Righteous Way To Go
© Surazeus
2026 05 13

Stuck on the righteous way to go to Heaven
that winds through every city in the world,
I study statues of Satan and Hamlet
to understand romantic state of mind
that could fuel engine of my beating heart
when I want to leap from Tower of Hope.

Lying stunned on the righteous way to go
after I fall from Heaven for nine days,
I wake alone in Valley of Despond
with tattered wings of Icarus I stole
to find my crash created my own space
where I can sing solemn psalms of despair.

Lost on the righteous way to go back home
where ghosts of my parents forget my name,
I cast my bread upon waters of faith
but the birds with angelic wings of light
die from sorrow of poisoned promises
and I get nothing but handfuls of rain.

Mapping the righteous way to go to Hell
where Hamlet and Orpheus share bad jokes,
I design new ontology of truth
to conjure virtual model of the Earth
that represents the way things really are
instead of how Plato thinks they should be.

Eager to name the righteous way to go
that leads to paradise of apple trees,
I plant seeds in the wilderness of pain
that sprout into Seraphim of my heart
who stand guard on the marble walls of Troy
where Cassandra waits for me to come home.

Still waiting on the righteous way to go
through airport security with my passport,
I think about my bride Persephone
who meets Mona Lisa and Melusine
to paint statues at the Vigeland Park
beneath tall monolith of writhing ghosts.

Racing time on the righteous way to go
with the Third Man on cold Antarctic plains,
I find Hammer of Thor stuck in the ice,
so I proclaim myself King of Greenland,
and dare mad Nebuchadnezzar to fight me
whose statue of gold falls in the waste land.

Abandoning the righteous way to go
where Percival lies drowned on the sea shore,
I ask wise Urania to marry me,
but she is in love with Prometheus
who operates power plant near Lake Tahoe
that leaves thousands of people in the dark.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus goes on tour around the world doing standup comedy where he performs monologs of Odysseus, Jesus, Hamlet, and other romantic anti-heroes who defy tyrants.

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

Psychic Energy Of Love
© Surazeus
2026 05 12

Primal Spirit, born from infernal swirls
in seething chaos of celestial flames,
our Last Universal Common Ancestor
that first evolved in hot Hadean Eon,
still glows with psychic energy of love
in every cell of my atomized body.

Every organic creature, born from Earth
with immortal soul of genetic code,
operates machinery for protein systems
with shared chirality of amino acids
through fuel of adenosine triphosphate
as universal currency of cells.

Breaking water bonds with hydrolysis,
adenosine triphosphate executes
sharp energy beams sufficient to drive
biochemical processes of life
which animates our physical machine
through pulsing passion of emotive force.

Physical experience of our God Soul
buzzes deep inside every cell of my body
to spark aggressive assertion of will
through brave actions of creative design
since I feel original Force of Life
pulse in each action I choose to perform.

Since Primal Spirit first began to dream
four billion years ago in spin of time,
her spiral coil of genes accumulates
glow of experience in stereotype tropes
which illuminates righteous path of action
so I pursue Course of Honor to grow.

Driven by primal energy of hope,
that flares forth from first flash of the big bang,
our planet forms from solar nebula
to generate prokaryotic cell
empowered by stable machine of acids
as self-dividing vesicle of lust.

Inspired by psychic energy of love,
I play the lyre of Mercury and sing
hymn of praise to the Supreme Being of Light
that glows with nuclear power in the Sun,
so I worship Sun-Spider Solaria
who weaves our bodies from atomic threads.

My brain, nurtured by this chemical frame
of my temporary body, embodies
immortal flare of psychic energy
that we mortal humans have signified
with the weird word God to symbolize
mindless passion of our desire to live.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus explains how every organism on Earth all spring from our Last Universal Common Ancestor, our First Mother whose soul animates our minds with love.

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

Yellow Snake Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 05 12

Dredged up from the past, strange memories,
strangers recorded in ambiguous riddles,
crawl wounded on hot highway of ambition,
and latch their bodies with obsessive lust
to pulsing antivirus of my brain
where they plant seeds that reprogram my mind.

Floating in colonial skyscape of hope,
dispersed across vastness of timeless thought,
I wear silver mask of the wise Ungod
to play Music of the Spheres on bone lyre
that shakes Poisoned Apple loose from my brain
so I become the Yellow Snake of Truth.

Brewing gloom in white hot Cauldron of Faith,
with tears of angels, and mushrooms that sprout
from corpses of gods men worship no more,
I wear Mask of Folly carved from glass skull
of the newest devil to walk the Earth
who claws diamonds from ghost mountains of fear.

When the Maimed King, still slouching on gold throne
of obsolete power, clutches Holy Grail
he stole from cracked Tomb of the Unknown savior,
I sweep back Curtain of Uncertainty
to reveal Faith Beggars wearing gray suits
who preach about salvation of the vampire.

Renamed Pilgrim of the Apocalypse,
I react with wild laughter of King Lear
against mechanical sterility
of our world industrial society,
then design weird blueprint to resurrect
Zarathia from ruins of America.

I bow with reverence of honest respect
before Supreme Being of the One-Eyed Sun
whose radiant light of life illuminates
our spinning Earth with atoms of desire,
since, unmoved by Eight Winds of Providence,
he floats serenely on Lotus of Love.

As latest descendant of Melkhizath,
whose spirit animates my heart with faith,
I contemplate Wyrd of our universe,
which is the only version that exists
out of all the possible variations
mirrored by fractals of the multiverse.

Still echoing softly in Cage of Voices,
prophecies of the Sibyl with gold eyes
shatter illusions of national pride
because Spirit of Odin, bold Lightning-Caster,
is worshipped by people of America,
terrified of the Yellow Snake of Truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus explains to people of America that they worship Odin who wears the mask of Jesus, but they insist the woke hippie is a holy warrior of nationalist pride.

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

Wounded Heart Of Everyone
© Surazeus
2026 05 11

The saddest soul in the world eats the stone
soft as the wounded heart of everyone
so no one else feels anguish of despair.
Children swim in the river of weird words
to understand why happiness of light
gleams on surface of the burgeoning sea.

Fragments of the broken mirror gleam blue
in white dust of the driveway. Hungry trees
explain to the girl in the yellow dress
why wind gets trapped in words of holy books
no one ever reads. Pipes where water flows
slither under yards of fallen road signs.

Each time he finds another jeweled crown
abandoned in the field of rubber tires
behind the car garage, he asks the crow
for name of the faceless ghost in his heart.
People driving cars wear innocent masks
since rain sounds like clack of typewriter keys.

Ghosts are not real, yet they are memories
of people we would like to see again,
the girl in the yellow dress tells the boy
in tattered jeans. They walk along the fence
and pretend to play piano on wires
of awkward flirtation till they depart.

When her aunt calls her Catherine again
the girl in the yellow dress shakes her head.
I am the incarnation of Isolde,
but this time Tristan and I will not die
of broken-hearted sorrow, for we choose
the life we wish to live against cruel fate.

