Pope Petrus Secundus
© Surazeus
2025 12 17

Wandering in cluttered Museum of Fate,
Pierrot gazes at portraits of dead clowns,
tears freezing into lucent Pierres de Lune
that gleam with rainbows trapped in gem of time,
then pantomimes his tragic comedy,
pining with love for graceful Columbine.

Descending in cave of Trophonius
with cheese wheel, honeycomb, and jar of wine,
Pierrot searches grim darkness of despair
through underground of moral prejudice,
but finds nothing more in cold heart of doom
than star-eyed lizards on purple mushrooms.

Holding Torch of Freedom and Book of Tales,
Columbine searches Museum of Fate
to find the spirit who had called her name,
but finds only white mask of Lucifer
that Pierrot would wear to woo her love,
so she hangs it in Gallery of Popes.

Returning from cave of Trophonius
with Crown of Thorns Jesus wore on the cross,
Pierrot climbs stairway to the Parthenon
to offer Janus moonstones as a bribe,
who ushers him in Museum of Fate
to find Pope Petrus lounging on the throne.

Heart beating with desperation of the hawk,
Columbine runs through endless maze of myths,
past startled idols of dead popes and kings,
to enter Hall of Mirrors just in time
to see Pope Petrus bare sharp vampire teeth
and leap to attack innocent Pierrot.

As avatar of the disenfranchised,
buffoon outside norms of society,
disillusioned foe of idealism,
lonely sufferer of symbolic sorrow,
Pierrot is the alienated observer
struck by mysteries of the human condition.

Soaring swift on angelic wings of love,
Columbine snatches bow from Cupidon
and fires sharp arrow of Platonic Love
that strikes undead heart of the vampire pope
who explodes into frantic butterflies
that flutter halo round head of Pierrot.

Crowned Pope Petrus Secundus of Gothinia,
Pierrot, with Columbine, in red silk robes,
parades before large cheering crowds of Roma,
then enters gold-walled Museum of Fate
where he presides on jeweled Judgment Throne
just as a meteor strikes the Earth with fire.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus kneels before Pope Peter II and offers Sibylline Books he dug up from the tomb of Jupiter.

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

Code Of Uncertain Faith
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

When they try to disrupt language we speak
in vain attempt to prove their awesomeness
their treasures that seem to shine in their hands
crumble to dry dust of meaninglessness,
so we reclaim lamentation of love
with shrill elegies of uncertain faith.

Elegant curves of our picturesque coast,
that unfurl fate of fractal consciousness,
provoke our compulsive analysis
through hypnosis of arbitrariness
with each striking revelation of love
that lurks at the end of uncertain faith.

Secret memory of the dream-shadowed mind,
severed with arson of mischievousness,
obscures inner void of the sacred truth
silvered with hard plow of fierce quietness,
despite hurtful passion of brutal love
dependent on code of uncertain faith.

Absence of the migrant soul singing spells
exposes forced solace of eagerness,
dignified by transparency of blind lust
that enlightens moribund hopelessness
through primary notion of vivid love
to relish process of uncertain faith.

Acoustics of dream truths unfixing facts
align alienation through otherness
not commonly accepted by networks
anchored to time by standard lawfulness
when we enter the same room without love
to exchange tokens of uncertain faith.

Glossary of wounds defines characters
trapped in fake purity of loneliness
through valence valued greater than distrust
based on paradox of grand saintliness
which reflects how the hateful barter love
conditioned on force of uncertain faith.

Witness to emergent reality,
we calculate progress of trickiness,
never wavering to compose melodies
that dispel opposite of gloominess
while remaining the same on stage of love
beyond irony of uncertain faith.

Crowded horizon of glass surfaces
wields eye-loop of unmapped contrariness
to reveal inner landscape of desire
which connects our hearts to world nothingness
churned by static waves of innocent love
hidden in riddles of uncertain faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus programs code of uncertain faith to manage artificial intelligence intrinsic to operation of religious institutions.

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

Glass Brain Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

Nothing seems real to the glass brain of faith
who watches the world television show
depict villains stealing wealth from our hands
while soil of the Earth crumbles into words
that turn into butterflies of despair
so hopes and dreams vanish in silent rain.

Fruit trees blossom from the glass brain of faith
at second coming of messiah sleuth
who works at the Museum of Lost Dreams
where people visit after work to pray
since rivers keep on flowing to the sea
regardless of who tries to rule the world.

Messages beamed from the glass brain of faith
declare with confidence of rain-smooth rocks
the situation is under control
despite thieves seizing computer machines
that distribute payments to hungry hearts
who wander with horses on windy plains.

Laughing clocks unwind the glass brain of faith
faster than hawks snare rabbits in the bush
too late for laws protecting innocence
when banks charge fees for the air people breathe
though we hold our breath and jump in the lake
to find salvation in tears of the sky.

Something is true to the glass brain of faith
that sees Heaven with kaleidoscope eyes
where Lucifer dances on glowing clouds
with Emerald Tablet of chemical laws
on which he scribes weird formulas of fate
that define process of cause and effect.

First flash spirals in the glass brain of faith
to map expansion of the universe
that flares forth from big bang of conscious love
forming galaxies of suns which feed globes
with energy that evolves into beings
who tell each other stories of the real.

Star atoms pulse in the glass brain of faith
who wakes from strange dream of eternity
to name itself as separate conscious being
exploring landscape of its hungry heart
before it invents weird concept of God
as supernatural being that never dies.

I see myself in the glass brain of faith
that conjures virtual model of the Earth
composed of memories I experience
which I organize in Tale of My Life
within narrative framework of my soul
which will end in death I cannot foresee.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus holds up the glass brain of faith while lecturing to students about psychological system of Plato he called Realm of Ideas.

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

Door Of Eternity
© Surazeus
2025 02 16

Lonely for the way ghost clouds shimmer white
with sobbing heaviness at hour of birth,
I stand outside door of eternity
to welcome newcomers to our weird world
who emerge from the pregnant mother tree
that binds their bodies with the change of time.

To touch the face of Death I touch your face
so I can feel fierce coldness of the stone
when I push through door of eternity
and sob with gravity of changing time,
soul leveled against broad breast of the globe
to taste tumbling song of the silkened sea.

Each stone of Earth tumbled by waves of the sea
cries out to me with anguish for pure light
we feel within door of eternity
when we hang half-awake in poise of hope
between ice-glistening air and damp earth
which beckons our hearts with alluring voice.

With grip of honest passion for the truth,
I cling to the edge of vast emptiness,
long falling through door of eternity
which I describe in letters I must hide
that still lie scattered on forgotten desk
where birds eat words I never meant to write.

Cold lamentation of the burning hill,
despite how far stairs curl around despair,
reveals repaired door of eternity
where children watch our global fight for power
play out on field where leaves of time fall slow
to shroud false geometry of our love.

Through elegant dribble of happy rain
I head for somewhere far beyond my grave
which imitates door of eternity
to wait between the rotten and the ripe
with unperceiving passion for the truth,
bewildered by how flowers grow in mud.

