Alone Tree Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 22

No black rain is falling on this bright day
while I walk to the Alone Tree of fate
so I can translate prophecies of change
sung by the hissing wind of emptiness
that batters melancholy homes of hope
where people eat at the table of faith.

Though spiders in the garden of lost souls
search for my heart in shadow of the clock,
the shepherd who finds body of his wife
decayed in bushes by the gushing stream
breaks the silence of God with wordless curse
that transforms his bones into twisted steel.

When he wanders in the pasture with cows,
the shepherd who programs computer games
hears crystal angels singing in tall trees,
so he gathers trash of their broken wings
in plastic bags he piles beside the road
till dust of long-dead stars encrust his eyes.

Sharp shots of guns echo in autumn woods
where angels run in trees of bloody bones
so ravens shriek from fragments of their mouths
in wild laments of shattered innocence
with prayers to clouds inhabited by gods
who laugh with joy at causing men to fight.

Trapped in the solitary hour of death,
the shepherd with gun of religious pride
considers wetness of tall hungry grass
when Bacchus dances on his empty grave
with sober clarity of evening hymns
that eyeless devils sing with pious faith.

He kneels and touches blueness of the stream
with anguish at the desolate secrecy
preserved in neatness of the garden path
where toads of panic meditate all night
against dire quietness of his cold breath
so he clamps ears against rustle of leaves.

Bright destitution of his childhood days
returns with brittle innocence of love
at that dark hour when eyes of seers expand
with muffled clang of bells in empty church
where angels wear masks of children we name
before they sink in muck of holy war.

Trapped in their mournful pilgrimage to Hell,
the people of the nation blessed by God
lie down together on the shattered plain
and stare at nothingness of glowing screens
that flash elusive visions of world peace
till we become the gods we idolize.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds George Trakl by the thorny bush where he found his pregnant wife after invading soldiers shot her as she was gathering apples and eggs.

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

We Build Another Troy
© Surazeus
2026 08 21

From Troy our urgent mission to survive
drives our wheeled train of homeless refugees
to follow Venus sailing her moon boat
across abyss of hope to colonize
pristine gardens where ghost of Eden gleams
from dire emergency of tolling bells.

Through telescope of innocent respect
we search for secret code in random stars
that map our noble purpose with faint flash
assembled in grand puzzle of desire
to measure slow sequential flow of time
beyond intense unraveling of fate.

Indifferent audience of angels laughs
at cosmic foibles noble heroes play
while sanctioned by brave eagles of world war
who lead parades of our triumphant loss
against dark shadows in reflected glass
of faceless enemies we fight each day.

Of my first disobedience against pride,
and fruit of my achievements soured by guilt,
I sing with harp of David in my hands
while lost in yellow woods of urgent faith
where I pause at cracked tomb of Oedipus
to ponder failure of our social dream.

Wise oracle of concupiscent grace
expresses stoic principles of calm
with incandescent dance of mental vibes
at trick of fame by tarot cards dealt lies
exposing counterfeit creeds angels sell
through prank of toxic masculinity.

When kingdom-killing prophet of the laugh
reveals sly bluff the Blindman conjugates,
we strive to fathom absolute expanse
of spaceless straightness tangled by fake words
that throws our bodies on light curve of change
so we hold hands from gates of paradise.

Each time grand towers of bright Ilium
are burned by agents of cruel tyranny,
we build another Troy with bleeding hands
to manage empire of corporate stores
that binds our paths through corridors of time
till we assemble in one church of wealth.

When mantra-minded flower child of fate
arrives from Underworld of bitter truth
to fix machinery of the star-wound soul,
contrived as psychic dynamo of faith,
I publish odes of sorrow on the wall
so ghosts of heroes hide in wordless books.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus meets his buddy XJ Kennedy at tomb of Oedipus where they play chess and talk about how airplanes resemble cherubim with silver wings.

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

Bitter Prayers Of Fantasies
© Surazeus
2026 08 21

After turning key of uncertainty
I ask the honey bees of innocence
to find home burned by soldiers of despair
who barricade their hearts with polished stones
fractured from idols of their social gods
who feed on bitter prayers of fantasies.

There is no substance in our enmities
we gather to replace faint hopes of love,
yet we ask honey bees of arrogance
to build their hives of passion-pilfered wealth
in home now empty of our family ghosts
whose hearts lead them to wander windy hills.

In ninth Troy of America we dwell,
secure in tower where Rapunzel sings,
whose anguish catches it afire this hour,
though we continue with our daily lives
through certain faith that noble minds prevail
though faceless Helen walks the Earth again.

Dark weeds grow from pavestones of social power
where Brigid herds sheep on the White House lawn,
and sings enchanting prophecies of doom
while I play broken lyre of Mercury,
yet she decides to give out fish and bread
to people homeless from social collapse.

No dream of paradise could paralyze
our good intentions for democracy
in noble mission to replace all kings
with honest leaders whom people elect
because they hear with brave ears of insight
voices of the dead explain how to live.

Heart riddled with weird light of star-blind gods,
I hurl fierce curse of justice at the sky
where no immense mind of the absolute
ensures equality for every soul,
so with eye of my brain in turbulence
I seek moon-stark hill of electric skulls.

Shocked by insistence of angelic wings
that I transcend this fragile flame of flesh,
I channel bitter prayers of fantasies
through jubilant expressions of respect
for brave endurance of our wounded hearts
to face down the silver-helmed Seraphim.

Indifferent to our solitude in time,
the star-eyed prophet of the misty isle
refuses to proclaim in busy streets
crimes of the powerful who still exploit
our bodies for profits they confiscate
though we pray to idol of God for help.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus strolls with Yeats on Innisfree to gather apples fallen from the wounded hearts of refugees whose homes were bombed in war of fantasies.

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

Empire Of Jocular Play
© Surazeus
2026 08 21

If we attempt to stop the clocks of change,
and tangle voices in telephone lines,
to silence celebration at dire hour
the greedy tyrant tumbles from his throne,
despair for life will burst from wounded hearts
and crack the sky with fireworks of new joy.

Contours of anguish wrapping hearts with hope
divulge more passion than we care to show
when we assemble on mist-flurried shore
with plan to conjure from abysmal gloom
new demon of despair to haunt our land
and shadow our great nation with blind faith.

Too many puerile farmers and bank clerks
attempt to plaster laws across the sky
more beautiful than carnage of world war
when prophets wander lost in busy streets
to find their enemy is almost dead,
white-faced as angels they flee from in dreams.

Yet we all pause from revelry at dawn
to hear the starry-eye soprano sing
heart-wrenching hymn of tragic innocence
while gleam of Sirius, her guiding star,
reveals the baltering torrent of our tears
though we dance with unsteady ardency.

Strange victory shout of cardiac respect
may act as uncommercial catalyst
for bold uprising of communal clans
against incompetence of legal greed,
yet we desert cathedrals of contempt
to play exotic roles in public squares.

My brain may now be vacant of old creeds,
erased by brave endurance of concern
in frantic storms of social dominance,
but I shall rise from muck of sublime truth
to rebuild empire of jocular play
despite indulgence on the peccant stage.

