Vital Source Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 24

Atonal vibes of social interactions
confound my radar sensibilities
with cross-cultural assumptions of truth
designed to mitigate with torrid code
misunderstandings through intense emotion
contrived to bond our frozen hearts with love.

Juturna sits beside the bubbling well
each dawn to guard the vital source of life
against vandalous gangs of greedy thieves,
preserving fountain of nutritious hope
for every person to acquire fair share
so their growing community may thrive.

Her small lithe son, curly-haired Faunus, plays
with carefree joy around the fountain rim,
molding mud into homes with garden walls
where little people of sticks bound with roots
dwell safe in haven of communal charm
against invading gangs with spears of greed.

This sweet idyllic scene of pastoral peace,
set in pre-urban hills of Latium
before Romulus built first walls of wood,
forever shimmers in my morning dreams
with blissful glow of timeless synergy,
Juturna with gold hair and silver eyes.

Juturna strums the Lyre of Mercury
and softly sings harmonious hymns of hope
while women with their daughters bearing jars
wait in line for water of the well
that bubbles from sacred heart of the world,
as breeze of Zephyrus plays with their hair.

How can I reconcile this memory
of timeless beauty in Pomerium,
where children run among lush apple trees
and sing spells with starlings, thrushes, and sparrows
in tunes that augur omens of good fortune,
with global empire of machines today?

From peaceful Garden of Pomerium
at heart of our pastoral community
we are expanding world empire of Rome
to enclose within Rule of Jupiter
Gothinia, Russia, and Zarathia,
which transform into Anglonesia now.

Though peoples of these lands contest for power
in fractious passions of national pride,
wise Jupiter Leo in the Vatican
bears Wand of Zambor with Diamond of Truth
to light our signless road of stoic faith
as we progress in quest for Wonderland.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus draws map of the world that shows Zarathia, Gothinia, and Russia united as Anglonesia ruled by Jupiter Leo from the Vatican with the Voice of Prophecy.

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

Brave Quest Of Tiresias
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

The ancient story of philosophy
begins when Hermes in cave of his heart
invents the lyre with strings on turtle shell,
and ends when Lucretius attempts to fly
glider from cliff of Mount Vesuvius
he built based on painting of Icarus.

I followed journey of Odysseus
across the land from sea to shining sea
east from Oregon of the Promised Land
back toward ancient home my ancestors built
on sacred mist-veiled isle of Avalon,
but found new heaven in Oconia.

Halfway home to lush plains of Scythia,
where my ancestors traveled along rivers
in wagons pulled by horses they had tamed
with apples from hills of Sarmatia,
I linger in my secret paradise
with my own Penelope in our home.

My wife combines all three witches of power
in one clever person with crafty hands,
autonomous Circe who molds my heart,
possessive Calypso who guards my soul,
and loyal Penelope who endures
vicissitudes of fate with honest love.

Asserting passion of the wingless angel,
my grandfather constructed small airplanes
with wings of Icarus as metal blades,
powered by piston engine of Barsanti,
to soar on solid gusts of swirling wind
blown whole by gentle breath of Zephyrus.

Inspired by brave quest of Tiresias,
I wake one thousand genders in my heart
so I experience every state of mind
through dramas all my ancestors performed
as they explored wild landscape of this world
finding soul mate to generate new life.

Attentive with program of Sisyphus,
I roll huge stones up steep slope of the hill
where I erect them as tall monoliths
in ring that mimics cycle of bright stars
to build tall tower where Rapunzel sings
enchanting psalms while strumming Harp of David.

Grown old with long gray hair and dimming eyes,
I lie in half-slumber by River Styx
with stoic wisdom of work weariness
where my grim father Saturnus once lay
till eager Phoebus woke him with soft voice
when Astraea gave birth to me at dawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus transcribes adventures of Tiresias as the old man lounges with his childhood friends Sisyphus, Zephyrus, and Saturnus who tease him about the time Pegasus bucked him off.

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

Wake Soul Of The Savior
© Surazeus
2026 07 23

Across the jagged rocks of Mullach Mor
I trudge toward rainbow of the silver sky
at wind-borne cry of the Blind Falconer
who laments anarchy loosed on the world,
in search for revelation of the truth
that Jesus himself will never return.

Reborn through children of his star-eyed wife,
brave Marya Magdalena, Mermaid Queen,
who keeps them safe in cave of Mont Saint-Baume,
Jesus incarnates in bodies of their offspring
who wake Soul of the Savior in their hearts
through sacred bloodline of the Holy Grail.

Two thousand years descendants of his blood
wear golden Crown of Thorns with jeweled eyes
to reign from castle Tower of the Watch
as guardian over people of the land
who tend fruit orchards in Garden of Eden
and wind-blown wheat in Fields of Elysium.

Though Odysseus defies Host Law of Zeus
by sacking Ilium with trick of the horse,
then escapes island of the sorceress
to reclaim his homeland from greedy thieves,
Jesus lingers on Patmos Isle too long,
plagued by visons of the Apocalypse.

Raised on the lush River Ituna shore
in Eden Valley of Cumbria Mountains,
I learn to play the Lyre of Mercury
from clever Taliesin, bold Gwynedd Bard,
who gives me wine Mother Ceridwen brews
which sparks Awen Glow on my radiant brow.

Baptized in waters of Llyn Tegid Lake,
I feel demonic energy of love
beam in my eyes with bright serpentine faith
when Dragon Teggie rises from dark waves
and fills my heart with visions of mankind
striving to evolve from Serpent to God.

Far from deserted streets of Bethlehem,
where Abram gave traveling angels bread,
I stand on jagged peak of Mullach Mor
to sing with serpent Voice of Prophecy
about how all great empires rise and fall
in ever-seething tides of social change.

Another twenty centuries of dream
may turn in endless cycles of desire
for sons of Jesus to wear Crown of Thorns
while wearing mask Odysseus threw away,
so I become brave Lion of Respect
who builds new nation with lost refugees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus gives Lyre of Mercury to young Taliesin who quickly learns to play enchanting melodies as he recites tales of tribe leaders who defend their people.

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

Apple Trees Of Human Hearts
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Some have called me the Complicated Man
because I swerve from strict expected path
through many twists and turns with just my wit
by stumbling randomly down signless road
forever nowhere to the Promised Land
that shimmers gold as palace made of clouds.

Wrath at injustice of tyrants and thieves
has driven me through jeweled Gate of Hell
with hope that I may purge my heart of hate
and, fueled by love for every human soul,
ascend Star Mountain to Temple of Truth
where I play Lyre of Mercury and sing.

As young man with my magic talisman,
glass tablet eye-phone of the world wide web,
aided by wise ancestor of my heart,
I wield Slingshot of David to oppose
brute tyrant who exploits the working man,
then found world nation on equality.

