Merely To Know
© Surazeus
2025 04 06

Because false and true are merely to know
the swooping elegance of wordless flight,
then we could carelessly find the sea glow
extracting wisdom from demonic light
concealed in book of psychic mystery
that pretends to record world history.

Cracked open stone of falling river flash
reveals inviolate truth the Sibyl bears
with tartless mind of phenomenal cash
half-glimpsed by children on unwinding stairs
who measure lightyears beyond death of time
to kiss with pulsing heartbeat of each chime.

Stray thoughts of vastly undeluded hope
contrive how almost pain is obsolete
for shadowed virtue of malice to cope
with nameless clue of misremembered wit
too late for human beings to unevolve
so we pray to blatantly circumvolve.

Staccato speech exact with wandered force
preserves no proverb mending eager love
as patient ambience quick untiming source
expresses how we hide our treasure trove
in hearts of children springing from our brains
who mold dark miracles from sudden rains.

Forever snow of leafless mountain trees
reflects strange timeless gleam of jagged peaks
which never bluster condescending breeze
beautiful with faces that waver creeks
when we step slowly in cold riffle flow
since we contend true and false is to know.

Faithful in frogless ditch of gleaming wait
when woods explode with shriek of endless crows,
we lick honey combs to trick eyes of fate,
if death writes code on quickly melting snows
radiant with math formulas of huge quarks
which statues witness not in lampless parks.

Since face of the moon has shadowless holes
reborn in fireflies swirling on glass lake,
we analyze how everything has souls
which hum soft requiems mordantly fake
while winds of mountain valleys play charades
based on economic theories of gods.

Thus none shall share blind agony of truth
through convolutions hungry brains employ
despite increasing symptoms ruling ruth
pierces honest hearts with grief for lost Troy
because false and true are merely to know
how to perform in the last picture show.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus wanders the Alps with his children who ask him a thousand questions about the nature of reality and the human soul.

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

Golf While America Burns
© Surazeus
2025 04 05

The young woman eager to be a mother
sews dresses for her child soon to be born,
but, while shopping at the grocery store,
she miscarries and collapses in anguish,
so she is arrested and charged with murder,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

The old man and woman in their quaint home
who worked forty years and raised honest children
stop getting social security checks
and are called frauds when they call to complain
so they freeze homeless by the highway bridge,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

The lawyer who handles cases of fraud
protests when his law firm capitulates
so he is framed for securities fraud,
tried, convicted, and imprisoned for years,
then his wife and children drown in a flood,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

The agent who works to protect consumers
from unfair charges by financial banks
is fired and marched out by security,
so he flees to the mountain wilderness
when bankers send assassins to kill him,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

The playwright who applied for a grant
to present plays about difficult lives
of people abused by white privilege
shuts down his show when the grant is withdrawn
and flies to Ireland when his home is doxed,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

The economist who writes articles
discussing complex system of world trade
denounces tariffs that twice caused depression
and will lead to economic collapse,
then cries as the stock market tumbles down,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

The soldier who works with global allies
to support Otania union of nations,
protecting our national security
by blocking cyber attacks on state computers,
declares he will not help invade Greenland,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

Millions of people in thousands of cities
assemble in public squares with calm purpose
to cry out with one voice, hands off our faith,
protesting destruction of institutions
that support the People so we can thrive,
and Midas plays golf while America burns.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus produces documentary showing how Midas plays golf while America burns till the People work together to build Zarathia on the ruins of faith.

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

Attached To The World
© Surazeus
2025 04 05

Attached to the world of star-breathing beings,
I plant the peach pit in soil of my heart
so tree that blossoms from sorrow of my flesh
provides fresh fruit for the People to eat
who dance and sing with spinning of the Earth
till we all dissipate back to star dust.

Attached to the world of water-drunk trees,
I float in sun-glittering river stream
that flows among tall vine-entangled oaks
where ravens explain the meaning of life
till I catch the brown trout with hungry hands
and roast it to eat in cricketing dusk.

Attached to the world of arrogant gods,
I carve their souls on marble monuments
where starving people bow with bowls of food
till we rise up from slaving in their fields
to break the shackles of bitter despair
and follow our savior to paradise.

Attached to the world of exploding flowers,
I unfold wings of my ancestral bodies
till I assimilate their dreams of hope
in virtual model of our perceived world
so I can run with horses on the prairie
when I escape death maze of Babylon.

Attached to the world of curious explorers,
I climb the highest mountain in the world
to find the cloud-hidden stairway to Heaven
but I find no god outside of my brain
so I become clear thunder of the truth
that programs the world wide web of computers.

Attached to the world of Democracy,
I march with millions in ten thousand cities
to declare with holy voice of the People
that we will fight for Liberty and Justice
against the thieves disguised as oligarchs
to make them keep their foul hands off our lives.

Attached to the world of ghost-painted books,
I chronicle fall of America,
destroyed by greedy gangs of control-freaks,
which cultivates birth of Zarathia
that will usher in our new Golden Age
where everyone lives together in peace.

Attached to the world of psychotic kings,
I struggle to rise from grave of my fear
till Muse in glowing robe of honesty
gives me sword of Beowulf to fight
dragon of greed to arrest his destruction
so we gather to sing among fruit trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus measures our attachment to the world of confusing events to analyze sociological process of fighting for freedom against tyranny.

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

Map Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 04 05

The house that became the house of my heart
in the town that is the town of my heart
provides safe haven for my secret dreams
that bloom delicate as exotic flowers
in ontological hothouse of truth
that lures honey bees from forest of gloom.

The signless road that goes through my heart town
will lead me to every town in the world
if I journey far enough beyond home
to find every house where I used to live
has disappeared from map of everywhere
which leaves me stranded in the wilderness.

Thus with the lyre of Mercury in hand
I act as guide for refugees from wars
who flee from houses their ancestors built
when greedy tyrants bomb their paradise,
but they refuse to follow me back home
and scatter far across the crowded land.

Because I make up spirit-cheering songs
while wandering lost in land of everywhere,
I realize each road that leads somewhere else
will take someone back to once was their home
unless they decide to go anywhere
unmapped by rich men who control all land.

The house that was the house of happy lives
weeps for its walls and doors blown out by bombs,
and calls the names of those who lived there once
with claim it is their destined paradise,
and though they stop on some far distant road
they turn away and will return no more.

One hundred thousand years of spinning time
my ancestors walked along flowing streams
from mountain valleys down to ocean shores
to understand the hydrologic cycle
where water circulates the atmosphere
so life may flourish on breast of the Earth.

The Lake of Dreams in valley of bright stars
is destination of my aching heart,
so I compose new map of everywhere
to navigate my course from birth to death
for every conscious soul who ever lives
to dwell in houses we build from our dreams.

