Tree Of Flashing Brains
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

Despite skillful disorder of rain clouds
that knock my body around on the hill,
I am the wondrous man with winged feet
because I know strange secret of the wind
who whispers programmatic code of love
which helps my find the tree of flashing brains.

Disperser of rich grace on stepping stones,
I gather snowflakes into books of dreams
which I bear to peak of the mountain thought
to weave bright laughter of wild ocean waves
within unsullied passion of my heart
through generous wisdom of the loyal moon.

When I walk with the departed through Hell
on dainty feet of ballet nonchalance,
I find beguiled bride of the empty well,
perplexed by faithless lust of abstinence
that fuses bodies of strangers with hope
to incarnate as ghost with mask of glass.

I follow empty chairs on winding road
through fields of wheat where alabaster crows
breathe beauty of the light in human flesh
who paints the face of God as apple sphere
which I bake on the plate of hungry clay
that proves my right to live in liberty.

Transformed from wood dolls with emerald eyes
into lithe boys and girls with moonlit skin,
we race along the river of glass skulls
to crown the winner with the crown of thorns
forged with gold melted from idols of gods
whose faces reincarnate as our souls.

Wild mob of people run in driving rain
and crowd into Museum on Skull Hill
in frantic flight to escape swirling flood
that sweeps their farmhouses and herds away
so fields of wheat become bright sea of tears
that fills their hearts with desert emptiness.

The oldest woman in the world declares,
while holding million-year-old skull of God,
that we must thrive through curiosity,
always asking questions to understand
how Death will measure fortune of our lives
when lovers almost touch at end of time.

Millions of people killed in civil wars
crowd shore of the River Styx at midnight,
but Charon shouts that they must all return,
so faceless ghosts of hungry refugees
haunt shopping malls from sea to shining sea
where they sing beneath tree of flashing brains.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus hangs Christmas ornaments on the tree of flashing brains that grows huge in the fountain square of the largest city on Earth where ghosts sing hymns to Inanna.

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

Humble Prophet of the Cow
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

To understand how light of long-dead stars
animates human brains with fierce desire
to fly with joy above this rumbling globe,
I ask the humble prophet of the cow
who gives me holy grail of milk to drink,
so I feel tree roots curl into my heart.

Cassandra walks beside the spinning wheel
that rolls home-wagon on the windy plain
on endless walk to find the Promised Land
ruled by the humble prophet of the cow
who writes strange puzzles on tablets of clay
that cause time visions to flash in her eyes.

Crouched by the wagon wheel of wordless hope,
Cassandra watches with obsessive eye
her father walk into the shadowed woods
to ask the humble prophet of he cow
which way they need to go on signless road
to find the palace of the laughing clown.

Head buzzing with mute terror of undeath,
Cassandra treads the liminal expanse
of sorrow toward horizon of her heart
to hear the humble prophet of the cow
proclaim his hegemonic state of mind
which traps brave people in harsh tyranny.

Advanced against blurred obstacles of faith
to transcend metaleptic wall of fear
erected by postprandial somnolence
before the humble prophet of the cow
can catch the angel falling off the moon,
Cassandra parts veil to the Otherworld.

Inspired by spark of new insightful vibe
that channels flow of psychic synergy,
Cassandra abjures fractured paradigm
spooled by the humble prophet of the cow
that affirms function of male privilege
exploiting fertile nature of the womb.

Spearheading progress of leveraged love
against systemic power of desire,
Cassandra gathers riddles of glass skulls
forged by the humble prophet of the cow
to build impactful program of respect
ensuring mothers feed their children well.

While drawing soul of serpents from the well
whose whispers teach her secrets of dream runes,
Cassandra gazes back down road of life
paved by the humble prophet of the cow,
and wonders how her brave children will fare
in game of life long after she is dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus walks across the hills of Arcady till he finds the humble prophet of the cow lounging by the River Alpheus while his sons build the palace of Xanadu.

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

Rope Of His Attentive Love
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

Sunlight streams in stained-glass window of Christ
as Shepherd herding sheep in river vale
inside the Seventh-day Adventist Church
on hilltop in small town of Keene in Texas
where people in flower dresses and suits
gather on Saturday morning for Sabbath.

Exiting the large Sabbath School classroom
with his leather Bible pressed to his chest,
Albert glides with large crowd in long hallways
and downstairs to main sanctuary hall
where he sits beside his mother and sisters,
but hopes to see sweet angel of his heart.

Pastor Ron Halverson, who had grown up
as a Beachcomber gangster in Brooklyn,
steps up to the podium on the broad stage,
looking like Stephen King in a gray suit,
and points up to stained-glass window of Christ
to illustrate his role as selfless Savior.

The Lord of Truth is Shepherd of my soul,
for his bounty supplies all that I need,
so I lie in pasture by tranquil stream
after his guidance through dark vale of fear
restores my soul with fruit from Tree of Life
when we feast in safe haven of his care.

When I was young in wild streets of New York,
my friends and I would play a dangerous game
where we would tie long rope of haughty faith
on southern side of the high Brooklyn Bridge,
then dive into swift tide of the East River
that flows swift to the Upper New York Bay.

Diving down in swift tides of the East River,
that flushes back and forth for hours each day,
is like our plunge into flow of desire,
so we would have to breathe deep breath of hope
and swim up fast enough to grab the rope,
or tides of greed would sweep our souls away.

Our Shepherd Jesus reaches down his hand
with loving gesture of the bridge-bound rope,
so we must reach our hands with honest faith
to grab strong rope of his attentive love
and climb with faith back to the sturdy bridge
to secure our place in Heaven with God.

After they sing the hymn Amazing Grace,
Albert searches through the large milling crowd
till he finds Daphne Stuart in green dress
with blue eyes and gold curly hair who smiles
when he gives her small box of chocolate,
and she gives him her painting of a horse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus finds several people washed up on the shore of Liberty Island who failed to grab the rope after they dove off the Brooklyn Bridge into the River Styx.

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

Cosmic Self Of Ungod
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

Every conscious soul of organic flesh,
woven from quick coils of electric eyes,
who wakes from pulsing passion of desire
on every planet in the universe,
then sings with love to generate new life,
dreams alive with cosmic self of Ungod.

Though alone in forever now of me
as I stroll along winding stream of hope
on this one globe of all time-spooling globes
that teem with souls across the multiverse,
I sing with universal choir of souls
so alive with cosmic self of Ungod.

While trembling with fear in the wilderness,
wounded from attack of demonic rage
when my husband drove me out of our home
because I bear no children from his seed,
I gaze at silent sky of gleaming stars
that swirls bright with cosmic self of Ungod.

Our world of high mountains and surging seas,
that seems so huge at center of all space,
is but one tiny globe of transient souls
in one small galaxy of countless stars
in humungous ocean of streaming light
that spirals from cosmic self of Ungod.

Old bearded prophet with star-flashing eyes,
Isaiah gives me bread and juice to eat,
then guides me across waste land of despair
in tour along safe edge of the abyss
till we arrive at garden of fruit trees
that blossoms from cosmic self of Ungod.

With gentle hands of attentive concern
Isaiah gives me shelter in his heart,
so, while he writes fierce prophecies in verse
to guide our king on path of righteousness,
I weave tapestry that depicts creation
of our world from cosmic self of Ungod.