With Sword of Arthur I forge from the stone,
and Bow of Odysseus I string with faith,
I help Athena fight for Liberty
so ever person living on this Earth
may employ talents developed as skills
to build global system of equal rights.

Each day I work to map this complex world
with tales on maps that record human deeds,
I help construct virtual model of Earth
to program digital twin of our world,
yet one day Death in black carriage of fate
will stop for me on Road of Anywhere.

Though I never planned progress of my life,
and wandered here and there on road of hope,
chasing rainbows to meadow of mute ghosts,
I have arrived at garden of my fate,
having accomplished project of my heart
composing Astarian Scriptures of truth.

These scriptures I compose with honest joy
detail new testament of my world view
which I assemble in puzzle of life
from every myth of every human tribe
in one whole tale of failure and success
through world faith of Astarianity.

Now that I have translated song of waves
to dream-encoded sentences of verse
that faintly gleam with visions of my mind,
I shall lie down by timeless Lake of Dreams
so my bones become stones and my flesh soil
from which sprout apple trees of human hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus teaches me to play the lyre of Mercury and improvise epic tales about heroes who explore nature to program how we perceive the universe.

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

Where Ravens Talk Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 07 22

Too tired to understand why dark clouds cry,
the girl who knows where crippled angels hide
trudges slowly on dusty road of hope
to gather berries from dream-tangled vines,
but dodges gasping aside just in time
to avoid the huge speeding pickup truck.

Heart pounding from the psyche-jolting shock
of almost getting slammed by metal grill,
the girl who knows where lonely horses graze
sobs hysterically while gasping for breath,
then lies flat on soft grass behind dead oak
and stares at clouds where no angels play harps.

For some strange reason she remembers when
her mother baked cinnamon apple pies
while snow was swirling in sweet playful gusts
of cold but friendly wind of starless night,
so she pretends her mother is still home
and did not disappear one summer dawn.

After filling straw basket on her arm
with blackberries, raspberries, and walnuts,
the girl who knows where honest devils creep
sits on the ground outside the market square
to sell ten berries for one copper coin
that glimmers with transcendent innocence.

When she has earned twenty-four copper coins,
stamped with the playful face of Mercury,
the girl who knows where ravens talk of fate
wanders crowded marketplace at sunset
to find the thing her heart desires the most
but that secret treasure eludes her eyes.

Deciding to save the money she earned
for flowered cloth to sew new winter dress,
the girl who knows where fairies craft our dreams
whistles as she skips to her forest cave,
but three boys grab her arms and kiss her cheeks,
then beat her as she struggles to break free.

Scratching their faces with sharp fingernails
and screeching in rage at their cruel attack,
the girl who knows where dragons writhe in faith
chases them when they steal her money bag,
but falls to her knees by star-sparkling stream
and cries to the sky that life is unfair.

Heart-broken at the loss of hard-earned cash,
the girl who knows where God sleeps in dark cave,
stares at the television glowing blue
while watching some old show in black and white
about the girl and her swift flying horse
who defeat criminals to save the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus visits Hecate in her cave, then helps her hunt down the thieves and beats them up and returns all the money they stole her and other people.

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

What You Leave Undone
© Surazeus
2026 07 21

You fix the hinges on the broken door
to frame strange beauty of quiet sunlight
through fraught ideology based on facts
that measures consequence of mindless cause
when you remember what you leave undone
with deliberate grace of the figured sun.

You leave your sorrows in the puzzle box
on stretch of open country devils map
with solid ambience of unclean thoughts
constrained by brain-programming buzz of words
defined by apparition of your soul
that flaps as tattered star-flag on the pole.

You offer whiskey to the zombie king
who feeds three-headed dog of hungry hope
fantastic dreams you discard in hot sand
because you swagger on the desert road
toward ghost town under burnished sky of dread
that groans with bones of demons in your head.

You stroll with ardent vigor of blind gods
to play brave guardian angel of your Hell
where blandished apparitions steal your cake
with calm intensity of humble thieves
who drive west to the last town of your heart
where swift coyotes steal your fateful chart.

You drive through dust storm of your vacant clock
past humming fences of barbed-wire to steal
torn cloak of death with tragic sense of greed
by selling hope of paradise to fools
who cling with faith of homeless refugees
to Afterlife with holy apple trees.

You kneel in pain by highway of despair
as dreamless ghost to scrawl in swirling sand
tale of your victimhood through suffering
abuse from people who cannot see you
as noble person worthy of respect,
tricked to believe your soul will resurrect.

You ask for how the Cosmic Architect,
who drives your rusty truck of gratitude
on long indifferent highway of the dead,
could build grand temple from cracked skulls of gods
to celebrate your life and death on Earth
with solemn elegies of bitter mirth.

You stare at mask of your immortal face
reflected in mirror of Our World Mind,
but you are stranger to your inner self
who nurses wounds of guilt from your cruel deeds
because you violate sacred rule of Zeus
to welcome immigrants into your home.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus polishes mirror of Our World Mind with soft cloth dipped in olive oil from the tree of Athena that still grows inside the abandoned Parthenon.

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

Ocean Shore Of Nevertime
© Surazeus
2026 07 21

Alone on ocean shore of Nevertime,
he waits for Lord of Heaven to return,
aware of voices from eight billion souls
expressing passion of their will to live,
but no one comes from clouds of blazing fire
except the mindless sun that rises bright.

Strange visions of the undescribed sublime
conceal in symbols secrets he would learn
to understand how humans play their roles
by force of will or predetermined fate,
though all our hopes converge in global choir
that shatters illusion of holy right.

No longer frightened by wild swirl of time,
that twists our bodies from humans to gods
trapped in weird fairy tales no one reads,
he finds bold stubbornness of humble faith
as gleaming diamond jagged in his heart
with pain that drives him to transcend his fate.

Constrained by gravity of spinning Earth,
that bolts our bodies to change-shifting ground,
he listens at the broken door of hope
for wild uncanny voices angels chime
that knocks his body loose from womb of love
to wander wordless by the humming lake.

Beside somnolent lake of whispered lies,
where iridescent ghosts of long-dead ghosts
appear from cracked stones of philosophy,
he swells his heart with breath of honesty
to fill the timeless void of everywhere
with lonely wisdom of contingent faith.

Awake on sea-borne boat of travesty,
he sails toward somewhere he thinks might be home,
though childhood meadows vanish in stark mist,
and gazes deep in waters of the sea
where shadows of his fears lurk urgently
as snakes in features of his changeless face.

Bound by soaring mountains and depthless seas,
he feels powerless strength of swirling waves
obstruct his journey to the Promised Land
though he attends to labor of the heart
with divine passion of the star-eyed snake
who seems to know his weirdest memories.

He is the boatman on wild tides of change,
alone who wields the oar of guiding truth,
asserting progress through his ship of state
past Scylla and Charybdis of despair,
heart wounded with pain his harsh actions caused,
till he kneels and weeps on Ithaka shore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus designs the boat that searchers for truth sail across the wild sea of social change so wanderers may find their way home from suffering of war.

