Castle Of God Skulls
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

Yet steely spring-dawn sun of innocence
that sparks my soul awake with ardent joy
fuels my aggressive strife to conquer hate
by harnessing with passion of the lake
pain-devil dancing in cave of my heart
with shocking laughter of the rolling stone.

When dawn strikes my heart with ardent joy
I rise from coffin of my dream-stained bed
and saunter lustily along the stream
that laughs at giant stones of arrogance
which teaches me to navigate my rage
and build enormous castle of god skulls.

So faceless demons chase me in the mist
with mocking laughter of the blind sky god
till I rip wand of rage from muck of Earth
and fight dark shadows of terrible truth
whose sharp teeth gouge weird faith into my heart
because I gnaw at seeds of bitter love.

Intense assertion of my right to live
details contract I sign with Death at dawn
to question why organic creatures die
in frantic battle to survive stark pain
though I glimpse beauty of the timeless glow
which radiates from my holy heart as love.

To solve the complex mysteries of love
I strip my mind bare of intense desire
to generate new life before I die,
then float in psychic water of the world
where faces of the dead gleam in dark waves
before I wrench my body free from greed.

I wonder where across landscape of fear
I could progress against hard social tides
that sweep our bodies into grand events
when brutal gods of power fight for right
to rule how we perceive with frazzled minds
amazing story of courageous deeds.

Reborn as wing-foot messenger of hope,
I fly above vast maze of city streets
where millions of bright angels sing wild hymn
to glorify one man above them all
who guides their journey to the Promised Land
but vanish as illusion of despair.

Unlicensed feelings of my mirror mind
reflect strange legends of the evening news
that detail endless tales of absurd death
which humans suffer in their quest for love
because everyone who lives will soon die,
and everyone who meets will part at last.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus lounges calmly at the small round table on the sidewalk outside the Crippled Pegasus Cafe and ponders how Impressionism rose from the destructive Siege of Paris.

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

Tears Of Fallen Angels
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

I drink luminous juice of cosmic fruit
that boosts my mortal soul up to godhood
which vibrates from frail network of my brain
till my bones dissipate in swirling waves,
then I rise dripping from pool of despair,
soul baptized clean by tears of fallen angels.

Drenched in electric shadow of desire
that crackles through frame of my fragile soul,
I stand amazed before wraith of star words
who teaches me to sing hymns of respect
for all the people falling from the sky
who writhe in sorrow on the broken Earth.

Enraptured from this mortal frame of flesh
by sweet angelic voices of the choir,
which weaves wings on my wounded heart of faith,
I float up in cathedral of blue ice
that gleams with starlight of divine insight
till mute atomic god wakes in my brain.

So I become bright angel of star eyes
born from smooth river stone of endless time
till I wake in my body down on Earth
where I trudge aching in cold field of mud
to harvest cabbages in drizzling rain
for baskets on the splintered cart of hope.

When God in crystal palace of the clouds
speaks on the radio with human voice,
assuring us we will endure this war
while angels fly on silver wings of faith
and drop bombs on our humble river homes,
we clasp our hands and weep in bitter prayer.

Great city built of stone with bleeding hands
glistens in ruins from bright exploding bombs,
so we search rubble of our lost world view
to find the jeweled crown of divine right
crumpled under heaps of rage-blasted stone,
yet I pray to the stern face in gold clouds.

Dismantled wisdom of aggressive greed
exposes treasure of our offerings,
that we paid for the afterlife in Heaven,
was stored in coffers by grim men in robes
who buy airplanes and islands in the sea
where they feast on our noble sacrifice.

What fragments of lost faith I hope to find
lie scattered on the broken street of faith,
so I gather photographs of the dead
and paste them in world book of memories
where children read their names with solemn voice
that frees their ghosts from dreadful tragedy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus funds reconstruction of the Great City of Mankind that was bombed into ruins by aggressive hordes of angry boys tricked to believe they would receive rewards in Heaven.

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

Egg Of The Serpent God
© Surazeus
2026 10 10

Spirit born from egg of the serpent god
with ten thousand eyes of galactic minds,
I walk city streets of America
with ambitious hope of the fallen angel
to comprehend gears of the human brain
through dizzy laughter of the black moon ghost.

Strange ennui of existential sorrow
grips my heart with anguish of desire
when I walk past glass doors of shopping stores
filled with cute trinkets of human concern
about disease, famine, and holy war
that obliterate countless souls each year.

Expanding scope of conscious insight swells
my self-awareness huge as dinosaurs
that wandered Earth as gods with tiny brains
one hundred eighty million years of faith,
evolving into gray ghosts in spaceships
who haunt dire memories of our midnight skies.

When our dark shadows detach from our bodies
and form glowing spheres of glass that float lightly
over sea of ink which gods use to write
emotional contracts between blind lovers,
I explain why clocks are ticking backwards
to the old witch wearing red face of Geryon.

Till the baseball player demands with voice
of bus engines rumbling on the highway
that I explain arcane code of weird proverbs
that bleed from my eyes when I play guitar,
I wait for Artemis in the train station
to prove I am brave assassin of faith.

I keep attempting to assemble right
immense puzzle of human history,
but all the pieces depicting great heroes
and evil tyrants fighting over truth
scatter from gusts of indifferent wind
when Boreas chases Phoebe all night.

After carefully planning twenty years
plot to assassinate the greedy king,
Selene finds the most beautiful boy
standing in her way in the hotel door,
so she calls Hyperion on the cell phone
which causes glass cathedral to explode.

While Apollo in the Museum of Masks
designs the chemistry textbook with herbs
and seashells instead of math formulas,
I gather skulls of children killed by bombs
and place them on shelves in the grocery store,
packaged for sale as cookies the rich buy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus grins when King Netaniah and King Pluto arrive with shipping carts heaped with boxes of cookies, but explains that their credit cards have been declined.

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

Disaster Of These Times
© Surazeus
2026 10 09

With serpentine runes of atomic truth,
I chronicle disaster of these times,
depicting how King Midas steals and lies
to wreck democracy with claws of greed,
so we desert grand city of gold towers
and cross the waste land without wings of faith.

With nothing but guitar and book of dreams,
I chronicle disaster of these times
in solemn hymns of passionate despair
that satirize grand heroes of our age
who prop dictator with his tin-pot hat
so he can strut and call himself great king.

With crackling radio in basement den,
I chronicle disaster of these times
through frantic cartoons of brave disrespect
for lords and ladies in the castle court
who plot to enslave millions of lost souls
to work for nothing in their factories.

With magic wand carved from telephone pole,
I chronicle disaster of these times,
presenting ancient gods of bogus myths
as spirits that possess ambitious men
with poisoned energy of selfish greed
that cracks foundation of our world empire.

With oar of wisdom in the boat of dream,
I chronicle disaster of these times
through blateration of ephemeral truth
which I deal with jokes to perendinate
commission of Death to eradicate
precious treasure of apricity.

With laurels Fame shackles around my head,
I chronicle disaster of these times
through interlocking formulas of faith
contrived by preachers to scam humble fools
who purchase timeshares to the Afterlife
that they can never use in this sad life.