My wounded heart expands beyond its ken
when Sibyl sings from golden cage of truth
calm tablet-chat of arcane prophecies,
so I translate strict formulas for wealth
from purling laughter of clear mountain streams
which knits immigrants in new freedom tribe.

Since we will dwell in Land of Unconcern,
brave bodies crushed by supple gears of change,
fake prayers revive our souls of poisoned faith
with mute inoculants, by angels brewed
with brazen laughter for the shock effect
that teaches us to value what is real.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds Auden by the mountain stream so they share jokes about the rise and fall of tyrants in the baltering torrent of aggressive warmongers and clowns.

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

Sacrifice For Moral Code
© Surazeus
2026 08 20

Because the gift of prophecy demands
sacrifice of treasure we value most,
I replicate with pristine character
mask of my mundane personality
so I become wise scapegoat for the world
that guides attention of creative care.

To die as sacrifice for moral code,
contrived to manage gestures of concern
that channels guilt of selfish procurement,
I play role of fate-wounded sufferer
who struggles bravely calm to overcome
mental challenges through resilience.

Heap all your bitter sorrows on my head
when you expose my culpability
presenting efforts to master deep flaws
through bright deception you accepted well
as proof that fragile humans with bold hearts
may transcend limitations of our souls.

Through my fantastic tale of daring feats,
which I present as honest narrative
of hard-won triumph over weaknesses,
you offer rewards for accomplishments
that prove all people willing to work hard
have strength to bolster status of their fate.

Yet heights achieved through too aggressive game
thrust fragile sense of victory beyond base
adjusted for safe balance of the heart,
therefore the higher we rise through hard work
the farther from earned merits we may fall
and crash so hard we shatter wordlessly.

Sharp shards of my integral sense of self,
scattered far across fraught landscape of pride,
fail to hope-activate magnetic coherence
for vital principles of framed insight
to reassemble mask of my true self
so I become sly thief you think I am.

Alone in gloom of my besieged framework,
without truth-binding creed that hard work pays
social dividends of accepted prize,
I question nature of essential faith
composing public person I perform
outside containment of my stale success.

Failure to focus fractured facts of fate
within well-ordered system of respect
causes my soul disperse in mocking wind
so I sink deep into bottomless abyss
and vanish from theater of false pride
in sacrifice that prophesies your doom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds the young professor dead in his home after he was hounded by hordes of accusers for faking his achievements of social success.

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

Sublimity Of Self
© Surazeus
2026 08 20

Should time maintain vibrational concern
for fragile bodies of our transient souls,
I might find courage to endure sharp pain
of this excessive hour in swirling tides
that toss my spirit on assertive faith
with hollow laughter of wind on shore rocks.

Ten thousand ghosts of mocking innocence
attack my heart with bloody beaks of fear
that drives me to run clumsily lame-quick
against elusive obstacles time hurls
to hide in shuddered shadow of despair
at throbbing pain of crippled arrogance.

Enclosed in tightened narrowness of hope
that crushes me to shivers of weak pride,
I wait for ghosts of laughter to disperse,
bored with their hunt to tear my soul apart,
then hold my tattered sense of self in hands
that tremble to perceive my wounded heart.

I know death will erase me from this world
and leave no trace of me in wordless wind
except faint scent of terror in foul sweat
that oozes slick from naked pores of faith
which makes me worry my liquidized soul
drains as tears to empty me of myself.

Grim-hungry rocks at mouth of my small cave
drip thirsty to devour my pungent flesh
so I escape harsh jaws of eyeless death
and stumble in cold evening gloom of faith
to find safe tree where fruit of ardent joy
supplies sweet energy of urgent hope.

With cautious steps of careful attitude
I slowly creep across broad field of rocks,
that jab my naked feet with leering lust,
toward slender gleam of light on distant ridge
that lures me to some terrible regret
through cold Plutonian fog of bitter angst.

Alone in vastness of our spinning globe,
I linger mute beneath huge jagged stone,
and watch immensity of twinkling stars
stream white as milk in gushing arc of light
across enormous nothingness of desire
so I forget sharp anguish of my pain.

I see small purple mushroom with long hood
stuck tight to jagged stone of timeless hope
so I consume its slimy fruit of faith
that swells small scope of my tear-stained eyes huge
through stark obsession for ecstatic love
till I become sublimity of self.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds Eurydice huddled under a rock by the sea after she eats a liberty cap mushroom, so he drapes her body in bear-fur cloak and keeps her warm.

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

How To Thrive With Love
© Surazeus
2026 08 20

Thoughts tumble over rough cliff of my mind
to form mirror mask of shimmering calm
that veils turmoil of feelings in my heart
so you see placid face you want to see
concealing soul that swirls with clarity
while I plot how to advance my career.

No Christ nor Arthur star in my life play
as grand exemplars for how to behave,
so I accept Odyssean flaws with grace
that drive my soul against Neptunian pride
on zealous quest to find my secret home
that strands me on your grim Plutonian shore.

You are my bright-eyed siren on sharp rocks
whose heart-enchanting song of mute desire
reveals how I lost what I most adore
while urging me to soldier on with hope
around obstacles of indifferent fate
since you are beacon of my journey home.

Frail ship of my enduring heart maintains
integral structure of my fractured mind,
so I stay balanced as I surf wild waves
of constant change in fortunate progress,
star-guided toward weird paradise I built
as haven for your soul till I return.

Bombs dropped from planes that laughing angels fly
may deconstruct framework of our world view
based on security of our hearth home,
but kingdom of our faith consists of code
programmed to bind our hearts with marriage vows
as shield against invaders of our land.

Hearts bound by loyalty of trusting love,
we stand secure in knowledge of our faith
that gives us strength of honest arrogance
to endure relentless attacks of dream thieves
so we preserve pale of our nation-state
till haughty angels fall from flaming clouds.

You are Calypso and Penelope
combined in one courageous soul of hope,
so I commission me with solemn oath
to guard your life against oppressive greed
of men who view your life as profit tool,
for you are person I respect with love.

Long after angry soldiers with cruel guns,
sent by exploiters hiding in tall towers,
retreat from field of battle we endure,
we rebuild haven of our humble hearth,
then grow again through our creative hands
by teaching children how to thrive with love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus runs into open arms of Ophelia who welcomes him home again after his journey to fill wagon with logs to build new home for their son Orion and his mew bride Brigitte.

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

Intense Desire To Live
© Surazeus
2026 08 19

I feel the ocean seething in my brain
when I somersault inside the black hole
that pulses with intense desire to live
to wake up bound inside this coil of flesh
that urges me to compete for fresh fruit
so I generate life before I die.

I feel vast emptiness of everything
swell huge through singularity
in still point at the center of all light
when galaxies flare forth from flash of thought
then spiral into strands of clicking genes
that mold bipedal gods with grasping hands.

I feel urge to transcend my frame of thought
so I run laughing on long wooden dock,
then leap high into heaven of gold clouds
on time-rewinding wings of Icarus,
but fate pulls me back down to solid state
where I laugh wildly on my back in grass.