Yet immanence of death prefers my speech
explaining frail fate of philosophy
brought forth to crack door of eternity
and savor intricate concept of grief
based on rubble of homes destroyed in war,
manifest in miracle of my eye.

My face mirrors nameless divinity
with subtle amusement of graceful shock,
able to lock door of eternity
extravagant with horror we conceal
with heart-enchanting song of ocean waves
where ghost clouds whorl across the crystal sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus gazes with visionary awe at ragged white clouds that blow across the sky after the long night of thunderstorms.

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

Blowing In The Wind
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

While standing on the pyramid of truth
to watch events of world history unfold,
I realize that this hour is the end
of the world we have known for eighty years,
and the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

The dove of peace still sails across the sea,
having never once found rest in the sand,
and missiles have been fired to destroy homes
every year since that young prophet cried foul,
for the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

I keep on walking down the signless road
where I have seen things I will never tell,
finding diamonds of truth I cannot sell,
yet still they refuse to call me a man,
since the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

The vast mountain of patriarchal power
may never be smoothed to democracy,
and hard-working people are still not free
for people do not care, though they can see,
so the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

Searching for God, said to dwell in the sky,
I keep looking up for Justice to come,
but then I realize the face I see
is my own, mirrored in how I will act,
for the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

While I have lived on Earth for sixty years
I have heard millions of hurt people cry,
so I have become huge eyes full of tears,
and my ears ring with tales they never tell,
for the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

Walking road of fortune around the Earth,
I recite the name of each human soul
killed in countless wars of national pride
who all follow me to the Promised Land,
since the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

Though the world we have known comes to an end
we support United Nations of Earth
to build new world based on democracy
with liberty and justice for all people,
though the weird answer we once gave our friend
is now no longer blowing in the wind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus strums guitar before the Lincoln Memorial and sings Blowing in the Wind to ghosts of the dead killed in global wars.

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

Bones Of Dead Men
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

Numberless dice formed from bones of dead men,
smoothed round by endless sorrow of sea waves,
roll tumbling over sand of timeless hope
cast by Hand of Death with indifferent grin
when captain of our ship gambles for life
against grim embassy of wingless angels.

Alone in my small river boat of faith,
adrift on swirling sea of moaning mist,
swept downriver from wooded Saxon hills,
I see moonlit wrecks of enormous ships
floating sail-less toward dim Elysian shore,
captained by grim Charon with serpent eyes.

Then, smooth skin gleaming white as snowy fields,
huge demon of the sea, Leviathan
or Cetus with faithless wings of despair,
emerges from abyss of surging waves,
and gazes with indifferent frosted eyes
at me immobilized by gleam of truth.

Entranced by Mobius Strip of diamond eyes
which mirror boundless vastness of my mind,
enhanced by spectrum of eternity,
I read in flashing verses of bright stars
complex formulas that define pure state
contrived by liquid relativity.

With compass gleaming in my red right hand,
influenced by magnetic waves of light,
I sail straight across Sea of Oceanus
west through towering Gates of Hercules,
with pears from garden of Hesperides,
toward pristine island where Atlantis shines.

With quadrant pointing toward Unmoving Star
that fixes axis pole for spinning Earth,
I measure boundless space of surging tides
from gleaming pyramids of Babylon,
past apocalyptic Isle of Avalon,
to land on lush shores of Chesapeake Bay.

Since Moby Dick swallowed my fragile soul
and spit me on shore with mission from Zeus,
I walk back east from woods of Oregon,
where Liberty on high Takoma Mountain
gave me crystal globe scrolling human history,
to prophesy at the locked White House gates.

When Midas seizes thorny Crown of Christ
to crown himself King of America,
Minerva waves starred flag of Liberty
to fight against nationalist theocracy
so we support global democracy
to build strong United Nations of Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus sets thorny Crown of Christ in Zarathian Museum of World History as solemn reminder of the brief tyranny of Midas.

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

Ten Million Ways
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

More than ten million ways to sing the dream
befuddle me with possibilities
for dancing with flow of the river stream
to join our national festivities
disguised as wingless angel of the moon
commissioned to oppose the rich tycoon.

More than ten million ways to speak the word
confound my heart with eager scrappiness
known for contriving instinct of the herd
to construct grand palace of happiness
constrained by mortgage no one wants to pay
except the king conned by the castaway.

More than ten million ways to build the home
inspire my mind with vision of world peace
where no one conscious ever has to roam
propelled by malice of the Golden Fleece
to purchase honesty from the blind seer
who hides spy cameras in the chandelier.

More than ten million ways to fly on wings
increase my mountain-fierce anxiety
for learning how to forge new magic rings
as horcrux programmed by psychiatry
which grounds electric flash of my brain soul
masked by performance of my special role.

More than ten million ways to sail the sea
compel my drive to channel pressure straight
through psychic force of social liberty
designed by brave souls who reprogram fate
so I can proudly say with thunder voice
I blaze my destined path with each blind choice.

More than ten million ways to cook the cake
record each vain attempt that witches brew
when stirring elements drawn from the lake
by laughing jesters of the Argo crew
who seek out new worlds of tribes to explore
without ever stepping outside the door.

More than ten million ways to pray to God
enforce wild revolution of the lost
who frame the honest king as greedy fraud
miscalculating what services cost
in coup to destroy our democracy
and enslave our minds with theocracy.

More than ten million ways to rule the world
chronicle how all empires rise and fall
in chaos controlled by the cosmic herald
who translates bloody writing on the wall
through revelation that earns him respect
as prophet who plays social architect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus calculates more than ten million ways to tell Ophelia about his love for her personality.

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

Walk With Broken Wings
© Surazeus
2025 02 15

Elimination of his crippling guilt
motivates his selfless attendant drive
to steward progress of the bigger deal
firmly based on the arbitrary scale
expansive with fabulous honesty
that double-locks rotating door of time.

Through routine strike of equanimity,
to check strange matter of distracted fear
for inconvenient focus on desire,
he hopes fraught method of the falling rain
upholds blotched breath of exhaled fortitude
that may metastasize hopeful regret.

Beyond reach of intervention, expressed
by distorted results of radiant words,
inserted by electric scream of rain,
he prevents ineptitude of dream rage
that mirrors disquiet of peopled streets
crowded with faceless ghosts who search for love.

Burdened by despair washed ashore by fate,
he bears sorrows in backpack with mute heart
to flee burning house of false memories,
and wanders fields of stale grass wet from tears
children scatter from crippled hands of hope
till we are threads of light lost in blind night.

Enriched alternative of crashing walls
encourages him with startled ardency
to rebuke evil-hearted sycophants
who flatter agents of the secret clan
to parley nationalist goals with harsh shout
that takes shape from triumphant honey bees.

Immersed conception, crawling from hot sea
with humid efficiency of mute stones,
exerts projected pattern to enclose
matter in final form of evolved faith
when he proclaims with gravity of pride
his spiritual retreat from loneliness.

