Window On The World
© Surazeus
2026 09 11

Because my heart is window on the world,
I gaze from tower of ancestral souls
based on lives of three billion human beings
whose intense survival experiences
program how my brain perceives the world dream
that guides my journey to Heaven through Hell.

Commissioned by guiding star of my heart,
embodied by wise Ishtar as my Muse,
to play role of Phosphorus Lucifer,
I hold high Lamp of Liberty with faith
to highlight my own private way of life
around obstacles of selfish desire.

Though I meet Child Roland on signless road
who searches for dark Tower of Despair,
I search for my own Tower of Delight
where brave Rapunzel, with star-sparkling eyes,
plays Harp of David as she sings sweet psalms
to heal wounded hearts of all wanderers.

I climb Purgatory Mountain of hope
with courage to transform state of my soul
from hungry ape to angel who maintains
strict discipline of self-control through law,
but ghosts of failure haunt my secret way,
revealing pitfalls of death I avoid.

Because my brain is window on the world,
I gaze beyond shadows of transient forms
in Cave of Illusions to comprehend
essential design of eternal ideas
that provide pattern for matter to form
organic bodies of chemical flow.

With Light of Ishtar shining in my heart,
which emanates from vision of her love
for all creatures awake in dream of Earth,
I traverse complex landscape of world myth
to find Wonderland of shared value systems
for framework of Astarianity.

Ascending steps up Ziggurat of Ur
with reverent awe for vision of the world
that Ishtar conjures in model of truth,
I join her feast in hall of cultural heroes
where she sings tales that recount deeds of souls
who fail or succeed to wake God in their hearts.

These lyric songs of sentimental verse,
which I compose as psychic formulas,
frame vision of my mind from memories
as window on the world of changing forms
when I analyze its physical state
so I generate life before I die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus eats in Windows on the World restaurant in the North Tower of the World Trade Center and sings as the plane flies straight into his heart.

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

Dream Cave of Hecate
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

Though I wander crazy maze of lost hopes
too many years from sea to shining sea,
singing out of tune about wounded hearts
that batter wings against cage of desire,
I find strange demon of love in my heart
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Dark shadow of guilt in pit of despair
twists my heart with agony of hope
that spurs me to resist with eager heart
calm acceptance of oppression from greed,
so I writhe in wild Dionysian dance
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Driven mad by anguish of searing pain,
inflicted by the gang of laughing thieves
who tortured me with dreams of paradise,
then stole accumulated wealth of work,
I leap with joy and twirl beyond despair
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Cheated by the rich man with fake contract
who funded my farm, but stole it in court,
then chained to slave for him for twenty years,
beaten by the wife who tricked me with love,
I fly free when lightning strike breaks my fear
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Returning from harsh wilderness of pain
after training in martial arts for revenge,
I break through gate that protects my own farm
and fight one hundred minions of his greed,
then smile with demon of truth in my heart
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

To reclaim garden my fathers designed,
and tend Tree of Justice heavy with fruit,
nourished by water well my own hands dug,
then sit in chair of judgement I once built,
I wrestle demon of rage in my heart
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Terror twists face of the haughty rich man
who cheated me with legal tricks of greed,
so, offering thanks for tending my rich farm
while I sought truth in waste land of regret,
I marry his proud daughter as my queen
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

Twelve sons who spring from seed of my faith
expand empire of our fruit-blooming farms,
and hundred grandsons worship me as god,
so with sweet joy of courage born of pain
I meditate under tree of blind gods
that wakes me in dream cave of Hecate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus visits the ancient half-blind king who sits under the sprawling tree and records his story on clay tablets that he stores in temple library of fallen gods.

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

Persona Mask Of Strength
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

When he unfastens his soul from the world
while snatching apples from telephone poles,
then pretends to be the angel-winged bird
that never migrates when the empire falls,
Zachariah decides to prophesy
how storms of truth sweep all tyrants away.

When Kwan Yin alights on the rocky shore
and shows him how the sun unwinds false time
with psychic laughter that reprograms myths,
Zachariah dips his hands in swirling waves
and lifts the writhing dragon of his heart
high enough for her to bless his huge eyes.

When Death emerges from dawn-red sunbeams
with flock of souls on wounded wings of faith,
and visits preachers grasping book of myths
to steal the polished masks of pride they wear,
Zachariah recalls weird voice of Yah
that vibrates through our bodies as tense songs.

When airplanes crash in twin towers of wealth
as thunderbolts Yah hurls to bring down pride,
Fate wakes our spirits from dream of world peace
and tells us we must understand true love,
so Kwan Yin and Zachariah hold hands
then fly as angels in the sun-bright sky.

When random tornado of social change
erases his farm from river vale of hope,
and deconstructs the family home he built
from memories of their struggles to survive,
Zachariah dives in the shallow pool,
then emerges when war storm dissipates.

When Kwan Yin strolls along the boulevard,
giving peaches to every passerby
with gentle blessing of her generous love,
Pluto blocks her way, envious of her grace,
then stabs her in the heart with jealous rage,
so she kisses Zachariah as she dies.

When he removes persona mask of strength
to breathe ethereal wisdom of fruit trees,
while Kwan Yin paints new vision of world peace
as portraits displayed in Museum of Fate,
Zachariah rides white horse of concern
to bring justice to victims of abuse.

When he strums guitar by the Tree of Life,
and sings about knowledge gods make us buy
with suffering our bodies must endure,
Zachariah sings that the Spark of God
glows bright in heart of every conscious soul
who ever lives in all the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus officiates at wedding and funeral of Zachariah and Kwan Yin who died when they held hands and jumped together off the World Trade Center on the day of wrath.

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

Rapt By Psychic Light
© Surazeus
2026 09 10

Rapt by psychic light of our spinning Earth,
I dream forever sorrow of mankind
awake in darkness of the silent moon
who always seems to know just how I feel
when I project my spirit at her mask
which I wear to play angel of high noon.

Though we build safe illusions of our faith
from bones of devils we defeat with love
in homes that play as temples of our tales,
time crushes all our dreams to swirls of dust
when angels bomb our hopes with selfish greed
while I am rapt by psychic light of fate.

Though air I breathe from ancient wind of hope
appears to animate with intense love
my fragile body made of flesh on bones,
my mind is rapt by psychic light of fear
that motivates my quest to transcend rage,
and map Hell with courage of Zephyrus.

Stuck on the beach of soul-tormenting wind,
where Ovidius records our tragedies,
I gaze at oceans sloshing mountain slopes,
heart rapt by psychic light of comedy,
when Odysseus gives me used bag of wind
which bold Aeolus gave him with sly wink.

While I collect cracked skulls of long-dead gods
from cave of illusions with diamond eyes,
rapt by psychic light of national pride,
I find Endymion sleeping in moonlight
on rock of faith that Lucifer will use
as cornerstone for new religious creed.

Before the burning bush of wounded hearts,
rapt by psychic light of angels with swords,
I breastfeed daughter of star-fallen god
whose laughter conjures storms of social change
that sweep away oppressive gangs of thieves
which frees world lands for brave democracy.