When the boy sees the crow on the mailbox
where he puts letters he can never write
to his mother, he feels strange sense of fear,
so he runs into night of broken lamps
and hides behind the car-repair garage
where his grandfather used to drink cold beer.

Late each afternoon, before school is out,
Tristan and Isolde meet at the garage
where they eat hotdogs and drink seven-up
while Light My Fire plays on the radio.
Because no airplanes in the clear blue sky
are dropping bombs, they both decide to kiss.

She plays violin while he plays the flute
as strangers making music in the night,
till psychic energy swells huge as clouds
that crack at sweet electric flash of love
so silver rain drenches the world in hope.
They never agree to marry or not.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus plays banjo in front of the garage while Tristan and Isolde make out in the back where the river remembers how to cleanse the Earth.

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

Mauve Mask Of Morning
© Surazeus
2026 05 11

To wear mauve mask of morning without fear,
concerned about wordless pain people hide,
I sit before glowing computer screen
and map whole history of humanity
with points, lines, and polygons that depict
static image of our now-changing world.

I feel mauve mask of morning hide my face
while I search among jagged stones of hope
for deep well of immortal energy
so I can bring cup of juice in my heart
to Mother Gaya in four-pillared fane
where she weeps over death of the blind moon.

Without mauve mask of morning to reflect
spirit of water that nurtures my faith,
I play in backyard of my empty home,
happy as the child with apple of light
that mimics how the sun designs our minds
with aching gratitude for mystery.

I find mauve mask of morning in wet grass,
so I sit in museum all day long
sketching imitations of famous works
to see if I can wake genius of art
who gazes at me from blank eyes of ghosts
trapped inside frame of conceptual regret.

To build mauve mask of morning from sharp shards
of rose windows shattered by happy bombs,
I rearrange truths of reality
so everything I thought was true as wind
supplies oxygen when I breathe it in,
learning nature of soul carnality.

Behind mauve mask of morning Soul of God
wakes in vast neural network of my brain
so conscious sense of self I feel as me,
programmed by dreams that my ancestors lived,
fools me to feel immortal in frail flesh,
so I run laughing in lush field of flowers.

Shielded by mauve mask of morning with pride,
I stand on global stage of hungry fame
and sing transcendent spells of ecstasy
that flash through my brain as epiphany,
then vanish from dream of the turning world
after I play my part programming truth.

Inspired by mauve mask of morning from faith,
I follow Death on signless road of fate
with urgent passion, fueled by ardent pain,
to build from bones of gods sheltering fane
where I observe political events
as tricker who plays the opposite game.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus teaches class of students in the river park techniques to paint mauve mask of morning that conceals mystery of the human spirit.

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

Never Die Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

Because my heart will never die of truth,
though my body and mind wither from time,
I wander fields of wheat till I meet Ruth
who teaches me psychic secret of chime.
We hold hands as we stroll along the stream
while troubles weave our hearts in loyal team.

Before I wake up, stuck in Tree of Life
while stealing apples from Lilith the Queen,
I learn from Hephaestus how to forge knife
of justice with my name in damascene.
Though she casts me out of high garden walls
I study secret of electric balls.

In Desolation Canyon of Utah
I build log cabin on Green River shore
where I write love letters to Onatah
who trades wagons of corn for iron ore.
When I escape castles on noble quest
I build democracy in the Wild West.

Riding my bike in the small Texas town,
I think about Brenda with eyes of gold
who giggles when I flirt as clumsy clown
then sing prophecies the Crow Witch inscrolled.
I see mask of her face on golden moon
when I ask Anne Bradstreet for sacred boon.

Our great empire now collapses from lies
since ideals of justice and liberty
are twisted from tricks spread by foreign spies,
which curses my tribesmen with poverty.
We build from ruins of America
new equal nation of Zarathia.

I do my part while wandering road of fate,
composing epic of philosophers
to highlight heroes who investigate
nature of life as truth geographers.
Now I can vanish from dream of this world
at thirteenth coming of the cosmic herald.

We should not wait for brave Lyterius
to save our nation from the tyrant thief
since democracy is precarious,
for justice requires sacrificial grief.
I search for Ruth in prairie fields of wheat
to calculate our wealth in the spreadsheet.

Since our nation will never die of truth,
we build new world view on verified facts
adjudicated by messiah sleuth
who notarizes all social contracts.
As thirteenth descendant of the Crow Witch
I chronicle truth with each hexastich.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus hikes along the Green River up Desolation Canyon in Utah to Rock Creek Ranch where he teaches young Edwin how to play the lyre of Mercury.

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

Obsessive Eyes Of History
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

The random events of my mundane life
occur so far outside standard template
of socially accepted stereotypes,
that I can only chronicle each phase
without application of ordered stamps
beyond frame of meaningful narrative.

No conceptual meaning assigned by fate
could be extracted from those bizarre scenes
if I detail each particular fact
against normal code of significance
contrary to nuance of legal aim
that motivates my actions to survive.

Each maladjusted purpose I assert
reverses message of psychic intent
with imprecise explanation of hope
beyond general drift of my argument,
which is to say I could never attest
to divine gist of consensual design.

No story ever told in time-bound books,
nor shows presented on the glowing screen,
ever represents my experience
in typical sequence of measured scenes
that model paradigm of social tales
contrived by fabulists of absurd myths.

I will not compose memoir of my life,
spinning meaningful narrative of fate
from random assemblage of anecdotes
that highlight examples of clumsiness
when I interact with people in scenes
scripted to humiliate me with farce.

Each time I stumble into social scene,
where fearful people wearing bitter masks
direct burlesque of taunting disrespect
that stars their caricature of my soul,
I perform contrary to game they expect
that exposes their hate through travesty.

Thus I exit absurd drama they cast
by vacating stage of their haughty pride
and leave them to strut with false dignity
before obsessive eyes of history
that devours esteem of arrogant fools
with terrible curse of soul-twisting fame.

Long trapped in stories other people write,
unwilling antagonist of their heroism,
I leap from tower of religious faith
to soar on urgent wings of Icarus
till I fall singing in Ocean of Doom
and rise reborn on island of my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus welcomes Icarus to temple of prophecy on Island of Avalon where they operate theater showing tragedy and comedy to everyone for free.

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

Falling Star Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

Too late to catch the falling star of fate,
that blasts illusion of our noble state,
I leap across abyss of timeless truth
to wear changing mask of messiah sleuth
and play Lyterius on the global stage
to free Liberty from the golden cage.

After I trace the falling star of fate,
that exposes ghoul of long-concealed hate,
I gather wounded people of the land
so with strength of numbers we take our stand
opposing tyrant in castle of greed
whose idol of gold crumbles into seed.

Because I map the falling star of fate,
that cracks base of our continental plate,
I search for fragments of our old world view
to assemble weird puzzle from each clue
in blueprint for new world order of laws
that applies fair verdict to each crime cause.

Shocked awake by the falling star of fate,
that reveals location of my soulmate,
I overcome all obstacles of chance
so we can meet and share romantic dance
in sacred temple of fertility
to generate souls with civility.