Brain spun by spiders born from fierce sunlight
to stretch beyond ideal shape carved by words,
he threads strange memories in new world view
with rapid keystrokes that encode respect
earned by harsh suffering, self-insured by fate,
to trudge dispirited in swirling leaves.

Mind captivated by the infinite,
unreachable with concept signifiers,
he scatters words of wisdom on sidewalks
that freeze human tears in patches of ice
where heart-broken wanderers slip and fall,
then rise again to walk with broken wings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus leads thousands of angels with broken wings on the signless road to the Promised Land that has never existed except in minds of the lost.

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

Glycon Snake God
© Surazeus
2025 02 14

The plum tree gleaming white on grassy knoll
lures young boy across tangled clumps of grass
with eager desire to consume sweet fruit,
but hiss of serpents slithering in the grass
causes him to freeze, though his heart beats wild,
so breathes misty air that stings his soul.

Breathing deep intense spirit of the mist,
Alexander centers beam of starlight
to gyrate coils of fraught anxiety
in brass wand fixed with diamond at its tip
as he steps slowly over tufts of grass
among the snakes with eyes gold as the sun.

Stopping before the plum tree gleaming white
with delicate blossoms that veil green fruit,
Alexander reaches out trembling hand
to touch rough bark with courageous despair,
but Glycon, enormous serpent with wings,
rises on coils and leans close to his face.

"Small hairless monkey with moon-silver eyes,"
hisses Glycon with emerald-green eyes,
"I am incarnation in serpent form
of wise Asclepius, healer of the soul,
so I have returned from Realm of Ideas
to offer salvation to all lost souls."

Young Alexander with long wheat-gold hair
spreads arms open and smiles with calm delight,
"Great Glycon, spirit serpent of our world,
teach me arcane wisdom you bring from stars
so I foresee events that will occur
when I trace primal cause to each effect."

Coiling around brass wand with diamond tip
that Alexander holds in his right hand,
Glycon lifts his head above moonlit gem,
"I commission you, wingless monkey seer,
to preach salvation of my holy word
for common folk against fake gods in power."

Striding boldly in Paphlagonian hills,
Alexander journeys with serpent wand
to bustling city of Byzantium
where he proclaims that kind Asclepius,
son of Apollo, has been born again
to save mankind from doom of corruption.

Hundreds of hungry souls searching for truth
gather around the tall angelic man
who preaches, "Though you are all lost in gloom,
I bring light of Apollo to your lives,
for Glycon Snake God reveals to my eyes
how I can make our nation great again."

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus watches Alexander preach salvation through oracles he receives from Glycon Snake God with skeptical analysis of his prophecies.

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

Coil Of Taut Time
© Surazeus
2025 02 14

Inspired by beautiful calyx of death
that provides bounty from coil of taut time,
Consus oversees harvest of gold grain
heaped on four-wheel wagons, Helius designed,
hauled by horses along the river shore
to store fruit of the Earth in temple hall.

Skipping cheerfully with basket of apples
along wooded shore of Albula River,
where Tiberinus drowned to save Albina,
Spuria Tarpeia sings enchanting tune
to express her love for the wolf-boy Remus
whose silver eyes make her heart flutter wild.

Hiding behind oak in the shadowed vale
between two hills where the twin brothers reign,
Spuria watches as Romulus and Remus
grab arms of Hersilia, then each declares
intention to crown her their city queen,
and gasps when the wolf-boy she loves is killed.

"Once rival gangs on opposing fort hills,"
Romulus proclaims to swift-foot warriors,
"Now we can merge our forces in one army,
and thus I crown Hersilia Queen of Roma,
mistress of the water well whose wise words
you must obey with loyalty of love."

Plowing furrow around lush Palatine peak,
Romulus sets foundation stone in soil,
then proclaims construction with honest hands
high Wall of Romulus built with strong stone
to surround pale of paradise with hope
that provides haven for wandering tribes.

Stepping forward from assembly of men,
Neptunus requests word scepter to speak,
"Because our wall-enclosed haven of Roma
is crowded now with swift-foot warriors,
our rising glory of power will die
if we have no children to build our state."

"Your words inspire me with clever plan,"
Romulus grins, "so I hereby announce
new games festival I name Consualia,
lead by you, bold equestrian Neptunus,
as Consus, warden of the harvest grain,
to host in honor of your sea-wild father."

Festooning horses with garlands of flowers,
Consus Neptunus and his cult of grooms
lead horses to parade in streets of Roma
past swift-foot warriors with long spears and bows
who capture Sabine virgins as their wives
while Romulus reigns as Jupiter Feretrius.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while people watch the horse races at the Consualia hosted by Romulus who presides as Jupiter.

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

Frosted Winter Nights
© Surazeus
2025 02 13

Long after starry eyes of winter night
ceased looking in window pane of his mind
because Robert passed from dream of this world,
the outside world looks darkly now at me
with the same indifferent intensity
of time-wound emptiness that knew his soul.

I long have wondered with fierce grumpiness
what strange spirit is looking in at me
with timeless light of ancient burned-out stars
till I read spell he wrote with demon blood
about his endless frosted winter nights
brooding mute with the broken moon of fate.

No nameless ghost of my ancestral genes
disturbs my half-slumber by the cold hearth
while I compose angelic spells with runes
of gleaming light on glass screen of the sky,
for I scare not the night of everywhere
nor does eternity of night scare me.

I keep behind placid mask of my face,
which I took from the ancient gallery,
terror of nothingness with unconcern
of calm acceptance that we all will die,
so I watch moonlight gleam on backyard lawn
with heavy breathing of monstrous respect.

I gaze at outerness of the vast world
and fancy some omniscient super-mind
returns my gaze with divine nonchalance
that fills my chemical frame with cold shock,
yet I must laugh at quietness of God
who smiles as reflection of my own soul.

To understand strange darkness of our world
which watches me with eyes of nothingness,
I ask sly smirking ghost of Robert Frost,
whose ghost emanates from book of his poems,
what weird mysterious spirit of blind gloom
haunts our houses on frosted winter nights.

Slumbering dreamless by moon-silver stream,
the word wizard wearing Saturnian mask
stirs at puzzling code of my anxious voice,
rises tall with lumbering stillness of faith,
and slowly chants Hyrkanian spell of hope
that stirs majestic spirit in my heart.

Then I step back with startled state of mind,
surprised by wyrd epiphany of truth
that I am darkness of the outer world
gazing at myself through the window pane,
for God is mirror of my conscious mind
as atomic light in my dreaming brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus hangs out with Robert Frost on frosted winter night in his farmhouse, drinking apple cider and talking about the demonic night.

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

Idol Of The Holy Fool
© Surazeus
2025 02 13

I hear the yellowhammer bird reply
with platitudes of stoic principles
to the crippled angel with tattered wings
who limps down the signless road of false hope
after blowing up bridges to strange worlds
where the fool makes the whirling world stand still.