With psychic camera of the holy lamb,
I chronicle disaster of these times
when I transfer my brain to robot skull
replacing old withered body of flesh
with android chassis of smooth polished steel
so I can rule the world as Machine God.

With writhing dragon of my honest heart,
I chronicle disaster of these times
by dancing wildly in the acid rain
that swells my sponge brain huge as the White Whale
so I swim deep in abyss of lost time,
then lounge relaxed on beach of broken ships.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wonders what to do with the documentary he produces to chronicle disaster of these times, as if his work could legislate how people behave.

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

Wander With Clumsy Grace
© Surazeus
2026 10 09

Old woman who lives on the moor alone
beams her strange face into the mirror mask,
then turns to look at me with star-black eyes
so I remember when my soul is born
from ocean waves at dawn of my Gene Dream
four hundred million years ago this hour.

Paralyzed with laughter of crackling ice,
my bruised heart limps across the frozen field,
so I become the woman in the house
watching herself wander with clumsy grace
beyond fuzzy scope of adoring eyes
to place wood plate of apples on the stone.

My heart is not white as the unlit sky
because the rain-smooth stones refuse to buzz
when airplanes float above the mindless clouds
which traps me in cold atmosphere of glass
till I stand up another thousand times
and walk through the door of infinite hope.

Leaves swirl around my feet with playful joy
so I press my hand on the frozen dirt
to wonder if the Earth feels my soul warmth
and wants to speak of ancient moonless truth
till I become one wheel of the apple cart
that searches for the words negating grief.

When she asks me if winter has arrived,
we wander leafless woods of sleepy faith
in robes of tender green that keep our minds
enclosed in social structure of our names,
since garlands we had woven back in May
now wither with transparency of hope.

Our eyes become entangled in desire
as flashing magnets of conceptual love
when we embrace with passionate despair
to generate new life before we die
or savor pleasure of this transient life
because our bodies glow with divine light.

Discarding fractured puzzles of the past,
framed by romantic gestures of respect,
we search for what world view of holy love
could replace deconstructed fantasies
which once sustained our nation through world wars
because we built empire on privilege.

If we escape dim shadows of our fear
to give our bodies with calm selfless love,
we might rise up reborn from graves of books
to see strange beauty in this broken world
where wounded hearts beam light of fierce desire
to taste electric wisdom of the rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus finds the wordless woman wandering on the desolate moor of international diplomacy with scrolls she stole from Lord of the Apocalypse.

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

Unclock Of Atomic Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 09

While Rapunzel in glass tower of mirrors
calls to the angel falling from the sky,
Gawain leaps on meaningless legs of love
to catch the neutered wolf of Arkansas
because this life is still unbearable
for children on the Dnipro River shore.

Still clutching unclock of atomic fate,
Rapunzel evades Death for many years
while dancing awkward ballet gracefully
in supple swirls of humble hurricane
which hopes to tend flowers of holy faith
that bloom from corpses of forgotten gods.

Alert to strict analysis of waves,
Rapunzel wonders why oceans of faith
leave her soul stranded in the greenless room
with phone of supernatural intelligence
while she waits for messiah of world peace
who never returns from the lonely moon.

Whenever Rapunzel tells her nine sons
to scorn the casual randomness of death,
they play game of baseball with the Muses
in the long-neglected graveyard of kings
who rise as zombies on election night
since Lucifer campaigns for President.

When Apollo, eating burgers and fries
at the Gearshift Grille on Route Sixty-Six,
calls Rapunzel with the news that she won
the Nobody Prize of World Literature,
she tells him she is singing with the wind
while wandering hills of Iceland before dawn.

Clutching marble face of Endymion,
Rapunzel kisses him with ardent lust,
and whispers she will steal him from that witch,
Selene, runway model at the Louvre,
then removes glass mask of her personhood
so tender shoots sprout with greenness of love.

While we are young and brimming with desire,
we make love with the stranger in the woods
and generate wild children of the heath
who build great empires with machines of grief,
but, Rapunzel grins at Endymion,
we still die and dissolve to swirls of dust.

As the world law-enforcement officer,
Rapunzel prosecutes in Justice Court
brute thief who dismantles democracy
when he demands the Laurels of World Peace,
arrested by Gawain on Christmas Eve,
then she lies down by the ocean to die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus fixes the Unclock so it can again calculate human fate based on the choices we make within parameters of possible outcomes based on frame of death.

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

Godness Of The Empty Space
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

My heart is withness of the empty space
that binds our distances in spiral thought
based on miniscule ecstasy of love
flashing inside our closed eyes with strange luck
at randomness of fame that curses fools
who chase elusive butterfly of faith.

Transformed by notness of the empty space
expanding endless books of fairy tales,
redesigned as sacred stories of faith
that guide how we adjust our focused fear
contrary to completeness of dire need,
I hear Death object to thrust of desire.

My brain is forthness of the empty space,
woven by assertive fractions of light
that pulse with psychic energy of waves
which toss my fragile body on the beach
so I attempt to stand straight at the sky
of dizzy upside backward till I laugh.

Through intense thingness of the empty space
I try to explain twisted differences
between bittersweet moments of regret
for choosing where to go at flash of dawn
that leaves me stranded in the somewhere else
if time tricks me to tell you how I feel.

Remembered dreamness of the empty space
renders my face invisible to Death
who wanders everywhere in swirls of snow
to edge of eternity where ghosts build
house of memories that steals my true name
because I believe in the endless rain.

Cherished by startness of the empty space
for vast imperfectness of ardent play,
I wear faces sharp as knives children sell
for boxes of fractured gods who require
pain of sorrowful truth to resurrect
fictional characters from holy books.

Entrapped by calmness of the empty space,
I stumble perilously happy through Hell
to follow laughing horse with clockwork eyes
who gives me crystal orange of irony
so I may understand how she loves me
more as we grow old by the willow tree.

Pregnant with Godness of the empty space,
I hang nine days and nights from the phone pole
because my brain is linked by psychic wires
to weird internet of the world wide web
so I channel prophecies of Star Wraith
which disassembles puzzle of the brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus strips off his clothes and stands exposed on world stage of terrible fame, eyes blinded by the light of god and truth and right, so he laughs.

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

Formulas Of Wrong Think
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

Obsessed with trite formulas of Wrong Think,
I uncreate myself with every song
I shout into the void of everywhere,
when I dismantle and interrogate
illusions of myself as normal being
I forge as shield against absurdity.

Helenus tells every person he meets
along the winding road of anywhere
that he was born in grand towers of Troy
before they fell from market games of greed,
but he was born in some small lonely town
in mercurial backwoods of Oregon.

Learning to play guitar when he is twelve,
Helenus busks in the Pretty How Town
where up so floating bells corrupt the clown
who writes in anguish of electric wires,
composing hymns sung by cathedral choirs
when his body twirls up to the glass moon.

Shocked by disturbance in the psychic force,
as if millions of voices cried at once
than huffed into silence of the Soul Source
that blows soft as the wind in willow leaves
where the first mother of mankind still grieves,
Helenus plays chess with Death on the beach.

