Curved Trajectory Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 29

I watch the shining crescent boat moon glide
with stately grace above the ancient oaks
where Venus stands in flowing gown of clouds
holding high her lamp with the Morning Star
above the prow to guide her journey west
along the curved trajectory of faith.

Through parabolic symmetry of time
I somersault across the rolling hills
to bend my body lithe in graceful leap
by dancing balanced on taut wire of hope
that we embrace with passion for the truth
that fuels our journey to the Promised Land.

She half-remembers parable of trees
that knowledge is empty function of being
preserved by zero sum philosophy
that we contrive from humming wings of words
upon returning to the lake of skulls
which dissolve into sparkling sand of time.

While Venus lounges in the last row house
left standing on the street of leafless oaks,
I slouch on cracked steps of eternity
and watch cars rumble down the broken road
till drones with cameras float overhead
to record how our great empire will fall.

Still stuck between the rock and the hard place,
I hold snarling wolf of Rome by her ears
before I decide to apologize
for any inconvenience I may cause
since I intuit feelings people hide
through necessary indulgence of false pride.

Through urgent bestowal of clemency,
based on psychotic waiver of respect,
I plot world revolution of the weird
based on amazing grace of faceless clouds
because the lonely prophet on the train
calls out my name from in the hurricane.

Reaching my arm up to the empty sky,
I try to touch the mirror face of god
who murmurs honey spells of tender fear
in tangent with the burning sun of dawn
when light creates the shadow of our souls
by forming magic ladder to the moon.

Wearing pink gown for the midnight ball,
Venus walks in prairie of star-kissed wheat
while holding folded-paper boat of hope
to ask the demon of the jungle why
we ache with sorrow for the souls who die
with calm acceptance of the endless rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus runs eighty thousand years to follow the Morning Star of Venus so he can find out where the sun is born.

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

Swirls Of Shining Words
© Surazeus
2025 09 28

When swirls of shining words from my dream book
lift my body up at death to the sky
and bear my conscious soul to ancient stars,
I wake from morning dream to realize
my brain invented this vision from hope
that my memories may survive my death.

The boy decides to float up in the sky
and soar on his featherless outspread arms
over houses where people sit in chairs
while he swoops around loose telephone wires
because nothing matters in this short life
except we love the person we are with.

We often think about the way time flows
in similar fashion of tumbling chaos
to how water swirls between banks of dirt
bound by long twisting roots of thirsty trees
that shout at us with silent arrogance
from mocking dare to eat their healthful fruit.

Great voice of the sky echoes between hills
with tireless focus on polishing stones
based on solemn conviction of the fooled
that common sense will lead to destiny
from stale perfume of never-expressed thoughts
gleaming with luminous faith in romance.

At moments when we are startled alive
with grandiose vision of society,
that functions to reveal shadow of fear
in glaring light of wisdom from the sun
which watches us as lidless Eye of God,
we will sing well-rehearsed banalities.

Or else we might regret the lost lament
we hide in clam shell of the laughing toad
that cracks foundation of theology
on which we build world empire of fake wealth
propped up by innocence of youthful faith
that every person is equal in life.

Though always the same in efficacy
through power of action to transform the truth,
Nature asserts indifferent laws of physics
that spark intense emotions of desire
which motivates our actions to create
while we investigate crimes gods commit.

Through positive distraction of the song
that flashes from deep hollow of my heart
I redirect contempt to grim respect
when I refocus logic of my brain
to mirror mental health in mocking hymns
while shining words lift me up to the sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus strolls about the peaceful streets of Portland in land of Oregon where he was born from Minerva and Mercury after Jupiter was assassinated by Mars.

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

Vision Of One Social Law
© Surazeus
2025 09 27

Since the strong will always oppress the weak
the weak unite their hearts in clever band
inspired by wisdom of the holy man
who wrestles demons in the desert land
then preaches vision of one social law
where we do what we will, if we harm none.

When greedy tyrant terrified of truth
seizes control over the social state
and sends warriors with weapons of death
to defy celestial mandate of fate
by exploiting the people for his gain,
the savior appears with sword of the law.

Forged in the fires of bitter suffering
that innocent people of Earth endure
under oppression of the rich elite
who enslave our bodies and minds for wealth,
the savior rises high on wings of truth
and wields the sword of justice with respect.

When crowded nations of our spinning world
languish under authoritarian greed
of tyrants disguised as wise presidents,
Ishtar appears on ziggurat of Ur
and sends her prophets with angelic wings
to free the people from dictatorships.

Though I am one lone individual
stuck in little cave of my world view
somewhere in vastness of this spinning globe,
I hear mysterious voice of Ishtar hum
with frightened courage in my aching heart
to be the savior of my private life.

I cannot save anyone in this world
except myself through choices I design
as I perform role of my divine soul
programmed by insight my ancestors learned
as they survived vicissitudes of strife
to generate new life before they died.

Ishtar designed religions of mankind
by gathering people in grand hall of dreams
and teaching basic laws of decency,
then sending prophets all around the world
to organize tribes in thriving empires
which fight within the framework of one power.

United strong against dictatorship,
we pledge allegiance to star-spangled banner
that represents communal liberty
based on equal justice for every person,
forever vigilant with honest faith
to preserve our global democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus returns from the underworld with holy vision where all nations of the world are united under one social law designed by Ishtar the Wise.

