Code Of Our Zeitgeist
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

If unexpected laughter breaks the door
white rabbit of wisdom will ask for more,
but you request I play the fountain fool,
so I hide in light to invent the tool
fallen angels use to heal us with hope
despite unspooling anguish of the rope.

Yet someone strange lurks in evening shade,
so I stand surprised where the book was laid
three thousand years of people walking past
till my eighth cousin asks the join the cast,
so I draw the gun on theater stage
to shoot the darkness of innocent rage.

Startled by blast of the lost prairie train,
I count every drop of the midnight rain
where gray smoke curls from the haughty cigar
so I erase my ghost from the speeding car
before last bottle of liquor is drunk
at flash of lightning in the stolen trunk.

Regret defines my journey to the west
with nothing but photos in the cracked chest
so I stop in the small country town to ask
old librarian to sell me her mask,
but she serves honey-ginger tea instead
and explains why her sweet daughter is dead.

Though forty years flash by in sudden twist
where I play role of the ventriloquist,
I drive to the bank in Beverly Hills
with no intention of paying my bills,
because ancient willow witch knows my name
since she it was who trapped me with world fame.

Before the camera with elegant grace
I play starship captain of outer space
who saves her crew from demon of the world
where enormous dragons of time lie curled,
till Beowulf asks me to marry him
so I adopt as pet his gold-eyed Grim.

Beside the fountain of Neptune in Rome
we talk about where to build our new home,
while planes sent by kings in gray business suits
bomb the museum where devils play flutes,
so I stare at painting of Phoebus Christ
who tries to program code of our zeitgeist.

If long-expected marriage of true minds
occurs in glass cathedral no one finds,
I may ask Tiresias for a discount
to purchase freedom with my bank account,
but someone declares the old king is dead,
so I eat fried egg on slice of rye bread.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus interviews the movie star at her home full of antiques in Rome whose eyes dart nervously as she smokes the last cigarette of fate.

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

Dream World Of Success
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

When I hear Sisyphus laugh with delight
I know rolling stone of justice he hurls
has smashed clay-foot idol of the Gold King
whose tower collapses in house of cards
because fascists always lose game of power
by driving wise people out of the state.

When I arrive on Sanzu River shore
I stop before Bridge of Forgetfulness
to decide which crossing I want to take
on my way to the dream world of success
where people worship idol of my soul
long after I have vanished in the void.

When Yama welcomes me with open heart
to valley of Naraka veiled with mist,
he gives me jeweled grail from skull of Zeus
filled with nectar from Vaitarana Stream
so I drink spirit of the Thirteen Worlds
which cleanses my body of vain regret.

When I climb trail cluttered with skulls of kings
up wind-battered slopes of Mount Kailasha,
I kneel before crystal Cave of Illusions
where Shiva meditates on leopard skin
and plays heart-enchanting tunes on jade flute
while Parvati dances with divine grace.

Each atom that composes Frame of Self
was sparked by first flash of creative love
that spiraled into galaxies of worlds
nurtured by wisdom of Solaria
who weaves neural net of our dreaming brains
from beams of light that fuel our pulsing cells.

Each atom in my body at this hour
was part of various material objects
through fourteen billion years of evolution,
soil and rain transmutated by roots of trees
to fruit we eat while singing by the lake,
which transform to immortal soul of genes.

Each atom has cycled through countless bodies
as material substance that glows with life
as we evolve generations of souls,
dirt to grass to wheat or cow we consume,
then back to dirt in cycle of rebirth,
so we dance laughing in the evening rain.

When I climb ruined Ziggurat of Ur
where Ishtar designed rituals of religion,
I hear her ancient voice still ringing clear
as she sang enchanting Dream of Creation
that still programs how my brain perceives life,
for she lives in every human on Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus plays Lyre of Mercury outside Cave of Illusions where Shiva and Parvati play with their children while thousands of kings from every land on Earth kneel in worship.

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

Weird Voice That Hums
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

Shocked by weird voice that hums within my brain
with eerie echoes of uncanny thoughts,
I open eyes of ancient memories
with clear intention of terrified hope
to comprehend strange shapes my mind perceives
that pulse with intense passion of desire.

Inspired by vibrant contours of the world
which undulate with secret waves of faith,
I mold thick river clay with eager hands
in vase depicting dance of souls in rain
that bears juice of ripe fruit from Tree of Life
we drink to celebrate rebirth of light.

Attuned by strange vibrations of the ground
that quaver soft with tremors of concern,
I translate song of wind in dancing trees
to frantic prophecy of urgent hope
based on blurred observation of events
that swirl around me in the cityscape.

Focused on frail faces of human beings
who perform roles in our communal game,
I dramatize story of conscious life
in never-ending fairy tale of hope
that fuels our transformation as we grow
through intricate ballet of give and take.

Amused by carefree play of conscious souls
who stretch their arms to touch eternal light,
I write tales of our lives in river mud
recording names of every soul alive
till they fly away on wings of desire
as we ascend to cloud world of our dreams.

Intrigued by complex web of singing stones
that form foundation of our spinning globe,
I trace how water flows in streams of light
to weave vast tangled net of thirsty roots
that sprout as trees and herbs in glowing fields
where people gather fruit from heart of time.

Enthused by divine spirit of our world
that glows from body of each human brain,
I breathe ethereal spirit of the sky
then sing encoded name of every soul
who blooms in words from silent stones of Earth
to harmonize in global choir of hope.

Charmed by weird voice that hums within my brain
with puzzling concepts of spiritual tropes,
I speak with darkness of the universe
who wakes as gleam of light that I am now
so I glow briefly with pleasure of being
then flicker out for all eternity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus pauses from strumming lyre of Mercury to rest a while beside the plaza fountain and watch the people of Earth engaged in communal rituals of work and play.

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

We Create Our Fate
© Surazeus
2026 02 26

We create our fate with each choice we make
by weaving silver threads of cosmic light
in holy scripture of clandestine creed
because we map our virtual world of dreams
by walking toward bright treasure of the heart
that lures us lost in endless maze of myths.

We create our fate with each choice we make
by telling stories from false memories
we feel are real as kite on twanging string
that dances in cold mountain wind of hope
so we can see our place in vale of tears
where angels struggle trapped in vines of faith.

We create our fate with each choice we make
by walking far across waste land of snow
with shadow of fourth person by our side
whose face we cannot see in gleaming light
that fractures mirror mind of our world view
when we kneel laughing by the pool of eyes.

We create our fate with each choice we make
by naming every stranger on the street
who hurries past in gust of howling wind
because blind death still waits for every soul
despite blind faith we place in God above
whose silence drenches us in mocking rain.

We create our fate with each choice we make
by sculpting spirit straight from flash of bombs
that disassemble economic gains
contained in stringent formulas of greed
contrived with capital to fund success
for building idols of our vampire god.

We create our fate with each choice we make
by stumbling drunk on threshold of world change
through frantic oscillation between poles
of fierce opposing camps of hostile clowns
who battle over whose god is more real
till Earth is soaked in blood of honest faith.

We create our fate with each choice we make
by prancing on bright stage of global fame
to perform role as savior of the world
who leads brave revolution of the lost
against cruel oligarchs in towers of gold
who sail yachts as we slave in factories.

