Tune Of The Global Core
© Surazeus
2026 06 24

Though I have never gone to Innisfree,
nor climbed the misty slopes of Helicon,
yet I sense water lapping on the shore
where I hear songs of Muses in fruit groves
that lure me from gray streets of crowded cities
loud with ancient tune of the global core.

Though I have never stood with crystal eye
in grand hall of pedantic Babylon,
nor chatted with the freckled fisherman
who wanders in gray Connemara clothes,
yet I have stood by fountain of Neptune
and sung about the Well Witch Melusine.

Though I have never sailed the seven seas
nor climbed the Himalayas with brave faith,
yet I have hitchhiked sea to shining sea
and played guitar to shing hymn of the wraith,
determined to transcend my mundane life
in quest to wake soul of my deathless genes.

Though I have never trudged hot caves of Hell
nor pranced gold streets of Heaven with my love,
yet I have mapped whole history of the world
to chronicle how empires rise and fall,
since reign of my ancestors wearing crowns
vanished in the turmoil of brutal wars.

Though I cannot foresee my life-end fate
nor know how fame will treat my humble name,
yet I will govern my life with my will
when I seek from wise Calliope skill
to chant my epic of philosophers
depicting quests of men to know the truth.

Though I have not suffered travail in life
as much as my ancestor, James the Scot,
or been imprisoned in white tower hall,
yet like him I have seen face of the Muse
glow bright with wisdom of celestial soul
that gleams with passion in her secret eyes.

Though I have never heard bright angels sing
nor fought with devils to control my lust,
yet I have heard tune of the global core
vibrate in every human I have met,
for we are children of Great Mother Earth
who weaves our bodies from light of the sea.

Though I have never fallen from the sky
on waxed wings of feathers my father built,
yet I have soared on silver airplane wings
around slopes of Mount Takoma at dawn,
and seen our ancient world is beautiful,
round as the pear that blooms from Tree of Life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings enchanting love song when James Stewart sees Joan Beaufort strolling by the pond in the garden of pear trees.

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

Hear The Satellite Sing
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

I can almost hear the satellite sing
each time I walk the crowded city street
where thousands of people with secret names
flow in tides regulated by the moon
because each brain, designed by hungry hope,
is animated by one burned-out star.

Every time I hear the satellite sing
hymns of Orpheus to some long-dead god,
I stop inside glass orthopedic frame
to measure vastness of the spotless mind
that blooms from serpent tooth of earnest faith,
contrary to attentive cloud of fear.

If I choose to hear the satellite sing
while floating in bright pool of time-blind ghosts,
my heart may sprout excessive wings of lust
for dancing without care in field of dreams
with brave defiance of my tragic fate
that conjures the future from each past choice.

Reluctant to hear the satellite sing
about financial slavery of the poor,
I walk up and down Bridge of Memories
to find the weird moment in my childhood
when I first saw her starless eyes of love
black as the New Moon no one ever sees.

Surprised I can hear the satellite sing
time-fractured formulas of ardency,
my wife designs new mask for me to wear
when I drive our car to the Promised Land
so she and our children play by the lake
where faceless demons haunt the sunlit deep.

Entranced when I hear the satellite sing
fairy tale about the woman I love,
I tell the world she is my Sky God Girl
because her honest kiss makes my head swirl
with tense obsession for the way trees dance
since crows invent the language humans speak.

I should never hear the satellite sing
about lucidity my heart requires
to overcome the weakness of my flesh
till I become the hapless Superman
who saves American from tyranny
when I do nothing but sit on my porch.

Inspired that I hear the satellite sing
about sincerity of my brave love
for the charming Princess of Aquitaine,
I dance with her among the hawthorn trees,
shellacked with sleet of the ethereal storm,
to eat our bread with butter and peach jam.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tinkers with the satellite till he repairs its artificial intelligence with a new brain programmed by pastoral poetry of the English Renaissance.

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

Wanderers of Broken Doors
© Surazeus
2026 06 23

Out on the signless road to somewhere else
from crumbling ruins of America
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to gather tales of sorrow from lost souls
so we can build with programs of real hope
new Freedom Nation of Zarathia.

Ascending mountain of the modest Muse
who teaches me to sing of liberty,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to celebrate our victory with joy
building new state based on justice for all
where everyone is equal in the law.

Astonished by apricity of faith
that glows through ephemeral state of mind,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
with noble purpose to peregrinate
across the waste land of America
where ghosts of people unjustly killed dwell.

Amazed at beauty of organic beings
designed by swirling of bright ocean waves,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
in trembling shimmer of the floating moon
that knows the road of destiny I blaze
because I choose to follow my own heart.

Still weary-hearted as the faceless moon
that seems to know my secret state of mind,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to map whole landscape of our spinning Earth
till I can hold the whole world in my hands
so I dream history of humanity.

Gazing at stars that twinkle with God Eyes
in eerie silence of the Twilight Zone,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to flee persecution of castle kings
and found democracy in Wonderland
because stars we see burned out long ago.

Climbing the Stairway to Heaven at last
that leads me to high Purgatory Peak,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
with Beatrice as my guide to Paradise,
though she turns out to be bright hologram
who dwells in Egypt with Helen the Fair.

Out in sunbaked fields of cotton and corn
where we wait for our chariot to swing low,
I walk with wanderers of broken doors
to Freedom Nation of Zarathia
with the Third Man who haunts our lonely quest
when Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tries to introduce me to the Third Man who accompanied our quest with wanderers of broken doors, but no one seems to remember his name.

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

Law Of Faceless Clouds
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With aching laughter of the joyful heart
my soul refashions meaning of the world
because I focus attention of thought
at thick material forms of glowing light
so I perceive through new words I invent
essential nature of my pulsing brain.

This strange self I perform on social stage
seems to be somebody else I am not,
because I hide true nature of my soul
with mask that shields my too-sensitive heart
against aggressive labels people ploy
to bind my soul as puppet of their will.

Sustained attention of the snipping eye,
that tries to frame my body as its toy,
expends conceptual wealth of bitter hope
with fierce approach of faith to apprehend
divine mystery of blood which animates
flesh bodies against law of faceless clouds.

Entangled with vision of satellites
that speak with language of the fractured moon,
I conjure from idyllic fields of fate
grand future we attempt to recreate
based on beautiful childhood memories
which trap our minds in prison of the past.

No exile from my homeland, now long lost
in swirling mists of futile destiny,
I sail the restless sea of everywhere
with no one but myself in mindless wind,
because I plan to build new nation-state
instead of returning to my old home.

I will bring no Muse with me on the boat
that drifts without direction on deep tides
through endless journey to the nowhere else
across vast distances of timeless space
to transplant culture of my heart in vale
where skulls of my ancestors recite creeds.

