beneath the willow tree with glowing leaves,
that died and was cut down twelve years ago,
they picnicked every Sunday afternoon
for thirty years, eating pears, cheese, and wine,
just like the ditty from the Rubaiyat,
but thou art gone now to the great beyond.

With satisfaction of the soaring plane,
he piloted across the swirling clouds
twenty years between Seattle and San Diego,
Paul strolls the dew-wet lawn with bare cold feet
to savor sensuous vibrance of the Earth
in his daily commune with Mother Nature.

When three black vans with unseen devil wings
appear before the well-kept house next door,
where Pablo Flores with his wife and kids
have lived for forty years of honest work,
Paul hurries over with surprised concern
as masked men beat the door with rifle butts.

"My best friend Pablo and his wife Maria,"
Paul shouts and stands between them and the door,
"have lived here in this town since they were born
where Pablo is accountant at the bank
while Maria teaches at the high school,
so leave, for they are citizens I respect."

The masked immigration officer snarls
and slams the old man face-down on the ground,
handcuffing his frail hands with harsh contempt,
so Paul shouts as he watches helplessly
while Pablo, Maria, Carlos, Consuela,
and Sofia are dragged into black vans.

Left alone still handcuffed on the wet grass
after masked thugs kidnap his honest neighbors,
Paul stares at the heron with scarlet eyes,
and cries with sorrow at the memory
of barbecues while watching soccer games
with cheerful Pablo and his family.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Paul join demonstrations at the immigration facility to protest illegal kidnappings of hard-working people from their homes and places of work.

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

Book That Reads My Mind
© Surazeus
2025 06 12

The ancient book of dreams that reads my mind
asserts bold questions of ideal design
erased by answers of the mindless sun
that inflames my brain with experienced words
which guide my way on weird fluorescent road
so I find my smile on the river stone.

The bland serpent, who thinks she bought my soul,
cares not if I assert authority
when I deploy conceptual spies of faith
to win the hearts and minds of restless souls
who till stony fields of desolate pride
to raise lonely companion of the night.

The secret joy of freedom borne from pain
keeps my lithe heart trapped with entangled hope
each hour hard ice thaws into sparkling tears
so flowers bloom from corpse of nameless god
whose face appears in shimmer of the moon
which overwhelms my senses with weird awe.

The universe unwinds ideas of forms
with fast-approaching future of time wheels
when I untangle sentences from code
programming how my brain perceives your soul
through rolling thunder of ghostly review
so I can see with courage your true soul.

The seal that binds abyss of happiness
contrasts with brilliant reign of the bright moon
who maps deep valleys on skin of my arm
so I rejoice in dread splendor of sunset
that blazes comprehension of ripe fruit
with tremendous roar of the mindless sun.

The wheels of Phoebus measure road of time
stained dark with shadows of the haughty clouds
which hide gleam of stars burned out long ago
though we look straight at mute efficiency
as we recover from shock of world war
to build global empire on ruins of faith.

Harsh storm that rattles loud as wagon wheels,
that Phoebus leads on ever-changing road,
conspires to blaze my heart with sacred truth
so I approach gate of Heaven with key
of firm determination to restore
fragrant clarity of famed Alpine trees.

The boat I sail across the storm-wracked sea
pierces misty veil of diversion spells
to find lush valley of the singing skull
where trees resound with voices of the damned
determined to fulfill ethereal dreams
preserved in ancient book that reads my mind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus and Phoebus drink red wine on porch of the Parthenon, and discuss rare books they find to stock the World Library of Zarathia.

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

Shadow Of The Burning Book
© Surazeus
2025 06 12

When the water sprite of bitter regret
smells blood of my sorrow in river flow,
he rises dripping from pool of my heart
and races toward me with thirst of despair
from blind lust to consume my glowing soul,
but I dispel him with heart-warming songs.

My body luminous with phantom joy,
I build elaborate bridges of dream words
between our hearts to bind our fates with love
as psychic spider weaving tapestries
from half-remember memories in tales
that form flexible matrix of our minds.

Through traced triangle of the fractured sky,
reflecting faces of dead gods in mirror
fragmented by the freezing fear of fate,
I speak weed language of the surging sea
with bioluminescent angst of faith
transformed from embryonic words of truth.