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

Zen Flash Of God-Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Neglected horror of our fractured world
conceals strange beauty of the human heart
with legendary myths of noble gods
who play with loyal men in games of chess
till they realize gods they worship are fake,
no more than mortal men wearing gold masks.

Vast wilderness of roundness sprawls awake
inside glass jar of honest arrogance,
corrupt with greed for loyal followers
who praise the brave influencer of truth
with glowing accolades for noble deeds
attacking hostile keepers of the gate.

Thick mist of sorrow shrouds stone streets of faith
where marble temple stands three thousand years
as haven for lost homeless travelers
to seek deep wisdom on blank walls of fate,
grand hall long empty but for wind and rain
that nurture trees where ancient gods once ruled.

Entranced by silver essence of the lake,
I seek bright Zen of vacant nothingness
within the seething network of my brain
to free my heart from taut bonds of desire
that bind wings of my soul with hungry hope
to understand true nature of the world.

Immortal wisdom of my mortal being,
programmed by gene-god of my dreaming brain,
tricks me to seek salvation of the heart
in temple floating on high glowing clouds
where angel-ghosts of people I once knew
play harps forever in harmonious peace.

Quiet manifestation of great truth
appears in flash of light before my eyes
so I draw power down from swirling clouds
to writhe in tangled verse of sentences
that map our journey to the Promised Land
among ten thousand peaks of glowing eyes.

Zen flash of god-eyes in my aching heart
still urges me to follow signless trails
through endless hills composed of angel skulls
where I rest weary body of my soul
in tholos veiled by swirls of apple blooms
to meditate on how clear water flows.

Ethereal calm of timeless mountain vale
inspires my heart with weird sublimity
while I sip apple cider brewed at dawn
to meditate on nothingness of life
the swells my true self huge as thunder clouds
so I will dissipate in swirls of rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus meditates in tholos temple in Delphi for ten thousand years, contemplating fate as numberless great empires rise and fall in waves of greed.

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

Yet Flowers Still Blossom
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Men fight each other to control the land,
forming gangs who design weapons of death
to battle over valleys of deep lakes
and kill each other over groves of trees,
building great empires that collapse from greed,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men erect walls of stone carved from hard cliffs
and stand guard at the gates of paradise
where tyrants proclaim themselves God of Truth
to keep people obedient to their will
whom they exploit as slaves to garnish wealth,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men dig minerals from caves deep in hills,
enslaving men convicted of dire crimes
to slave as the dead in underworld mines,
extracting gold and jewels from dark gloom
so kings in palaces wear crowns of power,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men abduct beautiful women from homes,
so other men gather armies of boys
who battle many years at walls of power,
killing heroes who defend their homeland
for they go mad when their weak pride is bruised,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men build armies from young orphaned boys,
training them in hard camps for many years
till they become elite warriors of pride
who follow god on horse of divine right
to invade and colonize distant lands,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men fly airplanes in clouds where old gods hide
and drop bombs on sprawling cities of homes
to kill millions of people, young and old,
who cry out for justice to empty skies
where God of their Fathers sits on fake throne,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men connive and plot to attain state power
then declare their divine right to rule all,
proclaiming themselves gods in human form,
but they all grow old to wither and die,
so other men fight to grasp fallen crowns,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

Men increase wealth with hard work of their hands
to build safe home where their children grow strong
who branch out to exploit treasure-rich lands,
but Death always destroys body and soul
so other people take the things we make,
and yet flowers still blossom from the Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus teaches classes on history of world civilization at the University of Zarathia but students object to how me makes their great nation look bad.

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

Welcome To My Home
© Surazeus
2026 07 20

Dew drops on tips of grass at dawn gleam gold
with eyes of angels who gaze in my soul
with cosmic knowledge of the universe
that knows the secret name of my Gene-God
whose vision glows in network of my brain
with divine consciousness of holy light.

Toward marble building, built like a Greek temple
as Athens federal savings and loan bank
four years before I was born on this Earth,
I stride at dawn from the parking garage
to map water and sewer line networks
that service every house in lush Oconia.

Dream world of ancient social energy,
created by sun spider of desire,
shimmers as web of interactive nodes
that link each person across our Great Land
with electric lines on telephone poles
as cyberspace that reflects our real world.

While I want to conserve state of his world
as it exists from centuries of work,
I hope to develop through careful plans
complex infrastructure of roads and buildings
to better manage reproductive needs
which secures safe space for humans to thrive.

Outrage explodes in hearts of honest folk
when greedy oligarchs in distant lands
invade sovereign lands with gangs of armed boys
who bomb buildings people built with their hands,
and kill innocent people with blind hate
so they can control treasures of rich hills.

Bodies of families, parents and children,
killed by bombs of swift planes and rumbling tanks,
become the soil of Earth on which we walk
to plant fruit trees in new Garden of Eden
that flourishes from corpses of the dead
where we gather to sing victorious hymns.

Their tears gleam as dew drops on tips of grass
where eyes of devils glare at me with hate
so I craft Wand of Wisdom from fruit tree,
pull Sword of Justice from meteor stone,
and forge Rifle of Truth from polished steel,
prepared to defend my land from invaders.

Zeus tells me I should welcome to my home
all travelers, pilgrims, and refugees
as immigrants who seek new land to dwell
safe from cruel tyrants in castles of power,
so when Odysseus knocks at my door
I share my feast to hear his journey tale.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus welcomes Odysseus to Hall of Lost Warriors and records his home-journey tale in elegant lines of hexameter verse.

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

Fragile Boats Of Hope
© Surazeus
2026 07 19

The world river of life flows from my heart
to fill abyss of fear with sea of love
so we can sail our fragile boats of hope
across the surging waves of honesty
home from sacking towers of Ilium
where trees of truth bloom from corpses of gods.

The graceful goddess of my consciousness,
who glides among fruit trees on the broad shore,
stoops low to scoop with dipper of her heart
memories humans relinquish in cold tears
to quench her thirst for feelings we discard
which swells her heart with love for every soul.

The full moon floats in branches of tall trees,
exposed to conscious gaze of my bruised heart
while blazing with azure uncanniness
as sacred treasure every human shares,
while restless ocean waves of ancient hopes
leave fragments of our dreams on silent beach.

The psychic refuge of my broken dreams
blurs pungent feeling from my stage of being
so wordless thoughts of innocent desire
ripple silver stipples across my mind
as eyes through adequate obscurity
because I suffer sea change in my heart.

Because that is not what I mean at all,
I might be missing whatever I am,
so I declare with certainty of faith
that I am nobody, and so are you,
escaping one-eyed monster of despair,
since now I am not what I am, I think.