Concerned about formulas of Wrong Think
that angels use to calculate our fate,
I recreate my body from weird genes
entangled by ancestral memories
that program how my brain perceives the world
and tricks me into playing the cosmic herald.

Helenus keeps his fraught relationship
with his mother secret from the tabloids
who invent new strange American myths
based on the fabulous life of the fool
who proclaims himself Emperor of Earth,
not knowing he is our psychotic tool.

Accepting award for weird spells of faith
he conjures from grave of the holy seer,
Helenus reigns as wise Asterion
in Anglonesium, New Parthenon
as capitol for Empire of Anglonesia
composed of Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia.

Inspired by weird formulas of Wrong Think,
I sing with secret voice of everyone
to play eccentric role of Lucifer
by bearing sacred Lamp of Liberty
while writing name of every human soul
in epic poem as Tellurian Testament.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus plays Lyre of Mercury at the coronation of Helenus who begins reign as Asterion in the New Parthenon as capitol for Empire of Anglonesia.

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

Human Face Of Geryon
© Surazeus
2026 10 08

We cannot fear ambition of the heart
to transcend sorrow of soul-twisting pain
till we design new myth-contriving chart
that guides our leap through time portal of rain,
so we walk fields of lush Elysium
with noble vision of delirium.

Though not as brave is honest Heracles,
new-born as his contemporary clone,
I face the screaming ghost with psychic keys
who wears the human face of Geryon
because I want to know the arcane truth
that motivates reign of messiah sleuth.

I climb three steps to Heaven before dawn
to measure our indifferent universe
where I meet Pegasus on White House lawn
eating apples from Medusa the Nurse
who asks me if I know the Golden Way
that binds our lonely hearts in fertile play.

While crossing bleak waste land of Libya,
I throw sharp raven quill at Helios
who gives me Holy Grail of Sylvia,
then asks me of I know Prometheus,
but I just want to find the Promised Land
where Fortune doles fate with her Red Right Hand.

When Norax, son of Hermes, calls my name
with lunar melody through secret code,
I climb Parnassus to hex curse of fame,
but find Lyre of Hermes on signless road,
so I sing romantic tunes of blind faith
to woo humble daughter of the Star Wraith.

After I kill cruel giant Geryon
in battle against tyranny of greed,
I build with laughter of Hyperion
light house tower on cracked skull of his need
from which I rule world empire of free will
named Anglonesia for the Wisdom Hill.

While sailing down the River Phlegethon
to find apple garden in Tartarus,
I find shy Erytheia on the phone
arguing with the architect Sisyphus
about reconstructing the Parthenon
where I will rule Earth as Asterion.

When I wake at dawn from weird fantasy
that I wear human face of Geryon
with solemn quest to map the galaxy,
I play my role based on criterion
that I am temporary soul of light
conscious of its God Self in cosmic night.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus celebrates when Anne Carson wins the Nobel Prize for Literature for her tale about the fallen angel who wears the human face of Geryon.

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

New Truth In Byzantium
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

Since I find new truth in Byzantium
in scrappy gardens of the laughing skull,
I flirt with Death who smiles at me with eyes
that mirror galaxies of flashing stars
to cherish virtue of pretentious faith
that helps me translate water song of love.

If I should recognize my holy ghost
who drifts among old apple trees of fate,
I may learn secret of Byzantium
concealed in cedar box with golden lock
that gleams ephemeral as fragrant joy
my love exudes while lounging by the pool.

To measure gravity of drifting clouds
that veil swift airplane with projective voice,
I stand on glistening bridge of evermore
that spans abyss of swirling arrogance
as proof I must purchase right to exist
from every stranger I may never meet.

Thus I cast victimhood into the trash
because I want to eat the shepherd pie
while showing constellations to the child
who wonders at the story of the snake
who transforms into queen of bubbling wells
because I sing on moonless summer nights.

Entranced by how cicadas sing of light
beneath the sprawling stars of honesty,
I read strange omen in the eagle flight
about the guardian of the apple tree
who builds another bank beside the lake
and offers loans to farmers in the dell.

Though I have traveled far around the world
with wings of angels tucked into my pack,
I purchase jar of honey, and blue cheese,
at small family store by the river bridge,
then give my voice to stranger at the door
who gives me book of grief to keep the score.

Reprising sacred role of global seer,
which I perform on stage of tragedy,
I type strange story of the hungry girl
who walks across the field of screaming trees
so I can understand her bitter words
when she gives me egg of the serpent god.

Carving spell of wisdom with demon bone
in runes on Emerald Tablet of Untime,
I channel energy of my brain soul
to wake Star Ghost of Lake Ontario
who asks me with flirtatious grin of hope
about truth I found in Byzantium.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus records the new truth of Byzantium in the holy scriptures of the Thirteenth Testament of Zarathia that guides mankind to the new age of global peace and prosperity.

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

Church Of Bitter Prayer
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

Trapped by sharp lethargy of innocence,
we drift the midnight sidewalk of desire
to find the purple haze of shocking truth
that veils our long-healed hearts with nonchalance
through incoherent laughter of sad faith
that we lose our souls in the photo booth.

Strange flower on the roadless mountain slope
gleams in electric smile of bitter ghosts
whose voices taste like silver light of dawn
despite confusing absence of jasmine
crushed by careless joy of city car tires
that glisten in the rain of reptile faith.

No one will ever see ghost of my being
sitting on roof of the haunted hotel,
because I twang decisive nerves of steel
when death employs belligerent respect
while driving old truck on the dusty road
far past the last gas station of fooled hearts.

Too lonesome for the chance to cry for real
in performative display of victimhood,
I sing with angels on the radio
about the true love I left back in town
who may wonder if I am still alive
somewhere outside the church of bitter prayer.

I refuse to pay the cost of wild joy
while driving nowhere on the lost highway,
since time cannot undo my noble deeds
protecting women from aggressive men
who leave me bruised and beaten on the ground
long enough for her to fly up to Heaven.

Though I love the land where I was born,
and grew up running in lush river vales,
I journey to escape liars and thieves
who figured out how to steal all my land,
and build another home far from my home
that shelters children I tend with calm care.

I hold this world together with strange words
though the mountains of my youth call my name,
because I scatter prayers on rancid soil
that redesign wild spirit of my flesh
so I become another human being
by wearing mask of a long-forgotten god.

Because I catch flame in the ether zone
while soaring on fear-fueled Icarian wings,
my words become the hex of secret truth
that breaks hard walls in church of bitter prayer
so we treasure our darling thoughts of hope
and frame them with theology of growth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus preaches salvation of genetic reincarnation in the church of bitter prayer where horses and goats sing hymns with solemn faith in the grass.

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

Live Equally With Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 07

Sunk in dire gloom of her brave misery,
Blathnaid lifts heavy sorrow of her head
to stare bleak-eyed at meadow of bright flowers
where bodies of young men clutching cracked spears
still groan in agony of painful death
till eerie silence shudders in soft breeze.

When she finds the lyre that Achilles stole
from Eetion, father of Andromache,
Blathnaid nestles small curved-wood instrument
on her lap, like mothers cradles newborns
to suckle them with milk, and strums taut strings
that vibrate with elegy of despair.