Through luminous drift of false memory,
Zephyrus comes to garden of dead trees
to spark their souls awake with warming wind
so apples bloom from fractured tears of snow,
but, when I call his name with haunted voice,
he weeps, heart rapt by psychic light of death.

Rapt by psychic light of eternal love
that gleams with timeless Lamp of Liberty,
I teach Endymion how to map the world
so we can know where we are in the dark
when we reach out our hands of honest faith,
transformed by knowledge that we all will die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus grins with sly amusement to see his audience rapt by psychic light of timeless truth that projects visions of Elysium from his hymns about souls lost in despair.

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

Ungod Of Ten Billion Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

I wonder how to explain with calm faith
to my ancestors awake in my mind,
who prayed so fervently up to the sky,
that there was no one up there in the stars
strumming harps in crystal halls on the clouds,
nor did Ungod do anything to help.

I feel intensity of their hard faith
as they knelt by the river of dark tears
among the rustling leaves on starry nights
and gazed up at the sky with fervent hope,
while moonlight glowed bright in their faithful eyes,
and prayed for help to overcome their fears.

I see in startling vision of my heart
their three billion faces glowing moon-white
as they knelt scattered in ten thousand towns
over six thousand years since Adam prayed
with Eve for wisdom to comprehend truth
and understand strange nature of our world.

For so many long restless centuries,
while Earth spun slowly among shining stars,
my ancestors gazed up at the sky
and asked the Faceless Spirit of all things
for help deciding how they should behave,
then chose to create and to not destroy.

Though they asked Ungod of ten billion eyes,
whose spirit they felt glowing everywhere,
endless questions about how to live life,
they always found the answer in their hearts
through application of logical code
when they analyzed effects of each cause.

Sharing wisdom they learned from bitter loss
in proverbs that explain how actions cause
effects to flow in consequence of change,
they set foundation for our social law
condensed in statement all agree is good
that we do what we will, if we harm none.

Though my ancestors prayed hard to the sky,
seeking wisdom from Spirit of the Light,
they always found deep inside their own hearts
clear answers for how to perform their role
so our actions create good things to grow
as we help each other survive this life.

Though I know now no conscious God of light
glows from all atoms spinning in the void,
I exercise logical function of prayer
to analyze each moment of my quest
so I generate life with my soulmate
in our children who live after our death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus gazes from the eyes of all three billion of my ancestors who lived the past six thousand years and teaches us how to sing the spirit of Ungod with joy.

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

Wings Of Perpetual Respect
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

When my first home transforms into the crow
which flies on wings of perpetual respect
across the blind sea of forgotten dreams
that my ancestors left in empty rooms,
I model each new family home I build
to mimic stage of home my mother crafts.

Lured by illusion of the Promised Land,
that shimmers on horizon of false fate,
I sail forever over restless seas
where eyeless demons of primal desire
lurk in the darkness of my hungry heart
to block my progress toward lost paradise.

As Lonely Jester with new Holy Book,
which I preach to blind people building homes
on river shores from sea to shining sea,
I erase grand idols of long-dead gods
to clear space for newcomers to lush vales
who must rebuild homes their fathers designed.

Each time the crow-winged ghost of my first home
lands by the singing river of true faith,
I gather words as flowers from lush fields
to prove this world of bitter suffering
remains more beautiful because of death
that limits our time on this spinning globe.

Trapped by nostalgia for the mundane past,
that each person remembers differently
as their own situation comedy,
I search for secret treasures of your hearts
that gleam with private memories of pain
transformed to pleasure by bleak hour of song.

Though angels deconstruct my childhood home
to measure limits of my learning goals,
defined by scattered puzzle of weird truth
which I assemble with blueprint of myth,
I build expanding palace to contain
ghost of every ancestor in my genes.

Because my temporary soul of light
animates Zero Body with my name,
I tell each stranger I randomly meet
my name is Hyacinthus, new sun god
born from terrific hills of Nevertime,
but they ask if I have apples to sell.

Reborn as Lucifer from Cave of Doom,
I bear long-lost Lamp of Diogenes
to prove my duties secure our world state
against decay of arrogance and greed
corrupting my childhood home with despair,
therefore I burn it down and walk away.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus watches his childhood home unburn from ashes to pristine condition the day when his grandfather finished screwing in the front door with a grin.

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

Long Road Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 09 09

Though long road of my heart leads me to you,
forever winding around obstacles
across bleak landscape of lonely desire,
I will not stop in any paradise,
nor linger in lush garden of sweet hope,
till I arrive at door of your calm faith.

With trembling hand of persistent intent,
Daphne writes verses of stark sentiment
with quill from angel feather of despair,
inscribing blood of devils on wood tablet
while bitter rain of sharp ice cuts her cheek,
streaked with bright tears of spectral innocence.

Clutching tablet of her romantic song
with supreme voltage of enduring faith,
Daphne struggles to ascend mountain trail
past trees of vital witness to her crime
transcending arrogance of loyal love
with pregnant prayer to find haven of hope.

Assertive progress of her slow ascent
across unmeasured vector of her heart
inspires each step of volatile concern
despite excessive magnitude of failure
through slight displacement of velocity
projecting force of honest ardency.

Since long road of my heart guides me to you
with fragile light of passion in your eyes
that clears space beyond tangled bitterness,
I strive with potent energy of faith
to churn acceleration toward my goal
though mindless nature blocks my urgent way.

Collapsing from exhaustion of respect
at constant blast of cold indifference,
Daphne stumbles into fraught reference
of disconcerting wisdom to lie prone
on muddy path of limitless regret,
paralyzed by agony for success.

When Phoebus emerges from cave of dreams
after terrible thunderstorm dissolves
to haughty breezes rustling laurel tees,
he finds young woman with long tangled hair
still clutching tablet of romantic verse,
but stiff from desertion of her faint soul.

Reading verses written with devil blood
that express emotion of sweet desire
to bind their hearts matrimonial vows,
Phoebus cradles Daphne in trembling arms,
hoping tears of love will resurrect her,
then wreaths his brow with laurels of respect.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus listens as Phoebus sings elegy for the girl whose romantic verses of true love inspire hearts of lovers to endure despite all obstacles of fate.

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

Real Raven Boy
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

Leaning over drawing board of her heart,
Eunah concentrates focus of her eyes
to draw conceptual framework of her mind
in image of young woman with Star Soul
who glides with fragile grace of wordless fear
through swirling chaos of big city life.

Presenting printout of her new webtoon
to bearded boss behind cluttered oak desk,
Eunah transforms into delicate finch
that flutters wings of nervous hopefulness
while he considers storyline with frown
that twists her heart small as the fractured seed.

Riding crowded bus over midnight bridge
across glass abyss of purple despair,
Eunah stares at endless rows of tall towers
where thousands of small faceless windows gleam,
and wonders about all those human beings
who live and die beyond scope of her heart.

Curling on the couch in blanket of faith
while sipping hot chocolate from the black cup,
Eunah mumbles with tense anxiety
that now she has to draw whole episodes
every week before the Friday night deadline,
then beams at payment in her bank account.

