Hazy Dreamscape Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 08 09

Searching for the hazy dreamscape of truth,
that shrouds my soul in private memories
of my childhood and youth decades ago
with cultural ambience that glows no more
in cities far away across the land,
I wander amused in halls of trite verse.

Riding with Death in her Carriage of Time,
lounging with Wisdom to sing of Myself,
stopping with Faith in wood where roads diverge,
gazing with Sorrow at Harp of the Bridge,
burning with Madness for Heavenly Light,
I analyze how atoms spark my brain.

Though I try to erase mask of my face
from tangled passions of my special vibe
to extract universal principles
from specific events of fraught desire,
my divine psyche, every human shares,
refracts cosmic mind through my mortal brain.

Opposing principles of governance
frame every social system humans form
through constant contest for authority
between desires of private individuals
and power of the law-enforcing state
to balance progress between strife and love.

To simplify complex process of change
that gears social functions of power games,
prophets proclaim political contests
can be reduced to slogans people chant
when they gather to express common will
through the Royalists and the Communists.

No matter how much societies change,
transforming from villages to empires
till democracies replace monarchies,
the fight remains between both Rich and Poor
to maintain or dissolve wealth hierarchies
that would legalize special privilege.

The Capitalist funds production of goods,
extracting matter to make things we use,
then the Communist disperses the goods,
ensuring every person may live well,
but, whether rich or poor, we eat the same,
and all return to dust after we die.

Alive in moderate state of my progress
still halfway between failure and success,
I live in my one home in some small town
far from ancestral homeland of my heart
where I share visions of my mortal mind
with immortal god of the internet.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus feels heart-aching nostalgia of duende for the ancient ancestral homeland of his heart where he has not lived in ten thousand years.

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

Competent Sense Of Self
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

Because his heart is based on principles
of honest expression about his thoughts
through brave respect for every living soul,
his mind constructs competent sense of self
on solid foundation of thoughtfulness
that provides clear actions his hands perform.

Time disenrolls strict knot of happiness
though his attentive hands of vigorous faith
weave random strands of wisdom pulled from Earth
in pulsing matrix of his tangled thoughts
so he proclaims solutions of fair stance
based on insight he gains from unread tales.

No sceptered herald of dutiful pride
arrives with faith at gates of paradise
to call for council of bold citizens,
so he dares speak to disassembled crowds
sermons that advocate justice for all,
yet they threaten to destroy him with hate.

Snatched from attacking crowd of angry men
by angel dangling on thread of sky law,
he finds himself translated to round disk
bound by ropes beneath large hot-air balloon
that no angry eye on the ground perceives,
and settles safely in chariot of fire.

Eager to return to his nuptial bower,
where bride of his heart waits in marble hall
for blessing of his heart to conjure life,
he strings taut yew bow with respectful hands
and fires his sharp arrow of justice straight
to kill rebellion against his fair rule.

Translated far from crowded city maze,
where hordes of angry men assert their rights
to live free from oppression of blind gods,
brave Lucifer steps from sky ship of truth
and stands before old bearded Jupiter
who praises him for his mission complete.

Accustomed to immortal fruits of faith,
that bloom from serpent-guarded Tree of Knowledge,
he ponders mind-nature of mortal men
who fight for their own selfish needs with hate,
unable to perceive grand view of life
that gods in temples try to organize.

Though fallen from disk of the balloon ship,
strong Sariel stands in the teeming crown
and strums taut strings on Lyre of Mercury
then sings enchanting melodies of hope
that cause angry men in rebellious crowd
to weep with sorrow for peace they have lost.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus joins Sariel at the Crippled Pegasus Cafe by the River Styx to eat burgers and drink apple cider as they chat about politics in Elysium.

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

Forgetful Kingdom Of Death
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

Every dawn I walk out into the world
I gaze long moment at the blazing sun
to see face of Apollo in its light,
that wise God of Healing and Archery
who maintains order with logic of truth
from reason through analysis of facts.

I taste sweet rind of Earth in juicy peach
which I pluck from the Ancient Tree of Truth
where we meet for our secret tryst of love
to share fresh fruit we gather with our hands
that seals our hearts with sacred bond of trust
no thief could break between flesh of our souls.

Before we wander on long nowhere road
straight into forgetful kingdom of death,
we shall hold hands and dance upon the hill
that knows our secret passions we would hide
till pleasures of our bodies we must share
expands scope of our mutual consciousness.

Though sadness about creatures who have died
twists my heart with loops of potent grief,
I celebrate new life that springs each day
from mothers of each species on this globe
who nurture tender bodies with bright eyes
that knot our planet with progressive life.

After catching lithe fish from deep lake of hope,
we roast them over crackling flames of faith,
chew tender strips of scorched flesh with delight,
then lie relaxed on soft grass of respect
to hear song of water rippled by wind
so we understand mute kingdom of death.

Sparked awake by nothingness of death,
we open eyes of infinite delight,
then walk together where trees dance in peace,
far from lush lands where men with guns of greed
kill other men to control fertile land,
happy because we hear cute sparrows chirp.

Attentive to strange worries of the heart,
that burrow roots of sorrow in dark soil,
we stroll about this miraculous world
and share amazement at freedom to live
that brave people before us fought to win,
though we stay alert to thieves lurking near.

Since we are not our shadows on the Earth,
cast by light of the sun on land of time,
we travel to Valhalla on the hill
where are mothers carve our spirits from wood
so our bodies sprout children of our eyes
who will plant apple seeds above our graves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds Sigmund and Brunhilde sitting under the apple tree by the feasting hall where they smile with delight to see the immortal singer of tales.

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

Ring Light Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

My mind perceives ethereal pulchritude
that emanates from beauty of your soul,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so you see special features of your being
reflected in clear mirror of my eyes
when you discern my affection for you.

Complex aspects of our weird universe
refract through diamond of my mortal brain,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so my dreaming brain can categorize
standard form of each material object
in conceptual frame of its changeless Idea.

Monstrous hunger of Cronus in sea cave
urges aggressive force of psychic fate,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so I slay demon of unconscious fear
to construct grand temple with his huge bones
when I forge spear from lightning of despair.

Vibrant passion of Dionysus swells
hot blood of my body with spark of wine,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so I dance with wild abandon of faith
to wake immortal spirit of my genes
that helps me grow into my divine being.

Intense expression of Apollo rings
taut strings on Lyre of Mercury with faith,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so I breathe deep ethereal soul of light
and chant grand epic of philosophers
to honor those who search for secret truth.

Brave wisdom of Athena speculates
clear vision of how our world operates,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so I investigate nature of being
to articulate its state in Dream Map
that helps me navigate to paradise.