I feel expanding scope of consciousness
envelop Earth with gleam of mental code
so I dream every soul who ever lives
as universal mind of mindless self
who sings in one harmonious melody
hearts of eight billion separate human beings.

Suryathi, bright-eyed Goddess of the Sun,
ascends from gleaming fields of blooming rice
to fly on bold Apsara wings of faith
above vast complex of tall tower spires
and scatters coins of gold on villages
where farmers bless her generosity.

Gold river dragon rises from clear stream,
eyes gleaming bright as diamonds of star truth,
scales writhing lithe as flames of holy thought,
and sings uncanny spell of heart insight
that sparks strange vision of world prophecy
which I sing as I stroll long road of light.

Queen Mary steps from wood ship of desire
and strides wet stones in swirling fog of fear
to claim with faith the jeweled crown of thorns
she wears as wise Minerva born on Earth,
then tells me with soft voice of ocean waves
that I will build new kingdom of free will.

Since I am temporary node of thought
that vibrates spirit of genetic code
as deathless angel in my mortal shell,
I order hamburger with tater tots
and eat lunch at bench in the river park,
then play guitar and sing of human hope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus flies with Suryathi over vast temple complex where they dwell together in pagoda to make love with compassion that recreates the universe.

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

Delusions Of Global Conquest
© Surazeus
2026 08 19

If I should find myself under attack
by gangs of thieves hostile to my free will,
I may hope Aphrodite would appear
to whisk me away in cloud of concern,
like she sheltered Paris from Menelaus,
because my heart is full of love for life.

I pray to Goddess of Beauty and Love
to veil my fragile soul of naive hope
from social predators, armed with state laws,
who try to scam my innocent respect
with lucrative return on vested funds,
and bear me to safe haven in her heart.

Were clever Eris, Trickster of Desire,
to toss Apple of Chaos at my feet,
so Goddesses of Wisdom, Love, and Power,
were to tempt me with treasures of their hearts,
I like to think my mind would analyze
best scene that fosters spiritual success.

While I decide which path I want to take
that guides me to domestic quietude,
I must descend to Underworld of dreams
to ask Achilles and Odysseus
which goddess I should choose to risk my fate,
whose fortunes present results of Free Will.

Perhaps I may find Dante by the pool,
where Narcissus listens to Echo sing,
so he will guide me to the Promised Land
in lush Edenic vales of Idaho
where I travel on the Oregon Trail
to escape slaughter of religious wars.

With spirit of Adam I tend fruit trees
to fight deceptive serpent with gold eyes,
inspired by Jesus son of Jupiter,
because I choose to consume Fruit of Faith
that opens my Third Eye of Star Insight
to help me perceive essence of all things.

With courage of brave Arthur of the Stone,
descendent of Jehovian Fisher King,
and Marya Magdalena, Mermaid Queen,
I bear the bloody cross of holy war
to build ten thousand towers of white stone,
constructing Kingdom of Heaven on Earth.

All these delusions of global conquest,
that drove my ancestors two thousand years
to colonize every nation on Earth,
now dissipate in wordless glow of dawn,
so I drink from the Holy Grail of Truth
in my self-made role as Messiah Sleuth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus lectures about the dual epic heroes, the flawed mortal and the perfect god, to students of historical poetics at the University of Zarathia.

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

Star Eyes Of My Night
© Surazeus
2026 08 19

Because she is the star eyes of my night,
beaming visions of vain hope from her heart,
I search with hope for algorithmic ways
to redesign our social narrative
so we admire perceptive qualities
of common people struggling to survive.

The plumber adjusts invisible pipes
to channel water from the River Styx
through sink faucet in kitchen of concern
so I can cook spaghetti on the stove
with tomato sauce and parmesan cheese
when we drink wine and ignore falling bombs.

The workers who repair our broken homes
with frames of wood and nets of copper wires
work with their hands to reshape forms of hope
against oppressive tyranny of words
stacked by large language models of pride
so we drive our cars to the grocery store.

The mechanic tweaks engine of my car
so gas in combustion chamber explodes
to power spin the piston engine sparks
in twirling cycle of aggressive force
so we zoom fast across map-measured space
in time machine of legalized control.

The farmer plows soil with hard dragon bone
and sows sharp teeth in furrows of mute verse
so angels and devils both spring with hope
from field of dreams to colonize the world
and build vast maze of streets with numbered doors
where idols of dead gods direct our lives.

The driver maneuvers delivery truck
on web of highways sea to shining sea,
porting raw materials to factories,
providing merchandise to shopping stores,
and stocking homes with valuable assets
where we dwell in domestic quietude.

The baker gathers wheat that Ceres grows
to grind grains into flour of secret code
they program into loaves of fresh-baked bread
that we eat with fried fish and tartar sauce
when Jesus preaches Sermon on the Mount
about caring for homeless immigrants.

I dream I meet Jesus on signless road
alive as you and me with pulsing heart,
so I ask if he will return again soon,
but he shows how his spirit incarnates
in leaders who nurture each human being
through state that gives all freedom to live well.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus directs and films documentary on the common people of America whose labor with their hands supersedes tricks of artificial intelligence.

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

How Psychic Angels Talk
© Surazeus
2026 08 18

The peaceful loneliness of the sidewalk,
where I wander between asphalt and grass,
reveals to me how psychic angels talk
when they calculate our terrestrial mass,
so I visit Emily in her yard
where she grins and deals the Magician card.

Strange blueness of the midafternoon sky,
that glows behind web of telephone lines,
explains futility for asking why
death occurs in this world no God designs,
since Jesus tells me no one is up there,
so we must show the living that we care.

Grim grayness of the town-connecting street,
that tricks me to go anywhere I want,
extracts despair from my heart with each beat
which powers angel wings I dare to flaunt,
but I cannot fly, so I journey on,
strumming guitar as the national pawn.

Indifferent angst of sunrays in glass doors,
exposing vanity of daily work,
tricks me to find salvation in bookstores
where prophets without holy books still lurk,
but when I visit his still-empty tomb
Zeus tries to sell me riddles that spell doom.

Since Jesus has been dead two thousand years
our personal relationship is stalled,
so his granddaughter cleans the world with tears
when she appoints me as her castle skald
to sing of Mermaid and her Holy Grail
who dwells in haven of the mountain vale.

Proud dignity of the telephone pole
provides new framework for our old world view
that every human has appointed role
to kill each other over what is true,
so I must deconstruct class privilege
when I rebuild United Nations bridge.

Locked doors of houses in suburban zones
discuss catastrophe of being alive,
so I sell Bibles forged from dragon bones
to save family photos on the hard drive
as puzzle pieces in tale of our state
fractured in church gangs by greed-driven hate.

Strange quietness of wind on the bare hill
drives me to stack stones in heavenly wall
by adjusting duty based on free will
while I sell apples in the market stall,
till Emily steps from carriage of faith
and asks if I have seen the Cosmic Wraith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus visits Emily Dickinson in the afternoon where she serves tea and cake in the yard to her other visitors Hades and Persephone, her best friend since childhood.

