One Eternal Vibe Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

After I ride the slow afternoon train
among house-cluttered hills of lonely towns,
I walk shores of the ocean through my dreams
to feel the ebbing tide of life recede
with hoarse voice of the old sibilant song
that sparks electric self out of my heart.

When dust of Me becomes land of the globe,
which fascinates my eyes with slender light,
I wonder what name ancient people called
this river that reflects mask of my face,
since I still hear dirge of the ship-wrecked souls
who ask me for secret of global peace.

I merge my soul in drifting sand of change,
baffled by uncanny thoughts of desire
that lure me to find soulmate of my heart
who walks as distant shadow on the beach,
so I call out to them with plaintive cry
but I find they have become the Real Me.

Loud voices echo against trunks of pines
when thoughts my mouth projects recoil as fear
that bursts in peals of thunder over hills
with cold ironic laughter of false pride
so I extend my hand with trembling faith
to grasp elusive fish of timeless truth.

Strange essence of this whole beautiful world
eludes perception of my eager mind
to understand flash of cause and effect
when light reflecting off things I define
stings my heart with sweet shock of ecstasy
that we are one eternal vibe of light.

Star-eyed Ocean Mother within my heart
expresses riddles through analysis
to translate murmur of the mocking waves
refracting light through prism of my brain
because I contradict my alien self
beyond capricious attitude of faith.

Vast ocean breathes my swollen soul with faith
though I become invisible to eyes
of human scope expanding beyond code
programmed to bind safe haven of my heart,
because I am the new moon no one sees,
no more than subtle voice on evening breeze.

I drift at random on long road of life
but always find myself on ocean shore
where ghosts of my ancestors haunt my steps
because I follow path they blazed with hope
through fathomless workings of secret codes
expressed as aching dirge to accept death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus decides not to take the train back into town, and instead tries to live in the cave on the beach where humanity first sang dirges of faith.

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

Matrix Of Dreamless Souls
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

If Hate falls off the Cliff of Honesty
and floats unloved on undulating waves
of brute despair for growth of human minds,
we gather in lush mountain grove of faith
to share sad tales of tragic nonchalance
since Mindless Fate strikes down the arrogant.

With nimble fingers of perpetual pride
I strum taut strings on lyre of Mercury
to finetune melody of cosmic gears
which powers how spheres spiral among stars
in stellar machinery of mental hope
that spurs my quest to find the magic word.

If Love leaps up the Hill of Travesty
and swirls unfeared in stabilizing frame
of dexterous confidence in soul decay,
we scatter on the river shore of doubt
to hide happy tales of romantic zeal
since Mindful Fate lifts up the innocent.

With crippled legs of fleeting modesty
I twist loose threads on tapestry of Eris
to unravel matrix of dreamless souls
who crowd in panic on the river shore
and beg for Charon to escort them all
safe to the rugged hills of Arcady.

Sporadic laughter echoes down the hall
where studious ghosts read tales in tattered books
recording how they met their tragic ends
in clumsy accidents that Fortune plans,
which proves our rich lives are ephemeral
as mute dust scattered in blind wind of time.

Artificial intelligence contrives
slick package of plastic stereotypes
that mimics word games of robotic thoughts
which leads to uncanny vale of tears
manufactured by vampire god of faith
in psychic performance of false respect.

Though mute Pierrot with single leap of faith
falls in love with elegant Clementine,
she should seek asylum in Notre Dame
where white bear of salvation breaks the cross
which frees the people from creed of despair
to roast goat for feast of the sacrifice.

Human intelligence gathers evidence
that seem unrelated in scheme of things
till heartless ballerina conjugates
disparate elements through alchemy
to comprehensive vision of the truth
which includes every conscious soul alive.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus leaps off Cliff of Honesty to swim in swirling sea of memories till he remembers why Eurydice left him at the altar to marry Rodomont.

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

Mirror World Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

When I steal fruit of that Forbidden Tree
to taste sweet passion of Death in the world,
and dance wild on secret top of Oreb,
inspired by oracle of vision stones
with faith to soar above Aonian Mount,
I sing in mirror world of anywhere.

When I analyze what romantic cause
moved my parents to generate my life
by eating fruit from sacred Tree of Life,
seduced by Infernal Serpent of Love
who revealed secret of eternal life,
I dance in mirror world of anywhere.