Failing to find words that clearly express
anguish of her heart at death of young men
who could have lived unremarkable lives
with loving wives while raising happy children,
Blathnaid shrieks at corrupt justice of Heaven
till her body shakes uncontrollably.

Why would you die for some young mortal man,
Blathnaid howls at corpses with trembling voice,
to crown him leader of our hill-wild tribes
because his grandfather once wore gold crown
while claiming authority from High Heaven,
instead of dwelling in your own safe homes?

Though your cowardly king has quickly fled
over the sea to Skye in boat of fear,
Blathnaid caresses blank face as she sobs,
I have remained with fate-abandoned corpses
to lament bitter loss of your brave souls
that could have brightened our land with joy.

Why have the tribes of men throughout all time,
in every land around our roomy world,
Blathnaid sighs as she buries more dead soldiers,
always chosen to crown the strongest man
as leader who enforces tribal laws
and orchestrates their wars to conquer land?

Why can men not live equally with faith
as colleagues sharing rich communal space,
Blathnaid glares at the fallen crown of gems,
instead of building hierarchical states
that allow managers to exploit workers
then living on wealth they extract from slaves?

Heart purged of anguish at loss of brave men
from hot tears that cleanse their faces of blood,
Blathnaid strums long-lost lyre of Mercury
as she journeys in the Scottish highlands,
and sings of boys who fought with bravery
in every feasting hall where people weep.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wanders the dramatically wild landscape on the Isle of Skye, searching for the ghost of Bonnie Prince Charlie that howls in the bitter winds of fate.

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

Mute Book Of Lies
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

If my soul gets trapped by mute book of lies,
because my heart is lured by promises
of awards and acclaim for dreams I weave
from tangled memories of nameless souls,
I shall untwist false concept of dream time
to map my progress through the Otherworld.

Each angel who escapes mute book of lies
transforms into some normal human being
who goes about the routine of their life,
performing rote roles expected of them
by social rules that obligate success,
though most of us manage with hidden flaws.

Gods of myths labeled in mute book of lies
are based on mortal humans who once lived
long ago in swirling mists of untime
whose valorous deeds glamorize their souls
so they become concepts of noble deeds
that provide templates for how we behave.

Writhing with passion from mute book of lies,
Helios races the chariot of fire
across the crystal highway of the sky
to conquer the world with glorious deeds,
defeating tyrants so people live free
to build new world empire of equal rights.

Stumbling through doors to leave mute book of lies,
I stand on the road of Forever Now
and ask myself where I should go from here
to maintain balance of my eager heart
so we can stay together till we die
because we are flowers in field of fate.

Sailing on the flood from mute book of lies
in fragile boat of my body-bound soul,
I feel my brain pulse with aggressive lust,
programmed by millions of ancestral lives
regenerating souls life after life,
so I sway entranced in the midnight mist.

Falling forever in mute book of lies
that gives me angel wings like Icarus,
I ride the bus each dawn to work all day
assembling radios in the factory,
while I dream of being a famous singer,
then ride home to eat pizza at midnight.

Reborn as Star God from mute book of lies,
I type magic spells on computer screen
so they flutter fragile butterfly wings
and fly to flower-hearts of random strangers
to sprinkle fairy dust into their eyes
so they wander with me in Wonderland.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus stands outside gates to amusement park of Wonderland and sells glossy maps so people may find their way from Limbo up Purgatory Mountain to Paradise.

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

Mindless Mirror Of Infinity
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

My heart becomes raven of light each time
Orpheus takes me to the Otherworld
because snowflakes are laughter of the sun
that photograph my soul with fractured eyes,
time unaware of astronauts in boats
which sail across the mirror of my mind.

Quick butterflies of memories seem to flock
around bookshelves of stories never read
by children who panic at falling planes,
despite how soon the monster of the moon
sells our strange secrets to the holy fool
because the Self is illusion of words.

Though clocks in trunks of oaks beside the lake
remember why my Dream Body was born
at this complex age, on this crowded globe
of all the planets in the universe,
I choose to redesign my character
based on flight of the raven in my heart.

Surprised by sense of wonder in my heart
that wakes me from strange dream of broken trees,
I gather photos scattered on the grass
and arrange them in frames on temple walls
to prove my right to breathe air of the sky
with humble glamor of the nameless ghost.

Though most believe the universe is made
by conscious force of psychic energy
that conjures life on planets of bright suns,
others believe through formulas of faith
that we project our sense of consciousness
at mindless mirror of infinity.

Preserved by silence of the singing lake,
who seems to know how I should never feel,
I focus sharp attention of my mind
on how soft undulating curves of time
reveal essential nature of the heart
so I can prove my brave sincerity.

Though words I speak become white butterflies
that flutter far into fate-mirrored sky,
I hold the stone that streaked in blaze of light
from mindless mirror of infinity
to show the secret face behind my face
which I wear to mask passionate respect.

Lost in Somewhere City of the Weird Earth,
alone in endless maze of numbered homes,
I ponder strictness of the asphalt road
that frames writhing lawns of yellow grass
because I am the raven who eats words
each time I return from the Otherworld.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus knocks on my door every morning and asks if I want to go to the Otherworld to gather apples from the Tree of the Knowledge of Random Morality.

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

Cherubic Wings Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 10 06

Untwisting feelings of romantic hope
to disengage my body from desire,
I spread cherubic wings of innocence
to float as light above chaotic seas,
then sing celestial thoughts of broken stones
from which spring children of the hungry stars.

Shy Carla strolls the hard sidewalk at dawn
past willow threes that paint the lonely sky
with all the rainbow colors of the wind,
then opens her small gift shop by the park
and smiles at ding of the bell on the door,
then turns on computers, and pets the cat.

Time-weaving clocks with face of the Green Man
watch us from trunks of oaks in shadowed woods
where angels wrestle devils for our hearts,
but dissipate in mist from silver ponds
because illusions vanish in sunlight
which conjures virtual model of the Earth.

Yet Carla stocking cards in metal shelves
considers problem of evil that forms
foundation for international law
by which leaders of nations in gray suits
play chess games to control our mortal souls
with systemic framework of social power.

Old bearded man, who stares at birthday card
that shows young lovers swinging by a pond,
weeps with quiet anguish, then buys the card,
explaining that he leaves one by her grave
though rain always dissolves it into grass
because her ghost follows him everywhere.

If we could dismantle male privilege
where men are never punished for vile crimes
in vain attempts to control minds of women,
Carla ponders while ringing up new sale
for Beatrice purchasing pen with pink ink,
we could make life safer for young girls.

Cars, forged from steel of fallen meteors,
which Arthur used to pull sword from the stone,
float past her gift shop on angelic wings
of gleaming sunlight that sparks in her heart
compassion for all the people of Earth
who suffer and die in stark misery.

Locking her shop after sunset flames fade
to darkness tainted orange by mute streetlamps,
Carla stops by pond in the city park
and stares at face of Artemis she wears,
that floats into the sky on red swan wings
to sleep in her house on the crystal moon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus browses small gift shop for birthday cards for Apollo and Phoebus, who were born on the same day, and settles on a matching pair with purple unicorns.