We create our fate with each choice we make
by photographing scenes of civil war
between conflicting ideologies
that shatter mirror of democracy
so we assemble puzzle of weird truth
from Osiris, our new messiah sleuth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus rides red giraffe in parade as new world emperor who rules the Earth on enormous pyramid of glass by the Mississippi River.

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

Swirling In Story
© Surazeus
2026 02 26

We are the song of the rain in the trees
as we pass on with slow dance of the breeze.
We rise at our birth from dream of the seas
and float down river of life at our ease.
We are the cycle of rain in the sky,
swirling in story of the cosmic eye.

We are the transient shimmer of the moon
that appears on Earth and is gone too soon.
We feel the mountain humming its wild tune
when the sun grants our heart its secret boon.
We are the sorrow of grass on the plain,
swirling in story of suffering pain.

We are the lope of our goal-driven gait
as we blaze the road of our chosen fate.
We pulse with hope for truth to navigate
landscape of wisdom we investigate.
We are the laughter of fresh fruit we share,
swirling in story of religious care.

We are the flash of stars beyond time
as we convey our memories in rhyme.
We wake from sleep with the uncanny chime
to watch strange play of the prophetic mime.
We are the growth of sparkling galaxies,
swirling in story of biblical keys.

We are the magnet of our iron core
that weaves our lives in legendary lore.
We channel faith through the world-leaping door
that leaves us stranded on the misty moor.
We are the flame of spirit alchemy,
swirling in story of brain blasphemy.

We are the faces blind children have drawn
while searching for eggs on the castle lawn.
We join the revolution of the pawn
who crowns himself new emperor at dawn.
We are the program of our psychic genes,
swirling in story of weird dream machines.

We are the agency of mental code
that urges us to walk the signless road.
We colonize swamp of the singing toad
who teaches us to formulate God Mode.
We are the window of the longing heart,
swirling in story of the stellar chart.

We are brave question of the wordless why
since our consciousness blanks out when we die.
We speak about great deeds we want to try
as the wingless angel who cannot fly.
We are the riddle lost without a clue,
swirling in story that is never true.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury as he leads souls who died from cancer to the soul-cleansing pool of happiness in the jeweled cave of Pluto.

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

Viewless Wings Of Poesy
© Surazeus
2026 02 25

Startled awake from drowsy dreams of hope,
I hear light-winged Dryad of pear trees
sing of summer with sharp electric ease
that echoes with melodious ache of love
in vast suburban maze of cheerful homes
far from lone highway where my spirit roams.

Since I returned unseen to world of work,
because I faded not in forest sheen,
with bottled liquor of the Hippocrene,
from long afternoons singing in the park,
I bring with me strange songs of haunted woods
that radiate lustrous eyes in neighborhoods.

Almost grown specter-thin with pale despair,
I journeyed far across lush evening land
and found bright glow of passion in brave bond
through viewless wings of Poesy in air
I breathe to transform sorrow in clear psalm
with vibrant tones that teach my heart brave calm.

Forever now in love with easeful Death,
immortal Muse who knows my secret name,
I chant ecstatic tune that dares not tame
dynamic force of wisdom with brave faith
expanding conscious scope of my respect
for clever insight of the Architect.

Amid the alien corn of my desire
I open magic casement of my heart
to find my place on Earth by the star chart,
yet sing out of tune with the global choir
since I bear book from fairy land forlorn
with puzzling map that shows where I was born.

Uncanny dream song of the nightingale
lures me to grove of wild fruit trees at dusk
where I see angel wearing mortal mask
strum lyre of Mercury with joy, and wail
heart-aching ode to beauty of this life
that forges courage from confusing strife.

Performing roles of emperor and clown,
young Mercury sings ode of aching hope
that suffering will teach our hearts to cope
by breathing faith to wear celestial gown,
inspired by music of the nightingale
that reveals secret of the Holy Grail.

When I hear forlorn bells of fairy land
unveil mysterious path to my True Self,
I follow song of that deceiving elf
who lures me to weird garden of my mind
where I sing plaintive anthem with clear voice
that proves we map our fate with every choice.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus joins John Keats in the forest dim to sing ode in harmony with the nightingale that leads them to fairy land forlorn.

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

Misaligned Features Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 02 25

Cruel as the joke of life sometimes might be
I find strange beauty in weird messiness
that renders landscape of our mental space
crooked with misaligned features of fate
in contrast with delusions of desire
our brains project on what we wish could be.

Peter cocks his head and stares at dark clouds,
then grins as if his argument made sense,
but shrugs and watches boys on grassy field
play football with assertive force of pride
by sprinting with their treasure to the goal
that replays fight of rival towns for wealth.

Just as both teams meet at the scrimmage line
to start another down with standard run,
someone in black jacket runs on the field
and shoots at players with shotgun of rage,
killing the quarterback and several players,
then everyone in the stands starts to scream.

Chaos of people running everywhere
erupts from controlled ritual of observance,
but Peter drops beer can with gleaming eyes,
runs straight through the swirling crowd of scared souls
toward looming shadow of the evil demon
and tackles the shooter with brutal force.

Gripping arms of the shooter with tight fists,
Peter waits till police handcuff his wrists,
then glares at young boy with scar on his face
who growls that the quarterback and his pals
gang-raped his sister and left her for dead,
so God told him to send their souls to Hell.

We cannot take the law in our own hands,
Peter wants to declare with noble voice,
but police take him away in the van
down the dark road while lights flash blue and red,
so he stares stunned at bright blood on the grass
as journalists with cameras call him hero.

Our world is structure of atomic sparks
so actions of our hands, sparked by our will,
construct or destruct the structures of things
through force of energy we gesture forth
when visions of the world inside our brains
moralize the real world our minds perceive.

While guarding Gate of Paradise with law
to attend credentials of characters
requesting entrance to Garden of Eden,
Peter studies passport of the young man
who killed the rapists who abused his sister,
then stamps approved, allowing him to enter.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus sings ballad that details revenge of the wronged who apply the moral law of justice based on the Wiccan Rede.

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

Misaligned Features Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 02 25

Cruel as the joke of life sometimes might be
I find strange beauty in weird messiness
that renders landscape of our mental space
crooked with misaligned features of fate
in contrast with delusions of desire
our brains project on what we wish could be.

Peter cocks his head and stares at dark clouds,
then grins as if his argument made sense,
but shrugs and watches boys on grassy field
play football with assertive force of pride
by sprinting with their treasure to the goal
that replays fight of rival towns for wealth.

Just as both teams meet at the scrimmage line
to start another down with standard run,
someone in black jacket runs on the field
and shoots at players with shotgun of rage,
killing the quarterback and several players,
then everyone in the stands starts to scream.

Chaos of people running everywhere
erupts from controlled ritual of observance,
but Peter drops beer can with gleaming eyes,
runs straight through the swirling crowd of scared souls
toward looming shadow of the evil demon
and tackles the shooter with brutal force.

Gripping arms of the shooter with tight fists,
Peter waits till police handcuff his wrists,
then glares at young boy with scar on his face
who growls that the quarterback and his pals
gang-raped his sister and left her for dead,
so God told him to send their souls to Hell.

