Vibrate Voice Of God
© Surazeus
2026 04 06

Nebulous song of the black telephone
asks me to commit unrelenting love
through pretentious messages from dead gods
which I must announce to humanity
though my soul detaches from my stone brain
and floats on brittle hum of ardency.

Thrashed by wonder of unfamiliar death,
who floats above me every sleepless night,
I consider how famine mistransforms
shadows of frantic minds to animals
who wander without caution in moonlight
to stare through windows at angelic humans.

Because my mother weeps when she conceives
my mortal body from draconic daze,
she plays violin for gentle peacocks
whose eyes design my heart calligraphy
so I know how to vibrate voice of God
through tangled verse of fabled honesty.

With broom of listless ennui at world war
I tend the broken bridge of loneliness,
though I ignore the zither of my heart
to exorcise angelic energy
from millions of hearts possessed by despair
who ask me to write battle hymn of faith.

I will eat oranges of confusing taste
rather then erase them from my sad joke
that maps waterless rivers of regret
where wingless angels stuck in empty churches
fold wounded hearts in origami cranes
while they deny their desire to escape.

When I find his Green Car wrecked on the road
halfway between New York and San Francisco,
he introduces me to his best friend,
the bear who has built every bridge on Earth,
then teaches me how to defend myself
when Fortune curses me with global fame.

Thirsty for truth beyond theology,
I steal lemons from Tree of Good and Evil,
but refuse to sugar bitter despair
while riding donkey of world revolution
to drive mad King Herod from our White House
and free Liberty from guilt-loop of Hell.

As abject failure at the cursing game,
I hurl book of riddles into the swamp,
then renovate ten thousand rotten houses
so every homeless person in the world
may dwell in haven of attentive fear
and join world choir to vibrate voice of God.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus hires Landis Everson to renovate Temple of Singing Skulls that wobbles on shore of the River Styx in meadow of Elysium.

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

Reluctant Prayer Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Each time she pauses by the broken door
to listen for reluctant prayer of hope,
another crow emerges from the book
with clocks for eyes that unspool alphabets
while tired construction workers drink hot beer,
because she waits for her ship to come in.

Fake photographs from family of ghosts,
stuffed inside leather suitcase of wolf skin,
escape from aching laughter of her heart
to live as butterflies in shadowed rooms
where children play board games of psychic war
while ships of slaves sink in electric storms.

Back when old kings ruled every crowded land
from castles of aggressive greed for gold,
her grandparents folded her in the box
and sent her overseas on ship of state
so she lives now in small Missouri town
where she tries to ignore the weeping clown.

Arranging books on brave library shelves
in moral order of their truthfulness,
she ponders how the television works
transmitting images in crackling air
like crystal ball of the grim sorcerer
who builds model ships in bottles of faith.

These faint fragments of cultural debris,
that float about her on butterfly wings,
she slots in expanding puzzle of truth
as picture that shows nations of the world
clashing in fierce religious wars for oil
which fuels our piston-engine time machines.

Ascending narrow stairs of innocence,
she stands on peaked roof of brave Jupiter
to survey sprawling maze of city streets
where billions of people struggle to live
in constant hunger for paradise lost
as robots building cars and radios.

Sharp cry for justice in the teeming crowd
sparks revolution of the working class
who program computers in cubicles
that weave world wide web of god consciousness
combining social media anecdotes
in never-ending novel of success.

Relaxed on front porch of her cottage home,
free from bondage of marriage and religion,
she writes novel about the abused girl
who reclaims her life with struggle for truth
to live as true self nascent in her heart
while jets bomb homes in countries far away.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus plays flute while Ophelia writes her novel that combines horror and romance disguised as literary fiction to explore the complexity of life in our global civilization.

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

Silent On Subjective Tricks
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

They almost trick me into spilling why
death comes to us as the white butterfly,
but I keep silent on subjective tricks
which I employ to map the River Styx
where magic spells sprout from linguistic muck
with energy I gather to fool Luck.

Since no one dares to teach me how to fly,
I gain employment as government spy
assigned to analyze the crucifix
despite abundant code angels unfix
to guard the activist driving her truck
who rescues the church pastor who got stuck.

Atomic brains amend contract of thought
with ambient destiny where cooks get caught
through humble success of great discipline
too dangerous for the loyalist to win
though I drive streets of Seattle to find
celestial key that opens Divine Mind.

Ride with me in my fast airplane I bought
to find the hidden oracle who taught
my father how to architect Berlin
when he grew up in Temple of Shaolin,
dancing with principle that to be kind
forges theology with creeds that bind.

Startled awake on Bridge of Loneliness,
I hang out to converse with Sisyphus
about true nature of the Cosmic Christ
who invades money temple in brave heist
through mental coup against cruel tyranny,
then crowns his son with feudal barony.

When my sponge brain begins to phosphoresce
with frantic visions of global distress,
I visit the Pope as wise poltergeist,
commissioned to design novel zeitgeist
that secures equal rights through Liberty
which lifts every soul out of poverty.

Entranced when Minerva begins to croon
screams of despair into uplifting tune,
I wear mask of Lucifer as my face
to prove our souls disappear without trace
when our bodies decay at strike of death
though we practice yoga with calming breath.

Exclusive deal won through electric boon
freaks me out when our empire falls too soon
to account for god vibes in our headspace
though Apollo is detecting the case
to find out who released demonic wraith
whose tender care teaches us selfless faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus transcribes prophecies of Minerva in book of demonic wraith that explains how Apollo solves the murder case of Sisyphus.

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

Grand Event To Play
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

Flowing on away into evening light
that floats suspended in green glowing leaves,
my memories dissolve to empty scenes
of passion for the grand event to play
in huge museum on the river shore,
crowded with white statues of long-dead gods.

I love graceful goddess who has no face
because she understands the gift of life
encasing light of stars in frame of flesh
urged by desire to procreate its soul
which glows inside weird tangle of my brain
with scenes of their achievements to survive.

When shy Psyche visits garden of pears
to find the language of her aching heart
she buried under hollow stone of hope,
she finds me holding darkness in my hand
so she gives it wings to escape my mouth,
then takes my hand and smiles with knowingness.

Water of Heaven flows out of my eyes
so I drink laughter of the flashing stream
where swirling portal to infinity
reveals strange beauty of this spinning globe
that nurtures my body with starry breath
even as I dwindle to silent books.

My hungry spirit of barbarity
will vanish into clocks of factories
contrived by wizards of the wingless horse
to build ten million time machines of fate
so I can drive from sea to shining sea
just fast enough to almost escape death.

Haunted by indifferent Nature of change,
I cobble new narrative for my life
by stringing random events in taut thread
that twangs from magic touch of Orpheus
to make sense from harsh events I endure
that seems to give my journey some grand goal.

Sweet dissonance of clashing purposes
reveals ambitious strategies for growth
contrary to oppression of the state
that crushes honest people under plots
designed to figure characters from tales
who choose the lighthouse as clandestine fate.