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

Mask That Fear Designed
© Surazeus
2025 09 26

Too lazy to remember why I care
about the sorrows of the suffering,
I hide my sorrows in the river stone
and savor suffering of my broken wing,
pretending happiness comes when I share
secret treasures I detect when alone.

Mixed up about why love nurtures our souls
with tender bitterness of strange routine,
I choose to hide in shadows of my mind
to study psychic gears of dream machine
which programs how we play our social roles
in tandem with the mask that fear designed.

Untouchable by angst of hungry hope
despite collapse of our civilized state,
I publish broken hierarchies of faith
to break obstructing wall of random fate
so I maintain system I use to cope
with global fame contrived by the star wraith.

Despite my effort to find fulfillment
through binding emotions in riddling spells,
I free attentive thoughts as wingless birds
that shriek in flames from disconcerting hells
with courage to be more resilient
as shameful feelings get trapped by brave words.

When the moon is born from womb of the Earth
through wrenching explosion of naked love,
I wonder listlessly if I am good
enough to earn key to the treasure trove
so I can analyze what faith is worth
while I run with horses in Apple Wood.

Because I walk the low-tide beach at dawn
to gather eggs of demons with my hand,
I cannot steal what writhes inside my heart
reflected by the variegated land
that twists with angst of the innocent fawn
who teaches me how to draw my star chart.

Amazed at strange beauty of the orange moon
dismembered by theology of lust,
I gather eyes from animals in jars
so I can study arrogance of trust
with purpose to ascend the slippery dune
before the world is heaped with rusting cars.

If pearls record how humans fight for power
deceived by shadows of glory and fame,
I choose fall in love with Sylvia
who grins at me and gives me secret name
so I have right to climb her sacred tower
and help her raise our daughter Pythia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus teaches Pythia how to enter dream state of hyperawareness so she can perceive invisible forces of desire to chant riddles in prophecies that fool the greedy so they defeat themselves with their pride.

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

King David Weeps
© Surazeus
2025 09 25

Sitting on the street corner by the bank
where cars and people stream by in sunlight,
King David plays the psaltery on his lap
and sings with eerie voice of aching hope,
"the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,"
barely heard behind rumbling traffic noise.

We live the strangeness of our mystery
unsolved by magic-eyed sleuth of the moon
who sells salvation to the gullible
with certain agony of sweet contempt
for ancient woman of the lonely field
who scatters seeds of flowers in my heart.

To penetrate the shadow of despair
with words carved from the meteor of the mind
King David bends steel beams with his bare hands
through calcified regret of withered veins
by measuring beauty on scales of desire
despite unhappiness of wretched joy.

Though everything is pulse of molecules
that flash in boundless void of everywhere,
we search for primal cause of all existence
in hollow dream of everything we bought
before the Devil tries to sell it all
while we search oblivion for true love.

In this brief moment called eternity,
where we live in confusion of blind faith,
King David draws weird vision of our hearts
presenting cave homes on the river shore
where we have lived for thirteen thousand years
by carving laughter from heart-warming stone.

Because the ocean drains into the sky
in burnished waterfalls of restless words
we scour clean blood-stained cathedral walls
so spiders weave vast web of mirror eyes
with obsolescent spells of ardent faith
designed to make our lives more interesting.

Though the sun fits inside his living room,
which partitions time in fragments of dream,
King David paints the American Crow
as divine savior of our broken world
that urges us to cherish obstacles
which make us stronger as we strive to live.

Nothing appears to be attainable
as magic treasures of the talisman
that alerts us to the treacherous trap
when we build walls of paradise from lies
to nest our homes in cavern by the sea
where King David weeps for his lost Lenore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus teaches young shepherd named David how to improvise narrative verse tales about social heroes while he strums melodies on the lyre carved from dinosaur bones.

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

Expose Brutal Crimes
© Surazeus
2025 09 24

The startled ice horse on the arctic shore
considers why the white-haired sage of truth,
half-morphed from red-furred mermaid state of mind,
bears emerald lamp of ardent dragon eyes
with foolish plan to expose brutal crimes
committed by the king with small gold hands.

Two slender hobbit brothers in brown cloaks,
Gardo and Berto, sons of Rindo Tor,
approach Minotaur in cardinal robe
to ask if they can buy the crystal ball,
but his snake-eyed daughter, wearing white veil,
tosses bruised rose on the polished oak floor.

When blind Artemis in white silk gown
dances rigidly down long moon-lit hall,
brave Gardo lifts two sapphire dragon eyes
from velvet-lined chest of his secret heart
and offers gift of light so she can see,
but the red owl snatches her gems away.

Once she accepts new pair of sapphire eyes,
that gleam blue as the sea after noon storm,
Artemis climbs the rugged hill of skulls
till dryad oak-boy with butterfly wings
grips her slender arms with tender care,
so she turns and kisses him with sad faith.

Holding triangle magnifying glass,
red-feathered owl princess of Zathamar
refracts light of the sacred avian star
to design dynamic wings of the wren
with pen attached to taut violin string
that vibrates with concerto tune of faith.

Pushing through tangled vines of misty woods,
Berto searches for her lost violin
which skitters away on six crooked legs,
but pauses when he sees tall Artemis
in black lace dress, holding large heart-shaped ruby
that pulses with blood of angelic lust.

Gripping ax of wisdom in her left hand,
Artemis analyzes world affairs
while giant cruise ship wrecked on barren shore
shrouds the city skyline with choking smog,
so Berto stands on stump of the oak tree
and asks the ice horse if he understands.