Observing swirl of people on the streets
for inspiration for new episodes,
Eunah calculates how assertive cause
of individual will people express
conspires with fate to compose taut events
where they perform consequence of desire.

Surprised by appearance of the weird boy
prancing wild so tattered coat flaps as wings,
Eunah conspires to capture spirit flare
of his unique way with new character
who sets heart of her anxious heroine
at ease with carefree play of calm insight.

Blushing at attention of loyal fans
who love hot romance of her characters,
Eunah reads new chapter of her webtoon
in bookstore crowded with hushed listeners
who gasp with pleasure when her Raven Boy
sings psalm that shows he understands her heart.

Signing books for hundreds of eager fans
who rave about her vivid characters,
Eunah looks up to see real raven boy
in tattered coat who inspired her male lead,
whose eyes perceive deep sorrow of her heart,
so she smiles and asks for his secret name.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus watches as Eunah and Reibeun walk together down the crowded street as they chat about the strange beauty of all the interesting people in the world.

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

Sibyl Visits War Zones
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

Through reports in documentary voice
by which I register brutal events
when men battle men to control the land,
I unspeak true lies about the regime
rising from heart of darkness to enforce
divine laws of their cloud-based thunder god.

Airplanes that angels fly among the clouds
obey command of God to bomb our homes
with thunderbolt as missile forged from steel
on mission to secure with law of fear
global hegemon of our empire creed
that we bring freedom to poor lands of slaves.

When Sibyl wearing mask of providence
confronts uncertain place in game of thrones,
which prophets dare assert with riddled verse
through inexhaustible faith in the truth,
King Midas aims toy gun straight at her head
and whispers pow, then snickers, blind with fear.

While Sibyl walks in field of severed ears
that hear commands of tyrants without curse,
she chants with arduous intensity
polished proverbs from ancient holy book
that Tutankhamen wrote with trembling hand
to sweep streets of the city maze with prayers.

When Sibyl visits war zones of the world,
with camera to document harsh crimes
of Eden Angels armed with flaming swords,
she tries to record with cute fairy tales
suffering of the people in mountain towns
who hold burnt photographs of faceless ghosts.

Translucent language of the wounded heart
expresses tales of witness in bookstores
to raise awareness of fascists regimes
that trample rights of people in the street
with hope to catalyze action through faith
that justice will prevail through code of fate.

Amid smoking ruins of bombed-out towns,
where children gather tattered photographs
from mangled hands of zombies in the rubble,
brave Sibyl documents harsh tyranny
that captures barbarism of cruel men
who dwell in mansions built from bones of farmers.

Extracting stone of ennui from her brain,
with hands stained gold from blood of fallen gods,
fierce Sybil builds grand palace of concern
to house scriptorium of the Jester Seer
who throws fractured mask of authority
before locked doors of cathedrals, and laughs.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus joins Sibyl on her trip to the Holy Land where she documents how beautiful angels guard the fragile bodies of humans lost in the waste land as refugees of war.

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

Alive On The Nowhere Road
© Surazeus
2026 09 08

One day at a time on the Nowhere Road
I follow my heart to the end of fear,
but find myself back where I first began
somewhere in the middle of the world maze
where people without faces make new masks
to hide immortal god-soul of their genes.

I try to find one secret tale to tell
that illustrates vanity of it all
as cosmic myth that explains why we love
though we suffer indignity of pain
that crushes us to nothingness at death,
but indifferent nature mocks my attempts.

Because there is no conscious afterlife,
nor resurrection of the soul from death,
all cases of injustice we endure
will never be righted in turn of time
for all organic creatures of warm flesh
with dreaming brains will crumble into dust.

We are Achilles, Job, and Lear gone mad
with grief at painful loss of those we love
that leaves us wandering on the river shore,
lashed by indifferent storms of mute despair,
to howl with wordless agony at truth
that fate kills us with equal randomness.

The daily news of tragic suffering
through unjust death the innocent endure
becomes one endless Metamorphoses
that Ovid sings of bodies changing shapes
from vibrant humans to spiritless stones,
or writhing trees, or birds that shriek at us.

Once I read their tales of shocking death,
that twists my heart with discathartic rage,
their ghosts haunt me along my winding road,
so I carve their names and faces in masks
on every tree on mountain of their skulls
till our swelling sun incinerates Earth.

I hear voice of Isaiah, that rings clear
from temple of truth on the hill of skulls,
denounce crimes of the rich and powerful
while I transcribe his prophecies in verse
so records of injustice outlast kings
whose bodies rot beside people they kill.

Shocked I am alive on the Nowhere Road,
I search for you in global maze of myths
so I can perceive and know your true self
that blooms frail as bright flower from the Earth
to celebrate strange beauty of your being
before we all vanish while others bloom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus joins Achilles, Job, and Lear in the group session at the Pegasus Psychiatric Hospital for Manic Manipulators to talk about how they feel about the injustice of death.

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

Matrix Of World Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

We are all nodes in matrix of world souls
that flash with temporary consciousness
to dream strange beauty of our multiverse
that forms galactic tapestry of worlds
where we transform from fish to singing god
till we dissolve back to roots of our dreams.

Alone in solitude of crowded Earth,
I sit at window of perceptive faith
to watch dark gloom of nothingness enshroud
vast maze of buildings where blind angels sing
and dance as beams of psychic energy,
entangled in atomic lust of being.

Emerging from dark shadow cave of fate,
I pass unsanctified into this world
as writhing demon of intense desire
contained in bounds of mortal ardency
so through initiation into truth
my heart is purified by self-control.

Though rage against cruel monsters of despair,
who rampage over landscape of our hopes,
drives me to fight for soul security,
protecting my family from slavery,
my heart shatters into children of faith
who journey along rivers of desire.

Though we are strangers in garden of skulls,
we dance together in grand hall of mirrors
with grace that binds our hearts with mutual love,
so we build safe home inside haven walls
to teach our children secret of long life
that no one ever writes in holy books.

One thousand years we build city of homes
where children play in gardens of fruit trees,
till men driven by greed to control wealth
destroy this beauty they could never build,
which leaves us homeless in Garden of Eden,
yet we still love that paradise we lost.

Though thieves of bitter jealousy destroy
beautiful paradise our love creates,
our children will spring from roots of our dreams
as nodes that flash in matrix of world souls
to build new nation of Zarathia
from shattered ruins of America.

When I attend clean kitchen of our home
to prepare fresh spiritual sustenance,
I see ghosts of all my mothers and fathers
feasting on light of the universe
that flash as galaxies inside their eyes
since I am temporary node of thought.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus plots psychic nodes in matrix of world souls to generate complete time-animated globe atlas of world history so we can find where we are on the way to illusion of Heaven.

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

Howling Wind of Woe
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

When sunset screams in silent ecstasy
through frantic spirals of flashing rainbows
that glitter eyes of the hypnotic toad
whose song creates the multiverse of worlds,
I breathe ghost of fertility and sing
in harmony with howling wind of woe.

