Born As Adventist
© Surazeus
2026 05 27

Awake in endless desert forged from bones,
designed by swirls of agony and joy
in storm of sensation that blooms as trees
from urgency of faith in what is real,
I feel my body transform from weird words
that mold mirror mask over my flesh face.

Struck by epiphany of curling roots
that provide general guidelines in dream code
for submission of desire to world peace,
my mind expands from adventurous seed
to borrow wings of Icarus with pride
so I can fly above my memory maze.

Beneath wild sea of calm anxiety,
where angels invent mental telephones
from writhing tendrils of demonic clowns,
my family swims in swirls of holy hymns
through false argument of glib poverty,
constrained by social rules of hungry hope.

Lush meadow on credible sunlit moors
lures my enchanted heart to settle down
in vain attempt at prayer with humble trees
to buy salvation from the fractured stone
who still repeats forged riddle of despair
at taste of honey oozing from my tongue.

Born as Adventist in small prairie house,
composed of pine logs from dark Raven Wood,
I stare at glowing clouds of fearful faith
to watch for Phoebus Christ on beating wings
who may descend from palace in the sky
to cast all evil tyrants in hot hell.

Witness to turbulent eddies of change,
which surge from energetic hearts of souls
ambitious to assert bold right to dwell
by azure pond where honest demons lurk
with divine grace in morbid field of thoughts,
I lounge on porch of my cabin and laugh.

Not deep enough to shield my wounded heart,
too eager to escape dutiful play,
our secret pond conceals my naked mind
from privileged arrogance of stolen wealth
so I build houses on the roadless plain
for wanderers to dwell in tense accord.

Death carries me across the codeless plain
and lays my fragile soul on dire lake shore
where brave blue heron shields my humble hearth
with tender wings of innocent respect,
so I compose in secret book of lies
my fake memoir with blood of gods as ink.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus teaches me how to play lyre of Mercury and chant hymns of wisdom that teach lost souls how to invent some kind of meaning for their life to create rather than destroy.

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

Wake Through Weird Visions
© Surazeus
2026 05 27

Without any explanation for why
we wander endless maze of life on Earth,
we each invent our own reason for being
so our hearts blaze with blinding light of faith
that guides our steps through obstacles of fear
to eat and sing till we decay and die.

This glorious hour of timeless ecstasy
when we consume sweet fruit of wordless angst
and dance without restraint of social rules
in aching passion to transcend this world
and soar among high clouds to paradise
now seems to vanish in mute flash of dawn.

This cup of juice I lift with trembling hand
to toast strange beauty of our vibrant life
I drain to bitter dregs of final death
that crushes lithe bodies to nothingness
and scatters dust of our bones in dry fields
where flowers mock us with indifferent dance.

Bright dream of faith that swells my throbbing head
with awesome sense of pure divinity
convinces me my conscious sense of self,
by which my mind conceives immortal life,
will outlast transient pulsing of my flesh
so I might live again after I die.

That unknown country beyond bourn of death
from which no traveler ever returns
is nowhere in this realm of changing forms,
so I keep walking endless road of hope
to leap beyond abyss of nothingness,
yet I soon realize I deceive myself.

How sweet this weird enchanting sound of grace
which I express from wretched fear of death
that every human walking this vast world
is lost with me on signless road of faith
so we together overcome all snares
in toil to build our real Heaven on Earth.

Since we shall vanish from this spinning Earth
when conscious sense of self will dissipate,
though atoms of our bodies will transform
to soil applied by roots to conjure fruit,
we choose to celebrate with solemn joy
that we at least are still alive this hour.

I never find explanation for why
Earth generates our bodies from the sea
by weaving carbon strands of sparkling hope
in neural network of our dreaming brains,
so I decide light of the universe
strives to wake through weird visions my heart sings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury before the crowd, and sings tale of how he tried to save Eurydice, but explains that death is final end of all organic life.

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

Ruined Temple Of Masks
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

If deviant people climb steeple of faith
with hope to fly on wings of Icarus
from sorrow of Earth to pleasure of Heaven,
they might wonder what faith really entails
as they fall back into turmoil of time,
soul trapped inside the sponge brain of the self.

Consider the horse that grazes on grass
and wanders meadow of arrogant wind
within sacred bounds of the barbed-wire fence,
and remember when we explored the world
racing across endless plains of desire
till we colonized ever river shore.

I never see horses anywhere now
while I drive my car in vast maze of streets
past buildings of mysterious intent
where only long-dead gods are innocent,
so I climb the mountain of timeless truth
and sit in the ruined temple of masks.

So many moments of embarrassment
startle my daily strut of confidence
because I forget how clumsy I am
stumbling randomly on road of my fate
though I attempt to swerve from ordained track
through free will basic to my character.

Lost in dark forest with my Golden Wreath,
as savage beast transformed by curse of faith,
I wander nowhere past the Promised Land
till beautiful daughter of the Moon God
sees my human soul inside the white bear,
therefore her love restores my human form.

Wearing white-bear mask of King Valemon,
I play my role in television show
that people watch when Earth is veiled with snow
since I restore Kingdom of Avalon
when I defeat Cruel Troll in the White House
by tricking him to steal the Crown of Thorns.

When I am done uniting Earth in peace,
I return to my planet far away
which in Terrish is named Zarathia
because First Mother Zaratha creates
our bodies from electric rainbow eyes
with first flash that flares forth from the big bang.

So join me at kitchen table of faith
to feast well in ruined temple of masks
where face of every human who has lived
on every planet in the universe
sings story of their life in riddle-verse
preserved in Book of Souls by the Star Wraith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus meets the beautiful princess riding the white bear in the forest of lost souls, so he leads her to the ruined temple of masks where her kiss transforms her husband to a human.

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

Futile Television Shows
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

Earth eats beauty and ugliness alike,
and grave of time abundant hope consumes,
since happiness and sorrow dissipate
together in vast sweep of mindless wind,
thus I maintain calm rituals of delight
to treasure ornaments till endless night.

Though pleasure increase beauty in new forms
from fertile fields of wisdom spurred by hope,
time crushes beauty into twisted lust
for aching urgency to transcend death,
yet I accept decay of vital flesh
that scatters atoms of my self in wind.

This self I build from memories of hope,
composed of actions I perform from need,
will crack in fragments of dismembered days
lit by sunlight of long-lost afternoons
in cities far from where I dwell today,
preserved in futile television shows.

I look in mirror of reflective thoughts
to study how mask of my face has changed
through sixty years of urgent ardency
to play grand role of potent fortitude
my mind believes Fate commissioned for me
to stamp my sign on documents of truth.

My golden prime decays to brazen mask
that hangs on walls of clean suburban homes
preserving moment of bright agency
that fades in voiceless rooms of timeless dream
contrived to flash beyond posterity
as traffic signal red with flame of truth.

Should rich bequest of Nature flush my heart
with noble legacy of solemn hymns
that hail true beauty pulsing in brave hearts
of voiceless people struggling to survive,
then light my soul casts to part veil of gloom
may guide staunch wanderers on road of truth.