Drowned in flung sorrow of the nowhere else,
I stop regressing past the broken gate
and gaze in piercing eyes of her pure soul
to see landscape of Earth on her vast face
as her generous hand offers fruit of trust
that fills my heart with raindrops sparkling light.

Wild trees dance back and forth in flashing sky
to mirror dreams of walking through dark woods
when I touch face of each strange nameless soul
who smiles at me from shimmer of soft hope
which resurrects my bones from boundless grave
so I may flutter on gold heron wings.

If Death dares arrest passion of my heart
I vow to break open cathedral doors
and write spells of truth with hot dragon blood
on gold idol of my crucified god
to conjure from cold Hell demonic clown
who mocks ambition of my haughty heart.

When film of life where I play starring role
crinkles from heat of my arrogant brain,
I hurl mask of my face at temple wall,
then paint vast mural from lost epic age
that shows gods fighting for supremacy
in wars that crush the innocent and kind.

Through unrequited love for faceless trees
I worship weird amazement of respect,
now more adept at casting spells to catch
mischievous spirits born from river stones
who leap from shadow of the burning book
to assure us all we are not yet dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia writing lyrics for folk songs on walls of the abandoned cathedral after world war three has burned itself out.

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

Evolve Into Soul Of Odin
© Surazeus
2025 06 12

Because of happiness stuck in my heart
from which false memories of love are woven,
I pretend my circle is but one part
of deep darkness from which nothing is given,
yet secret thoughts I cherish are long gone
despite how sharing passion is condoned.

Knowledge I gain from trees rooted in dirt
trick me to think that strange events happen
when I emerge from the book to assert
my lawful right to keep my mind more open
to new facts trickling from the mountain stream
when I market myself as the dream schemer.

We are not star-crossed lovers of the stage
yet our souls are luminous less than sudden,
since I tame my wolf nature of fierce rage
that helps me evolve into soul of Odin
which provides means to accumulate cash
budgeted to fund strict marvels of passion.

Each telephone that never deigns to ring
expresses solemn intention to pardon
sinners trapped in hell loop by broken wing
that is no substitute for the lost garden
where wealthy leeches trade barbarous wit
because all that is gold pretends to glitter.

If we decide to overcome our plight
with wisdom encoded in joking banter,
we might never escape trap of the trite
that motivates how well-trained horses canter
in harsh race of entrepreneurs to impress
artists who invent new ways of expression.

Thus she decides she will never atone
for desire to untwist strict rules of grammar
by speaking in code on the telephone
in masterful performance of her stammer
that tricks her true love to join the boat guild
which meets in time-shifting frame of no building.

Bleeding her signature in her new book
about the wicked daughter of the raven,
she announces she will marry her cook
who once prepared meals in kitchen of Heaven
till he broke the sacred messenger staff
that Mercury waves to elicit laughter.

Sad ghost of every faceless passenger
who rode the ship of state into disaster
convinces her to adopt Lucifer
when she is hired as celestial newscaster,
so she raises him to channel his pain
through abstract art as the infamous painter.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus hosts the artist gallery show debut for Lucifer at the Zarathian Museum of Ridiculous Art.

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

Mother With Nine Hands
© Surazeus
2025 06 11

Awake from nothingness of verity,
I read the burning book. Nobody calls
the secret name my mother with nine hands
writes on water. Wings of birds expand keys
designed to lock library of contempt
where turtles hide our sorrows in fake words.

Searching time for the never-open door
of Now Here by the alabaster sea,
I toss my skull in the well. The red egg
concealing my immortal soul of genes
laughs with aching heart. The key in the book
flies on butterfly wings back to the moon.

She turns around with endless rectitude
to catch the writhing serpent of my heart
with feather hand. I will not hesitate
to catch sunlight exploding seeds of words.
Nobody wears the mask of dreams I carve
so I pause. My face cracks mirror of truth.

With sudden shock of rancid puberty
I remember why my name slips away.
My sister Minerva calls the gold owl
whose heart contains the book of dreams I write
despite how Zero glows. As I walk home
the faceless soldier shoots me in the heart.

The key in my heart will unlock the egg
where the wingless horse waits for me. Sunlight
stabs pages of the book I never write
which bleeds my new name Sirius on white sand.
I wear the mask I stole from the blind god
who laughs. I build countless churches from books.