Twisting time from the falling star of fate,
that inspires our new nation to be great,
I stand on street corner in every town
to play guitar and sing about the clown
who decrees we worship idol of gold
that portrays Justice without her blindfold.

Heart inspired by the falling star of fate,
that provides gold for the heavenly gate,
I stand guard at threshold of global change
to help angels of Ishtar rearrange
psychic system of world society
with tools that help manage anxiety.

Concerned about the falling star of fate,
that smolders in garden of my estate,
I pull sword of justice from glowing stone
with hammer of vision adjusting tone,
so I lead revolution of the brave
against hungry monster in the dream cave.

Empowered by the falling star of fate,
that helps my magnetic brain navigate
traps to treasures in labyrinth of myth,
I crown Ishtar beneath the monolith
as priestess who records our names at birth
to manage United Nations of Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus guides school children in Museum of Zarathia to explain how falling star of fate helped people of the land remove the tyrant and establish new nation of liberty and justice for all.

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

Safe On The Serpent Way
© Surazeus
2026 05 10

In this open field of battle for truth
between bleak wind and sorrow of the mind,
I build marble temple from dragon bones
where the clock, not yet invented by hope,
unspools salvation from seductive hearts
of those who long to walk the signless road.

Soft whisper of some voice in shadowed woods
explains quickening of life in dark rain
that causes mindless reel of being to spin
with sharp machinery of the hungry mind
because past events of outrageous crimes
occur again today that shocks our hearts.

Knife-eyed scientists of truth, who research
excessive opinions about state power,
scan vast emptiness of heavenly realms
with passion to observe how souls are born
from flash of chemicals in pulsing brains
that emanate with conscious sense of self.

Harrowing strain of electric regrets
reshapes crowded tenements of lost souls
who give up searching for the Promised Land
while gazing upward at arrogant clouds
that deny right to work and live at will
in any town along the restless river.

So many voices of the recent past
wait mute in cracked texts of long-unread books
that highlight fraught problem of ownership
fought between factions of corporate states,
so I walk barefoot on long pilgrimage
to find skulls of gods buried under roots.

When Sisyphus stumbles to his crippled knees
and rock of salvation begins to roll,
I will imagine how happy he is
to push the stone of wisdom up the hill,
then stand in line with joy to wait my turn
while I ponder how matter radiates essence.

Since Tiresias gives me wand of respect
and retires to watch television shows,
I strut the busy streets of business shops
till I see tall gold statue in the park,
but when preachers demand I worship it
I call out for help from Abednego.

Running from masked agents with eyeless guns,
I seek for Spirit of Lyterius
to wake inside hollow cave of my heart
and guide my way safe on the Serpent Way,
till I find myself at the pyramid
where lightning strikes gold idol of the king.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus melts down the gold idol of the king and gives coins stamped with face of Mercury to everyone in the land so they can buy new homes and food to eat.

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

Woke In Angelophanic Realm
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

Trapped in despondency of eager faith,
I follow Zadkiel with purple wings
along winding trail of hope-shattered stones
to snow-frosted peaks of Strobilus Mountain
where I find fountain of my sun-born soul
that fills my mortal frame with divine light.

Still chained to ragged cliff of anarchy,
Prometheus calls my name in howling wind,
so I open portal of my aching heart
which lures his flame-stealing soul to attend
phase of my project constructing world view
that beams radiation of primordial god.

Engaged with focus of attentive care
in brave adventure of curious growth,
which my ancestors practice through each life,
I map weird vision of ontology
that defines virtue of active respect
based on constructive process of design.

Through theft of fire from cave of ardent faith
I build assertive walls of Ilium
where we horse-traders evaluate pride,
immune to blood of dragons in our hearts,
based on clairvoyance of agnostic dread
still pertinent to moments of insight.

Interior vision from Spirit of Mundus,
which postulates sacred garden of ghosts,
provides supportive landscape for my heart
to dwell woke in angelophanic realm
where I translate encoded messages
as cosmic revelation few perceive.

Demonic shade, that emanates from me,
guides me through mirror cave of mental math
to mediate contract of my wounded heart
with cosmic Seraph of immortal genes
along the winding Serpent Path of faith
where Numinous Phantom of my heart sings.

When I receive weird truth that we choose fate,
I recite sagacious riddles of insight
while performing pageant of ecstasy
through narrative exposition of deeds
which portray my inner transformation
based on the friendly silence of the moon.

Freed from subterfuge of religious creed,
I walk with Zadkiel on mountain trail
to build devotional fane of respect
for soul of my ancestors in my heart
to glow as mirror that presents my face
which masks ephemeral spirit of the Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus joins Zadkiel in ring of stones where they teach me how to translate mysterious visions of the mind to ecstatic hymns of compassion for humanity.

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

Glass Idol Of God
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

Faint light of afternoon glows sultry green
on pallid walls of silent living rooms
where shadows of people whose names I knew
fade into fuzzy memories few recall,
preserved by songs in aching melodies
that nobody ever sings anymore.

Embellished beauty, inherent in words
never spoken against oppressive fear,
teaches me to distrust bitter commands
that attempt to mute music of the streets
which reveals cracks in foundations of faith
then causes our great empire to collapse.

Sirens once lured sailors to crash bold ships
on rocks of lust to taste forbidden fruit,
but now sirens wail to warn of attacks
when angels of heaven in silver planes
drop bombs of greed on halls of liberty,
so the wounded wail in ruins of faith.

Exempt from greed that plagues weak hearts of men,
we wander toward siren song of despair
to gather round waterless fountain pool
where faceless people in travel-worn shoes
leave empty suitcases in piles of hope
while family photographs swirl in hot wind.

Our bodies mutate from statues of gold
to hunger-wasted zombies of blind faith
so we exchange hope-tattered dollar bills
to buy illusions of brave apathy
that clutter abandoned churches where ghosts
sing solemn hymns to glass idol of God.

Mother of Dignity, wearing black dress
stained with blood of angels, points to Glow Cloud
fractured into puzzle pieces of truth,
and asks why we are baffled by despair
embodied by old woman on the cow
who gives the thirsty broken cups of dreams.

Exquisite rant against dishonest men,
who succumb to surprise of carefree death,
provides glimpse into how gears of the brain
analyze mutation of our world view
so we see everything differently now,
since life is one long television show.

Though I lost mask of white ghost in my heart
that haunts waterless wells in horseless fields,
I almost feel reborn from flames of change
that blast institutions of social games,
yet jagged quartz that writhes in all my cells
traps my spirit in glass idol of God.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus mold glass idol of God from tears of refugees who flee from homes destroyed by angels in silver planes sent to erase their memories from time.

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

Ghost Of Shimmer-Thought
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

When I kneel at fern-wreathed curb of the well
to see strange whiteness Robert once discerned,
I see no godlike ghost of shimmer-thought
behind mask of my simple mortal face,
so I pretend with smirk of innocence
that I perceive true essence of this world.

Sun-dappled lilies of the valley bloom
from graves where my ancestors rot to dust
along lost roads of verdant urgency
since patterns of transcendent ideal forms
mold matter into transient beings of light
which weaves meaning out of random events.