When I assert ambitious aim of hope
with pious courage of faith to contest
critical verdict of artistic seers
by chanting epic of philosophers
presenting quest for nature of the world,
I write in mirror world of anywhere.

When I aspire to transcend hideous ruin
compelled by headlong flight on valiant wings
flaming from ethereal sky of ideas
that hollows space for my words to construct
grand temple where heroes are valorized,
I fly in mirror world of anywhere.

When I decide with courage of brave faith
to reign as Bard in Hell of confidence,
rather than serve in Heaven of compliance,
untangling secret codes in vibrant verse
with verve of esteem that dispels foul curse,
I rule in mirror world of anywhere.

When changed from naive youth of arrogance
to stoic maturity of respect,
ensconced at peace in happy Realms of Light,
clothed with transcendent brightness of weird truth,
to hazard Glorious Enterprise of song,
I dwell in mirror world of anywhere.

When I wear gleaming mask of Lucifer
to perform role of Light-Bearer for Truth
as Potent Victor in this global age,
and raise from bottomless abyss of faith
innumerable force of characters,
I charge in mirror world of anywhere.

When I lead star-eyed Seraphim of Earth
to battle tyrants grasping at state power
with project to exploit all working men
as slaves to their vain plan to defeat death,
and cast them from Almighty Throne of Right,
I shine in mirror world of anywhere.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus finds John Milton in Temple of Truth on the Aonian Mount, so he gives him glass of wine, then they jam tunes on their lyres and improvise hymns to Lucifer.

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

Proxy Puzzle Of Prudence
© Surazeus
2026 05 31

Each time I hear daylight sing out of tune
I see past range of what my eyes perceive,
essential vibes of truth that flash in brains
with pure angelic wings of thoughtless faith,
so I give tears of wisdom to lost souls
and chase wild butterflies in pouring rain.

Though I am no wise philosopher-king
attending needs of people in my care,
I ache with sorrow at their suffering
so I beam lasers from passionate glare
to spark bright flames on stone altar of prayer
with passion of Elijah on Carmel.

Though refugees from war on fenceless road
call Dispeller of Sorrow with brave prayer,
she hides with humble heart in hollow lair
to gather honey in the Holy Grail
that bleeds as blood from angels without wings
who trick my heart with tunes I cannot hear.

I wear mask of flame-caster at the pyre
and chant holy hymns of the devil choir
with plan to catch the newest falling star
before it fractures egg shell of the Earth,
since each material object has its worth
though fate cannot guarantee second birth.

As Smith of Hearts with Hammer of Respect,
I trace essential vein of curving thoughts
to map ordinary light of our brains
that seek permission to endure harsh pain
from faceless spirit in the empty sky
who never answers when we question why.

Adjusting vibrant strings of psychic faith,
I try with secret code to tune my eyes
through beams of fiscal light that harmonize
intense desire to expand consciousness
with humble need to extract from the Earth
potent material that could fuel my heart.

Pending payments on mortgage of my mind
alert my guardian angel with sharp chime
to analyze proxy puzzle of prudence
consistent with regulations of growth
defined by math clerks with strange formulas
which calculate my cost effectiveness.

Undone by death on Bridge of Clarity,
we hurry to our offices at dawn
to broker compliance with divine law
that should suppress bold curiosity
so when daylight sings in tune with the sea
we can unite to fight for liberty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus pauses on London Bridge to snap a selfie with the crowd of people undone by death in the background, then continues to the Museum of Fake Art.

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

Riddles Of The Why
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

I like to float on wordless breath of thought
as I pretend my soul cannot be bought,
though children chasing shadows in the woods
leave broken dreams in doorless neighborhoods,
so I lie prone on couch of innocence
to plot new revolution of good sense.

I take my face off when the moon returns
to look for lost book among rain-wet ferns
since elevators drop me to my day
because I still refuse the right to pray
with fervent faith to no one in the sky
who never answers riddles of the why.

I want to make Sarmatia great again
but I cannot find my gold fountain pen
to write about how Queen Amage fought
invaders with the sword her wisdom wrought
that gleams invisible inside my heart
with love for Alba and her apple cart.

My heart resides in hills of Avalon
though I was born in vale of Oregon
so I hitchhike back east on signless road
that leads me to dark lake of the God Toad
who teaches me to play the Hermean lyre
that channels energy of soul desire.