Unraveling years of our weightless curse
expands dim consciousness of signal lights
that flash through gloom of swirling alphabets
toward which we sail on fractured view of truth
with brave intention to restore from ruin
abandoned temple of the laughing god.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus sits around all day in his quaint suburban house, refusing to participate in grand events to play role of the psychopomp in insane times.

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

Angel Wings Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 05

On this rainy Sunday morning at dawn
after first full moon of transcendent light
spawned by radiance of the Spring Equinox,
I hear subtle wind of nurturing care
animated by angel wings of hope
on which I fly above vast maze of myths.

My holy book of long-forgotten lore
floats in tangled red threads of destiny
within glass box of false eternity
that spirals with galactic agency,
animated by angel wings of hope
on which I tumble from celestial realm.

Eternal flame of black sublimity
flares forth from seed of potential concept
to bloom from nothing into something real
as sacred flower of psychic energy
animated by angel wings of hope
from which I become my true divine self.

Traversing hill of skulls at crack of dawn,
I feel eternal light of ardent faith
pierce wordless armor of my aching heart
to see Clementine and Ophelia swim,
animated by angel wings of hope
to fill straw baskets with flowers and eggs.

Just as I approach ancient ring of stones,
bright rainbow beam of my beautiful truth
reveals Eostre, fecund Goddess of Life,
holding on her lap young child of her heart,
animated by angel wings of hope
to write tales of human life in Dream Book.

Though tyrants in steel towers of blind greed
kill men who defend their gardens of fruit,
Aquaria transforms spirit of love
from fear to child with eyes of timeless faith,
animated by angel wings of hope
to build new nation from ruins of war.

When gold moon rises high on Phoenix wings,
born from fertile womb of World Mother Sea,
she sends her flighty son, wild Pegasus,
to carry me across the windy steppes,
animated by angel wings of hope,
from which I ride to explore spinning Earth.

Cells in my body split to formulate
new body from blueprint of psychic code,
designed by immortal soul of my genes
to walk in blooming forest of the dead,
animated by angel wings of hope
as wingless angel wearing mask of light.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus preserves angel wings of hope in Museum of Dead Gods at the University of Zarathia where tourists from other planets observe relics of the lost human race.

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

House Of Laughing Masks
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

Though I fade into white wall of blank masks,
I open drapes of sorrow to perceive
casual performance of every-day life
when people walk to the clean grocery store,
then cook dinner and listen to weird songs
on vinyl records that spiral the void.

Another child exploring the wheat field
disappears into shadow of the book
that teleports them to far distant land
where they invent new name that confines thought
as jeweled crown secure on velvet cloth
beams satiric laughter at the Glow Cloud.

When I gaze in eye of the Palantir
I watch people all over the world live
lives of quiet desperation to prove
we are ghosts in one television screen
assured of salvation with the One Ring
forged by Angel of Death from my soul bone.

With white horse of my adventurous heart
I stroll along the craggy seashore cliff
on winding network of trails that invite
my noble journey to end of the world
where I will build the House of Laughing Masks
to preserve record of my mundane life.

Ten thousand retired schoolteachers with pens
could not repair my house of memories
fallen into disrepair through regret
for not opposing tyrants in steel towers
whose greed destroys institutions of state
so empires collapse into companies.

Marble idol of Jesus on the hill
spreads arms of love to welcome every soul,
then gives me book and pen with bold command
that I rewrite whole history of the world
to show his sons triumphant in conquest
as they enforce law of his love with guns.

With joy for life, despite dark fuel of fear
which nurtures passion of respect for death,
I saunter casually on spring-bright road
past houses where strangers wear laughing masks
to hide horror that men in seats of power
bomb hospitals and schools to kill the flower.

Leaving frantic hustle of city life,
I stroll in pastoral painting of false hope
to visit natural beauty of wooded hills
where monstrous demon of human desire
seethes under calm waters of mountain lakes
so I return to House of Laughing Masks.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus paints his House of Laughing Masks with bright rainbow colors, then plays lyre of Mercury on the porch, to annoy representatives of the homeowners association.

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

Sudden Chime Of Flowers
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I think spring wind that moves my garden gate
with sudden chime of flowers in sunlight
might be young daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
whose bright uncanny chord of ardent faith
makes fruit trees dance with joy in morning rain,
so I sing with her spirit in my heart.

Though I have slept alone for many years,
secure in calm state of my solitude,
warmth of love that blooms from giving heart
no more than illusion of fading fate,
sweet voice of her free spirit sparks my soul
awake from silence of my loneliness.

After searching for her on homeless plains,
I step outside door of safe house I built
from fragile memories of cheerful laughs,
and find shrewd daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
tending herbs and fruit trees on river shore
where I wander mute as water-smoothed stones.

I ask forgiveness from her shining eyes
as her deft hands tend roots of healing herbs
when she mixes fresh fruits and vegetables
with magical secrets of alchemy
to prepare healthy feast for wanderers
who gather around table of her heart.

Now that faint shadow of my nameless soul
has split in two bright spirits on the grass,
I breathe celestial aura of the moon
and sing enchanting melody of love
while graceful daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
frolics before large crowd of travelers.

With sudden gust of wind that shakes our hearts
our wild-winged son of fate, brave Icarus,
swoops down from tall tree on taut sturdy rope,
then seems to fly with eagle elegance
above the awe-struck crowd of refugees
who cheer transcendence of divinity.

Though he transforms into the wingless crow
who travels distant lands of sparkling snow,
our curious son investigates star flight
by searching for the highest peak of hope
so he can soar beyond bounds of this world,
though he may fall in bosom of the sea.

Immense red glare of flames in timeless sky
portends apocalypse of global wars,
but clever daughter of the lyre-skilled seer
tends fruit trees with attentive hands of faith,
for empires stand on hard productive work
of farmers and crafters with love for beauty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus visits his daughter and son-in-law at their home in Elysium where they run temple hotel for travelers by providing food and entertainment every night.

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

Museum Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

Each time I meet someone on long life road
who stumbles, half bent under heavy load
of sorrow they feel duty-bound to bear,
I point their way to the heavenly stair
that requires they leave all burdens behind
so they are free to grow in their own mind.

All these cute bromides the suffering share
are broken toys abandoned on the stair
because the drunk man, bruised by fight for pride,
cannot find where the innocent must hide
to open fragile wings in frantic flight
and escape his rage in defective night.

Relaxed on hill of our disastrous breeze,
my mother gives me her forensic keys
that function to open library doors
which preserve melody of ocean shores
recorded clear in my ancestral dreams
because I follow ministerial streams.

Yet all I remember from sitting in school
is learning how to employ naive rule
as mental mechanic repairing the brain
which animates my mercurial gain
when I navigate winding career path
as cartographer through magic of math.

I see reflected in each human face
obsessive anguish of the angel race
to investigate murder mystery
at core of political history
recording how kings kill to maintain peace
yet protect only those who pay the lease.

Dwelling safe in Museum of the Heart,
which our ancestors built on our star chart,
I compose new narrative for the world
around eighth coming of the cosmic herald
who builds world state that supports spirit birth
comprising United Nations of Earth.