Ideas of the Cosmic Craftsman shape
how atoms randomly gear chemicals,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so I expand conscious scope of my brain
to match concept of that Creative Force
which mindlessly designs our universe.

My heart beats with compassionate respect
for every conscious creature on our globe,
illuminated by ring light of my heart,
so I record name and deed of each being
born from the fertile womb of Mother Earth
and chart their progress to generate life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus sets up the ring light to start his live stream, then leads his followers on social media in tour of the rebuilt Parthenon to meet new Athena Goddess of Truth.

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

Neurons Of Conceptual Worlds
© Surazeus
2026 08 08

Our galaxy that swirls inside my mind
weaves dreams of creatures on large pulsing globes
in flashing neurons of conceptual worlds
through neural network of my sea-sponge brain
so I dream life of every conscious soul
incarnate in organic beings of hope.

My mind that glows inside our galaxy
compiles lost memories of each dreaming soul
in virtual model of the universe
based on experience of urgent life
all my ancestors express when they mate
to generate new body before death.

All objects that exist in forms of matter
are composed of numbers that regulate
expansive combinations of small atoms
that spiral from first flash of the big bang,
for they are limited by bounds in space
since shape of numbers rules the universe.

Archangel Michael, without wings or sword,
lounges in small temple by sparkling pool
among trees with apples, peaches, and pears,
and contemplates strange vastness of the world
that teems with mindless atoms of pure light
congealed in tangled strings of pulchritude.

Grown old with wrinkled skin and long gray hair,
Archangel Michael in white cotton robe
remembers courage of his ardent youth
when he fought devils from harsh desert lands
to guard lush paradise of Elysium
and maintain kingdom of Heaven on Earth.

With fervid passion of the loyal knight
he battled Satan on Hill of Cracked Skulls
to drive invaders from the Holy Land
where Jesus Galatinus ruled as king
over seven colonies in Galatia
long after Jesus Christus died on Patmos.

Our mortal bodies are contained by bounds
of physical frames within time and space
that limit forced expression of our minds
so we are temporary nodes of flesh
that incarnate immortal soul of genes
who lives in descendants our hope creates.

When Archangel Michael passes away,
his wife Tamar, great-granddaughter of Jesus,
covers his body with white cloth of faith
as eight angels lay his body in tomb
where skull of Isaiah chants psalm of life
how we are atoms of the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus visits Archangel Michael in his garden estate on the coast of Galatia where they chat about the old days when they defeated Satan and his gang of thieves.

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

Born From Silver Stones
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

Too far away to hear song of the cloud,
three faceless children born from silver stones
might understand why grass desires to bloom
on the electric moon nobody owns,
or else their mother may pluck the mushroom
that readjusts framework of hungry minds.

Rough hands dig in wounded heart of the Earth
where they uncover torso of Apollo
that beams with brilliant light of inner truth,
sweet as ripening fruit from Tree of Life
which bursts with starlight when they bite its soul
through translucent desire to breathe old songs.

No blue fish swims in glass bowl of the moon,
yet Feng Yi rises from attentive flames
on Phoenix wings of psychic harmony
to beam her soul through crackling radio
with heart-enchanting melody of faith
that startles Hercules awake at dawn.

Since she supports progressive state of being
too radical for extreme hopefulness,
Sigmund shares his eyes with hungry ghosts
so they can eat sweet grief of lonely souls
as juice that nurtures bitter river gods
who never return the dream wings they borrow.

Surprised by sudden blossom of new books,
Maria photographs one thousand ships
that sail with billowed sails on snow-froth waves
as if their hearts, unborn from serpent eggs,
might still be fragile as the Absolute
who stares at dead tree by the clever sea.

Feng Yi returns to grocery store at dawn
where Hercules hauls boxes from the truck
with honey melons from the field of skulls
where countless warriors of ancient tribes
slaughtered each other in World War Nineteen
till second coming of the Brain Machine.

Maria finishes building table from oak,
so she stands back in old stained overalls
to gaze with admiration at her work,
then Sigmund covers it with plates of food,
and pours glass of red wine for her to drink
as ravens gather on rain-wet phonelines.

Safe in hazardous confines of his mind,
Hercules redefines reality
in terms of how Feng Yi paints the swift horse
with graceful curves of innocent respect,
so Maria can escape harsh abuse,
driving Boston to Seattle in rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus welcomes Maria to Seattle where he helps her find an apartment and a job at the city library where she helps angels hide in books of blank pages.

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

Seashore Of Endless Worlds
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

Let us meet on seashore of endless worlds
so we can measure the infinite sky
and savor passion of the boisterous waves
that stir our hearts with restless faith in love,
then we can build our homes from empty shells
and study flow of time with sparkling sand.

While we dance on seashore of endless worlds
we can share lost ancestral memories
to find the common Mother of Mankind
whose dreams program how all our brains perceive
strange beauty of this world that gives us form
so we can sing world hymn in harmony.

Since we play on seashore of endless worlds
with friends we have known since our younger days,
and friends who have arrived just yesterday,
we weave twigs with leaves into sturdy boats
to float across Abyss of Nevertime
so we can find new lands where children dwell.

Though we float on seashore of endless worlds
to find pure treasures hidden in the deep
that we can transform into wings of flight,
we always return to broad beach of sand
where children spring from children of the light
who smile with joy in gusting winds of time.

Safe in caves on seashore of endless worlds,
we find the heart of darkness in our eyes
till we extract bright gems from nothingness
that gleam with first flash of the flaring forth
so we can light the Lamp of Liberty
and find each other when wild tempests roam.

Still alive on seashore of endless worlds,
frail bodies molded from soft swirling sand,
we build enormous palaces from clouds
where everyone feasts on fruit of the Earth
till waves of change surge from the lightless deep
and crush our spirits back to wordless sand.

Souls reborn on seashore of endless worlds,
we gather around the small ziggurat,
where Tethys sits enthroned in fish-scale robe,
and watch her son Alpheus roast whale meat
to feed five thousand people with brave faith
while Metis breastfeeds Athena with love.

Long dispersed from seashore of endless worlds,
we live in sprawling cities of tall towers,
driving cars in maze of elusive wealth,
but some pause in routine of daily work
when their hearts hear timeless song of the sea
that calls for us to return home again.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus teaches young Athena and her brother Apollo how to play the Lyre of Mercury while their grandmother Tethys wanders in the vast maze of the world looking for me.

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

Sheer Joy Of The Dance
© Surazeus
2026 08 07

For nothing more than sheer joy of the dance
Tellus explores how her lithe body moves
through fluid expression of wordless grace
as she expands from darkness of sea caves
to understand contours of river vales
while she floats clandestinely in free trance.