Incompetent to speak of who I am,
alone in space of timeless solitude,
I fashion new persona mask to wear
so I become the person I would be,
bold shadow slithering swift across the ground
which measures fragile fullness of my being.

Each moment I am real in flesh of time
flares up as match of psychic energy
transforming me from fish to singing god
defined by whorl of flashing water flow
that vibrates at thunderous crack of faith
from storm cloud rumbling over mountain peaks.

I rise from Stygian pool of wounded hearts
when I compose coherent narrative
from ensemble of social anecdotes,
recording heroic deeds of dead men
who programmed how our brains perceive the world
as forms of atoms molded from ideas.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus stands before the Astarium and gives copies of Hermead Epic of Philosophers to people walking past on the busy city street.

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

Gothic Armor Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 19

Still alive on land ripe with certainties,
I draw dividing line of innocence
straight between reason and insanity
so can I taste truth through infinity
and stop where calm wind erases despair
to convert guilt into hope without luck.

Removing gothic armor of my heart,
as grim prizefighter wounded by the word
my grandmother speaks outside prophecy,
I weed old Garden of Gethsemane
where skulls of prophets sing without dream code
that guides my way through epochs of world power.

No shallow mercies of the castle court
reveal source of iron in stringent caves
where demons no longer haunt dreams of seers,
so I design new theme for Wonderland
that might attract the summer tourist crowd
who love to watch Death judge the deeds of fools.

Entranced by weird Saronic blue of time
that shimmers on the timeless sea of truth,
I wander somewhere in Arcadia
beyond fictional framework of the map
along the signless road of nowhere else
to dwell in mountain temple of dead gods.

Soft cries of owls in woods of harmony
expose electric glow of urgency
that leads us to small mountain pool of stars
where Pythagoras counts infinity
contained in measurement of simple words
programmed as formulas we code from fear.

Smoke from my humble hearth of fantasy
towers in luminous ghost of respect
so I stand small and frail on river shore
engulfed by grand immensity of time
that wraps my heart with ancient ardency,
filled with conscious mind of divinity.

Strange darkness of the boundless night contrives
to swell my heart with love for the sublime
that gleams with pristine beauty of our words
when we exchange solemn vows of true love,
then return to our tower of romance
before lightning strike shatters our world view.

Though sunlit demons of faith animate
our fragile bodies with unholy chime,
we explore uncanny vales of liberty
in line with ultimatum of soul fate
which calculates how far we have to go
to build foundation of our global state.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus wanders along winding rivers of Arcadia to find temple of the Great American Bard whose elegies and satires reprogram how people know God.

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

Taste Sorrow Of The Moon
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

If I stand outside in hot evening rain
I can almost taste sorrow of the moon
sweet as honey on peanut-buttered toast,
but when gods of ancient societies
arrive with tablets and bottles of wine,
we dance all night to celebrate true love.

I hear soft voice of sorrow in gray mist
when young Theneva, pregnant with disgrace,
arrives on boat of wisdom on my shore,
so I give shelter to the wounded girl
whose father hurled her from cliff of despair
then cast her adrift on indifferent seas.

How far across the swirling sea of hope
must I sail bravely in frail ship of faith
to find lost homeland of lush Ithaca
where prim Penelope in ribboned gown
weaves tapestry depicting noble deeds
of warriors fighting for security.

All questions about nature of this world
have compiled code of wisdom in fraught verse
recording ancient wisdom of wise fools
who proffered answers about how things are,
so I lounge mindlessly on my back porch,
plucking rusty strings on my old guitar.

Though Achilles, gone mad with grief of loss,
destroyed the city full of families
to rescue Helen from towers of love,
Odysseus sailed against obsessive hate
past obstacles of fear and bitter pride
to restore the city where his wife rules.

With baskets on arms of companionship,
we gather strawberries, mushrooms, and eggs,
along with lavender and eglantine,
from sun-drenched meadows of sweet innocence,
till we find Theneva wounded on grass,
so we bear her to cave of healing care.

Now that I know name of that faceless ghost
who haunts my backyard after the sun sets,
I translate voice of thunder in wild rain
to analyze state of the human mind
processing global conflicts with old myths
that celebrate the hero who goes home.

Though we seem lost in rugged hills of mist,
wise Wotadinus raises wand of truth
and calls our names so we may follow close
attentive journey of his earnest quest
to build safe home with walls of honest stone
where sweet Theneva may tend apple trees.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus writes tale of Theneva on parchment with angel blood as ink as she dictates story of her journey to found the holy city of Glasgow.

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

No Face To Mask My Soul
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

I sit down with the natural sight of gain,
against simple tones of exploding trees
eager for commitment, since my eyes move
with twirling planets of lackluster faith,
if wings of peaches flutter with the clock
heavier than fake sorrow rendered mute.

Discerned adjustment of extensive space
between faces of strangers on the street
too important to sell, with radiant smiles,
sounds of silence through mediocrity,
if thoughts stumble blind into broken doors
locked against hungry refugees of war.

Gentility confined to edge of cliffs,
unaccountable to agents of truth,
hangs by crude rotation without new pens
to calculate how soon death comes for us,
if distance entrances hearts of believers
stuck on the train that will never arrive.

Not for all the wine of anywhere else
will I go to Heaven on the glass hill
because I want to buy your love with pearls
as sign of holy sentiment I feel,
if love stops emerging from wounded hearts,
for how blue the sky always seems to be.

As body with no face to mask my soul
I walk the invisible beach of faith
without sand in the story with no plot
except when I agree without good terms,
if angels have no alabaster wings,
to sail the sea without the boat of skulls.

Though death infers logical sense of fear,
I persist without intention to build
new house that is no home on signless road
despite how love should act beyond the phase,
if fate adorns aversion with false hope,
from which is born cause of obscurity.

He says he sees my picture on the wall
in railway station underneath the church
where zombies worship vampire as their god
who plays disc jockey on the radio,
if we are amazed by obvious things,
broadcasting revolution in hip code.

Still shored against grim ruins of the past,
that buzzes facts of history in my brain,
I deign to anticipate, with sly jokes,
collapse of our empire just before lunch,
if we share power to operate fate,
because the end of the world is postponed.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus rides the train all the way around the world one hundred times to understand strange landscape of the ever-fluctuating state of mind.

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

How Quiet Blueness Knows
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

With startled eyes on quivering twine of truth
I cast my longing in vast sea of dreams
but I catch nothing more than devil-gods
who think they are brave rulers of the world,
so I lurk in strange shadows of the mind
to multiply my soul as wordless books.

I walk on shifting sands of honesty
to prove I know the secret name of God
who floods parched land of hope with bitter tears
where we drown laughing in sorrow we sold
so we can buy gold castle of the clouds
designed by children in library rooms.

Awake on blackberry lane without fear,
I gather fragments of ghosts from burned books
to plaster them in beehive of delight,
concerned for lesser platitude of light
contained in boxes stacked with silent thought
despite how quiet blueness knows our names.