I try to talk about my family vibe
in pristine tale of pop psychology
about my parental relationships
that root my heart in doorless hall of time,
but I hear cries of children in the rain
entangling me with howling wind of woe.

With threads of memories drawn from my brain
as gleaming strings of tangled honesty,
I sew new tapestry of ancient tales
depicting Oedipus and Icarus
as brave brothers watching the world cup game
that channels rage with howling wind of woe.

Through hawk eyes Prometheus steals for me
I try to read silver calligraphy
my ship writes on the seething waves of change,
but time erases story of my heart
when cold indifferent storm blows me back home
where I dance weird with howling wind of woe.

Eternal mask of our electric moon
obscures intentions of my divine mind
to resurrect the dead in words of songs
though their bodies rot in mud of bomb blasts
that wake blind angel in tomb of the church
battered to shards by howling wind of woe.

Investigating clues about the crime
committed by the man with hands of gold,
I find Idol of Helen with red hair
buried under ruins of the White House
where she blesses children killed by clean guns
that imitate their howling wind of woe.

When church bells scream in agony of prayer,
casting curses of doom on thieves and liars,
mute woman who knows why the caged bird sings
stares at God Face in gleaming pool of fate
that knows every secret she dares not hide,
cast as torn books in howling wind of woe.

Abandoned in the field of tangled wire
where rainbow skeletons dance in red rain,
white horse of wisdom teaches me new code
for logging my soul in the world wide web
for which I translate psychic formulas
that measure words in howling wind of woe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus designs machine that can translate secret messages hidden in the howling wind of woe that angel blind angels can hear on a normal day.

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

Illusion Of Unspoken Hope
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Simple quietness of long afternoons
expands moments to vast eternity
with timeless floating of delicious light
that gleams on walls and lawns of silent homes
where people hide from chaos of desire
to relish peaceful tales of fearful hope.

Unruly laughter from proprieties
of gleeful disdain for old social rules
animates eager hearts with ardency
of brave attention from heart of the soul
who seeks salvation in pleasure of play
that channels energy through graceful minds.

When she appears from shadow of lost faith
with hawk eyes that observe our changing fate,
our spirits run with eager hope to learn
strange secret of spirit framed by clouds
that emanates from iron core of being
so she laughs with delight at chill of death.

If time unravels hope for paradise
that fuels our progress against grim despair,
we gesture with attentive hands of hope
to weave taut tapestry of innocence
depicting state of mind we wish to frame
as narrative remembered in our name.

Toward strange tomorrow with impassive voice
we ever stride to realize in real time
bright vision for the future state of things
we wish to play on stage of our free will
though we wind somewhere in vast maze of lies
that still divert us from elusive goals.

While resting on soft leather couch of fate,
dark eyes penetrating shadows of fear,
she ponders strange security of wealth
that builds illusion of unspoken hope
in brick-bound palace of sun-spacious rooms
where ghosts of possibility haunt us.

She comes with sunlight breaking through storm clouds
that cast stark eerie glow of timeless truth
on treeless mountains drenched with eager rain
so sparkling laughter of her voice revives
fear-poisoned hearts of lonely wanderers
who gather close to hear her clarion song.

Though all we built, lush gardens and strong homes,
are shattered by disastrous storms of rage,
swept clean off Earth in brutal waves of change
by fierce indifferent Nature, her bright song
swells wounded hearts with passion to survive,
so we fly with black ravens in gold skies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus assists Ophelia when she arrives with food and medical supplies to help the people whose homes were destroyed by catastrophic floods.

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

Become The Faceless Sky
© Surazeus
2026 09 07

Blank sky reflects face of eternity
which my brain conjures from weird memory
to project complex vision of itself
at wholesome roundness of the universe
which mirrors what I think about myself,
so I see beauty shine in every soul.

Young shepherd who guides sheep on narrow path
through rock-strewn wasteland of hungry despair
to grass-lush meadow on high mountain slope
where sparkling river flows from glacier snow
which mirrors face of stranger in my mind,
I name each beautiful spirit I see.

When giant one-eyed man in bear-fur cape
attempts to steal sheep of my mountain flock,
I set smooth river stone in leather strip,
twirl courage high around my head with hope,
then sling authority of legal right
that cracks his skull and knocks him to the ground.

Gripping sharp sword he forged from meteor stone,
when he beat it in cave of shadow flames,
I hack off his head to free our fertile land
from oppressive greed of his grasping hand,
then stand on flat-top pyramid of speech
to show the world my victory over hate.

Crowned by Ishtar new king to reign as judge,
I sit on flat-top pyramid of speech
and render judgement of authority
with fair equality of social rules
when I adjudicate conflicts to rein
aggressive passion of the human will.

To stabilize affairs of our shared state,
ensuring legacy of my fair rule,
I choose wise woman with insightful eyes
who bears from holy spirit of my mind
three sons with eyes that comprehend the truth,
but they kill each other to take my crown.

Setting jeweled crown on the judgment seat,
I desert flat-top pyramid of speech
and wander back to grass-lush mountain slope
where wind in leaves of pines whisper my name,
so I lie by sparkling river of time
and gaze at blank face of eternity.

When Ishtar finds me on the mountain slope,
she reminds me that she crowned me as judge
to maintain balance of social affairs,
but I explain my time to reign as gone,
so she holds my hand till glimmer of dawn,
then leaves me to become the faceless sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus visits tomb of King David on the slope of Mount Zion to remember the Shepherd King who set the standard for ruling with fairness and honesty.

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

Broken Bridge Of Anywhere
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

She wants to deconstruct unbroken mind
to program spell linking cause to effect
that curls her heart with plumes of innocence,
so when she wears gold ring of loyalty
no fool would doubt her brave sincerity
she purchased at the secret magic shop.

Therefore she hears wild spirits of the world
mutter arcane spells of verity,
providing framework for her lost world view,
which still includes regret and guilt as signs
that she is making progress toward rebirth
by struggling to maintain integrity.

By stretching her shadowless soul at dawn
to enclose vibrant pulse of cherubim
as shelter that protects her fragile brain,
she channels shudder of the river flow
through angst-flushed veins of passionate concern
for health of strangers she will never meet.

Assertive focus of her time-blazed eyes
requires her body to float on gauze wings
through sudden nothingness of nameless self
that wakes as robot running over hills
till she stops by the jagged stone of fear
and asks the faceless angel why we die.

When pine trees of elegant pride transform
to telephone poles with electric wires,
she counts every snowflake that never falls
so she can welcome homeless travelers
she meets on broken bridge of anywhere
against cool judgement of palpable faith.

We fall outside our minds to comprehend
expansive boundlessness of nevertime,
so she wants to speak the unhearable
with courage to oppose the oligarch
whose shadow looms in storm cloud of despair
though she bears fragile lamp of liberty.

Excited by new opportunity
to travel in the waste land of our faith,
she shoots bright pistol of her aching heart
at mindless stars that scream infinitely
before she finds her way in car of hope
back to the garden of blind skeletons.