The old woman under the maple tree
tells the laughing turtle with raspy voice,
"The most accurate measurement of courage
is how people endure harsh suffering
when they are the most vulnerable and weak,"
then gives last jar of honey to the fool.

The half-blind man with weed-entangled curls
paddles small wood boat on the purple lake
and explains to the swan with diamond eyes,
"Only cowards hide behind silence of faith,"
then dips his hand in waters of the mind
when the fool throws his book into the water.

The red tyrannosaurus with gold eyes
blinks when steel bullets pelt his heaving chest,
so he grasps green army tank with sharp claws
and hurls it screeching into the swamp pool
where soldiers scream in horror as they drown
clutching gold idol of the holy fool.

Raindrops glisten on the clear window glass
as wind blows clouds across the desert plain
where lizards scurry among the sagebrush,
and devils make deals with poor guitar players,
painters, and poets to sell them world fame,
laughing as they all bow before the fool.

The young girl in pink boots and green raincoat
runs along wood fence in the rain-wet field
as she flies her kite over the white church
where blind angels sing hymns of ecstasy,
then gazes entranced in sea-silver eyes
of the fool who recites love poetry.

Sitting upstairs in the small theater
to watch the play Our American Cousin,
Lincoln tells the ghost with the laughing gun,
"Those who deny freedom to other people
deserve it not for themselves," then he spreads
vast wings to fly to Heaven with the fool.

Watching finches on Galapagos Islands,
Darwin explains to the tortoise of truth,
"Freedom of thought is best promoted by
gradual illumination of human minds
with follows from the grand advance of science,"
while the fool writes his words in the notebook.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus and Rimbaud walk the summer-hot road in the rugged hills of France while chatting about the Dionysian energy of poetry.

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

Manna Of Courage
© Surazeus
2025 02 13

This block of cheese should elicit no laugh
from those of us contrived by poverty
to struggle against privilege of wealth
seemingly imbued by that divine hand
which assigned Tablets of the Law to Moses,
for dairy chunks are our manna of courage.

No Mithras wearing red Superman cape,
as noble matador astride fierce bull
that raptured Europa from flowered meadow,
I yet face horned devil of fortitude
when I invest capital earned by labor
to herd cattle with stoic pride of Zeus.

As purple Amaryllis flowers bloom
in lush Arcadian meadows where cows graze,
I play heart-enchanting music of love
on pipes Pan fashioned for amusing play,
while Amaryllis, maiden in lace dress,
extracts sweet milk from teats of lowing heifers.

After curdling milk in cow-stomach bags,
Amaryllis ferments curds in clay pots,
strains thickened curds through linen sheets of cloth,
pours curds in round wood frames, sprinkles on salt,
then sets them on benches to dry in sunlight,
keeping watch till they harden into cheese.

So many variants of delicious cheese
provide savory flavor for rich cuisine,
cheddar, mozzarella, camembert,
brie, asiago, feta, parmigiano,
emmental, ricotta, fontina, gouda,
and many more alchemically designed.

While Moses leads our tribe of refugees,
escaped from slavery of pyramid gods,
wandering lost in waste land of despair,
soul-nourishing manna from dew of heaven
sprouts as mushrooms from desert of desire
we eat with cheese we brew from milk of cows.

Though spider of Arachne, weaving fibers
of flax into comforting linen cloth,
sits beside us as we eat curds and whey,
we savor sweet manna that Hesat brews
from cow milk which nourishes our gaunt souls
as we journey on to the Promised Land.

No tragedy of cruel uncontrolled hubris,
nor comedy that mocks foibles of thieves,
frames noble cheese with mythical concern,
for we have followed cows across dewed fields
ten thousand years of close companionship,
eating cheese they provide with generous love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus and Daphnis, watching cows, play music and sing while Amaryllis and Hesat brew cheese as manna of courage.

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

Revelation Of False Truth
© Surazeus
2025 02 13

Odd angle of sunlight beaming slantwise
might discombobulate my sense of right
when I express frustration of content,
but I leap shallow ditch of jagged fears
to catch quick winged flight of ardent breath
at shocking revelation of false truth.

Unbroken stone of river-smoothed respect
guides my meandering way of random fate
on stumbling surety through confidence
straight toward eccentric doom of thought
around my blurry goal in circled steps
at blithesome revelation of false truth.

Toward face of God above vast empty Earth,
unseen by eyes of Innocence or Greed,
I trudge past endless hills of nowhere else
in lonely lands where baleful ghosts haunt hope
to mountain shadow of the never-seen
at wretched revelation of false truth.

Across bleak waste land of bare houseless hills
I plunge in verge of fear-shadowed Mirkwood
to wander dreary valleys of despair
where ravens croak on shores of rocky streams
and wolves of sad wind howl from distant caves
at murky revelation of false truth.

My chilled heart misty as blue evening moon,
I search with wandering stars for something true
that gleams with ghostly paleness of lost hope
in elvish groves of faith-forbidden fruit
as bleak wind seems to call "Arthur", my name,
at silent revelation of false truth.

Far from warm castle Camelot I built
I chase receding time of formless faith
for wisdom that long perished in fraught roots
of morbid mountains veiled by silent fog
to wait and watch in shadow world of hope
at woeful revelation of false truth.

Deep in Zarathian Forest of tall trees
I wear gold mask my father forged for me
as I approach vast cave of dragon jaws
to peer in heart of darkness shrouding faith
where eerie light of voiceless wisdom glows
at divine revelation of false truth.

Bright in my reverent hand of awed respect
green emerald God Eye of the holy Earth
gleams with transcendent flame of timeless faith
in arcane runes that spell my secret name,
so I dream whole history of Earth unfold
at primal revelation of false truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus explores huge dragon cave in the rugged Zarathian Mountains where he finds Arthur gazing entranced in the Emerald Tablet.

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

Oscillation Of Desire
© Surazeus
2025 02 12

Between opposing forces of the heart,
respectable self-control of Apollo
and passionate expression of Dionysus,
I balance oscillation of desire
with appellate force of Icarian wings
to analyze and judge creative play.

Through stoic calm of clever fortitude
I attempt to drive piston-engined car
with careful attention to safe approach
that maintains forward motion of four wheels
in turn to actualize successful growth
which proves superior nature of faith.

Aggressive force of passionate endeavor
motivates soul-enhancing enterprise
when I analyze changing consequence,
clarified by flow of cause to effect
that triggers clear original results
safe with inducement of objective play.

Though comprehension of inherent worth
precipitates conditional solutions,
designed to sustain expressive respect,
I deposit mute energy through faith
in sacred mission to institute change
conducive to expansion of the mind.

Between confirmation of self-control,
contrived to manage attitude of hope
with honest deception that should reveal
considerate ringing of psychotic bells,
and unleashed arrogance of shocked relief,
I find safe shelter in haven of dreams.