Still attempting to expose brutal crimes
committed by the thief in golden suit,
the hobbit brothers follow Artemis
who leads ghost army to the pyramid
where One Eye watches people of the world
sit at global table of empty plates.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus bears plates of food for every person living on the Earth gathered in the Temple of Artemis, so they smile and eat while they listen to Apollo on stage sing the Hermead Epic of Philosophers.

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

Windy Beach Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 09 24

Reborn from sorrow of the hungry sea,
with wings designed by eager hope for truth,
I wander windy beach of everywhere
with sweet surprise that I am still alive
since I have returned from the Otherworld
with book of wisdom written in my blood.

Attentive pain of mental suffering,
that dissipates at echo of kind words,
lurks somewhere close in shadow of my heart
with hunger to devour my bitter ache
so I become more hollow than the sky,
awake in clockwork orange of divine dreams.

Once I note the abyss gazing at me
with monstrous visage of hungry desire,
I hide my true demonic soul with mask
I carve from Tree of Life my fear cuts down
so no one will mistake me for the mad clown
till I wake dark ghost sleeping in my heart.

Embarrassed by fierce hunger of my heart,
I build sprawling cathedral of grand halls
from giant diamonds poking from the plains
where the great dinosaur empress of Earth
rules global empire for eight million years
while singing heart-enchanting hymn of hope.

In frantic stillness of the evening glow
I hear soft eerie radiance of her voice
beam from the radio tower on the hill
through sane persona of her cat-black soul
which flushes tight veins of my throbbing mind
with weird ecstatic passion of lost faith.

When I return from dungeon of my heart
with writhing alligator in my hand,
I channel spirit of Orpheus clear
to navigate my journey through the maze
compiling ruins of America
in heap of old discarded principles.

Across the field of angry goldenrods
we build metropolis of pulsing graves
based on weird architecture of dream code
composed by nightgown ghost of honesty
who wears mask of the woman I love most
while eating cantaloupe by the fireplace.

Far east of Eden we explore the world
to find the mountain of the weeping girl
who cultivates her soul ten thousand years
to evolve from White Snake of Silver Lake
through psychic phases of social respect
when she creates new body for our souls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus leads thousands of refugees from war and homeless immigrants on the windy beach of everywhere to build new city of homes in the Promised Land.

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

Eternal State Of Beauty
© Surazeus
2025 09 23

While Phoebus plucks soft melancholy tune
on old guitar, his grandfather once built,
beneath the college-campus willow tree,
Fauna photographs flowers by brick walls,
fascinated by the contrast in shape and color
that represents humanity in nature.

Strolling together in the alleyway
that winds for miles between brick office buildings,
Phoebus and Fauna chat about how art
frames normal scenes of the everyday world
with magic beauty of the focused eye,
imbuing gloomy scenes with divine glow.

Holding the camera before her face,
Fauna perceives how frame of reference
seems to transform the filthy alleyway
of trashcans and poles entangled with wires
from bleak hellscape to sacred paradise
luminated with mystic fairy light.

The way beams of light from the glaring sun
slant through clouds to glow on the wretched brick,
highlighting preternatural forms of desire
with ghostly shimmer of nostalgic fear,
enchants her heart with ennui of respect
for beauty based on shadow of despair.

Approaching large glass window of the bank,
that reflects the delicate boat-shaped moon
which gleams before dawn by the Morning Star,
Phoebus and Fauna see ghosts of their souls,
Phoebe and Faunus, gazing back at them,
so they wave to their opposite-world selves.

Since our genders are fluid as the sea,
swirling with contradictory emotions
that drive us to reproduce immortal genes
in new organic packages of hope
through which we humans evolve into God,
we explore this planet with loving eyes.

While Faunus inspects bright blue azurite,
he pries from jagged cavern wall of Hell,
Phoebe photographs Queen Persephone
as she poses in long elegant gowns
to capture essence of her goddess spirit
because she radiates beauty of the heart.

With every photograph she snaps with care
Fauna chronicles our changing world
with timeless images of sacred truth
which preserves within frame of humble awe
essential nature of our hungry hearts
when we invent eternal state of beauty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus celebrates his birthday with his wife and children beneath the willow tree by the River Styx that flows in the hills of Elysium.

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

Lake Of Screaming Masks
© Surazeus
2025 09 23

Less intense that frozen waves of regret,
Death grins at me with joyful nonchalance
when I sit by the lake of screaming masks
to savor silence of soft sunlit hills,
because I dare not translate songs of toads
to riddles jesters tell in court of faith.

The old man who frees butterflies from stones
explains strange magic of the radio
to young boy sitting on the lonely horse
who waves the broken stick of innocence
and proclaims himself king of the scarecrows
who march in revolution of the mind.

Pages torn from history books flap in wind,
snagged on humming telephone wires of fear,
so the sad-eyed shepherd gathers them up
and hands tattered stack of paper to God
who burns them in the castle hearth of faith
to erase record of his psychic crimes.

Somewhere in endless maze of morbid myths
Ophelia finds statue of Jupiter
fallen over in the snow-bleak courtyard,
so she crouches and stares at his stern face,
and wonders what caused the fierce God of Thunder
to freeze into stone of mute arrogance.