When I bear strong child from seed of Isaiah,
and name him Sariel, the Prince of El,
cruel husband who drove me out of our home
appears and demands I return to him,
but ravens swoop down from the Tree of Love
and drive him from cosmic self of Ungod.

With nimble fingers of expressive joy
Sariel plays harp of David and sings psalms
describing oneness of our universe
where every conscious being of mortal flesh
glows with immortal spirit of the stars,
born as souls from cosmic self of Ungod.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus and Sariel tour together to play concerts in every town of Earth where they sing hymns of Orpheus and psalms of David about the cosmic self of Ungod.

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

Unjust Death Of The Honest Man
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

When Proserpina, daughter of Ceres,
returns after the harvest festival
with Mercurius to resume her role
as manager of jewel mines for Pluto,
skipping as she sings psalms of blooming fruit,
Hecate opens gates with Key of Death.

Eyes sparkling with joy from her summer play
with her sweet mother in Elysian Fields,
Proserpina twirls to show off her new dress,
hugs cute Mercurius, who blushes shyly,
then skips past gates down to the mines of Pluto
where criminals dig jewels from deep caves.

Just before Hecate locks gates of Hades,
Jesus Florian Silva from Mexico,
who died in crowded cell in Texas jail
while in the custody of officers,
slips free from Underworld of the mute dead,
eyes glowing with light of the Watchful Owl.

Following power lines that glow bright gold
in vast network of word-shimmering voices,
Jesus searches for flames of energy
that glow in hearts of his children and wife,
then spots their sorrow as they return home
from his funeral in the humble church.

Haunting the home he built with his own hands
after working thirty years in construction,
Jesus watches his wife, Sofia Dolores,
born in the rugged hills of Venezuela,
prepare supper for their extended clans
who gather to remember his kind soul.

Standing before crowd of family and neighbors,
gathered at the evening velorio,
Sofia, wiping tears from her eyes, relates
tale of his hopeful quest across the desert,
then working sunrise to sunset each day
so their Texas-born children attend college.

My kind-hearted Jesus Florian Silva,
who always worked hard and obeyed the law,
and paid his taxes though he could not vote,
was arrested and beaten without cause
by the cruel immigration officers
who left him to die in the crowded jail.

As everyone weeps and wails in outrage
about unjust death of the honest man,
Jesus glides away from his crowded home,
follows glowing wings of Mercurius,
and walks back through the jeweled gates of Hades
where Morpheus gives him cider to drink.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus visits Jesus Florian Silva in the Underworld, bringing him photos from the wedding of his daughter Martina with her college sweetheart Richard Sjoberg.

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

Melodies Of Psychic Math
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

While I wander endless maze of hard streets
through crowds of angels wearing human masks,
my heart sings melodies of psychic math
to reprogram private religious faith
by weaving all national fairy tales
in single epic of the human race.

I drive through black rain drenching country road,
that winds through forest of satyrs and nymphs,
but slam breaks hard when ghost of innocence
leaps into headlight beams with bloody face,
so I lift from sharp gravel of despair
fallen angel as hysterical girl.

Shivering beside me in brown vinyl seat
while I race Chevy Malibu to town,
young girl in jeans, white blouse, and cowboy boots,
whispers her tragic story with hoarse voice
that slithers on snake skin into my spine
so shudder at horror of her fear.

I drove from Florida to Tennessee
to study computer programming code,
where nice boy, who seemed interested in me,
lured me into dark woods behind the school
where his jealous girlfriend cut me with hate
then bashed my head with chunk of sharp cement.

While I stare at her fractured skull in shock
where her brain pulses with divine god-mind,
my heart screams melodies of psychic math
that program human brains with love and hate
so we fight for our place in game of power
where some may win, but all die in the end.

I wonder what fraught formula of hope
drives humans, seeking to protect their rights,
to kill other humans who block their way,
which manifests as endless bloody wars
fought by nations over ten thousand years
for whose ancestral god is the True God.

When I arrive at the hospital door
that glows warm in the freezing rainy night,
I call for help to nurses in white gowns,
but when they arrive with their healing hands
the wounded girl I rescued from dark woods
is nothing more than a broken Barbie doll.

While I kneel at grave of the murdered girl,
whose ghost sought my help one dark rainy night,
my heart prays melodies of psychic math
so I can calculate cause and effect
of greedy lust that drives humans to kill
so we confirm our souls with self-control.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus plays guitar in the country bar and sings ballad about the tragic murder of Colleen Slemmer while drunk cowboys throw bottles at his head.

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

Time Unfolds The Nothing
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

Since time unfolds the nothing of our joy
which we have built on memories of pain,
I walk away from shambles of my faith
and wander nowhere in the wordless world,
then sit alone on river shore of fate
with nothing but my hope to contemplate.

Befuddled by confusing stream of thoughts
that jumble memories of suffering
in scattered puzzle of painful abuse
that people hurl at me with bitter hate,
I watch clear water of the river flow
in trance that seems to cause the world to slow.

Intense arrest of sudden fractured fear
suspends me in unmoving quietness,
so I begin to float on breathless wings
of ardent sparrow outside frame of flesh,
soul swelling far beyond shell of my mind
through undulating horror hope designed.

Too clear before my eyes of bleeding rage
I see again that scene I would forget
when cruel men dragged my mother from our home,
then left her bleeding by the dusty road,
so moment light of life flashed from her eyes
now shrouds my soul as shadow of dark skies.

Three days and nights of endless bitter tears
wound my disbanded heart with anguish tight,
too wounded from despair as I cried out
for her to wake from nothingness of death,
then buried her with flowers by the tree
that tricks me to believe her soul is free.

When gang of boys from town surround my place
of refuge in bright forest of fruit trees,
I whirl oak staff I carved with serpent face
to bash their heads when they grab at my arms,
till they all crawl as dogs on dusty ground,
then vow I am their queen on goddess mound.

Brave warriors of my heart obey my words
when we attack high ziggurat of power
and fight the bankers in their halls of wealth
to free humble farmers from slavery,
then wear the crown of law on judgment throne
to rule the land with fair justice alone.

Since time unfolds the nothing of our sorrow
which we have built from memories of pleasure,
I return to garden of our respect
to shelter you with wisdom of my heart
so we thrive in temple of our world view
till death erases us from dream of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury in Artemisium Temple and sings the tale of how Arinniti established ancient empire of justice and equal rights for all.

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

God Mind In My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 10 23

When darkness of my heart breathes stellar lust,
I dare collude with psychic force of hope
to fight against oppressors of the mind
who try to poison fruit from Tree of Life,
but I know apples sweeten in the dark,
which tames the serpent of my heart with love.

When beauty writhes from fractured egg of light,
I gaze through trees to see soul of mankind
that shimmers deep inside our pulsing hearts
till beams of passion radiate from our brains
so we become wild angels in fruit trees,
immortal genes that coil from ocean waves.

I visit every temple in the world,
built long ago by reverent hands of faith,
and stand in darkness of their ruined truth
to feel brave spirit of humanity
that hides in terror inside sunless halls
from writhing serpent of our hungry hearts.