While tending crops in field of serpent teeth,
I hone strange stories of heroic deeds
that honor nameless people of the land
whose weird songs manifest the sacred mind
as humble prophets of the river flow
who wield the hammer and sickle of faith.

When I dance joyfully in apple grove
my sorrows dissipate in evening mist
that flash as stars which burned out long ago,
yet twinkle still on fields of innocence,
so with our skin as scroll of ancient law
we found new state on liberty for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus analyzes the complex history of America in comparison to the idealistic proverbs Americans declare as the essence of our state.

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

Flowing Clockless Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 22

With this strange sense of flowing clockless time
we walk ten thousand times around the Earth
to colonize every lush river valley
with holy temple of the humble heart,
inspired by laughter of the eyeless owl
who seems to know the secrets of my soul.

Yet shocked awake by sweet Tellurian chime
that vibrates through bodies of sacred worth,
I sail the seven seas on boneless galley
to find the island not on my star chart
where happy wolves could teach me how to howl
with best minds of our world to play my role.

Each time I hear my mother call my name,
while I play in shimmer of Texas heat,
I feel my consciousness expand its scope
more vast than highest mountain in the world,
and deeper than abyss of eyeless ghosts,
but she is gone when I run in our home.

Therefore I refuse to play power game
when lust for fame drives fake bards to compete
for prize Phoebus hides on Helicon slope
in bid to claim scepter of cosmic herald
who bears sacred scroll for the Lord of Hosts,
so I explore Eden where devils roam.

Slanting my mind with flowing clockless time,
that spirals atoms in material forms
which I define with language of the eye,
I mold conceptual thoughts of characters
in glowing idols representing gods
who once performed their fate as mortal fools.

Dreaming that all lifeforms evolve from slime,
sparked awake by lightning flash of love storms,
I expand my career as social spy,
disguised as tabernacle chorister,
investigating claims that demon pods
possess our minds and make us faithful tools.

Regret diverts attention of my mind
when larks arise at break of day and sing
hymns at gate of Heaven that manifest
sullen fear of our global war for wealth
when I ride dragon of excessive faith
to support United Nations of Earth.

Translating mystery spell of humankind
that shines at flash of dawn in Stonehenge ring
on summer solstice of our global quest,
I nurture progress of our mental health
as spirit-beams from one immortal wraith,
reborn from laughter of psychotic mirth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tinkers with gears and concepts inside the flowing clockless time of human brains to program how we perceive essential progress of laughter.

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

Polarities Of Psychic Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Moved by polarities of psychic truth
that spiral reverberations of faith,
I meditate on beauty of the tree
still burning with conceptual souls of gods
disguised as humans daring to live well
outside frame of the fake Biblical tale.

Since I am just another nameless boy
recorded in epic tale of mad war,
I make the effort of progressive plans
to build the story that will last forever
free for the homeless to claim housing rights
in meadow where bees nest in solemn oaks.

Admired for deftness of her manual skill
wiring fake houses with electric brains,
Zertur molds river mud of aching lust
in human bodies so we generate
fragments of wild children who play in fields
while tending herd of sheep with raven hands.

Risen from ocean waves of suddenness,
she stitches frayed memories of my childhood
in steady wings of careless honesty
to beam fantastic illusion of power
broadcast to all the world with subtle code
that defies authority of fake news.

If abandoned space station falls to Earth
after ten thousand years of orbiting,
the most beautiful woman in the world
may become the monstrous ghost of love
who never miscalculates psychic vibes
necessary to expose frantic greed.

Through tangled syntax of assertive calm
I study nature of abandoned homes
to map vibrations of spatial concern
in portraits of institutional gods
that hang in museums by factories
against federal law of the scorpion.

Unbroken by crash course of ardency
in searching for gate of the afterlife,
I secure sea-faring boat of my heart
to fallen idol of the atheist
that rises from entanglement of breath
when I translate letters carved on cracked stones.

Last task assigned to me by son of Zeus
requires I barefoot on waste land of faith
so I pretend reality of dream
is no more intermittent than the moon
who bears soul of my mother on fire wings
to flower-puckered vales of Avalon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus measures looping variables defined by polarities of psychic truth to record their randomness in secret book of the laughing crow.

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

Way To Wonderland
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

I want to read the real map of your heart
so I can find the way to Wonderland
where we may live and play among fruit trees,
expanding Garden of Eden with hope
to transform bitter waste land of the Earth
from hell to paradise where all live free.

Safe in delusions of Utopia
that hide the one true way to Wonderland,
I preach salvation of justice for all,
though humans build secret societies
on strict hierarchies of power through wealth
where the strong abuse and exploit the weak.

Asserting justice through the Holy Gun
that legislates the way to Wonderland,
we form official gangs of government
to manage hostile contests of control
between corporate kings in towers of glass
that should benefit workers of the world.

Diverted from my Journey to the West
by signs that lead the way to Wonderland,
I climb Sagarmatha to touch the moon
and ask Tathagata Buddha for scrolls
that detail formulas of mythic code
expanding moral scope of consciousness.

I search for hope on the horse with no name
but stumble on the way to Wonderland
where the fool on the hill in Nowhere Land
declares that we are but dust in the wind,
enlightened by purple haze in my brain
to sell Bibles on Desolation Row.

I sing my soul with Voice of Prophecy
to reveal the weird way to Wonderland
when Charon takes us to Elysium
where the dead gather to watch the sun rise
from the bottom of the sea without eyes
that flash with endless television shows.

I hold the pen as dangerous as the gun
that paves the sacred way to Wonderland
when I dig fairy mounds from soggy peat
so star-eyed Sidhe of the Emerald Isle
may feast at midnight on wine of the gods
while Aisling plays flute of the bleeding heart.

I travel far across America
to find the hidden way to Wonderland
where Rainbow Children of the Living Light
gather in Forest of the Laughing Crow
to lament the tragic death of Tammuz
by feeding five thousand with loaf of bread.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus directs episodes of the television show about the life and tragic death of Tammuz during the journey of Inanna to the Underworld.

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

Soul-Code Of Divinity
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Not as happy as the man in the moon,
yet stunned by beauty of the eglantine,
I listen for the algebraic tune
that vibrates through our chemical machine
with ardent soul-code of divinity
that weaves mortal brains from eternity.

When my heart swells heavier than the moon,
I clutch crystal stone of innocent faith
and leap into deep flow of the world tune
to expand dream scope of my conscious wraith
so I become each soul alive on Earth
transforming from egg of endless rebirth.

Ascending spirit level of the heart
when I untangle knots of psychic tricks,
I fool the devil to give me his chart,
then lead refugees to the River Styx
where I stand my ground against tyranny
by casting social spells at fantasy.

I see no devils roaming lands of men
except cruel mortals who try to control
human bodies in games they never win
till brave messiah frees the frightened soul
with vision of justice and liberty
for every person through democracy.