With open door of honest insolence
I welcome no one to my secret home
where I protect my family from harm
when gangs of thieves with weapons of desire
rampage across the land of hopeless faith,
yet I will sell you map of everywhere.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus teaches me how to cartograph the landscape of the heart so I can map the history of human life on Earth since we emerged from the Lake of Dreams.

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

Truth-Wounded Heart
© Surazeus
2025 04 04

Ten thousand waves crash against island rocks,
adjusting righteous order of door locks
with broken masks of arrogant disdain
that reflect spirits of humans in rain
who give each other stones with secret names
to understand the horse no devil tames.

Ten thousand winds swirl trees on rugged hills,
expanding consciousness of human wills
with rich experience each ancestor lives,
recorded in our brains, which pain retrieves
to program how we analyze events,
that threaten our lives, with bold confidence.

Yet still rock of salvation bears my soul
with nurturing passion through maternal role
that provides support so I can stay strong
when I get entangled by right and wrong
in staged performance I am forced to play
by earless Fate who mocks me when I pray.

So I map web of roads that bind the Earth
in social communes based on psychic worth
we explicate with volatile contempt
despite our request to remain exempt
from patient attitude of honest Death
who stalks me while I practice with deep breath.

Thus I dispense with meaning spelled by words
in mental tunes charming as songs of birds
to focus your attention on this spell
compiled by serpentine runes in the well
that brims with water of the sacred Earth
through revelation of our second birth.

Awake this sultry Appalachian eve,
I teach my truth-wounded heart how to grieve
when nations collapse into civil war
since some have nothing when others want more
in legal game of theft employed with tricks
since every soul must cross the bloody Styx.

Sometimes I want to pack my memories
and sail back east across the stormy seas
with plan to return to my first homeland
where apple trees bloom I tended by hand,
but land of Scythia is under attack,
so I lament I can never go back.

Thus I remain in land where I was born,
though our great Constitution has been torn,
to build from ruins of America
inclusive state of free Zarathia
where everyone lives together in peace
with the Holy Grail and the Golden Fleece.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus feels ocean wind blow through the apple trees on the hill where his family gathers around the bonfire to drink cider and sing with fireflies.

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

Mindless Winds Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 04 04

While I gaze at the shy flowers of Earth
that bloom in the Georgia spring-evening heat,
I want to cherish beauty of wild Nature
and forget about the greed of mankind,
ignoring how the man who runs the show
is breaking all that we value as good.

Though flowers that bloom from soil of the Earth
may seem to be imperishable things
that mimic stars exploding in the sky,
I feel their fragile passion to survive
hoary-frosted nights of unexpressed anguish
that unwinds sorrow of the spiral whorl.

Ten thousand years of flowers blooming bright
measure rise and fall of empires men rule
so I must cultivate with stoic care
calm patience when our present empire falls,
corrupted by greed of embittered men
who grasp in vain to control rainbow beams.

No loving care can force flowers to bloom
for they spring naturally from soil of death
to uncurl beauty hidden in their seeds
as rich potential inherent within,
so, when illusions of wealth crumble, we
toil together in harsh fields of hope.

We ride our ether-gliding ship of Earth
to sail from Atlantis as towers fall
crashing into swirled chaos of the sea
with helpless faith in mindless winds of hope,
inspired by tale of Aeneas in Rome
to found new nation in the Promised Land.

Though vision of America we built
collapses into anarchy of greed
when bitter oligarchs steal everything,
we build from ruins of bold principles
new nation of Zarathia that bears
treasure of freedom and justice for all.

Through wastes of hungriness and rancid blight
we search for somewhere we can call our home,
but, though we settle on some river shore
for one or two generations of peace,
we always flee, uprooted from our garden
by refugees who drive us from our land.

Despite resolute hearts of hungry faith
that justice will be served with honest law,
because we toil to extract from rich Earth
wealth of success we deserve to accept,
time crushes everything we build to ash,
and throws our holy books into the trash.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus presents new constitution of the Republic of Zarathia where everyone is equal under the law.

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

Soul Of My Ancestor
© Surazeus
2025 04 04

In my heart I feel soul of my ancestor
wise Puritan Poet-Witch Anne Bradstreet
who sailed the ocean blue in Sixteen Thirty
to write magic spells in the misty woods
where ghosts of Massachusetts natives sing
eerie lamentations by moon-white ponds.

While ancestors of mad seer Robert Lowell,
descended from sister of Anne Bradstreet,
stayed within the staid Boston Brahmin world,
where he transformed into wild Caliban,
my ancestors journeyed west to Idaho
two hundred years in wagon trains of hope.

Escaping gloomy streets of Boston maze,
shrouded by grim Puritan moral code,
my ancestors walked in the wilderness
on signless roads toward hills of singing ghosts
to find the Promised Land of Paradise
that flows with milk and honey of hard work.

Hawk-eyed pioneers, in tanned buckskin pants,
warm coonskin caps, and beaded leather boots,
clutched flintlock rifles and sharp tomahawks
as they lead wagon trains through rolling hills
far west across wind-swept prairies of prayers
along the Oregon Trail of new faith.

Three hundred years later in Palouse hills
I walk in small university town
at the far western edge of ancient Rome,
and see Solaria Sun Spider Goddess
transform to Tenth Muse of America
Anne Bradstreet floating on Takoma peak.

Extending hand of wisdom to my heart,
Anne, dressed as Athena, gives me her quill
of raven feather with blank book of dreams,
and names me Surazeus Astarius
to wake spirit of Ishtar in my heart
so I write spells that chronicle the times.

As member of her ancient tribe of poets,
with Sir Philip Sydney, Edwin Robinson,
Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Robert Lowell,
I wake with spirit of our Mother Witch
to strum the heart-strung lyre of Mercury
and sing epic poem of philosophers.

While Anne Bradstreet stands in long Sibyl robe,
bearing Torch of Freedom and Book of Truth,
I journey east from Oregon to find
origin of my spirit in dark woods
lit by pure vision of her loving eyes
to chronicle rise of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus teaches Surazeus how to play the lyre of Mercury and sing epic verse to chronicle the history of humanity.

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

Church Of Money
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

Near the end of the way things always were,
were gather our memories in suitcases
and walk together on the signless road,
then stop beside the river of the dead
and build new homes from fantasy of Heaven
without addresses on the map of fate.

Loud voices among oaks, eager to prove
goodness motivates people to live well
in psychic harmony with birds and bees,
alert the wary to the trickster scam
thieves disguised as ministers of the church
employ to trap our bodies on their farms.

Enormous towers of glass windows sulk
unamused at how the stock market falls
in downward spiral of psychotic faith
in glorious rightness of capital gains
since everything we make with hungry hands
increases in value till the end of time.

Entranced on carousel of profit gained
with each aggressive spin around desire,
we blow the horn for our superior way
that cracks the fragile walls of paradise
which crumble into coins no one will trade
while gambling for the future of mankind.