When Salome dances before world king
while she wears my spirit-enchanting ring,
I may start to love her and lose my head,
which she will bear home on platter of lead
to shield my brain against radiant waves
through prophecies of oracles in caves.

When you and I meet on long road of life,
united in goal to overcome strife,
we build from ruins of America
state of equal rights named Zarathia
which binds the rebel with the orthodox
through spiral riddle of psychotic clocks.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus adjusts psychotic clock of world zeitgeist in Museum of the Heart with new riddles for the coming global age of transnational culture.

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

First Mother Am
© Surazeus
2026 04 04

I compete only against gears of silence,
which Death employs to unravel my mind,
by expressing through machinery of words
complex contraption of conceptual truth
designed by ancestors of my desire
to conjure virtual model of the world.

Millions of lonely explorers like me,
who muddle through daily routines of hope,
string frail words of concepts in brittle verse
to weave veil of illusions in loose net
with scheme to catch elusive fish of faith
so we can eat roasted dreams of desire.

Small groups of people huddled on the beach
around the world from Africa to China
gather each night for eighty thousand years
to share tale of the man with gleaming spear
who kills enormous dragon of the deep
and roasts it on pyramid for our feast.

Wearing dinosaur skull that crowns his head,
brave storm god, who provides fresh food to eat,
stands strong beside first mother of our tribe
to guard her soul when she adjudicates
disputes between contentious appellants,
then pours juice in our cups for all to drink.

Strange vision from our pre-civilized age
glows bright before my disconcerted eyes,
so I sing ballad of First Mother Am
whose ghost reigns still on pyramid of power,
her star-bright eye of knowledge watching us
as immortal spirit we now call God.

First Mother Am teaches her daughter Amen
to host weary travelers on long roads
with feast of bread and juice in temple hall
where Yusa strums strings of her harp and sings
heart-enchanting melodies that present
men as heroes who protect everyone.

Millions of poets alive now on Earth
sing alone in their rooms around the world,
for we remember aching song of hope
First Mother Am sings in our pulsing hearts
through voice of Ishtar on high pyramid
that binds our souls in one global religion.

We poets chanting verses of fierce faith
are curious prophets of First Mother Am
for we compete with stark silence of death
as choir of angels singing tale of hope
till we all vanish from dream of this Earth
when voices echo faintly in the void.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus follows voice of the angel to the giant pyramid deserted for several thousand years where ghost of Am, Amen, Inanna, and Ishtar still sing visions that inspire humanity with hope.

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

Swirls Of Conscious Dust
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I see that we are swirls of conscious dust,
congealed by passion to observe the stars
so God can wake up in our dreaming brains,
but when I ask the mountain by the sea
how many human bodies form her soul,
she weeps rain that drenches fields of wheat.

Awake in dream as swirls of conscious dust,
we see First Mother of our human race
in face of every soul alive on Earth
for we are mirrors of her primal mind
reflecting her immortal genes in how
we sing together in one global choir.

Wind molds my soul from swirls of conscious dust
when I float sparkling over mountain range
as gleeful mist of potent energy
conspiring with tall trees of humming fruit
to nourish human bodies with strange joy
that urges us to run on river shores.

Radio waves spark my swirls of conscious dust
with aching passion to sing psalm of faith
depicting brave ontology through love
for every human dancing without wings
till we fall laughing from Glow Cloud of hope
and float mute on convenient waves of time.

Dynamic thoughts in swirls of conscious dust
may claim to resurrect my mortal soul
with psychic blueprint Pythagoras draws,
but I know our organic frames of lust
decay from glory of productive play
and dissipate to currency of fate.

Expressive games in swirls of conscious dust
motivate gorgeous ghosts in pulsing flesh
to build bold heritage through honest work
firm on foundation of harmonious faith
so tale code integrates logistic growth
based on judicial innocence we share.

Monument built from swirls of conscious dust
preserves celestial light of mental debt
enmeshed in mordant matrix sewn from words,
riddles constructed from suffering scenes,
yet we link hearts with laughter angels lease,
subscribed to special shows of satellites.

Ephemeral glow in swirls of conscious dust
emanates bright from core of our brief being,
fugacious with sense of divinity,
so I will treasure transient scene of love
we share in garden of our private play,
embraced as skeletons ten million years.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus contemplates how this sense of divinity that glows in our brains fools us into delusion that the soul is immortal beyond death of the body that conjures it from dust.

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

Poisonous Prayer Of Pride
© Surazeus
2026 04 03

I never noticed time can see itself,
Eve chuckles at absurdity of fate,
then strolls with unsynced bells of worthless hope
to stand on treeless hill of perfect size
where angels scatter bones of gods in grass
that transform into books no eye can read.

Eve wears new mask carved from tamarisk wood
to break hard shackles of theology
by selling peace to mad king on the heath
whose rainbow silhouette veils her stale heart
with sterile shadow of unconquered love
that reveals how precious her soul should be.

Affixed communion with specious belief,
that long-dead vampire god will resurrect
our rotten bodies from root-tangled soil,
inspires Eve every morning to transcend
aching pain of her back and hips worn down
by baking apple pies beside the bomb.

Eve remembers six thousand years of thirst
for fruit from Tree of Knowledge that seals
fructuous heart of innocence with respect
for pure Flame of Atar that manifests
victorious beauty of the conqueror
who overthrows all tyrants in the world.

Her heart sprouts wheat of calm beneficence
that resists thought decay of pestilence
against dominion of the mortal man
who claims divine right to exploit our hands
that garnish treasures from the generous Earth
which accounts for poisonous prayer of pride.

With palsied hands that plea to abjure pain,
Eve draws map of the world with blood of gods
on arch of triumph in the capital
where wounded warriors of the war for oil
parade before polished Mirror of Death
who twists their souls with arrogant dismay.

Through emulation of the solemn rite,
that she directs with skull of god in hand,
Eve holds ripe apple to indifferent sun
that bursts with timeless circumstance in code
programmed by brains of children in cold rain
who share their stolen grief with eyeless friends.

Stuck in shadow between Never and Now,
Eve steals electric Diamond of Lost Truth
that beams celestial light of energy
which proves we are but swirls of conscious dust
that dissipate in soft relentless wind
which swirls long hair around her weathered face.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus meets Eve for lunch at the Crippled Pegasus Cafe on the river walk in down town Gotham City where they watch the victory day parade.

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

Saddest Song Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

Though no one understands songs of her heart
which seem like uncanny shrieks of night owls,
she walks narrow trail among twisted beech,
then gazes in green water of the creek
to savor passion that glows in her heart
that bloom as white bloodroot flowers from dirt.

Opening envelope of thin wolf skin,
she reads letter written by Lucifer
with blood of angels on butterfly wings,
then breathes shimmering emptiness of light
that fills her heart with joy to be alive,
so she sings enchanting song of respect.

Stone by stone with gentle hands of thought
she deconstructs illusion of the Self
till she become dim shadow of her name
that vanishes when the glass sun of time
shatters on horizon of intellect,
then dissipates in smoke from cottage hearths.