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

Psychic Rivers Of Regret
© Surazeus
2026 08 18

Soft vibration of crystal words reforms
how human brains perceive the Face of God
that gleams from golden clouds of arrogance
to mutate how we talk about our souls
as light that glows from fragile shell of glass
which blinks out when the brain ceases to dream.

If angels dare to explain how the brain
could process sentences of fractured truth,
we humans might remember why we hope
to share conversations about rebirth
in humming mountains of social thoughts
when we meet ourselves in the spectral zone.

I hear ephemeral voice of weird faith
when I float high on invisible wings
to teach the faceless ghosts of everywhere
strange secret of conceptual innocence
inherent in fake law of gravity
that might invalidate my divine creed.

Since no one speaks about the fall of stones
which float on psychic rivers of regret,
we gaze in eyes of people starved by fear,
trapped in the prison camp of global faith,
who sell each other empty books of tales
which they burn to keep warm on winter nights.

Foreclosed quality of inhuman speech,
concerned with quality of suffering,
pronounces new law of humble rapport
between exploiters and victims of fraud
who argue semantics in the locked church
to deconstruct confession bombs of truth.

If we use language to communicate
hunger for substantial faith in the known,
we might confuse young children without keys
who prove flowers and glaciers design
how we give and take in contests of love
for return on investment despite death.

Haunted by attentive ghosts of lakes,
shot by angel of spiritual rewards
who deems them unfit to work in food stores,
I gamble for salvation with word-luck,
heart tangled in language matrix of truth,
when I overhear words of flightless souls.

Awake with breath-turn of the mountain vale,
I measure atom-wind of spiral waves
to sense pure essence of the conscious brain
which translates seething tides of wordless hope
to jumbled logic of cathedral hymns
which humans sing to pretend no one dies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus dives into the Seine River and races Paul Celan in swimming contest to see who can cross the River Lethe first to dance in the gardens of Auschwitz.

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

Ideal God Of Joy
© Surazeus
2026 08 17

Through time-expanding laughter of my heart
I redesign perspective of my brain
to frame traumatic events of despair
as opportunities to learn and grow
while I strive with encouragement of faith
to transcend limitations of the self.

Bright light of this brave proverb blinds my eyes
so I cannot perceive progressive way
to maintain balance over shifting sands,
so I shade straight attention of my heart
with cautious code that helps me better see
road I need to take through shadow of fear.

I ponder weirdness of reverse effect
that proves through success of daily routines
how this much more cynical attitude,
that death will dismember my fragile soul,
guides my way around brutish obstacles
better than faith in providence of God.

What does not kill me tends to injure me
instead of filling me with noble strength,
yet cautious attention to dangerous threats
provides sharp wit to analyze landscape
cluttered with soul-consuming traps of pain,
so I can navigate to safer ground.

This principle, that fear increases sight
so grim despair beams soul-liberating light
as guiding star that helps me evade death,
seems to contradict creed of piety
that commands I attend events with faith
in some faceless God that glows in the sky.

All my ancestors once lived long enough
through cautious attention to reality
to generate new life before they died,
so sharp-eyed vigilance of prudent care,
which they programmed into my psychic genes,
still dictates how I decide to proceed.

Though techniques of survival we accrue
through countless generations of rebirth
provide complex algorithms of insight,
our progress to transcend frail human state
seems to retard evolutionary growth
so few attain divine enlightenment.

I need no name or complex tale of growth
depicting process of cause and effect
for me to moralize in mental code
spirit-expanding scope of consciousness
enhancing how my mind perceives this world
as I grow into ideal God of Joy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus presents Zeus as ideal god of joy through hymns of praise he sings to crowd of farmers and craftsmen gathered in the temple of feast at sunset.

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

Become Flowers In Rain
© Surazeus
2026 08 17

Before marble tomb of some long-dead god,
whose descendants crowned themselves kings of hope,
I listen to wordless voice of the wind
tell me about strange vanity of men
who manage other men to do their will
till they die and become flowers in rain.

I find ten thousand tombs of long-dead gods
scattered across new temporary states
where living gods rule from high offices
concerned about survival this fraught hour
while thousands strive to gain that seat of power
though butterflies explain wisdom of love.

Should Time reallocate energy sparks
enough for me to play on stage of fate
wise god who manages affairs of state,
I will accept with grace her calm command
to plan program that funds creative work
which nurtures talents of committed souls.

Should I succeed in my inspiring plot
to implement social program for scheme
that provides urge of hope for every soul,
people may mold metal in my shape
to capture in changeless idol of hope
bold spirit of my vision for their lives.

Yet I prefer to play my private role
as plain artificial world generator
when I design with sentences and shapes
tales that map complete history of mankind
on time-animated atlas of hope
so we analyze our progress so far.

When I was young some thirty years ago
I exited maze of the social grid
and traveled east on the Oregon Trail,
where my ancestors in wagons went west,
to find my homeland that does not exist,
but dance till I become flowers in rain.

Though empires rise and fall in tides of change,
which elevates some mortal man as god
till they dissolve into stories in books,
I keep on walking down the signless road
to map our journey till the sun explodes
and we become atomic ghosts of light.

She asks me if I know how I should feel,
so I write verses of riddles in sand
to record dream of my epiphany
that programs how my brain perceives the world
till waves of time wipe all my words away
and wind sings on beach of eternity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus carves name of every mortal man who played god in history of empires in the vast confusing story of human history since we become flowers in rain.

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

Gospel Of The Caring Smile
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

Each dawn when Odin smiles at ghosts of men
I look from office window of my hope
and wonder who the strangers are who walk
nowhere across narrow scope of my mind
with casual indifference to suffering
people in distant lands endure with grace.

No matter where I wander in the world
I meet the Gray Wanderer on the road
who offers small box with the angel tongue,
or in the room where picture frames slip slant
at sideways readjustment of the mind
because he always seems to know me first.

My brain will flash with secret memories
at sudden gust of wind from the Great Voice
which erases words of fake languages
and traps their concepts in smooth river stones
so they become the horse of poetry
who gallops laughing on the hill of skulls.

Because half-open door of secret faith
exposes potent passion for sweet fruit,
I file restraining order against Death
who wants to help me generate new life,
but I am happy in my forest hut
reading the last book my god-soul once wrote.

Startled at vision of the Wanderer,
whose time-mapped visage of assertive faith
smiles back at me from mirror of the mind,
I hide bright halo shining on my head
with flashing cables of the world wide web
to prove my true street credibility.

Inspired by words of blood in holy books
to find the Garden of the Unicorn,
I stand in middle of the busy road
and wave to faceless people driving past
because no creature in this world can last
except for our first god, the humming toad.

When I feel lost in haze of innocence
that shrouds rugged hills of Arcadia,
the one-eyed Wanderer of Anywhere
provides advice with riddles of the fool
who always knows more than the haughty king
because only the weak claim right to rule.

If Odin rides the train over the Alps
to visit Shrine of Mary by the lake,
he may be startled by epiphany
that Womb of Woman generates new souls,
so he tours television studios
to preach the gospel of the caring smile.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus and Odin walk about the city of lost souls to give food and clothing to the homeless disenfranchised by the capitalist system of win or lose.