Waist-deep in green pool of the mountain stream,
among enormous stones of jumbled thoughts,
I bathe in tears of devils who perceive
how darkness nurtures light of human hearts
to cleanse my body of selfish disease
so I may transform into swirls of light.

The common belief, that the human soul
beams down to animate our mortal flesh,
then remains whole with conscious sense of self
after our bodies crumble into dust,
has been the greatest falsehood of all time
that still deceives most people with vain hope.

How comforting to believe that our soul
could exist intact before we are born
and might still remain long after we die,
because few conscious beings alive on Earth
are willing to accept with aching heart
that we are transient flames of flashing light.

Because whole mental program of my brain
has been designed by each subsequent life
of my ancestors struggling to survive
as they evolve four hundred million years,
my sense of conscious self glows fiercely bright
so I feel divine God Mind in my brain.

Tricked by this feeling of immortal life
that animates my million-year-old brain,
I breathe ethereal spirit of this Earth
and sing epic poem of philosophers
who seek to understand essence of truth,
translating mute fear into light of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus explains that souls cannot return from the dead to animate new bodies because our consciousness is nothing more than a memory-computing function of the brain.

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

Mirror Of Indelible Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 23

Inside mirror of indelible truth
my face multiples to ancestral masks
so I almost forget who I am now,
but with attentive song of love for all
I reassemble conscious self of being,
then walk in maze of competitive games.

Trained by ten million years of fights for food,
we humans compete to control the dirt,
squared by diameter of stark moonlight,
but I withdraw from constant games of faith
so you can fight for glory of false fame
since we will all become dirt in the end.

I step into strange vastness of our world,
though bound by limits of this time in space,
to navigate excessive swirls of lust
that urges our frail bodies to collide
with passionate ambition to expand
scope of power that includes storm-calm clouds

When the river veers away from the road,
I swerve from dutiful way of desire
to disassociate my brain from games
that people play to win the sparkling prize,
then gather river stones with bleeding hands
to build high tower of heavenly hope.

Spurred on by sadness lurking in my heart,
I gather dust of deserts in blank books
to mold glass idols of important gods
that glow with nuclear power of blind faith
when I float candles in small paper boats
as lamentation for their tragic death.

Awake in Time House, haunted by dead gods
who live in children without secret names,
I contemplate strange riddle of the rain
that types new formulas of psychic truth
causing my sponge brain to recollect
memories of suffering that people discard.

While tending cattle herd of Helios
with clandestine plan to preach the good news,
I feel my body dissipate to words
that flutter frantically in summer breeze
so I become fairytale character
that no one roots for on the movie screen.

Penelope expects me to comply
with social regulations that endow
inalienable rights on my transient soul,
transformed by names of flowers in the mud,
so I become the father of my brain
that shimmers vaguely in mirror of fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus scatters the masks of his ancestors across the floor of the Astarium temple of Ishtar where worshippers scramble to bag the one they want to wear on Halloween.

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

Wicker Basket Of Wealth
© Surazeus
2026 10 23

Since angels struggle to explain despair
to oak trees lounging in the parking lot,
roots cracking miles of asphalt into crumbs,
Plato joins convention of architects
where he presents new way to visualize
city landscapes that favor garden pools.

Watching sunrays flash on the mountain ridge
when Eos weaves forms of the world from light,
Rixende sits among tall willow trees
with branches heaped on workbench of her heart,
and contemplates strange beauty of the world
as she weaves wicker baskets with strict care.

Watching butterflies on wild lavender,
Rixende calculates from market price
how many baskets she should weave today
to earn enough coins from her crafting hands
that lets her purchase the small copper pot
which Gauzbert hammers into useful shape.

Though passion of time cannot be contained
with serpent riddles in bottle of hope,
Rixende contemplates how sweet perfume
might enchant metallic heart of Gauzbert
to notice graceful beauty of her soul,
but decides to buy the cooking pot instead.

While teaching Alamanda how to weave
wicker baskets from slender willow limbs,
Rixende explains concept of its type,
how Idea of Basket provides form
as standard pattern of restrictive size
that contains matter within useful shape.

Every material basket that exists
embodies in span of its time and space
the Perfect Basket in Realm of Ideas,
which we call Heaven of changeless truth
because it provides frame of reference
for matter to become things of this world.

Stopping by her booth in the market place,
that radiates outward from Temple of Ceres,
Plato inspects several baskets with care,
gives her three silver obols stamped with owls
while praising tightness of the wicker weave,
then strolls away with basket on his arm.

Though ten thousand years of time has transformed
cities on Earth from ziggurats to towers
since crafty Tayet first designed the basket,
we still weave round baskets from willow limbs
so children may gather eggs from the woods
when Ishtar sparks life to spring from the Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus leads young children in Zarathian Museum of Technological History and explains the art of basket-weaving as they gaze at the huge variety of baskets.

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

Golden Quill Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 20

Though my heart aches with sorrowful despair,
I pluck one feather from white raven wing
who brings me mushrooms in the river grove
where I catch serpents writhing in clear waves
and carve on wood tablet Saturnian runes
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

Based on bold admiration of respect
for bitter suffering human souls endure,
Hestia brings me gold grail with sparkling wine
that beams weird visions from the mountain wind
when Zephyr whispers in my radiant ear
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

Enraged that we live free from chains of hate
which he employs to bind us to his will,
grim Pluto cowers in stone hall of rage
and sends mad Midas to destroy our state,
till Phoebus stands with lyre on global stage
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

Shocked by his violent coup of fascist greed
when Midas sends goon squad to steal the crown
that Jesus wears with blood-red ruby gems,
Minerva leads brave army of our faith
in revolution against tyranny
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

Attentive to needs of all citizens
who dwell with freedom in land of the brave,
Apollo wrestles Python in the cave
where grand illusions blind us with false creed
so he dispels hypnotic haze of fear
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

Inspired by courage average humans show
when faced with adverse obstacles to health,
I climb high Mount Takoma with intent
to find lost lyre of Mercury and play
tropes in musical meter with thought rhyme
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

Desperate to believe we live beyond death,
we project our consciousness of the soul
at atomic mirror of the universe,
but we are temporary flames of love
powered by eternal atoms of life
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

Awake as me, on this globe, at this time,
in timeless vastness of our universe,
I sing with passion of atomic light
that wakes God in neural net of my brain
so I become Divine Mind, till I die,
to prophesy with golden quill of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury in the Astarium, temple of Astarianity, to sing psalms of spiritual atheism that honor Goddess Ishtar who created all religions of humanity.

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

Puzzles Of Atomic Fame
© Surazeus
2026 10 20

If about to fall in love with the sea,
unwind your brain in spools of mirror eyes
to prove fake laughter causes heart disease,
then spin with dizzy joy in fractured sky
because our souls are temporary flames,
contrived by puzzles of atomic fame.

Almost about to unlearn arrogance
with frantic silence bound by holy books,
I float in seething pool of innocence
across the multiverse of crystal rooks
where angels without eyes of rainbow thoughts
manipulate our bodies as flesh robots.

No chance to live this fleeting life again,
I walk bleak desert of New Mexico
to find the lyre of Mercury in pain
so I can stand with pride on portico
before abandoned fane of Jupiter
to play new social role of Lucifer.