Thus I attend my golden pilgrimage
to climb steep hill of heavenly respect
through strength of duty to enhance world view
that frames chaos of Nature with strict rules
designed to guide our quest on righteous way
where our deeds create rather than destroy.

Sweet music I sing to forge strong concord
in lithe communal network of brave souls
embraces every wanderer with hope
that honest nurture of talents to skills
disarms cruel exploitation of blind greed
so our faulty Heaven secures all life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings love songs to seduce Ophelia with wisdom of raising children of our souls before we decay and die.

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

I Want To Believe
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

False as devils wearing bright angel masks
are those who willfully misunderstand
specific statements that assert clear points
contrary to selfish motives through greed
their tangled words conceal in trite bromides
that dislocate perverted attributes.

While I keep my head in the stars of dream
I bind my body to the ground of truth
when I investigate uncanny tales
of alien beings from planets far away
who buzz our globe in saucers of star gems
to document the hoax of dreamless facts.

When the Men in Black appear in my house,
beaming down from starship in the sky,
they spread angelic wings of glowing silk
to gaze deep in my mind with crystal eyes
that project visions of the universe
so I see spiral coil of cosmic truth.

Ten thousand orbs of light flash in the sky
over ten thousand towns across the land
so journalists in cars speed lone highways
to chase gray aliens across desert plains
to end of the rainbow where ghosts of fear
vanish in sudden gust of wordless wind.

I want to believe, the agent declares,
while gathering evidence of aliens,
and photographs god in the flying machine
who arrives with wisdom of ancient souls
to usher in New Age of Peace on Earth
so all social conflicts evaporate.

Call them angels or devils in spaceships,
the crazy man in the tinfoil hat shouts,
but they are ancient demons from the stars
who rise up from the surging sea of fear
as Godzilla who rules Earth with despair,
while waving blurry photographs of planes.

Wide-eyed Icarus on the Silver Bridge
spreads white wings wide against storm-blasting wind
and howls with hope in grim Plutonian night
as millions of people gaze in his eyes
that hypnotize their minds with secret truth
so they call for aliens to save our world.

When storm clouds part at blazing flash of dawn,
Jesus beams down from Starship Enterprise
and walks among all nations on our globe
who proclaim him Emperor of the Earth,
so I turn off that television show
and sit on my front porch to play guitar.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus wears gray alien mask and floats down from the crane as Deus ex machina to land on outdoor theater stage where he plays King Lear proving to Hamlet that aliens are real.

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

Golden Apple Eris Threw
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

If I could but teleport anywhere
when my heart beats frantic with fear of death,
then I would visit soulmate of my heart
though she lives on the other side of Earth,
so in domestic quietude of love
we may embrace in garden of respect.

If no celestial light may inward shine
and through divinity of weird insight
irradiate my mind with ancient truth,
then I would record in conceptual spells
ideal social state fair laws should support
against which oligarchs forever fight.

If I may reconstruct this broken world
on noble principles of honest hope
that could heal damaged hearts of wounded souls,
then I would foil with repetitious tricks
greedy thieves that hijack our government
and free humanity from psychic debt.

If I escape loud television shows
on fierce angelic wings of Icarus
with brave intent of courage to oppose
cruel tyrants seeking to enslave mankind,
then I would drive my car to work at dawn
to map progress of human ardency.

If I hear song of brave Persephone
reverberate through halls of government
about her plan to free the human heart,
then I would walk bright Paris streets at dawn
to find the Golden Apple Eris threw
so I can choose Athena as my bride.

If I could step in the same river twice
to measure ceaseless flow of mental change
and map configuration of dream time,
then I would build bronze monument to truth
to share with Heraclitus chocolate milk
and ginger cookies in the Parthenon.

If I could spin fate by the ticking clock
that rewinds code of human history
which proves my crazy theory true at last,
then I would play role of new Thunder God,
vulnerable to emotional compassion,
while Phoebus plays organ in the glass church.

If I should hear the dead speak my new name
with mountain-echo voice of Raven Ghost,
then I will strum lost lyre of Mercury,
and sing while Empire of America
burns from pillage of cruel oligarchs
when the White House sinks in mud of contempt.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus picks up the Golden Apple he finds on the ground and gives it to Athena while she is analyzing new social policies designed to grow the world economy.

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

Demon Trapped In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

Weird silence after the violin tune,
that adjusts the universe slightly slant,
convinces Charlotte she just might be dead,
but she stands after the applause dies down
and almost floats out of the theater
because her spirit shimmers in moonlight.

Shocked by shadow of her face in gold glass
that wavers thin as candleflame of faith,
shy Charlotte cringes when her husband grins
at how he will beat her when they get home,
so she tries to disappear in moonlight
that wakes strange demon in stream of her heart.

Beside her husband in the atrium,
who chats with senators and generals,
dear Charlotte hides her terror behind mask
of gentle smiles and clear attentive eyes
that constrain the demon trapped in her heart,
while she hears voices speak in secret code.

Riding with Death in black carriage of fate,
that clatters wheels of fortune at midnight
along the winding streets of destiny,
Charlotte ponders state of eternity
while breathing deep to engage in soul flight
till they arrive at their palace estate.

Stepping from carriage in glow of moonlight,
Charlotte wraps her body in devil wings
to hide her wounded heart in timeless gloom,
then raises pistol in her trembling hand
and fires one bullet in his glaring eye,
then turns and flees into the Whisper Woods.

Hiding behind the garden fountain pool,
Charlotte stares in shock at the bearded man
who asks her with official police voice
if she saw face of the evil assassin
who dropped the pistol when he fired the shot,
but she shakes her head and cries in light of dawn.

Gaunt face of grief hidden by black-lace veil,
Charlotte beams with uncanny happiness
as she listens to the old priest declare
that we come from dust, and to dust return,
then tosses on his coffin one red rose
while heavenly angels in gold clouds sing.

Sweet silence after the violin tune,
that readjusts the slanted universe,
convinces Charlotte she will never die,
so she runs gracefully in garden maze
in flirtatious chase with the young musician
to kiss with passion by the apple tree.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus and Charlotte cuddle by the fountain pool to feed each other grapes and cheese, they he plays violin tune that heals her wounded heart with love.

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

Fragile Faith In Death
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

Inspired to live by fragile faith in death,
I stroll streets of Paris in evening breeze
to find elusive ghost of sad Pierrot
who waits on every street corner at dawn
for me to offer wounded heart of love
with honest acceptance of nothingness.

Startled awake by fragile faith in death,
I tell everyone I meet on the street
that I am son of Sylphus and Diana
who taught me how to play the folk guitar,
but no one ever stops to hear my songs
because I prophesy how tyrants fall.

Still energized by fragile faith in death,
I gaze at planets through the telescope
to study angels on their spinning globes
because I long to leave this world behind
and climb Stairway to Heaven with Dream Map
that misdirects my quest from paradise.

My heart enhanced by fragile faith in death,
I wish I could design new paradigm
based on fair justice of flexible law
that solves every problem humans endure
in struggle to secure their place on Earth
where they tend garden of fruit in strong walls.