Because I open wide my quiet voice
with long contrition of excessive hope,
I blindly wander green fields of dismay
in search for ordinary time alone
because I need new battery for my heart
to understand what strangers want to say.

No road is straight enough to follow home,
though they extend beyond hills of esteem
with proverb I should overcome my fear
for loss of people I try not to love
because they disappear in swirling fog
each time I call their name at stubborn dawn.

Across bleak moorland to gray city streets
I follow twisted signs of pulchritude
on mission to repair bridge of disgrace
with fractured concepts of seasonal wealth
derived from sales of flowers to the dead
before lamps flash while swinging in rain wind.

Another harried age of our weird world
returns with summer glow of hungry leaves
refracting rainbow demons through our hearts
so we hear spiders sing with ruthless love,
undone by beauty of her maskless face
without exception of uncertain truth.

Through hedonistic wholeness we aspire
to float on sprawling silence of god eyes,
based on the stark indifference of grace
that splits unsteady happiness with smiles
while we walk endless trail of dire renown
to channel typhoon winds with humble hymns.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus considers selling castle of his ancestors to the Witch of Wherever so he can pay his gambling debt he owes to Calypso of the Floating Isle.

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

Art Of Losing Things
© Surazeus
2026 07 18

Almost unseen in the hot summer sun,
the faceless ghost who haunts my large back yard
watches me with ancient eyes of regret,
but when I approach her in soundless glow
of heatwaves shimmering over dry grass
she vanishes into ache of my heart.

Just as I almost forget she is real,
she reappears from shadow of desire
to show me tremendous fish of her heart
that she caught from deep lake of innocence,
speckled with lime rosettes of secret code,
which pulses with rainbow of rented truth.

With eyes that glare at long-dead stars of faith,
she tells me I should master with intent
the art of losing things I value most,
so I spend hours searching for dream keys
that I am sure I left beside the door,
while she stares weeping at her broken watch.

I write her story in my book of tales
with golden blood of angels as my ink,
but every morning when I look again
the words have vanished into beams of light
cast by the midday sun through web of limbs
from trees that seem to understand her heart.

Her life must be disaster of desire,
strange drama never seen on stage of fame,
because she walks along the winding flow
of red Scamander River on the plain
below the hill where towers of Ilium
crumbled into words of lost epic poems.

While I sip ginger tea on the back porch,
idly plucking strings of my broken lyre,
she grips my arm with weird beatific smile,
and tells me this day when the tyrant falls
is the most beautiful day of the year
but tomorrow we must get back to work.

Because I think I hear the forest elf
whistle as she dances on moonlit grass,
I feel my heart drawn taut as silver string
that twangs with wordless voices of the land
where star-eyed owls of Nowhere Land keep watch
over ghost-crowded streets of paradise.

Eyes half-closed against the bright summer sun,
that shimmers gold in canopies of trees,
I hear eerie song of the faceless ghost
whose sweet mercurial voice of secret love
reveals the presence of Athena near,
because I am the sorrow of her tear.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus visits Elizabeth in her home by the sea where they talk about the mad prophet of Boston who haunts the aquarium at midnight of secret code.

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

Graves Of The Nameless Dead
© Surazeus
2026 07 17

Awake in ghost-glow of the city maze
that sprawls across vast plain of anguished wind
where turgid swamps once festered amid palms,
I walk along the endless lamplit roads
past thousand churches with harsh clanging bells
where frightened people pray to stick of wood.

When I slouch despondently by the sea,
the mad-eyed Fletcher from dark mountain woods
points to the trembling topaz of his heart
which I mistake to be the Evening Star,
so I return to cave of humming ghosts
where diamonds glow with light of the First Flash.

Orpheus wanders with his broken lyre
through choking shadows of the underworld
because no faceless ghost with wavering voice
follows his untuned melody of faith
in vain attempt to escape numbing fear
that we return to mute flame of our birth.

I trust dire vision of Orpheus more
than deceptive lie of the afterlife
that Paulus preached by the tomb of Platon
because our bodies cannot resurrect
from organ-crushing nothingness of death,
nor do our souls linger mute in dark Hell.

Though I descend to grim Plutonian caves,
where Orcus whips chained slaves to mine more gold,
I find no spectral spirits of the dead
for they are living men enslaved by greed
who toil in Underworld where treasures bleed
tears of despair from men who long to die.

Two souls of immortal transciency meet
in circle of firm flesh on jagged hill
to weave taut threads of spirit-binding genes
that sparks divine soul of immortal hope
with words of truth unheard in human speech
which flare forth flame of faith in dreaming eyes.

Though stars that flicker with beautiful gleam
burned out to lightless spheres of spinning gas
millions of years ago in swirl of time,
their rays of hope appear in our night skies
with surge of blood-tides in our mortal hearts
so we express our faith in solemn hymns.

Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury
and sings about the lonely odyssey
of wily men who learn through suffering
to honor sacred pale of every home
by offering shelter to lost refugees
who build homes on graves of the nameless dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus wears mask of my face to perform role of my life as I attend my private odyssey when I quest to discover spirit of the bard in my aching heart.

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

Weird Alphabet Code
© Surazeus
2026 07 17

Diurnal factor of the holy mind
recalculates process of vital faith
that resurrects from rancid vibrancy
new state of mind based on theory of play
through which my hungry heart recalibrates
sacred path I blaze to avoid world fame.

The multiverse represents all the worlds
our brains can imagine as possible,
but they all emanate through fantasy
from this real universe in which we live,
so we must see this world as it exists,
messy confluence of willful desires.

Strange wisdom of the rising sun requires
focused attention of the filtered mind
to assemble random facts about life
in ever-shifting puzzle of half-truths
as kaleidoscopic lens of desire
through which we perceive what we want to see.

Disguised as old woman in flower dress
who has taught grade-school children forty years,
Seraphus reveals weird alphabet code
composing words in sentences of hope
which frames reality of swirling atoms
in mental paradigm of social truths.

When I see white horse gallop on grass plain
with gusts of wind that cause tall trees to swirl,
I track how my brain processes this scene
as linguistic function of formal ideas
to signify objects with qualities
that describe actions they perform in time.

Though my brain places label on its form
describing how the white horse swiftly runs,
I note how static word fails to present
swirling complexity of active life,
yet focuses attention of my mind
on how to visualize its vibe with verse.

Quotidian process of analog thoughts
weaves concepts in digital images
through frantic analysis based on vibes
that produce grand portrait of human brains
tangled with random memories of pain
which motivates our need to invent truth.

Expansive scope of beautiful conceptions
encloses complex forces in whole swirl
framed by accelerating sphere of fate
that generates our bodies from coiled genes
powered by electric soul of the brain
which animates our minds with flash of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus teaches psycho-poetics in the MFA program at the University of Zarathia to class of ten thousand young poets eager for world fame.