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

Quick Ruin Of Our Age
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

When death attempts to realign the clock
through subtle syncopation of lamplight,
I sell useless treasures of crumbled hope
that drift in cold wind with unfolded sheep
while children wander beyond the frontier
to prove paradise remains when time cracks.

I build booth in swamp of reluctant prayer
to swim at ease in waters of despair
which proves soul of the world still animates
mortal humans striving against regret
to become one spirit with the Great Being
who walks invisible in singing fields.

Through glory of the Great Awakening
I seek to comprehend vast Mind of God
that teems thick with billions of self-named souls
who join discourse of blind philosophers
to analyze true nature of the self
when I ascend on winding stairs of hope.

Invisible to eyes of mortal gods
who meet every month in the time-locked church,
I talk about our pilgrimage to Hell
in grand tradition of fake heritage
that drives our bodies to wear naked clothes
discarded by the jester king of faith.

Eroded by quick ruin of our age,
that transforms fair things of our tearful pride
to bleak consumption of hot desert sand,
our world view readjusts its paradigm
from ziggurat to castle to starship
through which I will investigate the world.

I search through every city left on Earth
to find original framework of fate
since ancient temples are now empty tombs
beside the sacred river that still flows
long after our ancestors turn to dust
so we admire strange grandeur of decay.

Brave idols, ruined by harsh hand of time,
call out my name with ache of divine minds
each time I drive past library of ghosts
on my way to work in the marble bank
where I map beauty of this world in tales
that hide where saints and martyrs party wild.

Caress porphyry heart of robot god
to wake his passion with systemic code
since we inscribe our secret fantasies
on marble plates erected along walls
which may reveal clandestine parables
that always fool the poor to strive for wealth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus excavates quick ruin of our age to survey psychic landscape of our global mythology which glorifies the robot clone of King Midas the thief.

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

Water Sings About Life
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

The intense way water sings about life
may seem strange to the human without ears
who steals pieces of the puzzle from death
to build collective bridge of happiness
so wanderers may cross the dark abyss
that proves the blue sky always understands.

Inhaling frantic hope to evade death,
Marcella runs along the dusty road
forever toward the house of broken doors
till she floats up into the lattice sky
and hangs suspended from hand of the tree
that laughs with crack of thunder when she wakes.

Whatever she says to the humble wall,
that readjusts itself with shifting words,
may vanish in sad silence of new books
that no one ever reads till end of time,
yet someone always knocks on her front door
with jar of something they would like to sell.

Elected to manage the farming town
her ancestors colonized with the gun,
Marcella runs the world from city hall
by selling water from the serpent well
as if heroic deeds are eulogized
by the glass-faced princess of everywhere.

After filling one hundred books with words
that hum with laughter of the summer rain,
Marcella walks around the broken house
one thousand times to find the secret door
that leads her to the room of howling wind
as if she could reverse the curse of fate.

When she floats in the great ocean at dawn
to become drop of water in the flood
that cleanses excess sorrow from the land,
she finds her darkness enclosed in her heart,
yet still Marcella weaves new coronet
from thorn-sharp stems of roses she must wear.

Selling gold coffin of the vampire god
to the movie star who always plays king,
Marcella gathers sunlight with frail hands
in brave experiment to fool cruel death,
but children never come home from their school
so she lies under bridge of fate and cries.

Based on how hungry people calculate
pride through manufactured nobility,
Marcella counts the many shades of blue
that gleam from restless sorrow of sea waves
so she can frame the nothingness of death
with beautiful romance tales no one lives.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus asks Marcella on a date, so they meet at the Promised Land amusement park where they listen to people singing in the fields of crops.

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

No Faithful Penelope
© Surazeus
2026 08 16

Far removed from mundane concerns of life,
Emma floats in cloud of beautiful thoughts,
envisioning how people interact
with creative wisdom of selfless love
to help each other grow and thrive in joy,
though men drop bombs on the town where she lives.

Crouching low as she glides along brick walls
to avoid explosions of sharp debris,
Emma slips into the small grocery store
where she buys butter, flour, eggs, and milk,
then swipes her credit card with grateful grin,
and hurries home to bake bread for the week.

If time dissolves her happy memories,
Emma sits at the piano and plays
hymns her grandmother taught her how to play
long before the days of exploding bombs,
and sings as if this hour of strange despair
may be the last she sings with bitter joy.

Safe in lush garden of Hesperides,
Euterpe plays the lyre of Mercury
while Epicurus shows with diagrams
how things are formed from atoms in the void,
then she eats apple slice on toasted bread
and listens to drone of planes in the sky.

Painting people without faces or souls
in orthodox religious-icon style,
Emma hums and pets her frightened cat
as buildings shake from blasts of falling bombs,
then paints silver planes that blind angels fly
dropping bombs on cathedral of her faith.

When sly Petryshko arrives with warm beer,
that he swiped from unmanned gas station store,
Emma lounges with him on the back porch,
and asks if he will tell her once again
about his youthful trip to Pakistan
where he hiked the Hindu Kush mountain range.

Explosion from eyes of the laughing ghost
knocks both of them stunned on the thirsty grass,
so Emma cradles his head in her lap
and smiles through tears at how his silver eyes
gaze joyfully blank at Heaven of hope
where he plays chess with Gabriel in the park.

Since I am no faithful Penelope,
waiting in vain for my Odysseus
to return with wounded heart from noble war,
Emma whispers alone beside his grave,
I will not write your name on the wood cross
that marks where you lie in my secret heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus visits Emma at her house in the suburb of Kyiv, bringing bags of cabbage and carrots, so she cooks stew while they talk about surrealist art.

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

Journey To Our Goals
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Though shapes of words have lost their glistening
from over-thoughts of motionless desire,
my voice molds fluid disbelief from light
in solid symbols of harmonious truths
concealed in potent melodies of faith
designed by skeptics to describe our souls.

There comes no time when we should cease our walk
through empty shadows of our endless minds
because we love to feel assertive force
of constant motion when our blood flows hot
through pulsing clock of timeless memories
that motivate our journey to our goals.

Still far across this nameless wilderness
of wind-swept hills, where rivers silverate
oppressive sorrows that would trap our hearts,
we strive to overcome dire obstacles
with heart-enchanting songs of timeless truth
that bleeds from golden sunset gleam of fear.

Without attentive focus of our hearts
on distant gleam of Heaven beyond time,
we might now wander lost in Somewhere Land
except for guidance of the cloud-bold hand
that gestures omens of our providence
forth ever at elliptic blare of winds.

Strange empire of steel towers sprouts from graves
where bones of our ancestors sing of faith
in wake of our progressive journey west
that rises tall from humble homes we build
till sermon of our free democracy
rings clear on duty-darkened mountainsides.

Through ceaseless motion of transcendent strife
our vision dominates old tyrant states
with principles of liberty and justice
for every person born from womb of hope
till tyranny sprouts from our bitter hearts
at shock of horror from our power trips.