Weird fairy tales swirl from my seething brain
of social heroes wielding flag of truth
who forge strong fellowship of faith to gain
freedom through code of our messiah sleuth
who gives conceptual nothing verbal shape
that conjures virtual globe of our landscape.

We leap with joy when we first spring from time
through eager race to enter paradise,
then dwell secure at height we choose to climb
in garden we nurture, despite the price
we pay when we deteriorate with age,
then crumble to dust at the last life stage.

I live my life with passion of the fool
by striding boldly down the avenue
where I play guitar before empty school
when I wear mask of Poet Parvenu
to overthrow illiterate elite
with haunting laughter of the ocean beat.

I hear voice of my mother call my name
through swirling mist on shores of Loch Coruisk,
so I sail to Skye, isle of fairy fame,
to find her faceless ghost in moonlit dusk
where she gives me the harp that David played
so I sing to shimmer of her dim shade.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds his mother on misty shore of the River Styx so they drink apple juice and share stories till she rides the boat of Charon to Elysium.

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

Dreams Become Second Sight
© Surazeus
2026 06 21

Though my dreams never become second sight,
I extract blind premise from nameless core
which shadows my face with elegant code
defining light that streams from statue eyes
yet washes sulking sorrow from my heart,
so I almost miss meeting with old spies.

With tedious courage of the undrowned dead,
who teach their children how to start the fire,
I fear what hovers over me with wings
because the color photograph I took
that depicts the lake in the mountain woods
appears on postcards all around the world.

Teased by the star-eyed owl on broken wall,
I dig my pulsing heart from gritty beach sand
to clean my soot-rimmed eyes with arrogance
that I know where this path of passion leads,
yet I keep walking toward the broken ark
to prove salvation can never be bought.

Because I stop by the birch in the lane
to measure heights of clouds above false roads,
time jolts untuned assertion of respect
for fetters of concern I pledge to show
when chorus of mad frogs express grand awe
for swirls of snow that reveal face of God.

Since clocks of molecules in oranges hum
with psychic tune of brash divinity
that vibrates through all living things on Earth,
I place my hand flat on surface of ice
to understand true nature of the pond
which deigns to reflect my true secret face.

Surprised when my dreams become second sight
at vision of Belinda in gray mist,
I count stones lined along the river bank
that hide our voices from authorities
so we can see shapes of our secret selves
preserved in statues on cathedral walls.

I seek protection from Aegidius
who prances on the mountain slope of fate
with graceful goatness of naivete
in search to find birth-cave of humble Zeus
who teaches me to write the alphabet
with quill of angel wings dipped in god blood.

So once I climb this grandiose mountain peak
I shall meet all my friends in gray Paris
to write the greatest novel ever bled
from broken hearts of cruel antagonists
who seem to know the way to Samarkand
where my heart functions as the clock of fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus hangs out with a bunch of failed novelists at the Crippled Pegasus Cafe in Paris where Pierrot pretends to seduce Cinderella from Romeo.

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

Electric Words Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Behind sunflower of her secret heart
she smiles at me with graceful elegance
to prove our bodies are rays of the sun
woven from weird memories of the Earth
in brains that shimmer with clock of the moon
to whom we pray with mountain honesty.

When I hear sparrow hiding in her eyes,
I give her bowl of milk-sweet happiness,
so she invites me with respectful glance
to kneel with her outside door of our home
so we can pray to wise Grandmother Moon
who wonders if we understand her pain.

Grinning with sly ardency of concern,
she opens leather purse of angel wings,
and scatters scarlet petals of her heart
that swirl around my fragile ideogram
with laughing play of joyful impudence
which spurs my heart to wake from lethargy.

From sorrow of the world we rise at dawn
and walk together on the river shore
where we send sparrows of our fractured hearts
to find the holy mushroom of respect
so we may taste electric words of faith
that mean nothing to anyone but us.

Together by the fountain of dead gods,
where statues of demons writhe with delight,
we ponder mystery of the twilight breeze
that brings news of the war across the sea,
so she holds sand of time in her left hand,
yet never needs to explain what I know.

Urged by fear-fueled desire to transcend death,
we weave eccentric frenzy in taut wings
that lift our bodies on soft waves of hope
which seems to heal aggressive pain with love
though ancient woods decay with constant change
while vapors weep our burdens to the ground.

Alert to song of toads in moonless woods,
we wonder if they will transform at dawn
to hungry dragons draped in eglantine
so we rejoice when swans of summer soar
on graceful wings above our garden pool
where we decide to understand the why.

Shocked by contentious laughter of night rain,
she tells me time unspools our naive minds,
so we share food we gather in the woods
as we invent new words for things we see
because we want to sense divinity
in tune of life that hums in everything.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus and Ophelia kneel together and pray to Grandmother Moon to teach them how to understand the why of the tune of life that hums in our brains.

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

Play The Sacrificial Lamb
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Perpetual patience of portentous pride
teaches my heart endurance of despair
since I will wait in shadow cave of hope
ten thousand years to meet my love again
whose sorrow causes summer snow to fall
in swirls that alienate grave of my heart.

Since I was born as pilgrim of the heart,
I bear passionless grief of forlorn faith
as aging ghost in dry month of lost books,
searching for the giver of breath and bread
whose soul dissolves into sway of the sea
where Cetus rots in swarm of buzzing flies.

Though I go down to my ship at dawn,
with intention of the curious soul
to set keel to breakers on the godless sea
of bitter reckoning, I sit on stone
of fractured memories to catch the rain
so I can drink strange sorrow never mine.

One thousand angels descend to my heart
with gift of wisdom I choose to ignore,
heart numb from pungent scent of petrichor,
and ask if I believe I still exist,
but I ask for tall ship with billowed sails
and star to steer my heart to paradise.

I pray to mighty gods in faceless clouds
for just one summer in the evening land
where I may sing with lover of my heart
till she goes gentle into that good night
and leaves me stranded on the misty isle
where I lie etherized on hill of skulls.

Though April seems to be the cruelest month,
breeding lilacs out of faith-rotten hearts,
I shall ignore desire that memory stirs
in mellow season of sweet fruitfulness
when mind of winter shields my fragile heart
from wordless suffering of the wanderer.

If I should go and catch the falling star
that fractures world view we too long held dear,
I may meet brave ghost of my ideal youth
in moonlit grove on dark Plutonian shore
where I reach out my withered hand to claim
weird fruit of wisdom from the Golden Bough.

If I should take your sins into my heart
with plan to guide our state to paradise
by building Heaven in chaos of Hell,
then I will play the sacrificial lamb
whose death may heal the wounded fisher king
which you watch on the television show.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus sits with Odysseus by his old rotten boat on the ocean shore and listens as he recounts his adventures in search of the Holy Grail.