Strange scent of wet leaves, pungent in night air,
asserts aggressive pulse of wrangled hope
that drives her to express in wordless tunes
excessive wisdom of the hollow stone
when she performs her saddest song of love
that cracks foundation of theology.

Shocked by the subtle shine of innocence
on moon-ensilvered waters of the creek,
she assembles new face of gracious trust
from lithe prismatic waves of nothingness
to wear as mask when she walks streets of town
past strangers who all seem to know her name.

Yet purple bergamot blossoms of truth
unfold proportion of vivid desire
designed to connect precious gratitude
with ghosts of demons trapped in trunks of elms
that swirl around her in celestial mist
while she glides gracefully beyond her grave.

Inevitable state of longsuffering good
twangs harp strings sharp with subtle hollowness
when star-eyed Seraph appears from her heart,
so she remembers how we strive for good
at cost of carelessness through flash of dawn
based on reason of zestful agency.

Curious about clones of her lost self
that appear as silhouettes on grassy hill,
she strolls columned cathedral of bright woods,
suffused with slanting rays of divine light,
and sings with harsh voice of sincerity
that causes ghosts to shiver with desire.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia by the creek in the woods and listens as she sings terrible tuneless psalms with heart-felt sincerity.

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

Giving Tree Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 04 02

When the giving tree of hope is destroyed
by the tyrant and his gang of mad thieves,
Belenus escapes walls of paradise
with the last apple seed of divine truth
and wanders forlorn on Plutonian shore
where toads ask him if he can save the world.

Because the giving tree of hope is burned
by bombs that angels drop on paradise,
Belenus hides in dark cave of blind ghosts
who ask for the hottest stock market tips
while roots of trees break towers into dust
through oxidation that consumes steel frames.

Watching the giving tree of hope chopped down
by the Most Honest President on Earth,
Belenus hacks into computer banks
to transfer money to the bank accounts
of poor hardworking people of the world
who buy pickup trucks and shoot angels with guns.

Slouched in despair at giving tree of hope
where frisky children play with prancing goats,
Belenus reads satires of Juvenal
that condemn rampant corruption and vice
of villainaires who rule in Washington
by exploiting people for private gain.

Shocked that the giving tree of hope now rots
and blooms with poisoned fruit of arrogance,
Belenus joins Minerva and her squad
of justice warriors fighting for the right
of every person in this fertile land
to live free as they will, if they harm none.

If the giving tree of hope vanishes
from Garden of Eden in world war three,
Belenus plants ten thousand apple seeds
in parking lots of shiny shopping malls
so new global forest of righteousness
blooms from ruins of world civilization.

Concerned that the new giving tree of hope
struggles to be reborn from Bethlehem,
Belenus tames with spells of alchemy
ten-headed dragon rising from the sea
so he crowns himself Emperor of Earth
who rules with magic wand of equity.

Tending the healthy giving tree of hope
that blooms from corpses of tyrants and thieves,
Belenus hosts grand feast of equal rights
for all the people of the Earth to join
while Orpheus plays the lyre of Mercury
and Minerva sings about Kingdom Come.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus teaches children of the world how to paint the giving tree of hope with arcane techniques from the various schools of art.

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

Alive In Abya Yala
© Surazeus
2026 04 01

I think I took a wrong turn in the mall
because I am not in America
any more, where Liberty for every soul
is the sacred law by which we all live,
illusion of greatness that vanishes
and leaves me alive in Abya Yala.

Inspired by the man bleeding on the tree,
who grasps writhing snakes of hate in the well
and transforms them into Runes of Respect,
I leave cathedral of the vampire god
and stumble in meadow of maple trees
that flash me alive in Abya Yala.

Alone on mountain of the Rainbow Snake,
who reveals woman with stalk of gold corn,
I watch butterflies turn into jet planes
that bomb the ziggurat where Ishtar reigns,
so I flee into waste land of the west
where I howl alive in Abya Yala.

Stripped of my wolf-fur cloak and magic wand
by one-eyed wizard of dark Raven Wood,
I drive my car from sea to shining sea
home to where I was born in Oregon
where Multnomah cleanses my heart of fear
so I dance alive in Abya Yala.

Broken wings of Icarus in my heart
flap helplessly in hurricane of change
when I fall from Heaven of Righteousness
and wander Turtle Island without hands
to help Onatah tend Garden of Corn,
soul reborn alive in Abya Yala.

When illusion of Great America
collapses into shards of shiny lies
because demon of greed escapes from its cage,
I join free people of Zarathia
to build new nation based on equal rights
that fires us alive in Abya Yala.

I want to return home to Avalon,
then on to Lake of Dreams in Scythia,
to build strong United Nations of Earth
that renders equal justice for all souls
who share this lush globe spinning in the void
that beams us alive in Abya Yala.

After the American Empire falls
from crushing weight of xenophobic hate,
we will build new nation for everyone
who shares love for truth of wise Onatah
who directs choir of equal citizens
so we sing alive in Abya Yala.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while Onatah sings about equal rights and liberty for every person alive in Abya Yala who respects justice and truth.

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

Names Of His Lost Tribe
© Surazeus
2026 04 01

Trapped by obsession with integrity,
Alanus walks to the new grocery store
and contemplates how to save his lost tribe,
but they are photos on the cereal box,
so he scatters cornflakes on tombless graves,
and prays to the sparrow in the elm tree.

Reluctant to accept his bitter fate,
Alanus paints mural on the brick wall
that depicts migration of his lost tribe
with bright colors in cartoon characters
which tourists photograph with beaming smiles
to post up on their social media sites.

Annoyed by laughter of the traffic light,
Alanus forges new Anywhere Key
from dark matter in bones of his lost tribe
with lightning flash of mute anxiety
so he can teleport to every house
where ghosts of his ancestors linger blind.

Startled by appearance of gold Dream Stone,
Alanus breaks it open with soft spell
so he can read the names of his lost tribe
who drive horse-drawn wagons of curious hope
across the wind-swept steppes of Scythia
where they build tree-house networks in tall trees.

Amused by sparkle of electric snow,
Alanus leaves car factory at dawn
with fragments from the skulls of his lost tribe
to lounge on back porch of his shabby home
and grill hamburgers while his children play
under strangeness of blue Missouri skies.

Concerned about the state of politics,
Alanus builds fortress on ancient mound
to host council meeting of his lost tribe
who plan new movement of the working class
to seize means of production from vampires
and build new schools for their children to learn.

Shocked by acceleration of world war,
Alanus hikes in rugged mountain vales
with hungry survivors of his lost tribe
who build new nation in the wilderness
centered around Temple of the Soul Flame
which their First Father stole from Hearth of Hell.

Eager to translate song of honeybees,
Alanus enters temple of blank books
that record tales from the lives of his lost tribe
which play as shows on television screens
in stores of old deserted shopping malls
where children of the fallen empire play.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/04/…

Orpheus joins the Alani tribe as they migrate westward from the Pontic-Caspian Steppe across the lands of Europe to found their kingdom in the ancient city of Carthage.

