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.

Peering close at figure of the old woman,
Sophia paints the yellow flowered dress
her mother loved to wear attending church,
who now pushes shopping cart of her things,
including books of family photographs
of her ancestors the past hundred years.

"Our spirits become part of this alien land
when we bury our parents in its soil,
and our words become the wind in its trees."
Streaking white flash of light, Sophia paints
luminous phantom of the great egret
gliding grandly over the homeless camp.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus photographs homeless people at the camp under the highway bridge, and listens to their stories about how government services they relied on were cut.

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

Unhappy In Weird Heaven
© Surazeus
2025 03 26

Ordained intensity of our fierce life
provides conceptual frame for ardent door
for which my tongue designs the singing leaf
that flashes old memories in wordless blur,
engrossed in program that reverses time
with casual grief that nurtures my new dream.

Awake with curious faith in haunted hills
with tattered scrolls, long hid in sacred sands,
I play my game out of sync with church bells
from static message that fractures quaint minds
too eager for embroidered book of tales
that mocks kind people who live without goals.

Stuck in portrait that depicts the last star
which gleams on faces of warriors in gloom,
I change my image at alarm of war
to hide behind mask of the loyal team
and translate strange cries of electric birds
that gather in oaks at howl of mad bards.

On flat-top pyramid as watchful guard,
armed with taut bow of arrogant desire,
I achieve creative project of God,
who embodies the monster we most fear,
by analyzing mental state of Man
who incarnates psychic light of the sun.

Unhappy in weird Heaven we create,
I assemble puzzle of my God Face,
that pulses calmly with eclectic light
which luminates false rooms of my old house,
from soul of each ancestor in my genes
whose voice whispers in marrow of my bones.

Performing my new role as Sisyphus,
I construct cars in the steel factory
to prove I could be more magnanimous
with urgent spirit of democracy
because this world is older than our souls
that shimmer whitely in Odinian wells.

I ride long train of circumstance back home
to where I tame the horse in apple grove
with primal language through uncertain hymn
detailing progress of romantic love
by which we generate aggressive souls
who conquer Earth with calculating scales.

Crouched in the silent trance, I watch the moon
transform souls of our war-traumatized saints
from avid angels to idolized stone
who default on their government accounts
in time for tragic marriage of true minds
who share electrons in covalent bonds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus shows his children with Ophelia how to assemble of their God Face from memories of their ancestors programmed in their genes.

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

My Unpossessed Heart
© Surazeus
2025 03 26

Beyond vast picture of painted landscapes
I see uncertain whiteness of pure depths
reflecting ugly beauty of our world
that frames my face as god in glowing clouds,
so I rebuke that darkness in the sea
that molded me from passion to fly free.

The whiteness in gloomy depths of my heart
contains the ancient truth I hope to see,
but one teardrop from Heaven falling far
erases vision of the unseen world,
so I walk backward on the signless road
that everyone wants to name for their god.

The fragmentary whiteness of my world
encloses me in meadow of lush grass,
so I stand breathing spirit of the sky
with motionless mind of the spinning globe
to feel how borders limit our landscapes
to scope of truth in what our eyes perceive.

The people in the village by the sea,
who support my poor family with calm care,
are swept into white depths by sudden storm
that hurls enormous waves of arrogance
with mute indifference of lightning-flashed wind
so not even their secret names remain.

The whiteness of the world offers no gifts
more than I would need to live each day
while tending apple trees by the blind lake
surrounded by strange darkness of the wind
that scatters leaves across my fenceless yard
on which I write these poems I never sing.

Nothing that exists in material form
transcends sweet whiteness of the cheerful dawn
beyond what spirit of the sky provides,
though faceless god whom everyone adores
never replies to my sincerest prayers
except that Nature keeps blooming with life.

Every land where my ancestors have lived
across ten thousand miles of their long road
has never belonged to them, though they lie
buried in its soil so their bones provide
lattice of honesty that forms landscapes
where I travel with my unpossessed heart.