Yet lonely trees on roadless hills of faith
contrive to uncurl roots of righteousness
that crack foundations of corporate clans
so Church of Money collapses at dawn
that leaves the faithful members of the cult
struggling to survive in menial jobs.

Heads sheltered from the blazing sun of greed,
migrants who journeyed across the waste land
pick fruits and vegetables in fields of song
till secret agents based in Church of Money
deport farm workers to gang-controlled towns
that leaves grocery-store shelves empty of food.

Blueprints drawn by the social architect
hang ignored on public library walls
now locked against young scholars eager to learn
engineering design of piston engines
which power our food-production machine
till greed destroys its global operation.

When new world order of the shining star
replaces institutions of the past,
every person in the chess game of power
decides to swerve from divine-sanctioned fate
and film in ruins of America
weird reality show called Church of Money.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus directs the reality television show Church of Money where the Traitor and the Thief destroy government agencies that support the People.

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

Ballet Of Falling Bombs
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

While star-eyed Clementine, spirit afloat
in surging tides of liquidated dreams,
sings heart-enchanting elegies of faith
for limbless children dancing in fire smoke,
Death films her graceful dance on stage of wealth
as she performs ballet of falling bombs.

Blind Nonsense Devil lurking in her heart
smirks at bromides of the priest in glass church
dressed in suit of dollar bills stained with blood
of children running without arms or legs
in ruins of their shopping malls and schools
to attend grand ballet of falling bombs.

Orpheus wearing white surgical scrubs
walks past the thousand open doors of pain
where amputee children with cheerful smiles
dance on phantom limbs with elegant grace
to catch sweet tears that fountain from our eyes
which they drink in ballet of falling bombs.

Bearing pans of gold from the River Styx,
that flows by the electric throne of God,
Clementine plays banjo in gingham dress
while wearing ruby size-nine dancing shoes
on stage in the Grand Riviera Hotel
where she performs ballet of falling bombs.

Indecipherable rings of the God Tree,
that record long history of human life,
vibrate with music of concentric spheres
when planets of the multiverse align
through gears of fate that crown Clementine queen
with message from ballet of falling bombs.

Eternal night of faith inside her heart
motivates her passion to create good
by helping lonely people lost in space
to find their home in the sheltering sky
so she can live happily in her body
while dancing with ballet of falling bombs.

We spin with anguish of excessive life
together on the carousel of hope
by joining hands around the teeming globe
to sing we are the world of naked souls
still radiant with compassion for the truth
demolished by ballet of falling bombs.

Our souls once linked by memory of laughter
stumble dazed through smoke of dismissive faith
to plant our body-trees in the waste land
of arrogant confidence in our Rightness
that props our empire on gold skeletons
who dance wild in ballet of falling bombs.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus leads the souls of amputee children home to paradise where they play games of chase in fields of Elysium.

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

Giants Of Jotunland
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

Aggressive valence of unspoken words,
which measures combining capacity
of strict conceptual meanings we create,
expands our world view through experience
to incorporate universal truths
within prehensive scope of fierce belief.

Cracked ice of ideology impounds
stray melodies of weird chaotic faith
insistent on procedural sovereignty
through passionate embrace of excess hope
to prove this land is mine since dawn of time
so you must pay to sell your apples here.

Monarch of Greenland, crowned by circumstance
of duty to guard heaven from jewel thieves,
I stand on jagged mountain of my heart
with staunch support of contract-binding trees
to block invasion of digging machines
bent on destruction of our wilderness.

Ice-shielded mountains of vast Jotunheim
protect rich mines of minerals in my heart
from greedy claws of marketeering bankers
who slaver over wealth in secret caves
with hands that grasp resources from the Earth
and give nothing back to valleys of lakes.

When Manhattan dwarves in gray business suits
stalk gushing rivers that sparkle with gems,
the giant Jotun goddess Gertha calls
dragons of protection with gold-fire wings
to guard enclosed paradise of Greenland
from cruel invasive species with steel hands.

Annexed to empire of greedy King Midas,
our misty island, rich with liberty
of free spirits who guard our corn-gold land
to support proud rebels with noble cause
protecting soul of Onatah with love,
gains freedom through calm justice of respect.

Inspired by solemn hymns of liberty,
freedom-loving giants of Jotunland
join hands with people of Gothinia
in Scythia, Gerthmania, and Scotia,
to forge union as bold children of Odin,
oath-bound to protect our homeland from tyrants.

Since empires rise and fall in tides of time,
and tyrants who proclaim themselves grand kings
always fall from weakness of blinding greed,
We the People in every fertile land
establish United Nations of Earth
to ensure freedom and justice for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus joins Gertha to protect Jotunland on Greenland from marketeering thieves of Manhattan.

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

Punk-Girl Fashion
© Surazeus
2025 04 03

Tooting pipes in the deserted train station,
Pan prances down pink fractured marble stairs
in cluttered ruins of the Playboy mansion
to proclaim with joy how much he admires
her post-apocalyptic punk-girl fashion
when Minerva twirls among broken chairs.

Throwing wads of paper bills stamped by wisdom,
that flutter in lobby of the Swiss Bank,
Pan juggles skulls of nameless gods at random,
then hurls them as grenades at money tank
to organize opposing gangs in tandem
for revolution challenging their rank.

While star-eyed Minerva on the broken terrace
scatters cryptocoins forged from hopeless dreams,
she clandestinely eyes the phantom menace
that lurks by mineral-rich Greenland streams,
then twirls Wand of Zambor she swiped from Venus
to overthrow tyrannical regimes.

Spurred by divine call of the pristine desert
that pulses blood of passion in her veins,
Minerva plays violin at the concert,
spiraled from volatile stock-market gains,
till Pan considers program to invert
right and wrong on scales of social domains.

When King Midas takes America hostage
with threats to make us slave for lower wage,
frantic factories begin spewing garbage
that traps Hidden Dragon in iron cage
who breaks free with our votes so they can manage
world revolution of the Golden Age.

Riding his chrome horse with the psychic trigger,
Pan defeats Midas in museum hall
through clever diversion of gifted vigor
calculated by writing on the wall
to cripple the tyrant with legal rigor
that we solve with the apple-inspired fall.

Vowing with solemn words to not abandon
citizens of Earth who seek equal rights
in social system of Earth based on Heaven,
Minerva trains men to be honest knights
who respect cedar waxwing in the linden
where great heroes have been reduced to sprites.

To build peace on Earth with United Nations,
in system where no tyrant could prevail,
Pan supports Minerva with grand provisions
when she bites the apple while stuck in jail
which sparks world war of social revolutions
till she reigns in Hell with the Holy Grail.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus joins Pan and Minerva in the ruins of the Playboy Mansion to plot the revolution against greedy oligarchs.