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

Desolate Texas Highway
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Cold wind howls on desolate Texas highway
where Darlene trudges to end of the world
after running away from house of sorrow
where her cruel step-father stumbles home drunk
and beats her mother to steal all her money
she earns working as a waitress all night.

Death walks beside her on dark Texas highway
but Darlene ignores his demonic eyes
and sneers at thunder that cracks walls of Heaven
by twisting rainbows into tangled knots
to calculate process of righteous anger
that guides her journey across the waste land.

Black van stops on the naked Texas highway
so Darlene runs into the howling wind
but three men drag her to the hotel prison
where old businessmen and youth pastors pay
with coins of despair forged from bitter laughter
to treat her like their sad wives they despise.

Running nowhere on the bruised Texas highway
after Darlene shoots mean pimp in the head,
she stumbles barefoot in the marble palace
where graceful ghosts worship Helen of Troy
who tries to hide inside the golden idol
to escape death from domestic abuse.

When we meet on the dusty Texas highway
Darlene gives me cracked mask of Lucifer
so I play noble role of tyrant-slayer
in revolution for justice and truth
till she gets trapped in Tower of Rapunzel
as popstar who sings on the stage of fame.

Ghost horse in drizzle on gray Texas highway
guides Darlene home to the small country town
where Vulcan works as car engine mechanic
who plays indie folk in the smokey bar
with mercurial voice of sincere compassion
for children killed in genocidal wars.

Hitchhiking west on the lone Texas highway,
Darlene considers secret of the moon
that shimmers in silver lake of discretion
with arcane formulas of moral code
to program how our brains perceive the world
as ever-shifting puzzle of tall tales.

Devils dance on deserted Texas highway
though Darlene unravels clock of her mind
transformed from concept of the loyal turtle
where the blind read lost books of tragic tales
designed to hypnotize objective people
with bright fantasy of the Afterlife.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus finds Darlene leaning against the telephone pole outside the country bar so he offers her cigarette and listens to her sad story she never tells.

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

Mystery Of Musical Tunes
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Though my brain oscillates with frantic hope
that justice triumphs over tyranny,
I wander blithely balanced just enough
to eat hamburger at the Globe cafe
and ponder mystery of musical tunes
that cause the mind to hum in harmony.

This hour of sudden weirdness, still unknown,
becomes my destiny by lazy choice
so I gaze far down hazy road of hope
to see what strange opinions I should hold
implicit in surroundings of bare hills
which I map to analyze fantasy.

Since I have no inherent legal right
to be myself with mask of Lucifer,
I decide to film events of my life
as if my deeds are dramatic enough
to compose grand epic of daily needs
because time suits my passion to pretend.

This disassembled puzzle of my soul
might be composed of random sentences
discarded by the wizard in gray suit
who talks about the boring things of life
without hook of the brutal question mark
that snags blind demon from my hungry heart.

Becoming more what I have never been,
I eat last grain of curiosity
to build new empire on productive farms
because I gain from suffering I endure
bright with sheen of forgotten memories
that angels sell to devils in tool stores.

Calm thunderstorm over the Texas plain
reminds me that my spirit image fits
well in social network of fancy games
contrived by religious authorities
based on deduction of justified theft
in space cleared by arrival of desire.

My brain projects virtual model of Earth
on walls of the church where everyone prays
for one king to rule nations of the world
with secretions of the demonized heart
healed by the humorous savior who knows
how rapturous clouds appear in my skull.

Since everyone knows truth becomes the hole
in which our bodies writhe with pulsing words,
we walk hand in hand on the garden path
where blood-stained flowers bloom from corpse of God
to climb the tower of water with pride
since justice triumphs over tyranny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus tries to explain astrophysics to the turtle who of course understands better than him so they play game of Go over who has to jail the tyrant.

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

Backward My Dream Mind
© Surazeus
2026 07 16

Backward my dream mind, vast as mountain vale,
wild gushing waters of hope overtake,
so on winged horse of innocent respect
I travel abreast with Nature afar
to comprehend strange music of her form
that vibrates with psychic music of love.

Forward with tattered pirate map of hope,
remnants of friends in buried treasure chests,
I search for in abandoned yards of dreams
whose world of secrets I abandoned, lost
by walking signless road of nowhere else
till I find something lodged inside my heart.

How many jagged mountains of desire
I wonder wait for my mind to explore
secret caves of cold fire, blue as dawn ice,
where I would lay my body down to die
still as sharp ache of hope that stabs my heart
with eager passion to drink moon-bleak tears.

Waves of the ocean reach for my soft heart
with hunger to devour soul energy
pulsing through blood veins with new strategies
to outmaneuver thieves in business suits,
because they sell cliffs to the gullible
as suitable fields to cultivate crops.

Another friend returns with stolen gems
from naked underworld of honesty
because he knows how to unpuzzle truth
concealed in alabaster jar of oil
rancid with secret desires of true love
for beauty embodied in sculptured mask.

My fake voice lingers in dim emptiness
with shocking melody of bitterness
sweetened by tumultuous ardency
to sing with resonant silence of truth
that cracks foundations of world empires
so our faces become square as glass books.

No wandering gypsy of the river woods
dares curse my heart with unrequited love
which I package with plastic dolls of fear
for sale to discrete tyrants of concern
though some prefer fake gratitude of fruit
rotten with spices of arrogant faith.

Marvelous thoughts trapped in fairy-tale books
encourage me to question noble laws
contrived to rig the social game of power
in favor of the privileged elite
who bury treasures outside paradise
so I leave secrets hidden in the heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus fashions mud into the bird, then sparks its life awake by breathing ethereal spirit of heaven, thus we aspire to fly beyond the godless sky.

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

White Horse In The Stone
© Surazeus
2026 07 15

The way we dance about the broken tree
of knowledge, where three angels gamble souls
against electric solitude of fate,
reveals conceptual jaggedness of fear
by which we prove our noble manliness
with psychic levels of testosterone.

Trapped in grim ritual of the shopping spree
to buy masks and costumes for our new roles,
I scrub our television screens of hate
on holy mission from the Puppeteer
who questions origin of happiness
invented by the white horse in the stone.

The way we gather at the flash of dawn
in ring of stones, that angels call Stonehenge,
to sing electric hymn of shocking truth,
inspires the eyeless aliens from Zar
to teach us humans how to colonize
the waste land with water pipes of desire.

In every life I always play the pawn
trained by Minerva to unpeel the orange
as heartfelt gift to world messiah sleuth
who rules United States of Zathamar
through hidden network of innocent spies
who sing about Orpheus in the choir.

The way we weep with anguish of respect
for people who die unfairly each day,
because our souls dwell in no afterlife,
exposes fraud of preachers who declare
our wounded bodies will rise from the dead
because our brains pulse with ancestral ghosts.