While bearing light of truth with trembling hand
in lamp Diogenes lost in dark woods,
I walk vast maze of cities in our land
to repaint marble idols of dead gods
whose ghosts are trapped in fairy tales we read
to children programmed to ignore their need.

Since all things exist in material form,
people are fooled to think the soul is real,
but consciousness is glow of chemicals
that flash in neural net of molecules,
bright as the gleam in frail lightbulb of glass
that winks to nothing when the structure fails.

I float on waves of sorrow cleansed by joy
with mute calm on the Gulf of Mexico,
then swim with quick dolphin of Arion
whose song encourages me to perform well
my sacred role as Bearer of the Light
who preaches one world faith of mutual peace.

Through pines on shores of Lake Ontario
I walk toward glowing cloud of ancient truth
that gleams with secret of bold confidence
in timeless wisdom of Astaria
whose star-bright eyes reveal our new world view
based on equal rights in Zarathia.

Strange visions blind my eyes with hopeless hope
while I float mute in feverish swirl of dreams
that warring nations of the Earth unite
in mission to support personal rights
based on Liberty and justice for all,
then I wake in haze of our modern world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus lies in soft grass by the River Styx as he coughs while attempting to recover from a bout of bronchitis so he can return to work mapping the history of human fame.

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

Keep Time In The Bottle
© Surazeus
2026 10 19

Since I never could keep time in the bottle
to trick eternity of every day
from passing away in the river flow,
all our precious days have slipped away swiftly,
and left us on the shore of wounded hope,
but still I treasure you with all my heart.

The box of wishes we kept in our hearts
has long been empty of forgotten dreams,
but we still cherish precious memories
that feed us with nutritious vows of love
we share as we stroll holding hands to find
mysterious meadow where we had first met.

Laughing wild with maniacal relief,
Jim throws old wood guitar in the black lake,
pretending he is King of Camelot
casting Excalibur to the Lake Lady,
then asks Ophelia to marry him
as she floats by clutching flowers of fate.

Mounting airplane with silver angel wings
that know sorrow Icarus tries to hide,
Jim soars aloft into the great wide open
where he seeks horse of wisdom in the egg
that spirals flashing big as galaxies
till he becomes the raven in the oak.

While dancing in the meadow on the urn,
painted by blind Sylvan historian,
Jim chases cheerful bride of quietness
across the broken dales of Arcady
till they fall down beside the well of tears
and laugh at absurdity of true love.

Bent over blank book of conceptual joy,
Jim writes new unheard melody of love
that no one still alive on Earth can hear
though he strums cracked guitar in ecstasy
and howls with wolves in meadows of the moon
to frighten mysterious priest of desire.

Stuck in cold pastoral of obsessive lust,
where Beauty runs forever out of reach,
Jim chronicles with runes on river stone
Weird Truth in writhing code of serpent eyes
through jokes that no one ever understands
though he dwells in the peaceful citadel.

Lounging in his basement room at midnight
as green rain soaks Seattle in weird tones,
Samuel plays heart-aching song about love
on the record play while smoking Dream Flower,
and writes his own song in black book of lies
because white ravens are government spies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus and Ophelia find Jim and John laughing together in the sylvan grove where angels dramatize the lyrics of their songs with playful joy of the lost.

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

Cafe On Sorrow Street
© Surazeus
2026 10 19

Melanie smiles at angel, not so real
as rubber tires on asphalt road of fate,
because butterflies teach her how to feel
through laughter of the need to calculate
time difference of faith-distorted concern,
backwards up-floating from the time-tossed stern.

Cast in the swirling sea of certitude
by sudden lurch outside her old world view,
Melanie programs fatal attitude
regarding how police design the True,
as if Fate always knows just what we need,
since ideal forms spring from conceptual seed.

While striding to cafe on Sorrow Street
with glass guitar and pistol on her leg,
Melanie sings in rhythm with the beat
because she finds white horse inside the egg
that sprouts swan wings of freakish bravery
to help her fight against fiscal slavery.

Still chanting spells of courage at twilight,
on stage at Woodstock in meadow of flames,
Melanie names brave ghosts who teach her flight
with secret code for winning psychic games
in battle against gang of global greed
who fool humble farmers with morbid screed.

Commissioned to record in coded spells
crimes of politicians who wear gold masks,
Melanie translates moral trick of bells
to expose bank where the basilisk basks
with grand conspiracy to rule the world
through revolution of the cosmic herald.

Shocked by fall of the tyrant with no face,
who slouches in glass house of global power,
Melanie paints visions that leave no trace
of math formulas smeared inside the tower
where she sleeps inside fractured vampire boat
because sad people decide not to vote.

Fooled by the propaganda slate of lies
depicting Minerva as evil witch,
farmers and factory workers become spies
to expose conspiracies of the rich
who legislate laws that enslave our souls
as wage-grifters stuck in hardworking roles.

While driving highway Auburn to Seattle,
through pine forests around Mountain of Truth,
I dream I am Helios herding cattle
till social change makes me messiah sleuth
when Melanie rides Pegasus at dawn
and sings about wild angels on the lawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus films Melanie while she plays guitar on stage and sings to the hundred million ghosts of all the lost angels of America who search for the Promised Land.

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

Mask Of New Identity
© Surazeus
2026 10 18

To calibrate antenna of my brain
with flashing movement of palpable pride,
when hope expands precise pitch of my mind
in tune with strange breath of mute river stones,
I smile at you to broadcast love I feel
that you exist with visions on your tongue.

Attuning knob of my dragonized heart
along cosmic spectrum of voiceless ghosts,
I find electric song of ocean waves
vibrating from the radio of my brain
that dredges monstrous memories of desire
from lightless abyss of the fertile sea.

My spirit blooms from nothingness of light
that flash my brain awake in glow of dawn
so I breathe eyeless spirit of the sun
that fuels my progress on the river shore
where I fight gangs of thieves for apple tree
that gives fruit to all hands in liberty.

My hands draw from cold depths of energy
writhing demons that scream in ecstasy
when I roast fish on flames of jealousy,
then shriek my wordless power at gold clouds
that float indifferent to my suffering
in vain attempt to prove I am alive.

Death always waits in shadow of each day
behind large boulders on the beach of faith,
so I crouch ready for their sudden attack
till soft wind rustles branches of the tree
where one small raven watches over me
with eyes that know why stars will never die.

When I wear mask of new identity,
which I carve from trunk of the singing tree,
Death runs away on frantic legs of fear
so I declare myself god of the sea
as storm winds lash huge waves in loyalty
beneath the shining demon of the moon.

Fierce passion to survive millions of years
of rebirth through each generated soul
still motivates my drive to rule the world
which I enclose in engine of my heart
to animate my quest on road of life
when I sing epic tale of scientists.

The eyeless mother of the monstrous sea
gave birth to spirit of my flashing genes
so I evolve four hundred million years
from fish to wingless angel who wears mask
that shields my soul from mocking rage of hate
because I glow with truth till Death finds me.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wanders along the sea with Ophelia who dances around him with awkward shyness of new lovers who long to kiss as waves sing of their sweet romance.

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

World Brain Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 10 18

When my soul radiates from world brain of dreams
through atoms that congeal in frame of flesh,
I wake from vision of our universe
that spirals from God Eye of the White Whole,
and wonder at glow of my conscious self
that wants to play God till Death intervenes.