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

In The Great Unknown
© Surazeus
2025 04 02

When the Phoenix of my heart spreads fire wings
and rises from nest of the Burning Bush,
I follow her flight to the Great Unknown
on signless road that leads us anywhere
till I stand weeping by the Lake of Dreams
where First Mother first taught me how to sing.

My mother keeps the secrets of my heart
that I have never revealed to myself
which I now scatter as seeds on the ground
so all my memories bloom in daffodils
that children pick where they play in the field
where skulls of gods have crumbled into dirt.

These fragments of forgotten history,
which I find strewn on hard cathedral floor
when its rose window was shattered by bombs,
contain dramatic scenes of psychic fate
that I assemble in collage of tropes
to create new world view from random hopes.

Concentric circles of haphazard thoughts
that drift in sparkling mist of wordless dread
radiate from center of the spinning Earth
so I become my most essential self
while standing in blue twilight by the lake
to feel subtle glint of stars pierce my heart.

Down lengthening path of my endless life
toward far horizon of my shadowed mind
I always walk with steady pace of fear
to gather courage in jewels of light
in which I see first flash from dawn of time
that luminates strange landscape of my heart.

Inviolate flower of the Burning Bush
transforms despair of hot volcano gas
to glorious garden of profuse respect
since I am surrogate mind for the Earth
inspired to breathe brave spirit of the sky
that cultivates nascent power of faith.

Emerging from grim shadow of soft grass,
she grabs my hand with tremulous concern
and asks if I know where the Phoenix flies,
so I give her the last pear of my heart,
then write weird verse in book of fairy tales
while the nightingale sings to us of death.

Living together in the Great Unknown
where the Phoenix nests in the Burning Bush,
we cultivate pure energy of love
that swells in juicy pears on twisted limbs,
then cuddle in the boat of our romance
and watch the sun rise from shimmer of the lake.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus draws map that shows the way to the Great Unknown and sells copies in the ruins of the cathedral that was bombed in World War Three.

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

In The Great Unknown
© Surazeus
2025 04 02

When the Phoenix of my heart spreads fire wings
and rises from nest of the Burning Bush,
I follow her flight to the Great Unknown
on signless road that leads us anywhere
till I stand weeping by the Lake of Dreams
where First Mother first taught me how to sing.

My mother keeps the secrets of my heart
that I have never revealed to myself
which I now scatter as seeds on the ground
so all my memories bloom in daffodils
that children pick where they play in the field
where skulls of gods have crumbled into dirt.

These fragments of forgotten history,
which I find strewn on hard cathedral floor
when its rose window was shattered by bombs,
contain dramatic scenes of psychic fate
that I assemble in collage of tropes
to create new world view from random hopes.

Concentric circles of haphazard thoughts
that drift in sparkling mist of wordless dread
radiate from center of the spinning Earth
so I become my most essential self
while standing in blue twilight by the lake
to feel subtle glint of stars pierce my heart.

Down lengthening path of my endless life
toward far horizon of my shadowed mind
I always walk with steady pace of fear
to gather courage in jewels of light
in which I see first flash from dawn of time
that luminates strange landscape of my heart.

Inviolate flower of the Burning Bush
transforms despair of hot volcano gas
to glorious garden of profuse respect
since I am surrogate mind for the Earth
inspired to breathe brave spirit of the sky
that cultivates nascent power of faith.

Emerging from grim shadow of soft grass,
she grabs my hand with tremulous concern
and asks if I know where the Phoenix flies,
so I give her the last pear of my heart,
then write weird verse in book of fairy tales
while the nightingale sings to us of death.

Living together in the Great Unknown
where the Phoenix nests in the Burning Bush,
we cultivate pure energy of love
that swells in juicy pears on twisted limbs,
then cuddle in the boat of our romance
and watch the sun rise from shimmer of the lake.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus draws map that shows the way to the Great Unknown and sells copies in the ruins of the cathedral that was bombed in World War Three.

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

King Of Worthless Things
© Surazeus
2025 04 02

Because he plays the king of worthless things,
robins leave torn pages from holy books
on the metal table in the back yard
where the mango queen takes selfies with Death
to show her followers around the world
that she values every person on Earth.

Because the Earth is spinning in his head,
he gives the dead voices they never had
when they were struggling each day to survive
by assembling puzzles of castle towers
on the asphalt parking lot of the mall
where angels keep falling on the tar roof.

Because the sky disrespects him with jokes
about his strength and courage to fight back,
he races with the football down the field
to imitate the hunter with the pig
that he steals from the village by the lake,
and wins through goalposts of his village gate.

Because he loves the woman on the horse,
he gathers apples in his two-wheeled cart
and pushes it along the sparkling stream
to sell them at the crowded market place
for copper coins that he can use to buy
new brass cauldron for his wife to cook stew.

Because he seeks to know the origin
of commerce basic to civilized life,
he digs chunks of minerals from the hill cave
and sells them to the man on the brick hill
who laughs that his dirt holds nothing worthwhile,
so he lies hungry on the temple steps.

Because he wants to buy the fast sports car,
he sits all day in the small cubicle
and enters numbers on the spreadsheet file
to calculate progress from the stone age
that man has gained the past five thousand years,
then drinks beer in the bar to watch football.

Because he uses dangerous formulas
based on mathematics of divine fate
to build the piston engine of the greed,
he wears the polished mask of Daedalus
on Halloween to trick Fortune and Death
in bargain with the Devil to be rich.

Because he steals the crown of thorns from Christ
in vain attempt to avoid judgment day,
he tries to deny in the court of fate
that he is still the king of worthless things
though he keeps trying to sell fake angel wings
as Orpheus takes him to his cage in Hell.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus takes the chainsaw away from the king of worthless things, then confiscates all the money he stole and gives it back to the people of the land.

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

Deep State Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

If I start with the bang of perfect thought
to leap across the multiverse of souls
in sly attempt of honest quietude
to evade trick of charged vicissitude,
I might lose sight of soul-expanding goals
for which my pioneer ancestors fought.

Emerging hopeful from deep state of faith
with holy book I dredge from swamp of lies,
I preach salvation of aggressive force
achieved by mining star-wealth from the source
in heart of Greenland where government spies
search for treasure cave of the diamond wraith.

To me alone on high Takoma peak
the diamond wraith as Goddess Liberty
appears with hundred million eyes of truth
to crown me her faithful messiah sleuth
commissioned to support democracy
which I adjust with constructive critique.

This mask of free will, which I wear with pride,
reflects bright spirit of your secret heart,
designed to magnify your special soul
so every person creates their own role
to play on global stage of the dream chart
based on the template our beliefs provide.

Attuned to zeitgeist of our national mind
that radiates psychic energy of hope,
we stir from lethargy of social trust
with passionate anguish to adjust
course of our progress that we steer to cope
with stoic courage of hearts realigned.