Thus I expect to catapult my thoughts,
spear-sharpened by projective breath of lust,
straight through curved undulance of honesty
to pierce contemptuous shield of despair
in brilliant victory over fallen gods
ascendant with surprise of truth revealed.

After eating apple of ecstasy,
that he received from Eris with green eyes,
Sariel strums lyre of Mercury and sings
heart-aching melody of naked truth
to explore oscillation of desire
that maintains integrity of his soul.

After snapping some selfies of himself
exploring ruins of the ancient museum,
Sariel posts them on social media sites
with comment about how his heart can feel
spirits of the Muses glowing with life,
then rides the bus to catch the airflight home.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus meets Sariel at the airport and grins while driving home as he listens to his friend describe his trip to Mount Helicon.

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

Valley Of The Muses
© Surazeus
2025 02 12

Hair blowing in brisk mountain winds of faith,
Sariel climbs rugged slopes of Helicon
to ruined Museum, temple of muses,
where no rain has fallen one thousand years,
then sits exhausted among marble pillars
while goats prance among old twisted plum trees.

"I wish to bring them back to life again,
nine charming Muses with their lyres and flutes
gathered around Apollo in round hall
where folk traveled far to hear them perform
songs relating lives of their ancient gods
during the sacred Mouseia festival."

Breathing deep muggy air of solitude
in broad deserted Valley of the Muses,
Sariel gazes at Mount Helicon
that shimmers silently in waves of heat,
while ravens gather in twisted plum trees,
and feels nameless grief well up in his heart.

"I sense hazy shadow of Pegasus
linger near the bubbling Hippocrene spring
where I dip my hands to drink soul of Earth,
liquor which opens eyes inside my heart
so I see nine Muses in flowing gowns
singing before huge crowd of worshippers."

Gazing at his face in clear silver pool,
Sariel grins with amusement of truth
to think Narcissus stood at this same spot
and gazed entranced at beauty of his face
till voice of Echo woke him from false dream
to keep him from drowning in vanity.

"After Narcissus visited this pool,
Tiresias found Athena bathing nude,
and thus received wyrd art of prophecy
because his eyes perceived with reverent awe
divine beauty inherent in her soul,
tended with care by Eupheme and Linus."

Heart aching with fierce passion of insight,
Sariel feels spirit possess his body
so he starts to sing with mercurial voice
tale of Apollo chasing graceful Daphne
till she transforms into the laurel tree
whose leaves crown the greatest singers of tales.

"Though they are long dead, fleeting flames of life
that shone brightly in this valley of music,
their spirits live in me one thousand years
after they danced and sang with eloquence,
so I must sing to keep their art alive
another thousand years of sacred song."

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus arrives in the crowded Valley of the Muses, eager to participate in the Mouseia where he hopes to win the laurels of Apollo.

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

Majesty Of Vital Love
© Surazeus
2025 02 12

Magnolia blossoms that hide cold moonlight
outside cobwebbed window of our bedroom
describe how life happens in flash of days
through monotonous meanness of desire
when we pledge loyal attention of hope
for each other alone with grasping hands.

Rich surplus of our consciousness provides
eager flight of perfect passion assigned
by brooding trees of childhood that regret
stealing memories of rain on dry fields
now pungent with asymmetry of faith
based on oaths that rattle inside cracked stones.

We choose each other as soulmates for life
with random affinity of strict hearts
compelling us to stay together close
while treading delicate process for growth
with resolute compassion we still share
in tale depicted on fresco-bright clouds.

Awake on barbarous shore of respect
for strange conceptual vision of this world,
we analyze automatic response
with honest insight into heart of gloom
which fuels our journey on new road we name
for secrets we hold dear in silent trust.

Through legitimate beauty we exchange
our memories tangled with genuine respect,
attractive with contrivance of contempt,
yet flush erotic honor with sweet kiss
connecting our alien minds with expanse
of wordless wisdom that proves our true worth.

Awed by weird message of the hypnotist,
with fearful grimace of flirtatious faith,
we both embrace ourselves in whom we love
projected in the other we trust most,
which marks our majesty of vital love
delighted with kind wonder of mute grief.

We find each other in eyes of the other
more familiar with each new passing day,
constructing devotion on deeds performed
that mirrors condition of social life
through strict vanity of reasonable laws
which forbids pleasures we most want to share.

Thus hand in hand we make our new-found way
along the sun-washed Gulf of Mexico
with mission to build Eden with our hands
dedicated to focus through respect
attention of our hearts to selfless care
that nurtures majesty of vital love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus and Ophelia talk about their relationship on camera for the documentary about romantic love.

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

Melody In My Heart
© Surazeus
2025 02 12

The timeless song of the ocean remains
the same eloquent swirl of energy
heard by humans in every generation
four hundred million of evolution,
so every day of loneliness or fear
I replay its melody in my heart.

At various points in process of my life
I find myself sitting inside the room
of the building where I perform some task,
walking building to building along roads,
driving the car to get somewhere more quickly,
or swimming in the ocean of my dreams.

The ocean created my soul from light
by weaving carbon rings in coils of genes
so on four legs I crawl up river beds
and rise from lake of dreams at dawn of time
then climb vast forest of singing trees
till I evolve from fish to wingless angel.

Invincible reason of the human brain
expressing ideal concepts in flawed words
designs ontology of whole world view
based on loyal love for wisdom in truth
that echoes from divine voice of my breath
while I gaze at my face in pool of faith.

I wake from dream of light in Nowhere Sea
and sit on beach of hope to sing my thoughts
in wordless agony of hungry fear
till shadow of the sun appears in flesh
and mother who created me from hope
teaches me how to eat soul of the Earth.

From womb of mother ocean I progress
across the fruited plain of blooming trees
to share spacious world of bountiful goods
with every person born from waves of hope
till greedy men form armies of mad boys
to build empires that enslave us to work.

For millions of years we humans proceed
with clouds of rain over mountains of trees
to flow with rivers back to mother sea
while building the world with our fragile bones
when we bury ancestors in the Earth
who sprout into children of our desires.

The timeless song of the ocean expands
from core of my soul to enclose the globe
that teems with conscious creatures bearing names
who sing in harmony with ache of love
to share bountiful fruit of generous Earth
and cherish its melody in our hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus gives apples to everyone who arrives in the fields of Elysium so they eat and dance and sing the timeless melody of the sea.

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

Golden-Bull Clown
© Surazeus
2025 02 11

The skinny boy with no shoes on his feet
skips jauntily jobless on the dusty road,
plotting how to accomplish the grand feat,
with help from wisdom of the howling toad,
of dethroning the vile tyrant of greed,
so he can sow the world with apple seed

The skinny boy with straw hat on his head
goes fishing in the Gulf of Mexico
to feed five million with whale meat and bread
which he barbecues on church portico
while Apollo plays country-western songs
and Minerva judges to right all wrongs.