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

Hollow Statues Of Gods
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

I wonder as I wander city streets,
where bright stars are not visible at night,
what mortal spirit of human ambition
could still possess hollow statues of gods
with intense passion to participate
in fierce games that win temporary fame.

Each book I find on stale library shelf,
that writhes with ghosts of faceless characters
who wander vain adventures of despair,
maps signless road on landscape of false faith
where social heroes meet their tragic fates
with howling anguish of the victimized.

Yet books I grab transform to wingless owls
that shriek loud ideological creeds
reverberating through speakers on poles
in harsh command for prisoners to march
down starless tunnels of Platonic mines
where they extract concepts with bleeding hands.

If I request you call me Ishmael,
because I cannot celebrate myself,
then you should know I will not stop for Death
though she chase me across the signless waste
where I find Lolita, light of my life,
living in the trailer park with our son.

Because I may never meet the best minds
of my generation, destroyed by faith
in the afterlife that will never happen,
I should argue these are the best of times
which always comes after the worst of times,
so I can dance graveward without my furies.

If I decide to not be lonelier
without the loneliness of company,
I may spend half my days in wordless light
through passion imperceptible as grief
to reprogram my wakened memory
without remorse for actions I perform.

I cannot find my real self in this mess
of puzzle pieces from unwritten poems
scattered in fragments of psychotic vibes
from holy scriptures of the idolized,
till I melt their codes in brave fires of truth
and translate them to hymns blind angels sing.

With ghosts of all my younger selves I stand
on shore of the wide world and ponder why
our love and fame still sink to nothingness,
so I dwell in ruined temple of truth
as guard over hollow statues of gods
who stare at me with hungry eyes of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds Ishmael alone on small boat that drifts onto rugged shores of misty Oregon, so he records the strange story which that Wanderer relates before he dies.

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

Rugged Hills Of Arcady
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

After I escape from cold cement maze
where hordes of people speed in metal cars
in contest over who gains cheese of wealth,
I roam through rugged hills Of Arcady
and lounge with Orpheus by the River Styx
where angels wearing masks of devils dance.

I kneel in wet grass by the sparkling stream
and dip my hand in sorrow of desire
to fish for sublime truths and wholesome themes,
but I perceive reflection of my soul
masked by this temporary face of mine
that hides strange ache of hope inside my heart.

When I hear weeping of the broken heart
that causes snow to fall in summer time,
I see Adam and Eve wandering lost
on signless road from gates of paradise
who search forever for the Promised Land
that shimmers beyond horizon of vain hope.

Then I hear laughter of light-hearted souls
where siblings Dorothy and William stroll
along lush margin of the River Styx
where they see endless rows of daffodils
dancing merrily in the shining sun
with passion to sense the divine in Nature.

For every human city on our globe
springs from first city of humanity,
that garden in Eden where fruit trees bloom,
till God enclosed them inside walls of stone
and forces us to buy fruit of the Earth
with metal coins forged in hot caves of Hell.

Narcissus stares at his face in the pool,
Saturnus slumbers numb on river shore,
Orpheus wanders weeping for lost love,
Icarus floats stunned on wild ocean waves,
Lucifer bears cracked Lamp of Liberty,
and I wonder if I am real or not.

Beneath broad-leafed myrtle of innocence,
I watch bright clouds swirl slowly in blue sky
till Evening Star gleams brilliantly opaque,
so I feel life of every soul on Earth
that eddies with atomic flash of love
far from the city stage on Helicon.

My spirit, too long trapped in creeds of faith,
entombed inside strict duty of the church,
urged me to open door of fearful rage,
so I now walk with hawk-winged heart of hope
across the rugged hills of Arcady
where star-eyed Death waits still to hear my song.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus explains to the crowd of people in the Museum of Dead Gods why no one ever returns from bourn of the undiscovered country of death.

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

River-Book Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 20

Attentive way I row boat of my heart
along the random journey of my life
exposes secret agenda of hope
written in private river-book of fate
in which I map psychic landscape of faith
my ancestors explored in paradise.

If I should pause from visions of my thoughts,
that spiral through frantic analysis
concerning trajectory of my life,
I may hear splash of water on my boat,
and feel warm glow of sunlight on my skin,
and hear unseen birds chirping in tall trees.

When I emerge from shelter of my mind
to gaze at vastness of the silver sky,
I almost sense some presence of pure light
observing my existence with keen eye,
but I realize with sly grin of respect
that I project my own mind at blank sky.

Though bards of yore in hills of Avalon
sang how they sensed great spirit of the Earth
radiates from all Nature as Divine Mind,
I know that conscious scope of cosmic love
emanates from neural net of my brain
with arrogance that I beam Soul of God.

My brain refracts eternal Soul of Light
that pulses bright in atoms of the void,
enhancing conscious sense of self I Am
reflected clear when I quietly observe
rivers flowing among hills of fruit trees,
and feel my soul in matrix of its dream.

With every choice of action I perform,
based on analysis through measurement
to discern process of cause and effect,
I compose my whole river-book of fate
through chronicle about random events
which I narrate in straight coherent plot.

Yet tangled threads of acts people perform
in sprawling landscape of this cluttered world
fall apart in chaotic mess of faith
which fails to account for all variables
refracted through too many points of view,
so I hum in tune with the river flow.

Since I cannot record every event
that happens in our sprawling maze of myths,
though I wear mask of countless ancient gods,
I roast the fish I catch in stream of dreams
to eat and drink beneath the silent moon,
and wonder where I will go when I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus relaxes by the River Styx to eat fish and drink wine while contemplating whether or not there is an afterlife, then cries thinking of Eurydice.

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

Class Struggle For Rights
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

The key I forge from the last angel heart
I turn to start the engine of my car,
then drive acceleration of desire
on signless road of adventurous hope
to find elusive gate to Wonderland
where those who enter find the Promised Land.

Alone in motor vehicle of faith,
powered by piston engine of respect,
I navigate weird landscape of lost myths
past ruined temples where statues of gods
loom faceless in dim twilight of the past,
but I keep driving through their labyrinth
where minotaur of tyranny still lurks.

Safe in time-machine of curiosity,
that shelters my psychic fragility
from expectations of family and friends,
I sing with brave bards on the radio
grim songs about heart-break and keeping on
while I keep driving far from city streets.

Empowered by Icarian wings of hope,
Daedalus built from bones of dinosaurs,
I drive swift Chariot of Ezekiel
on wheels of fortune through the wilderness
that flash awake with social energy
in search for Garden of Eden I bought.

Far from intense games of social contests
in tournaments of class struggle for rights,
I search for garden of sublime delights
inherent through philosophical quests
to transcend brutal nothingness of death
by riding rocket ship to dwell on Mars.