When she returns home from working all night,
mopping floors in the elementary school,
Ophelia asks her mother in the kitchen
why organic bodies decay and rot
though we eat vegetables and exercise,
but unwashed curtains flutter in the wind.

Each time Janus opens the temple door
another thousand years of changeless hope
streaks stars across the sky of ardency,
so he gives Ophelia Book of God Masks
which she carries as catalog of souls
to sell illusions of power to vain mortals.

No one knows who we are before we die
yet they gather in church to weep and pray
after Death erases our souls from time,
then everyone goes back to work and play
while no one in Heaven eats apple pie
as ghosts enchanted by the front-porch chime.

After Gabriel falls down to the Earth
Ophelia bears his body with care
for Janus of the Dream Well to repair,
but he explains with star-conceited words
that we cannot return through second birth,
so they make love in the meadow of skulls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus visits grave of Gabriel beside the Cathedral of Laughing Horses, and sings lamentation to remember his message of good news to mankind who never listens.

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

Castle Door Of Power
© Surazeus
2025 09 22

When the young woman with lightbulbs for eyes
begins to scrape her shadow off the wall,
the farmer, hiding the mirror of time
in his pocket, along with the glass moon,
asks the innocent cow why people laugh
though we become roses after we die.

Let us consider the black albatross
that perches on the shoulder of blind Thor
who transforms happy children into moths
despite how long the pink telephone screams
at angels who torment government clerks
with thoughts of beauty for the penniless.

The woman decides not to fight the tree
and walks away instead beyond the sky
to harvest ginseng from the mountain slope
where the man disguised as the sullen horse
throws walnuts at her red car on the bridge
till she folds his mask in her leather purse.

Since I am interested in your mind,
that pulses bright as purple mushroom brain,
I design our parallel universe
to mirror graceful body of the nymph
who sews clothes for the lonely gatherers
embarrassed by the need to fall in love.

Born right near the cusp of Virgo and Libra,
I worship Justice holding Scales of Truth
who teaches humans to confirm our soul
with self-control in framework of the law
so effects from cause of our actions charge
constructive progress of organic growth.

The woman wearing wings of tattered novels
encloses her soul in the rolling stone
that gleams beneath the throne of splintered oak
before she opens twenty thousand doors
to find typewriter of the weeping clown
so she can drink delicious can of oil.

Ophelia watches romantic show
on television forged from raven beaks
so she can learn the secret key of fate
we use to open castle door of power
before rain falling on black city streets
transforms her soul back into the Mermaid.

If the young woman with lightbulbs for eyes
attempts to play piano in red snow,
Apollo may remember where we live
and bring basket of persimmons to show
he understands assignment of the hour
to build world empire of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus carves the Last Judgment on the castle door of power to educate pilgrims on the fair and objective court system of justice that sustains the world empire of Zarathia.

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

Jester Mask Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 22

Though day and night are equal in my heart
at gentle turning of our verdant world
I feel myself unbalanced without wings
before virginal Justice holding scales
by which she judges intent of the mind
to analyze effects of good and evil.

Eager to ascend tall Tower of Truth,
I steal keys of the kingdom from Saint Peter
with hope to see perspective of the world
composed of Ideas that persist in Heaven,
imbued with light and shadow that reveals
beauty of every structure formed from atoms.

Yet when I open portal to lost time
for highest room in tall Tower of Truth,
I find Cassandra, dressed in scarlet gown,
gazing deep in gold crystal ball of fate
who prophesies that I will rule the world,
so I flee from role of the cosmic herald.

Stumbling exhausted down the signless road
on windy prairie where wordless winds blow
east of the rocky Rainbow Mountain range,
I find abandoned lyre of Mercury
half-buried on Missouri River shore,
so I extract it from corpse of my faith.

Wandering far across America
in countless towns from sea to shining sea,
I play grunge folk songs on old rusty strings
and sing dire prophecies Cassandra dreamed
to prove that no one will believe the truth
even as our empire crumbles to lies.

I cannot remove jester mask of faith
that hides identity of my fake self
because King Midas, enraged by sharp jokes,
sends blood-thirsty Furies to hunt me down
and hang me from telephone pole of fear
though I am Angelus whom Hera sent.

Sprung from the dreamless eyes of cruel Cronus,
three Furies race along crowded highways
to catch me as I fly toward temple hall
where wise Athena chants Kabbalic spells
that channel psychic energy of stars
to power my soul with visions of peace.

When Ophelia dives in the River Styx
she transforms into mermaid with gold scales,
and swims down into silent sea of dreams
to bear Orpheus with attentive care
safe to lush shore of Chesapeake Bay
where she crowns him King of Zarathia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus drops the crown on the White House lawn as he climbs over the fence and runs away west to live by a river in a hidden valley of the Cascade Mountains.

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

Abandoned Ghosts Of Time
© Surazeus
2025 09 21

Soft wind that ripples on the meadow pond
cares nothing for the strife of politics,
so I become the grass that drinks the rain
and sings in harmony with cheerful birds,
though every tweet is territorial,
declaring how this space of light is mine.

The crow that flaps her dark angelic wings
swoops over meadow pond of silent faith,
evanescent shape almost vanishing
in gray shadow of undulating clouds,
which sparks strange memory from my childhood
when I would wait for Jesus to return.

The black-cloaked preacher in the circus tent
declares Jesus, king of the whole world,
will soon return in blaze of flaming clouds
as he descends on crystal wings of fire,
so I sit by the meadow pond all day
staring at gray clouds that silently swirl.