Unnerved by riddles of the brain defect
which fool me into thinking I must pray
with plan to learn lessons from mental strife,
I emerge dripping from swamp of despair
to parade with jeweled crown on my head
on global stage where I play Lord of Hosts.

The way we type our thoughts in fractured verse
in vain attempt to describe what is real,
contrary to lies of religious creeds,
expands scope of my conscious sense of self
beyond strict bounds of righteous lethargy
based on canon law of the vampire god.

Inspired to wear bright mask of Lucifer,
designed by my mother with glass and steel,
I study potent vibrancy of seeds
that bloom from footsteps of the daring elf
whose kiss sparks my heart with dream energy
which helps me code the formula for fraud.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus and Jesus debate in the auditorium at the University of Zarathia over whether or not souls persist after the death of this fragile body of hope.

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

If I Am Someone Else
© Surazeus
2026 07 15

Shocked by thought-executing fires of hope
that mold rotundity of Earth from words
stolen by ravens from dark river shores,
I charge subscription of strange elements
that crack calm confidence in mindless truth
with earnest plan to assert dominance.

Careless regression from pastoral states
of mind, contrived by articles of faith,
contracts expansive scope of innocence
smaller than the measuring spoon of time
by which I scoop conceptual nonchalance
with vague obsession of planless progress.

Time seems to readjust intense display
of prowess I project with neutral stance
where I determine, through unseen design,
to stand my ground against unnatural force
that cracks foundation of our social state
so we fend for ourselves in silent woods.

Perhaps one thousand years of waterfalls
have now eroded jagged mountain peaks
down to wind-rounded hills of smooth regret,
dispersing spirit of the heart on silver lake
where ghosts of snowflakes swirl in summer haze
till they become cranes of adjacent charm.

Though I have journeyed on the rugged trail
through seasonal blasts of hostile intent,
when I reach the door where my best friend dwells
I pause to savor with intense respect
urgent passion to travel, now fulfilled,
then turn around and travel home again.

Exhausted by attempts to reach the moon
on tattered wings of hope Icarus lost,
I stretch description of my faceless soul
inert on throbbing surface of broken rocks,
cluttered in seething globe of timeless change,
till I wonder if I am someone else.

Disassembled brain of dream-powered gears,
that oscillates between time-tangling poles,
programs itself to change how it perceives
reality through weird framework of tales
derived from fractured memories of ghosts
who vehemently deny they are dead.

Though I once ran swift as the long-maned horse
along winding stream of advanced degrees,
in courageous plan to transcend frail frame
of passion-filtered reverence, my soul
expends excessive energy of faith
to evade fate that laughs with tender love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus wanders in mind-altering fever of excessive concern for snowflakes that unfall in pulsing heat of summer evening in silent hills of faint hope.

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

National Zoo Of Fame
© Surazeus
2026 07 14

After I escape from prison of hope,
and litter streets of fear with greedy thugs,
I shall fly the rocket to outer space
and live in my gold palace on the moon
far away from the business office complex
where the Swan of Tuonela waits for me.

My faith links the fantasy of escape
with brutal reality of confinement
because I am the mute ape in your zoo
who longs to live free in suburbia,
in the three-bedroom ranch house by the lake
with white sedan I drive to work each day.

Though the signless road of my bold ambition
grows dimmer every day I drive toward Heaven,
in swirling smog where I can hardly see,
I fight the devil with the silver star
who laughs with shotgun of law in his hand
because he knows I will never be free.

Trapped within the National Zoo of Fame,
by the senator who owns the gold mine
on our land where my father tended wheat,
my fierce rebellious lion-heart of faith
is monitored by state psychiatrists
who study mystery of the human mind.

Exhibited in cage of my persona,
I dwell in domestic structure of marriage,
restricted by the law of give and take
as I perform identity I stole
by wearing suit and tie with polished shoes
when I sit at desk of authority.

I stare in mirror of my memories
to wonder where my childhood vanished to
in faded photographs of broken schools
filled with faceless people who pray in church
for savior of the world to rescue them
from junkyard garden of the rotten tree.

The photo of my war against the state,
where I pose with long rifle on my hip
while riding naked on my shadow horse,
hangs on the wall of your suburban church
to prove the wicked come to sorry ends
as bullet-riddled corpses on dirt roads.

My tragic flaw is I will seize the day
despite the consequences actions cause
when I design network of water pipes
to provide social service of respect
to every house in the factory town
displayed in your National Zoo of Fame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus photographs bullet-riddled bodies of Bonnie and Clyde which he frames and hangs on the wall of the First Church of the Crucified Clown.

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

Why Time Is Fake
© Surazeus
2026 07 13

Camilla considers why time is fake
while floating in glass boat on the star lake,
though wingless angels on the muddy shore
keep disappearing through numberless door
at sudden crack of bells that realigns
statues of dead gods in conceptual lines.

Staring at her face in the mirror gleam,
Camilla thinks about joining the team
of wingless angels to hunt criminals
who abuse good people like animals,
but three clocks on the vast cathedral wall
unweave matrix of time in sad rainfall.

Packing six paper bags of groceries
while angels spiral through her ovaries,
Camilla plans her clandestine escape
from prison of her home in the dreamscape
by switching money to her bank account
with secret agent of the castle count.

Bright headlights of the speeding car expose
uncertain beauty of her private rose
with flashing magnet of hypnotic trance
through thought paralysis of her stiff stance
at shock of horror that her husband steers
car of bitter rage at her wordless fears.

Crushed against her car at sudden impact
of blunt aggression beyond legal fact,
Camilla gasps in anguish of mute pain
that sears through tattered fabric of the vain
with mangled ardency of canceled hope
untwisting order of her mental scope.

Stunned awake beyond conscious state of fear
at blurred flash of the unreachable near,
Camilla writhes in buzzing blast of shock
that sucks her spirit into the faceless rock
where she becomes small seed of nothingness
as swollen bulge on bridge of faithfulness.

From open eyes of vast infinity,
Camilla soars through sharp futility
as wordless blood from gaping mouth of love
gurgles desperately to express concern
for safety of her daughter in the car
whose eyes are fractured by the lonely star.

While Camilla floats in the ambulance
to gamble with death in fraught game of chance,
police arrest her husband as he snarls
with rage against disobedient girls,
but the nurse pronounces moment of death
when young mother explains why time is fake.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury to guide ghost of Camilla from the store parking lot to shore of the River Styx where she rides boat of Charon to Elysium.

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

Golden Hurt Of Knowingness
© Surazeus
2026 07 13

While strumming broken lyre of Mercury,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I sing about the woman with nine hearts
who founds world empire of Olympia
which unites fractured nations of the world
through Anglonesia of our eager hope.

Eager to dance on the mirror-mind moon,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I open wounded heart of charity
with selfless play through generosity
to fund the private dream of every soul
who builds garden of fruit in the waste land.