We journey west to find home of the sun
ten thousand years over mountains and seas,
but find the Earth is round and never ends,
so I stop on rugged coast of the world
and give my alien spirit to this land
which sings my ballads long after I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus and Ophelia float together in the river, holding hands as they sing prophecies about the fall of America and the rise of Zarathia.

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

Light-Winged Dryad
© Surazeus
2025 03 26

The light-winged dryad of the trees calls me
to dance with her in blooming hemlock grove,
so into numberless shadows we twirl
on pungent shore of sparkling Lethe stream
to ease sharp ache of sorrow in our hearts
by sharing pleasure of our mortal souls.

With slavish thirst of chemical-bound frames
we drink sweet water from the Hippocrene
that bubbles deep in forest of dead gods
whose voices echo softly in the wind
with lustrous eyes of drowsy memories
that make us groan when we kiss at sunset.

No longer full of sorrow or despair,
because we stay together hand in hand
while blazing our own pathway in dark woods,
we wander secretly where stars guide us
far from the crowded streets of market towns
to find where Queen-Moon lies among flowers.

Where Bacchus dances among white hawthorns,
deep in thick groves of winding mossy ways,
we seek strange beauty of grim star-eyed Death
whose horror teaches us to love our lives
and treasure limitations we secure,
which nurtures fragile spirits of our hearts.

Thus fortified with pastoral glow of faith
that strengthens us with courage of the truth,
we venture into maze of crowded streets
to comprehend with clear observing eyes
mystery of competitive money games
people perform to gain power of wealth.

Sweet heart-enchanting music of the stars
sung by immortal nightingale of hope
long charmed our hearts with vision of the world
where every person honors rules of life,
but now its calm inspiring requiem
fades trammeled by commercial shouts of greed.

Divine melody of her plaintive anthem,
which animates our bodies with Star Soul,
sung by deceiving elf inside our hearts,
writhes twisted into parody of faith
by men obsessed with fame of thought-control
willing to buy anything with the coin.

Long trapped in labyrinth of social greed
as helpless pawns in pageantry of power,
we assert halting steps with urgent cause
to escape frantic market place of fear
and seek to dwell again in meadow grove
where birds sing freely by the sparkling stream.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus and Ophelia manage to escape the market place of Pandemonium and return to the lush meadows of Elysium to tend their plum trees.

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

Far From Falling Bombs
© Surazeus
2025 03 25

Because we pass through thick shadows of hope
while driving ribbon of moonlight alone,
we see our spirits dwelling in wild trees,
so we buy passports from the cavern ghost
to cross the border from our war-torn state
and live in the woods far from falling bombs.

Our misconstrued breath of hope for world peace
suffocates angry shadows of despair,
so we exchange faces by the pool of tears,
sure we will inherit the Earth from hate,
then walk the road of danger to the farm
where Phoebus plows fields far from falling bombs.

Twirling baton in parade of dead gods,
Minerva leads the marching band with pride
around the marble monument to ghosts
whose blood dribbles from red stripes of our flag
above the park where people eat roast steak
and waltz to music far from falling bombs.

Phoebus trudges plowed field in leather boots,
gathering crosses painted with false names,
and throws them in piles at the Gate of Heaven
where chanting crowd burns them under old stars
till wings of angels are crippled by rage
yet they try to fly far from falling bombs.

The beautiful sky of the Evening Land,
that shimmers with fire over country towns,
hides wordless horror as Nero plays lyre
and sings about the Trickster who deceives
to avoid service in the holy war,
and plays piano far from falling bombs.

Walking in forest of rebellious faith
to join convention of primordial gods,
I erase the road of my journey home
to dance on tightrope over the abyss
so you can find truth in skulls of dead seers
that speak with water far from falling bombs.