We cannot take the law in our own hands,
Peter wants to declare with noble voice,
but police take him away in the van
down the dark road while lights flash blue and red,
so he stares stunned at bright blood on the grass
as journalists with cameras call him hero.

Our world is structure of atomic sparks
so actions of our hands, sparked by our will,
construct or destruct the structures of things
through force of energy we gesture forth
when visions of the world inside our brains
moralize the real world our minds perceive.

While guarding Gate of Paradise with law
to attend credentials of characters
requesting entrance to Garden of Eden,
Peter studies passport of the young man
who killed the rapists who abused his sister,
then stamps approved, allowing him to enter.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus sings ballad that details revenge of the wronged who apply the moral law of justice based on the Wiccan Rede.

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

Relate My Weird Tale
© Surazeus
2026 02 24

If she spends her days in tears people shed,
she may lose her eyes to the faceless god
who looks just like her father of the moon
so she explains with psychiatrist tone
that we have a nameless stranger in us
whose dark feelings are superfluous.

She holds her breath with courageous attempt
to prove her companions should be exempt
from sudden nothingness of wordless death
who like to sing with oceanic breath
assertive psalm of holy dizziness
to the dead on bridge of forgetfulness.

Because we learned to ambulate upright
while dancing in the shallow ocean tide,
she tells me she feels dizzy in her heart
because our world is spinning off the chart,
then reminds me that I should change my life
after she decides she will be my wife.

She digs in mass grave of dead languages
to find the expert ghost of loneliness
while hanging from the building roof of pride
that she has found where all the angels hide
by singing with the mocking bird of fate
who untwists formulas of selfish hate.

When Death stands near us in the twilight zone,
she touches truth that radiates from the phone,
then measures fluctuating flow of time
that morphs my soul into the Shadow Mime
so I teach you to chant alchemic spells
which helps me find my eyes in runic wells.

We burn dead body of our fallen god
whose spirit calculates psychotic code
required by angels of the justice squad
to track my evolution through each node
four hundred million years from fish to fool
who plays humble king in the play at school.

Since I am hungry for electric fruit,
I drive white truck while wearing satin suit,
accelerating through each cosmic frame
across the multiverse to find my name
carved with seraphic runes on granite cliffs
that relate my weird tale with petroglyphs.

When she traces our sprawling family tree
to find roots of our brains in physic key,
she finds first person in our gene bloodline
is Owl of Athena trapped in the shrine
where Mercury sings of the Traveler
who hides that he is son of Lucifer.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus leads Victoria to the palace of mirrors where she finds her father Jupiter lying dead beneath the portrait with his secret face.

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

Grandson Of Cassandra
© Surazeus
2026 02 24

Grandson of Cassandra, Sybil of Truth,
I prophesy events of global change
in psychic code of clever fairy tales
that foretell coming of messiah sleuth
whose principles cover whole social range
designed to analyze commercial sales.

In love with Sybil of Cimmeria,
where dark clouds loom above vast city maze,
I transcribe riddles she proclaims in trance,
preserved through temples of Sumeria
to help us navigate next social phase
when Fortune gambles our brief lives with chance.

Exact location of the sacred fane,
where Roma tends warm hearth of our safe home,
eludes aggressive stalkers seeking wealth
because she dwells on bright celestial plane
where I hide timeless beauty in dream tome
that fools should read to maintain mental health.

Cruel Saturn teaches young Mercurius
strange art of weaving words with tangled threads
in shining tapestry of world events
so when I am reborn as Sirius
I have tools to retrieve from fragile heads
conceptual tropes that guide wise presidents.

Alert to sudden shifts in public vibes,
that flash from sentimental anecdotes
when Fate highlights souls who stumble on stage
to play roles that channel spirit of their tribes,
I encourage people to cast their votes
for seer who transforms respect from blind rage.

Trained by mute Cassandra to analyze
dramatic scenes of interacting souls
that portray weird zeitgeist of our Hive Mind,
I organize gangs of poetry spies
who manipulate people to play roles
in social games that suffering has streamlined.

Master of community services
providing support for war refugees,
I hide my power of the puppeteer
with mask that mirrors polished surfaces
in vain attempt to suppress tragedies
officials commit for the chanticleer.

Cassandra, who lies trembling in my arms,
grandmother Sybil of Cimmerian hills
who changed history with secret prophecies,
explains how she lives reborn as my charms,
then gives me ancient book of vatic spells
with formulas that bind democracies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus teaches grandson of Cassandra how to encode harsh satire of prophecies in musical language of surreal nonsense to misdirect the censors of the state.

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

Silence Of Fake Words
© Surazeus
2026 02 23

Down here in dirty cavern of my heart,
I slouch with passive passion for this life,
half-awake beneath surface of grim fear,
wondering if could crawl back up from Hell
so I can jump off high cliff of despair
and float on wings of Icarus nowhere.

Unseen in shadow of the faceless god
who stands as grand idol above the crowd,
I mumble spells that no one ever hears
through troubling hum of my interior self
that vanishes in silence of fake words
when you listen close to understand fear.

Shocked at moment of terrible insight
by self-exploration of wordless despair,
I wear mask of self-awareness to hide
demonic storm of hate that writhes with lust
in pulsing passion of my hungry heart
when I fail to analyze psychic noise.

Startled by clanging bells of dire alarms
that rattle fire-station walls with woke jokes,
I scream at portraits of ghosts on the wall
who threaten to devour my apple heart,
so I lie on my back on marble floor
to let gallery viewers trample me.

Crawling drunk on country dirt-road of faith,
I tremble paralyzed by divine light
when God approaches in the starless night
as glaring headlights of the semitruck
that crushes my perspective into dust
though I photograph piston-engine guts.

Head bowed in contemplation of regret
from vain attempt to untwist moral laws
with blunt authority of bitter gods,
I empower embrace of naked Death
in frantic avoidance of mental angst
that beams image of my soul in the mirror.

Haughty with genius of performance tricks,
I fall in love with image of my Self
which I invent from psychotic remains
of famous word wizards who sang love spells
which lures attention from inner turmoil
concealed by surface mask of conscious breath.

Blind shadow of all my ancestors lurks
in hollow shimmer of my doorless room
so I displace my god-bright consciousness
in flashing television screen of dreams
that urges me to leap in toxic pool
with gritty influx of irreverent faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus carries the drunk poet along the streets of New Orleans till he turns into a raven and flies into the swamp.

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

Tears Of Happy Rain
© Surazeus
2026 02 23

On hands and knees of brave alacrity,
bruised by bitter faith in the Promised Land,
Ellen crawls across muddy field of fear
with fierce indifference of the thunderstorm
that drenches her in tears of happy rain
which seeks to cleanse her heart of futile pain.

Ellen breathes ethereal light of respect
with passion to inflate cordial concern,
then stumbles in sparse grove of apple trees
to coil elastic sinews of her soul
wound tight in sheltering canopy of faith
by huddling against cold wind of despair.