Awake with passion for the common man,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I build safe home along the signless road
for every human alive on this Earth
to dwell in paradise of equal rights
that gleams as fantasy in sun-bright clouds.

While searching for the Holy Grail of love,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I gather geospatial data sets
about every aspect of human life
to map complex depiction of our world
through detailed analysis of desire.

While soaring on broad wings of Icarus,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I hunt vast city maze of broken idols
for evil men who abuse and exploit
other human beings for their selfish gain
to free slaves of money from chains of hope.

Alert to clever scams of corporate kings,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I track deceptive calls from telephones
to huge fraud factories in jungle zones
where job-seekers trapped in forced labor camps
call us with offers too good to be true.

Avid for grand agenda of the woke,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I gather abused victims of the world
who fight as social justice warriors
to defeat Midas and his gang of thieves
who try to enslave us with credit debt.

While wearing honest mask of Lucifer,
inspired by golden hurt of knowingness,
I follow Goddess of Justice and Truth
who leads our holy war for liberty
for every person living on this globe
that spins forever in the godless void.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus extracts diamond from Cave of Plato and holds it high so it shines with golden hurt of knowingness to illuminate the world with truth.

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

Wonder At Beauty Of Life
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

Every road in the world leads to my home
so I visit every home in the world
and give my loneliness in ribboned book
to every person in the world I meet
who gives me their own version of my name
that binds our hearts with brutal sense of hope.

Startled by shining angel on the slope
who offers me jeweled crown of world fame,
I veil my spirit with mask of retreat
to hide in small cave by the mourning brook,
alert in shadow where my soul lies curled
as curious fox hidden in pungent loam.

Suspended between flashing poles of time,
brief blaze of insight in my urgent heart
reflects my soul in mirror pool of fate
through transitory bloom of mental scheme
contrived to wake my spirit from despair
and teach me to accept seasonal change.

Assertive purpose to extend my range
on route to anywhere humans may care
converts attention of my wordless dream
to seek new occupation where I wait
with curious breath that weaves expansive chart
which heals my wounded heart with every chime.

In dark uncertain hour before bright dawn
at weird enchantment of familiar sight
I meet the eerie presence of my faith
in faceless stranger whom I know too well
who asks if wonder at beauty of life
inspires my heart to transcend fear of death.

Fulfilled beast of my heart considers math
that calculates inherent worth of strife
to forge my soul from wisdom in harsh hell
when I first name the transcendental wraith
who teaches conscious potency of right
that fuels my mission to unking the pawn.

Since each beginning is another end
that sparks my ostentatious quest for power
I program vulgar passion to transform
weak frame of wisdom in my wounded heart
to bravery of the wolf who knows the way
through timeless moments in bloom of the rose.

When I arrive at place of my repose
beneath the apple tree where devils pray,
I build new gate from wheels of my dream cart
since I am voice of every evening storm
that rings in highest room of the ghost tower
composed of faith that crumbles into sand.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus considers how wonder at beauty of life inspires people trapped in despair to strive against blind contingency of fate in search for someone to love.

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

Secret Agent Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

Because the secret agent of my heart
is activated into combat mode
when greedy devils of the corporate bank
kidnap my precious daughter from safe haven,
I transform into fierce angel of vengeance
to harrow Hell and free blind slaves of money.

When I was young, with tender heart of hope,
I launched my new-built river boat of faith,
encouraged by star-eyed ghost of my mother,
and sailed bright river between tree-lush shores
toward glorious palace of gold glowing clouds
that gleams beyond horizon of desire.

Yet bright illusion of my fantasy
that shimmers with pleasures I long to taste
lures me to city teeming with strange treasures
that trick my hands to take what I desire
with appetite for unreachable beauty
till debt traps me as slave of hungry greed.

Too many voices of seductive truth
that echo with passion in city streets
present bright fantasies of facile wealth
through advertisements of brave services
which offer easy solutions of power
till I dispel them with assertive spell.

Toward shining palace of celestial clouds
I sail far from safe homeland of my heart
but wander lost in maze of puzzling doors
locked tight against dark thunderstorm of fear
on mission to find daughter of my heart
trapped somewhere in lush paradise of faith.

I wander circles among market stalls
amid chaotic turmoil of desire
where people seeking treasures of the heart
flow swift in patterns of rapacity
till I lie dizzy in the field of skulls
and call name of my daughter to the wind.

Hands bleeding with rapacious hope for truth,
I claw precious minerals from the Earth
to mold material wealth of energy
in forms of beauty that blind eager eyes
with grandiose visions of national pride
as hall of stone that stands ten thousand years.

When I breach secure walls of paradise
to find my daughter dancing by the pool,
feet bound by golden chains of charity,
I fight to free her soul from slavery,
but wealth controls her power to create
life from aggressive ambition of fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus finds Ares fatally wounded in Garden of Olympus after King Midas stabs him when he tries to rescue his daughter Phoebe from slavery.

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

Memories Of Dead Gods
© Surazeus
2026 07 12

When dawn sun opens mirror of my brain
I reassemble framework of my face
with fragments torn from memories of dead gods
so I when I face the world at flash of fame
my honest simpleness may shield my heart
from slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

I get my eyes from Cronus and Saturnus
so I may see heart of each human being
that glows with secret passion they would hide
when we exchange conceptual energy
through tangled formula of sentences
encoding sentiment in psychic code.

I get my ears from Phoebus and Apollo
so I may hear bright music of the spheres
that radiates from first flash of the god eye
when I translate weird song of ocean waves
to pop songs blaring on the radio
when everyone plays Sunday on the beach.

I get my arms from Bacchus and Hephaestus
so I may craft wave-leaping ship of fate
from wood of trees I cut from Helicon
when I sail seven seas on treasure quest
to colonize the world with castle queens
who rule cities at mouths of flowing rivers.

I get my heart from Jupiter and Jesus
so I may rule empire of pyramids
controlling fields of wheat and herds of cows
when I ride white horse on the hill of skulls
to fight crocodiles in the steaming swamp,
depicted as Saint George who slays the dragon.

I get my brain from Athena and Hermes
so I may envision in lines of verse
deeds wise heroes perform as humble men
who seek to understand nature of things
as they develop through philosophy
foundation of our world civilization.

I get my tongue from Hera and Poseidon
so I may sing enchanting spells of sight
depicting complex nature of the heart
which animates each human to explore
expansive landscape of our spinning globe
that generates our souls in pulsing brains.

Though my frail mortal body is composed
of fragments from grand deities of time,
I pause from endless journey of my soul
on signless road in waste land of despair
and laugh at weird absurdity of life,
then keep on searching for the Promised Land.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/07/…

Orpheus asks Doctor Frankenstein to explain from which long-dead god each part of his assembled body was derived so he can understand nature of his heart.

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