When I row boat across the sloshing sea
to forest where the white crow with glass key
reveals strange secret of the golden flower
that blooms from sorrow in the doorless tower,
I legislate the sacred right to vote
for global savior on the floating boat.

We struggle to survive since hour of birth
through strategic fight to control the Earth
by constructing food-production machine
designed to favor all by Melusine
who guides my heart with riddles of the why
so I project my god face at blue sky.

My global revolution of good sense
inspires brave souls still stuck in reticence
to risk calm state of their healthy life style
by tricking Satan with the clever guile
concerning strict obedience to the law
though we try to evade the lethal jaw.

Desire to live beyond death of the soul
drives fierce fanatics to attain this goal
by grasping vainly at ethereal wind
that misdirects the greedy king who sinned
by smashing palace where First Ladies dwell
so I throw snake runes in the dreamless well.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus manages reconstruction of the East Wing of the White House from crystal bones of beautiful angels fallen from Heaven that does not exist.

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

False Roads Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

Untwisting breakdown of the fragile hour
we swallow stones of dream-exploding hopes,
preserved as mushroom, bellows marginal
to frantic wisdom shot from bowls of rage
too fast against declensions, unpossessed
by freedom-ordered words disguised as ghosts.

Contained by complex articles of faith,
too soon to craft new lecture on muckwork,
my pulsing heart chews maps of ardent eggs
smudged red with portents of forced arrogance,
though we dance through Inferno of regret
in threadbare souls extinct in cleansing rain.

Concealed blade of my alabaster heart
thirsts bleakly for resilient memories
teeming thick with unwatched electric sparks
from atoms smashed against my spasmic skull,
still starving for bland obligations bought
by trembling hands of futile arguments.

Diminishing warmth of starkly blurred rain
at scuttled promises that should retreat,
discarded on false roads of innocence
despite determination to endure,
alerts my thoughts to understand strange words
that disappear when I shout lies at Death.

Against advantage purchased from blind death
I preen with fractured confidence of stones
to argue for hardships that mold our frames
fierce as steel gears screwed in engine blocks
fueled by dark possibilities still ignored
by flash of sunlight cracking doors of fate.

Pressed hot against vast world of spinning fear
by radiant gravity of muddied clouds,
I wonder if my tarmac-soldered brain
could drink disoriented waves of hope
fast enough to map lost trail of ghosts
where angels slip and break their haughty wings.

Young boy who bikes on dusty narrow road
through small town, not on any Texas map,
stops by college library after noon
to write on yellow pad of paper spells
contrived from plots of television shows
about Sad Cowboy who explores the stars.

Young girl who walks beside tree-mirrored pool
through temple complex, in Cambodian hills,
ascends on Garuda with rainbow wings
to scatter flowers on the Texas plain
where Phoebus gazes with astonished faith
as Vasundhara takes his hand in hers.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus presides over wedding ceremony of Phoebus and Vasundhara by the pool in the temple complex of Angkor Wat while Asparas dance.

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

Aeolian Melodies Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

I hear sweet voice of Maya in soft wind
that blows through trees lit by the gold noon sun,
so I feel timeless spirit of Hermes
ache to sing about Bride of Quietness
who dances gracefully on uncracked urn
forever in cool dales of Arcady.

Wild ecstasy of haunting melodies
still echo softly in my sensual ear
from summer days of my adventurous youth
when I attended rainbow gatherings
in Colorado and New Mexico
where no Arcadian priests attended rites.

While riding cars on winding country roads
across America, sea to shining sea,
I see stolid cows grazing in fenced fields,
undraped by garlands woven by young maids,
where generations of grim pioneers
have plowed thick fields that now serve as their graves.

Yet Attic shape with marble lovers gleams
still unphased in Museum of Dead Gods,
so I now long to wield artistic brush
and add John Keats and his love, Fanny Brawne,
to lounge together on the Grecian Urn
in cold pastoral of eternity.

Now my heart aches two centuries from when
John sank in Lethean waters of mute song
attempting to fly with melodious plot
beside light-winged Dryad of the trees
that lead him to the blushful Hippocrene
where I strum his lost Lyre of Mercury.

Pale specter of his Apollonian soul
has lingered by my side for forty years
with lustrous eyes of mind-expanding sight
that helps me translate weird Sibylline songs
to praise the Queen-Moon of my fairy land
whose sweet song radiates from my dreaming mind.