The clever child who graduates from fate
lights lamps along the frosted boulevard
to reciprocate horror with calm faith
when the luminous phantom becomes breeze
that rustles leaves of trees on fruited plains
in garden of hope far from falling bombs.

The old man in the boat on moonlit lake
sings ancient melody from Babylon
where cattle graze among the fallen pillars
with plans to rebuild Temple of the Mind
as haven for the ghosts expelled from church
who sing with new hope far from falling bombs.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus teaches children the basic principles of music in the garden of dancing skeletons far from falling bombs.

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

Follow Jesus To Fish
© Surazeus
2025 03 25

So many ways to fall out of the mind
and weave light of the sun in roots of trees
when I transform into angel from fish,
and tell the old Sea Woman what I wish
as her hair swirls around in evening breeze
while she wanders beside the red-furred hind.

The convex mirror that reflects my soul
reveals strange beauty of the human heart
in how we choose to play chess game with Death
who sits enthroned before the monolith
and studies fortune on our world star chart
to see who next should play her priestess role.

Still wearing black silk gown after the dance,
Death takes my hand and leads me to the pool
where she reveals weird secret of rebirth
which I record with runes in Book of Earth
to outline magic of the mental tool
we use to divert fate with random chance.

Embraced with passion of the spinning world,
we generate soul for child of our love
who leads great army of horses and men
to gather herbs for making medicine
while guided by her starship from above
till revolution of the cosmic herald.

Death resurrects my body with each life
which she designs with programmed memories
encoded through immortal soul of genes,
so I invent bold industrial machines
to mass-produce wealth in vast factories
controlled by bankers during global strife.

Returning from bloody fields of world war,
young men who set out to make the world great
follow Jesus to fish on ocean boats
or linger on hillsides with herds of goats
while sons of bankers feast behind locked gates
and Phoebus runs the corner grocery store.

Now most fully in love with easeful Death,
calling her soft names with voice of the wind,
Phoebus kisses her with passionate faith,
then shouts to glowing clouds of the star wraith
that he now finds it much more rich to live
with lightning-nurtured vision of whole breath.

While Death takes care of their child Artemis,
Phoebus drives van on the crowded highway
to visit new aquarium in town,
since he wears his jeweled emperor crown,
where he sees shine in the golden skyway
the Revolution Stone of Sisyphus.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus hitches a ride with Phoebus and Death who take him to the spring Rainbow Gathering in the Rainbow Mountains of Arapaho.

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

Blue Iris Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2025 03 24

The delicate blue iris of innocence
blooms among bull thistles, crabgrass, purslane,
and horseweed in the fenced-in vacant lot
with humble beauty of the faceless girl
who arranges stones in circles of faith
to enclose dazed silence of afternoon.

Gold-breasted kingbird with quick darting eyes
reigns from her nest in the mulberry bush
with elegant grace of wind-hopping faith
to prove that compassionate grace of trust
heals broken-hearted people of the world
who struggle to escape dire circumstance.

Trapped in the bureaucratic maze of fear,
Maria Flores stares at cement wall
where ghostly faces of her children glow
though seven years of loneliness have passed
since agents arrested them on the bridge
when they were driving home from Mexico.

Released from detention one afternoon,
Maria Flores walks the quiet town
past the fenced-in vacant lot of her heart
where ghost of her daughter arranges stones
to protect blue iris of innocence,
then lies down under the mulberry bush.

Not knowing where to find her family,
Maria Flores walks to the old church
but the door is locked and the lights are out,
so she works as the night-shift janitor
at the hotel near the airport highway
and sleeps at night by the mulberry bush.

Attending church each Sunday afternoon,
Maria Flores prays for light of hope,
kneeling at statue of Mother and Child,
to find where her husband and children live,
then walks past city park where children play
while angels scream in pain too far away.

Twisted branches of trees gleam in the pool
that shimmers beside the large ice-smooth stone
where Maria Flores, numb from despair,
stares at calm beauty of the silver sky
that erases gaunt beauty of her face
and carves it on the stone of solitude.