Hearts twisted back in devil-tangled fear
at quick expansion of conceptual games
that crowds vast chess board of our social state
with players who disrupt course of success,
we vainly raise harsh legal laws of fate
in weak attempt to fortify our state.

When Orpheus leads us from the Underworld
with soul-stirring anthem of noble pride
for deeds our ancestors accomplished well,
we hold hands with our faceless energies
in bid to rise from cave of primal rage
so we dance free in forest of fruit trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus eats banana and ponders colonial expansion of corporate businesses in demon-haunted jungles where angels draw cryptic maps to the Promised Land.

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

Ghosts Of River Stones
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Because golden butterfly of my heart
still inhabits timeless Arcadia,
untouched by concerns of urbanity,
I summon ghosts of river stones with song
that swirls from abyss of my aching heart
to form stars that dream my eternal self.

Awake through epiphany of this hour,
my mind invents mundane significance
that never exists in atomic things
so I assign weird names to things I see
which helps us understand how we should feel
as we stroll shyly among the fruit trees.

This Nature we perceive as pure and good
our brains invent from scattered memories
that we assemble into grand world view
so we can celebrate his vibrant being
which generates our conscious sense of self
as our bodies thrive in matrix of dream.

We strip dreams of external reference
so they will bend upon themselves in wings
of weird songs we express with pulsing breath
through brave intention to become our words
when state of emptiness negates our will
that fuels feedback loop of positive love.

Thus we pursue alternative venues
through clever maneuver of leaping laughter
that hollows our exploding hearts of fear
so we declare great things we dare achieve
when we become moonlight in leafless trees
that knows where we will lie down when we die.

Awed on high mountain of pastoral peace,
I gaze at vast metropolitan maze
where countless towers, built of steel-framed glass,
glimmer eerily with electric lights
which emanate weird psychedelic glow
as heaven our ancestors never envisioned.

Inspired by beauty in this maze of towers,
frantic seismograph of my eager heart
transcribes in arcane riddles of respect
conceptual gyre of psychic lunacy
that oscillates between spirit and flesh
to weave complex paradigm of new myths.

Empyrean vision of my dreamless brain
compiles all human myths of clever gods
through sensual verity of psychic tones
so I multiply myself with human masks
that wakes every soul who has ever lived
in temporary node of my god brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus wanders along rivers in Arcadia where ghosts of river stones hum in harmony with conceptual hymn of his countless mortal selves in our minds.

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

Nothing More Than Moonlight
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

To achieve fullness of being alive
through tense serenity of nothingness,
Godith hums wordless melody of angst
in eerie tones of mist-enshrouded woods
that wake ghosts of the dead from tombless graves
while waulking woolen cloth with her bare feet.

Engaged through spiritual apprenticeship
in learning wordless songs of ancient stars,
Godith gathers flowers from foggy glen
where ravens name things that do not exist
with sepulchral voice of aesthetic truth
that seeks to purge the heart of artifice.

This stone she holds in callused hand of faith
is no revelation of hidden meaning
beyond mind-expanding epiphany
that glows with presence of the timeless hour
when Godith wakes from suddenness of love
with modern impulse to name everything.

Through maximum expression of the self
that contains multitudes of unnamed souls,
and minimum conflation of the self
dissolved in purity of aching song,
Godith transcends both opposites to float
along continuum of being awake.

Annoyed that she must express ache of hope
with human language in limiting words,
Godith affirms force of assertive aim
to name mindless things with word of insight
that causes things to glow with cosmic mind
so she creates her person with sly speech.

As she approaches far vanishing point
that separates immediate sense of self
with timeless vibrancy of divine thought,
Godith reduces singularity
of our vast world to garden of her heart
where things exist because she gives them names.

Confined within conceptual walls of speech,
where spirit of her brain frames with bold words
elusive reference of ideal truth,
Godith binds fluid memories of time
with linear narrative for acts she plays
as she performs her role in game of life.

While gazing at moonlight shining through trees,
Godith attempts to design metaphor
relating peaceful glow of silent light
to how her body feels with pulse of hope,
but she decides with laughter of calm faith
the moonlight is nothing more than moonlight.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus visits small stone cottage on glen river shore where Godith welcomes him with fresh-baked haggis and blackberry pie since the white raven knows.

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

Star As The Suffering Man
© Surazeus
2026 08 15

Despite strange joy of reawakening,
through struggle to transcend egg of the mind,
James stumbles half awake in mirrored hall
where shadow of his non-existent ghost
explains new formulas for gaining wealth,
since we succeed despite our messy lives.

Though Death stalks our steps from day of our birth,
we ignore dark shadow of final doom,
James mumbles at reflection of his soul,
then drinks orange juice from skull of Nemesis
whose letters keep arriving in the mail
long after she climbed cliff of happiness.

Or did she fall into wild sea of change,
James ponders as he drinks coffee of hope,
then stands in drizzle on the asphalt street
to wait for the bus full of nameless ghosts
who ride along Plutonian shore of fate
to work all day in clanking factories.

Perhaps they will make commercial of faith
in which I star as the Suffering Man,
James smirks while swallowing aspirin pills
to numb terrible pain that threads his soul
with humbling anguish of the devil laugh
that strips his spirit of its proverb shield.

Adjusting screws with sprocket of his heart,
contrary to alignment check of faith,
James assembles car engine of desire
to build time machine that carries our souls
faster across unmeasured space of fear
so we can find elusive pots of gold.

Strolling down Seventh Avenue at dusk
past flashing neon signs that lure his heart
to smokey bars where country angels dance,
James notices the white horse of his fate
floats huge beside him on wings of desire,
so he decides to run for President.

Proclaiming new agenda of his heart
before huge crowd of people in the hall,
James outlines steps of action he will take
supporting businesses with tax incentives,
then waves as thousands chant his name with pride,
since we succeed despite our messy lives.

After he loses on election night,
rejected by the people of the land,
James sits in wood chair by the mountain lake
catching fish with Jesus Christ at his side
as they plot revolution of the rich
to enslave the people with credit debt.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus takes James to the middle of the lake on the fishing boat where he explains his vision of equal rights and liberty through justice for every soul.

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

Dynasty Of Cloud-Born Gods
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

Tickled by how often people will claim
they are descended from some royal chief,
I hide my own bloodline from jeweled crowns
to prove I am more farmer that court clown,
for hungry people digging in thick dirt
outnumber people lounging on gold clouds.

Flight far of anguished hearts on raven wings
expends fraught energy my soul would save
for braving storms of spirit-wounding words
against stone wall of paradise I build
to guard my frail mind from oppressive greed
when hordes of hungry wanderers steal fruit.

Impulse to build strong castle of high walls
drives me to carve huge stones from jagged cliffs
and stack my sorrows straight in measured lines
that block aggressive theft of sacred fruit
so I fight thieves with sword I forge from fear
to found brave dynasty of cloud-born gods.

All humans, equal in hunger to eat
nutritious fruit that sprouts from pungent soil,
start game of power on similar ground,
but some succeed in producing more fruit
they sell for coins of metal stamped with pride
to crown themselves brave kings with right to kill.