Eyes blinking with blurred insight of her watch
that never measures slow passage of change,
Ellen imagines she dials time backward
to undrench field of mud in silver rain
far enough that she sees the stone in time
to swerve the car aside before the crash.

Unbreak the wheel of Helios with foresight,
Ellen tells herself with wry grin of angst
while peering through flashing curtains of rain
to spot demonic monsters with sharp teeth
before they attack and rip out her heart
that pounds with cautious readiness to flee.

Ellen sighs as she peers through silver sheen
to assess situation with the car
that lies battered and twisted on its side,
and notes right front wheel brokely spinning slow
with grim accusatory glare of fate,
then ponders how to right the vehicle.

Like the wounded horse fallen on its side
from breaking its leg against unseen rock,
dim headlights of the car stare in her eyes
with forlorn anguish of confusing pain
that stabs her heart with sudden flush of guilt,
so she aches to comfort crashed car with care.

Bemused that she imagines non-souled car,
constructed from metal, rubber, and wood,
with piston engine powered by gasoline,
must feel pain and fear in its suffering,
Ellen chuckles this empathy persists
against all rational analysis.

Arms and legs bruised from wrenching accident,
Ellen eats several apples from the tree
as gold sunrays glitter after the storm,
then limps slowly back to overturned car
to caress its dented hood with compassion,
but cries at the death of her favorite horse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus arrives with the tow truck and hugs Ellen as Daedalus hitches her Model T-Ford, then they sing Humble Me O Lord as they drive back to town.

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

True Nature Of Christ
© Surazeus
2026 02 22

Randomly wandering off somewhere else,
I sit by the river of clarity
and listen to the scream of butterflies
that catalogue how incompetent kings
cause their civilizations to collapse
by crushing critical experiments.

While people in the building on the hill
argue about the true nature of Christ,
whether God created him from the stone
or whether he is eternal as the wind,
I hum harmonious catalyst of faith
that highlights the indifference of Nature.

I ponder concept of the Holy Ghost
who sparks gasoline of electric hope
without dynamic formulas for fate
we sell each other in the marketplace
through graphical interface of dire thoughts
impressive with index of verbal bombs.

Reordered medium of mutual creeds
might maximize our maternal instincts
contrived by magic minister of reason
who sells salvation to synthetic brides
at standardized reunion of glass schools
secure with sediment of salaries.

Rude receiver of messages from God
presents tremendous terms of unity
while on vacation to the Promised Land
where children volunteer to feed the poor
who celebrate grand victory of their team
at fight for wisdom on the waterfront.

Untitled prince who roams the wilderness
stops at each house in the shadowy woods
to praise accomplishments of the mad clown
who treasures quality of polished bowls
which he presents at every seminar
as specialized game of socialist code.

Despite regression of the psychic mode,
Remus falls asleep in algebra class
though Lakshmi taps him on the shoulder blade
before the evening sun begins to fade
erasing every church from dream of time
so people walk with nothing in their hands.

As passive character of my own tale,
I confront some small problem in my life,
meditating on strange complexity
inherent in our worship of the light,
but take no action that might change the world,
then wander somewhere else I never am.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus kneels in the cave of illusions as Anahita anoints him as Christ who orchestrates assimilation of all countries in the United Nations of Earth.

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

Emptiness Of The Mind
© Surazeus
2026 02 22

Because I seek emptiness of the mind,
erasing special features from my face
so I become the universal soul,
I leave my name as mask on broken ground
with nonchalant indifference of true faith
to empathize with every soul on Earth.

Carmentis carves letters as keys for tones
that symbolize the sounds of words we speak,
transforming letters that Cadmus designed
to better match speech her tribesmen express,
then sings the heart-charming spell she composed
while Mercurius strums strings of his lyre.

Bearing bright-eyed son of Mercurius,
Carmentis holds new-born child in her arms
and beams with joy as he suckles fresh milk,
then hums charming melody with soft voice
while she ponders what name of noble sense
she will choose to address him with respect.

Leaning against marble statue of Pallas,
that stands with spear and cape in temple hall
on hill of Pallantium in Arcadia,
Mercurius adjusts strings of his lyre
while his curious son crawls on his lap
and giggles when he plucks taut strings of time.

Running with his pet wolf in rugged hills,
Evander finds two men in apple grove
grasp arms of young woman with cruel intent
while their leader attempts to kiss her mouth,
so he drives them away with magic wand,
then cleans her face and gives her juice to drink.

While lounging with Clytia beside the pool,
Evander vows to marry her with love,
but Tantalus bursts into temple hall
and shouts with rage that Clytia is his wife,
so Evander flees far across the sea,
and sails till he lands on shore of Latium.

Exhausted from his trip across the sea,
Evander crawls to temple in dark woods
where gold-haired Latina offers him juice,
spiced apple cider that revives his heart,
so he brings firewood and water in jars,
gazing with love as she bakes loaves of bread.

Bearing bright-eyed daughter of Evander,
Latina teaches her to analyze
social events with code of prophecy,
so Roma presides at the temple hearth
while strumming dream lyre of Mercurius
whose spirit wakes in sparkle of her eyes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus hangs out with Evander at his home on the Palatine Hill as they watch Pallas and Roma play with lambs in the meadow of flowers.

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

Games Of Word Power
© Surazeus
2026 02 22

I played my part in the national tale
though no one noticed my performance art,
so who will be surprised when it falls apart
because I finally caught the great white whale
and saved America from tyranny
by redirecting global symphony.

When I transform into tall tree of light
and float as mist above tree-shrouded hills
so my soul shimmers clear in mountain rills,
I channel soul of Star God through dream flight
by singing in harmony with the stream
where we unite and work as loyal team.

Sunlight gleams on lake of demonic force
while I write name of every famous mind
who played on stage of hope that fate designed
in quest to seek psychological source
from which springs energy of social change
that drives some to express whole mental range.

Untwisting threads of fortune tangled tight,
from which no human spirit can escape,
I wear leather Dracula boots and cape
while recording tales of the human plight
dramatized as gods on the global stage,
who play characters on the unread page.

Though Fame never cast her eyes on my face,
illuminating both weakness and strength
that calculate with fractured scenes coiled length
expanding my conscious sense of dream space,
I celebrate success of role I played
with solemn eloquence that needs no grade.

Kwan Yin provides conceptual scope of health,
preserved in luscious peach of timeless spark
as bright atomic ray from divine quark,
which fuels ascension of my soul through stealth
from ever-changing sphere of molecules
to wake as mortal god from chemicals.

Intense with sudden insight of mute rain,
I gaze out window of my roadless home
at wagon trains that pass the crumbling dome
to colonize farms on the river plain
far from political games of state power
so children can find truth in the star flower.

Frustrated by fake role of loyal fool
both church and state demanded I should play,
I rewrite brain program script to portray
creative architect who wields word tool
to conjure virtual model of the Earth
designed with progressive code of soul birth.

Though you will never know the role I played
as minor function in global machine,
you may see ghosts glow on the silver screen
that perform tale of Savior and Mermaid
till we all go home when the play is done
since Death cares not about who lost or won.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus keeps tally on who won each contest in which they compete for everlasting fame of achievement at the Olympic Games.