Why easeful Death is now in love with me
because she whispers in my sea-shell ear
harmonious murmurs of the ceaseless waves
that trick my heart with forlorn fairy haze
to think I am both emperor and clown
whose plaintive anthems fade unheard at dawn.

Through global halls of gold in sublime state
I strum the turtle Lyre of Mercury
to sing with Homer and Apollo hymns
about the human quest to understand
essential nature of our universe
that beams Aeolian melodies of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus teaches me how to guide souls of the dead to the Underworld where they vanish into the nothingness of death when I explain there is no Afterlife.

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

Make Sarmatia Great Again
© Surazeus
2026 05 30

When horses gallop on the windy steppes
along the Borysthenes River flow,
I embrace fierce heart of assertive hope
till I feel wings of Icarus expand
and lift my spirit to sun-glowing clouds
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

As star-eyed son of Oceanus and Tethys,
who taught me how to tame the wind-winged horse
with apple from Garden of Haballon
where Hebela gives me fruit of her heart,
I gaze entranced in her moon-golden eyes
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

Harnessing swift sky-dancer Pegasus
to chariot with round wheels Helios designed,
I race along wide river of fruit groves
to hall of Apple Queen Amarnakea
who welcomes me with cup of healing juice
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

Though I wander lost on vast treeless plain
I climb mountain trail to her fruit grove
when I hear sweet voice of Hebela ring,
who takes my hand with smile of honest love
and leads me home to lush Habaeleon
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

Ten thousand years ago in fruitful hills
I left my sacred home Habaeleon
with apples from Garden of Haballon
and traveled west in Helian wagon train,
planting apples from Scythia to Scotland
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

With golden apples of lost Haballon,
as wise Apollon, son of Ilius,
I tend vast orchards in lush Avalon,
then strum the turtle lyre of Mercury
and sing of Adam and Hebe in Eden
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

Far west across wild sea of Oceanus
I sail from Avalon to lost Atlantis
where I plant apples on lush river shores
from Tsenacommacah to Oregon,
where gentle Multnomah dances in rain,
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

From Sea of Zalpa where my soul was born
when Queen of Kanesh, mother of my heart,
commissioned me to map the world of dreams,
I travel west with Fruit of Haballon
to fill the world with Apples of the Sun
so I can make Sarmatia great again.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus and Ophelia travel to Almaty Mountains on pilgrimage to the original apple groves that still flourish in Garden of Haballon.

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

Entangled In Matrix Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 29

Though I am encased within shell of being,
enwrapped in wings of thought I do not have,
I float in all-inclusive Absolute
through interconnected totality
as brain entangled in matrix of light
that sloshes thick in sea of molecules.

I understand flexible principle
when I grasp writhing serpent of my soul,
and fix in thought concept of ardency
with rigid definition of beamed words
that binds elusive hope as stable truth
which urges constant motion of strict change.

Each rigid principle of truth I grasp
generates contradiction of its state
as mirror image of its ideal being,
sublating opposite in sudden form
that integrates their contrapuntal force
in higher comprehensive unity.

Subjective spirit of my private mind,
preserved through individual mask of being,
tracks growth of my personal consciousness
expanding scope of bold intelligence
fueled by emotion of assertive faith
to record perceptions of my special brain.

Objective spirit of my social class
molds vibrant energy of our zeitgeist
in social institutions of right laws
that manifest cultural realities
enhanced by abstract right of ownership
through fruitful conscience of morality.

Performance of my spiritual support,
when I choose to create and not destroy,
culminates in private ethical life
where I actualize freedom of my will
by building walls of Heaven to protect
my wife and children so they savor life.

Absolute spirit of my cosmic mind
beams highest stage of growth where I achieve
unified recognition of my Self
when I express intuition through art,
making imagery that represents life
in religion to bind our hearts with tales.

Events of world history humans perform
evolve toward goal of mental liberty
through exercise of justice for all souls
to gain progress in consciousness of faith
preserved in brave freedom we exercise
to soar with hope above vast maze of myths.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus attends lecture at University of Zarathia where Hegel describes how unconscious spirit of light motivates humans to design institutions of universal justice and liberty for all.

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

Angel Of Ever Time
© Surazeus
2026 05 29

Did you meet your angel of Ever Time
while wandering lost on Parc Rives de Seine?
Bright light of ancient stars gleams in her eyes
when she appears in flash from storm-black skies
to cast dark shroud of gloom from my burned heart
so I may read guide spells on my star chart.