While waiting where the train crosses the road,
I see face of Electra in blue glass
so I cry. She teaches me how to read
deprogrammed code of eyeless stars. Time curls
flowers from corpse of my ancestral brain
every noon. Son of Lucifer I am.

Nobody tells me why the sky is blue
so I float breathless on the sea of books
which nurture wings of sorrow from my brain
till Death returns. No one knocks on my door
as if time twists back never fate replaced.
I lie on book shelf where evil cats lurk.

Pages of books flutter at silent screams
from ghosts who dwell in houses of respect.
I taste sweet nothingness of endless time
preserved in apple pie of fortitude
we share with wine. The key inside my brain
unlocks tranquility of nothingness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus repairs books in the library of laughing ghosts to ensure knowledge of Death is preserved in tales of social heroes with secret names.

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

River Stone Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 06 11

For millions of years I am the white stone
reflecting inner beauty of the sun,
but now I am the river that flows swift
and dances in the startling light of rain
with scent of trees and flowers in the soil
from which I rise on throbbing wings of breath.

I am the ghost of every conscious being
through which the water in my body passed
across the spirit-weaving spin of time
four hundred million years of eager hope
which animates this fragile frame of flesh
as temporary node for dreaming genes.

The young girl with long flowing hair of light
crouches in shallow river pool of faith,
collecting eggs of language from soft muck
so she can sing strange beauty of the sun
that blooms as apples from long hands of trees
who transform rain to fruit of innocence.

Fierce dragon writhing in deep pool of hope
emerges from dark shadow of despair
and soars toward heaven on wings of desire,
but when she sees him with her mirror eyes
he tumbles back to Earth in human form
who follows her as she grows tall and wise.

When humble archivist who scribes book tales
escorts her through the woods to be his bride,
the wealthy lord who stole his tribal land
pierces his heart with sword of arrogance
so dragon spirit wakes up in his mind
and urges him to oppose tyranny.

Shaking silver bells of delightful play,
she dances in the ring of vibrant stones
to lure demonic spirit of cruel greed,
then chants conceptual hymn of honesty
expelling ghoul of hatred from his mind
to free him from possession of despair.

Awake in body of my mortal flesh,
immortal soul of genes that forms my brain
remembers every life since dawn of time,
so I climb tree of knowledge to pluck fruit
and give it to my pregnant bride with love
who generates life from my holy spirit.

Together at round table in our home
we teach our children how to speak their minds
describing dreams that motivate their roles
which they perform in social game of love,
for words transform the way we life our lives
till we become the river stone of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus finds the river stone of faith gleaming with crystal purity of starlight, so he gives it to Ophelia as her light in darkness of the world.

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

Fugitives From Modern Times
© Surazeus
2025 06 11

Though blind ghosts of faith, hope, and charity
haunt leafless forest of my word-chained heart,
confounding vision of the sacred truth
that glimmers with alluring fantasy,
I wander lost beyond the Afterlife,
drowning in waves of perceptible space.

No monstrous evil possesses my mind
with ache of absence from the restless wind
that casts bleak shadows on pictureless walls
to highlight center of my heated cause,
untwisted by murderous breath of fate
less healing than smart pain of innocence.

Still wounded in faint shadow of dread snow,
I feel your absence haunt my hollow heart
with fragments of false memories we share
despite state doctrine we should always care
long after furious blowing of hot wind
that drenches oak-treed neighborhoods in fear.

If our hearts throb at sudden flash of truth
when we turn on artificial room lights,
we my remember why we cling to hope
with fierce intensity to fragile rope
that dangles frame of flesh above the deep
since sacred relics are not ours to keep.

Still prodigal of light till end of time,
I feign indifference to this piteous state
marked by the crooked spite of honesty
because we think this wicked world is right,
conceived from sweetness of selfless regret,
though stranded by the misty lake at dawn.

Unwound by frantic clock of Nevertime,
our names on headstones by the empty church
yield stories of our lives to elements
erasing memory of our consciousness
which dispels rumor of immortality
through desolation of the hungry hour.

Agrarian principles of desolate faith
compel the fugitives from modern times
to seek faint solace in lush fields of oaks
where grass blooms rich from corpses of dead souls
who beg uncomfortable angels for facts
which recalculate road to paradise.