All people alive today on spinning Earth
descend from more successful clans who guard
productive fields of crops and groves of trees
through strict cooperation in their roles,
well-organized by wisest of their group
who manages their family institute.

We are descendants of successful thieves
who work together to construct high walls
surrounding garden where they follow rules
designed to manage individual will
with shared needs of communal fortitude,
or risk getting expelled from paradise.

If you find royal kings in jeweled crowns
high in lofty court of your family tree,
remember they kill threats to their state power
when they eradicate the hungry poor
so their children populate empty farms
to colonize Earth with superior ways.

We are descendants of those wealthy gangs
who build stone castles from bones of dead gods,
then force the poor to worship reverently
mortal man who founded their dynasty
as God incarnate on Earth in his son
so they claim right to rule our humble lives.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus tells everyone he meets that he is descended from the humble fisherman who feeds thousands of people every day from sea of his heart.

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

Library Shelf Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

When I follow John to Strawberry Fields
forever on the signless road of faith,
he shows me new tomb where Orpheus lies,
so I turn on tape recorder of truth
to record prophecies his skull decries
which sound like whispers of the wind in leaves.

Once I figure out secret code of gods,
I look for John, whose wizard glasses gleam
with television screens, to ask him why
humans believe they are angels in flesh
who have fallen from changeless realm of Heaven,
and live stuck in these fragile mental forms.

Since John is Christ in the sycamore tree,
who waits for Homeless Prophet of Lost Faith
to pass by on foot-worn Yellow Brick Road,
I wander over to the grocery store
where Walt and Allen study hieroglyphs
carved in formulas of fate on glass doors.

Wearing mask of Joker for Halloween,
John gives me brand-new Cinderella dress,
so we hold hands and knock on fear-locked doors,
smeared with blood of the sacrificial lamb,
then Cybele invites us in to eat
cookies and ice cream from the Holy Grail.

Before midnight bells toll for nameless ghosts,
we catch the crosstown bus to Neverland
where John learns how to shoot the blunderbuss
before I bake four and twenty blackbirds
in dainty dish King Richard never eats
since he gives bread and honey to the poor.

When John in white robe of the desert hermit
asks me to imagine the world as one,
no Heaven above us, no Hell below,
I cook delicious meals of healthy hope
at the elementary school of the brave
who try to escape on the Ship of Fools.

If we are not who we pretend to be,
we can wear mask of who we want to play,
so John writes names of the dead in his book
he hides on library shelf of my heart
while human empires rise and fall in waves
of social revolutions against greed.

When John wakes from weird dream on Penny Lane
that he incarnates soul of Odysseus,
he finds me selling poppies from gold tray
because I feel as if I am in the play
where Hamlet gives me letters of his love,
so I gather flowers by the River Styx.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus joins John on the rooftop where they play hymns to the gods and goddesses of the silver screen whose ghosts gather in Strawberry Fields forever.

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

World Money Empire
© Surazeus
2026 08 14

Though clouds of revolutionary change
glow gold above vast maze of city streets,
we go about our business to maintain
social structures founded on principles
that all human beings are created equal
while homeless angels wander streets at dawn.

Network of water pipes beneath our streets
gleam with blood from the holy lamb of faith
to weave our bodies in communal dream
where homeless angels by telephone poles
prophesy fall of our World Money Empire
as Greed and Death play chess games for our souls.

Hephaestus extracts from caves of desire
minerals for constructing time machines
which we all drive on highway of ambition
in race across the waste land of blind ghosts
for who arrives at the Promised Land first
where Faceless God on throne of judgment sleeps.

Sitting at his right hand in castle court,
Jesus nudges Jupiter with left hand
so bearded deity splutters awake
from weird dream where he rides the Horse of Troy
in brave bid to unite nations of Earth
in World Money Empire of social pride.

Thus shall we deem the victors of world war
secret agents of Old Man in the Cloud
who laughs at fierce games of humanity
over who controls fruitful Tree of Knowledge
uprooted by brave investors to build
shopping mall where clowns entertain our kids.

Though Phoebus attempts to organize facts
in coherent world view that can account
for every effect from assertive cause,
which allows us to predict clear results,
he almost loses sight of his main goal
through messages from opposed institutes.

There never has been one center of power
around which all humanity may work
through common focus on shared social growth,
which leaves good angels homeless in the streets
where they sit on the marble steps of fate
with all their possessions in paper bags.

As President of our World Money Empire,
Jehovah plays golf in Elysian Fields
with Krishna, Shangdi, and Odin in game
for who will control hungry human souls
who labor to maintain their dignity
till their bodies fertilize crops of wheat.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus aims rifle at Jehovah and mouths bang, making that old god and his golf buddies chuckle in amusement as war jets streak toward the Promised Land.

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

Misty Hills Of Verturia
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

Home to misty hills of Verturia
my heart guides me through tangled woods of time
where I build fortress of stone on the mound
heaped over bones of my ancestral soul
where I pluck gold crab apples from long limbs
to ferment honey cider in clay jars.

Wrapped in deer-skin gown of cozy warmth,
Eithni sits on square stone of honest faith
and stirs bubbling honey cider of truth
in old dented cauldron of burnished brass
that emanates sweet scent of pungent hope,
safe in misty hills of Verturia.

Lost in misty hills of Verturia,
young Eardwulf, dressed in bear-fur cloak and hood,
wanders tangled woods of crab apple trees
to find cove where he left his small wood boat,
then stumbles in small ring of standing stones
where green-eyed woman stirs cauldron of juice.

Without concern for what may not be real
in vibrant swirl of floating moon-white mist,
Eardwulf kneels on wet grass before her seat
and offers bag of hazelnuts with smile
of calm sincerity from humble hope,
brave in misty hills of Verturia.

Tense in misty hills of Verturia,
Eithni squints through dim haze of pulsing smoke
to analyze with cautious dread of pain
parameters of safety he provides,
then fills his wood cup with delicious juice,
and roasts nuts in soft crackling flames of trust.

When Eardwulf curls to sleep in chilly wind,
Eithni holds blade of sharp obsidian
pressed to his neck to check his danger state,
but when he opens eyes, and stares at her,
he grins and kisses her with tender care,
calm in misty hills of Verturia.

Lithe in misty hills of Verturia,
Eithni clasps his head and thigh in delight
as their bodies writhe in tense ecstasy,
embraced with creative passion of love,
then cuddle blushing with pleasure of trust
as they teach each other their secret names.

Weaving vines around ring of standing stones,
Eardwulf constructs secure shelter of faith,
so Eithni guides their hunt in wooded vale
to kill wild boar and fill bags with herbs,
then hum in harmony to eat and kiss,
home in misty hills of Verturia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus welcomes Eardwulf when he returns from across the sea with green-eyed bride whose long raven-black hair swirls in innocent wind of truth.

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

Whole Symmetry Of Accuracy
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

In arts of poetry and cartography
I love whole symmetry of accuracy,
so I arrange lithe words in sentences
and adjust points and lines in feature sets
to better represent reality
in virtual model that mirrors our world.