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

Woods Of My Aching Heart
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

What shining spirit of justice and order
may power my subjection of despair,
Shamash defeating Humbaba with light,
Apollo vanquishing Python with wisdom,
Jesus overcoming Satan with love,
or Beowulf battling Grendel with honor?

What dark obscure woods of my aching heart
must I explore with lamp of timeless faith,
though sun-gilded tears may stream down my face,
strange paradise of uncivilized passion
entrapping me in labyrinth of despair,
till I face snake-haired monster of blind lust?

If monstrous demon of my wounded heart
howls at my face with mocking disrespect,
then cracks the mountain of the rumbling world
by smacking my frail soul against the Earth,
will I wake roaring flame of innocence
to rise on wings and fight my hungry greed?

If primal nature of my monkey soul
is severed from angelic glow of faith
that beams from spinning iron core of Earth,
will I be baptized in pool of desire
and cleansed of wolfish rage inside my heart
by tender compassion of my sweet bride?

Once I rise tall from muck of psychic birth
and transcend monstrous passion of my heart
to confirm my soul through strict self-control,
will I evolve from mad demon of Hell
to transform through creative offering
to wise angel of Heaven with eight wings?

Once Ishtar offers me her fertile heart
in marriage that combines body and soul,
and asks me with seductive voice of trust
to fertilize her with gift of my fruits,
as Eve ate Apple to generate life,
will I design new world view for mankind?

Where will I wander to find nameless ghost
who falls in bottomless abyss of death
after I slay great bull of the Sun God
and feast on steaks I roast on flame of faith,
to weep for Lycidas and Adonais
while lost in endless labyrinth of Hell?

Where will I build the house of seven doors,
constructing wall with thirty-three watch towers,
and plant Garden of Eden to raise children,
when the lightning storm destroys it with flood
that demolishes everything I make,
so I sing alone on the river shore?

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus attends school of writing where Sin-Leqi-Unninni teaches art of composing verse to relate the tale of how Gilgamesh learns to be a Good Leader.

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

Godless Void Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

Wise Aten beams my soul with hands of light
so I live and die in dream of Earth
with laughter of the ancient deathless stars
beaming through atoms of my fragile flesh
which animate my progress till I die
when I stare in the godless void of hope.

Clever Tammuz weaves my spirit from wool
so I climb broad stairs up high ziggurat
to bring gifts of my crafting hands with love
to temple where Inanna brews sweet wine
which I drink as we kiss in gold moonlight
when I laugh in the godless void of hope.

Brave Adonis bakes my body from wheat
so I bear brass plate with hot loaves of bread
for everyone on broad ziggurat steps
may eat the sacred body of the Earth
while Ishtar sings Creation of the World
when I shout in the godless void of hope.

Bold Adam breathes life in my apple heart
so I tame serpent writhing in the tree
then people buy apple pies from my cart
while I perform in market maze of want
below ziggurat where Asherah sings
when I leap in the godless void of hope.

Shrewd Jehovah molds my torso from fish
so I dive deep in ocean of despair
to find the herb of youth Gilgamesh lost
then wander beach to hut where Shamhat sings
who teaches me to spark life in her heart
when I swim in the godless void of hope.

Honest Jesus twists my arms into wings
so I run swift in forest of swift harts
to hunt with Artemis in moonlit groves
where we twang strings of bows with dauntless joy
to feel our bodies pulsing with desire
when I soar in the godless void of hope.

Lithe Lucifer forges my brain from gold
so I map history of humanity
on time-animated globe that depicts
evolution of man from Fish to God
on endless quest to find the Promised Land
when I dance in the godless void of hope.

Audacious Odin carves my name in runes
that writhe with serpentine intelligence
in ghost-engendering well of Melusine
who teaches me to compose tales of faith
that show how women raise children with love
when I sing in the godless void of hope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus teaches me how to gaze in the godless void of hope which mirrors conscious spirit of self-awareness which I project at the sky as God.

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

Reconnect With Mother Sea
© Surazeus
2026 10 05

Because the music of the sea knows me,
I float on celestial breath of the mind
to interact with humans in the world
who float on their own music of the sea,
for we all sing in harmony with hope
that leaves us stranded on the sunlit beach.

Expanding beyond scale of holy thoughts
with every wave that flows onto the beach,
my mind considers why we suffer pain
that drives us to consume beasts of the sea
whose spirits vibrate energy of hope
which animates our journey to the light.

Since blazing power of relentless light
blasts my frail soul with divine energy,
I follow flashing river through steep hills,
ascending to broad meadow of soft flowers
that dance with delicate grace of desire
in cool breeze that caresses me with hope.

I dwell ten thousand years in field of flowers
between the sloshed wave and the jagged peak,
safe in fertile haven of Middle-Earth,
tending herds of sheep, and fields of gold wheat,
through countless generations of my soul
reborn as me with each new frame of flesh.

Now I work as mechanic every day,
fixing engines of cars in large garage
along street of businesses and banks
where cars and people glide by every hour,
yet memory of that meadow by the sea
frames how I function in daily routines.

Attention focused on tubes, wires, and gears,
I maintain process of physical change
to manage function of the world machine
powered by waves that still wash on the beach
where I take my wife and kids on weekends
to reconnect our hearts with Mother Sea.

We hike in meadow where soft flowers bloom,
and listen to birds chirp in florid trees
who taught us how to speak words of our thoughts,
then fish at lake where our ancestors lived,
to eat roast fish and sing old tribal songs
around bright campfire under sparkling stars.

I hope we can maintain this balanced life
of working in the corporate urban zone
to maintain world food-production machine
while seeking recreation in lush Nature
where we can reconnect with Mother Sea
whose song rejuvenates our wave-born souls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury and leads songs around the campfire under the stars so everyone sings This Land is Your Land, and Where Have All the Flowers Gone.

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

Yet Still I Row My Boat
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Glass bridge of laughter questions Game of If
where nameless people wander distant shores
with plans to steal new souls from grocery stores
who vanish in strict mirror of the cliff,
yet still I row my boat past paradise
because important things should have no price.

Electric lightbulb of the smiling sun
sends garbage trucks to take lost memories
discarded by housewives with broken keys
who seek salvation of the holy gun,
yet still I row my boat past Eden tress
where angels give math books to chimpanzees.

Life is the angel wearing mirror mask
to work for advertising companies
with clients selling psychic clarities
to robots who refuse to do the task,
yet still I row my boat past libraries
where demons work for social charities.

Brave butterflies of pencils with nine brains
flock merrily around sly Mercury
who teaches jesters art of jollity
who prance at midnight in honey-gold rains,
yet still I row my boat past empty church
where Cinderella continues vain search.

Trapped by strict duties of proud happiness,
where horses of the king eat grass of gold,
my father shows me how to dream-unfold
airplane wings above Sea of Nothingness,
yet still I row my boat past apple groves
where wives of senators slave at hot stoves.