Do you hear your angel of Ever Time
sing with clarion voice of the silver chime?
When I transform into the white-furred bear
to ascend the endless heavenly stair,
hordes of devils swarm from cathedral hall
to thwart me when I spell their minds in thrall.

Do you see your angel of Ever Time
emerge with demon wings from ocean brine?
Trapped in museum of infinity
by writhing words of fraught eternity,
I dance with Mona Lisa on lake shore,
two ghosts escaped from book of ancient lore.

Will you kiss your angel of Ever Time
when we free people from Plutonian mine?
When Jesus harrows Hell with Sword of Truth
with Dream Wand from Tree of Jesse and Ruth,
he leads his people to the Promised Land
where apple trees bloom from his tender hand.

Would you know your angel of Ever Time
if she appears without wings in her shrine?
Struggling on raft of Medusa with Fate
to extract honest love from bitter hate,
we sail Sequana River past the moon
while Orpheus plays Zarathian Tune.

Can you feel your angel of Ever Time
beam divine soul of God in fractal rhyme?
Ultimate origin of conscious being
spirals zillion galaxies on oval ring
which channels Star Mind through my pulsing brain
because I give it all away to gain.

Shall we name our angel of Ever Time
with persona mask young children design?
After we stumble with diamonds of hope
through frantic faith on misty mountain slope,
we bury our parents in secret graves
then search for the true apple tree that saves.

Since I am your angel of Ever Time,
will you take my hand and always be mine?
I give you rainbow of the wind-winged horse
to gather energy of the Heart Force
so our love may heal wounds of brutal war
to buy milk and bread at the grocery store.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus proves to Jesus that death is the final end of all conscious minds, then he strums lyre of Mercury while Jesus sings Amazing Grace.

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

Writhing Agony Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 05 29

Shocked by how often angels fall from Heaven,
I express ardent anguish of concern
that Earth is now littered with wounded souls
who search for paradise of innocence
that may only exist in morning dreams
of lounging by the river eating fruit.

We dream of how life could be on this Earth
based on memories all our ancestors lived
life after life in garden of fruit trees,
plucking fruit from the wide generous world,
though always watching out for hidden snakes
who lie that we can gain eternal life.

Those golden eyes gleam bright with eager hope
that conjure visions of eternal life
each morning as we taste sweet fruit of faith
though our lithe bodies soon begin to fail,
and youthful strength withers as we decay
to stumble in decrepit solitude.

Writhing in anguish on the forest floor,
from helpless agony of bitter hope,
that like our parents we crumble to dust
after rotting flesh is consumed by worms,
we cry out to the empty faceless sky
for arcane secret to live beyond death.

Bright halo of the sun that blinds my eyes
surrounds head of strange angel who appears
as if they descend from gold clouds of faith,
so I grasp hand extended with concern
and stand to face the mirror of my face
that smiles at me with pure innocent grace.

Aroused by passion of conceptual plan
to share sweet pleasure of warm juicy kiss,
we open arms of lonely hearts with trust
to cling with gentle honesty of faith,
embraced in writhing agony of love
that merges separate bodies in one mind.

Dissolving boundaries between our souls
in frantic mission to transcend cold death,
we share excessive heat of loneliness
till soaring angel seed of ardent hope
penetrates global egg of singing truth
till we are pregnant with divine god soul.

New child born from our passionate embrace
grows strong and bright-eyed with innocent grace
so we teach them to describe what they see
till they perceive true essence of all things,
then we lie down to die in happiness
that we have gained eternal life in them.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus wanders from grave of Eurydice and sings agony of his loss, till Ophelia gives him apple of love, and they raise their son Orion with discipline of love.

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

Born As Adventist
© Surazeus
2026 05 27

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Wake Through Weird Visions
© Surazeus
2026 05 27

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Ruined Temple Of Masks
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Futile Television Shows
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

I Want To Believe
© Surazeus
2026 05 26

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Golden Apple Eris Threw
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Demon Trapped In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Fragile Faith In Death
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Third Man Of Antarctica
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Find The Hidden Star
© Surazeus
2026 05 25

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Organic Frames Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Insight Of Weird Gratitude
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Leather Satchel Of His Heart
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Stream Of Silver Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Fake Words On The Ground
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Diamonds Of Eternal Stars
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Real Face Of God
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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

Broken Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

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

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