She knows we are not who we play in life,
so she strides gracefully along the bridge,
wearing slender black skirt and frilly blouse
to advertise them for sale at the store
hidden in top room of the stone church tower
where angels weep for every suffering soul.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus listens while Persephone explains her mission in life since she divorced the greedy oligarch who operates a huge data center in the underworld.

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

Ideal Persona I would Play
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Bright in glass constellation of my heart,
transcendent god, who has never been real
beyond imagination of wild priests
drunk on wine from mushrooms of ecstasy,
reveals ideal persona I would play
to maintain dignity of daily life.

My heart pours torrents of expansive words,
unmeasured by attentive spate of faith,
which conjure strangers who steal hungry trees,
to see enormous city towers gleam
in evening clouds that loom above deep vales
where surfaces of pools reveal our eyes.

Adorned with jewels of fantastic truth,
my heart attempts in vain to calculate
ethereal breath of angels in fruit trees
whose lust embodies serpents with gold eyes
who tease me with delicious energy
to think I may achieve eternal life.

Weird thoughts of wisdom, I untwist from light,
crawl through dim shadow of my aching flesh
so I pretend I am First Man of Time
commissioned by Cloud-Ghost to name all things
that exist within bounds of time and space
because they glow beyond mask of my face.

As daughter of Tiresias, I guard
Gates of Eden with spear Longinus carved
to catch the dragon falling from rain clouds
disguised as glorious angel with nine eyes
who teaches me how to fly the airplane
so I can make more accurate map of Earth.

Though serpent of the apple tree retains
extensive sets of books blind devils write,
she dares reveal to me, calm mortal fool,
collective wisdom of prophets and seers
whose bones are letters of riddles we share
while feasting on hamburgers by the lake.

Long wick of my temporary heart glows
with timeless grace of pure immortal flame
which fills my heart with long-unspoken spells
that fly as ravens from my open mouth
when I campaign for President of Earth
while seeking treasure in Elysian Fields.

Whole in glass constellation of my brain,
my soul accepts its temporary state
as mortal body of hungry desires
animated by immortal gene soul
through chaos bound in limits of my being,
so I want to tell you about my love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus meets daughter of Tiresias in the Garden of Eden where she asks Adam if he will marry her, but he declares how much he loves Aphrodite instead.

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

Spate Of Vulpine Protocols
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

In tune with spate of vulpine protocols,
designed to process economic growth
through awful worship of transcendent gods,
who cannot comprehend computer codes,
we must interrogate how bitter faith
sidelines assertive patterns without goals.

Against false spate of vulpine protocols,
defined by crackled creeds of chocolate cake,
we disperse funds to arrogant households
beholden to provisions of gold gates,
too widely closed for horses to relate
because we hear bees sing romantic jokes.

Far after spate of vulpine protocols
for welcoming lost refugees of wars,
fought over right to breed on river shores,
we share concerns on television shows
for how soon immigrants may learn to pray
while waiting in bleak offices of faith.

Never should spate of vulpine protocols
debate programs for social pertinence
reversed from previous states of brokerage
that trap certified catalogs for freaks
to prove consensus of spliced chromosomes
for how we calculate incompetence.

Through active spate of vulpine protocols,
contained in brave citations of false faith,
we mold fresh avatars of enterprise
from inconclusive studies engineers
sell back to demons in the factory
who manage fisheries of unborn souls.

Time-fractured spate of vulpine protocols
expands exotic documents for farms
where clumsy ballerinas detain clowns
with extreme prejudice for inquiry
against invasion of blind astronauts
who want to purchase mansions of dead gods.

Illegal spate of vulpine protocols
disturbs logistic progress of rebirth
for model membership of loyalty
in frazzled concepts of the multiverse
where children contract magazines for games
mechanics still refuse to play at dawn.

Magical spate of vulpine protocols
teach young professors how to deconstruct
social privilege of the less powerful
who refuse to obey state ordinance
against observance of the holy day
when we rebuild socialist paradise.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus interviews with an artificial intelligence robot in an online virtual meeting for an official job at the International Department of Vulpine Protocols.

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

Dare Disturb The Universe
© Surazeus
2026 09 06

Ghost of my brain lingers upon the pools
that shimmer in the road of broken dreams
where strangers without faces they could sell
walk somewhere else with frantic urgency
because time always seems about to end
though days keep flowing in the flash of hope.

Because I dare disturb the universe
with questions about time to allocate
another hour of study which attains
strange secret about life no one dares share,
I graph decision time cannot reverse,
accounting for sweet music of the curse.

No eyes can fix my ever-shifting soul
with formulated phrase of arrogance
so I presume to do what must be done
in strict performance of the daily plan
that highlights how we might survive the times
with scent of perfume on the tragic stage.

I am no demon with fire-tattered wings
who slithers on the waste land of despair
too deeply hidden in the silent sea,
so I stretch tangled heart to empty skies
and ponder crisis of the fallen god
that cracks foundation of our ancient state.

I never weep nor fast with hopeless prayer
for no God transcends bounds of everywhere
to hear plea of my words with active heart
that could transform state of atomic swirls,
yet I can calculate what will occur
through prophetic analysis of fate.

We are the living gods who play this hour
in global drama staged by faceless force
who flare our universe from pulsing sphere
in overwhelming questions about why
our fragile bodies vanish in the void
that leaves injustice staining Earth with blood.

Magic lantern of my observing brain
throws striped patterns on walls of paradise
so I seek words from cluttered memories
that could express strange truth my eyes perceive
when I swell movements to spark social change
as cautious attendant licensed to guide.

I see no mermaids singing on wild waves,
nor hear their voices in wind on the beach,
though they are humans who died long ago
who leave their bodies writhing in the sea,
so I stand firm on Earth of spinning change
when my psychic bones form this mountain range.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus swims with mermaids in the sea to rescue people of the world when human voices wake them from hypnotic dream of religious faith.

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

Atoms Dreaming We Are Gods
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I stroll along the road that goes nowhere
because I am always in my core place,
here at the center of my universe,
able to perceive all things that exist
within scope of my cosmic consciousness
which glow with ghost light of our divine soul.

When I leave my home and my family
I travel east to find Primal Homeland
where my ancestors first woke from Star Dream
who traveled west one hundred thousand years
to find where the sun goes under the world,
yet that is how we find the world is round.

When I go off to fight the holy war
to defend the land where my ancestors lived,
if I survive I try to go back home,
but wander nowhere in the Anywhere,
so I sit by the river of blind ghosts
and sing about the home that never was.

So I decide this place where I sit now
has always been secret home of my heart,
investing passion of indifferent hope
to build new home in waste land of nowhere
till this place is the home that always is,
where my children are born and I will die.

Over ten thousand years of spinning time
after I construct new haven for my heart
on lush shore of this ever-flowing stream,
enormous city of steel-framed glass towers
glitters with millions of bright human souls
who all dream with one vision of my eyes.

The story of their journey to the west,
that my ancestors tell in silent wind,
vibrates in dust of every road I walk
so I recall their struggles and insights
that program how my brain perceives the world
as they survive and generate new life.