Against destructive greed of tyranny
we band in noble squad of common folk
with fierce intent of honest patriots
to defend moral values of robots
who transcend prejudice to become woke
as heroes in our questing company.

We will defeat dictatorship of greed
through inclusion of everyone who sings
special tunes for cultural diversity
which nurtures progress built on equity
together binding power of our wings
through witness on the hill of Gilead.

When mad Baal oppresses our free state,
Elijah arrives in chariot of fire
to chase his thieves from temple of our faith
so we reclaim our nation from vile wrath
to welcome every soul in our world choir
who gather with hope outside the locked gate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus organizes asylum-seeking refugees at the gates of paradise who flee persecution in distant lands into the Justice Squad to fight tyranny.

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

Horse Of Texas Wind
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

When wild wind of Texas becomes the horse
who brings me apple of eternity,
I learn to flow with her elegant grace
as she revives pure spirit of the plains
where hearts of our ancestors enrich soil
from which our children spring to dance and sing.

Bones of our ancestors molded from milk
form rugged landscape of our aching hearts
where ghosts of dinosaurs with rainbow feathers
still wander streets of quiet country towns
to guide me as I ride sturdy-framed bike
past fragile homes where faceless people pray.

Contemplating mystery of the Glow Cloud,
I lean against trunk of the apple tree
to wonder why I feel so far from home
since I sit still at center of my heart
while my mind crosses timeless distances
to shore of the lake where my soul was born.

I live in time-wound spinning of the Earth,
connected to each age of human life
by reading stories written long ago
that weave tapestry of dramatic scenes
where I play role of bold protagonist
in grand narrative of spiritual growth.

With confident voice of the mockingbird,
that dwells in heaven of the pecan tree,
I sing about the nameless souls of Earth
who flicker by on timeless stage of hope
as transient flames of conscious innocence
so I will remember them till I die.

Before I cry beneath the broken branch,
lone wanderer detached on signless road
far from ancestral homeland of Star Lake,
the horse of Texas wind teaches me how
to repair the butterfly wings of faith
so I can dance with the graceful tornado.

Only the raven remembers the poem
I scribble on the frosted window pane
to translate light of the arrogant moon
with subtle nuance of challenging tricks
in words that humans invent in despair
to communicate thoughts they fear to speak.

Riding my bike in the small country town,
I transform into horse of Texas wind
so I can sing about beauty of love
with abstract metaphor of fallen angels
who disappear in flash of light on water
when I realize I can fly with word wings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus paints cubist portrait of the poet as a young man in the small country town in Texas where his horse is the wind personified.

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

You Are The Ocean
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

"You are the ocean in this drop of water,"
Rumi exclaims with radiant voice of joy,
then twirls around on broad shore of the ocean
with arms spread out in anguish of desire
to extend the sacred wings of Icarus
so he can fly above this world of sorrow.

Dark waves of solemn search for information
scatter detritus of dreams on pale sand
that gleam in silent horror of the dawn
while I assemble fragments of lost visions
to puzzle new world view of global truth
which accounts for every person alive.

One hundred million poems on cherry leaves
swirl around my head on the ocean beach,
so I catch one with cobra-quick attention
to feel dream of one human on this Earth
glow brightly in my eyes with starry faith
that we are raindrop tears of one star wraith.

So many nameless people on this globe
pulse passionately with anguish of hope
to live free from oppression of blind greed,
trapped in selfish dramas of other people
as each soul gropes blindly in maze of fear
to find safe haven in words of our voices.

I hear soft whisper of their secret voices
emanate from thousands of road-bound cities
that teem with vibrant energy of hope
at dining room tables, riding arenas,
library cubicles, and coffee shops,
heart-enchanting choir of angelic souls.

World spider of our hearts weaves tapestry
of stories from experiences we hide
to build vast edifice of psychic tropes
for literary scaffold which supports
courageous ascension to stage of life
where we join choir of strange humanity.

Though I almost hesitate to express
narrative demand of theology
to edit tales of suffering we endure,
I boldly adjudicate suppressed cases
describing crimes of facetious contempt
people commit against people each day.

Drowning in vast virtual reality
of wordless ocean waves formed from our tears,
we photograph each other with weird poems
to prove we are the ocean in the drop
of water that reflects our emptiness
in which we fall forever without words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus translates millions of poems from every language on Earth into voice of the ocean so everyone can perceive the same vision.

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

Social Temple Of Trust
© Surazeus
2025 04 01

When sudden violent April storms uproot
ancient trees of tradition, we assemble
with reverent awe round old Tree of Knowledge,
then deconstruct strange ideology
to comprehend how our observant minds
assemble concepts in puzzle of truth.

Our minds will synchretize random events
to analyze strict flow of consequence
by noting temporal cause of each effect
to formulate doctrines of social force
based on ontology of human nature
we design to explain history of life.

Old institutions that preserve our state
through eighty years of social transformation
collapse from aggressive attacks of greed
enforced by the treasonous gang of thieves
that twists laws so they can enslave the people
to work for increase of their bank accounts.

Once they reduce protective services,
devised to secure our daily routine
with productive methods for sustenance,
they plan to suppress rebellious intent
and channel energy of private dreams
by building empire on our subdued backs.

With fierce resolution of abused souls,
tricked by thieves who steal invaluable faith
in secure operations of our state,
we take up arms against this sea of troubles
and fight to stem destructive tides of hate
hurled from their bitterness against our hope.

Abandoned in the wilderness of fear
by social contract of effective trust
between the people and our government,
we declare new state of justice for all
based on equal rights we share with each soul
through solidarity of honest hearts.

Though we are battered by wild winds of change
that upends our productive way of life,
we straighten focus of attentive care
to support each other in fight for rights
assumed inalienable for every soul
as we restore social temple of trust.

Planting in soil of our national heart
the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,
we revive Garden of Eden in Hell
with treasure of wisdom in apple seeds
to build from ruins of America
new free republic of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/04/…

Orpheus presents architectural plans for the Social Temple of Trust to the people of America who proclaim their new republic of Zarathia.

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

Fragments Of Frail Faith
© Surazeus
2025 03 31

When the storm of electric innocence
blows over our home in dense Raven Wood
I hear laughter of Ungod in blue sky
howl with cruel mockery at human pride,
so I glare mute at Jupiter or Zeus,
and grin that my fathers gave storms weird names.

I peer in shadows of gold afternoon
to see the faceless ghosts of souls long dead
that glow with wisdom of experience,
so I try to decode their wordless pain
to understand grim sorrow of their loss
which people still suffer in every age.

Broken tree limbs of twisted memories
crash into the yards of hope-haunted homes
that chill our hearts with specter of decay
as despair coagulates in crippled form
that crawls across debris of our world view,
tangled in rotten beauty of our faith.