So I decide the crow with Stygian wings,
as devil that soars from the hand of Christ,
presents itself as symbol of my heart
that promises salvation of respect
refracted through keen mind of intellect
to calculate state of reality.

Since no one hears in wilderness of ghosts
dire prophecy that Cassandra proclaims,
which echoes warning of social collapse,
I sit on lush shore of the meadow pond
to strum the lyre of Mercury and sing
how no one descends from the empty sky.

Though I sit alone by the meadow pond,
surrounded by abandoned ghosts of time
who ask me to give them faces and names,
I feel divine energy of God glow
bright in the boundless hollow of my heart
as planet that now teems with conscious souls.

I feel soul of messiah in my heart
emanate beauty of the cosmic mind,
so I transcend framed ideologies
to merge all warring religions on Earth
in one universal faith of mankind
that unites opposing doctrines in myth.

I row wood boat across the meadow pond
and listen to wordless voice of the wind
congregate all abandoned ghosts of time
in global community of the lost
who transform deserts into paradise
by planting seeds of fruit trees in our graves.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus sits by the meadow pond and imagines Jesus riding in the glass dome of a flying saucer that flashes as he descends through blazing clouds of glory at the second coming.

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

Clarion Call Of Liberty
© Surazeus
2025 09 21

From inexhaustible stream of dark thoughts
strange mysteries of my blood spring as light
in dazzling fashion through innocent faith
that warns my heart with claxon flash of hope
compounding wild attention we exchange
about unseen danger clouding my eyes.

With psychic readiness of bleeding hearts
I hurl assertive thoughts of liberty
at sharp-eyed memory on taut hawk wings
while sweeping temple porch of dusty fears,
yet pause to touch electric beams of light
that pierce my heart with arrogant despair.

Based on hypothesis that death is final,
I play the clueless jester of despair
by prancing around idol of your god
which glares with rage at hungry immigrants
who bow before the holy mannequin
and pray for shortcut to the Promised Land.

I never forget who I want to be
though I wander aimlessly on the beach
to bury my feelings of hope and fear
in wave-polished sand of the Anywhere
which remain entrenched as mirror of fate
that blinds my eyes to road I must advance.

Every day seems like the last day of time
when all that is real crumbles into sand
and bright illusions of our nation-state
dissipate into delusions of grandeur
propagated by enchantment of hope
that sucks our blood to fuel its oppression.

Cruel lies, deceivers shout in stadiums
filled with believers who scream in despair
that all their long-cherished beliefs are false,
vanish in searing flames of fragile pride
when their world view collapses into fables
and leaves them stumbling mute on storm-torn beach.

When grand illusion of our noble nation
collapses into fractured fantasy
that blinds their eyes to harsh reality,
those true believers who have lost their faith
will hear the clarion call of Liberty
and gather round her temple on the beach.

Long after fever of nationalist rage,
stoked by storm-blasting rhetoric of fear,
dissipates in heart-calming breeze of faith,
we will construct new world democracy
that welcomes every breathing human home
to share this globe that spins in void of light.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus stands before the crowd in the stadium, and strums lyre of Mercury to sing holy hymn that celebrates resurrection of Liberty who welcomes every human on Earth in one global family.

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

Ancestral Streams Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 20

The sea of my heart is waiting for you
to sail ship of your fate across my space
so we can join our bodies in one bond
through strict concatenation of our goals
involved as raindrops soaked by roots of trees
that crack foundation of our empire state.

The voice we share with citizens of hope
flows over waters of our shared desires
so we can navigate maze of events
with large love that encompasses the Earth
through passion for the nourishment of truth
conceived by alphabets of innocence.

While holding hands in seasons of delight
we walk toward death with innocent respect
for whistled chorus of the populous
who carry bullets of unconscious fear
till light anoints our bodies with esteem
for shifting faces of regretful tears.

We run with grace in forest of the wind
through gates of paradise to chase the truth
till we get lost in labyrinth of myth
where statues of world gods we idolize
dissolve into ancestral streams of faith
that cleanse our cities with vain sacrifice.

Our mothers wait as shadow of the door
for us to bring weird treasures from deep caves
returning home as humble puppeteers
trained to mimic angels without wings
who open visionary reptile eyes
to read the memory of our silent fear.

We ride stark thunder of our legacy
to break free from cruel laws of slavery
by leaping abyss of oppressive hate
in noble battle to gain liberty
based on brave justice as our principle
which guides our journey to the Promised Land.

Though lost in wilderness of bleak despair
we gather round bright fire of liberty
and chant to wake courage and strength within
so we can change the social paradigm
which frames equality of every soul
as standard motivating how we live.

Our enigmatic goddess with eight eyes
creates the world of vision we perceive
as virtual model mapping heart-born myth
where all ancestral streams of faith flow free
in sermon that reveals our love-lit world
as pure mysterious spirit of the Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus rows his boat down the stream to prove that life is more than just a dream of angels singing in groves of apple trees.

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

Vanishing Of Bitter Fate
© Surazeus
2025 09 20

Your many voices chattering in sunlight
radiate from countless television screens
in waves of hope across the city maze
where gleaming cars stream past buildings of brick
through endless vanishing of bitter faith
that leaves us lonely on the river shore.