Though ancient mountains where I search for truth
are frosted by curse of ambitious pride
that drives us to explore and colonize
wild lands that bulge with sparkling minerals,
I reassemble puzzle of world view
that frames sublime truth with new narrative.

I am so present in this time-bound space,
enclosed by invisible walls of truth,
that I become the paradise I speak
when I compose Tellurian Testament
in Astarian Scriptures of my own faith
that we are atoms dreaming we are gods.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus finds his own skull in the temple still singing prophecies about the rise and fall of kings and empires in relentless change of human history.

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

Bend Our Wounded Bodies
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

I cannot bury thoughts in open ground
except they sprout to angels without wings
who plow deep soil and plant aggressive seeds
with plan to claim this land as ancient home
based on weird paradigm that graves may mark
our territory where we live and die.

Heart quickened with tellurian redolence,
sweet scented by dream-rotten flesh of gods,
I pour libation of mysterious wine
in soil for skulls of prophets to imbibe
that fuels intense expression of deep faith
far-rooted from great mountains of contempt.

Against now-sudden freakish snow of hope
we bend our wounded bodies to contain
enduring hope for time-unspooling truth,
connived by thieves who wear official robes
by claiming land our fathers tilled as theirs
despite objection at injustice done.

Contorted by fierce loneliness of faith,
propped up by worthless prayers for liberty,
we grasp contingent way for solving how
dire vanishment at stark cadence of hate
constrains alert expansion beyond pain
when house door of our hope is locked by greed.

Sweet berries may sustain our bitterness
that buoyant urgency drives our vain quest,
though we dare retain our false bravery
with dreamless laughter of indifferent storms
that thrash our straw homes into swirls of power,
unbound by helpless acceptance of fate.

Preserved by peaceful absences of fate
that twist our mountain hearts in coils of rage,
we search for cold wind in fear-jagged cave
that hides unspeakable truth in bright names
we share with sparkling ardency of change,
still mirrored by dark river of our faith.

On last day of the world near edge of truth
we pluck fresh fruit of knowledge from the tree
that transforms bodies of ancestral dreams
to pulchritude of loyal innocence,
because this land is formed from hidden graves
where ghosts of people whisper how to live.

Down stone-paved trails of jagged opulence
we search for beauty blooming from cracked skulls
to find soul of our world in faceless gods
who loom in shining clouds above brave hills,
revealing wounds that strength hearts with faith
till we become dirt of the signless road.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus finds refugees from the highland clearances and takes them on ships from Scotland to the hills of Carolina where they steal land from faceless ghosts.

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

Matrix Of Star Souls
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Though I stumble nowhere on road of life,
randomly following my hungry gut,
constantly mislead by my eager heart,
wandering without any plan somewhere else,
I find myself in paradise with you,
together in our matrix of star souls.

Confounded by the star map of my fate
that sends me every which way I should go,
which leaves me stranded in the Promised Land,
I keep going past gates of Wonderland
to find safe haven of our loving hearts
where we thrive in our matrix of star souls.

Sometimes I feel alone on spinning Earth,
one tiny flash of selfish consciousness
that glows in vastness of the universe,
but I feel every conscious soul alive
on every planet in our multiverse,
all minds woven in matrix of star souls.

We dream together in glow of vast space,
zillions of souls shining in the White Whole,
for we all emanate from one God Mind
as atoms flashing with divine insight,
temporary nodes of self-aware brains
entangled in huge matrix of star souls.

I am surprised to find myself alive,
sparked into being by passionate desire
of my mother and father to incarnate
immortal soul of genes in mortal flesh,
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing
cosmic hymn that vibes matrix of star souls.

Since Dream Thought first sparked awake our world soul
in swirling glitter of our Mother Sea,
I have evolved four hundred million years
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to monkey
to wingless angel seeking to be god,
giving body to matrix of star souls.

My mind contains multitudes of old souls
for all my ancestors, alive in me,
program how my time-dreaming brain perceives
ideal concepts essential to real things
so I sing mindless soul of God in me
as one flame in matrix of star souls.

While David strums harp of clandestine faith,
and Orpheus plays lyre of innocence,
I conjure ancestral ghosts from book tales
that give them life in visions of our hearts,
then let them all dissipate to star dust,
angels who form our matrix of star souls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus and David argue over whether souls of the dead can be brought back to life while Saraswati and Athena service wine to temple worshippers.

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

Specter Of The Desert Seer
© Surazeus
2026 09 05

Entranced by specter of the desert seer
who walks unknown in cities of the world,
I search for wisdom in eyes of the owl
that brings to honest hands of Liberty
bright Lamp of Truth and Book of Names and Deeds
so she guides our quest to the Promised Land.

Amused by specter of the desert seer
who highlights crimes of people grasping power,
I join his revolution to transform
paradigm of our shared global world view
to nurture needs of women nursing life
so we thrive in lush garden of fruit trees.

Inspired by specter of the desert seer
who haunts vast crowded maze of city streets,
I strum the long-lost lyre of Mercury
to conjure demons of our aching hearts
so we rebel against oppressive thieves
and restore functions of our liberal state.

Confused by specter of the desert seer
who hums riddles on television screens,
I wear electric mask of Jupiter
and fight thieves who clutch wheel for Ship of State
to sail past iceberg of their fascist greed
and land in garden where Hesperus rules.

Engaged by specter of the desert seer
who channels flames of light in crystal eyes,
I build piston engine Barsanti sketched
to power chariot of Ezekiel
as time machine for zooming fast through space
so I can find Fields of Elysium.

Annoyed by specter of the desert seer
who teaches me to calculate my fate,
I choose to exercise strict self-control
based on brave Apollonian will to live,
fueled by fierce Dionysian love for truth
till I transform into God I create.

Designed by specter of the desert seer
who programs how my brain perceives the world,
I navigate my way through many turns
in winding journey through the wilderness
beyond the waste land to the Promised Land
where I build Heaven from ruins of Hell.

Uncharmed by specter of the desert seer
who casts illusions of religious faith,
I wake from timeless cavern of my heart
spirit of Telluria, Mother Earth,
who molds my soul from eyes of Jupiter
so wise Saturnus lives again in me.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus reveals himself to be the specter of the desert seer who appears with vision to help us build Zarathia from ruins of the fallen American Empire.

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

Polytropocity Of Wisdom
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Since these are the days of exquisite sorrow,
we walk together on the broken road
without regret the center cannot hold
when our world view begins to fall apart,
though patched together by outdated creeds
that venerate some long-dead king as god.

Feasting with ghosts of the dead on high barrow,
on oak throne Odin carved from dragon bone,
I contemplate with knowing smirk of truth
that now, at two hundred and fifty years,
America has lasted just as long
as Tokugawa Shogunate of Nippon.

The sun that rises on their snow-capped mountains
sets first from mountains of America,
from Bokku to Nippon on rainbow wings,
yet weaving distant lands with mutual vibe
for seeking honor with the stoic grin,
Amaterasu in lush Oregon.

I wonder if we should lament collapse
of our aggressive colonizer state
founded by sailors from the British Isles
who used sea map that Mercator designed
to explore every land around the Earth
and rule empire with Scepter of Zambor.