While trudging endless road of prairie grass
beside four-wheeled wagon of dreamy hopes,
I seek glow of enchantment in bright hills
that whisper secret tales in wordless wind,
revealing secrets of this ancient land
where grim demonic shadows of fear lurk.

I sense weird spirit of faceless regard
as meaning immanent in mindless things
that I project with passion to express
transcendent vision flashing in my eyes
which dissipates in sudden gust of wind
so I see river valley as it is.

Vast cities in lands far across the sea
teem with gangs of men fighting for control
over whose god bestows their right to live
with fierce ambition to claim providence
for calm consumption of material wealth
providing nourishment for psychic growth.

No cities gleam on distant hills of hope
beyond horizon of potential peace
so I imagine divine providence
beams rays of light on river vales of hope
to highlight opportunities for growth
where I may thrive far from castles of greed.

This vision of new opportunity
drove my ancestors in long wagon trains
over rugged mountains of agony,
across windy prairies of urgency,
to build new homes on river shores of faith
far from oppressive grasp of tyranny.

Now tyrants reach their hands across the land
to crush all opposition to their greed
as spirit of Rome looms over lush vales
to expand empire of social control,
so I stand on wild beach of Oregon
and laugh because our crowded world is round.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus appears to young Mary Frances Lee beside covered wagon on the river shore along the Oregon Trail, and teaches her how to sing magic spells of truth.

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

Wings Of Tranquil Honesty
© Surazeus
2026 05 09

Distantly arriving at nonsense now
with the old book that wants to read itself,
I ask nobody why we are alive,
then drink apple juice on the broken rock,
so I can take stock of the world today,
Nature serene while humans fight for power.

They seem to stand so still in peaceful calm,
huge trees that gaze up at the empty sky
where no giant man watches all I do,
but their roots are tangled in hostile wars
over who sucks atoms of material
from corpses of organic animals.

Their soft leaves of tender fragility,
that flutter delicately in cool breeze,
are engaged in struggle for dominance
over who soaks in more bright rays of light
that flush their hardened trunks with energy
to scatter more seeds far across the land.

They chirp so cheerfully in gentle trees,
the birds that flutter wings of urgent hope
where no guardian angels protect my soul,
but their sweet songs express romantic hope
to attract the most ardent monitors
attentive to needs of their frantic faith.

Their fragile wings of tranquil honesty,
that swirl in controlled flights of fantasy,
hurl their obsessive hearts in frenzied flight
with agitated passion to proclaim
voice-enforced shield of territorial bounds
in struggles to control space of their dreams.

When I walk out on porch of my quaint home
at peaceful gleam of dawn that paints all rosy,
I hear birds chirping in gently swayed trees,
and feel strange calm of timeless innocence
that soothes tense agitation of my heart
from berserk fight for power humans play.

Yet like humans they fight for dominance,
contesting over who has right to live
safe in fertile space of heavenly calm
to generate and train children with love
who produce food so everyone can eat
then craft machines and tools with rich insight.

To seek unperturbed respite of firm faith
from overwrought obsession for control
that drives humans to dominate our globe,
I fight to defeat tyrants blind with greed,
then shroud my heart in tranquil fantasy
our state provides opportunities for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings so trees and birds surround lush meadow of his heart to hear his lamentation that all creatures die.

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

Why We Are Alive
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

In snow-filled library of Elysium,
Sibylla gazes in black crystal ball
that models white whole of our universe
in spiral swirls of flashing galaxies,
then gazes in my heart with sea-green eyes
so I understand why we are alive.

With laughing wind of sterile disregard
I run down endless road to nowhere else
through mirror that erases my true face,
untouched by sorrow of my wounded heart
that nurtures trees of fruit from brainless corpse
because I question why we are alive.

We schedule secret tryst in jeweled night
beside dark river of restless desire
that craves deep beauty of the hungry sea
till flash of dawn bursts from my tearless eyes
so I seek refuge in bright cave of thoughts
which still calculate why we are alive.

Bound by fierce empathy for nameless souls,
who wander signless roads beyond stone walls,
I walk with Death inside huge picture frame
to sit by urgent fountain of concern
and wonder if Blood Moon still misses me
while wisdom conceals why we are alive.

If laughter breaks free from mute book of lies
with tangled threads of fractured memories,
I may attend brave pilgrimage of love
beyond all expectations of world fame
to gaze in crystal ball of timeless truth
that helps me resolve why we are alive.

Sad water puppets in pastures of green
explain how cows convert despair to milk
though caught between eternity and now
each time I feel attention of your gaze
since we bear weight of careless hope within
as passion that proves why we are alive.

Though Phoenix of insistent innocence
rises from smoking ruins of our state,
we catch rain of Heaven in open hands
to wash stark pain from melancholy minds
so we pass through seasons of mental change
that reframe code for why we are alive.

While ocean waves breathe memories of my heart,
and flowers transform sorrow to sweet joy,
we hold each other close in warm embrace
to weave our hearts with energy of love
so when we walk in rain of bitter storms
we remain warm from why we are alive.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus walks through every city on Earth, asking every person why we are alive, then writes their thoughts as poems in Global Book of Why.

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

Hidden Land Of Havilah
© Surazeus
2026 05 08

While wandering along asphalt highway
somewhere between Seattle and Miami,
I turn aside in unmapped wilderness
to follow Pishon River of my heart
till I find hidden land of Havilah
where dead trees of Eden lurk in the mist.

Sweet voice enchants my heart with ache of hope,
so I follow mercurial wail of love
to find young woman with eyes gold as stars
dancing among lush pomegranate trees
around clear pool from bubbling fountain spring,
uncanny scene that inspires me with joy.

All traces of corporate buildings and cars,
connected by world wide web of dream machines,
vanish in swirl of haze as I transcend
liminal threshold of the multiverse
to find myself as shadow of my mind
awake in hidden land of Havilah.

As I emerge from portal of despair,
my progress is obstructed by horned demon,
fierce Azazel, who challenges my right
to walk the yellow brick road of success,
so I claw brass wand, forged from ancient lava,
from sands of time to fight his bitter hate.

Shocked that I dare oppose his tyranny,
grim Azazel attacks with snarling rage,
but I dodge every strike of long sharp claws,
and bash his arms and legs with wand of truth
till he falls to his knees in wounded pride
and pleads till I crush his soul with respect.

Drinking water from sparkling Hippocrene,
I breathe healing air of Havilah,
but gasp surprised when crowd of cheering folk
celebrate my victory against the devil,
then star-eyed Astara with jeweled wand
proclaims me their savior Lyterius.

Crowned King in hidden land of Havilah
by Astara who bears child of our souls,
I reign well with justice in court of law,
managing farms, ranches, and factories
to produce and distribute food for all,
and fund projects improving homes and roads.

Waking up in modern America
with memories of life in the ancient past,
I wonder how civilizations change
so generous spirit of communal life
that flows from hidden land of Havilah
may resurrect our nation from collapse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus searches every archive on Earth till he finds ancient map of Havilah in small obscure library in a small village deep in the mountains of Elam.