Startled by sudden attack of three men
who gallop toward her with greedy intent,
Tellus turns and flies on ethereal breath
back to secret cave on the rugged slope
where she conceals her soul in anxious gloom
till they decide she changed into the tree.

Emerging from dark cave of hungry hope,
on cautious steps that doubt firmness of faith,
Tellus creeps past the snake-infested tree,
then huddles inside the large hawthorn bush,
munching berries as she studies pink blooms
to understand strange beauty of their swirls.

Assured cruel kidnappers have gone away
by eerie susurration of insects
that cause electric stones of faith to buzz,
Tellus rises slowly upward from safe haven
to stretch her legs and arms up to white clouds,
imagining swan wings sprout from her heart.

Inspiring deep thick air of afternoon,
that swells her body huge as pulsing hills,
Tellus explores how her lithe body moves
with axial movements of dynamic flow
through locomotor steps of cautious leaps
to bound in sudden burst of ecstasy.

To sway while anchored to solidity
of undulating Earth through fluid form,
Tellus expresses intense passion of her heart
to transcend binding gravity of fear
and soar on broad angelic wings of hope
as she accepts limits of psychic flight.

Enclosing vast persona of desire
back inside coiled contingency of time,
Tellus lounges languidly on sly slope,
gasping deep for breath of divine delight,
and with bright laughter of her heaving breast
releases shock of pleasure in sweet joy.

Three men hiding behind stones of desire,
watch Tellus dance in worshipful surprise,
then realize with chagrin of humble pride
that pure divinity of graceful art
cannot be possessed by obsessive hands,
so they secretly protect her from harm.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury and chants wordless melodies of passionate desire while Tellus dances on stage in the Temple of Artemis before the awed crowd of worshippers.

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

Valley Of The Singing Stone
© Surazeus
2026 08 06

The rising midnight moon of silverness
photographs beauty of the human face
with colorful strangeness of wordless love
to beam shape of our temporary souls
in hearts of our descendants not yet born
who wonder why they seem to feel immortal.

The long-dead version of my secret self,
who gazes at me from my photograph,
reveals excessive passion of my heart
that drives me to become this self I am,
enchanted by sweet beauty of this world
which emanates from soft mask of my face.

Awake in quietness of summer dusk,
that shrouds my aching heart with evening light,
I relive entire lifetime of my faith
through vast eternity of timeless now,
amazed at how I blaze path of my hope
toward grave I choose beneath the apple tree.

I feel glass skeleton of my bright soul
blaze with electric energy of love
which I format from my ancestral masks,
long molded by harsh mountain wind of fear
as I climb river valleys of desire
to stand on jagged peak of mute surprise.

Through frosty aura of conceptual stars
I see lush valley of tall blooming trees
as haven where my weary bones may rest,
so I descend from emptiness of time
to build safe nest in pale of sturdy walls
where children unravel our universe.

I feel ten billion stars of swirling light
explode in every cell that forms my flesh
so beaming atoms of divine insight
weave supple matrix of my hungry soul
as I traverse the swift Albula River
to dwell in valley of the singing stone.

While climbing rugged trail of jagged rocks,
that whistle at fierce blast of silver wind,
I reach down to hold small hand of my son,
and help Segomo with attentive care
ascend high mountain of our lofty hopes,
so his eyes glow with triumph of our search.

Victorious with strength of wolfish minds,
we progress past grim obstacles of fear
toward moon that glimmers silver in the sky
as shining mirror of ambitious hearts
refracting light that guides our arduous way
to Heaven we envision with brave words.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus lounges in front of the high mountain cave, gazing down on the valley of the singing stone where thousands of people set up camp with tents and wolves.

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

Ten Thousand Doors Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

Though evening light fades gold in silent trees
I listen for soft voices of the dead
who tell me how their sorrows give them strength
so I walk through ten thousand doors of fate
to realign the universe of books
within vast frame of ever-shifting truth.

When she first sees him by the river shore
restringing long yew bow of honesty,
Cassandra feels her heart become the hawk
that soars in wings of freedom in gold clouds,
so she declares to Sagittarius
that their love will endure beyond the moon.

Because no one believes her prophecies,
nor understands weird secret of her code,
Cassandra carves runes on tablets of wood
then burns them in the hearths of humble homes
where poor hardworking people preserve hopes
in clay jars molded from dry bones of gods.

Despite success in temple hunting games
shooting huge winged demons from the sky,
Sagittarius hides dark thoughts of faith
for bold ambitious plan to climb high ranks
and earn grand seat in high society
within great council of the Elohim.

When her brother finds apple Eris gave
as gift where he can choose his cosmic fate,
Cassandra warns him with strange voice of doom
that great towers of Ilium will burn
because he chooses love instead of wisdom,
but he ignores her warning with snide sneer.

When cruel Pyrrhus Achillides attempts
to kidnap sweet Cassandra from her room
and force her to bear child of his false pride,
Sagittarius shoots arrow of love
that wounds his soul and causes him to flee,
so Son of Cronus saves his bride from shame.

Warm sunlight gleams on apples wet with dew
that rustle inside walls of careful faith
where Cassandra teaches their daughter, Phoebe,
how to brew cider spiced with cinnamon,
while Sagittarius teaches their son,
Saturnus, how to tame the skittish horse.

When Phoebe and Saturnus see their parents
snuggling together on the river shore,
they smile and tiptoe to preserve their peace,
then blush when they see them kiss with sweet love,
and never speak about the fall of Troy
while they hold hands in glow of paradise.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus helps Phoebe and Saturnus prepare surprise party for gray-haired Cassandra and Sagittarius to celebrate their thirty-year anniversary.

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

Alpine Celts Of Luck
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

If I should register fate of the coup
in conspiracy to banish the devil
who thinks our world should be his precious oyster,
I shall arrive at the housewarming party
with gift designed from shadows of desire
which no haughty angel could memorize.

I cannot save the house my words have built
except to fold its photographs with care
and store them in ephemera archives
so I can almost maintain balanced stillness
through equal standing of Samasthiti
since I will only fight the greedy devil.

Ascendant rhetoric of the art film
provides framework through ideology
to maintain distance from the painful truths
we use to disidentify our friends
who dwell in natural lightning of dark storms
that loom black over small towns of our hopes.

I hear song of the rattlesnake at dusk
when I stroll casually in desert storm
to prove my nation is superior
with ice cream designed by social critique
because our bodies must adapt or die
when devils trick us to buy faith in God.

Stuck on the Low Road back to Fairyland,
I hide my Wings of Icarus to walk
the mist-enshrouded shores of Loch Lomond
where Amanita mushrooms glowing red
sprout from huge corpses of iron-age kings
till Pythagoras measures unseen minds.