Adjusting frame of psychic reference,
I include garden with reflecting pool
where toads evolve into angelic souls
who dance with graceful elegance of faith
in marble temple of the singing skull
that prophesies how our new state will rise.

Strange beauty of the flower with long roots,
that sprouts from swamp muck of my aching heart,
expands scope of my urgent consciousness
to contemplate force of cause and effect
essential to constant progress of change
that defines our great empire state of mind.

Against weird blinding light of innocence
I close my eyes while driving by the cliff,
to feel extensive height of windiness
flash sense of awe from pulsing heart of fear
so I at last perceive with faithful eyes
mindless spirit that glows in every atom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus chronicles class struggle for rights of populations in every country where they develop social systems based on equality of psychic worth.

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

Wordless Tongue Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

Ensconced in damp-soil hush of old oak woods,
I hold assertive passion of my breath
when red-tailed hawk lands on rail of my porch
and stares at me with gold demonic eyes
that wakes strange horror from peace in my heart
so I remember my true secret name.

Explaining why the sun designs our hearts,
the red-tailed hawk flaps frail wings wet from rain
and soars into vast blue of emptiness
but leaves one feather floating in my hand,
oiled softness shimmering with divinity
of timeless strength that jolts my heart with love.

Setting long taut feather of excessive faith
on river-smoothed stone of my aching heart,
I ponder mute integrity of death
that fills my heart with gusts of naked wind
more heavy than enormous rock of truth
that teaches me how absence must be felt.

Though sudden darkness of twilight rings clear
with clash of light beams metallically fierce,
I breathe deep brave ambition of the hawk
to observe two gangs of men with rage-sharp swords
fight over who will claim the jeweled crown
held high by young woman with storm-blue eyes.

After every man in contest for power
lies mangled and bleeding on thirsty grass,
I imagine with courage of disgust
that I claim that jeweled crown for myself,
but I stay hidden in shadows of fate
for men who wear the crown are always killed.

Turning away from field of toxic greed,
I walk inside the silver wind of faith
to catch the countless drops of sparkling rain
so I can taste eternal truth of love
that nurtures trees to spring from soil of hope
which bloom with apples of integrity.

Boiling pan of water on crackling flames,
I peel ripe apples to read oracle
with plan to decode fortune of my heart,
then brew sweet apple cider in moonlight,
which shimmers warm on wordless tongue of fate
when I sip sorrow of mute suffering.

When red-tailed hawk returns at flash of dawn,
sharp claws gripping pole of my cottage porch,
she gazes in my eyes with ancient truth
as if she knows strange secret of my heart,
so I whisper true name of every ghost
who tries to convince me I, too, can fly.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus offers hot apple cider to Romeo and Cinderella when they stop by his cottage on their way to the City Dionysia theater festival in Athens.

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

True Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 06 19

We dance free in streets of America
to celebrate our right to earn a wage
and live with family in our own home
and travel wherever we wish to roam
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

Enchained and dragged across the raging sea
in fragile boats of innocent despair
real human beings were forced to slave in fields
where they sang of freedom with broken hearts
till Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

Though we are free to work the job we want
and earn enough from labor of our hands
to clothe and feed our family in safe homes
we slave for the low wage employers play
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

Rich men who lounge in tower offices
force us to work long hours for little pay
so we form unions of brave laborers
and strike to call for safer Working Ways
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

Economies of nations thriving well
are built by farmers raising crops we eat
and techs in factories assembling things
and drivers stocking stores where people shop
for Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

We now enjoy eight-hour-long working days
with holidays to celebrate our rights
and health insurance to work till old age
and pensions that sustain our twilight years
since Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

True greatness of America is built
by people working with their hands of faith
as long as we are free to live and play
while caring for our families with love
with Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

We gather in streets of America
every summer on June Nineteenth to sing
United with Love we shall overcome
games rich men play to enslave us with fear
on Juneteenth Abe abolished slavery
so every soul may live in Liberty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus stands on stage and sings anthem about the true greatness of America at the Juneteenth celebrations in the streets of America sea to shining sea.

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

New Child In Her Heart
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Small round white pebbles, smoothed by endless flow
of moon-white water, rippling silver light
of wordless fear at some dark shadow near
that looms featureless, reflect her gaunt face,
hardened into strange mask of someone else
at sudden flash of mindless ecstasy.

Exhausted from aggressive fantasy
to gather berries and eggs in dark woods,
Stella reposes far from Astrophel
under dark sycamore on the lush hill,
and stares at cottages on pastoral farms
wreathed in smoke from cooking fires at twilight.

Green apples, still unripe in late spring heat,
promise weird sweetness of electric juice
to homeless wanderers on signless roads
who pause to ponder beauty of farm fields
bordered by wild hedge-rows of stoic faith,
while searching for pure essence of the mind.

Awake in pure mind of her hungry hope,
yet numbed by ennui of afternoon breeze,
sly Stella searches tangled woods of fate
for gift with aspect more sublime than faith
that weighs boundless burden of mystery
on fragile raft of her wave-battered heart.

Deciding to cherish her serene mood
with breath that powers our corporeal frame,
Stella hums in harmony with stream waves
that morph in shapes of monsters with small eyes
which vanish when she laughs with calm delight
at beautiful absurdity we share.

Since Moon shines still on her solitary walk,
where misty mountain-winds teach her to live
free from anxious ambition to gain wealth,
Stella begins to worship florid Nature
that molds our bodies from river-shore mud
with indifferent passion to feel, yet know.

Though genial spirits of our hungry flesh
decay to blind dust in relentless change
of harsh necessity to live, she designs
new language from cries of storm-twisted ghosts,
which Stella translates from pebbles of shock
at swelling of the new child in her heart.

Weird glow of nature, inherent in forms
that her eyes perceive as colorful swirls,
informs her mind with quietness of life
that blooms from shocking vision of soul birth
with insight at how seeds of ecstasy
build dwelling place from memory of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds pregnant Stella sleeping under the sycamore tree, so he settles down and keeps watch to guard her precious soul from harm of the indifferent world.

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

Singing Doors Of Nevermore
© Surazeus
2026 06 18

Within cold shadow of eternity
my brain glows with dreams of warm energy
that wakes my heart with the sharp ache of truth
so I explore dream-invisible path
back home to singing doors of Nevermore
where I make books of long-forgotten lore.

Wise serpent of Meroveus inspires
my wretched soul to climb cathedral spires
where I spread wings of Icarus and fly
to Wonderland where I can play the spy
who slips through singing doors of Nevermore
with eager passion to complete my chore.

Assertive wolf of Charlemagne attends
my secret mission to explore strange lands
where my father once chased the rainbow ghost
who wants to crown me Son of Zeus the Host
so I guard singing doors of Nevermore
with royal robe of Ermine Louis wore.