Emerging from shattered shelter of trust,
we gather fractured fragments of frail faith
decontextualized from established framework
as long-accepted information memes
disconnected from firm matrix of truth
that exposes its artificial structure.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus cleans debris of fallen tree branches from the yard after the severe thunderstorm blew suddenly over town.

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

Dolphin Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 03 31

Between Arion and Jonah I would be
the prophet whose enchanting song of truth
inspires wave-leaping spirits of the sea
to bear me safely to the shore with ruth
because the light of greatness does not fade
though our bodies dissolve into the shade.

When I am cast on brutal shore of fate,
where nightingales have far too long been mute,
old Delphic spirit begging at the gate
still sings heart-wrenching ballads less than cute,
reviving my Muse from grave of my heart
so I sing new tales not on her old chart.

The nightingale, once singing in the night,
regales war refugees on signless roads,
while the mockingbird, disdaining clear light,
teaches all who cannot sing, birds and toads,
how to imitate their own secret voice
so they feel they are free to make the choice.

If I extract wild spirit from my head,
I could fly high on quick angelic wings
to purview our world with eye of calm dread
employed by the free bird who always sings
visions of truth that reveal the real world
through ontology of the cosmic herald.

Though all-silencing Death attempts to quell
cry of the heart for justice, strict yet fair,
adjudicating crimes punished by Hell,
we will rise bold to sing courageous prayer
for every soul alive on this great land
to live through freedom of the Giving Hand.

Whether I am swallowed by the white whale,
and then commissioned by voice of the sky
to proclaim retribution of the Scale,
or borne by the dolphin as Music spy,
I shall in either case record the truth
with honest spirit of messiah sleuth.

Perched on Arionian dolphin of my heart,
I strum the lyre of Mercury with faith
that, if I follow guidance of her chart,
Athena will help me transform the wraith
of social anguish from demon to god
as loyal member of her justice squad.

Though I now float lost on wild ocean tide,
which fierce Poseidon hurls at shore of hope,
the star-eyed Muse, always my loving guide,
sends dolphin of my heart to help me cope,
so with bold courage of her humble sage
I sing for justice on the global stage.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus welcomes Arion to the Temple of the Muse where they plot revolution against the tyranny of Midas and Pluto.

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

House Of Every Ghost
© Surazeus
2025 03 30

When swirling snowflakes freeze into the house
where every human in the world has lived,
I approach wavering illusion of hope
to observe drama of their lives play out
in ghostly shadows of wordless desire,
but cannot open the doors of their graves.

Easy laughter rattles windows of time
with unearned urgency of unkempt class
that scatters puzzle pieces on wood floors
to clutter stage of graceful tragedy
since cracks that let the light of hope get in
cannot conceal meaninglessness of life.

Writing names of ghosts on new-blooming leaves,
I whisper secret cipher that conceals
stories of their lives in weird archetypes
so Death can never find them in the room
where they arrange photos of memories
in graphic novels that sprout raven wings.

Though I walk the signless road of everywhere
ten thousand years from sea to shining sea,
I never see another ghost like me
with eyes that depict islands in the sea
where every ancestor who wove my genes
walks forever on beach of singing waves.

I ponder how with branches of fruit trees
I might encrypt conceptual memories
in cosmic archetypes of normal things
through sacred letters of the alphabet
that writhe across snow with serpentine grace
reserved for scientific formulas.

Footprints of ghosts in ever-falling snow
lead me to giant hall of steel and glass,
far grander than Valhalla of my heart,
where twenty thousand hungry troubadours
sell each other books of their prophecies
that hint at sorrow of domestic scenes.

Assembled in hall of fairy-tale books
that record enchanting tales of romance,
ghosts of prophets, singers, and troubadours
tag themselves with badge of diversity
based on inclusion that binds random souls
through staged dramas of social equity.

True history that records human events
transforms into mythical fairy tales
etched in blue ice on windows of the house
where ghosts of all the souls who ever live
gather to read each other poetry
that swirl as snowflakes through eternity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus walks around the house of every ghost to find the door that opens secret of the universe.

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

Surrender To Absurdity
© Surazeus
2025 03 30

While driving my car on the Nowhere Road,
I feel dull ache of ennui in my heart,
and then I know with ironic detachment
I should have made peace with absurdity
of human existence on this vast world
before I began my trip to Wonderland.

Parking my old car in the empty lot,
I wander on shore of the frozen lake
to contemplate fragile impermanence
which characterizes beauty of Nature,
till feeling of annoyance numbs my heart,
so I grin with satisfaction at Death.

Yet yellow butterfly with fragile wings
flutters with delicate calm of respect
among white petals on the long black bough,
which makes me think about how energy
springs to life again after hiemal death,
blooming with beauty of peaceful hope.

I savor oppressive cold of gray skies
on fields frozen hard in bitter despair
so long I come to find in misery
grim comfort at harsh ugliness of death
till I see beauty in rancid decay
and treasure horror of the lifeless tree.

Alone in stillness of the leafless woods
where grayness saturates the mindless soil,
I feel the sudden flash of evening light
when the sun advancing across stern hills
pierces my eyes with sheen of desire
as trees explode in quiet poof of green.

The golden path of silence glows awake
in winding casualness of sly amusement
among the mulberry bushes of fate,
so I surrender to absurdity
that beauty gleams within the rugged world
with urgent innocence of honest fear.

My hungry eyes consume beauty of Earth
with aching ennui that something more
beyond blank nothingness of death may lure
my heart to believe our souls might live on,
but sweet beauty of this horrible lie
would trap me in despair at suffering.

My conscious sense of self is radiant glow
conjured by chemical functions of hope
from flashing neurons of my dreaming brain,
so I savor ennui of this vibrant hour
because I know my animating soul
will vanish from this strange world when I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus wanders alone among the crowds of families enjoying the rides in the evening light of the amusement park called Wonderland.

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

Sadness Is The Last Pear
© Surazeus
2025 03 30

Because I break into blossom each time
I step out of my body without my mind,
I breathe the happiness of lonely wind,
embarrassed when my brain begins to chime
with passion of ambiguous respect
for how our vehement bodies connect.

Though sadness is the last pear on the tree
where horses eat grass that grows from my grave,
I carve my happiness in the dark cave
where bats are the demons who can fly free
to dry meadow where Gordius ties the knot
since angels crown him King of Camelot.

If anyone thinks art can cure disease
they have not felt the piercing angst of faith
branded in our hearts by eyes of the wraith,
nor shivered when the chilly forest breeze
blows tattered fog among laurels at dawn
when the exiled king has to play the pawn.

To learn survival in the wilderness,
after great civilizations collapse
at shocking strike of the apocalypse,
I seek to overcome safe happiness
with boisterous song of bitter irony
based on my latest soul epiphany.