When I emerge whole from world brain of dreams
by swimming in vast sea of timeless truth,
I walk upright on sturdy legs of faith
as art of dance I learn in tides of change,
then follow winding river of desire
to mountain cave where jewels glitter eyes.

This memory beams from world brain of dreams
that all humanity shares in our brains
programmed by First Mother of all mankind
whose song of wisdom rings still in our minds
so we gather around her Tree of Knowledge
to share the separate stories of our lives.

Eight billion people from world brain of dreams
spring into life from womb of Mother Earth
who weaves our bodies from genetic coils
in process sparked by key of Father Sun
whose patterns shape how matter forms our souls
so we play games for who will rule the globe.

Eternal truth spreads from world brain of dreams
in doctrines of religions priests design
to organize in strict communal rites
obsessive passion to generate life
so we confirm our souls through self-control
till we get trapped in maze of blind beliefs.

Love manifests fate from world brain of dreams
through every choice our frazzled brains commit
as we engage contests of social power
over who plays Rapunzel in the tower
as priestess of truth based on legacy
designed by Amen, Ishtar, and Athena.

I map our story from world brain of dreams
when I hitchhike from sea to shining sea
because Onatah commissions my quest
on holy Mount Takoma in Glow Cloud
and gives me crystal sphere of timeless truth
so I can watch evolution unfold.

Translating deep hymns from world brain of dreams,
that guide our spiritual atheist quest
to understand true essence of our brains,
I stand on mountain of the global soul
with frail mask of my temporary self
and sing till I beam light of everything.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus visits every temple, synagogue, church, masjid, and hall of fellowship on Earth to sing hymn of one world Astarianity of united faith in First Mother of Life.

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

Dream Bridge Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

I trust Orpheus with his broken lyre
more than Saint Paul and his fake deity
about the resurrection of the soul,
for no bright conscious soul of glowing thought
has ever returned to our life on Earth
after they cross dream bridge of nevermore.

When angels bomb Sodom from silver planes,
blasting temple of Pinikir to rubble,
Edith stops in flight with her husband Lot
and looks back at the city of her heart
which breaks in hot torrents of salty tears,
then cries in anguish for the past she lost.

When Hades slithers from dark underworld
and kidnaps sweet Eurydice with lust,
keeping her prisoner in cave of fear,
Orpheus calls her name in fields of flowers,
trapped in dark shadow of his anguished heart,
till Persephone reports on her bondage.

After Hades falls sleep at enchantment
from hypnotic melodies Orpheus plays,
and from mushrooms in sweet delicious wine
that the clever singer offers the miner,
Persephone releases to his care
young woman wounded from bite of the snake.

When Orpheus pauses in the dark tunnel,
while strumming lyre of Mercury with hope,
and turns back to see if she follows close,
he finds that she has vanished in the dark
because the dead cannot come back to life,
so he kneels and weeps by the faceless pool.

After Joseph and loyal followers
rescue Jesus from the cross of salvation,
and Raphael cures his wounds with rich herbs,
their Crown Prince to the throne of Israel
revives with vigorous health to conscious life
after almost sinking in the sea of death.

After Raphael resuscitates Christ
from moribund state of clinical death,
Jesus meets his wife Mary Magdalene
at entrance to the tomb with warm embrace,
then they escape by ship to Patmos Island
where he dictates Revelation to John.

Since Jesus seemed to resurrect from death,
revived with herbs and care of healing hands,
Paul preached glamorous lie of the Afterlife
that still fools people desperate to believe,
but we all vanish into nothingness
after we cross dream bridge of nevermore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus and Jesus chat about poetry as they stroll gold-paved streets of Heaven to garden of apple trees where Mary Magdalene and Eurydice brew apple cider for the autumn festival.

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

Highest Hill Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Though all my memories vanish in the wind
when I wake from bright spark of ardent hope,
I hear voice of the woman with three eyes
sing soft in harmony with ocean waves
so I become the tree with long black wings
emerging from blank pages of the book.

Strange dreams of running on gold sand of fear
urge me to rise from nothingness of hope
and fly on breath of mountain-swelling ache
till time obliterates the question why,
so I sit on huge tuft of grass to play
the faceless ghost who wears mask of the cloud.

Surprised by laughter of wind-rustled trees,
I open ribcage of my pulsing chest
to read the ancient book of memories,
releasing ghosts of my ancestral selves
who speak in voices of the twinkling stars
with humble frisson of psychic resolve.

With curious passion of the hungry beast,
I rummage in cracked rubble of my mind
to find the secret treasure of my heart
though I admit embarrassment of faith
because I grieve for someone who is gone,
their body vanished in the swirling dust.

Voluble with attentive care for moons
that flash across the awkward clouds of trust,
I breathe in fluent language of the ghost
who teaches me to stand on steady legs
and walk in surging tides of social change
till I ascend the highest hill of thought.

Still hidden in safe habitat of love,
considered genius by the writhing snake,
I dance with dazzling beauty of the brain
to prove my flightless arrogance requires
brave admiration of the cheering crowd
whose frail-leaf hands applaud my slow decay.

Reborn as angel in the factory
where devils carve new masks of noble class,
I glide with vibrant beat of city streets
to taste pure accuracy of loyal pride
for architect of balanced clumsiness
when I construct grand hall of fluting bones.

Because I bleed from portrait on the wall
as lacrimating prophet without hands,
despair transforms my body from glass rain
to throbbing ghoul of beautiful contempt
which proves my right to reign with stolen laws
as faceless god on highest hill of thought.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus watches the young woman on the beach gather and roast clams, so he approaches with basket of apples to share, so they eat together and sing in moonlight.

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

Unclose Door Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Though time flows out of my exploding eyes
to fill vast maze of city streets with souls
emerging from old wrinkled photographs,
I wake at shock of ocean consciousness
as human cactus singing by the pole
about how skulls form mountain peaks of truth.

Lithe ocean fish wind unclock of my self
with tangled laughter of passionate words
through unmechanical respect for fear
that spurs progression of my blooming brain
which soaks strange memories of frantic dreams
escaping brains of people around town.

As broad-winged signet of heraldic pride
I leap with swan-grace on percussive wind
to float with swirling angel of gold clouds,
convinced brave magic vibrates from my hands
that flush redeeming flames of holy love
from murmuring cars of electric fame.

Struck by obsessive blink of traffic lights,
I stand ten thousand years in the crosswalk
to count lost angels of the fractured street
who search for sorrow of the store glass door
wide open to soft tinkling bells of hope
that upend social conventions with greed.

Blind city ghost on balcony of faith
plays rusty saxophone of arrogance
that reshapes vast dimension of our brains
with sacred creed of rotten references,
desecrated by dead rose of her heart
because she tries to unclose door of fate.

Dressed in bright colors of the morning scream
that twist fake books in riddles of glass film,
she tells the boy she loves that he appears
to be her Babylonian Adonis
who dies in anguish when he tries to rise
from half-torn photograph of body-lust.

My racehorse never reaches goal of love
though I run forward into mist of change
forever flashing through telephone lines
that bind great chimneys of regretful brick
from which smoke of our words transcend our death
when we vote for the lonely bard of life.