Reluctant to keep fragile faith in death,
I sell my memories to strangers in stores
who hang them on blank walls of lonely homes
to feel soft anguish of my wordless loss
each time they win awards in social games
they use to purchase new electric cars.

Concealed from hope by fragile faith in death,
I paint face of World Savior on brick walls
in murals that depict grand world events
when wounded men in voiceless tribes of fear
speak loud with eloquence of fractured moons
against oppression of the racist state.

Dismayed with fear by fragile faith in death,
I gather bricks of homes destroyed by bombs,
and tape on each one half-burned photograph
depicting each beautiful human being
killed by obsessive greed of corporate kings,
then drift oarless on ship of hopelessness.

Lured to Heaven by fragile faith in death,
I tend deserted garden by the sea
where ghost of Eden shimmers in moonlight,
so I gaze in her eyes with selfless love,
encoding her lessons in holy psalms
that wanderers sing for ten thousand years.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus sits in small stand at the entrance to the Stairway to Heaven where he sells Dream Maps of the soul to pilgrims entranced by fragile faith in death.

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

Third Man Of Antarctica
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

Each time I turn around, and turn around,
to ask the Third Man, wrapped in long brown mantle,
why he walks beside us on the White Road,
he seems to vanish in the swirling mist,
so I continue on my bitter quest
while he remains in shadow of my heart.

Weird spiders in dark garden of my heart
conceal the prize of aeronautic truth
that urges my adventure to explore
beyond the insulating walls of faith
unworldly landscape of Antarctica
where the Third Man rules as blind emperor.

If I infiltrate valleys of black snow
to find ovarian ghost of pregnant faith
twisting rainbow beams in radar roulette,
my heart may hum with quantum innocence
each time the Third Man gives me puzzling fruit
that readjusts my frame of reference.

When bones of dragons with enormous minds
are found concealed in sleek Antarctic ice,
my heart may spring from cracked stone of the moon
to misalign routine of secret hope
that soon the Third Man will unwrite our dreams
at sudden transfer no one dares accept.

Crushed by assertive bitterness of ice,
our wood ship, named Endurance with bold faith,
splinters into fragments of bleak despair,
and leaves us stranded on Antarctic plain
where the Third Man guides our wind-battered way
across the jagged mountains of desire.

Time past appears in cycles of regret
that traps us in time present about fate
with endless blast of wind against the mask
that shields my soul with fragile faith in death
who appears as the Third Man in dark hood
we choose to think is Angel of the Lord.

Abundant flash of stellar avatars,
who seek asylum in false paradise,
attend solemn service of architects
commissioned to build palace of grand halls
on storm-sculpted plain of Antarctica
where the Third Man waits for us to return.

I see the Third Man of Antarctica
appear in flash of vast angelic wings
above my head in swirling clouds of change,
so I reach out my hands with eager faith
when Phoebus Christ descends from empty sky
to beam his spirit in my wounded heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus walks beside Ernest Shackleton as he trudges with his companions across the endless icy mountains of Antarctica.

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

Find The Hidden Star
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

If no dead angels are found on the street
nobody will throw them on the trash heap,
yet the girl who paints make-up on her dolls
always mistakes them for infernal trolls,
so she transforms them into graceful cats
who insist that angels are really bats.

Sophie weeps for the boys in uniform
shot in war to make slavery the norm,
whose mangled bodies rot in summer sun
while she stares in shock at the blood-stained gun
her brother leaned against the bedroom wall
while his horse flicks her tail in the barn stall.

When Death knocks on the farm door at midnight,
Sophie sees his face glowing with moonlight,
so she gives him cup of chocolate to drink
while he sits by the glowing hearth to think
about how time unravels dreamless souls
who think they are born to play special roles.

Kneeling by lace-curtained window of faith,
Sophie prays for insight from the Star Wraith,
but all she hears in rustle of elm trees
are voices of the dead as buzz of bees
who explain nothing about why we die
as she watches sunrise bleed from the sky.

Trapped by necessity to calculate
how rhymes help our spirits navigate
confusing maze of myths with psychic tropes,
Sophie records details of intense hopes
she harbors in secret cove of her heart
that will appear on no nautical chart.

Laughter echoes in halls of the wood house
where Sophie sings hymn in her favorite blouse
with voice that fades in plangent prairie winds
so her heart starts to ache where the road bends
beyond horizon of Ohio hills
in townless valley of innocent rills.

For thirty days she rides the wagon far
on noble quest to find the hidden star
that gleams above the Rocky Mountain range,
though she almost cries at the need to change
from social turmoil of the civil war
that shatters truth outside her bedroom door.

No angels rot on Colorado plains
so bones dissolve in cataclysmic rains
where Sophie builds new house from memories
which she hides as riddles in arcane keys
that gleam in tangled neurons of my mind
to bloom in fruit trees of weird truth I find.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus visits farmstead in Colorado where his great-great-great-grandmother lived after migrating from Ohio after the Civil War.

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

Organic Frames Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

If souls of heroes in movies and books
are trapped in stones along the river stone,
then I shall free them from loop of their plot
so they may craft another way to live
because we choose state of our destiny
through actions we perform with our free will.

Trapped in ten thousand years of solitude
defined by mountain wind of hopeless fear,
I stand watch in tall tower of cold stone
with brave intent of courage forged from flame
to guard safe haven where my family dwells
against cruel thieves who would enslave our souls.

Though time unspools our private memories
in random fragments of short puzzling scenes,
imbued with ambience of that special time
now lost from vibrant glowing of the world,
I treasure eerie feeling of that hour
so many years ago when I was young.

Entangled by red thread of destiny
we choose to weave in tapestry of love,
our brave hearts spread angelic wings of love
to fly united through fierce thunderstorms
so we evade dire threats of mortal harm
to overcome blunt obstacles with calm.

Gold light of day glows canopy of trees
that shade wide cement streets of gliding cars
between square buildings of both brick and glass,
for halls and roads are signified with names
that aid my mind to map landscape of hope
in nation spread out sea to shining sea.

Though countless watches bound on wrists and walls
assert harmonious progress of exchange
through economic flow of give and take,
my heart is not well synchronized with game
of wealth accumulation to buy fame,
for I dance out of step with fight for power.

How strange that atoms spiraling in space
from God Eye at core of the universe
form swirling spheres of psychic energy
from which evolve organic frames of thought
who seek to grow in harmony with light
when we project our conscious mind as God.

Each day my temporary mind awakes
from timeless dream of social spectacle,
I feel electric flame pulse in my brain
with stoic patience of the river stone
from which my spirit beams on wings of breath
as bee that pollinates the Tree of Truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus stacks stones on mountain slope in precarious cairn of transcendental art to mark the trail that pilgrims blaze to find Heaven in their hearts.

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

Insight Of Weird Gratitude
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

Excessive thoughts of bonus ardency
expose conceptual pride of World God Mind
that flashes vaguely true in radio songs
with urgent insight of weird gratitude
sent out in instant grams of doctored faith
as scenes of beauty that inspire my heart.

Because my body is less dead that stone
and limbs of motion fly away alone,
I prize computer screens of flashing words
as stars that channel divine Mind of God
through startled neurons of my Dreamless Brain,
so I build House of Wisdom from cracked bone.