Brave lion of Richard strides at my side
when I discover where wild fairies hide
who shelter me in lush Broceliande
when I hide from bloody assassin hand,
safe behind singing doors of Nevermore
where I gain Apollo as life mentor.

Swift horse of Henry portends motor cars
so I develop eyes of flaming stars
that help me analyze essential waves
building empires from blind prophets in caves
who open singing doors of Nevermore
that shimmer with dreams on the timeless shore.

Moon crow of Arthur haunts garden of fruit
where Melusine plays the dragon-bone flute
enchanting eyes of Cetus with sad tune
who wants to grant each person their boon
hidden by singing doors of Nevermore
when grape vines spiral from psychotic spore.

Weird secret code that Merlin diagrams
revives cult of Serapis herding rams,
so I invent religion of Ishtar
while driving to work each dawn in my car,
which opens singing doors of Nevermore
to temple of truth inside the bookstore.

I take mask from the ancient gallery
that matches Jester Bard of Fillory
to work as Custodian of the Wellspring
from which springs spirit of my magic ring
which unlocks singing doors of Nevermore
so I rule Earth as honest Manticore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus carves intricate scenes from lives of philosophers in panels on singing doors of Nevermore which recount the life and reign of First Mother Ishtar.

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

How To Grow Dream Wings
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

When he hears his child in her clean bedroom
cry with voice that cracks the evening moon,
Joseph lifts her up from the wood-barred crib
and holds her in his arms with gentle care,
humming wordless song to comfort her heart
while he contemplates how to make her smile.

Our hearts are permanent as twinkling stars
that gleam in swirls of smoke from a warm hearth,
so cling to me with comfort-seeking arms
and I will teach you how to grow dream wings
so you may fly beyond bounds of this world
and find its secret treasures in your heart.

Hearing her husband sing soft lullaby
to their daughter when she wakes from nightmare,
Kate gathers raindrops from cup of the rose
and sprinkles eyes of angels on her cheeks,
then as she cuddles with husband and child
she snaps photos with eye-phone of her heart.

Posting photos of their cute family
on social media sites with glowing heart,
Kate drinks juice by the frosted window pane
then plays haunting tunes on the old piano,
on which her grandmother used to play hymns,
beaming that she preserves her legacy.

Gazing in eyes of his daughter with pride,
Joseph tells her with reassuring voice
that he can see reflected in her eyes
timeless light of the moon that preserves
memories of her childhood in tender songs
that hide in heart of the crow in the oak.

Because we are all dying every day,
Kate sings with maternal lullaby voice,
we give each other love with caring faith
for we are transient shadows of the wraith
who gives our hearts wings of courageous hope
so we can transform sorrows into joy.

As you grow up and learn to walk and speak,
Joseph explains as he kisses her cheek,
we will show you beauty of this world
for, though all creatures breathing air of hope
will die and vanish into nothingness,
while we still live we give each other love.

How glad am I, Joseph hears Kate exclaim,
that we are safe in great America
where everyone is free to live and play,
instead of in those lands across the sea
where gangsters in harsh halls of government
bomb homes of families who are just like us.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds bodies of Joseph and Kate with their daughter buried in the rubble of their cute home by the river, so he sings elegy of their bitter loss.

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

Never About The Trees
© Surazeus
2026 06 17

Because it was never about the trees,
except how telephone poles steal her voice
and twist emotional tones into jokes,
Nerthus decides to build home furniture,
molding raw wood into tables and chairs
which brings people together with calm love.

Through hypothetical thoughts of desire
with unshared solitude of calm regret,
Nerthus measures vastness of her weird heart
that wears mask on deserted stage of faith
in tune with social discourse of the hour
when she traverses time without her heart.

Since she can never understand our words,
despite embracing feelings she finds cold,
Nerthus translates strange shadow of her mind
to clarity of colors angels brew
from blood of children killed in civil wars
whose faces glow from flash of friendly bombs.

Based on unknown proverb of naked truth,
that doubles phantoms of our hungry souls
through endless mirrors on pages of books,
Nerthus calculates equivalent thoughts
to match alien truths devised to untwist
beauty born from concept of nothingness.

Since words of wisdom bleed from her torn tongue,
against inverted pattern striped with eyes,
Nerthus maps contemptuous canticles
smeared across ghost-bare hills of tangled roots
to prove her speech expresses how she feels
with honest bitterness of unearned love.

When she decides that yellow asters match
veils of silent rapture drenched in mute rain,
Nerthus conducts shy ceremonial game
to hide unhealed wounds of maturity
with solemn chorus only lake winds scream,
too beautiful for chords that hurt our hearts.

Her tales may seem vaguely mysterious
since her beliefs are hidden in plain code,
so Nerthus cracks oblivion with prayers
unanswered after weirdly portent words
reveal blank space between our pulsing hearts
that no amount of trust can bridge till death.

Since consequence of her belief in God
means nothing to cold waves that wreck hard cliffs
with gentle kisses of indifferent love,
Nerthus gives her daughter small apple seed
without explaining how to build new home
from planks of wood that rot in hungry rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus worries his daughter Ostara may not find her own path in the wilderness of wonderful whimsy where ghosts weave roots into songs.

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

Rising Sun Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Though blinded by the rising sun of truth,
that deconstructs weird religious world view
preprogrammed in my brain as I grew up,
I gaze with awe at beauty of the world
that blazes brightly outside frame of words
with glow that dissolves ideologies.

Awakened by the rising sun of truth,
that cracks mirror of my childhood beliefs,
I gather fragments of social events
to assemble new world ontology
depicting progress of the human race
as monkeys boasting they have angel wings.

Heart entranced by the rising sun of truth,
that luminates grove of shadowy ghosts,
I enter cave beside the roaring sea
where Polyphemus kept his herd of sheep
to hear his skull explain in riddle-code
how to take power in the Twilight Zone.

Empowered by the rising sun of truth,
that channels souls of ancient demigods
through flashing neurons of my spongy brain,
I strum the broken lyre of Mercury
and howl conceptual hymns of ardency
before locked gates of Heaven in hard rain.

Soul transformed by the rising sun of truth,
that rearranges puzzle of my mind,
I organize my random memories
in coherent narrative of my life
where I journey on quest of the wise fool
to comprehend the true nature of things.

Still amazed by the rising sun of truth,
that weaves my soul from flashing molecules,
I climb high rugged trail of eager hope
to grand castle on steep Harshena peak
to find Thoosa bathing in her pool
who hopes I will give her Apple of Eris.

Not amused by the rising sun of truth,
that melts thick wax of my Icarian wings,
I visit Catullus in his humble home
where zephyrs rustle leaves of apple trees
as Aphrodite dances in silk gown
while airplanes bomb cathedral of the clown.