If I use love to build my mortal house
out on the endless prairie of sad wind,
despite my vain search for the Promised Land,
I might almost escape hunger of hope
to hide my plangent heart in grave of time
from which will bloom the primal Tree of Life.

The forlorn whippoorwill in cloistered woods
discusses humble passion of the seer
who leads grim-eager Pilgrims down through Hell
before their bodies dissolve into dust
through uncanny affection for the sky
where water waits to fertilize the world.

We fear most what we sense in our dark hearts
so we should measure rainfall before dawn
in solemn preparation for our death
since we must improvise our social role
with outrageous respect for humble souls
who dare defy the tyrant in his tower.

With Key of Wisdom burning in my hand
I disassemble puzzle forged by fate,
exposing greed of cruel ambitious men
who attempt to reframe the narrative
so they are always right in game of power
till they exhaust their rage with bitter hate.

When I meet the oxcart man on the road
that winds around the mountain of mad ghosts
he asks if I would like to buy his cart
which he constructed from dinosaur bones
so I steal tattered wings of Icarus
and dance around the fire with shaman chants.

When I transform into the Spotted Owl
I flutter wings of laughter in moonlight
and soar on the road my ancestors blazed
ten thousand years Scythia to Oregon
where I translate the ancient song of waves
to verses humans fail to understand.

When I arrive at the End of the World
I stand beneath the Tower of Hercules
to strum the ancient Lyre of Mercury
and sing about fall of America
from which we build world empire based on truth
long after vanishing of bitter fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus teaches children in high school the history of the rise and fall of the American Empire and how it was replaced by the World Republic of Zarathia.

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

Savor Force Of Life
© Surazeus
2025 09 20

I want to cancel my birthday this year
so with assertion of puzzled respect
I may arrest corruption of the flesh
to float in psychic stasis of calm faith
by tricking Death from noticing my age
because I want savor force of life.

I have wandered across the entire Earth
two hundred thousand years to chase the sun,
Africa east to China where time starts,
back west to Scotland where the sun descends,
and then across the sea to Oregon
where I discover that our world is round.

Now I wait in lush Appalachian hills
in silent afternoon of timeless glow
while all the fractured nations of our world
vainly resist rise of one global state
where every human who breathes air of hope
shares progress of justice and liberty.

Or so I wish to believe in my heart
that we are all striving for one grand goal
with common passion to improve our world
so every person born from womb of hope
has freedom to pursue their happiness,
safe from cruel exploitation and abuse.

I want to forge vision of paradise
that inspires me with hope for future growth
to structure framework with bold principles
providing courage for each human being
to work and play with equal honesty
in social network of our global state.

Though I am growing older by the day
with each relentless turn of Earth in space,
I feel comprehensive flow of history
power attentive respect of my heart
through efficient gears of honest response
which motivates my quest for global peace.

Yet dark storm clouds of national discharge
crash thunderously with tides of social change
that smash institutions of global power
so I must surf tsunami of concern
with progressive plan to transform my soul
so I improve persona in response.

I choose to remain at sixty years old,
as Earth hurtles on in the godless void,
to retain timeless state of mental being
preserved in record of conceptual dreams
with riddling code in verse of psychic play
that you will not solve till it is too late.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus hides in the grotto of Sainte-Baume to play hide and seek with the Mermaid who wants to celebrate his birthday, and grins when she finds him and offers him chocolate cake.

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

Terror Of Electric Birds
© Surazeus
2025 09 19

If my deceptive albatross requires
imperfect pitch of never-spoken words
I might decide to direct solemn choirs
who sing from terror of electric birds
that clamor with explosion of time bombs
in symphony composed by ghost of Brahms.

Enraged at how sly Rigoletto mocks
his haughty arrogance with scathing jokes,
King Midas orders jesters stoned with rocks,
and screams their accusations are a hoax,
then hippo-toddles in the putrid swamp
to blaring trumpets of unroyal pomp.

So Cathy snaps the television off
just as brave David kills the haughty king
because the woke adults begin to scoff,
and skips along the empty road to sing
about White Knight enchanted by weird spell
that leads him lost through endless maze of Hell.

When Belle Dame without Mercy wakes from dream,
while driving ghostly car on highway home,
she deconstructs the cruel government scheme
to reinvent the world empire of Rome,
dismantling privilege of racial pride
by flipping social concepts on their side.

While wandering cheerful on the misty moors,
Cathy finds Rigoletto bound by lies,
so she helps him discover secret cures
for foul diseases that blind human eyes
which helps us see the truth of what is real
so we stand for justice with noble zeal.

Kwan Yin appears from empyrean beam
as smiling woman on the mountain peak
which illuminates delusions of seem
as we accept the emptiness we seek
on sacred quest to cultivate our souls
when we prepare to play our special roles.

Browsing antique shop in the country town,
Cathy finds the lost Book of Liberty,
so she trades it for Tarot of the Clown
to lift humanity from poverty,
but no one believes in her six-step plan
though she supports crowning of Athelstan.

I am not surprised when Cathy decides
to marry grandson of the Fisherman
who investigates brutal homicides
till he gets trapped inside the Wicker Man,
so King Midas becomes the sacrifice
that cleanses our nation from civil strife.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus finds thousands of jesters and clowns imprisoned in Alcatraz, so he frees them from chains and leads them from Hell to freedom in land of the brave.