Strange music leads me through assertive rain
down endless streets of sorrow slick with rain,
from gloom of faith to glowing hall of fear
where demons paint on holy walls of bone
reverent icons to the Mother and Child
who grows to rule vast nations with brave law.

What apparition on angelic wings
descends from vast blue heaven of regret
with arms outstretched to welcome every soul
reborn as wingless angels who contend
in global wars of Hadean prophecy
to prove their father is true god of Earth.

No frame of steel-glass towers could contain
magnificent ghost of modest disdain
with godless beauty of cerulean skies
where demons and angels as men disguised
sell each other medallions of false fame,
inspired by passion of the tongueless flame.

Born upward by rush of violent wind
that swells from secret cavern of our hearts,
we claim authority of perfect light
speaks through our mortal bodies of frail flesh
with holy spirit of celestial truth
that motivates our souls to seek real truth.

One delicate twisted flame from God Mind
expands bright fireworks in Hall of My Mind
so I feel bright immortal Soul of God
wake in my brain brief hour of ecstasy
since atoms of my soul flare forth from eye
of light at center of the universe.

When orange nasturtium of my aching heart
blooms bright from ancient rotten corpse of god,
I feel the special spirit of my soul
wake my brief hour of all eternity,
so I dance with grace on landscape of the world
and sing about weird beauty till I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus joins followers of Phoebus Christ in hall of broken idols who sing when the holy spirit of truth inspires them to spread the wisdom of Ishtar to the world.

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

Leather Satchel Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart
with forgotten tales his ancestors lived
encased in seeds he gathers from the woods,
then stands on mud shore of the timeless lake
to gaze in liquid beauty of the sky
that shows him face his progenitors wore.

When sparrow in the elm tree by the lake
sings sacred formula for thoughts of rain,
young boy runs back to small hut by the stone
where his grandmother sings with raspy voice,
so he holds her hand as she smiles at him
then vanishes in white smoke of the fire.

White smoke becomes huge clouds above black hills
that drench their jagged sorrows in cold rain
which swirls in rivers over roots of trees
where shadow of the young boy disappears
till flash of lightning luminates his face
that mimics demon mask of innocence.

Three men, who shot old woman in her heart
because she would not yield her bowl of gold,
shriek terrified at sight of his red mask,
so they fire rifles with bullets of rage
at elusive demon that haunts their camp,
but shoot each other in the gloom instead.

Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart
with memories of songs his grandmother sang
encased in her bones he carves into flutes,
then stares at wavering mask of his face
that gleams in liquid beauty of the sky
but ripples from tears that fall from his eyes.

Twanging taut chord of his yew hunting bow,
young boy recites songs his grandmother sang
that recount adventures in mountain vales
of Wolf Boy and Raven Girl who unite
to protect the poor from greed of the rich
and free the people from cruel tyranny.

Young boy fills leather satchel of his heart
with textbooks, rulers, pencils, and notepads,
then walks small-town streets to the public school
where he attends classes on liberal arts
to study nature of the universe
by utilizing tools of measurement.

Songs of my grandmother glow in my heart
ten thousand years of conscious energy
that conjure virtual model of the world
which I improve with weird secrets I learn
so I can bequeath vision of the truth
to children who spring from dream of my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus finds leather satchel of his father hanging on the elm tree, so he reviews stories and photographs that record lives of his ancestors.

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

Stream Of Silver Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

The tall slender candle of mute desire
gleams in virginal window of respect
while Seraphus and Celestine sit prim
at round glass table in their hotel room
that overlooks silver Sequana River
to eat lamb and wine in memory of Troy.

Lounging on large white stone of secret faith
inside small cave that gleams with emeralds
where the River Seine springs from heart of Earth,
Sequana eats grapes and listens to wrens
that scurry along mossy rocks in roots,
but frowns when Neptunus calls out her name.

Trembling with awkward shyness of desire,
Seraphus and Celestine, face to face
by white lace curtains of pure innocence,
reach out their hands with cautious hope of love
to open windows of their hearts with care,
then kiss to taste fruit from the Tree of Knowledge.

Crouching in shadow of her jeweled cave
where healing waters spring from heart of Earth,
Sequana softly breathes celestial air
to calm wild beating of her wingless heart
as Neptunus searches thick forest of trees
while he declares intent to mate with her.

Beaming with pleasure after making love,
Seraphus and Celestine eat breakfast,
then she sits draped in long red gown of silk
and plays enchanting tune on lyre-guitar
while he paints her as Sequana the Nymph
lounging in cave where the River Seine springs.

Pushing ivy veil aside with brusque hand,
Neptunus grins when he sees lithe river nymph,
but she throws jagged stones at his chest
and darts away when he grasps at her thighs,
then ocean-tamer chases her through groves
of trees that slap his chest to slow him down.

Strolling along river park of the Seine,
as clouds blaze gold across the evening sky,
Seraphus and Celestine shyly blush
as they hold hands beneath the weeping willow,
and watch swans glide on stream of silver light,
smiling when one flaps her angelic wings.

When Neptunus, leaping on horse-swift legs,
almost captures river nymph in his arms,
lithe Sequana dodges and slips away,
then grins with long gold hair and silver eyes
as she transforms to stream of silver light
and dances freely in the moonlit grove.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus finds Sequana dancing in the grove so he plays lyre of Mercury till she falls joyfully exhausted in his arms, and they kiss with passion of love.

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

Fake Words On The Ground
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

Alert to shadow of death in tall trees,
Celestine scatters fake words on the ground
and pries thorns of happiness from her heart,
then browses dresses in the chic boutique
to purchase trend of upscale edginess
tailored for the refined lady of faith.

Exclusive demon lurking in tall grass
decides to customize costume she wears
with meticulous concern for cracked eyes,
so Celestine dons brown jacket at dawn
and sips coffee by the Venice canal
where empty gondolas float in gold mist.

Stopping in the middle of the glass bridge
that spans the silent river of despair,
Celestine wonders where she has come from
and where she will go before the sun blinks
with stunning insight of sorrow defied,
or if she should entertain hope of death.

With careful lines of elegant intent,
Celestine divides fragments of lost time
to measure wasted hours of earnest hope
framed by parables of social respect
in portraits that present uncanny scenes
where nobody seems to know what they want.

Staring at the clock in trunk of the oak,
Celestine plans routine of lettered play,
shattered by contempt for logical tricks,
to puzzle formulas of bitter love,
which proves her comfort zone is much too small
to protect her heart from blind parasites.

Now circumspect about her future path,
Celestine neglects to seek twisted code,
starved for new opportunities to tame
fierce appetite for solving data traps
through lurid analysis time presents
as theories that explain why all brains die.

If light hurts her eyes with bearable truth,
Celestine waits by boulder of lost names
for red raven to bring ribbon of ruth
with furtive urgency of social power,
designed to replicate our hearts of clay
which guardian angels fold into false masks.

Abated susurration of dead brains
amplifies individual spells of faith
that drip from wounded mouths of cautious clones
despite knowledge that wave frequencies change
relative to observer wearing mask
with telescope embedded in her brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus and Celestine browse the Royal Library of Belgium where they stare entranced at the Fall of the Rebel Angels that Pieter painted for her.