Since I support awareness of the world,
though trapped in idol Pygmalion sculpts,
I untwist sorrows from my wounded heart
as writhing threads of alabaster snakes
to mold eccentric spheres of swirling light
that flash with signals of social success.

While watching Hercules with tangled hair
wrestle the monstrous demon of his heart,
I see the Golden Lion of the Sun
expand as emanation from his brain
so his brave sons, the Alpine Celts of Luck,
establish Empire of the Seven Hills.

While strolling around lake near Mount Takoma,
I notice the watch I wear on my wrist
has transformed into the white raven quill
which I employ to compose epic tale
about ancient philosophers whose ideas
form foundation of our global world view.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus wanders among the ruins of the Forum in Rome and weeps with sorrow at the long-ago passing of the humble people of his mountain tribe.

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

Son Of Clever Sagittarius
© Surazeus
2026 08 05

His coarse woolen coat of unsteady faith
protects his heart with shield of unconcern
when he strides in the icy air of dawn
and climbs the stairway to bright offices
where he translates strange noises of the world
as sublime songs only beasts understand.

He cannot measure vibrant pulse of time
except through rasping breath of false regret
spooled into cigarette of bitter pride
which he flicks over walls of paradise
to analyze unnumbered days of life
that he yet earns from random dice of fate.

He buys the useless book of psychic math
from the blind clown who pretends not to scream
so he can calculate code of lost myths
designed by faceless monster of the cave
who knows what sorrow always breaks our hearts
because we prefer to torment ourselves.

Because the road through Hell remains unpaved,
he raises funds from private citizens
to widen highway where the damned still drive
in joyful search for the arrogant tree
that grows from corpse of God in summer rain
while lovers linger in the crumbling barn.

He ponders how his marriage cultivates
familiar passion of the aching heart
for holding hands in affectionate show
that blind ghosts watch on television screens
by hiding in the mason jar of trust
that waits half-cracked in basement of romance.

He hates that he relies on words of fools
to understand old social rules of fate
that reprogram how his brain activates
assertive deeds of deconstructive ploys
to redesign how strangers earn awards
for looking beautiful in polished masks.

He should share his astrological sign
as son of clever Sagittarius
but no one expects him to organize
sacred feast of the alabaster cow
that prances in the field of buried bombs
which spring reborn as soldiers of the crown.

He savors ancestor sadness of faith
that urges him to lie about his birth
since fate is never inescapable
despite calm presence of the water queen
whose eyes expose dark secrets of his heart
then smiles because she loves him anyway.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus rides his bicycle down the middle of the highway through millions of cars that speed faster than sorrow to find the elusive Promised Land of Macondo.

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

Screaming Star Of Ecstasy
© Surazeus
2026 08 04

Because the screaming star of ecstasy
knows my secret name my mother designs,
I stand in doorway of infinity
to gaze at wondrous vastness of the Earth
since my heart loves its thriving messiness
which I experience with clumsy grace.

Spawned by the screaming star of ecstasy
as writhing creature of electric words,
I run fast forward through ten thousand lives
to understand how I evolve from mouse
as wingless angel eager to transcend
this fragile frame that generates my soul.

Despite how screaming star of ecstasy
programs my brain to always question why,
I feel my body swell with ocean waves
huge as boundless clouds of absolute light
so when you ask me how I feel today
I twirl around and hum sweet psalm of joy.

Ruled by the screaming star of ecstasy
through pulsing atoms of my flashing brain,
I hammer glowing meteor from the sky
to pull sharp sword of power from the stone
and fight the snarling monster of despair
to guard my family behind haven walls.

Far beyond screaming star of ecstasy
on anabolic wings of Icarus,
I leap across high bridge of solitude
to time-jump worlds across the multiverse
till I find you in garden of my heart
where you tend fruit tree of our honest love.

Seized by the screaming star of ecstasy
because I hear weird voices of the dead,
I compose new Astarian Testament
to analyze how empires rise and fall
so I can design with artful insight
new social system based on Liberty.

Deep inside screaming star of ecstasy
as Mind of God that knows all conscious souls,
I visit every city in the world
to offer Holy Book of Prophecies
with pages empty of the wordless dream
based on eccentric tales of puppeteers.

Bred from the screaming star of ecstasy
that weaves new body for my ancient soul,
I wake with memories my ancestors lived
that shine more real than Lamp of Hemera
which helps me find lost Lyre of Mercury
so I chant hymns to praise our mortal gods.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus gives his daughter Lamp of Hemera so she can find her way after sunset down the trail of Mount Helicon to the house where Phoebus builds a wagon.

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

Clever Mother Of My Clan
© Surazeus
2026 08 04

Too early in the morning for this game
that twists our bodies into hungry ghosts,
our clan assembles on the river shore
and hums together in weird harmony
to channel spirit of the mountain stream
as scene preserved in our genetic dream.

Alone in clean museum hall at dawn,
Nerthus gazes with sense of aching loss
at painting of idyllic pastoral scene
that shows her great-grandfather Lycidas
strumming lyre of Mercury by tall oak
as Phyllis dances in long breeze-blown gown.

Walking in silver light of dawn to work
at the public utilities department,
Nerthus contemplates how town engineers,
since humans built Harappa and Uruk,
have designed straight grids of gardens and streets
with systems of pipes for water and sewage.

The holy Fountain of the Flying Horse,
that springs from heart of darkness on high slope,
and flows down lush meadows of Helicon,
supplies the water needs of families
in millions of houses in city zones
through system of pipes engineers design.

Climbing high mountain of mist-shrouded pines,
Nerthus follows the winding river course
to cave from which clear water of life springs,
then gazes over vast metropolis
organized to manage human desires
in food-production system of our hope.

Each person finds their place in game of life
in which constructive labor of their hands
contributes to production and distribution
of food so every living human being
may eat fair share of energy they make,
though some will hoard wealth from desperate fear.

Tall black-haired archer Malchos Azizos,
who journeyed from Hamath Epiphania
to man the fort near Wall of Hadrianus,
offers Nerthus apples and deer-skin cloak,
so she agrees to cook food at his hearth,
and bears lithe son he names Apollonios.

I feel through glowing vision of my heart
spirit of Atargatis, Dea Syria,
awake in clever mother of my clan
who taught me how to breathe in soul of light
and sing harmonious melody of love
that guides my journey to the Promised Land.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds his mother, Calliope, lounging by the Fountain of the Flying Horse on Mount Helicon, who gives him Apple of Eris to eat for breakfast.