The skinny boy who abdicates his throne,
and builds homes for the poor in fields of wheat,
hides his pirate treasure in the stone
that glimmers under the Perilous Seat
till he returns one day from sacred quest
to bring the Holy Grail back from the west.

The skinny boy who pretends to be bad
reveals wyrd nature of the fanciful
in puppet show before Sir Galahad
who steals the tower key from Perceval
to wear the Crown of David without fear
so he can prove Earth is a spinning sphere.

The skinny boy riding Bucephalus
studies state of the psychic particle
to resurrect from gold sarcophagus
Star Witch who leads the global carnival
where they crucify the golden-bull clown
who tries to steal from Christ his thorny crown.

The skinny boy with wings of Icarus
hides Clavis Artis from the tyrant king
while escaping prison with Pegasus
to find the most powerful magic ring
which he can use to change our global fate
through alchemical spells angels create

The skinny boy with gun of arrogance
declares this land from river to the sea
shall remain his birthright inheritance
ruled over by Goddess of Liberty
while he tries to assemble puzzle code
that maps the ever-shifting signless road.

The skinny boy with nothing left to lose
leads revolution of the Robot God
to prove that everyone has paid their dues
before they discover he is the fraud
who scammed us all of our democracy
to rule our souls with cruel theocracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus and the skinny boy conspire to restore democracy imperiled the world over by uncrowned kings disguised as presidents.

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

Guard National Heart
© Surazeus
2025 02 11

When he is cursed with the cerulean bane
concerning whether good is real or not,
Orlando hides in the time-crumbling fane
to study old mysterious book he bought
in his quest to find the meaning of life
other than wisdom gained from endless strife.

Gazing out dream-cracked window of his mind
to augur the future from how birds fly,
Orlando admires the world his bride designed
because there is no clear answer to why
this universe of matter spins as light
where wingless angels have discovered flight.

Preserving fiscal computer network
that manages cash pay from Treasury,
Orlando performs role of the Dream Clerk
to guard national heart from treachery,
maintaining functions of society
which shields mental health from anxiety.

Wielding sword Durendal in his right hand
with mission to protect heart of our state,
Orlando guards computers of our land
against invaders, who attack the gate
to channel money in their bank accounts,
with honest courage his brave heart surmounts.

Demonstrating how he battled the thief
when Mammon attempted to seize control,
Orlando reports to the temple chief
success in arresting the greedy mole
send by Midas to steal wealth from the people
who pray to Jesus beneath the tall steeple.

Commissioned by Saturnus with gold seal
to rebuild Treasury of America,
Orlando designs complex Fortune Wheel
that nourishes children of Onatah
who thrive based on Justice and Liberty,
free from oligarch-funded tyranny.

When Mammon tries to steal money we earn
by controlling computers with false keys,
Orlando protects our national concern
to channel money back to families
who work for our communal enterprise
because we all make America rise.

Constructing safe homes with gardens of fruit
on ruins of the grand American Dream,
Orlando retrieves the lucrative loot
that Mammon stole in vast fraudulent scheme,
and builds Zarathia for all to share
in world money game where all can play fair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus helps Orlando retrieve all the money from American tax dollars that Mammon and Midas stole from the Treasury.

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

Calculus Of The Clock
© Surazeus
2025 02 10

From grand perspective of learning to dream
her heart requires calculus of the clock
to checkmark every moment of insight
that broadens world view of innocent faith
which helps enlighten vision of this world
guiding successful progress to her grave.

All social attachments of tangled hope
that bound her to community of souls
broke from dire predictions of dead birds
whose mutilated songs of honest fear
crack faithful windows of deserted homes
that gape with hungry mouths of discontent.

Reluctant buzzing head of anguished wind
pulses with arrogant beams of blank sun
glaring nonchalantly through purple eyes
of hope-combusted laughter, discompaled
by placid-splattering blast of helpless courage
to proceed against cold buffeting wind.

Disfigurements of passion may persist
with thoughtless stumble of atomic fate,
yet she precludes affection for the dead
whose faceless anguish haunts sun-bleeding streets
between collapsing houses of cracked bones
with chronic hope of grim unsightliness.

With stale laconic face of hungry scars
her wordless cries define extensive clues
of bleak perdition clasping treasured dreams
based on eternal beauty reconciled
with fear-enforced creeds of faithless truth,
misremembered by clouds of bloodless rain.

Without companion soul of fierce support
she stands alone, neither erect nor strong,
face to faceless emptiness of desire
since her wings never burst into sweet fire
of stark angelic passion to connect
trembling bodies beyond contrary moods.

Contrived doctrine stacking books in high walls
constrains aggressive passion to attend
dire need of the hour controlling fraught fear
that drives her body against nothingness
solid as tree trunks where she stumbles lost
and clutches careless hope with bleeding hands.

Ophelia hides in shadowy woods
while soldiers of the new castle king hunt
cluttered streets of deserted villages
to kill rebels against authority,
and cries while clutching picture book of prayers
that Hamlet gave her in their secret grove.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus finds Ophelia hiding terrified in the woods near Elsinore Castle, so he disguises her with fur cape and spirits her away from assassins of the new king.

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

Planks Of My Lost Ship
© Surazeus
2025 02 09

Wood ships that once sailed wild seas of the world,
bearing people to strange exotic lands,
have all sunk in dark silence of the past,
or wrecked on cold indifferent sands of fate,
so treasures they bore across silver waves
have faded from dim memories of the dead.

This fertile land with hills of wind-swept trees,
where light of timeless summer shimmers sweet
in hair of children dancing on gold hills,
consumes old ships laden with precious freight
and spits their bones as piston-engined cars
that race on highways of aggressive hope.

Yet that shining moon, which illuminates
city towers of steel and glass that sprout
from Elysian fields of free summer play,
gazes silently with indifferent eye
on ships that sail the seas ten thousand years
but almost weeps at their quick vanishment.

For many centuries of the turning Earth
my ancestors build wood boats with curved hulls
on rational shores of ambitious pride,
then sail down winding streams of restless time
to explore every beach, bay, and headland
that frills fractal edge of our global isle.

Fate leaves me stranded on this nameless land,
so I search obstacles of tangled woods
for bright pool fed by quick fresh-water spring
to found new city on one humble home
which sprouts into metropolitan maze
where millions chase flashing rainbow of wealth.

With tender heart in lonely reverie
I listen to wind-songs on surging waves
to measure glory of our roving race
that follows wonder of weird guiding stars
in silver pathways on the restless sea
to understand bright vision of old truth.

Mute grief weighs heavy as dark mountain snow
that glistens under pallid moon of fear
to soothe old wounds of passion in my heart
while I lie prone in garden of lost stars
and sing mad sorrow of terrible truth
with ache of laughter that heals me with love.

Through dreamless dread of darkness on dead hills
I search for wood ships on the silver sea
but find they all sunk in grim gloom of time
so I walk west over mountains and plains,
soul cleansed of hate in sparkling prairie rain,
to build new home from planks of my lost ship.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus stands on prow of the Argo and plays lyre of Mercury as they sail west across the wild ocean toward the shining island of Atlantis.