Analyzed by the rising sun of truth,
that conjugates emotions of my heart
through unauthorized ciphers of charades,
I dismantle components of my brain
designed to calculate customized worth,
then document dynamic game of thrones.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus measures incremental states of being inherent in the rising sun of truth that guides our national journey to make Zarathia great again.

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

Stranger With Four Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 06 16

Strange laughter echoes in deserted streets
where ghosts of children killed in civil wars
play hide and seek with angels of the moon,
which startles me awake from reverie
concerning how to rebuild fantasy
that we require to live our daily lives.

Shocked by harsh candor of our unchurched bells
that ring with frantic ecstasy of fear,
my doppelganger hides his secret face
with mask he steals from cracked statue of God
which proves new zeitgeist messes with our minds
by rearranging moral signs of fate.

We need to hear sad whistle of the train
that blows across broad prairie of mad wind
as if the tame wolf of our legal hearts
aches to escape cold walls of paradise
and run with ravens along railroad tracks
which always leads our hearts to Wonderland.

Too fake our private stories of success
for fools to understand straight messages,
encoded with proud riddles of the banks
that charge us hidden fees of fortitude,
so we decide to flee the Promised Land
by wearing white cloaks in the swirling snow.

To mark our journey in dark pathless woods,
I leave old photos of our family times
along the way we wind in withered waste,
but oldest woman in the world retrieves
discarded memories with attentive hands
and pastes them in her album of lost tales.

When I find Sibyl with gold spider eyes
lounging casually by the willow tree,
I ask if I can have my memories back,
but she laughs softly as the butterfly,
then plays heart-wrenching tunes on violin
that shatters our moon in fragments of faith.

I wander blind deserted streets of hope
and map each spot where I hear ghostly cry
to mark where someone felt their heart crack wide
from shock at crumbling of our old world view
so I can analyze with careful code
spatial adjustment of our social play.

Thus when I meet the Stranger with four eyes
at signless crossroads by the empty pool,
I ask why every conscious creature dies,
so she gives me ripe apple of her heart
that writhes with golden serpent of desire,
and then I understand so much I laugh.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus observes the multiverse through diamond prism of his four eyes that help him perceive essential nature of things hidden in words we never speak.

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

Kaaba Of Her Destiny
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Walking toward the sea to find her lost words
that rise in blazing glory of red dawn,
Sepideh sings with strange enchanting voice
about innocent birds that lose their wings
so they find refuge in the cypress tree
and nest in tangled tresses of her hair.

Untangling tresses of her long black hair,
Sepideh frees the wingless hearts of men
who long to remain in trap of her heart,
but she finds it sweeter to wander free
across deserted Biyaban of hope,
and make her bed on burning sand of faith.

Far from the crowded cities of locked doors,
where men with iron hands grasp at her heart,
Sepideh finds in dark deserted cave
Apron of Kaveh tattered in the dust,
so she cleans Flag of Freedom with her tears,
then bears it as she walks the signless road.

Kneeling by bright pond in Biyaban,
where gold sun frames her heart with wordless grace,
Sepideh gazes in mirror of love
past mask of her face in the Ayeneh
where she perceives divine Light of Zurvan
that luminates pure nature of mankind.

While she follows flow of the Haraz River,
that winds through oak woods to Mount Damavand,
Sepideh smiles when morning Saba breeze
brings scent of cloves to soothe her aching heart,
bearing secret message of yearning love
from faceless lover she may never meet.

She finds no roses in the Biyaban,
where no Majnun, possessed with bitter grief,
flees from oppressive rules of social pride,
nor hears forlorn song of the nightingale,
yet boundless regions of the houseless waste
expands scope of true love in her vast heart.

Seeking star-eyed beauty of the Simurgh,
which emanates from her love-wounded heart,
Sepideh walks the roadless wilderness
on treacherous journey of her aching soul,
disoriented by shattering of her mask,
so she dances wildly with Saba wind.

Awake in Golestan, garden of fruit,
reborn from horror of the Biyaban,
Sepideh sings with mercurial voice
while caressing rose petals of respect,
then laughs as she drinks wine of starlit truth,
safe in the Kaaba of her destiny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while lounging by pool in the Golestan while Sepideh sings heart-enchanting tunes about ache of the heart for divine truth.

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

New Lamp Of Diogenes
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Though the world grows dark from cruel tyranny
through oppression of greedy oligarchs
who have seized power in grand halls of state,
I shall walk forth on signless road of fate
bearing the new Lamp of Diogenes
so we can unite to fight against hate.

With pompous heart of King Lear on the heath,
commiserating with wretches of fate
pelted by pitiless storm of despair,
I raise my wounded soul up from the ground
to bear the new Lamp of Diogenes
and prove the Heavens are just to the wronged.

Concerned about weird state of world affairs,
corrupted by gangs of exploitive thieves,
I take clear measure of humanity
to analyze chess games of global power,
then bear the new Lamp of Diogenes
to find the honest leader we can trust.

Through knowledge of suffering people endure
I transform pity to attentive grace
by looking in my heart of eager faith
so I may know what vision to invent,
beamed by the new Lamp of Diogenes,
that luminates our way to paradise.

When sunlight coils saturation of loss
by folding feathered swirls of timeless truth,
my heart shall annotate redacted code
that could obliterate our spectacle
tuned by the new Lamp of Diogenes
so we surf endless waves of social change.

Though I do not know name of every soul
who lives in every land of spinning Earth,
I know we share same dreams of love with hope
for we are neighbors in opposing states,
tricked by the new Lamp of Diogenes
to believe we all can achieve world peace.

Around bright campfire of our global faith
we gather with lost refugees of fate
when tyrants bomb our homes to steal our land,
then feast and sing with faith in loyal trust
forged by the new Lamp of Diogenes
as light that guides our quest to nurture love.

With lion heart of courage we shall walk
with Sharbat Gula on long road of fear,
enduring cruel vicissitudes of fate,
for her green eyes of wisdom glow with faith,
sparked by the new Lamp of Diogenes
to dispel darkness of cruel tyranny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus photographs young girl in refugee camp whose green eyes glow with ancient wisdom of the suffering soul who seeks beauty in a war-torn world.

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

Ghost Of My Fractured Soul
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Bright ghosts of all the lives I could have lived
swarm all around me in the maze of myths,
so I assign each alternative self
weird variant on the name Odysseus,
for though they set out on their quest for home
they each live and die in some foreign town.

I hear their songs in silence of the day,
so I record memories they throw away
because they have all disappeared from time
which leaves me now alone of all my selves
erased from possibilities of fate
while still alive in shadow of my home.

Strange cry of sorrow tainted by pure joy
rings out through endless forest of dead trees,
so I climb every mountain in the world
to find source of this cry of bitter hope,
till I realize with laughter of soft rain
that it comes out of my own aching heart.