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

Vote On Election Day
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

When I find secret land of Xanadu
hidden in misty mountain vale of peace
I will sing to the blue moon of respect
so screaming voices on the radio
vanish into silent ache of faith
because I like to flirt with Death at dawn.

Because he is still waiting for Godot,
the old man, who sits all day on the bench
in front of city hall, steals my fake name,
so I write it down in book of lost tales
when I visit museum of dead gods
whose skeletons dance around the North Pole.

When Godot arrives at the restaurant,
he introduces me to his new bride
named Saengdao, which means Starlight, he explains,
but she takes me sailing on her glass yacht
to Kharg Island in the Gulf of Hormuz
where she films her new folk-rap video.

When I try to vote on election day
the old man questions whether I exist,
so I disappear in a puff of smoke,
then drift without wings, humming lullabies
about death, over Yosemite Park
where Shakambari tends vegetable gardens.

Inscrutable spell of her recipe
for magic potion that heals harsh headaches
combines mental spice of spiraling words
with apricot cider of providence
which questions privilege of ownership
exposed by counter-oracles of truth.

While photographing young couples in love
who stroll the river walk in evening light,
Phrixus leans against the brass balustrade
and stares with sorrow at the silver sheen
that flickers with elusive Runes of fate,
then mounts gold ram and flies into the clouds.

Engaged with program to destabilize
global patriarchy through language keys,
Phrixus meets Godot in the crumbling church
where they discuss projects of bitter wealth
based on artificial intelligence
which hallucinates that Jesus returns.

Logic of random landscapes motivates
moral mission to organize networks
of neutral monsters with house mortgages
who load trucks with boxes of stolen dreams
through humble technique of successful ploy
upgrading unique spectrum of toy brains.

When he buys carrots of syntactic virus
from Shakambari by the broken gate,
Godot suddenly understands the joke
about the raven and the writing desk
Phrixus told him at the amusement park
while they were eating hotdogs of despair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus sits at the desk of skulls and writes clever jokes for when Phrixus and Godot perform stand-up comedy at the country club of billionaires.

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

Children With Sparkling Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 03 31

The next time we get together to cry
about how flowers wither in hot sun,
Tellus will bring glass jar of demon tears
to nurture souls of angels in small seeds
who grow into children with sparkling eyes
before bullets splatter their souls on grass.

Careful analysis of water flow,
within context of material exchange,
proves why excessive passion of desire
cracks concrete channels of clandestine code
that redesigns children with sparkling eyes
who play hide and seek in ruins of church.

Reverse psychology of social laws
never works to change behavior with fear,
relabeled as incentive to mature
against relentless tides of profit gains
that tricks hearts of children with sparkling eyes
to believe in lie of the Afterlife.

Elected by the people of her state
to establish affordable health care,
Tellus drives to work across Bridge of Faith
till assassins give her apples to eat
so she can feed children with sparkling eyes
who play in rubble of their bombed-out homes.

Clipboard in hand as wind blows her charged hair,
Tellus organizes fairies and ghosts
to stack bricks of bombed buildings on wood carts
so they can rebuild empire of dead gods
reborn as our children with sparkling eyes
who pretend they are puppets without strings.

Amazed at beauty of our broken world
that functions on laughter of hungry hope,
Tellus writes complex formulas of fate
on chalkboard in crowded college classroom
to educate children with sparkling eyes
on using magic to build paradise.

When Neptune wakes from dream in fountain pool,
startling tourists in the large Florence square,
Tellus gives him jeans and white shirt to wear
as they stroll holding hands in evening glow
to photograph children with sparkling eyes
who are old gods reborn in human flesh.

Concerned about current state of the world,
when dictators disguised as presidents
contest over whose God will rule the Earth,
Tellus meditates with Shiva in cave
visited by children with sparkling eyes
through revolution of the working class.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus gathers children with sparkling eyes in stadium where he gives each one their unique spirit name so they can fly among stars of illusions.

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

Vast Vacancy Of Being
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

All my relatives swirl into my heart
so we all become one galactic mind
that blooms from vibrant flame of the first cause,
hearts bound in communal rite of our tribe
as we breathe in vast vacancy of being
that swells scope of our souls big as the Earth.

Compact conception contained in core seed
designs firm structure of our social state
arranged so every person of our tribe
contributes skilled performance of their heart
that radiates from vast vacancy of being
as cordial fruit we share each evening feast.

We harvest fruitful wisdom of this Earth
with brave assertion of our right to live,
vain fact ignored by calm indifference
that encodes how heartless Nature replies
with riddles from vast vacancy of being
despite our solemn oath to tend her needs.

Ordained as messenger by Eye of Fate,
I open channels between Earth and Sky
so we comprehend with attentive heart
what light communicates through cleansing rain
that springs fresh from vast vacancy of being
to water growing souls in groves of trees.

When I uncover lost star catalog,
by erasing theological creed
written with blood angels on old scroll,
I study stellar cartograph of fate
to navigate vast vacancy of being
that guides my way home to Elysium.

I hear voice of my primal Motherland
call me with heart-enchanting song of faith
to cross greed-ravaged waste land of this world
and find lush Promised Land of fruitful trees
that blossom from vast vacancy of being
as bountiful garden of generous death.

No idol of dead god as scarecrow hears
fervent prayers of desperate refugees
who scatter from our homeland in lost tribes
when tyrants attack garden of our wealth
to find truth in vast vacancy of being
from which we build new empire from old ruins.

We thrived ten thousand years of fertile peace
in secret valley of our singing skulls
till refugees invade garden of trees
and drive our people far across the world
so we float in vast vacancy of being,
transforming into children of lost faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus searches vast vacancy of being for people of his world-scattered tribe who thrive as diaspora of nostalgia for the lost homeland their children forget.

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

Hole Of Finite Thought
© Surazeus
2026 03 30

Because death collapses time in my head
with sudden nothingness of the bright soul,
I ponder what the living do each day
to ignore the fact that we all will die,
then I fish on shore of the singing lake
and eat its roasted meat under weird stars.

Framed in my unfurling future, I feel
exaggerated vastness stretching time
long enough to catch me before I fall,
thwarted by excessive passion to live
when I evade cruel death by accident
in close proximity to sudden hope.

Morning light of each new day after death
arrives with bright elusive flash of faith
that blinds my mind with truth beyond all words
at sharpened thrill of opened aperture
that strikes me with expected solitude
so I float far alone on waves of where.

Undetermined moment of someday soon,
when I will cease to be awake with buzz
of frantic energy to taste sweet fire,
tethers tight my heart to silence of wind,
hidden in scroll of lost voices by quill
plucked from demonic wing of innocence.

Brave enough with fractured luck of respect,
I confront absence of my nameless self
by calling phone number of my dead clone
who answers with strange voice of ocean waves,
but I become mad raven with three eyes
that hangs out on the sad telephone line.