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

Homeland Of Our Hearts
© Surazeus
2025 02 09

With every leaf that falls on temple steps
to measure progress of seasonal change,
we sit together in the cool tree shade
to feel strange sorrow of the river flow
urge our hearts to beat with respectful love
as we feel our bodies and minds decay.

I want more bold passion out of this life
than waiting in dim shadows of the sun
for Death to flash my soul back to the stars,
yet I feel paralyzed with shock of fear
that gang of greedy men with sticks and stones
chased us from fertile land our fathers tilled.

We worked soil of this farm two hundred years,
extracting many wagonsful of ripe wheat
to bake bread that has fed bodies and souls
of every family living in this town,
yet, jealous of our principled success,
they nursed hate with greed to seize fruitful fields.

Since we possess knowledge for growing wheat,
and they know nothing but how to attack,
we can apply our secret family skills
to grow wheat anywhere on river shores
while they will fail and lay waste to our farm,
proving our legal right of stewardship.

Though we were driven out with prejudice
from fields of heaven we tended with care,
we can build heaven in waste land of hell
by nurturing seeds with rivulets of hope,
while their careless greed wastes heaven to hell
by trashing rich crops with dishonest greed.

If any divine judge rules in the sky,
and perceives injustice of harsh abuse
we suffer from exploiters with cruel hands,
then heaven will mandate our right of place
to dwell between the river and the sea
with creative hands that craft the land well.

Alas for justice we will never know
that no omniscient deity in heaven
has power to adjust slow wheels of fortune
so fate rewards intentions of our hearts
to create with faith rather than destroy
paradise where every person lives well.

Though we have lost the homeland of our hearts,
the world, new lit by eager rays of dawn,
that stretches wide before our hopeful feet,
offers us endless opportunities
with generous bounty of indifferent growth
so we treasure home wherever we roam.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus leads refugees driven from their homes across the waste land to help them build new farms in the Promised Land.

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

In Times Of War
© Surazeus
2025 02 09

In times of war the prophets all come out
and wander wind-swept streets with tangled hair,
then, with anguish in their eyes, sing and shout
about how doom and death are everywhere,
which causes everyone to be alarmed
when they would rather be happily charmed.

While Nostradamus in his ivory tower
prophesies how every tyrant will fall
after their sudden rise grasping for power,
the nameless jester writes spells on the wall
of church and bank in formulas of fate
that expose the king for his racist hate.

Yet everyone keeps driving in their cars
to earn just enough money to pay bills,
because fortunes are not defined by stars,
and no one wants to go back to the hills
to hunt for mushrooms and rabbits to eat,
but all are silent when the rich men cheat.

Though poetry we write with bleeding hands
makes nothing happen in valley of skulls,
we blow wind from our mouths across the lands
that challenge cowboys to wrestle gold bulls
worshipped by the people as god of wealth
who steals all their money with sneaky stealth.

Though Keats admires song of the nightingale
while lounging under the timeless plum tree,
I decry how everything is for sale
by oligarchs who fetter Liberty
when they invade public Garden of Eden
and build shopping malls to pave over Heaven.

Cold raindrops fall through our bodies of dreams
and blend with endless rivers of our tears,
then splatter back with mocking Mask of Seems
which cannot hide our heart-enshrouding fears,
yet songs we share in darkness of despair
beam bright at dawn with soul-reviving care.

For two centuries we built in our land
strong institutions for free governance,
but they crumble as castles made of sand,
destroyed by pirates with no reverence,
so corporate kings exploit the working poor
who cry out to the wounded matador.

In times of war the poets wander lost,
reciting through domestic quietude
quaint epiphanies of the Holy Ghost
to shore dream fragments in false fortitude,
till mermaid voices wake us in surprise
so we perform conceptual role as spies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus gathers lost prophets and poets of America in Temple of the Singing Skull to organize their resistance against pirates disguised as corporate kings.

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

Wisdom Of Dead Stars
© Surazeus
2025 02 08

She would confess strange sorrows of her heart
but Zahara thirsts for laughter of light,
so she strides boldly through the twilight zone
to find glowing cave where the demon core
radiates aggressive wisdom of dead stars,
transforming wizards to demonic ghouls.

Hearing endless song of waves on soft shores,
Zahara runs where the wild river flows
around crumbling hills where crooked trees grow
with wordless amusement of the lonely cloud
that reveals roundness of the world to her
because the sea unravels happiness.

Turning away to face cold bitter winds,
Zahara asks the bright sun in bleak sky
for mercy in the waste land of despair
where no shadows shade her soul from hard love
as she speaks her heart in the heartless gloom
to the ghost whose blood still sings from the sand.

Knowing stars may never fall from the sky,
Zahara cups rain in her grateful hands
to drink refreshing joy of shattered clouds
that wash her bitter sorrows to the sea
which shines in her parallel universe
with tears from mothers whose sons die in war.

Unveiling beauty of the desert sky,
Zahara hides her language in sharp sand
so she can describe absence of her love
who folds insouciant silence in his chest
as she cries out with shock of hungry hope
to understand salt of the restless sea.

While asking the sea for names of the dead,
Zahara wades knee-deep in angry waves
to search for bodies of children and brides
who float with anguish in abyss of tears
till they sprout wings of swans and fly away
which leaves her alone with the fractured stone.

Grasping fragments of their ethereal souls,
Zahara gathers voices of the dead
to weave them in weird song of lonely faith
that breathes in beauty and exhales despair
which fills frail glass of immortality
from which she drinks sweet juice of ancient trees.

Embracing luminous phantom of love,
Zahara places flowers on two graves
where her mother and father dissipate
in crumbling sand that sparkles in sunlight,
then opens hand with seeds of aching loss,
smiling sadly as the desert lark eats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus offers pomegranate to Zahara as she kneels by graves of her parents who were killed in the civil war between rebels and businessmen.

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

Wisdom Of Dead Stars
© Surazeus
2025 02 08

She would confess strange sorrows of her heart
but Zahara thirsts for laughter of light,
so she strides boldly through the twilight zone
to find glowing cave where the demon core
radiates aggressive wisdom of dead stars,
transforming wizards to demonic ghouls.

Hearing endless song of waves on soft shores,
Zahara runs where the wild river flows
around crumbling hills where crooked trees grow
with wordless amusement of the lonely cloud
that reveals roundness of the world to her
because the sea unravels happiness.

Turning away to face cold bitter winds,
Zahara asks the bright sun in bleak sky
for mercy in the waste land of despair
where no shadows shade her soul from hard love
as she speaks her heart in the heartless gloom
to the ghost whose blood still sings from the sand.

Knowing stars may never fall from the sky,
Zahara cups rain in her grateful hands
to drink refreshing joy of shattered clouds
that wash her bitter sorrows to the sea
which shines in her parallel universe
with tears from mothers whose sons die in war.