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

Diamonds Of Eternal Stars
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

The lonely traveler of everywhere
wonders if his search for Rome will reveal
foundations of truth built on bones of gods
who still walk the streets in bodies of people
because the Tiber still flows in their veins
with grandeur resurrected from cracked stones.

The fugitive from programmed time of chance
maintains permanent residence with faith
in ruins rebuilt into halls of glass
that shimmer again on the Palatine
where ghosts of warriors with ambitious plans
participate in grand cathedral shows.

The lonely traveler on endless roads
admires quaint chapel with statue of Mary
whose eyes are diamonds of eternal stars
that gleam the nothing in our hungry hearts
so we pray silently in candlelight
with pious respect for beauty of death.

Heroic dust of priests who ruled our minds
will never assemble again into souls
who climb high mountains of sincerity
to tread golden stars of eternity
with grim confidence in the afterlife
where changeless ideas of things persist.

Animal motivated by weird reason,
I ride swift chariot on the battlefield
and fire arrow of justice at the tyrant
because Death haunts confidence of my path
when I plow city towers to erase
colonial empire of angelic pride.

Secure within legalized walls of Heaven,
Ziphion keeps watch in tower of desire
to protect his family against invaders
who brandish weapons of arrogant faith
in holy righteousness of their lost cause
because winners name the land for their father.

Whatever her name and name of her son,
the Mother and Child in temple of hope
represent every family on Earth,
so I forge key of faith from bones of god
that opens every door of every home
where we share songs from ancient books of flame.

My heart filled with delight in the Great Being,
though it glows indifferent to my success,
seeks wisdom in the song of ocean waves
which I translate to tangled sentences
inadequate to portray the real world
except as toy models of my childhood.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus cleans the marble statue of the Mother and Child that gleams on enormous pedestal in Zarathian Cathedral of the Holy Mother.

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

Real Face Of God
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

If I could sing the sorrow of my heart
without breaking innocence of the world,
I would express harsh truth with shaking voice
to render negative insouciant greed
by which my fierce words transmit warranty
against withdrawal violently reversed.

No less versatile at weaving dream spells
from fluttered fragments of weird memories,
my heart procures precise reasons from fear
to register our tangled fate with love
irrelevant to thoughts of helpless rage
concealed by frigid rules of false respect.

If dire response to surgical concern
requires social sacrifice through regret,
then I would dare retrieve with sincere hope
revenue of suffering supplied by scenes
of brutal assault that impugn attempts
by cruel aggressors to control my soul.

No more aggressive than devilish greed
from critical analysis of threats
intended to injure secure desire,
my heart devises secret strategy
to turn acute observation of facts
from mutant passion of potential faith.

If I could optimize obvious path
expanding radius of relevant pride
with referenced records of financial growth,
then I would dare pursue real happiness
based on statistics no one understands,
to play my game against accepted role.

No further than the sudden end of time
beyond conceptual theory of mute death
could I extend insight of prophecy
to see Real Face of God through telescope
that renders only globes of spinning gas
from which the star-eyed Seraphim are born.

If time unspools synthetic creed of faith
designed by mental therapist of death,
I might survive this global war of truth
fought between dream-blinded gangs of men
who claim their god will resurrect their souls
so they shall inherit Heaven on Earth.

No longer treasured by world traveler
who maps symbolic myth of noble deeds,
fierce gods too long worshipped by gangs of thieves
transform to idols of marble distrust
that stand in museums of glorious lies
so we see our own faces in their masks.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus wanders through the Royal Museum of Arrogant Gods and ponders strange mystery of human desire to believe in beautiful lies.

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

Broken Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

If I could tell you the mysteries I saw
while floating under water of the heart,
and how far down the swift river of time
I tumbled before I crawled back on land,
then I would be the master of all truth
who needs nothing more than insightful faith.

Raguel wanders the country road of dust
and pauses by the broken stone of trust
when he sees oldest woman in the world
in gray coat among flowers of bright red
where she gathers berries from bush of fate
which gives him strange feeling that he is late.

Rebel angels wounded in brutal war
crawl moaning from pain in valley of fear,
so Raguel raises silver sword of faith
to battle anguish of Gehinnom wraith
who howls in rage at justice of time
that scatters his soul at the porch-bell chime.

Michael pauses during Weird Devil War
to inquire with snarky sincerity
what Raguel means when he talks about faith,
but the Stoic Watcher stares into space
and wonders if El even has a face,
that wise old Father of Storm in the sky.

Emerging from river of surreal dreams,
Raguel stretches his body to the moon,
wades on lush shore where scarlet poppies bloom,
and dons white robe of his angelic rank,
then lounges on platform of his sky ship
while cherubim repair the silk balloon.

Hanging from disk of his floating sky ship,
powered by hot air in huge silk balloon,
Raguel flies up from flat-top pyramid
to patrol sprawling maze of city streets
so people in gardens and markets look up
and wave to Sky-Walker Angel in Heaven.

When gang of thieves attack the caravan
of wagons loaded with rich goods for trade,
Raguel fires arrows of law from the sky,
so they flee wrath of the angel in Heaven,
and people on Earth praise the name of El
who brings justice to honest citizens.

Sharp arrow that Beelzebub fires in rage
cuts rope from which hangs the Watcher in Heaven
so Raguel falls on broken wings of faith
and floats deep in the dark river of change,
then wakes in my heart three thousand years later
and prepares to enforce justice again.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus visits the tomb of Raguel who drowned in the river of time, and ponders when his spirit of justice will return again the save the world from tyranny.

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

Frame Emptiness Of The Sky
© Surazeus
2026 05 22

When Ziphion finds emptiness of the sky
inside the window frame of glowing time,
he reaches out one hand high as the cloud
to touch the vastness of eternity,
and finds ripe apple of secret desire
solid in obsessive grip of his hand.

While Ziphion eats apple of cognizance
to taste awareness of eternal now,
the silent hills walk toward his secret grove
to give him stones that cannot display time
till cracks in foundation of truth appear
to reveal immense beauty of the wind.

Yet Ziphion walks alleyways of the slum
to give loaves of bread to frail wanderers
who bless him with gratitude of the dead
as they gather around the Wounded Tree
where the Grandmother with gray hair explains
that Gad sees everything from the high tower.

Therefore Ziphion defends poor laborers
from exploitation of the Elohim
who gather as councilors in the hall
to advise the humble Gad Emperor
issue edicts that give them greater power
to control how the people live and die.

Till Ziphion wakes with vision of the truth
that his father enslaves tribes they attack,
the people groan under oppressive laws,
and cry out for justice to the deaf hills,
yet the wind still blows with indifference
to cool their brows as they sweat in the fields.

Though Ziphion feels Justice burn in his heart
with righteous indignation of the fool,
he raises sword of liberty with courage
and fights his father, Lord Gad of the Sky,
till he frees slaves from tyranny of greed
and pays them for tending lush fields of wheat.