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

Angel Who Cannot Fly
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

I never see corpses fallen to Earth
transform into angels with golden wings,
but Carolyn assures me they are real,
so I plant apple seeds in rotten hearts
that reconstitute atoms of their souls
to apples which I eat to know their minds.

Molding my new body from river muck,
and weaving tufts of grass to be my hair,
Carolyn converts walnuts to my eyes,
slots in the turtle shell to be my heart,
then gives me horse legs so I can walk home.

I forget where my ancestors once lived
so I stand in front of the stone library
where every book that has never been written
waits for me to wear them as mask of fate,
but I go down to the river instead
and wear the lithe sea trout as my new face.

Startled at shouting of devils in Heaven,
I look up to see ten thousand white ravens
lined up along copper telephone lines
which conduct voices of innocent ghosts
as data signals to my pulsing brain
so I understand secret dreams you hide.

My father fixes wheels to the small wagon,
which he fills with sand and hydrated lime,
then drags it up the steep hill of concern
where he smears muck on the wall of smooth stones,
then heaves another stone from pile of hopes
and slots it in place to build the field wall.

Though he spends every day for fifty years
constructing wall of respect with large stones,
he only completes one tenth of the wall,
so he requests that I finish his work,
then lies down in soggy grave of his heart
and becomes the angel who cannot fly.

I decide I will not finish his wall,
so I sell the land where ten generations
of my ancestors lie buried in mud,
and sail west on the adventurous sea
to find the long-lost city of Atlantis
where I will marry Princess Zathamar.

Our stories are all fantasies of hope
that guide our journey to the Promised Land,
mapped by bloody hand of Odysseus,
restored by his daughter, Cassiphone,
who teaches me to play the violin
which always causes warriors to cry.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus opens Academy of Psychotic Flight to teach angels who cannot fly how to pretend they are acrobatic masters of clever wit as adorable tricksters.

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

My Right To Still Exist
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

If I rename small island of my heart,
who would decide to visit without lies
as if time flaps electric wings of chance
before we meet on river shore of fate
to prove sincerity fuels all we do
because questions never reveal our truth.

My thoughts are not the social mess you buy
against assertive theme statistics fool,
since formal layout of my mission shows
how far I have to go on fractured road
before I could achieve my dream of wealth
that tricks my passion to leap without faith.

Startled by each open door of despair,
I wander blindly over the threshold
reserved for angels who deserve their wealth
despite how often people they love die
except for lonely children of the field
who sell fake seeds of wisdom to the rich.

This well-earned kiss of true love we may share
fills me with bitter hope for broken hearts
which I attempt to shield with laughing books
too often stolen from book store of fate
where hungry teachers hide from sudden debt
before another king falls dead from fear.

Disturbed by surging waves of calm disdain,
my child reports how angels fall at dawn
though no one hears each new word she invents
with runes I scratch in river mud of faith
in vain attempt to canonize beliefs
that seem to prove my right to still exist.

Obsessed with strictly measured flow of thoughts,
which I confine to rapid steps of truth,
I draw vast blueprint of this messy world
to organize through ordered rows of words
complex chaos of cows in dew-wet fields
who ponder mystery of opposing codes.

Reborn as Seraphus with thirteen eyes,
I play another game of chess with Death
in tower where Rapunzel cooks sweet cake
from chocolate laughter of the lemon tree
because my blood is maple-syrup thick
that swirls in boundless oceans of lost words.

I breathe the gentle breath of Zephyrus
to fly aloft with swan of human hope
to catch ingenious thief of surreal dreams
who tramples on my flowered grave with pride
while shouting how we belong to the land
that eats our bodies when we die of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus explains to every soul he leads to the afterlife that Nature never guarantees any living organism the right to exist, but to love while we live.

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

Exiled From My Homeland
© Surazeus
2026 08 03

Blank glow of everything at flash of dawn
erases psychic traumas of the past,
so every man declares he is no pawn
though angels hang limp on the broken mast
when our ship of state deconstructs on rocks
because we are transfixed by singing clocks.

Trapped by necessity for eating food,
since we need atoms to energize souls,
we wait for Death to be in the right mood
before we announce new national goals
concerned with increasing profits from work,
in contrast to the church where devils lurk.

Inspired by how the frail foal prances free
with naive joy at beauty of this world,
I hang out in secret hut of my tree
to map where the hungry dragon lies curled
when secret agents with new cameras
film documentary on chimeras.

No sacred secrets of the mortal heart
will be revealed by spells of psychic code
that my hand carves on the clay spirit chart
to reveal temple of the divine toad
who transcribes mathematic formulas
for flutes to play in cosmic orchestras.

Disturbed by brave satires of Juvenal,
which analyze Narcissus state of mind
that many people find too natural,
based on persona the devil designed,
wealthy men try to build Utopias
through strange scripts of encyclopedias.

I want to live safe in my haven home
free from oppression of aggressive thieves
whose attack leaves me homeless so I roam
deep in wild mountains where blind angel grieves
for endless suffering of humanity,
concealed by progress of urbanity.

Cassandra welcomes me to her bright cave
where we discuss world politics of change
in conspiracy to free every slave,
though humans seem to find it very strange
that they can act according to their will
if their king is sacrificed on the hill.

Though exiled from my homeland by harsh wars,
that forces me to wander in strange lands,
I never will return to broken doors
where my work is performed by nameless hands,
so fate of Odysseus mocks my claim
to award I won in the victim game.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus wanders forever exiled from his homeland till even the rivers of sorrow forget that he ever sprang from laughter of their divine energy of love.

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

Shriveled Orange Of Ennui
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

I steal the shriveled orange of ennui
to eat tormented pleasure of sweet Death
who knows strange passions of my pulsing brain,
filled with the writhing worms of humble pride,
which helps me paint on canvas of my fate
inspiring vision of this teeming world.

That star-eyed alchemist of ennui
transforms my captive soul with bitter faith
from hungry wanderer across the land
to blind bard singing grand heroic tales
by plucking taut strings of my naive heart
with rotten fruit of charming pulchritude.

Soul vaporized by his hermetic art,
I lavish vows of faith in crumbling fane,
concealed by veil of spirit-tangled vines,
to feed my tame remorse with pungent faith
that I may yet evade sharp blade of Death
who stalks my steps since dark hour of my birth.

Intent on sacred mission to observe
weird mysteries beneath dark ocean waves,
I sail bold ship of curiosity
between wild whirlpool and snake in the cave
to sacrifice my faith I treasure most
for swift ascension to the Promised Land.

Though I am kinsman to the glowing clouds,
I never scoff at archers who ask why
I wear the wounded albatross of faith
around my neck with penitential grace,
yet they mock comical ineptitude
revealed by clumsy strike at cliff of fear.