Through migrant ache of curiosity
for mandatory training of the heart,
my mind explores strange contours of our world
with intense focus on each graceful curve
defining bounds of each material form
so I sense essence glowing from its core.

Assertive passion of the humble heart,
which motivates my mission to create
time-animated atlas of world history,
fuels steady progress of detailed exams
to reassemble fractured dreams of truth
in pulsing globe of conscious entities.

Through strict arrangement of fraught elements
containing concepts of personal growth,
I channel pain to laughter of sweet song
by rising up from crippling angst of fear
to dance on frantic wings of grief-bought joy
and thus transform rage to enlightenment.

Once I expand scope of my consciousness
beyond limits of the Underworld cave,
I transform my soul from Orcus of Greed
to Orpheus of Knowledge that mute death
is final dissolution of the soul
when its programming brain disintegrates.

How passionately with ache of glowing eyes
we temporary beings of hungry flesh
strive to transcend our transient state of being,
as if we clumps of atoms could evade
finality of death, when we arrange
tales of survival in religious creeds.

When paternal seed sparks maternal egg,
genetic code provides strict blueprint
for hope to organize material sparks
so pattern of our corporeal success
shapes matter in body-evolving form
as we strive to become the God we worship.

As one artificial world generator
of many who have designed our world view,
I organize tales of heroic deeds
in virtual model of our changing world
to illustrate timeless character tropes
who provide template for us to live well.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus presents virtual model of the Earth for sale at booth in the International Geospatial Symposium at University of Zarathia.

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

Frankenstein Of Our Selves
© Surazeus
2026 08 13

I will never relate confusing tale
of that many-faced man who is not real
because his spirit lingers in all books
as every character singers have formed
from tangled mess of their old memories
that wanders as Frankenstein of our Selves.

No quixotic journey of the brave fool
depicts his existential alienation
through discombobulated experience,
trapped in cultural entropy of faith,
better than his gnostic quest to find
one real self in clutter of his fake selves.

While standing in spotlight of social games
on stage in Theater of the Absurd,
the many-faced man with the Wand of Hermes
declaims Plural Being of the fractured mind
which he assembles in puzzle of tales
with masks scattered in vast Maze of Dead Gods.

If he employs intellectual caprice
to feel himself through his multiple selves,
he might annihilate the private self
to release the Cosmic Self of Ungod
from varied fragments of the diamond egg
which encloses our entire universe.

To analogize transcendence of self,
he detaches mythic mind from his frame
of pulsing flesh that hungers for sweet fruit,
trapped in our disenchanted world of truth,
when he designs new mental surrogate
to bear his soul to Heaven on Word Wings.

Through prerogative of self-sacrifice,
the many-faced man, without wit or wiles,
liberates immortal soul of his genes
from temporary body of his self
to wake divine consciousness of Ungod
in sponge brain of his arrogant respect.

Opposing paradigms of mental states
present outward explosion of one self
that finds all other selves inside oneself,
who inwardly dissolves the mortal self
to pure dream language of the Never Self,
though fraught with contradictions of not-self.

Thus through expressions of the many-self,
driven by paradox of our dream quest,
the many-faced man still seeks to achieve
puzzling serenity of Nothingness
by expanding scope with fullness of Being
till he becomes each self who ever lives.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds all his selves scattered across the multiverse and merges them all into one Cosmic Self of Ungod through enchanting hymn of his aching heart.

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

Gold Hypnotic Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

The way piano notes cause crows to laugh
reveals old painting of the dreamy sky
dripping tears in crippled hands of the girl
who waits for someone to return from war,
intense with shadow of half-open door
that proves she secretly hopes for revenge.

Brick buildings on the hazy boulevard
conceal small broken hearts of honest men
who write their stories with blood on the wall
through formulas of disentangled codes
which calculate despair of open roads
no matter obstacles of irony.

She finds abandoned shopping cart of hope
in field of grass behind the lonely school
where sad grasshoppers modulate the day
with angst of heart-enchanting melodies
that should provide blueprint for psychic keys
which she could use to open brave church doors.

When stoic toad with gold hypnotic eyes
chants Psalm of the Shepherd in evening glow,
three school girls skip on the yellow brick road
with plan to wake dead gods of arrogance
from tangled roots of trees on river shore
where dolphin brings shy Arion from the deep.

I call to wise Inanna on high hill
with wounded heart of stark sincerity
in fraught request for honest rulership
since gangs of angry thieves corrupt our state
against the sacred law of falling leaves
which tangle naive hearts with chosen fate.

Far out in waste land of calm nonchalance
dark shadow of some nameless wanderer
slants sideways through expansive grid of hope
that portends revolutionary change
through sudden readjustment of our values
that we must seal with sacrificial blood.

Devotions of his ice-heart streaked by dawn
should sanctify attention still denied
by star-eyed pilgrims in the thrumming dark,
but he decides to fortify his mind
against bright menace of the silent tree
that stands guard in abandoned castle court.

Entranced by gold hypnotic eyes of truth,
that spiral with one trillion galaxies,
bold Arion stands on stage in castle court
and strums oak harp of David with deft hands,
then sings grand epic of his killing spree
that makes him writhe in guilty agony.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus invites Arion to his literary party in his loft in Greenwich Village where they smoke scarlet flowers of the pristine truth while changing melodies of psychic math.

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

Wand Of The Weeping Clown
© Surazeus
2026 08 12

Regret cannot stop how snowflakes descend
on delicate wings of unspoken words,
though death consumes old silence of our souls,
so we transform our pain to dreams of truth
confirming how we analyze each choice
which redesigns tone of our social voice.

No more shall we expend false energy
to measure psychic mirror of the sea
which frames how we perceive our social needs
to share tales of our private suffering
with tender words of mental reckoning
contrived to manage how we choose our death.

Thus I shall join grand convoy of the lost
in journey on lone highway of the ghost
who wanders somewhere we have never been
to show the way beyond fake paradise
as if we hunger for dramatic truths
to reprogram our minds with innocence.

If I pause outside window of my room,
while arranging snake eggs in Book of Doom,
I may glance through lace curtains of my heart
to see the Fairy Queen in silk nightgown
who offers me wand of the Weeping Clown
so I decide to play cartographer.

Another king is set to come and go
in naked anguish of electric snow,
so I sign with name of my inner child
new executive orders which assert
children must learn how to build house of bones
so we can draw map of the changing world.

When Jesus finds me lounging in the cave
where shadows of things flicker on the wall,
he appoints me to perform solemn role
heading new-formed Department of the Soul,
so I search for lost people of the world
and give them identification cards.

Now that each soul is legal to exist
as hungry spirit in land of the free,
we can return to the business at hand
of building wagons with crystalized wheels
so we can fly on wings of Icarus
above ever-changing maze of dead gods.

No longer disenfranchised by concern,
expressed by mechanics and librarians,
we follow Humble Prophet of the Cow
who bears reforged wand of the Weeping Clown
to open new residential account
at the water business office of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus creates new wand from yew wood with a raven feather inside and a hexagonal emerald for the Weeping Clown to attends Oberon Wizard Academy.

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