Though shy Ieyasu, ruler of Mikawa,
just wanted to be left alone to live
in peaceful happiness with Tsukiyama,
his sweet bride graceful as the Sika deer,
she brings message from Takemikazuchi
that he is destined to unite the state.

Somewhere out in land of America
some humble Ieyasu, or brave Liu Bang,
who manages affairs of his small town,
feels Hidden Dragon stirring in his heart
with mission to unite our fractured state
and rebuild what Midas has torn apart.

Some complicated man of many turns,
urged by polytropocity of wisdom,
will surf the rising tide of revolution
to lead the honest people of our land
against oppressors who exploit our hearts,
and found Zarathia on love for truth.

Because I like to contradict myself,
since I contain multitudes of great souls
embodied by people across our land,
I hear voice of America express
desire for every person to live free
with equal justice of world liberty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus searches land of America for incarnation of Ieyasu or Liu Bang to follow as he founds Zarathia on ruins of the Great American Empire.

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

Atoms Of Perceptive Brain
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

No state of mind prepares our consciousness
for blank finality of nothingness
that fractures sense of being at crack of death
which scatters atoms of perceptive brain
in sparkling cloud of inorganic breath
that turns to mud in mindless flush of rain.

If bright integrity of consciousness
is coherent concept of somethingness
maintaining wholeness in clear sense of self
outside corporal bounds of pulsing flesh,
then we would not blank out in dreamless sleep
and wake at reboot of computing flash.

Bright conscious glow of our perceptive mind
is conjured by this brain that hope designed
through metamorphosis of gene rebirth
when bodies procreate in child of fate
which better calculates what love is worth
through urgent act of faith we navigate.

First mortal being to exercise my mind
through constant turning of quick zest, I find
strange beauty glowing in this world of forms
which I explore beyond confining walls
by raging wild as god against brute storms
that thrash my fragile soul of chemicals.

Through every action to transcend blank death
I learn new secrets sparked by divine breath
to overcome harsh suffering of the soul,
asserting bright attention of insight
with actions contradicting assigned role
against blank darkness of death with fierce light.

I am Aeolus, human filled with air,
huge spirit swollen with desire to care,
so I run laughing on vast ocean beach
past scattered wreckage of my storm-bashed boat
to grasp ecstatic wisdom beyond reach
till deep in sea of nothingness I float.

When Sirens on the jagged rock of fate
sing mind-enchanting song against cruel hate,
my heart, lured with irresistible hope
for eternal life after body death,
drives brave machine of my spirit to cope
with calm indifference of Nature through breath.

Though we build empires of productive farms
based on religious faith in soothing charms
with vain hope to transcend death of the soul,
through deathless institutions of grand states,
things fall apart at cracking of the whole,
and no ghost lingers at the pearly gates.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus runs with Aeolus on the windy beach of laughter to chase the birds of sorrow, then gather eggs and cook them over the fire as sunset glows ecstatically weird.

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

See Past Mask Of Seems
© Surazeus
2026 09 04

Sibylla walks along river of dreams
and chuckles at the strangeness of her thoughts
that ponder power struggles between men
over who controls who will get to eat,
then asks brave Hamlet if he knows the truth
that blinds our eyes to see past mask of seems.

Gazing out across great river of dreams,
Sibylla plucks apple from Tree of Life
then gives it calmly to the weeping man
and thanks Timoleon with beaming smile
because he freed the slaves of Syracuse
so they can live and thrive with equal rights.

We should abolish every monarchy,
Sibylla whispers in the morning breeze,
and force every tyrant to farm wheat fields
so we eat bread of brave humility,
then design social programs that support
development of talents into skills.

Our friendship is broad field of quiet light
where vibrant hours nurture our mental growth
so we share love through spiritual support
the way the shoreline embraces the sea
that helps us manage chaos of desire
when gentle hands create Heaven we share.

I want to offer you encouragement,
Sibylla speaks to crowd of citizens,
for I love you in my bewildered way
when I discover door inside my heart
that leads me to bright meadow of our hopes
where we share stories by the glowing moon.

When Hamlet leaves Ophelia behind,
where she floats singing on the River Styx,
Orpheus lifts her out with gentle arms
so they teach daughter of forbidden love
how to analyze fraught global affairs
and prophesy rise of democracy.

Engaged with process of creative art
that frames narrative of global success,
Sibylla fabulates with fairy tales
conceptual code through ambiguity
that stages plays of individual will
when people choose fate they try to avoid.

Brave hymns we sing in shadow of despair
embrace chaotic darkness of our hearts
refracting psychic energy of gods
so we break our minds free from social norms
and build global state of Zarathia
from shattered ruins of America.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while Sibylla sings sweet songs of encouragement to audience of young women who adore their priestess of truth.

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

Vibrant Currency Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

The river gushing from cave of illusions
will never tell me what I want to hear,
so I carve visions of my mind in stone
because rain washes all our dreams away,
then program robot of my spirit clone
with secret memories I would forget.

My future is the future of this land
that throbs with anguish of the suffering soul,
unjustly treated by the faceless state
as honest criminal who does no wrong,
so I confess to nothing in sweet song
that hypnotizes believers with lies.

Unique state of inaugurated mind
encompasses all possible outcomes
through secretive analysis of skulls
which calculate how far we have to go
to transcend mortal decay of the flesh
with plan to laugh for the photographer.

Unsurpassed scope of heavenly respect
almost daunts bone-clacking seer of concern
who scrambles nations of bold agencies
to peel regretful fruit of rotten hearts
with disorganized methods of soul theft
through unabated waves of wretched faith.

Still wearing mask of calm demonic pride,
I travel between galaxies of gods
with flashing eyes now big enough to see
golden path of success through cautious squint
that brings our bodies back to scrambled game
till sharp tongues bleed through walls of eager glass.

If rainbows dare respect my will to win
I may assert through serpentine attention
encrusted sorrows heroes throw in swamps
against deliberate progress we admire
that patches surreal truths in tuneless seeds
which sprout when buried in obscure disdain.

Since I am not smooth cobblestones in rain
that sings of fateful sorrows ghosts disdain,
I stride with vibrant currency of fame
which angels sell to those who discard truth
to wear fear-polished mask of fervent prayer
by building houses on the river shore.

When white horse of Godiva wanders home
to find out why her daughters cry with shame,
our ghosts assemble in the city square
to play role in our tense democracy
that scatters children out the open door
to build new empire of aggressive fame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus sends email to thousands of poets, expressing amazement at their literary achievements, then offers services to help them attain critical acclaim of fame, for a small fee.

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

Souls Of Hungry Seraphim
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Too deep the sorrow of brute wakefulness
that scatters souls of hungry seraphim
frail as crackled leaves across parking lots
where demons give each other stolen eyes
to make up excuses for scamming gods
who insist on their hard-won happiness.

Strange idea of the true way to live
blinds generations of eager wanderers
who clean the spotless windows of their hearts
in numberless houses where no one lives,
apprenticed to the changeless flow of time
unspooling clocks that scream too silently.