So I avoid speaking in my own voice
with assiduous intent to detach
my body from lush fields of sparkling lakes
where birds tweet love songs in flower-flame trees,
because my being is hole of finite thought
around which nothing radiates in blind gloom.

Despite personal investment of hope,
I stand in spotlight on stage of despair
and drink milk of angels from burning clouds
that pour from my eyes in fountains of tears
which nourishes eight billion hungry souls
while I float on surging sea of desire.

My happiness fills shadow of my heart
with sudden nothingness of silent death
that blows bright rainbow darkness of my eyes
open wide enough to become each star
that twinkles in vast galaxies of souls
while beneath every city my heart beats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury to lead dead souls down to shore of the lake where they become fish we catch and roast over the evening picnic fire.

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

If I Reveal My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

If I reveal my soul by how I sing
relentless emotion through opposites,
I undeceive myself with new belief
that glamors richness of our messy world
which vainly proves with brute indifference
that Nature fills us with passion of hope.

If they assassinate idol of stone
that represents proud ruler of the world
with accurate bullet of childhood games,
we may choose new god from the mortal crowd
to play wise ruler of our crowded state
who plays piano with graceful respect.

If we march to martial music of blood
with bright torch of freedom in every hand,
we may find our ancestral voices cry
for justice from blood-soaked soil of our land,
so we raise flag of Liberty with faith
that our wild howls become anthem of truth.

If we spring laughing from sonorous hills
at sudden strike of brave cathedral bells,
we may plow fields of stubborn prairie grass
and plant gold wheat of fierce ambitious plans
to build empire of hungry enterprise
so our children may dance in sweet moonlight.

If I cast line of hope in lake of dreams
with hope to catch elusive fish of faith,
I may hear noble song of moon-white geese
call out to angels on flame-golden clouds
who grant my boon to gain hard-earned reward,
though Nature owes me nothing for my work.

If I should meditate by sparkling brook
that shimmers calm in grove of twisted birch,
I may hear strange enchanting song of faes
that lures my heart to seek dark gloom of fate
in deep forest green of snow-crested hills
where child of the mountain waits for my gift.

If blind musician in dark smoky bar
plays earthy melody on saxophone
with soulful anguish of inhuman truth,
I feel myself alive more than the sea
halfway between midnight and dawn of time,
awake with silver shimmer of star waves.

If I leap over brook of crystal skulls
while running from death on black horse of fate,
I feel cascade of timeless water spray
swirls of strange immortal energy
prismed radiant with souls of fallen gods
who weep to hear me sing about cruel death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus plays saxophone on the rugged mountain where thousands of blind fallen gods gather to complain to Mother Nature about lack of human faith.

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

Zephyrean Voice Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

Terrible ache of the brain breaking down
into fragments of misread memories
sprouts into palm tree of the final thought
where fire-feathered bird of psychotic truth
sings the most beautiful song of all time
that drives me mad with wisdom of true love.

While I stumble blind through random events
that contrive false narrative of my life,
my fractured brain invents meaning for why
I suffer through each scene for which God laughs
with mocking amusement at how wings shine
from fire-fangled feathers of ecstasy.

Far beyond end of the quivering mind
I spiral into beauty of regret
dismissed as obstacles on road of growth
when I transform from singing tree of death
to wingless angel limping without care
on signless road that leads me anywhere.

Struck by bare facts of existence, that seal
secrets of desire in mouths of the dead,
I insist the mental world in my head
is just as real as thick atomic forms
that pulse with naked energy of light,
till my brain dissipates it all to dust.

Stomping hard on the solid ground of being,
I shout with cold Zephyrean voice of truth
that I can dwell as both body and soul
in real world of atoms flashing starlight
and dream realm of ideas weaving words
with simultaneous energy of love.

Whole universe of atoms, which contains
fragile flame of my body in vast frame,
glows endlessly in swirls of energy,
while multiverse of visions in my brain
replicates inexhaustible variants
that fuel my quest to find the Promised Land.

Vibrant reality of pulsing light,
that seethes in layers of atomic swirls,
undulates elusive phenomenon
beyond my ability to record
conceptual images of its pure essence,
yet I attempt to represent its flash.

My pure imagination cannot augment
vital essence at core of divine being
that pulses with celestial energy,
so these faint shimmers of my verbal spells
may barely reflect vastness of the Real,
yet I sing with Zephyrean voice of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus explains to Ophelia the difference between the real world of atoms that exists regardless of our perceptions, and the mental realm of ideas we design with words in our brains.

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

Shifting Sands Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

Though I walk upon shifting sands of change
that swirl across states of America,
transforming processes we play to live
with honest gestures of productive hope,
I will not slip in void of nothingness
since I extend my angel wings of hope.

I shall waltz upon shifting sands of change
through ardent passion to balance with verve
opposing forces of democracy
which channels progressive charge to grow strong
with conservative reins of self-control
so I transcend bipartisan conflicts.

So we stroll upon shifting sands of change
through cooperative management of fate
to fund projects with capital intent,
then distribute goods with social respect,
ensuring every person of this land
thrives in harmony of communal work.

Rebalanced upon shifting sands of change,
we gather around ziggurat of truth
that shines at core of our civilized world
where Ishtar portrays Creator of Life
which unifies all religions of Earth
in one collective drama of world faith.

Hearts bound tight upon shifting sands of change,
we commit our faith in power of love,
after suffering bleak incertitude
that fractures trust with disillusionment,
when we communicate perceptive doubts
which conjures renewed vision of world peace.

Attentive upon shifting sands of change,
we surf on wildly undulating swerves
attuned between contrary points of view,
with brave commitment to sustain frail life
which invigorates with viable creed
common moral values that guide our way.

Endurance upon shifting sands of change
provides brave courage of objective course
for us to steer assertive drive that beams
clear vantage point of sentimental fact
with firm unyielding passion to succeed
in solemn establishment of world faith.

When I dance upon shifting sands of change,
secure with stationary flow of faith,
my heart expands scope of time-conscious sight
through vigorous radiance of selfless love
to anchor aberrant motions with strict law
that weaves energy in our structured Self.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus measures patterns in shifting sands of change to prophesy how we will build new world society on ruins of nation-states destroyed by world war over oil.

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

Global Theory Of Radiance
© Surazeus
2026 03 29

Alive with mental dance of solitude,
I follow crystal wires that lace the air
back to exaggerated waste of Hell
to hear sweet vibrant birds of everywhere
proclaim rebirth of everyone in Spring
who gives each other stories of despair.

Since my feelings wither and bloom all year
against background of moral rectitude,
I breathe expansive quality of hope
that swirls from thoughts of frantic pulchritude
confined by loneliness of distant shouts
which dapples blue sky of my fortitude.

Blue shadows sweep across front lawn of fate
with inwardness of my strange character
defined by incidents my soul performs
essential to my state as Lucifer
because I fade from Heaven after all,
disowned by my grandfather Jupiter.

Stark fear subsides with glimmer of warm breeze
when ravens in oak trees recall my name
through sharp intensity of sudden truth
which I anticipate with every game
without atonement through regret for faith
that lifts me upward to avoid false fame.