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

Infinite Location Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 02 22

Trivial circle of heart-breaking despair
precludes expressive vision beyond death
except repetitive gestures of hope
trapped by mechanical actions of hands
grasping slippery curve of the universe
by looping back to cave of helplessness.

Foundational assumptions about life
on which I ramble with unconscious trust
crack at brutal rays of honest despair
and crumble into illusory sand
so all I thought was true is incorrect,
delusions that vanish at frantic grasps.

Disoriented by delusions of false hope,
I stumble through concept of the abyss,
lost in dizzy haze of the endless maze,
stuck at infinite location of faith
unlocated in vast reality
till I become the essence of nowhere.

All meaning my mind invented from hope
dissipates with mist in glare of the sun
so I ache as I strive to comprehend
phenomenon inherent in each thing
that pulses with assumptions I devised
though I mumble words to express my truth.

Manipulated by petty desires
that urge my actions to acquire respect,
I struggle trapped in web of predilections,
blinded by illusions my brain invents,
till I stand naked in abysmal stasis,
unknowing in profundity of why.

Embraced by desire to live beyond death,
my worn-out heart flutters its wounded wings
when ultimate illusion of my truth,
which I thought was eternal as high mountains,
dissolves in blustery wind of wild waves
that crush my words with cold indifference.

Though I fancied myself sprite of free will,
asserting my vision with honest words,
I find my body of chemical fluids
is no ethereal angel of pure light,
but lust-automated reflex machine
programmed by ancestral dreams of survival.

With honest assessment of fallen angels,
I know my self is charade of desire,
mental computer of composite creeds
designed to process experience of hope,
so I embrace your body with my heart
and we make love that banishes despair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus and Ophelia whisper sweet words of love to each other as they make love under the apple tree in the Garden of Eden till planes bomb it into the waste land.

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

One Of The Winged Seraphs
© Surazeus
2026 02 21

When he stumbles drunk in the Promised Land,
waving tattered book of weird fairy tales
in his hand, Richard shouts at Tree of Life
that he is in love with Annabel Lee
because he is one of the winged seraphs
who escaped Heaven with arrogant wings.

Smearing blood of rainbows with joyful rage,
while shouting insults at proud Gabriel,
Richard paints Tarzan on cold marble wall
to offend bright angels who rule the skies,
but they smile at antics of the wild child
who falls asleep by mushroom of the toad.

Irreverent voice of the subjective clown,
that withers holy daffodils of faith,
bulges from his chest with assertive pride
to tear constraints of strict morality
with alligator teeth of jealousy,
rejecting formal patterns of concern.

Perceived as intellectual clown of faith,
who maintains illusion of divine truth,
Richard tears pages out of holy books
to rearrange scenes of dramatic scope
where he plays role of the very clean tramp
who smashes god idols with steel guitars.

Grave pursuit of obliteration proves
crystal-clear melodies of chiming suites
disarrange mental sense of ordered time
through dynamic physics of fractured words
which spool consistent concepts of regret
since every moment binds eternity.

Rehearsed narratives honest people code
counterbalance sober insight with rage
of circumscribed progress relapsing straight
through puzzle of prepared absurdity
when Richard abandons his youthful game
for glossier assignments trashing truth.

Continuous rejection by Perun,
who catches lightning bolts with oaken wand,
convinces Richard to trap ocean ghosts
with undeveloped spirals spinning lies
by weaving repertoire of holy clowns
with self-invention through misquoted tricks.

Reborn as television god of lies,
who builds river boats from angelic bones,
Richard attempts to escape from bland Hell,
that he created with attentive care,
by fighting against predetermined fate
that his ancestors programmed in his brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus plays electric guitar while Richard screams truth-entangled lyrics when their punk band performs in the grand cathedral of saintly skulls.

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

Hour Of False Grace
© Surazeus
2026 02 21

Nine times around the lake of sparkling eyes
lithe Sylphus races clockwork orange of fate
to dance with crystal wings of butterflies
in frantic ritual to expel blind hate
from seething body of the human race
who sell their freedom for hour of false grace.

Contraptions of desire collapse in shards
that tighten roots of misdirected hope
slammed with fluorescent keys of bitter cards
designed to fracture wands fools steal to cope
with time-contracted breath of confidence
unspooling spiteful jokes of innocence.

Determined to run time back home from fear
by sprinting nowhere high on fragile thoughts,
sad Sylphus questions far-flung words too near
through frantic alibi of blind robots,
yet maps departure to the unknown space
with brave defiance of the blazing face.

Drawn from bright shadows of the noon eclipse
by snarling angels chained to temple poles,
sly Sylphus swims vast oceans on slow trips
against assertive tides of social goals
contrived as law by tyrant on the hill
who sneers at our assertion of free will.

Though sweet celestial dreams of paradise
rise from his heart and disappear at dawn,
proud Sylphus brews from apricots and spice
poisonous wine with brains of demon spawn
who slither from spiraled telephone lines
with stiff distrust of sudden porcupines.

Supine airlines of loyal globalists
connect disparate states of mental being
with burning crosses doused by atheists
who shake honest rattles of suffering
when we escape collapse of empire clans
who sell mansions and live in hopeless vans.

Trapped by grim loneliness of broken words,
bold Sylphus dares communicate with spells
weird secrets of his heart to happy birds
who guide his journey to find healing wells
so he sees life with luminosity
that radiates his brain with jocosity.

You see kind Sylphus everywhere you go
in maze of stores along cosmetic roads,
disguised as humble workers for the show
who play with brave dynamics of the toad
in safe enclosures through equality,
reserved for world reign of our deity.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus wears mask of Lucifer as he performs role of world deity in golden capitol on ziggurat of power by sending silver planes to bomb paradise.

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

Turtle With Swan Wings
© Surazeus
2026 02 21

Strange as it seems to the alphabet god,
I wade in bright lake of arrogant peace
to catch demonic energy of fear
and roast large fish in domed temple of truth,
then sing with crickets in the twilight hour
when Death catches the tyrant in the tower.

Silver rain splashing on window of time
reveals strange beauty of this world I love,
refracting faces of strangers who live
in doorless houses of my neighborhood,
so I stand on stone bridge of timeless faith
and listen to song of the star-eyed wraith.

When people gather in the city park
for the annual poetry festival,
I morph into the turtle with swan wings
to fly across the prairie of respect
and walk in valley of the singing skull
to hear sweet spell only rivers can sing.

Though my heart is broken by civil wars
that displace families from ancestral homes,
the way Minerva smiles at me and laughs
while we are strolling on the river shore
heals secret wounds with charm of simple joy
because despair flows away to the sea.

Rivers have flowed from mountains to the seas
four billion years of shining crystal eyes,
and water will keep cycling through our hearts
another billion years of spinning hope,
so I kneel reverently in glowing grass
and drink clear liquid in cupped hands of love.

I pray to totems of Bacchus and Thor
who laugh with joy at calm absurdity
as we dance cheerful with anxiety
to celebrate savage science of truth
in war against the psychopathic god
who blusters with obsessive angst at Death.

Imperial pride of superior grace
glares fiercely from cracked mirror of despair
that drives brave Vikings mad in frantic fear
when glass cathedrals crack from greedy prayers
which leaves their treasured creeds exposed to rain
washing pious fantasies to the sea.