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

Blinded By Epiphanies
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

I refuse to admit with steel-eyed pride
my mind has been blown by epiphanies,
so I walk down to where the sad bears hide
to engage in psychic polyphonies
for angels wearing masks with devil smirks
who hide in kitchens where Apollo lurks.

When I fall in love with the Femme Fatale
who manipulates my heart with kind words,
she invites me to join secret cabal
dedicated to managing cow herds
by writing reports with mystical code
about transcendent hum of the God Toad.

If I ignore the Damsel in Distress
because I think her act could be some trap,
my understanding of love might regress
to primal state not found on any map,
yet I will save her from the jaws of death
despite how she defines the shibboleth.

Intercepted by the Sassy Tomboy
who challenges me to magic-wand fight,
I avoid her kiss by acting too coy
despite commitment to master Mind Flight
by breathing deep celestial flare of trust
that forges Heaven from conceptual dust.

Inspired by resolve of the Mother Bear
to protect her children from predators
by teaching them how to ride the Night Mare,
I misdirect aggressive creditors
with glam fantasy of the Afterlife
which causes them to clash in bitter strife.

Attending shows with the Trophy Girlfriend
to enhance social standing I perform,
I strut to comply with the latest trend
that hides my deviance from accepted norm
to prove I am superior to all fools
because I disdain use of fiscal tools.

Attempting to woo heart of the Ice Queen,
who hides trauma behind facade of strength,
I work hard to invent power machine
that channels her pain on healing wavelength
to focus attention of her career
on ruling world empire with the Blind Seer.

With my heart blinded by epiphanies
that flash before my eyes with deep insight,
I compose tragicomic symphonies
that no musician ever performs right,
yet I realize another sacred truth
which I chronicle for messiah sleuth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus admires women who break free from stereotypical tropes to express true nature of their souls with compassionate care.

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

Establish Secure Home
© Surazeus
2026 05 07

In service to strange country that I love
I fix broke traffic lights on road of life
to ensure moral signals of behavior
function with fair assessment of our need
to flow in harmony with every soul
fixated on secret quest of their heart.

I want to create, rather than destroy,
structures of atoms that constitute this world,
though everything grows and decays in its time
as fragile objects of chemical gears
composed of molecules that interact
with constant motions of urgent desire.

Intense vibration of attractive hope,
that radiates from core of organic being,
still pulses with first flash of the big bang
that flares forth from primal spark of desire
which motivates my progress to transcend
bounds of my body through spiritual flight.

Because neural network of my sponge brain
conjures my conscious sense of self from dreams,
composed of memories from ancestral lives,
I must accept that I am limited
to perform roles within physical frame
that nurtures deathless light in mortal flesh.

I study nature of this global world
when I measure extension of existence
to note how far I stand out within bounds
of structured form, which contains my whole being
providing instruments of arms and legs
so I can move, and manipulate shapes.

Thus I design proverbs of providence
to express well through formulaic laws
statements that describe essence of assertion
inherent in state of physical objects
through strict methods of scientific research
which defines process of cause and effect.

Hidden inside these solemn observations
that assess status of relationships,
bright vision of desire to replicate
new bodies with immortal soul of genes
motivates my emotion-funded project
to establish secure home of love with you.

If visions of the future we both share
coincide with mutual assessments of fate,
I choose to dedicate passion of love
to care for health and safety of your soul
through marriage of our individual minds
in consensual program to procreate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus asks Ophelia to marry him and live with him in his garden home by the lake where they can raise their children in security of faith.

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

Janus Guard Of Paradise
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

When Janus is five years old he arrives
at the great gold gates that guard paradise,
and he is so entranced by graceful curls
of liquid metal forged to mimic vines
that he dwells sixty years before the gates,
contemplating beauty of human souls.

Seven days after Janus first arrives
and stands in sun and rain both night and day,
entranced by shimmer of the golden gates,
Hebe leaves paradise with four-wheeled cart
heaped with apples she harvested from trees,
so she gives the boy six apples to eat.

Three years after Janus begins to guard
gates of paradise with curious eyes,
Daedalus constructs small fane by the gates
where Janus may seek shelter from harsh weather
while writing name and purpose on clay slabs
to record who comes and goes through gold gates.

Twelve years of guarding gates of paradise
with wand of wisdom Mercury gives him,
Janus stands firm against invading thieves
and fights aggressive hordes of screaming goons
till he stands triumphant in howling wind
so people inside paradise are safe.

Twenty years after Janus first arrives,
Juno appears with troupe of dancing girls
who sing romantic hymns that Sappho wrote,
then presents Juturna in saffron gown
red as apples that bloom in fertile trees,
with yellow veil held by crown of gold vines.

Thirty-eight years after Janus starts quest
to secure paradise with solemn care,
he teaches daughter Cardea weird art
of molding hinges for doors she creates,
and trains brave son Junonius how to fight
slavers and thieves with wand of Mercury.

Forty-two years of guarding paradise
with keen eyes that see into hearts of men,
Janus presides over funeral of Zeus,
then places crown of world authority
on head of his most qualified son, Phoebus,
whom everyone elects to become Zeus.

Sixty years after Door Guard first arrives
to secure paradise in peaceful age
of prosperity with justice for all,
Janus defends Garden of Apple Trees
against Mars, angry he was not crowned king,
who stabs him in the heart with sneer of rage.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus presides over funeral of Janus, Guard of Paradise, while his widow Juturna, with their children, lament loss of his noble soul.

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

War-Shattered Eden
© Surazeus
2026 05 06

If trees keeping telling me the wind loves flight
that sparks my brain alert to dangerous hope,
then I may have to walk across the clouds
and scatter apple seeds on asphalt roads
to break monopoly of hungry greed
that writes the rules for how we live each day.

While children squabble over who remembers
dream code that opens doors to vaults of wealth,
I dig my hands in soft soil of the world
to extract stones of faith with urgent calm,
then build great castle on high hill of fear
where I protect my family from despair.

Amazed at strange glow of the sky at dawn,
I hold blue conch shell of concerned alarm
to watch for shadows of demons in woods
that lurk behind portraits of long-dead gods
till I see someone floating on the stream,
and know we cannot return from the dead.

Stark sunlight of the casual day dispels
weird magic glow of memories before dawn,
so I map houses along city streets
to understand process of civic growth
that helps me plan state of the urban zone
that buzzes voices through the telephone.

Grand temple of feast on the ziggurat
becomes gold palace of the emperor,
becomes stone castle of the hungry king,
becomes city hall of the elected mayor,
so I walk away from hard haven walls
that prison me in fear of social change.

Though I keep searching for the Promised Land
that shimmers only in dreams of my head,
I ask Blue Sky to show me no more dreams
so I can see the real world as it is,
but hundred million years of fantasy,
my ancestors dreamed, frame how I see life.

While walking with shadow of the Third Person
across the waste land of war-shattered Eden,
I find colossal statue of some god
who ruled vast empire sea to shining sea,
but wind of time erased his glorious name
and scrubbed away all features of his face.