Warm sunlight threads words in frame of my soul
as I imagine how to save the world
if I agree to play the cosmic herald,
but meditate without reaching for my goal
through unpredictable flight of the heart
down secret trails not mapped on any chart.

Untriggered anger of the wordless play
inspires my long-reluctant heart to try
for random chance at well-earned victory
sailing swiftly across the wind-flashed bay
against blank facades of ambivalence
which cannot guarantee calm nonchalance.

Attention to strict rules of dialogue
maintains clear focus on bold self-defense
against attack by minions of pretense
at fateful commission to catalog
destructive actions of traitors and thieves
because my mother is the one who grieves.

Annihilated light of unseen truth
adjusts trajectory of our national curve
where good leader we choose is tasked to serve
needs of the people by messiah sleuth
who washes clean our nation of despair
because his hate teaches us how to care.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus helps build new nation of Zarathia on the ruins of America after destructive rampage by the traitor against our sacred institutions of trust.

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

Stolen Mask Of Jupiter
© Surazeus
2025 03 29

Untethered twirl of emotional glide
accelerates my soul beyond fake bounds
of social convention that holds me down,
because I spring high from book where I hide
secret fears with glass skeletons in mounds
on which the lost worship the haughty clown.

Unchained ocean waves of obvious truths
we dare not speak as taboo of the heart
wipe vast metropolis of gleaming towers
off face of the Earth with soul-cleansing baths
since commercial empire is based on cart
from which the lonely girl sells pretty flowers.

Untricked by preacher of the fallen god
to believe that each person is unique,
we search for ancient sword Excalibur
as magic weapon buried in the sod
so we can fight the conman and his clique
who wears the stolen mask of Jupiter.

Uncivilized by tyranny of cash
that drives fierce engine of global commerce,
we fight new civil war of thought control
to wear crown of thorns retrieved from the trash
based on description of the universe
designed by savior hung on the phone pole.

Uncaged by law of Goddess Liberty
with commission to bear the Torch of Truth,
Minerva runs barefoot in the waste land
to escape agents of security
while pregnant with our new messiah sleuth
destined to rule Earth with his red right hand.

Unpuzzled petroglyph on Stone of Scone
depicts First Mother of the Human Race
when she emerges from the Lake of Dreams
and plays haunting tunes on flute of bird bone
then wears golden mask over pock-marked face
when she performs in Theater of Seems.

Uncrowned as honest Emperor of Earth,
I ride White Horse of Justice down the street
through parade to celebrate victory,
then analyze what everything is worth
which I list on the clay-tablet spreadsheet
as world-traveling man of mystery.

Unlocking stolen mask of Jupiter,
I climb huge pyramid of the God-Eye
so I can understand the human heart
which follows path devised by Lucifer
because we choose our fate by asking why
we must blindly conform to our star chart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus wears white gloves as he carefully places and adjusts the Stolen Mask of Jupiter in the display case in the Zarathian Museum of World History.

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

Both Man And Monster
© Surazeus
2025 03 29

If I misunderstand how the red snow falls
the gold-eyed cat who lounges on my porch
could explain secret of romantic faith
in failure of books to describe the truth
about the nature of ancestral dreams
encoded in tribal myths I invent.

The frog that climbs up window of my heart
tries to hide eerie glow of the weird moon,
but I see its shadows in every room,
even during the day when angry birds
declare their sovereignty in tangled trees
with beautiful songs that make my heart ache.

Before sunset I wander into town
and sit in the back of the smoky bar
to eat fish and chips and stare at the lake
while people stand before the microphone
and read their secret-coded poetry
to supportive cheers of their fellow poets.

Crouching on moon-gold beach of the large lake,
I write lines of verse in the gleaming sand
about the United States of Ionia
through which cabal of poets in black robes
rule the world with slick advertising slogans,
till the turtle nibbles at my right hand.

The bittersweet sorrow of our strange world
cries out in mindless song of windy rain
that cannot be translated into words
so I become the silence of my voice
that folds my fears into pages of books
which transform into spirit-haunted trees.

I dismiss with tragic wave of my hand
every opinion that clutters my mind
in vain attempt to sweep them all away
and clear blinding illusions of despair,
but spiderweb of truth ensnares my hand
with sticky nonchalance of sly disgust.

I refuse to be absolute for death
except as fateful end that traps us all,
for I resist the nothingness of fate
with cautious assertion of faint desire
to keep on living without trying hard,
savoring sensations of pleasurable pain.

Both Beowulf and Grendel are described
by the Unknown Poet with raven quill
with similar terms as both man and monster,
the same as Gilgamesh and Enkidu,
demonic spirit in civilized man,
twins contesting to understand red snow.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus visits grave of his mother by the lake of silver fish.

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

Next World War
© Surazeus
2025 03 28

We may survive the next world war, or not,
with cheerful laughter of the Argonaut
who cancels quest to steal the Golden Fleece
in vain attempt to establish world peace
by claiming every land on Earth is his
because he always wins the puzzling quiz.

He wants to build new home in vale of tears
to manage school of crazy puppeteers
by teaching them to scam the populace
with threat from rolling stone of Sisyphus,
but he gets lost in forest of the clown
where Gretel marries him with mindcuff crown.

Still staring in the mirror of his soul
for twenty years without his secret goal,
he wonders who defines the right from wrong
besides the Valkyrie with tragic song
who outshines everyone on the world stage
though she got trapped by fame in her gold cage.

Elected captain to steer Ship of State,
after Midas wrecks it with bitter hate,
the Argonaut who hides his secret name
writes new constitution for the world game
so everyone who plays life by the rules
can create beauty with conceptual tools.

Since we hope to survive the next world war
with shadow of our faith in global lore,
though traitorous thieves destroy our world view,
we work together when the ingenue
performs her role as savior of the world
as prophesied by the mad cosmic herald.

As incarnation of brave Liberty,
who wields Book and Lamp of democracy,
Minerva rides the white horse of our hope
with grand ontology beyond our scope
to build from ruins of America
nation of justice called Zarathia.

Displaced from homes we lived in many years,
and fired unfairly from fruitful careers,
we follow Moses through the wilderness
across the rusty bridge of aimlessness
to surround castle where the tyrant hides
with treasures he stole from our psychic guides.

Though Midas steals everything we hold dear,
attempting to divide us with fake fear,
we smash his idol with its feet of clay
when Sisyphus arrives with spells to pray,
so we will survive world war of his greed
and regrow Tree of Life with honest seed.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus salvages the ancient Argo, restoring it with a whole new set of planks, and displays it in the Zarathian Museum of Natural History.

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

Life As Hungry Savages
© Surazeus
2025 03 28

Dozing on the back porch in the warm sun,
I contemplate red history of the gun
that toppled empires of the sword and horse
and fueled mankind on faster-engined course,
so now we race to control every isle
while attending state feasts with graceful style.