Despite sincerity of obvious love
that cripples crow of Heaven with false faith,
I formulate how God is stellar wraith
that conjures worlds with psychometric shove,
yet still I row my boat past matrix schools
to learn how primates invent farming tools.

Since fatal geographies of state power
provide framework for tyrants to play god,
brave blacksmiths disarticulate the fraud
with guidance from Rapunzel in her tower,
yet still I row my boat past bombed-out homes
to watch gods wrestle in glass thunder domes.

Conceptual language of the creditor
reframes the meaning of life we employ
to reconstruct the sacred halls of Troy
based on project designed by Lucifer,
yet still I row my boat past gates of Hell
to gather dream runes from the serpent well.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus rows his boat past the White House where King Midas screams in rage that prophet of the woke is invading his house that sinks into the waters of the sea.

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

Restore Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

If I should paint the wide subversive sky
true color of your heart when we first meet,
the people of the world might analyze
sufficient romance of my sacrifice
against synopsis of the seminar
to judge my brave sincerity of love.

If I should find crippled crow of my heart
hopping frantically across the wet lawn,
the angels of the mountain might require
visual conformation of my despair
revealed by neon sign of vacancy
that flashes intermittently till dawn.

If I should hear the sharp objective cry
of morbid nurses in the bitter wind,
the devils in cathedrals might expect
guards at the gate of Hell to optimize
nutritious medicine of martial law
that traps us in Nirvana after all.

If I should see the glowing Face of God
that beams from center of the universe,
the grim professors might demand I write
my doctoral thesis about poverty
that traps the talented in menial jobs
while mediocre fools run governments.

If I should write the holy manuscript
that prophesies new empire of the lost,
the tongueless preachers might demand I burn
idols of heroes from religious tales
to cleanse the sanctuary of the lamb
who rules through journalist integrity.

If I should map whole history of the Earth
that details how great empires rise and fall,
the housewives in schools might demand I play
games with children of crippled warriors
who volunteer to count the treasury
when priests sell them shares to the Afterlife.

If I should decree new socialist creed
to restore greatness of America,
the lawyers in banks might demand I steal
celestial wings of flight from Icarus
so they can storm Heaven in holy coup
to crown shy Jesus Emperor of Earth.

If I should play role of messiah sleuth
through rational performance of my heart,
the oligarchs might demand I program
new world view that excludes divinities
to build from ruins of America
new state based on equal rights in one law.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus visits every city on Earth for ten thousand years, attempting to photograph the Face of God by photographing every person who ever exists.

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

Church Of Broken Clocks
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Because stars shine indifferent to us,
not knowing we exist so far away
on small fragile globe of shuddering water,
I watch my children play in the back yard
with joyful laughter of ambitious hope
that they will rule their own nations one day.

Obsession of the water-shining stone
that glistens in the front yard of my home
inspires me to admire the humble soul
who rises up from crowd of frantic fear
to rule the nation accidentally
when wild waves of change sweep them into power.

Though names and faces of the global dead
are forgotten in the spinning of time,
we merge them all into mythical gods
who simplify their spirits on one trope
which preserves their general character
while their details dissipate in the wind.

Because the eyeless ghost of my sponge brain
keeps slipping back and forth in stream of time,
soaring on wings I stole from Icarus,
the random story of my awkward life
becomes the palimpsest of future heroes
who follow my map through the labyrinth.

Each day that I grow older than the moon
I store more information about Earth
through grand encyclopedia of the brain
in tales about great empires of the land
and all the haughty kings who ruled their lives,
then faded to paintings in history books.

Since sparrows on statues of generals
express opinions about their noble deeds,
we hairless monkeys hide in libraries
to prove we are wingless angels of time
blessed to thrive on Earth millions of years more
since we crawled dripping from the wordless sea.

Searching for the one book that reveals truth
in library of human memory,
I row my boat on river of world dream
to find the secret island of fruit trees
where messiah sleuth plots world revolution
that will unite all nations in one game.

While spiders spin world matrix of our minds
we gather in the church of broken clocks
to decipher riddles from arcane code
that explain the nature of human greed
till prophets teach us to embrace nonbeing
though we make mindless gods from random stars.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus teaches the constellations to young children who attend the Astronomical Observatory of Divine Phenomena for their school trip.

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

My Feet Write Cuneiforms
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts
that curl down through genetic memories
programmed by dreams all my ancestors share,
I drift with gentle tides of social change
with stubborn heart that beats time with the stars
so my feet write cuneiforms of hope.

While my feet write cuneiforms of hope
on signless road that takes me everywhere
beyond the broken walls of paradise,
I map cave passage through maternal hearts
down timeless halls of mirrors to perceive
face of first mother who watches my life.

Face of first mother who watches my life
seems to appear on every tree and cloud
as if her spirit through lush Nature shines
with faint penumbral glow of divine truth
so I translate her wordless thoughts of faith
to songs I sing while strolling road of fate.

Weird songs I sing while strolling road of fate
project strange visions of my flashing brain
each time I face new obstacle of fear,
providing methods of proactive deeds
that guide my way on landscape of desire
through endless labyrinth of confusing myths.

Through endless labyrinth of confusing myths
I trace ancestral journey to myself
based on the tangled narrative of faith
which my ancestors map in fairy tales
depicting how people fail or succeed
to generate new life before they die.

To generate new life before we die
we gather food from bounty of the Earth
till strangers take it all before we can,
so we build forts on hills and fight fierce wars
to gather food in bags from hungry woods
by building empires on the skulls of gods.

While building empires on the skulls of gods
we erect idols that depict wise souls
of leaders who unite our hearts with goal
to dominate the world with clever plans
organized by the father of our tribe
so we present dead mortal as our god.

Though we present dead mortal as our god
because he gave us mission to unite
all nations of the world in Holy Church,
I leave that endless game of thought control
and walk to waste land back to Wonderland,
afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus joins Jesus, Apollo, Odin, Buddha, Mohammed, Krishna, and Tengri in the Crippled Pegasus Cafe to share poems they write about the beauty of humanity.

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

Lake Of Dreamless Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

When I find myself at the huge blank wall
where shadow of my soul mocks my vain pride,
I open window into nothingness
and watch one hundred thousand years of wars
when angry men transform to humming trees
where children of their enemies play games.

The house is quiet and the world is calm
but I am not the book of ancient gods
because nameless ghosts rise from writhing words
and dance around me in the summer night
so I invent strange truth from what I see
and write their stories no one ever reads.

How many human faces I have seen
on endless journey through vast maze of towns
that takes me through the mystery of faith
long hidden behind numbered doors of homes
where strangers hide their secrets inside books
that angels burn before they break the world.

My house hangs from the pendulum of doom
that shakes with throbbing of remembered rain
though I lose treasure of strange memories
that lead me to the shadowed woods of time
where voices of the people I still love
echo too faintly in receding mist.

I find their names with letters of bright blood
fast fading from old books of glimmering leaves
because wild throbbing of my heart inspires
fearful rebellion against tyranny
so I dance by the lake of metal flame
with radiant laughter of deceptive fame.