I carve my own face on idol of God,
then plant seeds in soft soil of the world,
and tend new garden sprouting tender shoots
that flourishes in waste land of the past
so giant cities of the ancient world
all vanish into orchards of fruit trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus tends Garden of Eden with Hebe who keeps telling him raunchy jokes that make him laugh so hard he rolls on his back so she jumps on him and kisses him with a smarmy grin.

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

Blue Bird Of Bitterness
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

Plodding along in vast maze of my life
with passionate boredom of contrived faith,
I sing with the blue bird of bitterness
whose melodies calculate happiness
which raises our ancestors from dark graves
so we can live the good life we deserve.

I hear mad prophets on the radio
excoriate the humble king of faith
who sings with the blue bird of bitterness
about search for truth in the wilderness
that we undertake on quest of the fool
to redesign the long-accepted rule.

With caustic interference of regret
the church lady tries to sell Book of Faith,
yet sings with the blue bird of bitterness
despite her brave mission of kindliness
that mocks her straight-laced dignity of pride
which fractures when she learns her preacher lied.

Now heavy as Saturn in my old age,
I leap with spirit of youth in my heart
to sing with the blue bird of bitterness
about eternity of nothingness
that we will experience after we die,
so before then I want to learn to fly.

While meditating in warm summer eve,
I wonder at pure whiteness of the lily
guarded by the blue bird of bitterness
according to dream code of cleverness
by which I program ritual of my life
to exercise self-control during strife.

Though I am absent from you this fine spring
and with your shadow play in carefree joy,
my heart feels the blue bird of bitterness
lead me across Bridge of Forgetfulness
to find the glorious white horse of your heart
frolicking freely round my apple cart.

I may cavort with shadow of your soul
for vermilion pleasure of our kiss,
recorded by blue bird of bitterness
in valley-haunting song of gracefulness,
but I am devoted with ardent faith
in helping you develop adroit skills.

Though I was born in maze of Babylon
in body of clay dazzled by starshine,
developed by blue bird of bitterness
from quiet wisdom of sweet loneliness,
I will rebuild Garden of Avalon
in machine-mangled woods of Oregon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus finds the blue bird of bitterness, he had captured years before, dead in the gold cage, so he weeps for her beautiful song of faith he will hear no more.

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

Gold Sibylline Cage
© Surazeus
2026 05 05

I will fight no more wars of holy hope
against aggressive growing of hill grass
that always seems to know where I am at
in faltered progress to the Promised Land
where I am sure to find fortune and fame
that traps me in the gold sibylline cage.

When rain drenches Earth in casual tears,
I hold umbrella with careful concern
over head of the person I love most,
who gazes at me with astonishment
as if they never thought I could be kind,
then we walk awkwardly in the dark streets.

I keep thinking about her all the time
no matter where I am in maze of doors
because I hope she is happy and safe
alone of all the people in the world,
though I hope they are safe in general terms
while we all wait for the apocalypse.

What revelation should we all expect,
I wonder with obsessive nonchalance,
except the fact that humans always form
systems of social rights and privileges
based on strict hierarchies of wealth and race,
all living under the God with no face.

She laughs when I explain with tangled words
my convoluted theory of state power
based on control of psychic energy
contained in conceptual symbols of hope
that we are not tangles of hungry genes
which replicate themselves to dominate.

Eating fried beef sandwiches by the lake,
that teems with strange demonic energy,
we chat about costumes of the elite
who decorate themselves outrageously
with classy style of the suave urbane clown
when they strut before cameras of fame.

I ask if I could be more serious
with refined sense of cultivated style,
but she assures me with amorous smirk
that she loves the bold jester of my heart
who follows Isaiah and Juvenal
to compose scathing satires of respect.

Resigned to fateful role of satirist,
whose brave mimetic gestures of defiance
highlight complex nature of being human,
I go on pilgrimage to Aquinum
where I strum lyre of Mercury and sing
in Temple of Hercules Liberator.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus appoints his son Lucifer as Poet Laureate of Zarathia, so he goes fishing on the mountain lake far away from the city of power.

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

Holy Water Of The Earth
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

If the sky speaks to me with tongues of snow
to explain why awestruck trees imitate
swan-winged Seraphim with ten thousand eyes,
I will assert through subatomic thought
compassion for every organic soul
that strives to transcend terror of pure light.

Essential quality of being alive
spurs calm obsession of my hungry heart
to seek salvation from fountain of light
that sparkles holy water of the Earth
which fills my body of delicate flesh
with rapture of cool wisdom time reveals.

My face in time-ensilvered mask of fate
reveals expressive lust to procreate
immortal soul of genes in mortal form
that replicates conceptual personhood
who likes to bake apple cinnamon muffins
which fill my heart with beauty of the world.

So when I need to understand the world
I ask the Oracle of Delphi why
I am conscious of my one self alone
of every conscious creature who has lived
on every planet in the universe,
but she just gives me root beer shake to drink.

Thus at sunset before the seventh day
I enter tabernacle tent of faith
to roast lamb on altar of sacrifice,
then feed world-wanderers with humble hearts
who gather mushrooms in the morning mist
to write their secret names in time-blown sand.

Dipping my hand in gold-silt water stream,
I savor sensuous flow of casual time
with eagerness to measure how change occurs
when seeds expand from confines of mute words
to stretch angelic wings of flashing leaves
then drop sweet fruit of faith in open hands.

Fabulous beauty of light rays on water
shocks my heart with illiterate respect,
expensive thoughts confined by sentences
ghosts buy from mermaids with transparent eyes,
so I become vast emptiness of all
when I drink holy water of the Earth.

All things in Nature grow without intent,
transforming from potential seed of thought
to full-shaped body blooming rich with hope
of hungry passion to compose the mind
that conjures image of essential being,
so I free Sibyl from her cage of fear.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus and Sibyl celebrate their wedding anniversary by bringing a lamb to the tabernacle where Aaron roasts it so they feast with their children and family.

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

White Stone Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 05 04

When I wash the dirt of ten thousand roads
off my wounded feet with unholy water,
my grandmother holds the knife of weird truth
to carve fresh steaks from cave-demon flesh
so my father can roast it on the altar
with fire from the lightning strike he calls down.

My mother gives me white stone of the sun
and shows me how to walk where devils dance,
so I invent new words from languages
I hear birds use when they eat sheafs of wheat
which hide me from men with soul-wounded spears
because my face shines with celestial rage.

Holding broken stick that fell from the sky,
I draw oval shape in sand of the beach
so everyone knows I indicate eggs,
then they follow me to large cave of shadows
where thousands of birds with white wings erupt
in squawking rage as we take eggs to eat.

While I squat on edge of steep sea-side cliff,
explaining to stiff grass how bright wind knows
weird secret of life concealed in soft sand,
I stare at small rock for ten million years
till it wobbles and falls into the sea
where it transforms into leviathan.

When I hold out my hand and spread my fingers
to measure distance from high mountain peak
to the silver moon that gleams behind clouds,
I invent science of geometry,
but then forget when I find strawberry vines
so I fill large basket with blood-red fruit.