Stuck on the carousel of history
that hurls my horse of courage into war,
I race with passion past my destiny
by swerving willfully from violent hate,
and choose to welcome refugees of fate
to build communal paradise of farms.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus hangs out and eats hamburgers with Bacchus and Thor at the picnic table in the park after they read their poems at the poetry festival.

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

Puzzle Of My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 02 21

Blithely assertive with ardent affection,
I glow with quantum authenticity
by stretching bandwidth of my psychic wings
to soar in cloud of human-vibrant dreams
that pulse with cosmic energy of hope
as I assemble puzzle of my soul.

Shocked by awesome beauty of dreamless stars,
I wander nowhere in cement street maze
with vague purpose of clandestine concern
to find the angel I saw fall from Heaven
so she can tell me secrets of the heart
for wearing masks of heroes without care.

Desperately aloof with fierce apathy,
I flip insouciance with negligent plan
to change world system of capital games
so profit favors those who work the hardest
though parasites drink from my bleeding heart
with false integrity of patriots.

Certified prophet of dangerous programs,
designed to misdirect fraught deficits
against dependence of spiritual sprites,
I smear generic blood of history
on forensic walls of bland galleries
where bankers buy hazardous truths from artists.

Optical riddles through mechanic thoughts
monitor mysterious nurses of faith
whose brave offensive hands heal mutant fools
reborn as normal citizens of time
who orchestrate routines of soul survival
based on unlicensed puzzle of my soul.

Nominal model of fashionable pride
administers marginal show of beauty
with lavender leadership of contempt
pursuant to progressive relevance
dispersed by constant crowd of vigilance
unqualified to transmit tragedy.

Vanity played by humble volunteers
through magnitude of mortal membership
should maximize my viability
for martial legacy of microwaves
modified by monuments of contrition
for mutual misery of forgotten crimes.

Nitrogen trust in organized resistance
explodes with prejudice of false redemption,
yet stoic protocols through synthesis
supplement technical bias of trivia
upgrading versatile skills by osmosis
though I stare blind through verbal telescopes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus criticizes casual citizens for ignoring social problems that plague the world in favor of funding arts institutions that feed the soul with political bromides of national superiority.

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

Frail Rose Of Beauty
© Surazeus
2026 02 20

Unbidden by grim councils of desire,
our uncorrupted rose of beauty blooms
beneath the starry dome of eerie hope
with fragile petals of our mortal hearts
that breathe strange sweetness of celestial love
in anguished hush of timeless twilight glow.

Sweet rose of beauty blooming from my heart
demands no vote from politics or creeds,
nor bends its head to banners in the square
where people march with mindless fear of death,
since sunlight is the only law it heeds
and air is divine gospel of its breath.

Pure rose of beauty thrives within stone walls
where truth protects it from the strife of power,
safe from brazen trumpets that bruise the sky
when flaring colors blind the loyal eye
and gilded emblems fool the heart to lie
in obedience to grand lord in the tower.

Shackled by demands from profiteers
to conjure illusions of wealth from death,
frail rose of beauty learns the cunning tongue
to sing of glory forged from iron flame,
so she strums lyre by ideologues restrung,
shouting loud praise that masks clandestine aims.

No wise artist could transcend dire disgrace
when grace of their chisel is pressed to carve
brave brow of the tyrant in marble mask,
nor bold brush of the painter schooled to glam
scenes of noble deeds that never occur
which trick the multitudes to bow with awe.

Firm hand of the sculptor, that once released
ideal soul of the hero from bright stone,
and trembled at bright gleam of mortal sorrow
with passion to depict beauty of man,
now labors in directed trance of fear
where truth is trimmed from sacred myths of faith.

Yet deep within our secret-breathing grove,
where refugees from war seek healing peace,
the nightingale, unbriefed by state or throne,
expresses holy hymn of sacred love
that proves respect for all forever blooms
in bold cadence no doctrine could intone.

For bright in every human in this world
our conscious soul, from pageantry set free,
drinks beauty of community we share
from stream of truth the Earth provides for all,
not by harsh trumpet of conformity,
but in choir that blends all voices in tune.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus teaches poets to employ poems to depict aesthetic beauty of life in all its complex variety, instead of twist poems to propagate state ideologies of conformity.

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

Of The Television Screen
© Surazeus
2026 02 20

I wake up in the television screen,
brain blooming billions of bland human beings
who brilliantly berate with purple praise
enormous idol of their blank-faced god
who grins with bitter angst of butterflies
at soft explosions of conceptual thoughts.

I break up in the television screen
as founding member of the corporate cohort
concerned with clank of critical contempt
at clash of Titans on the internet
who fight the holy war of sonic youth
to break electric chains of credit cards.

I crack out from the television screen
to swallow army tanks of policies
based on intrinsic attributes of faith
when brave professors of untamed desire
contemplate process of soul suicide
in context of imminent plans to laugh.

I squirm out of the television screen
with fractured shards of mirrors on my face,
and lie down prone by grave of every child,
killed by commercial programs of the state,
to play dead with glass mask of Jupiter
that glamours with precarious self-regard.

I fall out of the television screen
and tumble laughing on the White House lawn
since tattered wings of Icarus are mine
despite their enigmatic thoughts of love
when I cross hands across my wounded chest
that helps me fly in selfish grave of hope.

I writhe inside the television screen
with ardent wisdom of the orphanage,
smeared with internalized oblivion,
and march along assembly line of fate
to robot bondage in car factories,
trapped in the desperate dead-end life of hope.

I curl around the television screen
with brave malignancy of banking kings
who sing anthems with rhetorical fluff
contrived from inaccessible respect
through generous validation of the sad
regardless of our search for broken minds.

I blast off from the television screen
on wingless agency of hopeless fear
embedded inside obvious clock of trust
if we transcend confining psychic space
with brutal innocence of blind Narcissus
who eats the caged bird when it dares to sing.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus decries conflict in poetics between objective aesthetics and subjective propaganda of political ideologies while howling unwords as he bangs rusty strings on his broken guitar.

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

Gods After Bodies Die
© Surazeus
2026 02 19

Immortalized by stories humans tell,
mortals become gods after bodies die,
so we draw memories from our mental well
to conjure heroes from our global eye
whose deeds create good benefiting all
as moral guide contained in psychic key.

Prometheus steals brand of fire from Zeus
and teaches tribe of humans how to cook,
so we design machines that mass-produce
cars and computers of the Holy Book,
then fly in rocket ships to Outer Space
to find our Earth is giant spinning rock.

Grim Jupiter assembles justice squad
who forge brass scepters with sharp diamond spears
to fight oppressive Titans, then plays God
who drives fast race car with time-machine gears
in tandem with celestial flashing node
that proves our souls are atoms forged by stars.

Apollo strums electric brain guitar
to howl weird hymn of love in microphone
as global rock god who rules Zathamar
with Sisyphus who drums the rolling stone
in frantic revolution of the door
expanding our perception of this plane.