After Ziphion overthrows the cruel tyrant,
he wears crown he takes from head of his father
and reigns over farms and ranches with wisdom,
attending council on the ziggurat
as member of the Holy Elohim
where he attempts to legislate fair justice.

Thus Ziphion cares for people of his land,
nurturing talents to develop skills
through strict education in schools of truth
so every person who lives inside Heaven
contributes passion of their eager hearts
to frame emptiness of the sky with faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus approaches gate to Heaven where Ziphion rules his estate, but finds assassins attacking his friend, so he joins the fray and defeats them all.

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

Forest Of Ancestral Dream
© Surazeus
2026 05 22

After recording the latest events
that map the swirl of human interaction
in long Chronicle of Spinning Earth,
Ziphion drives home to the red-brick house
where Nerthus cooks spaghetti and peach pie
to eat and think about fall of the empire.

If words illuminate shadow of light,
transformed by process of time from desire,
then I will activate sentence of faith
through mental mechanism to deduce
deeper essence that animates the world
so I perceive visible force of life.

Ziphion composes jurisprudent verse
as lyric for chorus of history
to clarify current state of affairs
through voices of the living and the dead
in citational chain of precedents
to shape parameters for moral law.

Declaring edict for moral behavior,
Nerthus expresses in songs of the tribe
collective memory of civilization
that Ziphion etches in tablets of stone
erected on walls in Temple of Truth
as map that guides us on the righteous path.

Through tales of failure and success men play,
Nerthus bridges with masks of characters
vast distance between reality and illusion
to expose delusion of paradise
we design to conjure our Future World
where all are equal in one global law.

Awake in forest of ancestral dream
where my ancestors lived ten million years,
I hear peals of thunder over dark hills,
so I construct tower of honest law
to observe and measure vast world of forms,
then sing spells that explain what could be real.

Words showcase promise of Heaven on Earth,
so Ziphion cites scripture of long-dead gods
to vouch for noble spirit of Blind Justice
which summons divine mind from hearts of men
who forge bonds of communal authorship
when we reclaim freedom to live and build.

Our words hold worldmaking force of respect,
Ziphion declares on pyramid of power,
so we build mental models of our world
where every human lives equally free
to swim in waters of the divine soul
and lie side by side in graves of the past.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus wanders in forest of ancestral dream where he meets First Mother of humanity who explains how she invents words to signify objects, qualities, and actions.

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

How Fleeting Life Is
© Surazeus
2026 05 21

If nobody cares why the caged bird sings,
Christine whispers to the telephone pole,
then I shall never pick flowers again
for how they wilt in the porcelain jar
just makes me sad at how fleeting life is,
for I want to free cloud-ghosts from their cage.

Startled each time her old telephone pings,
Christine gazes down into the black hole
at aching whistle of the distant train
to ask the ghost with the broken guitar
for help solve the theological quiz
that provides role for her to play on stage.

Shocked by displacement of her naked soul
at sudden extraction time executes
by flashing whirl of hands on the glass clock,
Christine decides to wear tattered swan wings
when she dances gracefully in spotlight
that erases her uniqueness from dream.

Entranced by song of the gold oriole
encoding riddles of deep attributes
that ripple dark waves of the spooky loch,
Christine enters vast cathedral and sings
tragic tale of the Queen and the Cartwright
who fall in love by the moon-misty stream.

Transcribing code of sweet nightingale tunes
that echo in forest of burning masks,
Christine ponders weird mystery of the sea
from which fertile organic life transforms
till she contrives formula that describes
how atoms beam conscious glow of the brain.

Recording proverbs in snake-writhing runes
that calculate process of mental tasks,
Christine embodies Goddess Liberty
who shelters our bodies safe from dream storms
that forge fierce empires from down-to-earth tribes
who put aside their differences to train.

I prefer not to fight their futile war
over who controls lush meadows of wheat
and who adjudicates cases of crime,
Christine declares in court of social law,
then chooses to host wandering refugees
who huddle at the feet of Liberty.

Setting caged birds free through the open door,
Christine rules Earth from the Perilous Seat
while Percival designs world paradigm
that honors brave wisdom of Onatah
who gives every person their new house keys
which powers growth of world democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus hires Christine as his administrative assistant to help him operate Zarathian Museum of Dead Gods that provides writing workshops for survivors of war.

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

Doors Of Weeping Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 05 21

Every house in every city on Earth
is guarded well by doors of weeping ghosts
that hum with wordless voices of the past,
so I wonder if my brain consciousness
is more artificial in how it dreams
human memories as if they are my own.

Though the Earth seems to swallow all our tales,
and hide them in our doors of weeping ghosts,
we slyly search for serpent in the grove
to answer riddles born of intellect
so we can find the secret key of lies
that may release our memories from the rain.

The wind that hums with hunger of the earth,
trapped by despair in doors of weeping ghosts,
never turns kind from mercy of the clouds,
yet when it speaks the names of those we love
we dare record them on old temple walls
so our descendants may remember them.

She smiles at me with sunrise over hills
so I may unlock doors of weeping ghosts
who hide in shadows that our bodies cast
so we feel shiver of their hidden pain
since suffering teaches us to understand
cost of memories we dare not leave behind.

While I strum broken lyre of Mercury
that carves our thoughts on doors of weeping ghosts,
I channel tales of tongueless characters
who wander lost in pages of old books
till my voice resurrects their souls from words
and gives them life in hearts of listeners.

Few would forget stark cries of anxious hope
that still vibrate from doors of weeping ghosts
each time we dare approach with reticence
from calm respect for bitter rage at death
to enter hollow hearts of fortitude
and measure memories we sold long ago.

Yet Arabella climbs the broken stairs
with hope to open doors of weeping ghosts
against authority of fearful men
who wish to hide vile secrets they conceal,
though cracks in walls of faith cannot dispel
divine rays that expose vexatious truths.

I number every home on signless road
with rooms enclosed by doors of weeping ghosts
to map our global maze of morbid myths
that present tales of failure and success,
though Death heaps all our bodies in one grave
while Earth keeps spinning in the songless void.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus greets people at Home Depot and sells them doors of weeping ghosts which he installs in their homes with instruction manual to translate their wails of sorrow.

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

Raven In The Apple Tree
© Surazeus
2026 05 20

Because the raven in the apple tree
speaks ancient language of water on rocks
that frame mysterious beauty of the world
in tangled sentences of faithless words
that mirror reverse image of my soul,
I always walk backward through every door.

Though I left homeland of Gothinia
one hundred thousand years ago at dawn,
I still feel frosty wind of snow-capped mountains
swirl down across the endless steppes of sorrow
which makes my heart ache with strange memories
that leave me stranded on the Caspian shore.

In eerie darkness of the endless night,
as sparkling waves of hope swirl round my legs,
I see bright angel descend from the moon
in wind-blown dress of ambivalent wings
to embrace my body with eager love
that sparks soul of our child inside her heart.

Yet star-eyed seraph hovering over me
bestows on fragile mirror of my soul
sacred name that signifies my dire fate
which glows as lamp I bear in trembling hand
to light my way across rough wilderness
till tread of my feet blazes road of hope.