The fallen airplane floats on ocean waves
just offshore from the secret cliffside caves
where our ancestors first drew images
to transcend life as hungry savages,
so Icarus spreads his wings without faith
and soars among clouds with the mindless wraith.

His mother calls him from the tower porch,
then wanders in the night with flaming torch
to find where he has fallen from the sky
so she can ask the bitter devil why
he dares rebel against the tyrant king
who shoots any angel who tries to sing.

Kneeling in dust before the pyramid
where Jupiter keeps stolen treasure hid,
Lucifer packs powder in metal pipe
then aims rifle to kill God Archetype
who decrees he owns both body and soul
of every human he assigns state role.

Roused from my slumber in the warm noon sun,
I grumble at slaughter caused by the gun
the past five hundred years of holy wars
that gangs of men fight to control food stores
as we transform castles into glass banks
and horses mutate into brutal tanks.

Glancing upward at glowing clouds of fate,
I search blank space for ministers of hate
who rampage now through halls of government
to pilfer treasures of entitlement
that shatters sense of safety we all share
in system we had built that shows we care.

Dismissing tragic events of this age,
caused by the greedy vampire on world stage,
King Midas shouts that he will rule the world
while citizens pray for the cosmic herald
to solve our crisis with respectful law
enforced by wisdom of brave Onatah.

Illusion of power enforced by guns
dissolves at radiance of our freedom songs
so we rise up from lethargy of fear
and march against the thieving puppeteer
to free America from tyranny
and build stronger global democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus joins Icarus and Lucifer in their march for democracy to oppose the dictator and the vampire who are stealing our souls.

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

Way Of Flowing Streams
© Surazeus
2025 03 28

If the moon could speak, she would tell me why
sad people are never allowed to cry
while they hang upside down in the Joy Tree
and sing anthem about how to live free
through clarion call of the mountain wind
with broken hearts only beauty can mend.

If the noble stag of the forest grove
escapes the hunter for the treasure trove,
my heart leaps laughing with joyful respect,
foolhardy guest devils fail to detect,
so I ask the moon why humans must die
who tries to explain the afterlife lie.

Since I can never know your secret heart,
though I trace your fortune on the star chart,
you remain completely unknowable
therefore I choose to find you lovable
each day we wake together in our space,
still in love with your mysterious face.

If fear constrains me with paralysis
of desperate hope forged from analysis,
I transfer anguish to the puppet show
that I perform in soft blue evening glow
till soldiers shoot us for protesting hate,
defined by commands of aggressive fate.

When people who can hear vibes of Earth Soul
invent loud silence that no bell can toll,
we gather to protest cruel tyranny
till we are inspired by epiphany
that songs of faith can cripple feeble power
and free Liberty from the Ivory Tower.

With pulsing material of frantic light,
contrived by flow of time untangled right,
my heart paints portrait of the soul I love
who wears pretty mask of the willing slave,
yet we give each other freedom to play,
choosing in the end to unite and stay.

More than halfway to the end of my tale,
I leave church where everything is for sale
and wander in ephemeral glow of faith
to find pure emanation of my wraith
that guides me toward the vale where I will sleep,
so I ask the Earth my frail bones to keep.

Whereas our hearts are equally intense
with loyal passion of our future tense,
we share one winding road of earnest hope
to help each other thrive well as we cope,
so we generate children of our dreams
who help us map the way of flowing streams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus and Ophelia celebrate her birthday with their children Ostara and Orion by eating cake and dancing in the backyard.

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

Secret Of Star Flowers
© Surazeus
2025 03 27

Totally lost in madness of his dreams,
Samuel strums rusty-stringed guitar and sings
in harmony with buzz of the radio
till his brain sprouts four plastic raven wings
when five men wearing masks in the black car
handcuff his thin hands and take him away.

Locked with Pandora in the golden cage,
Samuel stands on his hands for twenty hours
while she explains the secret of star flowers
that beam the animating soul of love
which fills his body with conceptual juice
since dictators never honor the truce.

Entranced by golden snake eyes of the girl,
Samuel gives Pandora his finger bones
so she can weave from threads of history
life-tale of Lucifer in tapestry
that hangs in castle hall of honesty
where Beowulf reads his new poetry.

Once Samuel crawls out of his turtle shell,
Pandora, twirling around their glass cage,
shows him how to become invisible
to people staring at them in the zoo,
so he breathes deep and spits words on the wall
that transform into scarlet butterflies.

Molding thick mud of his worm-consumed brain
into small model of the Trojan Horse,
Samuel gives ten thousand oranges of fate
to Pandora with smooth bow of respect,
so she makes orange juice people buy online
so she can buy fake wings of Icarus.

Holding up sign painted with blood of ghosts,
Samuel declares for dead angels to hear,
"Respect existence of every live soul
or expect resistance of the mad fools
who demand freedom and justice for all,"
but people driving cars in rain honk horns.

Hugging the mad fool to her loving breast,
Pandora chants disapparation spell
which teleports them far around the Earth
from detention cell in Louisiana
to ancient ruins of the Parthenon
where they kiss till the Earth becomes more real.

Taking selfies on their broken eye-phones
among time-weathered pillars of their hearts,
Samuel and Pandora, smiling with joy,
announce their marriage on social media
which garners thousands of congratulations,
then they grow old and die in their zoo cage.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus watches Samuel and Pandora dancing together in their detention cell while hundreds of other inmates hum while pretending to be musical instruments.

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

Sapphire Of World Peace
© Surazeus
2025 03 27

Luminous phantom of the great egret
spreads her delicate wings in doting breeze
and glides grandly over wind-rippled lake
that glitters blue as sapphire of world peace
with secret message from her aching heart
that Nature still blooms after we are gone.

Drinking root beer at the old picnic bench,
Sophia watches clouds gleam over houses
where people are living safe in their faith.
"I cannot feel bombs rattle family homes
in that distant land far across the sea
where my ancestors lived centuries ago."

Tossing the fantasy novel she wrote
into the sapphire-blue lake of world peace,
Sophia declares with sarcastic voice,
"The political game in this great land
has gotten so absurd that comedy
has been neutered by their incompetence."

Covering her face with thin paint-smeared hands,
Sophia cries with broken-hearted angst
as she thinks about how her mother died
because her social security funds
were blocked from transfer to her bank accounts,
so she died when the bank foreclosed her house.

Walking past the shuttered car factory,
Sophia climbs stairs to her studio
where she stares at the half-finished portrait
depicting homeless people in torn tents
who cook canned soup under the highway bridge
where an Amazon delivery truck gleams.

Dipping stiff-haired brush in glob of red paint,
Sophia paints barely-seen smudge of blood
on hands of the banker in clean blue suit
who blithely drives his new gold-painted car
past encampment where seven people live
whose homes he foreclosed over the past year.