Though I go back and search my tangled dream
to find the beacon of our anguished pride
lit by aggressive anger of desire,
I kneel beside the lake of dreamless eyes
which casts mercurial gleam on my glass face
so I become the demon I fear most.

I hear wild song of ravens after storm
who gather on electric wires of thought
to translate noise of brains that buzz with rage
to solemn hymn uniting wounded hearts
in global nation of objective faith
that helps us navigate our maze of myths.

Awakened by the shouts of jostling flowers
that toss my body to the humorous moon,
I surf the flashing tides of global change
which carry me to land of burning fruit
where we hold hands and gaze at timeless stars
that spell our fortune we choose to create.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus gathers fragments of lost stories from books torn by teeth of angels and assembles them into puzzle that presents inspirational myths of one new world religion.

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

Bard Banner Of Our Muses
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

While I am wandering in dark tangled woods,
alone in changeless glimmer of dead gray,
I find the fallen banner of the bard
who wrenched it from the western skies with verve
to light the beacon of musical truth
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow.

With trembling hands of my lost legacy,
which sparks awake the timeless glow of faith
in my young witch-wrought heart, I lift up high
that noble banner of our ancient clan,
then light again with flame of prophecy
that beacon on the bleak Parnassian height.

I find the broken lyre of Mercury,
that Apollo strummed with passionate heart
some thirty centuries of change ago,
which passed through skilled hands of many brave singers,
Phoebus, Homer, Ovid, Virgil, Dante,
Shakespeare, and Milton, to my hand this hour.

After tuning strings taut with intense faith,
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing
enchanting hex that conjures from mute gloom
ghosts of great singers in my bardic clan,
Philip, Anne, Oliver, William, James, Sarah,
Edwin, and Robert, who flock to my tune.

Joining in spontaneous choir of sweet song,
they beam mercurial voices of bright truth
in threads of eerie melodies that weave
grand tapestry of visionary tales
which illustrate our transcendental faith
in spells blessed by the Muses of our hearts.

High on transcendent peak of arcane faith,
I sing the ancient tale of human hope
while bearing banner of our bardic clan,
and tend the sacred flame of divine truth
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow
to light our world with wisdom of the Muses.

Through eerie silence of human despair,
from hearts crushed by destructive wars for power,
strange songs of disharmonious ardency
emerge from hundred million wounded hearts
whose spells of hope from isolated rooms
swell whole together through aspiring wind.

Now that bard banner of our Muses flies
aloft in pure wind of ethereal song,
brave voices of hundred million Earth bards
fuel flame of truth in beacon of our hearts
which beams from sacred peak of high Parnassus
to light the Way for people of the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus teaches me how to tune the lyre of Mercury and sing great stories of the human heart that radiate from our bodies with intense passion for the beauty of love.

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

Blinded By Star Words
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Blinded by star words of exploding thoughts,
Citlali washes her face in the lake
till all the tears of suffering women flush
her wounded heart clean of observed despair,
then she tends garden of electric corn
while children play within scope of her eyes.

Cupping her hands with soft voice of the wind,
Citlali scoops water from the silver lake
that reflects peak of snowy Tlaloc Mountain
where her grandmother dwells in secret cave
to commune with soul of the serpent god
who speaks through song of rivers in the woods.

Amazed at glory of eye-blinking stars
that sprinkle fairy dust in human hearts,
Citlali twirls slowly with graceful calm
despite aggressive passion of her heart
that urges her to rise above this world
and float with ecstasy of butterflies.

Singing with exquisite respect for light,
Citlali bakes Tlaxcalli corn flatbread
on clay griddle comal with quick hands
then rolls them thick with mushrooms, squash, and beans,
seasoned with peppers, tomatoes, and herbs,
which people eat as raindrops flash from leaves.

When great horned owl with glowing golden eyes
appears from Mictlan with message of hope,
Citlali walks along the mountain path
till she finds young man tending cacao tree,
so Tecolotl smiles and gives her cup
filled with hot xocolatl beverage.

Sipping the bitter sorrow of this world,
sweetened with chili and vanilla juice,
Citlali ponders nature of the stars,
and asks Tecolotl with inquiring voice
if he thinks stars might be souls of the dead
who watch us live with synergy of love.

From swirling fog after wild gush of rain
Coatl leaps and grabs her by the arm,
demanding that she bear child of his soul,
but Citlali tries to escape his grip,
so he pushes her down, flat on her back,
till Tecolotl stabs him with sharp spear.

Suckling daughter she bears with Tecolotl,
Citlali smiles about his flustered shyness,
then explains she names their new child Meztli,
for she is offspring of the humble owl,
so he makes faces, causing her to laugh
as moon girl reaches out her tiny hands.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus follows enchanting song to find young woman Meztli in long skirt of flowers singing as she dances on shores of Lake Texcoco where grasshoppers play.

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

Holy Depths Of Nothingness
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Kneeling waist deep in glowing silver waves,
Khaos dips soft hands in swirling lake of stars
and lifts from holy depths of nothingness
enormous galaxy of spinning worlds
which lifts its face and stares into her eyes,
so she bears the turtle to her beach cave.

Observing how shape of the turtle shell
resembles mountains rising from the beach,
Khaos envisions how world of wind-swept trees
floats in vast ocean of conceptual hope,
so she explores steep slope of humming trees
to find the highest point of innocence.

Tall tangle-haired man wearing wolf-skin cloak
extends right hand and offers sun-orange fruit,
so she consumes light of the flashing rain
while he fills her with spirit of the moon,
then wanders back to cave beach of her heart
where she expands huge as the surging sea.

When darkness swells inside her aching heart,
and bulges round as galaxy of worlds,
Khaos gathers clams and roasts them on hot flames,
then slurps delicious meat of energy
that motivates her heart with shock of faith
to sing heart-radiant hymn of holy love.

When she gives birth to child with gleaming eyes,
who wriggles wildly in her trembling arms,
Khaos weeps with fierce compassion of surprise
then suckles him at breasts of starry milk,
humming as he gazes at her with love,
then speaks his name, Erebus, with respect.

While gathering clams in leather bag of hope,
Khaos shows Erebus how to bundle wood
as they stroll laughing on broad beach of sand,
then stand together when strong gust of wind
whips hair around their faces with bright joy
and sunlight weaves their bodies with delight.

When wolf man from the cloud-high mountain grove
appears on windy beach with long sharp spear,
Khaos notes sharp features of his rugged face,
then gazes at face her curious son,
and feels sweet glow of wisdom flush her heart
to realize how she incarnates his soul.

While weaving baskets from flexible vines,
Khaos watches wolf man and Erebus play,
running swiftly along sun-gleaming beach,
gathering sticks and stones with clever hands,
then crafting tridents with three sharpened points
to catch fish they eat beneath twinkling stars.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus joins Erebus on the beach as he sets skulls of his parents on large stone, then arranges shells and jewels in shrine to honor their beautiful souls.

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

Vibes Of Social Harmony
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Trapped by avalanche of identities
which narrate riddles of anxiety,
Zemyna describes elements of life
as wheat that sprouts as her long curly hair
in meadows lush with flowers of her breasts,
while she holds crystal sphere of flashing stars.