Primeval memory of antiquity
writhes groaning from eccentric egg of lust
as brutal pioneer of psychic spells
whose frantic code of unmelodious song
goes on forever into sea of tears
where we sail boats of hope beyond the shore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wanders lawns of the university in Berkeley where blind angels of poetry gather around the pulsing tower of fate to sing spells of love into the wordless wind.

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

Poet Glow Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 10 17

Drunk on the bitter wine of arrogance,
the Famous Poet, in tattered tweed suit,
stumbles on stage to polished podium
in bright university lecture hall
to read with important voice of prestige
his latest collection of meditations.

Do not imbue on me that poet glow
that shrouds fools in veil of immortal Fame
which transforms mortals, fueled by lust to live,
to holy messengers of divine truth
with marble sheen of false divinity
that neuters mission to expand the mind.

Transforming into bat with devil wings,
before eyes of the startled audience
who gasp with surprise at absurdity,
the Famous Poet flaps about the room,
bumping into dark portraits of Great Poets,
and shrieks dire prophecies in solemn verse.

Strange glow of mute sorrow from long-dead stars
radiates from frail frame of mortal flesh
that imbues him with poet glow of fame
as cosmic insight into social trends
that illuminate with grammatic twist
psychological process of the seer.

After he finishes reading grand poems
about domestic quietude of rage
that surges from subconscious sea of faith,
the Famous Poet sits at polished table
and signs copies of his latest collection
for each star-eyed worshipper of his greatness.

Eyes blinded by his poet glow of fame,
the Famous Poet wanders endless halls
past doors that open to empty classrooms
where ghosts of students haunt strange Otherworlds
that emanate as holograms from books,
then floats up into swirling clouds of glory.

Riding in the back of the dented car,
driven by the ambitious graduate student
who gushes on about symbology,
the Famous Poet gazes at bright stars
that glimmer faintly through after-rain clouds,
and ponders nature of the Perfect Poem.

After waking sober in purple dawn,
the Famous Poet eats eggs on rye toast,
then strides gleaming halls of the glass airport
to ride the airplane to the little town
where he teaches poetry at the college
since he survives on poet glow of flame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus attempts to dispel the poet glow of fame that shrouds his soul with blinding glimmer of importance, but sighs as it clings to his body of flesh.

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

Brave Community Of Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Since every temple where men worship gods
have been built by bleeding hands of faith,
I climb stairway to Heaven where glass skulls
sing hymns of sorrow from the human heart
that hypnotize my heart with siren spells
so I almost shipwreck on rocks of truth.

With laughter of deep-rooted trees of fear
we find that when we solve catastrophe
of shattered truth in puzzles of respect,
we bond in brave community of ghosts
who carve our new personality masks
so we personify our souls as gods.

Despite stark passion to preserve my soul
beyond decay of flesh to wordless dust,
I channel fierce incorrigible need
to transform wreckage of mortality
in gold-paved maze of grand celestial halls
where we dance in mirrored haze of dreams.

On mortal feet of uncelestial hope,
to span isolation of inner peace
in august columns of world theaters,
star-forged from twisted agony of faith,
I breach liminal space of tragic loss
to cradle wounded goddess in my heart.

Though idols of every god who has lived
as mortal human struggling to survive
with courage enough that molded their soul
in marble statue that personifies
their heroic victory against death,
shine in temple of faith, I live my way.

So many centuries of change have passed
since we constructed from bones of the Earth
Temple of Segesta on stony hill
of sorrow for how Death claims every soul,
yet I long to return on swan-brave wings
to dwell again beneath its sheltering roof.

Relaxed in garden of seaside chateau
beside square fountain where black swans flap wings,
I strum the lyre of Mercury and hum
heart-wounding psalms that old David composed,
as Edith conjures butterflies from Hell
in memory of our long-deserted temple.

In Temple of Segesta I still play
lyre of Mercury with dream-weaving hands
to mend wounded hearts with aoidic tunes
that immortalize weak humans as gods
to glorify mortals who wrestle death
as spirits that transcend our tragic fates.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wanders bleary-eyed in deserted roofless Temple of Segesta, calling out the names of Muses whose voices once enchanted our lonely hearts with hope.

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

God In Our Own Minds
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

Original response of secret love
that echoes at me from across the lake
reveals that I, and all humanity,
are here alone on this slow-spinning globe
because the faceless demon of my heart
is all that answers my cry to the stars.

The strangeness of this universe is mine,
I whisper soft as wind in tall hill grass,
but I hear voices in the sudden wind
that rustles tongues of leaves on eyeless trees
who seem to speak of secrets I would know
but murmur wordlessly when I attend.

I climb this stream of radiance to the sky
to find dark cave of visions inside stars
where dream of time began in human minds,
so I sit still in glow of timeless truth
to feel whole universe of pulsing forms
surge through vast hollow of my aching heart.

While meditating in thought-silent cave
where time becomes swift motion of my blood,
I realize God is concept we design
to account for how men exercise power
so we comprehend social energy
of leadership that incarnates as kings.

We venerate mortal Jesus as God
because his selfless actions of respect
present new way tribe leaders may perform
role of protector and guide for our souls,
instead of tyrant who exploits our fears,
but he is dead so we perform his role.

As leader of his tribe centuries ago,
Jesus embodied in his mortal frame
immortal spirit of the Selfless King
which incarnates in countless other men
who dedicate their hearts to nurture souls
of people so we live well in their care.

Thus God, as Good Leader who loves his tribe,
reincarnates in countless mortal kings,
with every generation humans live,
as representative of Christ on Earth
through active choice of each new mortal soul
who performs what they know Jesus would do.

Jesus is dead, but spirit of his love,
as leader attentive to what we need,
awakes again in every human soul
who chooses to treat others with respect
when we cultivate God in our own minds
with conscious scope big as our universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus and Jesus hang out at the Crippled Pegasus Cafe to chat about how moral values are based on construction and destruction of atomic structures to evaluate good and evil.

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

Mind Key Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 10 16

With framed adherence to the chime of light,
I pivot in dark rain of all-the-time
where ravens rebuild silence of the wall
in protest at residual permanence
that spirals through concern of Jupiter
whose laughter unwinds clock of our return.

Emerging from conception of the rock
that forgets why its shape reflects the sun,
I run while standing still with psychic tricks
through preparation to perform as spy
obsessed with measurement of the mind storm
that teaches me secret for how to love.

Extracting holy milk from the Faith Cow,
at wordless horror of the throbbing drum,
I interview for the messenger job
working for the Fairy Queen in Stonehenge
who asks me to retrieve the tangerine
stolen by brave boys who know how to grieve.

Because Artemis counts cars at the show,
despite objections of the restless stars,
I always figure out which way is best
for proving nothing happens when we pray
to Cernunnos in his arboreal den
though he writes new creed for the manticore.

My bitter shadow on the ocean shore
transforms from human back into the fish
because I am Oannes on fast track
to reign as world pope in the Vatican
who rescues souls from Hell with legal rope
through dream spells contrived from runes in the well.

Enchanting holiday shoppers with tunes
of mind-expanding visions in teardrops,
I reframe privilege through social lens
which formulates code of our new world view
based on television rules of the road
that children never learn in church-run schools.