Kneeling before tombstone behind the church
carved with name of her mother in gray letters,
Zuzia Flores weeps with pain of relief
after searching for more than twenty years,
then looks up at sharp song of the kingbird
who takes her heart and flies beyond the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus photographs an old woman working as a janitor at the hotel, then photographs her walking in the city park where she sits on a bench and does not cry.

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

See Beyond The World
© Surazeus
2025 03 24

Staring at the stars that may not be real
because they burned out millennia ago,
I think about the life I want to live
creating beautiful art for the heart
from the ugly misery of working life,
and decide I want to grow tangerines.

The bomb of deep insight that blows my mind
when the blue-collar painter of the house
becomes the painter of modern fine art
restarts the clock of purpose in my heart,
unwinding social programs in my brain
so I become the grass of the weird world.

When I hear the ancient voice of the Earth
speak through the trees that sprout from the soil
I feel them moving in motion with hope
that swirls with atoms from first flash of time
and winds tight ball of energy as Earth
that shimmers in sweet juice of tangerines.

First Mother of every life-form on Earth
lives inside our brains as shared memory
which motivates hearts of organic creatures
with passion to sing strange song of the sea
for she composed first program of our genes
to generate our souls from chemicals.

Young girl at the kitchen table of sorrow,
wearing yellow dress of butterfly wings,
stares past pretty face of her lonely mother
who smokes while cooking scrambled eggs and ham,
waves magic-wand spatula of hard truth,
and growls, "Everything in books is a lie."

Lying beside me on the star-gleamed lawn,
she tells me how she feels about desire.
"When I saw the sad painting on the wall
that depicts young mother with suckling child
who waits for her husband home from the sea,
my mother laughed loud with explosive scorn."

"Light waves of words flow down into my heart,"
she sings with haunting voice soft as the wind,
"and fill my mind with dreams of life and death
that every creature who has ever lived
performs in journey of its eager will
to create beauty from anguish of fear."

The girl who will not die lives in my heart,
and haunts my steps four hundred million years,
for she wears crimson gown of burning stars
and teaches me to see beyond the world
through ancient eyes she designed in the sea
so I know where to go beyond tomorrow.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus listens to Ophelia sing heart-haunting melody about her childhood experience growing up in the castle kitchen.

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

Trickster Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 03 24

The great horned owl introduces the moon
into reticent room of my vast heart,
so I start my day as trickster of truth
by sending flocks of happy butterflies
to paint the world with blood-red light of dawn
that wakes everyone with language of wind.

The roots of trees draw sorrow from my heart,
translating unknown fears to humble songs
that measure curvature of my soul spine
to speak with dialect of bodied minds
which cleanses our hearts with glow of respect
through wakefulness of unmirrored desire.

In my idyllic world of steady faith
I play guitar before the empty church
and sing grand epic of the human race
that praises humble people of the state
who go about their business every day
while face-painted clowns play fake power games.

My fishing village at end of the lake
provides bountiful wealth from heart of Earth
where strong-hearted girls thrive in howling wind
and cast bright snowflakes far across the land
that sprout into periwinkles of hope
where children play chase Sabbath afternoons.

No more the world-exploring traveler
I was when I was young and vigorous,
I now am blowsy-headed gardener,
dazed by strange beauty of her sun-lit face
as we tend twisted trees of ghastly fruit
that nourish the demonic in our hearts.

Since I will never see the black egret
wade in wind-rippled pond behind my house,
I mold green shadows of weird psychic dreams
in masks that humans wear to play as cows
which graze among the dancing daffodils
while I bare my heart to the healing sun.

Packing emotional baggage of faith
with false memories my dream-fears invent,
I walk the signless road of everywhere
past ladders that extend into the clouds
to stamp obverse side of the royal coin
with face of my father, the kind storm god.