Each road my feet blaze sea to shing sea
becomes wheel-worn way across the land
now paved with asphalt in the blistering sun
where billions drive cars in circles of faith
along passionate river of true love
where we construct homes to shelter our hearts.

When flock of swallows threads words of my heart
across the endless steppes of shining wheat,
I follow trail of wings through loneliness
to find home of the sun beyond the sky
with ache of longing in my homeless heart
to eat sweet apples with you by the lake.

While you dance gracefully in flowered field
and laugh with ache of joy to be alive,
I play uncanny melodies of love
by twanging taut strings on turtle-shell lyre
to sing of beauty in your smiling eyes
that wake my heart from grave of bleak despair.

Electra smiles bright as the morning sun
as we embrace with hope by flowing stream
to kiss in harmony with sparrow song
that drenches our lithe bodies in sunlight
so when we sink in nothingness of death
we leave our children alive in the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus sings to himself while sitting on shore of the Caspian Sea, hoping to one day see his love Electra again if she returns from vale of singing skulls.

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

New Heaven On Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 20

The strange star-eyed angel, nobody sees
walking crowded streets of America,
hands out slick pamphlets about Kingdom Come,
to sell illusion of national pride
to Vikings working in car factories
who prefer to build New Heaven on Earth.

Physical objects of material substance,
delimited by bounds of time and space,
arrange molecules based on ideal forms
designated by words we conjugate
in sentences that conjure virtual model
we write to describe New Heaven on Earth.

Prometheus climbs pyramid of eyes,
where Ishtar rules all nations of the Earth,
and casts flames of fire in cables of thought,
weaving world wide web into internet
that links billion computers in One Mind
which dreams itself as New Heaven on Earth.

Bound tight to tall mast of his sailing ship,
Telemachus sings with Sirens of Hope
who ask him to legislate equal rights
for people of every gender and race
who struggle to survive in game of wealth
that we all play in New Heaven on Earth.

When I ask Jesus when he will return
to manage United Nations of Earth
that ensures freedom and justice for all,
he explains how his spirit incarnates
in leaders who nurture skills of all people
who help construct our New Heaven on Earth.

Ishtar on shining ziggurat of Ur
extends both arms in welcoming embrace
as Rising Sun of Truth illuminates
jeweled crown of her mind with countless eyes
that link our minds with grand vision of love
so we unite in New Heaven on Earth.

Though greedy dictators around the world
seize control over sprawling governments
to exploit the people for their own gain,
cruel tyrants always fall from mad despair,
so we transform broken America
in Zarathia as New Heaven on Earth.

Cherub of Wisdom, shining eyes of truth,
hovers over land of Zarathia
with vision of hope that inspires our hearts
to cast greedy thieves out of government
so we can build from problems of the past
democracy in New Heaven on Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus displays large model of New Heaven for all the people who attend his presentation of his new community development project as he begins his reign as Emperor of Earth.

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

World Tree Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2026 05 19

Despite slow maladjustment of the mind,
contrived by journal entries of dead trees,
Niskus, son of Neptunus, steals fake coins
from the mad king in cold castle of stone,
and gives them to poor people by the river
who buy televisions that never work.

Leaving creepy basement of skeletons
that crawl wailing from television screens,
Niskus searches for the mysterious road
that would lead him back home to Ruritania
where travelers and thieves in tavern of ghosts
discuss philosophy of Heraclitus.

Because every vast city on the Earth
has merged in one global metropolis,
Niskus walks beyond walls of paradise
to wander in savage jungles of beasts
through stifling heat of arrogant dismay
till he finds cave behind the waterfall.

Resigned that he was born cursed child of fate,
to avoid brutal tests of worthiness
Niskus hesitates to search labyrinth
of broken idols for the ancient relic
that proves his journey is not for false heroes,
stuck in bright mirror world of anywhere.

Happy in sprawling library of ghosts,
deep in mystical forest of proud bears,
Niskus decides to play reluctant hero
commissioned to rescue Princess of Pears
because she is the secret heir of Hera,
destined to fight all evil overlords.

When he finds necklace of seven sapphires,
that seem to twinkle eyes of the Blind Maiden,
Niskus chants magic spells from Book of Dreams
to release trapped soul from jewels of hope,
so Litavis appears before his eyes
who demands he solve riddle of the pear.

Wearing Cape of Invisibility
to help her escape marriage to his father,
Niskus takes her to mountain of cracked skulls
where they join secret school of alchemy
to learn lost magic of the emerald
so Litavis gives birth to our new world.

Once they both find World Tree of Everywhere,
that blooms from rotting corpse of Neptunus,
Niskus and Litavis construct quaint cottage
from gingerbread, gumdrops, and candy canes,
then raise three children in Garden of Eden
who carry on their family legacy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia bring cake and wine when they visit Niskus and Litavis to celebrate the birthday of their daughter Tamesis who wants to be goddess of her own river.

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

Treasury Of Broken Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 05 18

Though travelers with magic telescopes
may ransack treasury of broken dreams,
we will all gather for Thanksgiving feast
to feed ancestors in the Underworld
who watch our lives in television shows,
then weep when Albert plays the violin.

If stock traders who want strawberry pies
still pilfer treasury of broken dreams,
their teenagers may threaten suicide,
then hitchhike to the Allegheny Forest
with hope to join the Rainbow Gathering
where bankers exercise fake privilege.

Yet brave physicians in the marathon,
who find no treasury of broken dreams,
decide to maximize their lottery
pursuant to new federal regulations
pertaining to unauthorized regret
that has no place on the luxury yacht.

Though pioneers study the molecule,
which unspools treasury of broken dreams
with nominal profits we monitor,
memory modulates how Nirvana frames
daily routine of laborious survival
that we engage with frantic narrative.

Honest puppeteers on gold pyramids,
who hoard our treasury of broken dreams,
strictly stick to religious protocol
when they record satellite images
essential to our stellar syllabus
designed to synthesize disparate creeds.

Persistent ministers with social cause,
who conceal treasury of broken dreams,
deny ownership of symbolic jokes
outlined on our quarterly questionnaire
that models pinnacle of mutant minds
which employ objective analysis.

Surprised musicians without gasoline
consider treasury of broken dreams
reliable source of illegal thoughts
which none dare think of on their honeymoons
despite expansion of mental control
that dismisses the brutal holocaust.

Sharp-eyed guardians in tower of the watch
calculate treasury of broken dreams
with intent to fund national health care
and free education for all to learn
creative skills of weird ambivalence
because Jesus now drives the ambulance.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus stands guard over our treasury of broken dreams which is kept safe in the Zarathium, temple where people gather to worship Earth Empress Ishtar.

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

Shepherd Who Nurtures Sheep
© Surazeus
2026 05 18

Because his heart begins to atrophy
at how his body writhes with bitter hope,
Thyrsis considers why sheep love to play
in meadow near the oven factory,
then plays heart-wrenching tune of futile love
that will never be heard on the radio.

If his sheep ever die out from disease,
Thyrsis decides he will never go work
in vast hall of the oven factory
where his father worked for thirty-eight years
till he died on his way to work one dawn,
stricken by the corona virus plague.