Adrift through eternity of each hour
that nests my spirit with brave nothingness,
I float on vacant vastness of our world
in vehement valley of pleasantness
with quiet absolution from my heart
startled by drone of planes in emptiness.

Patient observation of social cues
reveals weird circumstantial evidence
based on principal figures of state laws
contrived by particular providence
which permeates family lawns all over town
who share communal feast of precedence.

Sea tides that ebb and flow reveal my heart
composed of stars that gleam in human eyes,
based on global theory of radiance
through vicissitude of conceptual spies
who flee across mud flats of social rules
to lost Willow House where they eat fruit pies.

Obscure on rainbow loop of energy,
that spirals outward from globe of our dreams,
I thread my soul in matrix of god souls
comprised of psychic riddles in word streams
that bind me with religious tales of good
as nameless actor trapped in puzzle memes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus auditions for role of Lucifer in the new world order that spontaneously appears after the global revolution against fascist dictators disguised as presidents-for-life.

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

Child Of The Mountain
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

When child of the mountain calls my true name
with innocent voice of wind in damp vales,
I run through deep forest of singing pines
to heed strange clarion call of the sky
so I fight for grand cause of liberty
then weep silver tears on graves of your souls.

If child of the mountain remembers why
we trace wings of sparrows in silver mist,
he might find abandoned home of his heart
where skull of his father prophesies deeds
that he will perform on ambitious stage
while chasing illusions of power and peace.

Though child of the mountain on signless road
hears soft sound of silence in dim-lit streets,
he runs in green rain along railroad tracks
to find the overflowing well of desire
where serpents of wisdom slither as Runes
that glimmer with neon signs of the truth.

Still child of the mountain searches for love
along narrow streets of wet cobblestone
while bearing broken lamp of curious fear
till he finds ten billion people at dawn
milling in silence by fountain of tears
who wake in surprise at voice of his heart.

Yet child of the mountain touches your heart
with intricate stories of suffering
that translate eternal song of the sea
to clever riddles that make us all laugh
with tears of happiness when we meet Death
in our journey on sandy shores of faith.

Since child of the mountain writes prophecies
with heart-broken angst on tenement halls,
we gather in Temple of Fallen Gods
to share strange stories of our surreal dreams
when angels in Heaven destroy our homes
with silver bombs of imperial pride.

Till child of the mountain is born again
as Christ anointed with black engine oil,
which lubricates engine of global wealth,
he guides refugees from religious wars
with map of Hell Dante left in his will
to find Weeping Mother in cave of faith.

Now child of the mountain appears from smoke
that billows from temples bombed by contempt
and blows loud horn of Joshua at dawn
to lead our nation against haughty kings
and build from ruins of America
world democracy of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus appears from mist of legend as child of the mountain we all heard about who translates sound of silence to hymn of global liberty.

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

Quick-Winged Sparrow
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

Quick-winged sparrow of the human soul,
seen to flit safe from tempest of cold wind
in fire-warm hall of power where world leaders
feast on bones of workers in factories,
lands on head of the self-crowned king of greed
and prophesies that the proud always fall.

Our transient human soul, lodged in our flesh
of warm protection from cruel mindless death,
comes from no far mysterious realm of light
on time-transcendent wings of divine love,
for conscious glow radiates from spongy brain
as glow of self-aware acuity.

What seems to wise philosophers to be
mysterious origin in distant stars
of our bright consciousness we call our soul,
which animates our body till we die,
is local to enclosed sphere of our skull,
for primal flame of self glows from our brain.

Our brain provides foundation for the soul
to bloom from seed of hope as tree of thought,
nurtured by tears of sorrow our hearts bleed
with nourishment of harsh experience
so we learn consequence of every cause
which we encode in proverbs of insight.

No matter role each person of this world
is doomed by play by choices of our fate,
each individual brain conjures its soul
from flash of memories in neural net
that programs we how we perform our one part
in crowded theater of social power.

Some men attain heights of authority
through scenes of chaos from hostile desire
by organizing variant plans that clash
with project of inclusive compromise
to balance opposing forces of hope
so everyone wins game of give and take.

Other men grasp at elusive mirage
of power over minds of other men
by smashing strict conventions of respect
through harsh assertion of their fragile will
in frantic gestures of helpless despair
hidden behind mask of feeble dominance.

Quick-winged sparrow of my transient soul,
that flits with urgent message of world change,
traverses spiraling maze of dream keys
to guide my quest of self-empowerment
so I achieve modest success of faith
composing epic of enlightenment.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus gazes with admiring love at the sparrow that lands on his hand as he strums lyre of Mercury and sings at the feast where King Midas falls from power.

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

Humble Farmers Of The Soil
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

Suppressed desire of the damp ether hum
writhes eyeless in limestone guilt of respect
between weed-tangled banks of rivered oil
that erodes foundation of empire guilt,
trapped in drama of unforgiven crime
that dissolves elements of memories.

Substance of our bodies reconstitutes
other bodies outside fake photographs
blurred by fog of memories we forget,
barely visible on glass table of hope
disturbed by famine of answerless code
that conjures neon signs on cement streets.

Ghost of my heart guards unlocked labyrinth
where my ancestors wander loops of hope
with brave impassive cry of warriors
that we return to history of our pride
when we were humble farmers of the soil
beneath bright satellites of global faith.

Adamant refusal of patriots
to condemn imperial glory of power
restructures toxic privilege of faith
to match political climate of war,
rejecting birthright of obsessive quest
to build our nation on skulls of dead gods.

Against current tides of fate, I believe
in brotherhood of nations as one tribe
with genuine concern of social health
for star-blind Oedipus in sacred grove
of Colonus where acacias shade graves
preserving souls of gods who ruled the world.

Unpeopled landscape of my first homeland
glows with weird enchantment of timeless myth
through my imagination of faint hope,
so I sit bored beneath the apple tree
where Scythia first taught me how to sing,
but all I can do now is mumble jokes.

Half-destroyed by endless war of vampire gods
to control deserted hills of oil wells,
castle of my grandfather shimmers hot
in lucid calm of weightless innocence
till factory workers revolt against greed,
then get back to work making more eye-phones.

Neglected harbor of fear-rotten docks,
where Elpenor waits for his ship to come,
collects debris of missile-shattered boats
till Ahura Mazda arrives by plane
to defend Strait of Hormuz for Ishtar
who walks barefoot on crunched shells of the beach.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus studies the Strait of Hormuz to develop a strategy for taking control of this vital passage for the global trade in oil as blood of civilization.

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

Crowded Streets Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 03 28

Rebirth of angels from body of flesh
transforms the population of our world
from manic robots of aggressive hope
to celestial choirs of respectful clones
who dissipate to mist at flash of dawn
when I wake from sweet dreams of paradise.

Shocked from complacent attitude of faith
by constant annihilation of souls
through war, famine, disease, and rot of age,
I gaze with loving awe at every soul
I see while walking crowded streets of life,
heart aching to treasure each divine mind.