We celebrate Earth Mother of our hearts
because her love sustains life of our souls,
then takes our bodies back into her soil
so we are ghosts in great lakes of her eyes
who dance in birch groves with attentive grace
till we lie down at death in her embrace.

When I hear weird spell Mother of Graves chants,
that echoes softly in moon-haunted woods,
I play water tunes on flute of my heart
to radiate vibes of social harmony
that soothe brittle anger of wounded hearts
till we attend grand feast Zemyna hosts.

Even while I walk crowded business maze,
conducting business of product exchange
within parameters of strict contracts,
I hear enchanting voice in blustering wind
when Mother of Ghosts addresses my soul
with fate-unspooling hex of fertile faith.

Advanced to messy edges of our lives,
I bind with oath of honest privilege
new secret purpose of the glowing cloud,
based on abundant wealth of bankruptcy,
to revive heritage through instruments
of fiscal gravity attracting ghosts.

By teaching me how to interpret rain
as splatter of inflated integers
that model ordinance of future states,
Zemyna arms my atmospheric mind
with orchestrated process of respect
so I could certify demonic faith.

Attuned to misdirecting equity,
depicted by strange cultural entities,
contrived by deviant currencies of hope,
Zemyna reprograms dream gallery
with ardent frequencies of mental force,
so I accept my role as guardian.

Attending marathon of humble spies,
who rewrite rules of dire linguistic tricks,
Zemyna teaches me with anecdotes
how to locate the liberal positive
based on marketing techniques of bold faith,
so we survive their avalanche of lies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus takes Zemyna on a date to an Italian restaurant, then they stroll along the River Styx where angels transform idols into human beings who give each other love.

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

Ocean Waves Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

I want to talk to you about the rain
is if broad wings of angels could erase
conceptual bitterness of twisted pain
that we accept as normal for the face
that shields our souls against psychotic fame,
tricked by the king of clowns to play his game.

With ache of longing to taste juicy fruit
while stuck in deep lake of demonic tears,
I reach my hand to grasp the bitter loot
that blinds my eyes to arrogate false fears
while haughty Tantalus laughs at my plight
because my agony is rendered trite.

Startled awake from dream of writhing snakes,
Selene sees her daughter Herse leap
at flash of lightning that shatters soul lakes
with sudden laughter that all life is cheap,
so Hermes swoops down to embrace the girl
whose honest hex hurls him in ocean swirl.

Old pastor gripping Bible to his chest
demands I tell important anecdotes
which relate need for boys to go on quest
exploring secret to construct sea boats
on which we sail to conquer paradise
with certain shock that we must pay the price.

I want to hold sweet Thetis in my arms
because our son is destined to perform
great deeds of valor on skull-cluttered farms
where Hera makes love with the God of Storm,
but she prefers the humble man who knows
how to tame horses when the full moon glows.

Enraged that I can never obtain wealth,
I smash old idol of Hermes in grief
which scatters gold coins with obnoxious stealth,
so I buy friendships that prove to be brief
which leads me to knock at steel gates of Hell
that shake at shocking mockery of the bell.

Knee deep in sloshing waves of solitude,
I wade into cold ocean waves of thought
to swim with mermaids whose sweet songs are rude
because they insult the divine robot
who tries to conquer nations of the Earth
without understanding what faith is worth.

With calm compassion for the wounded soul,
I roll Rock of Salvation up the hill
to build enormous palace without goal
through firm intention to ignore the bill,
till I find fractured skull of Sisyphus
that vibrates with contempt of bitterness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wears mask of Zeus and sits on throne of judgment to offer the Golden Apple of Eris to Athena so he can gain enough wisdom to calculate twelve iterations of his fate.

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

Unclock Chance Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Aside from how fast stars always explode
into light fairies with gossamer wings
who bring bottles of root beer to blind clowns,
Gearthe considers why white horses laugh
at the wild-haired king chasing the giraffe,
because she wants to paint portraits of ghosts.

As if respectful turbulence of planes
reveals how deep the psychic manhole goes
for devils to hide from raven disease,
Gearthe scatters pumpkin seeds on sidewalks
while asking glass-shelled tortoise of dark faith
how long it takes for alphabets to grow.

Since no more than seven ages of man
show our regressive pattern of regret
by disobedience to laws of Glow Clouds,
Gearthe advertises her expertise
for extracting souls from god-twisting books
to rescue children from the war machine.

Though no one knows when the last god will die
from embarrassment of drowning in tears
that humans shed from constant suffering,
Gearthe walks one hundred thousand miles
to find the new-born angel with nine eyes
who is destined to work as a janitor.

If Death considers what the stop sign means
that stands forever at crossroads of fate
till Jesus cheats Krishna at game of cards,
Gearthe will give away to bitter monks
all the most famous paintings about queens
who were forced to marry privileged thieves.

Backward up Stairway to Heaven at dawn
with random plan to unclock chance of fate
at crack of gears in broken time machines,
Gearthe gazes through swirling fog of time
to navigate valley of singing skulls
because the future is one step beyond.

Yet when three prophets of the global bank
distract attention of the humble folk
through lamentation at the death of God,
Gearthe holds flowers by the faceless pool,
then asks shy Narcissus to marry her
while echoing his religious beliefs.

Till seeds expand into towers of steel
that frame glass spirits of unusual faith
based on undulations of interest rates,
Gearthe decides not to proceed with plan
to purchase glass castle from Jupiter
till he admits his conceptual mistake.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus searches for Gearthe all over Earth till he finds her in Garden of apple trees in Germany where Gerthmanians dance around the Maypole to celebrate her reign as Fairy Queen.

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

Surf The Waves Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

When tyrants take control of government,
appointing thieves to higher offices,
and funnel dollars of our hard-earned tax
from programs that support the common folk
to coffers of their private bank accounts,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When humble lawmen from the government
ride into small towns on the wild frontier
to challenge barons who own all the land,
and integrate them in the empire state
that trains sons of farmers as banking clerks,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When Midas, Nebuchadnezzar, and Lear
imprison angels from Elysium
to extract minerals from the mines of Hell,
and build tanks and airplanes with bombs of hate
to fight over who controls the most land,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When oligarchs of high-tech companies
design artificial intelligence
to perform functions of analysis
that disemploys millions of programmers
who fight video wargames in cyberspace,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When farmers attending church on Sundays
no longer receive fiscal subsidies,
while brave migrant workers from southern lands
are deported to towns run by drug lords
so no one is left to harvest their crops,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When prophets disguised as cartographers
rename the ancient lands of everywhere
to realign conceptual state of mind
that conjures virtual model of the Earth
so we navigate tides of history,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When democratic republic of hope,
which we built strong on noble principle
that every person born across this land
has inalienable right to liberty,
collapses under greed of oligarchs,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When Gothinius, descended from two gods,
Jesus and Odin, through Holy Grail bloodline
of Faramundus, and Frank Queen Argotta,
unites the warring nations of Europe
in unified state of Gothinia,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus works as personal assistance to Gothinius as he unites the nations of Europe in new powerful empire of Gothinia to protect our people from invasion.

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