If clouds begin to serenade my ghost
with the heart-enchanting afterlife lie,
I will unanchor ship of my fierce heart
to live unsettled life on restless seas
so I can find the treasure trove of tropes
I use to build this virtual world of dreams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus and Ophelia fish by the lake where demonic dreams swirl just below the surface of our happiness.

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

We Feel Safe At Home
© Surazeus
2025 03 23

Home is the place in time where I am born
with each new day Earth spins around the sun,
so I should never feel sad or forlorn
with you beside me to play games of fun,
for though we wander far from our first hearth
we feel safe at home anywhere on Earth.

With eyes fixed on the past where I come from
I walk backward to the new home I build
while chanting spells in rhythm with the drum
as founding member of the Singers Guild,
recording tales of heroes we adore
whose mothers wait still in their open door.

Old bearded wizard in the forest grove
explains to me the past is never dead,
and not even past as our memory trove,
for history is the dream poem in our head
that we recite each night in feasting hall
to praise the dead whose masks hang on the wall.

On flowing water of our history ghost
we sail our boat of life on stream of time,
then feast in temple of the generous host
who offers wisdom of the ritual chime
while actors play dramatic roles on stage
in tales I record on the timeless page.

The future always seems invisible
while the past presents everything we know,
yet our own tale is still discoverable
as we resist fate to go with the flow
through fierce subversion of the ancient truth
now redesigned by our messiah sleuth.

Each present moment beams beyond our reach
so we record events as they occur
to synthesize truth our descendants teach
reversing roles of God and Lucifer
as tyrant overthrown by rebel clown
whom we elect to wear the thorny crown.

Though frightened crowd attends fear of their rage
at innocent scapegoat they sacrifice,
the victim resurrects as victor sage
who shelters the oppressed in paradise,
for Heaven is commune of equal rights
according to great epic no one writes.

I strum lyre and sing, wherever I roam
in mountains or vales of our spinning Earth
my heart I carry with me is my home
for soul of each human is beyond worth,
thus we must fight against cruel tyranny
to keep our global democracy free.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings tales of heroes in the feasting hall where Zeus proclaims his son Lucifer will reign as the new Temple Host.

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

Brave New World
© Surazeus
2025 03 23

Wandering the same road as everyone else,
I fluctuate in and out of existence
while I draw the true to erase the false
through dream synergy of psychic persistence
because the roads we walk today remain
long after our souls vanish in the rain.

Turning the radio knob of my brain,
I feel my voice fade in and out of silence
so secret words may clarify in vain
truths I dare not express without the license
issued by Institute of Proper Truth
managed by son of the messiah sleuth.

Dancing around the Trevi Fountain Pool,
I flicker in and out of film observance
and throw three coins, according to the rule,
to wish for happiness from divine science
in sacred water of romantic love
we first experience in the moonlit cove.

Descending spiral road to caves of Hell,
I wander in and out of time appliance
through literary door of thought control
to find my soulmate with hermetic guidance
when I invade cathedral hall of breath
through inspiration of psychotic death.

Outlining patterns in material forms,
I flash in and out of idea persistence
to manage estates of flourishing farms
united in empire of social alliance
as we integrate nations of the world
in one state measured by the cosmic herald.

Uniting rich diversity of souls,
I vibe in and out of legal compliance
with generous respect for all lifestyles
which bond well in cooperative acceptance
that fuels engine of artistic endeavors
in bold creation of cultural treasures.

Analyzing conceptual state of being,
I breathe in and out of scriptural reliance
through inspiration of the angel wing
that sparks vision of prophetic contrivance
in revelation of the new world order
that will erase every national border.

Designing new global world view of life,
I whirl in and out of spiritual defiance
with strict elocution through mental strife
to unite the world with artful transcendence
by building on ruins of America
brave new world empire of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus and Ophelia play in the Trevi Fountain pool, then throw in three coins and wish for justice, liberty, and peace for all.