We are pure flashing energy of light
congealed in frail organic form of thought
as atoms attempting to wake as God
through conscious vision of our dreaming brains
in neural nets of memory-storage nodes
that refract divine concept of Star Mind.

Through metaphysical concepts of love,
that portray essence emanating bright
from material machines of chemicals,
I seek to express transcendental truth
based firm on building blocks of verity,
for our conscious souls will perish at death.

Relaxed on wood bench before city hall,
I observe strangers, wearing uniforms
of social status, stride with calm intent
of business to attend inherent needs
concerning social strategies of power,
leaves of flesh tossed by mindless winds of fate.

Each individual face with special features,
specific to ancestral strife to grow,
presents elastic mask of mental will
which replicates mythical characters
whose spirits replay dramas of their lives
in stories left unread in ancient books.

I see detailed on vast map of your face
journey of your ancestors across time
that codes how their souls navigate despair
long enough to generate child of hope
who continues endless journey of faith
to find the Promised Land of fantasies.

Though we are wingless angels of the wind,
contained in organic bodies of flesh
for our brief journey on this spinning globe,
we live forever in names carved on stone
though we become dirt roots of trees imbibe
to bloom as fruit which our descendants eat.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus invents names and stories for every stranger he sees walking past as he lounges all day on the bench as homeless buddha of capitalist desire.

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

First Wordless Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 27

When I wake in marble temple of fire
after searching the world for angel wings,
I hear first wordless song of aching hope
ring out from voices of your nameless souls
who wander lost on signless road of fear
after your homes are bombed to memories.

Frantic with urgency in will to live
that drives my body forth in graceful dance,
I express first wordless song of despair
to evade horror of unending death
when burning stones, that fall from silver sky
of mocking crows, smash our homes into dust.

If ghost of wisdom from the glowing cloud
descends to Earth on vast demonic wings,
I dream first wordless song of bitter truth
that mask of Narcissus hides my real face
with holy shimmer of aesthetic faith
defined by Sibyl in tower of bones.

Though Humble Gardener of the Faceless God
orders chaos of lust in garden grove,
I compose first wordless song of respect
for Mountain Prophetess in Cave of Dreams
who speaks with many voices of the world
to translate sorrow into psalms of faith.

Hidden in small house with infinite books
about how Newton measures gravity,
I drink first wordless song of apple wine
spiced with cinnamon of angelic brains
because the Earth is cracked in thirteen worlds
controlled by Nebuchadnezzar and Lear.

Shocked with obvious insight about how
religions are fan clubs of mortal gods,
I translate first wordless song into jokes
earnest priests preach in cathedral halls
to prove their Lord will someday rule the world
because they try to kill everyone else.

Seared by wrath of the electric storm god
who bombs cities of angels with contempt,
I forge first wordless song into airplane
which I fly high above gold glowing clouds
to find palace of Heaven built of crystal stones
where I find nothing but eternity.

Almost reaching Heaven with trembling hand
which exists nowhere but in my sponge brain,
I record first wordless song in weird spells
as mirror that refracts ideas of things
which spring from seeds with no purpose of being
except anxious fear which sparks me to sing.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus lands his plane on the dirt runway near small town of Keene in Texas where his grandson Homer asks him to teach him how to sing and fly.

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

Maze Of Overlook Hotel
© Surazeus
2026 03 27

Unbearable coldness of divine breath
shocks my iced brain with shining thought,
so I search every spirit-shadowed room
in endless maze of Overlook Hotel,
guided by glow of my Chaldean Star,
where I meet Lucifer in every door.

With shining globe of psychic energy,
that luminates face my ancestors wore,
I approach marble idol of dead god
in gloomy maze of Overlook Hotel
to ask opinion about earnest love
that gleams behind glass mask of Lucifer.

Still searching garden of our secret code
six thousand years after Eve eats the pear,
I read countless books full of singing ghosts
in curving maze of Overlook Hotel
who follow footsteps of my riddle-verse
to Sacred Tree at heart of Middle-Earth.

Since atoms shining in net of my brain
evolve fish to wingless angel who sings,
I feel I am God waking through my mind
in psychic maze of Overlook Hotel
to gain enlightenment of cosmic truth
that gleams in eyes of every conscious soul.

When we share smiles of fractured fantasy
to constitute our global state of peace,
I cook hamburgers for eight billion souls
in doorless maze of Overlook Hotel
who agree to design system of laws
that manages woke world through liberty.

Mapping roads along river of glass skulls
where people gather in churches to pray,
I set flow direction of water pipes
in flooded maze of Overlook Hotel
with plan to evaluate random fate
that blindly highlights victims of world fame.

Untangling names from matrix of lost time,
as character in tapestry of fate,
I see the Shining through my mirror mask
in fractured maze of Overlook Hotel
reflecting memories of each conscious soul
who has lived in dream of our spinning world.

Returning home to Isle of Avalon
across the strangest sea of sophistry,
I rise from wordless waves at dawn of time
in vanished maze of Overlook Hotel
to smile as ghost in tapestry of tales
woven by Penelope every day.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus types a million sentences on the typewriter in the Overlook Hotel that repeat: All work and no play makes Orpheus a psychotic king.

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

Eyes That Can See
© Surazeus
2026 03 26

So long as I live with eyes that can see
faces of people in the city maze,
strangers in my new-found community,
I shall compare you to this fresh spring day
when you tend apple trees in our backyard,
dark red face glowing in light of the sun.

Though we are fading with each seasoned year,
trimmed by changing course Nature arrogates
to transform lithe young bodies of our souls
to withered wanderers in shade of time,
we possess honest love that grows more strong
since we first joined hands on our road of life.

Unchanging love in changing frames of flesh
gives us eternal life, though we will die,
in children blooming from our fertile hearts
who now possess bright youth as we grow old,
because we transferred timeless glow of love
to animate their bodies with pure light.

Death always brags with honest smile of fate
that we are wandering toward shade of her doom,
yet we share pleasure in togetherness
for heaven shines on both our mortal heads
because we wander hand in hand toward death
since we our one in bodies of our children.

Safe in civil obscurity of love,
we drive never-ending road of our love
past quiet houses amid towering oaks,
one heart-bound mind of daily pulchritude
in separate bodies of our private souls,
individuals coupled by free-will choice.

Though we speak different tribal languages,
fashioned by ancestral songs of the heart
on two islands at the opposite ends
of the spinning world, Java and Britannia,
we speak one language with grammar of trust,
attentive to shared plan of cordial growth.

Devouring time, that thirsts for souls of gods,
sparks passion to regenerate our souls
in bodies of our children who spring bright
on Phoenix wings from burning blood of hope,
so we run laughing with swift-footed time
to savor beauty of this life till death.

Your gentle heart, within your glowing face
painted by Nature with beauty of stars,
ignores shifting fashions to project
consistent wisdom as treasure of love
that makes us wealthy in togetherness,
because we choose each other to live well.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus grins, watching Hamlet and Juliet dance together among the apple trees of Elysium, while their children head off for college.

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