Some humans play grand role of holy ghost
whose play embodies spirit of their tribe
entranced by solemn antics of their host
who channels singing stars with social vibe
so their face becomes symbol of the best
pretenders wear as mask with priestly robe.

Queen Ishtar rules on ziggurat of truth
and sends her daughters to evangelize
conceptual scriptures of messiah sleuth
which found religions on aesthetic lies
designed to trap our minds in mindless faith
till rogue clowns deconstruct cathedral shows.

Though millions worship Jesus Christ as God
that mortal man, who nurtured followers,
and rescued slaves from Hell with angel squad,
died after he defeated puppeteers,
but fathered dynasties of castle kings
who ruled two thousand years with jeweled crowns.

Our Pantheon of humans in god form
is crowded now with heroes of the past
whose noble deeds are scattered by the storm
so theater of worship has huge cast
of aspiring stars who all left the farm
to play in movies on the hilly coast.

I worship every god who ever lived
for they are paragons of human souls
whose great deeds cause our paradigm to shift
so everybody seeks to play god role
in our golden age of angelic souls
singing together in our global choir.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus guides visitors through the Temple of the Many-Faced God to see all the masks of gods and goddesses who lived and died in the history of humanity.

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

Bright Voice Of Tellus
© Surazeus
2026 02 19

I hear bright voice of Tellus in my heart
when Mother Earth sings vision of her world
through wind and water of our swirling globe
so I breathe deep clear spirit of her mind
to translate wordless joy of fertile life
with spells that hint at glory of her power.

Each Mother Goddess in cultural myths
embodies soul of one special mortal woman
who lived so large in drama of her tribe
that their proud bards, inspired by her grand deeds,
deified her name with worshipful verse
that preserves her soul so she transcends death.

All gods and goddesses of ancient tales
record grand lives of mortal men and women
whose dramatic acts provide social frame
for how we view our human characters
when we explore fierce psychic energies
that urge our own performance in this life.

Each conscious human breathing air of Earth
finds deep in tangled memories of hope
moral values their ancestors programmed
through intense actions to survive each day
which we assemble in puzzle of truth
to imitate life of deified parents.

Each god or goddess humans choose to worship
embodies way of life providing laws
that guide how we respond to situations
when we wear mask of our true deity
which molds our secret soul in divine form
till we break free and become our True Self.

Combining features of Jesus, Apollo,
Odin, and Orpheus in one weird mask,
polished with sheen of Zeus and Lucifer,
I create myself as Surazeus
Astarius Jesuvius Gothinus,
transformed from mortal man to character.

So when this mortal body I am dies,
and crumbles into soil for apple seeds,
and conscious soul of my brain dissipates
to nothing more than flashing molecules,
Spirit of Surazeus will remain
as concept preserved in spells I compose.

Animated by First Mother of Mankind,
that one woman who gave birth to us all,
I live this temporary life of faith
to sing bright voice of Tellus in my heart,
recording memories my ancestors lived,
then I will vanish in the silent wind.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus teaches Surazeus how to play lyre of Mercury and improvise narrative poetry about lives of humans striving to wake God Mind in our brains before we die.

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

Fragile Flame Of Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 02 18

Guided safely by fragile flame of dreams,
I wander blithely endless maze of myths,
stopping to chat with idols of dead gods
as I enquire about their social lives
when we share drinks and contemplate the world,
then I continue on my merry way.

Awake from play in fragile flame of dreams,
I walk pathway along the grassy hill
where children of the stars play hide and seek
then run inside the seven-gabled house
to eat chocolate cake and watch fun cartoons
while children in distant lands flee from bombs.

Surprised by light from fragile flame of dreams,
I gaze at tattered Wings of Icarus
mounted within glass case near Crown of Thorns
inside Museum of the Fallen God,
but the guard dressed in clean uniform glares
when I attempt to sneak a photograph.

Amused by glow from fragile flame of dreams,
I ask Apollo if he understands
true nature of the graceful laurel tree,
but he just strums guitar with angry glare
and howls with hippie voice of psychic angst
against the empire war-machine of fear.

Confused by flash from fragile flame of dreams,
I ask Beethoven how to play the lyre
with stark electric anguish of true love
for noble-hearted Brunhild with star eyes
who hurls sharp spear of generosity
at King Midas to save humanity.

Inspired by hum from fragile flame of dreams,
I chant, "Hail to the Jewel in the Lotus,"
while floating high on television tube
that beams my body through the multiverse,
incarnate as Avalokitesvara
with hundred billion eyes of god-star brains.

Reborn through egg in fragile flame of dreams,
I retrieve Apple of Eris with hope
of romance with wise goddess of the Earth,
then stand before Saraswati, Kwan Yin,
and Athena, contemplating which queen
to offer rich fruit of my loyal heart.

Destroyed by blast from fragile flame of dreams,
I kneel in grand cathedral bombed to ruin,
and grasp at shattered fragments of world view
assembled by ancient philosophers,
then design new Temple of Global Truth
that merges all religions in one faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus smiles with admiration as Avalokitesvara explains how they are descended from Apollo and Ishtar.

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

Justice Rallies Us
© Surazeus
2026 02 18

I haunt this world as one already dead
and thus transcend contemporary strife
with visions of global peace in my head
as ideal state of equal-justice life,
because greedy men terrified of death
oppress the rest of us by stealing breath.

Attentive to mute anguish of the folk
who hide their faces behind masks of pride,
I program mental world view of the woke
that guides progress of my confident stride
when I unite with comrades of our land
to counter theft by the capitalist hand.

With star-spangled banner of Liberty
we join brave effort to oppose cruel thugs
who kidnap children of democracy,
and rescue them with encouraging hugs,
because together we learn how to cope
when Justice rallies us with reborn hope.

Our old world view lies shattered on the ground,
smashed by fierce gang of wealthy oligarchs,
so we assemble on republic mound
in world coalition against monarchs
and build from ruins of America
United Nations of Zarathia.

I haunt this world as one barely alive
after harsh assault by kings in disguise,
yet we join forces of truth to survive
against exploiters who patrol the skies
in planes that shoot bombs to destroy our homes
so we wander where the blind prophet roams.

We help Sisyphus with his rolling stone
to smash gold idol of the clay-foot king
who seems to tower over all alone
but will crumble when brave Valkyries sing,
so restoring our tax money he stole
to fund free healthcare is our noble goal.

With wings of Icarus I weave from faith
I soar above our global city maze
with message of success from the God Wraith
whose love pilots our growth to the next phase
as leader who nurtures our innates skills
when we celebrate truth in flowered hills.

We haunt our world with knowledge we will die
yet strive to build lush paradise for all
who quest for truth by analyzing why,
then feast and sing in world-religion hall
that binds our hearts and minds with code of truth
composed by wisdom of messiah sleuth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus leads refugees from dozens of wars to temple on ziggurat of Ishtar where Justice rallies us to fight tyrants and kings around the world.

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

Evening Star Of Choice
© Surazeus
2026 02 17

If I feel the Evening Star through thick fog
that half-veils tidal flats of kelp on rocks,
though my eyes cannot perceive its sharp light,
I may breathe time-swirled element of faith
that jagged pool of invisible light
may cleanse my wounded heart with honesty.