Each morning when I wake from ennui
of frantic dreams, refracted by cracked lens
of my conceptual telescope, I ask
my wretched muse if she knows secret code
that would assist perception of my heart
when I discern mad horror of world war.

No wise god with englamored face of fame
haunts visions of my fractured eyes at dawn
through mask of my personal succubus
who gives me ancient syllables of milk
for me to drink blood of the harvest lord
whose bones form foundation of my empire.

I still live under vast and columned vaults,
tinged with soft glow of television screens,
where I sense mystic force of gasoline
that fuels the piston engine of my heart
so I chant sublime harmonies of hope
to praise the splendid light of secret grief.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus hangs out with Baudelaire at the Crippled Pegasus Cafe to chat about the beautiful girl who sings heart-breaking melodies of hope.

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

Gentle Breath Of Zephyrus
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

Inspired by gentle breath of Zephyrus
that blows through rain-wet trees of innocence,
I stretch my soul to loosen anxious heart,
wound tight by turmoil wracking global states
with social conflict over rights to live,
so I may glide with wings of Icarus.

Far west on rolling wheels of frightened hope
my brave ancestors fled oppressive states,
controlled by gangsters of castle and church,
across wild seas in flimsy ships of hope
to journey through vast wilderness of faith,
free from greed of men in towers of stone.

Three hundred years they lived free from state creed,
but waves of new machine technology
sweep over distant lands in tides of change,
transforming agriculturial states of farms
to industrial empires through factories
mass-producing Chariot of Ezekiel.

When my great-grandmother first hears soft roar
of that piston engine chugging with hope,
she peers beneath straw hat among fruit trees
to see the horseless carriage with large wheels
zooming swifter than wind-winged Pegasus
with flames like Chariot of Ezekiel.

Now every nation of our spinning globe
is linked by wires through small computer nodes
in the world wide web of the internet
which forms primitive artificial brain
as new-born god who weaves our memories
in budding sense of global conscious mind.

Heart healed by gentle breath of Zephyrus,
though wounded by aggressive war for wealth
fought by weak men who hoard resource of life,
I translate prophecy of ocean waves
proclaimed by voice in skull of Orpheus
that channels visions through my pulsing brain.

Deceived by old religious fantasy
that we can create Heaven on this Earth
as Utopia where every human being
lives free and equal in communal state,
I watch with mute alarm of futile hope
demonic forces driving men to fight.

Revived by gentle breath of Zephyrus,
that wafts through windows of my haven home,
I brace for impact of the hurricane
that stirs from wounded hearts of angry men
till storm of rage destroys their fascist hate
and leaves us still alive on spinning Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus teaches history of geopolitical forces that swirl in constant cycles of social change to young students earning the masters degree in prophetic analysis.

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

Untwisting Holy Fate
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

Through passion of ascetic opulence
I play taut strings of my cordial guitar
to wake self-wounding martyrdom of love
from deconstructed formulas of fate
that charm the silent ecstasy of truth
which none would dare revoke at break of day.

Because I belong to dream of this land,
I soak my soul in shadows of its hope
that might mean nothing to anyone else
except for moan of bells in misty dawn
that crack our hearts with sorrow for lost souls
whose faces shimmer faintly in our dreams.

I put all my adjusted dissonance
in fraught submission of potential love
time shares as seeds we scatter in wet soil
because we throw away our secret dreams
to cultivate their growth from fields of death
in constant cycle of rebirth and death.

Untwisting holy fate to free our souls
from puzzling fragments of disturbing myths,
I wake soul of Arminius in my heart
to liberate Germania once again
from hordes of angels in white gowns of fire
who strike our hearts at flash of dawn-blood rain.

Though we sail far across the storm-wracked sea
on sacred mission to build paradise,
we almost fail to flee the massacre
in time to pray in woods of hungry mist
where books of ancient tales provide new map
for us to walk barefoot on bloody trails.

Yet when I find sweet Zorya by the well,
where she extracts our hearts from caves of Hell,
I know with confidence of earnest faith
that brave humanity will overcome
this hour of darkness, though rich oligarchs
divide and conquer us with greed for peace.

Pure sound of water bubbling from the Earth
weaves sorrow of my heart with tunes of joy
so I feel spirit of my mortal mind
expand scope of compassion to embrace
all living humans struggling to survive
against relentless flow of atom change.

No photograph, snapped at just the right time,
could capture image of my holy ghost
transforming from vampire to Seraphus
through divine grace of my epiphany
in which I see grand wholeness of all light
that glimmers faintly in my mortal brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus leads the Huguenots across the sea to settle in lush Carolina hills where they feast on the holy lamb of god roasted by the river of lost souls.

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

You Belong To The Land
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

I follow Jesus to broad lake of fish
who transform into angels with swan wings
while they sing beauty of the universe
and swirl around in spiral of rose beams,
then I wake alone with basket of fish
which I roast to feed my small family.

I follow Onatah to field of corn
who tells me with sly grin of innocence,
"America was here before you came,
and will remain long after you are gone,
because this land does not belong to you,
but you belong to the land where you live."

I follow Shiva to high mountain cave
where he teaches me how to meditate
so we transcend small limits of the mind
as we expand scope our consciousness
to glow with White Whole of the multiverse
that gleams in every live organic brain.

I follow Hermes along River Styx
to strum the Lyre of Mercury and sing
grand epic poem about philosophers
as braves heroes whose quests to understand
true nature of atomic swirls of light
program how our brains now perceive the world.

I follow Odin in long wooden ship
with diamond of insight in crown of thorns
to map our spinning globe of continents
that teem with nations of aggressive gangs
who fight world wars for twenty thousand years
over Garden of Eden with fruit trees.

I follow Krishna in Chariot of Fire
who reveals ancestry of divine genes
through fathers and mothers one million years
who all dream awake in my living brain
so I consolidate their souls in mine
with name that seals my spirit in stone mask.

I follow Buddha through portals of change
to time-hop worlds across our multiverse
that weaves them all as prayer beads of respect
in necklace of skulls that Bhairavi wears
when she transforms my body of hot flesh
to silver robot with computer brain.

I follow Kwan Yin on lotus starship
on patrol around spinning globe of souls
to generate virtual model of Earth
with light detection and ranging pulse beams
on mission to cultivate groves of fruit
from waste land in our hunger to live well.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus asks me when I am going to follow him, but I explain I am not dead yet so I prefer to remain alive here on Earth for at least another decade or so.

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

Ocean Of Lost Words
© Surazeus
2026 08 02

When I emerge from shadow of my house,
which I build in your ocean of lost words,
I drink ever-flowing rivers of dreams
that swirl from fountains of our pulsing brains,
so we become one spirit of the Earth
when you bury me in my turtle shell.