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

My Grief Is My Own
© Surazeus
2025 03 23

My grief is my own, so I will contain
volatile ardor of my suffering
trapped in receptacle of my strained heart
to preserve aggression of passive angst
safe from causing injury to other people
who struggle to deal with their own affliction.

So many innocent people of Earth,
who seek to escape oppressive conditions
and struggle across waste land of despair
to find haven safe from exploitive thieves,
stumble blind into far worse situations,
trapped in bitter hell they cannot escape.

Accumulation of their wordless grief,
piled onto unbalanced scale of my heart,
weighs all their suffering of relentless pain
more heavy than enormous mindless stones
crushing my mind with fearful agony
that I cannot rescue even one from sorrow.

I want to save, with bold alacrity
of eager zeal, every person on Earth
trapped in exploitive hell by greedy thieves
who suck their vital dreams with vampire lust
so maze of cities becomes cluttered thick
with traumatized zombies searching for love.

Numb from excessive vibes of bitter pain
radiating from mute hearts of fear-trapped souls
who despair at ever living in freedom,
I wander vast maze of weird mythless world
past smiling faces that hide helpless regret
which drives them to stage ineffective rituals.

Clutching to my heart with desperate hope
magic ring of invisibility,
I clamber down in Underworld of fear
to forge divine key of true comprehension
so I can open every prison door
and free frightened souls trapped in legal limbo.

Hundreds of thousands of women and men,
trapped in void between law and lawlessness
as alien immigrants to Wonderland,
cry out for help to Storm God in Glow Cloud
who invests power in wealthy oligarchs
to enslave their bodies for pilfered profit.

The cage-trapped Eagle of America,
who tries to hatch stone of grand principle
that every soul is equal in the law,
attempts to escape storm of revolution,
but dies when its head cracks at golden bars,
so I keep heart-breaking grief to myself.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus sings grief of every person on Earth in heart-enchanting hymn of faith in divine justice of the universe that sometimes takes its time getting implemented.

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

Mirror Mask Of Sisyphus
© Surazeus
2025 03 22

Hieroglyphs inscribed on lightning-cracked stones
depict the Raven God with thirteen eyes
leading refugees of home-blasting war
through narrow roadless mountain vale of hope
to find dream garden of the Promised Land
hidden behind enormous walls of wealth.

To walk backward in future of the mind
where television screens in trunks of trees
present whole history of the human race,
I wear the mirror mask of Sisyphus
to stand before statue of Pegasus
and pose for celebrity photographs.

While marching in the band of howling clowns
in oval stadium full of cheering crowds,
we gather fragments of shattered world views
to build abstract sculptures of twisted bars
which represent the leading characters
performing roles in our disastrous show.

Organic forms of plants and animals
emerge from pungent passion of the soil
to play the subtle personality
sensitive to ever-shifting terrain
in social drama fraught with fake respect
that changes lives with contrived honesty.

Traveling through space of transforming time
to work in garden of flowers and herbs,
I consider how the stranger might feel
on reversing tide of conceptual hope
where I shall sing plain prophecies of doom
while taking stock of truth designed by fate.

Wolves surround the wounded king in the snow
who prays to the rising moon with fierce hope
to extract lithium from old rugged hills
where every honest poet in the world
wanders among cactus of blind skeletons
who dance on graves of thieving oligarchs.

If we remember her electric laugh
that rings cathedral bells of self-control,
we might soon comprehend why colors cry
to robot angels of Elysium
who sell stolen feathers of Pegasus
to curious tourists from land of the brave.

Though I escape blank page of the dream book
I will play better self my heart designs
to steal the thorny crown of sacrifice
from head of the god who eats lightning strikes
so he can become human before he dies
and his atoms formulate flowing streams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus buys mirror mask of Sisyphus from Goodwill in the small university town to prank his best friend who lost her government job.