The scarlet raven on my shoulder sings
with pure voice mimicking the nightingale
to prove the dire wolf glowing in my heart
keeps me alive on journey to the west
when I search cathedral ruins of dead gods
for holy scripture that lives in my heart.

Since I take the low road where the sun shines bright
I hear birds of hope sing in grieving trees
though I wander where the wildflowers spring
for I hope to meet my true love by moonlight
where we had parted in the shady glen
as lovers on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

Though every living thing on Earth will die
and wither in the turning flow of time,
we glow with mystery of the universe
when we stand in the field where lilies bloom
and let the timeless gleam of ancient stars
penetrate our hearts with ache of true love.

I wish to be as generous as Death
who treats each living soul with gift of joy
since we glow fragile as the lily bloom
that sprouts in jagged rocks of the glen pool
with kind attendance of the honey bees
though thunderstorms crack illusion of faith.

I may never see misty glens of Scotland
in fleeting drama of my secret life
yet spirit of your love blooms in my heart
no matter where I roam in this wide world,
so I send last ghost of my fractured soul
to meet you on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings "The Bonnie Banks of Lock Lomond" with heart-enchanting voice of the lonely glens.

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

Stories Mirrors Tell
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

I have read all the stories mirrors tell,
pursued by gold-tongued furies of concern,
unreal as angels in our grocery stores,
startled by scattered brilliance of false faith
that severs my heart from kite of the sun
with suddenness of unwanted world fame.

Waves of green memory engulf my heart
with tattered pages of electric books
that recount fight for crown of global power,
though I sail far on argosy of hope
in vain attempt to find the Promised Land
that always vanishes as we approach.

Though rational light of social insight
disperses shadows of religious faith,
I cling to fractured rainbow of one fact,
that we are temporary flames of light
undone by ecstasy of secret dreams
which I decode in stories no one reads.

Green odor of strange darkness in the tree
uncovers coldness folded inside leaves,
moon rays that rustle softly into words
which weave strange web of silver-shimmer light
that binds support pillars of belief
to bridge vast emptiness between our hearts.

Strange seeds of proverbs, secretly discerned,
flicker forth from arched bough of ecstasy
to veil my grave with pages of old books
at supple rocking of infernal light
that teaches darkness how to flow till dawn
so I taste perfect sorrow of desire.

Night flowers into stories angels steal
by giving fruit to wounded refugees
who crowd streets of clean cities with despair,
forbidden to own land or labor well,
as if our hearts are leeches to be crushed,
so we clutch handfuls of hydraulic dust.

Roots twine about my pulsing heart with faith
that all we build will crumble into sand
through fertile season of electric birds,
so I leap over garden walls of hope
that harden brave around astringencies
when I adjust somnolent grace at dawn.

Though we still process summer balances
with frantic gaiety of elephants,
I package fractured memories of fate
in polished casement of Plutonian pride,
which I intend to hide in state archives
that should preserve decrees of solitude.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus polishes mirrors in Palace of Apollo which has ten thousand more than lost Palace of Versailles where devils prance in silk and cotton wings.

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

Win The Apple Of Eris
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Assembled angels on the Pantheon
watch horses race across the roadless plain
to win the Apple of Eris with speed
that honors wind ghost of the primal seed
from which all creatures of spinning Earth spring
at spark of love when Daughters of Time sing.

When people thank God for their victories
in sports competitions to win Gold Keys,
I laugh because they still believe the creed
which Al-Ghazali taught in fevered screed
that God controls where every atom goes
so what occurs is Law that God bestows.

If every act of force that I perform
was decreed by God before I was born,
then I am but dumb puppet of his Will,
so I commit no sin, though I may kill,
and thus cannot be punished for some crime
that God makes me do in flow of space-time.

Yet supernatural conscious God of Fate,
who forces us to play his game as bait,
is not as real as priests want me to think,
since atoms randomly swerve at the brink
which causes them to swirl in globes of life
where brain-urged creatures clash in hungry strife.

If flashing atoms always beam too straight
through boundless void of space due to their weight,
they never would collide in coils of light
that form matter of the universe right,
so Epicurus taught that atoms swerve
in random deviations of the curve.

If we could predict where each atom moves
our actions would be locked in legal grooves,
predetermined by divine will of God
which would make us puppets committing fraud,
so random swerves of atoms in the void
breaks chain of necessity we avoid.

Thus we assert soft force of our free will
when we ascend to fruit grove on the hill
where we tame horses with sweet fruit of trust,
subsuming mindless energy of lust,
so we can bridle passion of their flight
in race to achieve the heavenly height.

How far across the spinning globe I fly
on horse of wisdom to discover why
our bodies spring from laughter of the sea
as we investigate how to live free
when we assert free will by conscious choice,
then chronicle events with honest voice.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tends to his horse who glides gracefully in the meadow, admiring how she reflects beauty she inherited from her ancestor, the Darley Arabian.

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

Incarnation Of Saint Michael
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

The narrow dusty road across bleak plain,
that takes me past wind-weathered hills of hope,
seems to extend forever to the sky,
but I know somewhere far beyond despair
stands shining temple of wise Jupiter
who hosts grand banquets for lost travelers.

But by the time I arrive at his hall
ten thousand years of reckless social change
have transformed villages of hungry farmers
to vast metropolitan maze of streets
so piston-engine cars glide past glass towers
where Jupiter reigns as bank president.

The silver airplane Daedalus designed,
which Icarus pilots with focused faith,
zooms swiftly far in high celestial realm
so wingless angels manage world affairs
in global council of state ministers
where Jupiter presides with wise insight.

Peter chuckles at vision of the world
that Michael proffers with clever grin
where mythic spirits of conceptual gods
provide vigor of ideal characters
as psychic force of social energy
which incarnate in normal mortal men.

Consider how mythic tag of our name
acts as key to initiate psychic force
of social role performed in state of grace
by that original person whose mind
may exercise broad visionary scope
through our contemporary mental form.

That first Michael, human who bore my name,
now sanctified as archangel whose soul
exerted deeds of duty to assert
central authority of Jupiter,
whose name signifies Jehovah Pater,
has become glamorous ideal of the hero.

By assigning name of that great archangel,
Michael who slays dragon of the cruel tyrant,
whose devilish spirit possesses men
each generation with ambition to rule
with greed, exploiting human slaves for wealth,
my mother hopes I will act with his spirit.

Therefore, it is my duty in this life,
as mortal incarnation of Saint Michael,
to save America from tyranny,
but how I shall perform this sacred role
has yet to manifest, so I employ
patience to act well when the time is right.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus stares at broken lyre of Mercury while Daedalus, in his workshop along the busy street of Heaven, works to repair his instrument of prophecy.

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