My brother steals one strawberry and runs
leaping and laughing along fallen log
where honey bees swarm so he screams in pain
as he transforms into galloping pig
that offers itself as great sacrifice
willing to die so we may eat and live.

My sister draws marks in sand by the tree
at breath-long intervals of feral fate
which calibrates increments of small change,
then explains to me strange concept of time
which she invents with delicate concern,
then shows me how to peel orange of her heart.

On undulating waves of humming names
I float through ocean of fortune to claim
divine right to name all things that exist
with template label that defines each form,
then walk back to our small ziggurat home
where I clack the turtle shell and chant spells.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus teaches young Oceanus how to make a lyre out of the turtle shell, then together they perform Song of the Weeping Turtle while everyone eats fried dinosaur steaks.

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

Isolated From Strange Dream
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Isolated from strange dream of the world,
I assemble puzzle of random facts
to design exhaustive ontology
that frames complex events of history
in grand narrative that explains it all
which fixes my place as hero of truth.

Isolated from strange dream of the sea,
I build boat from steam-heated planks of wood
and sail the seven seas of strange new lands
to explore nature of our spinning globe
where people dance on pyramids of power
to control fields of wheat and hills of gold.

Isolated from strange dream of the sun,
I capture rays of light from long-dead stars
with solar panels of assertive will
which transform light to electricity
that powers global empire of machines
weaving computers into one God Mind.

Isolated from strange dream of the land,
I map confusing landscape of the heart
to organize conflicting nation-states
in peaceful United Nations of Earth
though cruel gangsters disguised as presidents
fight each other over who rules the world.

Isolated from strange dream of the moon,
I run with Artemis in misty woods
with joyful laughter of wild carefree friends
till Midas forces her to be his queen
so we revolt against his tyranny
and fight to establish democracy.

Isolated from strange dream of the mind,
I argue with Pythagoras all night
that stars do not generate human souls
which animate our bodies with desire,
and prove that brains generate consciousness
which dissipates to nothing when we die.

Isolated from strange dream of the truth,
I stand millions of years under Fruit Tree
and wait for my soulmate to keep our tryst
to nourish our home based on mutual trust
because our children inherit the Earth
when we build Heaven from waste land of Hell.

Isolated from strange dream of the heart,
I wear mask of my personality
which I compose through every choice I make
as I navigate landscape of despair
on mission to create, and not destroy,
as we connect and bind our souls with love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus feels isolated from strange dream of human society, so he plays lyre of Mercury and sings spells no one ever listens to as they chase rainbows of wealth.

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

Weird Voice Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

How may I balance happiness and sorrow
to power progress of spiritual growth
through dynamic system of inspiration
which I derive from deposit of passion
I channel through document of expression
based on enterprise of mental encryption.

Sparked by evanescence my heart may borrow
from bright atomic flame of chemicals,
I sublimate mindless force of aggression
by weaving corporal concept of perception
through tangled sentences of fractured words
that mold matter into bodies of faith.

Snagged on fractal structure of vibrant limbs
during assertive flight beyond dark scope
of wisdom that traps my soul in my brain,
I dangle helplessly above abyss
that yawns teeth-bristling jaws of painful death
by grasping rope of truth with stubborn hope.

Dark nothingness of death would like to swallow
fragile flame of energy that ignites
glow of consciousness nurturing my brain,
so I become aware I am alive,
awake in shock of arrogant dismay
that my body conjures my consciousness.

So many people tell me with false confidence
that my spirit was forged by the God Mind
to animate my temporary body
with immortal soul of divinity,
and I am fooled to believe this is real
till I feel my spirit beam from my brain.

Though molecules that animate my flesh
first flashed from soul furnace of Father Sun,
then evolved into this body of flesh
by passionate desire of Mother Earth,
my sense of conscious self inside my brain
is my own unique personality.

Through all the spiral of galactic light
the past fourteen billion years of existence
these atoms that compose shell of my soul
have flared into this planet that designs
organic forms to nurture divine mind
so I think I am God as mortal human.

We humans are leaves on the Tree of Life,
grapes on the Vine of Faith, and tender flowers
that sprout for brief seasons from Ground of Being,
so I will sing loud with weird voice of light
to channel vision of creative love
till our children sing after we all die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus stands on street corners in a thousand cities across America and sings hymns of atheist spiritualism with Cassandra Voice.

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

Feel My Aching Body
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Secret words weave clear thread of mystery
from elemental passion of the heart
to overcome weakness and win the race
by leaping on quick wings of urgent breath
in courageous bid to transcend taut bounds
of physical endurance to survive.

Though terror preserves my animal mind
that animates assertion of my rights
through structured layers of civilized rules,
I confirm my soul with strict self-control
by managing consequences of my acts
to channel passion with logical verse.

By gazing off into bright sunset flames
when I slip fragile body into roots
of hungry bushes on the steep hillside,
I find I can deny reality
shortened by sparkle of the rivulet
that asks me how I feel with gauge of rain.

I feel my aching body dissipate
with each cold gust of alabaster wind
so I become less solid that the stream
that flows from fountain of my bleeding heart
to flood deep valley of excited gods
who cry for salvation to mocking clouds.

Graceful girl I imagine I should be
dances free with beautiful leap of faith
as writhing shadow only in my head,
so I ask the old woman who lies dead
if her tangled hair weaves truth in rough hills
because her skeleton now forms the land.

Covered in mud and roots of the wild world,
I walk into vast room of marble floors
to hide from weird ghost in the mirror glass
who gives her face to angels without wings
with plan to garland horns of happy bulls
since I know the world will not die when I die.

No autocrat imprisoned in my heart
will silence fountains of astonishment
when lonely people of the world escape
from dream-tangled roots of arrogant trees
which replicate my spirit in dark seeds
that plagiarize apples we ate last year.

If I am seagull gliding through cold clouds
till I become dark shadow of the moon,
I may transform my eyes to twinkling stars
so you can see the road of truth I blazed
before I fall to Earth on wings of fire
where I pretend I am flower of fame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus teaches new generation of wingless angels how to feel conceptual solidity of their bodies by dancing with mirror ghosts of their hearts.

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

Apple Hills Of Scythia
© Surazeus
2026 05 03

Though apples fill my dreams with golden light,
sweet scent of pungent juice sticky on skin,
I have lost touch with blooming apple trees
in this current life of wandering the land,
so I want to plant them in my back yard
to make cider and applesauce each summer.

Since we discovered apples long ago,
in high Tian Shan Mountains of Kazakhstan,
land we named Scythia when we lived there then,
we traveled far across the windy steppes
in four-wheeled wagons Helios designed,
planting seeds by streams all the way to Scotland.

Awake under apple tree on the hill,
I see red fruit gleaming in dawn sunlight
that glitters in raindrops after wild rain,
so I reach out my hand to grasp the sun,
but shrink back when serpent among dark limbs
hisses and bares sharp teeth of poisoned knowledge.

My father Skyolder gives me magic wand
I use to swat the serpent on its head,
then knock apples that fall into my hands
which I store in wolf-fur bags on my back,
then dump them in baskets in backs of wagons
that we pull to large kitchen by the river.