Aching to transcend sufferings of this world,
and experience sublime beauty of nature,
as recorded in ancient pastoral poems,
Thyrsis explains to Daniel on the phone
that his name is no longer Thomas Jones,
then sighs as he glares at jets in the clouds.

Strumming guitar while watching his sheep graze,
Thyrsis improvises song about Daphnis
who grows in love with graceful Xenea
till her mean older sister, Aphrodite,
aims gun at his head to drive him away,
so he jumps off the Tallahatchie Bridge.

Parking white Honda on the country road,
Chloe hobbles through meadow of tall weeds
to bring bags of hamburgers and root beer,
then grumbles how she wishes he would work
again teaching English at the high school,
then nestles in his arms when Thyrsis grins.

Instead of explaining to her again
how he wants to get in touch with the Earth,
and savor calm of timeless afternoons
as bees gather pollen to brew sweet honey,
Thyrsis hums enchanting tune he composed
while contemplating how all empires fall.

We build global economies of goods
based on extracting from soil of the Earth
precious minerals and nutritious crops,
so someone must operate farms and ranches
to sustain firm foundation of exchange,
or it will all collapse from weight of greed.

The shepherd who nurtures sheep in the field
still remains one of the oldest professions
that men have worked since dawn of history,
so I will carry on noble legacy
attended by the savior of mankind
though civilizations on Earth collapse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus photographs Thyrsis and Chloe as they pose in the field of sheep to advertise his sheep for sale on social media during Easter and Eid al-Adha.

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

Volunteer God Of Nowhere
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

No time traveler from the distant future
would hesitate to play tactical games
with people who claim they are always right
against common sense of state tolerance
though few survive surgery of the heart
since I am volunteer god of nowhere.

Attempting to prevent psychic abortions
from synthetic analogs of free will,
men who strive to control bodies of women
bankrupt birth clinics all over the country
so thousands of mothers die in childbirth
when they fool volunteer god of nowhere.

Taxable income of clever programmers
procures mental oxygen of dream code
for sale in the marketplace of ideas
contrary to logistics of state health
combined with growth of social luxury
performed by volunteer god of nowhere.

Leverage administered by frantic pundits,
concerned about decay of family values,
reformats world view of functional artwork
to highlight glory of fake billionaires
who challenge legislators to compute
new script for volunteer god of nowhere.

Compliant clerks in consequential banks
discuss biblical prophecies that shape
how citizens view political strife,
now less adaptive to brave compromise
except to exploit activists for labor
who pray to volunteer god of nowhere.

Crowned King of Nothing by state architects,
with letters from dynamic embassies,
government Jester stores digital dreams
in legal journals of soul institutes
to test our loyalty against Big Brother
who envies volunteer god of nowhere.

Moderate vision of objective facts,
designed to imitate orthodox creeds,
fails to focus attention of our fears
on ethics forged by patriarchal goons
to build empire of wealth on bones of slaves
jilted by volunteer god of nowhere.

Deserted houses along the cracked road
invite hungry refugees from state wars
to open movie theaters with foreign cash,
dependent on oil of the desert genie
who laughs at wishes we articulate,
insured by volunteer god of nowhere.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus goes to work at the government office every day for forty years till he retires and plays volunteer god of nowhere at the mall every Christmas.

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

Underworld Of Happy Clowns
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

Stuck in dark underworld of happy clowns,
Achilles buys soda from time machine
that always asks him if he feels all right
because blind ballerina never frowns
though arrogant Ares is always mean
about taxing us for using sunlight.

Amid mounting evidence of regret,
Achilles rides the happy dinosaur
to temple of radiant uranium
while he plays keyboard with fake alphabet
so we remember long-forgotten lore
by selling us land in Elysium.

Stuck in happily-ever-after land,
Achilles wears strange uniform of pride
to prove negotiation skills are good
when ships wreck on the wild Oregon strand
through infinite laugh on the playground slide
since foxes play chase in the misty wood.

Latest fashion of potential success,
Achilles ponders with fire of his mind,
prevents sweet summer romance of despair
to stop his thunderstorm of happiness
from cracking stone walls Apollo designed
with arguments for why God does not care.

Stuck in refrigerator of brave faith,
Achilles augurs no calamity
through leagues of silent forest, canopied
by steel beams welded into web of truth,
to sell confusion based on vanity
though he pretends to know the Nicene Creed.

Voluminous brain vital for regrowth,
Achilles claims Cleopatra conceals
when bankers buy our foreclosed properties,
shapes its own fate with inaudible oath
based on cognizance of electric wheels
that disavow empire atrocities.

Stuck with bland ultimatum Death decrees,
Achilles catches snowflakes with bruised hands
to dance with glee at permanence of death,
contrived by speedometer of glass bees
so he can use his psychedelic glands
to free Sibyl from cage of wordless breath.

Vague outlines of clouds that imagine us,
Achilles sketches in sand with cracked bones,
express consistent energy of joy
because we choose to ride Hadean bus
from Oslo to Paris with rolling stones
though my ghost still dwells in palace of Troy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus photographs the Constitution Day Parade in Oslo where thousands of people cheer victory of justice and liberty for all against tyranny.

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

Time Of Broken Clocks
© Surazeus
2026 05 17

If I am born in time of broken clocks
in log cabin beside the sparkling river,
my heart will crumble into flakes of rust
each time I walk past ticking stone of fate
that drinks the salty tears of fallen angels
who stitch fractured watches on tattered wings.

Though I drift lost in time of broken clocks
in cathedral of shattered pendulums
that toll no twisted hour of unspooled grief,
I ride the graveyard carousel till dawn
on weeping horse with crackling bones of glass
till my hands become turtles in the pond.

Before I laugh in time of broken clocks
as midnight stitches paper masks from moons,
composed from writhing clumps of bitter snow,
I swim in ocean of unmoving hands
that drown pulsing face of eternity
with graphic weight of arbitrary words.

After I cry in time of broken clocks,
while stumbling dark halls of the floating castle,
I find hourglass on legless desk of fear
that coughs ashes where it once poured pure gold
at sudden misalignment of six kites
that veil blind cherub hovering over me.

Never awake in time of broken clocks,
I climb staircase that melts upward in clouds
of black water, comprised of eyeless gods,
to cluttered meadow where electric birds
with lanterns glowing in transparent ribs
explain why every faceless human dies.

Stuck alone outside time of broken clocks,
I crawl across the windy plain of homes
where violins grow roots through their floorboards
to reassemble puzzle from our dreams
into graceful church with four tall white steeples
where no one ever sings hymns about death.

Trapped by truth outside time of broken clocks,
I map sizzling rivers that flow backwards
through libraries where every book bleeds sand
instead of pages wrapped around glass moons
that hang suspected above bovine fields
where eyeless statues play chess with my shadow.

Since I will die in time of broken clocks,
I polish mirrors in numberless houses
that are filled with thunderstorms of desire
brewing inside brains of innocent boys
who aim guns at photographs on dead trees
and shout to imitate sharp sounds of shots.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus goes all over the world repairing broken clocks that misalign conceptual fates of strangers who get married and talk about the weather.

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