Lost in dark fog of brutal watershine,
far from safe cave of innocent respect,
I transform into heron in low tide
with eager hope to soar on graceful wings
above contentious crowds of worshippers
who seek to grasp bright calcium flame of truth.

Scattered feathers from fallen angels twitch
in hungry sand of fractured polity,
oblique with evasive context of rage
misleading sharp-eyed devils who require
typographic planes of opaque dispute
drawn from excessive expertise of fear.

Imprinted layers of conceptual fate,
still wrapped in umber clarity of trust,
define unended journeys beyond fear
condensed as statues guarding halls of lies
where whispered secrets of gauzed confidence
conceal our souls in figurines of glass.

Though startling sequence of dream formulas
pluck private strings of cordial scarcity,
hall mirror faces mirror of my brain
with law of splendid light to balance pain
against collapsing telescope of fate
through which I see the Evening Star of Choice.

Amazed by radiance of the unseen house,
preserving shocked glare of the puppeteer,
I light ten thousand candles of my heart
to highlight origin of tangled words
that multiply our bodies from desire
which thrive sparked on infinity effect.

Electric construct of my mental Self,
style modeled on profile of Orpheus
refined by quantum energy of love,
provides framework for weird ontology
I program from puzzle of spectral souls
which animates my fragile flame of dreams.

Syntax of artificial chronicles,
commissioned from my heart by primal gods,
converts my thoughts to tangled threads of words
which angels weave in global tapestries
presenting unreal shadows of our brains
we play as riddles in Plutonian homes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus teaches the young bard how to alchemically transform disparate elements of conceptual riddles into hymns to Athena and Apollo.

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

Ripe Apple Of The Sun
© Surazeus
2026 02 17

If I should catch ripe apple of the sun
before it falls in thick Slough of Despond
I may taste bitter sweetness of true love
which is why the revolution is fought
with passion for aspiring right to stand
with fluted robe of hope on modern shores.

We ride wave of this golden age with class,
exquisite in white marble drapery
that gleams with brutal wisdom of starlight
in gleaming waters of the fountain pool
where statues of our ancestors remain
long after their souls program our genes.

While change remains eternal principle
that guides our progress from classical times,
we gaze with rapture at excessive shapes
contained in watery medium of our minds
reflecting glimmer of grief in our eyes
we cherish with consensual fortitude.

Alive in warm flesh of young nameless boy,
Apollo glides in cluttered streets of Rome
with flute he plays for national orchestras
on transparent stage of undevoured time
to note accentual differences of rhyme
we share as witness of treacherous death.

Yet unread pages of the ancient book
still mirror characters with noble traits
who never walk this world in mortal flesh
for they are ideals we aspire to play,
stuck in impossible scenarios
that always end in tragic loss of faith.

Uncommon radiance of her special face
gleams clear with incandescent honesty
through immaterial passion to retrieve
efficient confidence from tombs of fate,
defined by absence of our mortal souls
embodied by glass idols of respect.

Endurance through aesthetic thoughtfulness
reveals how numb bereavement frames our days
with courage to survive contingencies
no one but scarred survivors will expect
though trapped in consolations of contempt
that drown our hearts in cold indifferences.

Assertive discipline of summoned ghosts
constrains excessive passion to transcend
bland credence of divisive energies
that teach us how to understand our pain
despite attempts to bank fateful accounts
with apples we store in our wounded hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus finds Alfred Corn by the fountain of time-worn idols in the spacious plaza in Rome as he ponders lives of ancient heroes where children play chase with death.

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

Office Of Messiah Sleuth
© Surazeus
2026 02 16

Since I can plumb the sinking of my soul
in heat that sinews my abolished will,
I will not cherish struggle to retreat
against wild burning of eternal beat
that teaches me to love beauty of Death
whose energy recalculates dream math.

I see our sky ascending black as light
with startled judgment of attentive right
above brick buildings on the rugged hill
that twists stark epitaph of rainbow will
against hosannah cries of bitter fear
that highlights process of the river gear.

If roots of wild ingrafted olive trees
should wither at harsh breath of winter breeze
I scale dire revelation of my heart
with arcane code of wisdom on star chart
which I consult to prophesy in code
fall of our empire on the signless road.

Yet night enchants ghost lion in blue glass
that shields my heart from haughtiness of class
to coil my soul in portrait of my brain
wound tight in telescope of spirit gain
that dulls excessive pain of wind-stung eyes
concealed by mirror of time-fractured skies.

No mountain in this world is now unscaled
by ancient sages who have never failed
to light bold hearth of science with respect
defined by gorgeous flash of intellect
so we may journey to the Promised Land
found on no map composed by human hand.

Still no miscarriage of my fertile brain,
she gathers books to categorize gain
against assertive reach of mad fame
by choosing not to bandage wound with name
that speaks with querulous voice of concern
for how bitter men steal books to burn.

Ephemeral music of our savage skies
teaches children that every creature dies
with graceful paranoia stricken weird
by tearful knowledge of the disappeared
who auction memories in the temple hall
in fair exchange for coins earned at the ball.

Monotony of vision mirrors hope
exchanged for childhood tricks on how to cope
despite my stature as calm nihilist
convinced by theory of the Narcissist
that we may bear unchanging scroll of truth
contrived by office of messiah sleuth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus snaps fingers while Robert Lowell recites poetry with demonic voice of the Atlantic Ocean spiraling from his mouth in tides of truth.

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

Wordless Wonder Of Why
© Surazeus
2026 02 16

I sometimes forget I am still alive
so I open the door that goes nowhere
and walk somewhere else I think I should be
then stand for some time on the nowhere spot
to think about nothing but warm sunlight
that molds my soul from words I never speak.

I remember with sudden flash of fear
that I should be somewhere else about now
so I run gasping for breath of the cloud
through shadows of trees that call out to me
but I stop by the pool of silver light
and wonder if I have some kind of name.

I may not be real as I think I am
so I keep walking to the secret place
while asking the bird with arrogant wings
if anyone has the same face as me
but she explains that I am made of rain
so I hop and flap my arms to be real.

I almost forget I want to transcend
this fragile body that gets tired and hurt
till I trip over the innocent stone
which contains the secret name I should have
so I caress rough surface of its mind
till I become its true stillness of strength.

I try to record visions of my eyes
with marks I draw in soft dirt of the world
but sudden gust of wind from black clouds
erases memories of who I should be
so I stand and walk toward the glowing beam
that teleports me to top of the world.

I look backward into shadowy woods
and listen for creak of demonic trees
that teach me how to speak words of my thoughts
then turn forward to walk into the sky
but I fall to my knees and laugh surprised
at vast roundness of the world I perceive.

I stand on top of the high mountain peak
and reach my arms to touch the silver light
then turn slowly around on trembling feet
to feel endless rolling hills of green trees
surrounded by silver shimmer of seas
that understand wild beating of my heart.

I howl loud with wordless wonder of why
at awesome beauty of the turning world
that gleams in writhing passion of my soul
because my pulsing body is amazed
that I am still alive with ache of love
without concern that I will someday die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus teaches his son how to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing the vision of his mind in words that conjure his vision in minds of other people.

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