My mother Scythia wearing long white gown
teaches me to brew apples in sweet cider,
cutting them into slices with slender blades,
stirring them in cauldrons of boiling water
with thick honey, berries, spices, and herbs,
then storing cider in clay jars for winter.

I long to return to Garden of Saka
that flourished in apple hills of Scythia
where Almaty City now thrives with life,
for I hear in dreams of my aching heart
voice of my mother calling me in woods
where apples gleam bright on millions of trees.

We ate apples from sacred Tree of Knowledge,
we befriended horses with fruit of love,
and we built wagons with wheels of the sun,
then traveled far across Garden of Life
more than five thousand years of eager hope
to explore this world sea to shining sea.

Now we know this huge world on which we dwell
is round as the apple in Tree of Life,
so I will plant apple trees everywhere,
by every road in every town on Earth,
so everyone may eat the Fruit of Knowledge
that blooms from fertile spirit of the Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while everyone drinks apple cider and dances around warm fire inside wood temple built over ring of stones on long winter nights.

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

Crippled Hands Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

I try to figure out the secret way
to have the world, that vanishes in mist
at flash of sunset over distant hills,
preserved in frame of fragile words I chew
to chronicle strange journey of my soul
since hour I first begin to hear birds speak.

Head tilted so I see beyond dark sky,
I listen to sunlight explain dream flight
through thought-vibration spiraling from fear
that makes my brain itch, stark with eagerness
to seek dark mountain cave where rain is born
with thirst to drink honey before I die.

Harsh pulse of love still urges I expand
tone of my heart enough to conceal gloom
through frequent repetition wind contrives
when I tear roots of sorrow from my heart
against sweet wretchedness of innocence
designed to trap my brain in cage of truth.

Yet deep in eastern sky of bleeding stars
I hear the faceless men of everywhere
jingle keys of duty when they explore
permission to endure another day,
though wealth they grasp with crippled hands of hope
still tumbles worthless in trash bins of fate.

Soon sizzling shadow sharing depth of light
winds threads of anguish, born from molecules
by shocking sounds of long-forgotten art,
around my fragile body by the sea
that shivers from excessive strike of wind
when I predict the future no one wins.

So much to wish for without memory
leaks from cracked skull of my atrophied clone
against triumphant applause police sell
to prove our weightless brains assert free will
which never counts commercial gain of fate,
yet translates desperation back to wealth.

Sorrow stuck in consular envelopes
requires admission of my primal birth
on secret island where no god is born,
who strains to bend electric bow of power,
though fanged with ambition to rule the world,
forever wandering in waste land of truth.

I am no arrow suspended in flight
toward secret destination no one maps,
yet I transform from happy naive fool
to weathered wizard wise in ways of weird
when I design Puzzle Technology
to resurrect my father through my son.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus lingers on wild shore of the roaring sea where Oceanus teaches new generation of village children how to catch and roast fish on crackling fire.

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

Power Of Snow Mother
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

Helpless to understand why ravens cry,
Cailleach forms mountains of jagged truth
by strewing rocks and peat along the plain
from wicker basket of hope on her back,
then strikes the ground with her hammer-head staff
that causes the ground to freeze hard as glass.

Mounting the fleet-foot deer with seven horns,
Cailleach races along rocky shore,
long gold hair flowing in snow-sparkling wind,
to find secret lair in jagged cave by the sea
where she hides gold egg of the Raven God
so men cannot find treasure of her heart.

Clutching skull of Hamlet where serpent writhes,
Cailleach floats on wind over broad hill,
where jagged stones of fairy rings pierce Earth,
to drink ice-cold water from lake of eyes
where her herd of deer gather in moonlight,
then asks dead prophet if he understands.

While sitting on moss-covered hag-chair stone,
Cailleach feeds worms and seeds to raven flock
that flap broad wings to defend their snow witch
when Angus and his wife, Queen Bride, appear
on white horses with eyes of sunset flames,
and offer gifts of apples as they kneel.

Glaring at her daughter with frosty eyes,
Cailleach grumbles when they beg with tears
for her to release Earth from freezing winds
so wheat may sprout and fruit trees blossom fruit,
or hungry people of the misty isle
may rebel against her long hiemal rule.

Petting raven on her shoulder with care,
Cailleach in white gown and long gold hair
dances barefoot on meadow of pink flowers
where primrose flutter in soft morning breeze,
to kitchen hall where Bride brews apple cider
for everyone to drink on Beltane night.

Smirking with passionate joy of her heart,
Cailleach strides toward crowded blacksmith hall
where Sucellus hammers swords into plows
so warriors returning from plundering towns
may till wet fields to plant barley and wheat,
eager to brew whiskey for winter nights.

Hopeful to understand why ravens cry,
Cailleach breasts-feeds Belenus, her son,
who sprouts black wings he swipes from Icarus
and soars above high mountain peaks of faith
to blast invading army with sharp swords
with power of Snow Mother in his heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus finds moss-covered hag-chair stone in mountains of Caledonia where he lays wreath of primrose to honor his great-grandmother Cailleach, the Snow Mother.

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

Fairy Wings Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 05 02

When Alice on the old yellow brick road
spots the green honeycreeper in the birch,
she considers her social friendliness
with knights and holy friars in misty woods
to be adscititious when she arrives
at museum of artful anecdotes.

While staring at strange painting on the wall
that depicts young woman by mountain lake
roasting the serpent on altar of gems,
she removes adscititious influences
not inherent to significant form
to experience pure aesthetic emotion.

Stripped of extraneous components of truth,
Alice considers why the dodo bird
represents regal imperial ambition
as key aspect of fate which constitutes
essential nature of the divine mind
eager to concoct new insight in faith.

Hitchhiking to the Alleghany woods
with innocent ambition to attend
annual rainbow gathering of the tribes,
Alice ignores the Tin Man in the van
who offers her free ride to paradise,
but calls her whore and speeds on down the road.

Emerging from great forest of sad ghosts,
Boedvar Bjarki, wearing long bear-skin cape,
offers young hippie girl in flower dress
berries he collected by sparkling stream,
then plays guitar and sings Swedish folk songs
while rainbow children dance around the fire.

Entranced by swirling scent of jasmine blooms,
Alice dances with slow sensuous concern,
floating in bliss on fairy wings of faith
from strange intoxicating thoughts of love
that swell her heart till swan wings of desire
sprout from unseen wounds of her abused heart.

When the Tin Man, in jeans and scruffy beard,
tries to dance with too intimately with Alice,
Dorothy urges the Cowardly Lion
to protect her friend from the predator,
but the Jester King smashes the dream clock,
causing all illusions to dissipate.

When Boedvar asks Alice to marry him,
she conjures Tiresias with Rod of Aaron
who officiates their wedding ceremony
under the full moon by the mountain lake,
with Dorothy, Lucy Pevensie, Wendy,
Caroline, and Chihiro as bridesmaids.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/05/…

Orpheus presides over the annual rainbow gathering of the tribes to ensure everyone experiences the aesthetic beauty of family in paradise.

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