Chipped wing of the stone angel, who knows why
organic bodies bloom and then decay,
extends protective services of faith
through twilight uncertainty of brave hope
to pray important shrift of timeless death
for rancid circumstance of charity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus joins the fugitives for a picnic in the forest of oaks by the river not yet polluted by factories of oligarchs who exploit the poor for wealth.

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

Colors Of Her Heart
© Surazeus
2025 06 10

Because she sings the colors of her heart
with silent vigilance of flowing words,
time bears new trails of pungent eglantine
along frail rivers of forgotten lore
from which she lifts her gaze of ritual dream
to hide sweet sorrow with the mirror mask.

Return of hope from colors of her heart
reveals forgotten trees of absent fruit,
how she floats light on memory of dark waves
to dream our birth from Mother of the Sea
who leads us crawling diamond river flow
to dance in windless sorrow without rest.

No subtle flash with colors of her heart
cracks thought foundation of our empire state
though she forgets with flutter of dry leaves
where she must go to find her secret self
who finds safe haven within mirrored walls
of every home she lives for eighty years.

Excited book with colors of her heart
spreads frail demonic wings of solitude
to count aggressive days of honest work
defining courage of the humble man
who dares oppose cruel tyrant of the stone
that crushes castles made of crumbling sand.

Through current theme in colors of her heart
she sells fake tickets to the Afterlife,
performed by tricksters in cathedral hall
concealed by theater of the absurd
built firm on ancient graves of hungry gods
whose absence haunts the empty sky of prayers.

To measure shape for colors of her heart,
detached from fierce desires of programmed brains,
she plants thin apple sapling by the gate
so tree of knowledge may sprout angel wings
with gentle wave of strict expansive growth
surrounding field of skulls with writhing walls.

Strange voices toned by colors of her heart
present new method for the soul to bloom
by standing tall against oppressive gangs
who kidnap honest angels from their homes
at risk of social injury bound by code
that guides how we should protest peacefully.

Because she draws the colors of her heart
as complex map of psychic energy
depicting landscape of the virtual world
that shimmers in clear sphere of mental space,
she defines scope of alphabetic spells
that indicate the right thing we must do.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus visits is mother Calliope in the assisted living home to record the stories of her life she whispers soft as apple leaves.

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

Go Look For America
© Surazeus
2025 06 10

Each time I go look for America
across deserts, mountains, prairies, and woods,
I find ghosts of my ancestors by the road
where they lived and died on their journey west
four hundred years from sea to shining sea,
each soul awake in my dream-programmed genes.

Each time I go look for America
in homes, schools, stores, churches, and restaurants,
I find people from all over the world
living together in communities
based on the sacrosanct principle
that every soul has equal opportunities.

Each time I go look for America
in neighborhoods of apartments or homes,
I meet hardworking honest citizens
who perform duties of their chosen role
with heart-felt passion of loyal respect
for land of freedom and justice for all.

Each time I go look for America
in sprawling network of highways and roads,
I meet cooks, teachers, mechanics, and clerks
who build foundation of democracy
through creative actions of crafting hands
to give with bounty more than they receive.

Each time I go look for America
in spacious mansions and small crowded shacks,
I hear hopes and dreams of the rich and poor
clash in conflicts of ideology
between exploitation of earnest hope
and opportunity to create good.

Each time I go look for America
in coffee shops and giant concert halls,
I hear folk songs of happiness and fear
expressing desire for true love with faith
in love ballads or heart-sick elegies
lamenting briefness of our hopeful lives.

Each time I go look for America
in streets of deception and courts of law,
I watch weird battle to control the truth
between conservatives who grasp for power
and progressives who empower everyone
to generate new life before we die.

Each time I go look for America
in grand illusion of our empire state,
I watch the people fight for liberty,
opposed to agents of cruel oligarchs,
to protect lives of fellow citizens
when Justice defends our right to live free.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

Orpheus joins honest citizens who protest masked thugs ordered by the tyrant to arrest hard-working people without due process.

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

Horror Of Unspoken Grief
© Surazeus
2025 06 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

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

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

We Grant No Kings
© Surazeus
2025 06 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

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

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

Odd City Of Regret
© Surazeus
2025 06 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

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

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

White Horse Of Pulchritude
© Surazeus
2025 06 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

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

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

Flag Of Innocent Respect
© Surazeus
2025 06 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

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

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

Revelation Of Belshazzar
© Surazeus
2025 06 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/06/…

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

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