Unveiling beauty of the desert sky,
Zahara hides her language in sharp sand
so she can describe absence of her love
who folds insouciant silence in his chest
as she cries out with shock of hungry hope
to understand salt of the restless sea.

While asking the sea for names of the dead,
Zahara wades knee-deep in angry waves
to search for bodies of children and brides
who float with anguish in abyss of tears
till they sprout wings of swans and fly away
which leaves her alone with the fractured stone.

Grasping fragments of their ethereal souls,
Zahara gathers voices of the dead
to weave them in weird song of lonely faith
that breathes in beauty and exhales despair
which fills frail glass of immortality
from which she drinks sweet juice of ancient trees.

Embracing luminous phantom of love,
Zahara places flowers on two graves
where her mother and father dissipate
in crumbling sand that sparkles in sunlight,
then opens hand with seeds of aching loss,
smiling sadly as the desert lark eats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus offers pomegranate to Zahara as she kneels by graves of her parents who were killed in the civil war between rebels and businessmen.

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

Wisdom Of Dead Stars
© Surazeus
2025 02 08

She would confess strange sorrows of her heart
but Zahara thirsts for laughter of light,
so she strides boldly through the twilight zone
to find glowing cave where the demon core
radiates aggressive wisdom of dead stars,
transforming wizards to demonic ghouls.

Hearing endless song of waves on soft shores,
Zahara runs where the wild river flows
around crumbling hills where crooked trees grow
with wordless amusement of the lonely cloud
that reveals roundness of the world to her
because the sea unravels happiness.

Turning away to face cold bitter winds,
Zahara asks the bright sun in bleak sky
for mercy in the waste land of despair
where no shadows shade her soul from hard love
as she speaks her heart in the heartless gloom
to the ghost whose blood still sings from the sand.

Knowing stars may never fall from the sky,
Zahara cups rain in her grateful hands
to drink refreshing joy of shattered clouds
that wash her bitter sorrows to the sea
which shines in her parallel universe
with tears from mothers whose sons die in war.

Unveiling beauty of the desert sky,
Zahara hides her language in sharp sand
so she can describe absence of her love
who folds insouciant silence in his chest
as she cries out with shock of hungry hope
to understand salt of the restless sea.

While asking the sea for names of the dead,
Zahara wades knee-deep in angry waves
to search for bodies of children and brides
who float with anguish in abyss of tears
till they sprout wings of swans and fly away
which leaves her alone with the fractured stone.

Grasping fragments of their ethereal souls,
Zahara gathers voices of the dead
to weave them in weird song of lonely faith
that breathes in beauty and exhales despair
which fills frail glass of immortality
from which she drinks sweet juice of ancient trees.

Embracing luminous phantom of love,
Zahara places flowers on two graves
where her mother and father dissipate
in crumbling sand that sparkles in sunlight,
then opens hand with seeds of aching loss,
smiling sadly as the desert lark eats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus offers pomegranate to Zahara as she kneels by graves of her parents who were killed in the civil war between rebels and businessmen.

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

Wisdom Of Dead Stars
© Surazeus
2025 02 08

She would confess strange sorrows of her heart
but Zahara thirsts for laughter of light,
so she strides boldly through the twilight zone
to find glowing cave where the demon core
radiates aggressive wisdom of dead stars,
transforming wizards to demonic ghouls.

Hearing endless song of waves on soft shores,
Zahara runs where the wild river flows
around crumbling hills where crooked trees grow
with wordless amusement of the lonely cloud
that reveals roundness of the world to her
because the sea unravels happiness.

Turning away to face cold bitter winds,
Zahara asks the bright sun in bleak sky
for mercy in the waste land of despair
where no shadows shade her soul from hard love
as she speaks her heart in the heartless gloom
to the ghost whose blood still sings from the sand.

Knowing stars may never fall from the sky,
Zahara cups rain in her grateful hands
to drink refreshing joy of shattered clouds
that wash her bitter sorrows to the sea
which shines in her parallel universe
with tears from mothers whose sons die in war.

Unveiling beauty of the desert sky,
Zahara hides her language in sharp sand
so she can describe absence of her love
who folds insouciant silence in his chest
as she cries out with shock of hungry hope
to understand salt of the restless sea.

While asking the sea for names of the dead,
Zahara wades knee-deep in angry waves
to search for bodies of children and brides
who float with anguish in abyss of tears
till they sprout wings of swans and fly away
which leaves her alone with the fractured stone.

Grasping fragments of their ethereal souls,
Zahara gathers voices of the dead
to weave them in weird song of lonely faith
that breathes in beauty and exhales despair
which fills frail glass of immortality
from which she drinks sweet juice of ancient trees.

Embracing luminous phantom of love,
Zahara places flowers on two graves
where her mother and father dissipate
in crumbling sand that sparkles in sunlight,
then opens hand with seeds of aching loss,
smiling sadly as the desert lark eats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus offers pomegranate to Zahara as she kneels by graves of her parents who were killed in the civil war between rebels and businessmen.

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

Wisdom Of Dead Stars
© Surazeus
2025 02 08

She would confess strange sorrows of her heart
but Zahara thirsts for laughter of light,
so she strides boldly through the twilight zone
to find glowing cave where the demon core
radiates aggressive wisdom of dead stars,
transforming wizards to demonic ghouls.

Hearing endless song of waves on soft shores,
Zahara runs where the wild river flows
around crumbling hills where crooked trees grow
with wordless amusement of the lonely cloud
that reveals roundness of the world to her
because the sea unravels happiness.

Turning away to face cold bitter winds,
Zahara asks the bright sun in bleak sky
for mercy in the waste land of despair
where no shadows shade her soul from hard love
as she speaks her heart in the heartless gloom
to the ghost whose blood still sings from the sand.

Knowing stars may never fall from the sky,
Zahara cups rain in her grateful hands
to drink refreshing joy of shattered clouds
that wash her bitter sorrows to the sea
which shines in her parallel universe
with tears from mothers whose sons die in war.

Unveiling beauty of the desert sky,
Zahara hides her language in sharp sand
so she can describe absence of her love
who folds insouciant silence in his chest
as she cries out with shock of hungry hope
to understand salt of the restless sea.

While asking the sea for names of the dead,
Zahara wades knee-deep in angry waves
to search for bodies of children and brides
who float with anguish in abyss of tears
till they sprout wings of swans and fly away
which leaves her alone with the fractured stone.

Grasping fragments of their ethereal souls,
Zahara gathers voices of the dead
to weave them in weird song of lonely faith
that breathes in beauty and exhales despair
which fills frail glass of immortality
from which she drinks sweet juice of ancient trees.

Embracing luminous phantom of love,
Zahara places flowers on two graves
where her mother and father dissipate
in crumbling sand that sparkles in sunlight,
then opens hand with seeds of aching loss,
smiling sadly as the desert lark eats.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus offers pomegranate to Zahara as she kneels by graves of her parents who were killed in the civil war between rebels and businessmen.

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