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

Cage Of Global Fame
© Surazeus
2025 09 18

Awake in stillness of the timeless sea,
I sing impatience of colliding thoughts
to hear assertive voice of angry trees
describe bold future of the fallen fruit
that blooms into world empire of the mad
trapped in brave rituals of worship and war.

Two-blooded angel of the swirling mind
plots ancestral line of kind arrogance
to iterate through picture frame of faith
ingenious solution Phoebus designs
to trick the lonely people of the world
with obvious riddle of the eglantine.

I walk face-first in forest of respect
to understand illusions forged by fate
that stem from beauty of the perfect face
which mirrors mental fortitude of fear
employed by feral jesters to revise
constitutional law that guides our game.

Determined to construct my funeral bower
from tinsel bones of honest dinosaurs,
I chat with Death while strolling in the grove,
where apples fall into reluctant hands,
about how light escapes conceptual words
that trap me in the cage of global fame.

Assertive freedom of tactical speech
confuses children of the blinking screen
with artificial games of complex rules
designed to obliterate prideful fools
with soul-crushing facts of the dream machine
which cares not how the hungry heart may feel.

Yet I must wake from cruel complacency
about the falling bombs of liberty
which rearrange puzzle of history
so tyrants appear as heroes of good,
lauded for how well they exploit the poor
who crawl exhausted in the shining church.

Because the dead dance on fake monuments
with earnest faith in capital success
against relentless process of soul death
we play fear-frantic game of hide and seek
though we carry unpaid debts of the dead
when we evacuate temple of faith.

Involuntary plan to map the mind
drives me to madness of the lucky laugh
when I escape the cage of global fame
to walk the signless road of everywhere
before the second coming of the clown
who watches downcast Ophelia drown.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus fights a thousand demons to free Ophelia from cage of global fame so they can enjoy the quiet live in their garden by the lake in the valley of the mountain of skulls.

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

Blind Angel In The Cave
© Surazeus
2025 09 18

Though blind angel in the cave knows my name,
I run away into the wilderness
to wear the mask she throws into the sky
so I become weird image of the beast
that lurks in heart of darkness with my face
till I decide to return to my home.

When blind angel in the cave shoots the stars
that fracture into snowflakes of my mind,
I build enormous snow idol of God
to represent best of humanity
as ideal symbol for how to behave
with honest respect toward all human beings.

Since blind angel in the cave surfs the waves
of social change that sweep across the world,
I follow her with mission to transform
our fallen empire of colonial greed
to democracy of justice and truth
where we do what we will, if we harm none.

If blind angel in the cave forges crown
from golden hearts of people lost in Hell
to trap my spirit with the chains of fame,
I twirl on spiral wings of flaming joy
to escape that cage of hypocrisy
so I can dance free by the lake of dreams.

Where blind angel in the cave finds the grail
based in transcendent world of virtual faith,
I wait with abject patience of the saint
who appears pregnant with child of my seed
that rises from crystal egg of her heart
to rule our new world through technology.

How blind angel in the cave describes fate
to billions of faithful around the world
inspires my heart to oppose tyranny
though stuck in haze of absence without lamp
that Diogenes gave me before he died
till I find broken gates of paradise.

While blind angel in the cave maps dream quests
with artificial code through language tricks,
I weave conceptual tragedy of hope
from tangled skein of weird global events
so I can record progress of mankind
becoming United Nations of Earth.

Why blind angel in the cave photographs
faces of people all over the world
confounds my well-framed ideology
through undulating swirl of frantic words
blasted from the cannon of haughty hope
each time the crazy world cleanses itself.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus tends wounds of blind angel in the cave whose brain channels every television station in the world to form new global ideology of justice and truth.

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

Rule Land Of The Free
© Surazeus
2025 09 17

Despite strange controversy of the heart
concerning fractured cycle of the cart,
I run frantically along the cliff edge,
flapping wings with theological pledge
to fall from Heaven and splash in the sea
in failed attempt to rule Land of the Free.

Before catalysis of psychic change
transforms our world view too far out of range,
I try to rein swift flow of history
with tangled lines of hostile prophecy
by excavating crimes of haughty gods
whose arrogance the greedy monarch lauds.

Since no one in the sky is watching us
preen with grace so we look ridiculous,
I build enormous walls for paradise
because my lizard brain accepts the price
we pay for safety is loss of free speech
in hard-earned lessons hungry devils teach.

Though we are nothing but atoms of faith
in bodies composed by the radio wraith,
I wander lazily around the lake
to find the social treasure angels take
which helps me measure centuries of growth
encoded in genes of the sacred oath.

Surprised by beauty of the sun at dawn
that reveals I am nothing but some pawn,
I perform my role in national play
as holy martyr who forgets to pray
in solemn ceremony of the dead
who rattle about in book of my head.

Regret for how our empire falls apart
in synchronized gears of our starless chart
compels my plan to sit alone and fish
while everyone else gambles on their wish
to justify aggressive fight for power
till our bodies are devoured by the flower.

Around omphalos of our spinning world
as Pythian serpent of the cosmic herald,
I dance with wild abandon of the fool
and chant magic spells of the psychic tool
to cleanse our nation of its bitter hate
when Apollo calculates our new fate.

Blind in the rubble of our crushed world view,
designed as puzzle of truth from each clue,
I kiss the Earth as Mother of Mankind
who crowns me prophet with mission to find
the Holy Grail of genetic rebirth
from which I drink love with my natural mirth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus asserts the inalienable right to free speech guaranteed to every human born from womb of Mother Earth, who all shout at each other in a global debate on who claims the right to wield power.