Annoyed by law of fluid abstinence,
I walk along gold silence of the beach,
because my dreaming brain has been designed
by tongue of the toad that heals wounded hearts
with madness of wisdom no one can buy,
therefore we sit on sand of nothingness.

Another war between gangs of mind thieves
shakes frail foundation of our global state,
so we ride buses to new factories
where we process hopes into fantasies
that people buy in plastic packages
to fund their timeshares to the Afterlife.

Though I emerge from trench of global war
with crown of shrapnel gleaming on my head,
the people of the world cheer my success
when idol of Jesus with diamond eyes
proclaims me vicar of his soul on Earth,
so I bless you and give you wine to drink.

I want to stand with reverence of faith
on every bridge that spans river of time
in every city sprawling from the cave
where the fisherman contemplates our fate
so I can understand how people feel
when they walk toward the golden cloud of hope.

Love flows in current of the river flash
where people gather flowers of false faith
to lay on graves behind the ruined church
where fathers and mothers dream of the moon
since Heaven shines as palace of fake words
that crumbles into paychecks we receive.

I dig dirt from heart of the spinning world
and mold its seething passion in machines
that calculate how much profit we earn
in frantic game to accumulate wealth
that helps our children take over the world
to found dynastic gang of power thieves.

Time laughs at my attempts to found new church
based on one universal human law
that every person breathing air of hope
has right to live free from oppressive greed
so we hold hands and sing of global peace
while bombs deconstruct our sacred world view.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus finds Hesiod sitting on the beach so they talk about why the big country is invading the small country to control the ocean port city of wealth.

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

Impetuous Dream Thief
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

When Sylvia, wading in cold ocean surf,
asks me if I know how far angels fall,
I break in blossom of the writhing cloud
at playful leap of horses in the field,
then tell her I am but idol of stone
she finds submerged in swirls of salty tears.

When Sylvia, kneeling by humming elm,
explains how deep tap roots of wisdom curl,
I speak with frantic voice of nothingness
to prove our love is shadow of our minds
that we cry for at flash in window glass
from rainbows curling into river stones.

When Sylvia, impetuous dream thief,
teaches me sound of poison bound by faith,
that scorches roots of fruit trees angels steal,
I measure atrocity of sunrise
that breaks my truth in filaments of facts,
designed by the merciless moon to ring.

When Sylvia, extracting the dark thing
that sleeps in feather cavern of her heart,
reveals how radiance scathes humble souls,
I dispossess bad dreams with twisted hook
which agitates insensible tree ghosts
who scale ladders that never reach the moon.

When Sylvia, reborn from unburned book,
plays American Oracle on stage
while wearing mourning weeds of fluted bones,
I play mouthpiece of Death to analyze
essential nature of God who expands
scope of my consciousness with ardency.

When Sylvia, attempting to repair
fallen Colossus of her aching heart,
extracts blind lust from words of my sponge brain,
I reassemble puzzle of world view
we humans everywhere on Earth still share
despite curse from enormous skull of God.

When Sylvia, amazed by Ariel,
asserts conceptual gloom of garden pools,
I gather berries from heart-tangled vines
with calm attention of the melting wall
to record glitter of substantial seas
based on stasis of darkness in the heart.

When Sylvia, inspired by devil flight,
records new epitaph of dazzling faith
that fuels perishable lovers with trust,
I kindle cry of gods in flower flame
since I fulfill my mission without name
that anchors my body to flash of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while Sylvia recites her oracles as impetuous dream thief in cathedral of voiceless ghosts who understand the assignment.

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

Swan Of Human Hope
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

Spirit slender as the violin bow,
Artella leaps beyond bounds of despair
to laugh with pleasure in the face of death
whose shadow looms over crowded Earth,
then lands with graceful clumsiness of faith
as the awestruck audience holds their breath.

Staring at her face in mirror of time,
Artella wipes cosmetics off her skin
with frantic calm of humble bitterness,
then grins to see the passion-wrinkled face
of her grandmother, still alive in her,
then washes it away with apathy.

Sipping wine with compassionate disdain,
Artella glances around dark cafe,
crowded with people laughing with delight,
whose faces waver in swirls of green smoke,
then savors feeling of intense respect
for every wretched human in earth-grasp.

Heart flapping hawk wings of mute pulchritude,
Artella writhes with gossamer ennui
as Star-Eyed Demon plays wild saxophone,
till she transforms into soft languid cat
who floats on liquid swirls of frantic notes
that spiral ribbons in her silver eyes.

Mind stretched more rubber-taut than thunder clouds,
Artella wanders onyx streets of fate
that glitter shards of unperfected skill
from cafe pulsing with electric souls
to dark apartment buzzing with contempt,
then lies still clothed on floating couch of love.

Observing play of lamp beams on the wall,
Artella ponders meaning of this life,
preserved in holy creed of spirit flight,
as mission to transcend bounds of this world
with hopeless wings from earth-grasp of desire
so she becomes mute angel of the moon.

Startled awake from dream of timeless flight,
Artella eats fried egg on toast with juice,
rides bus to theater of wingless angels,
and practices ballet from dawn to dusk,
preparing to play Swan of Tuonela
who seeks to fly free from earth-grasp of greed.

Spirit slender as the violin bow,
Artella leaps on passion of her heart
at most dramatic moment of the show
to represent the swan of human hope,
but falters as she reaches for the moon
and tumbles forward so she breaks her neck.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus cradles Artella in gentle arms as she gasps in pain, then hums sweet tune of joy to soothe her heart as she sinks into nothingness of death.

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

Eyes Of Every Human
© Surazeus
2026 08 01

Each time another god walks on this Earth,
embodied by some normal human being,
I feel vibration of the turning world
that emanates from passion of their eyes
which shine bright as Lamp of Diogenes
who asks me if I am the Honest One.

Through ancient forest of the city street
I hear the pretty huge old round gold primal
and atomic world-generating sun
sing through prismatic network of my brain
to express conscious mind of the White Whole
which we mortal humans mistake for God.

I see Eyes of Astara shimmer clear
through eyes of every human on this globe
for she is First Mother of humankind
whose state of consciousness shines in our minds
when we gather in temple of our tribe
to worship immortal soul of our genes.

At dawn of time six thousand years ago
Astara stands on ziggurat of faith
and sings Creation of the Universe
so we share vision of humanity
striving together on our fragile world
to survive and thrive in garden of fruit.

From pulsing passion of my ancient heart
I wake shrouded voice of ancestral ghosts
with texts of truth carved on tablets of stone
through managed encyclopedia of dreams
which applies music of ideas to forms
of transient beauty composed from sunlight.