Since I succeeded in my sacred search
to find God Mask everyone says is fake,
I transition my soul through the next phase
within parameters of the truth-hexed,
so I campaign to play messiah sleuth,
commissioned to reveal Mind Key of Why.

We love our planet no god has designed
though priests deceive us with religious fraud,
so my wife and I tread the moonlit ridge
where angel-winged wolves request secret boon
that I should lead them on our global quest
to learn secret of flight in metal robe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus forges mind key of why from the meteor of demonic light, then gives the rest to Arthur who forges Excalibur with which he establishes the Avalon Empire.

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

Immortal God Of Genes
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

Still on my quest to find the Holy Grail,
I stumble down crooked highway of faith,
then tumble dazed on deep Narcissus Pool
where I see vision with diamond-glazed eyes
of my wife glowing with ethereal light
refracting through her soul from Cosmic Eye.

While strumming lyre of Mercury with faith,
I sing hymn to Aion, great light of life,
mindless creator of all that exists,
the self-begotten flash of vibrant love
that beams through Helios and Selene,
first parents who create my soul from Earth.

My father high on stone of destiny
tells me that when I die my soul of light
will fly on white swan wings of ecstasy
up to gold peak on mountain of star eyes,
and dance in nothing of the everywhere
till I become ripe apple on the tree.

Young dappled doe with moon-black eyes of faith
nudges my chest with soft nose of respect,
so I feed her fresh apple in my hand,
then we stroll by bright river of our hearts
to find enormous sphinx on hill of skulls
who asks me riddle of the human soul.

I scatter sparks of atoms in my soul
as fireflies in soft breeze of evening glow,
dispersing memories of my random life
in psychic ocean of forever now,
attuned to vibe coding of mental flex
that flashes through cosmic intelligence.

Magnetic shimmer of your secret voice,
that pulses in harmony with my heart,
expands my soul with laughter of delight
that cleanses sorrow from my poisoned mind
so I float wingless over flowered hills,
since I know secret of the Holy Grail.

Each person must discover for themself
conceptual meaning of the Holy Grail,
embodied by wise woman with star eyes
who generates new life from seed of faith
so our child reincarnates our two souls
in body for immortal god of genes.

When I was wondering lost in Wonderland,
dazed by bright idols of so many gods
that humans worship as great characters
to imitate through performance of life,
Orpheus grabs my shoulders with sly grin
and teaches me weird mystery of rebirth.

Now that I have the long-lost Holy Grail
sitting by my computer on the bookshelf,
its silver curve mirroring my God Soul,
I resurrect my darlings from blank book
by writing spells with raven quill of faith
dipped in sparkling dragon blood of respect.

Since I am temporary node of flesh
in long-evolving vine of divine genes,
awake with memories of timeless joy
which my ancestors lived to program me,
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing
till I disperse in swirl of nothingness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus teaches me how to improvise conceptual spells of verse in the oral tradition of narrative poetry that pulses in the neural atoms of my brain.

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

Immortal Soul Of Phoebus
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

From each psychic node of the matrix beams
integral vector of expressive thought,
tangled in homeostatic words of faith,
bound on its journey to become itself
and maintain grounded equilibrium
through inner peace despite pressures of change.

Staring in abyss of his hollow heart,
Phoebus wonders with sly smirk of disdain
if he might be the serpent of his songs
whose writhing passion, coiled to spring on wings
of fierce ambition to breach gates of Heaven,
motivates his mission to mock proud gods.

When lonely Python of his hungry heart
slithers from cave of illusions at dawn,
emerging from wordless darkness of doubt,
Phoebus strums strings on lyre of Mercury,
hums softly to harmonize scratchy voice
of cautious hope, then sings strange spell of truth.

Gripping wood handle of the rusty hoe,
Phoebus scratches furrows in stubborn soil
to sow seeds of new hope with eager hands,
then bears buckets of water from the river
many hours every day with aching back
to nurture sprouts that blossom from his heart.

For ten thousand years, through life after life,
immortal soul of Phoebus in his genes
tends crops of wheat transforming soil to flour,
to feed regeneration of his mind
till he begins to understand the Why
that fuels process of dream analysis.

Ascended master of the holy light,
that beams through wounded heart of innocence,
Phoebus bears lyre of Mercury in hand
while treading signless road of curious dawn,
and sings hymn of creation in each town
where farmers dance to rhythm of his heart.

From endless centuries of labor blooms
enlightened seer with cosmic eyes of stars
whose verse projects grand vision of Earth Dream
which frames our new world view with guiding law
that renders superstitions obsolete
while guiding play of life we all perform.

Each prophet rising from lush fields of truth
speaks with great voice of all humanity,
depicting social system that sustains,
through equal justice for each conscious soul,
progress of the lone individual
to live through liberty for all the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus earns Philosophiae Doctor degree writing thesis that studies the cultural forces which foster the occasional rise of the Prophet of the People throughout history.

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

Lady Of The Diamond Star
© Surazeus
2026 10 15

When I find basalt tombs of sorcerers
unshattered by proverbs of sacred books,
I answer nothing to immortal nymphs
who fly shrieking at me from qualming spring
because I am the Who unprophesied by Death,
nor is there any reason why I Am.

I keep it secret that the Three Maries
based operations of the Holy Grail
in eerie grotto of Sainte-Baume massif
from which our Merovingian tribe of seers
expanded reign of Magdalene and Christ
who rule Gothinia past two thousand years.

I wish I could see eyes of Radegund,
bright with faith in beauty of this world,
which manifests conceptual forms of truth,
while I recite verse of my loyal heart
from sharp whispers of her Sibylline voice
that glows bright in dark days of Sirius.

Someday I hope to follow Ocean Way
sailed by the Three Maries to hills of Mars,
piloted also over seamless waves
by fluent dolphin who saved Arion,
so I may find lyre Venantius strummed
beneath shaken fruits of Elysium.

Though few may understand dream of my heart,
arranged in puzzles of socialized tropes,
I sing grand Vision of Apocalypse
through Revelation of the Laughing Snake
whom brave Apollo tamed with melodies
depicting Lady of the Diamond Star.

Because I am no pair of ragged claws
scuttling across the floors of silent seas,
I wear wood mask of Christ Pantocrator
to fool the devil of the modern world
when I seize means of production with spells
that conjure virtual model of One Earth.

Now under Tree of Knowledge by the lake,
where demons of greed lurk in wounded hearts,
I carol praise for leader of the world
who crowns Wise Woman with respectful wreath
to restore faith of Radegund with hope
that Son of Meroveus will rise again.

White star of Sirius, that twinkles swift
with flashing scintillation of weird truth,
which guided brave Venantius up steep path
to liberal palace of wise Magdalene,
illuminates path where I walk today
to grotto where soul of Mercury waits.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus visits the Three Maries in the grotto on the massif of Sainte-Baume where spirit of Mercury still lingers after six thousand years of silence.

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

Mercurial Song Of Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

As long as I can give you all my love,
my heart will flow with energy of hope
that springs from fountain of unending joy
through admiration for all vibrant souls
who spring from dream of Earth in human form
for we are spirit of the stars alive.