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

Unwinds Clockless Time
© Surazeus
2025 03 22

Stars sink into the dusty yard of sad,
uwinding clockless time of random thoughts
that swindle mystery of its puzzling truth
so we forget soft why of arrogance
when children tiptoe past the room of death
where asters burst through windows of disgust.

My body encased in ghost-sheen of frost
breaks free from dragon egg of naked hope
when I wake in darkness of empty rooms
and drive through light of endless waning moons
forever over contours of my brain
that match the landscape of unshadowed vales.

Each river that loses its sacred name
in swirling indifference of the blind sea
describes annunciation of rebirth
where nameless swimmers search for my real home
to howl each time they emerge for fresh air
with visitation of angelic ghouls.

The painting of the woman on the wall
who calls to the fisherman in the boat
that floats between lonely hills and glow clouds
reveals uneasy doubts I try to hide
in bowl of tangerines beside the book
that seems to record tale of the last god.

When I go back to the house for the book
presenting story of the cosmic herald,
I get stuck in time loop of false desire
through inquisition of the holy cult
based on hypothetical creed of faith,
awake on tranquil bay of innocence.

As displaced person of the jungle tribe,
clutching relic of my fear-broken god,
I meditate on nature of the heart
in cold cement prison cell of fear,
stuck in limbo between Heaven and Hell
that reflect state of mind I imitate.

Still priest of Hermes in old temple ruins,
I play the sacred flute of haunting angst
that weaves pure darkness of the lonely heart
in star-stained fragrance of barley and wine
while I guide you on the shadowy path
to lightless Underworld of faceless ghosts.

Yet Caliban emerges with green blood
from treacherous womb of the willow witch
to sing ice-crystal absence of the heart
with heart-amending melody of faith
that gushes from eyes of the jester king
who uwinds clockless time of riddle dreams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus measures progress of unwinding clockless time to analyze consequences of the time loop where America breaks into warring states.

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

Windy Alder Swamp
© Surazeus
2025 03 22

When I find at last the wild alder swamp
where, many years ago before my birth
Jack Frost, the mad-eyed seer of Vermont,
found winter garden of red-berried snow,
I see rancid paradise he described
that ever floats between Heaven and Earth.

His gaunt luxuriating beast of fate
still lurks in shadows of this alder swamp
where trees begin to bud in spring-flared light
that strips my soul of anguished self-concern
so I stand denuded and vulnerable
to close inspection of late-winter sun.

Intense anxiety of wordless fear
swells thick inside my heart with thwarted hope
for something beautiful beyond this pain
that surges ocean tides of bitter faith
in dark depression of black moody sky,
till I express despair with harpy cry.

Stuck in blackening phase of alchemy
that sears my heart with tangled energy,
I breathe deep foul scent of the alder swamp,
suppressed by frigid frost of winter gloom,
then harmonize expressive melody
in hopeful tones of weird aggressive hymn.

With sudden whir of sober-feathered birds,
that swoop through matrix of time-twisted limbs,
I feel depressive passion bloom awake
with flowers bursting from leaf-matted soil
in words far sadder than the mist-veiled moon
that glows indifferently with pretty light.

Still on the forlorn road of vanished hope
in windy alder swamp of hungry birds,
I sense storm clouds fly tattered over hills
reflected in cracked quartz stone in my hand
that refracts depression with moon-white gleam
so I find words to express how I feel.

Rain-soaked boughs of alders overhead
shake water of lost Heaven on my face,
so I crouch by sky-silver pond of truth,
and almost caress rippling waves with hands
that feel vibration of this ancient Earth
pulse in tune with beating heart in my breast.

So I decide to choose less traveled road
from winter garden in the alder swamp
that bends through undergrowth of memories
to free my heart from forest of regret
so I can measure difference of my doubt
through choices I make that create my fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus finds Robert Frost in the winter garden of the alder swamp where they chit-chat about anxiety that drives the human desire to create beautiful art in a seemingly-hostile world.

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