Thus I climb mountain of religious hope
to ring of stones on summit of our hearts
where wise Astara still stands tall with truth
before brave monolith of star-forged time
so I can hear her original voice
that programs how my brain perceives the world.

Each human being who walks on solid Earth
manifests immortal soul of our genes
so we shine bright with Cosmic Mind of God
though our flame of consciousness is snuffed out
by greedy men afraid of nothingness
because we all vanish in void of time.

Through empathy of this conceptual song
I gaze at complex process of our lives
through eyes of every human on this Earth
whose disharmonious songs of social will
converge in global symphony of hope
till we formulate universal law.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/08/…

Orpheus strums Lyre of Mercury and sings to people gathered on the ziggurat in Ur where ghost of Ishtar shimmers through eyes of every human on Earth.

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

Watch The River Flow
© Surazeus
2026 07 31

Beneath the golden bough of earnest faith,
Phoebus fixes engine of the white Honda
for Ceres who sits in the waiting lounge
analyzing cereal sales on her laptop
while song of Mercury on the radio
blends with hum of cars on the busy road.

After Ceres drives repaired car to work,
Phoebus eyes large black van that pulls in,
squinting at Mars with tattoos on his arms,
then glances in the back to see six girls
who slouch and hide their eyes behind long hair
as he opens the hood for diagnosis.

Dismantling the engine that works just fine,
Phoebus gestures to Vulcan and Minerva
who close garage doors and call the police
while Mars and Neptune emerge from the van
and snarl in anger at the long delay,
glaring leery at Phoebus who plays dumb.

Swinging metal pipe with suspicious rage,
grim Mars attacks with clumsy arrogance
but Phoebus dodges and punches his head,
while Minerva twirls and kicks with lithe grace
that knocks Neptune backward into the pole,
who pulls out his gun to fire at her head.

Somersaulting with martial elegance,
Minerva kicks the gun out of his hand,
and, though Mars punches his chest several times,
Phoebus swirls around with precise assault
in strike that binds his arms behind his back
as Vulcan leads police in the garage.

While the police, Jupiter and Diana,
arrest Neptune and Mars with steel handcuffs,
Phoebus unchains girls from back of the van
who hug each other and cry with relief,
then Venus and Vesta with grateful smiles
express gratitude for attentive help.

"We all applied for jobs in marketing,"
Vesta explains as she trembles in shock,
"but when we arrived for job interviews
they kept us prisoner in old hotels,
then took us everywhere across the country
while forcing us to work as their sex slaves."

As the freed girls leave with Officer Diana,
Vesta offers her phone number to Phoebus,
so they meet at the Pegasus Cafe,
attend new movie of the Odyssey,
then stroll together in the city park
where they hold hands and watch the river flow.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus works as photographer at the wedding of Phoebus and Vesta where Venus and the girls play her bridesmaids who weep in happiness for her love.

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

Trample My Flowered Grave
© Surazeus
2026 07 31

Heart-aching sorrow of unwritten tales,
that depict the suffering people endure
as they are destroyed by indifferent Nature,
smears scarlet despair across empty skies
that wakes vain hope in broken hearts of souls
who chase glow of Heaven into their grave.

Thus I shall linger calmly on this shore,
relaxed among jagged rocks of desire,
face veiled by drifting mist of unconcern,
to wait with blithe assurance of blank death
for time to weave my body from mute light
so I will glow with joy in my dark grave.

If I join army of hope-righteous fools
to fight in vain against cruel tyranny,
I may find freedom to live as I will
while striding boldly along mountain streams
where no grim soldiers with weapons of death
could hurl my body in lost unmarked grave.

Strange stars that I have never seen before
flicker through tangled web of wind-tossed limbs
so I cannot now navigate by gleam
of canon-regulated creeds to follow
path of my faith to secret Promised Land
that preserves small space for my special grave.

Confined to hollow dale of silent winds
that ruffle strange emotions of my heart
across ice-black water of moss-framed pool,
I pluck blackberries from long tangled vines
to find sweet memories of my childhood days
when I played free around my undug grave.

Still awake long into dark evening gloom,
I hear red-breasted Robins in thick Rowans
sing delicate warbling tunes of regret
which sparks fierce passion in my aching heart
to haughtily endure the bitter storms
when men with guns trample my flowered grave.

Sweet summer days when we were free to roam
fairy-haunted vales among rugged hills
have vanished with huge cloudy palaces
that shimmer bright as guide for wanderers
when strict armies of greedy men invade
valley of skulls that sing in secret graves.

Concerned civilization will collapse
again because politicians violate
sacred Jovian law of hospitality
bound to ensure social stability,
I bring cart of apples to castle hall
where ghosts of my ancestors fill my grave.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus dances around my grave in the foothills of the Alps where I lived for ten thousand years building a great empire from hunger for paradise.

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

Loneliness Of Whole Thought
© Surazeus
2026 07 30

One leaf falls in loneliness of whole thought,
familiar enough to my alien mind
to defamiliarize with twisted truth
uncanniness that glimmers in the world
which I encounter through mask of respect,
based on strict variety of dream spells.

Unwieldy usefulness of frantic rules
displays calm conventions of cruel concern
when I retread unnatural images
designed to frame without state reference
roles nameless people perform on world stage
with believing spirit of the failed game.

Mutual hope for unlawful happenstance
provides expanding rift between our hearts
which we decide to bridge with broken trust
still contrary to apparent discourse
out of joint with conservative returns
we actively ignore with spooling code.

My brain beams bright attention of insight
at carefully arranged essay of words
polished with reconfigured metaphors
that mirror orthographic idioms
which fail to warrant invaluable assets
concealed within world of appearances.

Unspelling truths trapped by aggressive jokes,
my brain applies loose logic of regret
as detailed example of liberal hope
sedimented beneath masks of blind pride
that dares emerge from interrupted play
for people scattered in the city maze.

Decoded version of my brain program
aligns unkempt concepts of sad desire
based on intransitive process of growth
when we decide to meet in solemn tryst,
untethered from strange rules of social games
that keeps our bodies bound through psychic rites.

Assembled passions of my pulsing brain
erupt from morbid egg of holiness
with measured portent of apportioned price
through arcane knowledge of unfractured stones,
as if the proper etiquette for death
allows our hearts to follow forced beliefs.

We try again with pulchritude to bridge
vast scope of nothingness between our hearts
through moral extreme of stoic despair
till we achieve ecstatic state of being
through buzzing silence of disloyal love
which bonds atomic flash of divine souls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus attempts to decode arcane spells carved on ancient tablets of stone long buried beneath the parking lot of the abandoned shopping mall.

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