When I leave love notes in the hollow tree
as field guide to haunted forest of love,
we find they transform into honeycombs
that drip with memories of secret hours
we spend together by the citrus tree
where crow of wisdom sings about our joy.

Though leaves of time swirl red in chilly wind
as harbinger of change in mountain air,
I hear cry of the owl in misty woods
who brings strange story from the distant vale
that Death stalks Beauty of the human soul
whose spirits vanish with flowers in snow.

When I decode fortune of apple peels,
that randomly reveal in curls of fear
new axiom of our deconstructed truth,
my mind perceives big picture of the world
unfolding process from vast social change
when I trace effects to their primal cause.

Rewriting inner story of my heart,
through brave steps of attentive ardency
each day I transcend limits of my being,
I find that I have courage of tall trees
to be where my feet are on road of life,
so I erect signs to guide the lost home.

To implement with calm diplomacy
firm state of universal peace on Earth,
I invest fiducial standard of growth
in manufacture of war machinery
designed to organize angelic code
through strict enforcement of fair global law.

Awakened by mercurial song of grace
that horses sing on river shores of love,
I channel grief through laughter of dawn rain
reflecting deep compassion of my heart,
born from deep magic at the dawn of time,
for every conscious being that lives on Earth.

Emerging from dark well of innocence,
with writhing runes of serpentine foresight,
I join song of free horses on wild hills,
then bring strange treasure to hard city streets
as fruit that heals the wounded heart of souls
who thrive with love that fountains from my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus composes and conducts Mercurial Symphony in C Minor played by the Zarathian Philharmonic Orchestra in the Temple of Saturn.

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

Find The Silver Moon
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

After I am done leaping in the air
while wading in burning flowers of faith
with the passion of the sun in my mouth,
I will deconstruct the mystery of flesh
to find the silver moon inside my brain
that sends me singing forty million years.

After I am done dashing against darkness
with closed eyes of innocent arrogance
in the sleepless curves of my dream-coiled body,
I will resurrect the mystery of soul
to find the frantic sea inside my heart
that leaves me stranded on the beach of time.

Or maybe I will watch the lonely leaf
that falls as oneness of humanity
with each new generation of bright souls
that comes and goes in seasons of desire
till we are swept away by tides of change
through revolution of the laughing snake.

I find no people on the spinning Earth
except blind robots wearing masks of gods
who fight each other for the Promised Land
that burns from revolution of the fooled
at shocking revelation of the truth
brought by wounded hands of messiah sleuth.

Before I begin to leap spinning worlds
across pearl necklace of the multiverse
to meet the doppelgangers of my being,
I will reconstruct the mystery of mind
in computer processor of my brain
programmed to perform role of God on Earth.

Before I begin to recalibrate
piston engine of the time-machine car
to explore the world, sea to shining sea,
I will reincarnate lithe Mercury
as son of Saturn strumming lyre of truth
to sing satires about the haughty king.

Or maybe I will live with Anyone
in the pretty how town of anywhere
against common decency of lust
to paint images of new global ghosts
on rose windows in cathedral of tales
where floating bells design Astarian Creed.

I meet strange people in world maze of streets
who all say they remember Sisyphus
working as manager for Wonderland
where Saraswati in the hotel lounge
sings about new empire of Jupiter
through revelation of the laughing snake.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus creates a star map that shows locations of worlds like Narnia, Fillory, Ranika, Tatooine, Heaven, Vulcan, and Arakis in relation to Earth.

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

Fertile Globe Of Ranika
© Surazeus
2026 10 14

When I wake in the World between the Worlds,
after finding ring my grandmother hid
in dream-tangled roots of the apple tree,
I wander among pools to other worlds,
wondering which one I should visit today,
till I hear strange siren song of my heart.

Diving into pool where Narcissus drowned,
I swim ten million lightyears across space
to the other side of our galaxy
where I wake on the world of my heart
created by the wise witch Ranika
who gives me book for me to write dream spells.

Beside tall goddess with ten million eyes
and glass wings that span mountains and seas,
I climb Stairway to Heaven of her heart
to stroll vast avenue of ziggurats
where sprawling palaces of gleaming gems
glitter with divine light of countless stars.

Ascending diamond stairs of ardent faith,
we enter palace of Hyperion,
enormous god with countless twirling wings,
who gives me crystal sphere with Eye of Truth
that depicts animated history of life
on every planet in the universe.

Transforming into lion with twelve eyes,
Hyperion sings attentive hymn of hope
that conjures planet from dream of my brain,
so I give Goddess Ranika my heart
who holds my hand with beaming smile of love,
then we teleport to garden of fruit.

Sly serpent with electric eyes of fear
attempts to hypnotize my aching heart
with vision of myself as emperor
who rules ten billion worlds of loyal souls,
but I laugh at his lies of haughty greed,
which banishes his hate in gentle breeze.

When Ranika returns from Salithor,
great city where her people farm and build,
wise goddess of industrial workmanship
gives me new raven quill and parchment scroll,
so I compose in quick Saturnian verse
epic poem about curious scientists.

Returning to the World between the Worlds,
through pool from fertile globe of Ranika,
I resurrect as Narcissus with faith,
so I follow heart-breaking song of love
to find sweet Echo by her apple tree
who blushes as we embrace with respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus finds planet of Ranika where he records folk songs of the people as they work in the fruit orchards across the glimmering city of Salithor.

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

My Journey Nowhere Else
© Surazeus
2026 10 13

Because the spring sun is the saddest ghost
that lingers mute in autumn innocence,
I write my name in dust of alleyways
to trace path of my journey nowhere else
on endless quest to find the beautiful
that shimmers in the fractured hearts of strangers.

Amazed at flash in swelling clouds of time
that imitate vast wings of cherubim
which hovers over city maze of fate,
I choose to tell lonely strangers I meet
I am incarnation of Mercury
though no one can see the wings on my feet.

Paused on shore of the god-reflecting lake,
I look for the Road Not Taken that spans
lush meadows and bleak deserts of my heart,
but all I see is the High Road of Fate
where Orpheus leads blind ghosts of the dead
who may arrive in Heaven before me.

Though Atossa has painted every wall
white with blood of angels to camouflage
sorrows of children wounded in harsh wars,
she sings strange beauty of our spinning Earth
to celebrate this transient life of joy
which inspires compassion to bloom in me.

Though I doubt conscious entity called God
creates this universe with clear design,
I love how people gather in their church
to sing about strange beauty of this world,
and share tales of their struggles to survive
to support each other in quest for love.

Escaping dirty streets of rain-drenched cities,
crowded with people driven from lush vales
by greedy barons in castles of hate,
my ancestors sailed to America
and built new homes in lush Missouri vales
where they sang hymns by River of Star Eyes.

Startled by ephemeral glow of desire
that radiates from bodies of human souls,
I plot birth of the new energy field
that weaves many nations in one world state,
united by respect for liberty
that nurtures equal justice for all people.

So when I call God on the telephone
to ask about why people suffer pain,
he chuckles and explains with rainbow beams
that he is but some story character
invented by kings to keep men afraid,
then we meet by the lake of stars to fish.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus joins God, Zeus, Allah, Brahma, and Shangdi fishing by the lake of stars, so he plays guitar and sings while Odin fries fish on the grill.

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