If books unfold themselves with angel wings
against sapphire intensity of hope,
we share ripe peaches in the afternoon
while Satan vacuums empty offices
because no one meets him at the crossroads
with newspapers from secret centuries.

The greatest tales of history ever told
seem to have happened far too long ago
for children to remember why they need
bread to eat with honey of demon tears
that soothes the wounded hearts of honesty
with inconvenience of forgotten dreams.

Since we get nothing from old memories
except mute madness of the speeding car,
we look for kind gnomes in suburban yards
who ask us if we vote for president
before the second coming of the toad
whose eyes gleam bright as headlights in the fog.

She tells him with soft voice of fluttered leaves
that she prefers to fill her heart with love
instead of waiting for his love to fill
the empty places of her hopefulness,
so he calls her the beautiful and brave
with open eyes in museum of her heart.

Since I was born with the weakness to fall,
she sings while twirling in clear sparkling rain
where flower petals flutter in the breeze,
I was also born with the strength to rise,
so he holds wingless anguish of her heart
till she grows wings and flies into the clouds.

The human heart is stronger than the stone
smoothed by ten million years of river tears
because it shatters from betrayal each day,
yet throbs again with dawn flash of the sun,
so we hold hands to bind our weakened hearts
with strength of eager loneliness we share.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury while High Priestess of Wounded Hearts sings heart-healing melodies for young women in her Temple of the Honest Girl.

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

Temporary Gods Of Flesh
© Surazeus
2026 09 03

Three ways blind angels know our death is soon
tricks me to wander thoughtlessly alone,
but since I see your face in the bright moon
I leave last pear of my heart on your stone
that never rolls up or down at my word,
therefore I conclude that life is absurd.

The ancient bearded bard with broken harp
still lingers manic in the happy field
while cradling with care gold comatose carp
that leads me to buried Achillean shield
depicting how citizens of the world
pray for third coming of the cosmic herald.

Medusa calls me on the telephone
so I attend her late-night singing show
where she plays mirror of the psychic clone
whose proverbs teach the spirit how to grow
till cute Cheonyeo Gwishin with purple eyes
recruits me to join her squadron of spies.

She wants to ask me why she is not here,
but words that drip from moist clam of her mouth
transform to lizards lured by bitter fear
that mutate problem of evil to faith
since we are temporary gods of flesh
with brains that store their memories in dream cache.

Medusa asks me if I want to kiss
so we embrace with passion of the snake
that tricks Eve into wanting homelife bliss,
though social role she plays is never fake,
despite how industry consumes tall trees
as paper money we use to pay fees.

Since we compete in endless psychic game
by chanting spells in church of prophet bards,
we find our souls trapped by oppressive fame
as social heroes who must hire tough guards
since farmers are foundation of the state
whose struggles define our national fate.

As fugitives from language of the heart,
we tangle bodies in ballet of hope
through algorithm hidden on the chart
favored by survivors who learn to cope
with exploitation our spirits endure,
till Jesus arrives on snake-horned markhor.

One hundred thousand poets recite spells,
while gathered round fountain of the town square,
which conjure demons from aesthetic wells
to win song contest at Scarborough Fair
over whose poetic vision best depicts
real world we perceive on the River Styx.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus searches for Ophelia at Scarborough Fair but no one has seen her since she went on pilgrimage to Canterbury last year so he finds her white horse alone by the river of ghosts.

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

Luminous Phantom Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

I keep the secret of love in my heart
though it swells and bleeds into apple seeds
that I scatter along the muddy road
while ducking under sorrow-laden boughs
to savor succulent sanguinity
too quickly lost in subtle jubilance.

Excessive laughter of sorrow-winged joy
teaches me about the impossible,
yet I never hesitate to reach out
with eagerness to exchange what we make
with what we need in weird commercial game
that functions to keep us busy till death.

Because she understands language of waves
Sycorax knows how to use the dream code
of happiness to tame the Jormungander
in giving her rides to the Promised Land
where she paints murals of the multiverse
on temple walls before the Feast of Friends.

So when she finds corpse of the gray-haired poet
rotting among the golden daffodils,
Sycorax extracts his brain from his skull
so she can study the Realm of Ideas
that conjures visions of the Natural World
as matrix that powers our battery hearts.

Staring at computer screen for eighth hours,
Sycorax imagines with fervent calm
the Great American Novel she writes
with blood of angels on the locked church door
where her son lies in the coffin of glass
since he died in the motorcycle crash.

We feast on terror of fake happiness,
Sycorax explains to the green giraffe
on which she rides into Jerusalem
as new messiah for the modern age
to found one world religion of new faith
that unites all nations in dance of ghosts.

Driving cross-country in old white sedan
to start her new job at Wonderland Park,
Sycorax sings hymns of shy Emily
whose face is luminous phantom of faith
that guides her to the future of success
not even God can see written in sand.

When she arrives at destined hill of bones,
where angels disguised as children with masks
dance among flowers of discarded thoughts,
Sycorax holds fractured skull of Wordsworth
till she comprehends spirit of his verse
that programs atheist wisdom from the curse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus flirts with Sycorax as they wander around the Wonderland amusement park to hang out with Emily and William who write haiku in wet cement.

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

Always Friends With Ghosts
© Surazeus
2026 09 02

Because she will be always friends with ghosts
by crossing bridge of angels before dark,
she feeds swans of the past with anecdotes
designed as proverbs in the holy book
to guide lost people to the garden brook
where they make new faces from broken boats.

With laughter from cracked stones of hungry ghosts
she opens pages that flap frantic wings
which teach young children how to invent words
they need to prove their minds are worth the light
that blooms from lilacs in the cluttered yard
where faceless angels carve their names in bones.

If she decides her specialty is joy,
that springs from shifting wells of raven blood,
she may bring flowers to the funeral
held for the old man no one seems to know
who liked to build boats from demonic bones
as if dew on our eyes may cleanse the heart.

Her river glazed with light of centuries,
she tells us how this world is wondrous weird
so we exchange phone numbers by the lake,
but lose touch with the ones we want to know
by walking signless road beyond the wall
that traps our bodies in false paradise.

Still half awake three hours before red dawn,
she stares with wonder at true nothingness
with plan to give unspoken words away
because they sprout their own butterfly wings
and leave her stranded in the doorless room
despite the way she earns her right to live.

When fifteen women in the church at noon
discuss how she reveals her writhing heart
with anguish for brave seekers of the sea,
she blesses tables heaped with empty plates
while stealing apples from the box of lies
from which flow sorrows of the hungry world.

So when the last book still unwritten screams,
she scatters lost words on the cracked sidewalk,
then opens glass door to the multiverse
where humble god of impotence designs
strange paradigm for the whole world to use
when framing thoughts with ancient languages.

Yet she extracts from laughing radios
completed puzzles that depict lost homes
where families feast on zombie heart of faith
to prove our right to live free from despair
based on our friendship with the nameless ghosts
who glow in television screens of hope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus finds young woman dazed and bleeding from assault, so he takes her to the hospital, but she sprouts wings and flies out the window of despair.

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