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

Fabulous Treasure Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 16

I read the book that never could exist
while stuck in dreary store of creeping fog
that dares my heart to honor obscure sage
who lurks in hollow church of loneliness
with confusing script of the tragic play
about the nameless king no one remembers.

Awake on eve of my great journey home,
I steal the fabulous treasure of faith
concealed inside exotic book of lies
with strange letters impossible to read
because they conceal true image of God
that proves my cherished beliefs are illusions.

Proficient in the art of painting ghosts
that hide in uncarved blocks of marble hope,
I vow to exonerate the mad king
who never admits what he does is wrong
while slouching in dark corner of dire fate
despite the entertaining schemes of jesters.

My mother rushes to the edge of town
to claim inheritance from the blind clown
who tries to move great mountain of lost faith
with seismic laughter of the two-faced wraith
because my father slams his fist in rage
that she dares to enter the beauty pageant.

Through blooming jasmine of the shadowed past
she walks with brisk assertion of despair
toward grotto veiled with tangled skeins of thought
where timeless now of everywhere glows clear
with evanescent passion of true love,
though stolen fruit of fate has become rotten.

She decides to not fall into the sea
because she understands the sound of blue
that echoes deep in nothingness of time
by changing special paradigm of trust
which traps our bodies in the Nevermore
mapped by the voyager who knows his demon.

Chained by concept of unreality,
unreferenced by complex feelings denied,
she programs system of new precedence
concealing weird illusions of fake words
to translate sacred wisdom of dark birds
to fractured language used by the Decider.

Partaking of the midnight eucharist
described in tabloids of prurient faith,
Minerva chooses to aver weird truth
staged as symbolic gestures angels trade,
so I read the book that may not exist
except in dream library up in Heaven.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus writes a letter to the movie director, demanding that he refrain from filming a hacked-together sequel of his classic Journey to the Underworld.

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

Eyeless Man Of Fate
© Surazeus
2025 09 16

The young woman with flowers in her hair
searches for her heart that lurks in the sand,
but the blue horse galloping on the hill
lures her away to forest of the owl
whose eyes refract starlight into her mind
so she can see the eyeless man of fate.

Waiting in the apple tree by the lake
where lonely people walk the signless road,
Zarath plucks untuned strings of the spruce lyre
to call the eyeless man from the glass sky,
but he wanders crowded streets of vast cities,
giving loaves of bread to the hungry folk.

Alone by face pool in the moonless vale,
Zarath gathers puzzle pieces of fate
scattered by large hand of the eyeless man
who announces code of the mirror eye
so she can place them in her book of tales
arranged according to their tragic ends.

When she arrives at the old apple tree
where the eyeless man has waited all day,
she kisses him with joy of selfless love,
then takes him sailing in boat of her heart
that glides on endless sea of everywhere
while they calculate weird progress of fate.

Angry that Zarath blocks his plans to steal
land from poor people to make himself rich,
the Jealous Jester finds her in the crowd,
who worship Ishtar in Temple of Skulls,
and tries to stab with his bitter blade,
but the eyeless man shields her with his heart.

Stabbed in the heart by the arrogant king,
the eyeless man of fate lies on his back,
while Zarath cradles him with loving arms,
and tries to tell her Secret of the Name,
but all his words dissolve into mute blood
that stains her hands as she weeps in despair.

After wandering the Earth ten thousand years,
Zarath arrives at the great lake of star eyes,
where she was born from river stone of truth,
and sets skull of the eyeless man on hearth
where he chants prophecies to all who ask
in return for butterfly wings of love.

She hides in Garden of Zarathium
with her children, sired by the eyeless man,
who build angel-winged airplanes with bold hands
based on blueprints that Icarus designed,
then flies above metropolitan maze
to find the Owl of Wisdom in her heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus accepts invitation to visit Zarath in her lush Garden of Zarathium where she weaves vast tapestry showing the entire history of America as it transforms into democratic nation of Zarathia.

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

Window Glass Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 15

If we touch each other with solemn words
to prove we are alive with ocean breath,
we might earn certificate of respect
by selling pleasure to the laughing tree
which eats corpse of the turtle with disgust
while God pretends to guide us with the wind.

Love gives me power of dangerous hope
to change shape of my body with stark words
by breaking iron egg of arrogance
from which white butterfly of God escapes
through ardent navigation of the maze
where children search for dreams they leave behind.

If crickets hibernate in violins
with outstretched wings of vapid turbulence,
we might emerge from window glass of faith
by eating bread and cheese with sips of wine
while yawning under blankets of warm trust,
since alphabets bleed from opulent eyes.

Humility appears as watchful lynx
on grassy lawn behind deserted church,
concerned by absence of fraught bitterness
when children imagine storms of the sea
frail as white rose the ballerina bears
while dancing how the heart is ruled by fear.

Reformulation of our pristine world
by sprawling features of the burning map
resorts to eerie melodies crows hurl
when claiming territory snows erase
till settlers arrive in wagons of lust
to build new homes with window glass of faith.

Tricked by desire to earn my global fame,
I tear blank pages from the book of lies
and scatter then on floors of senate halls
with reverential disdain for deceivers
who claim they are right about everything
while eating beautiful words of frog ponds.

Based on conservation of energy,
required by government agents of faith,
we drive abandoned cars of faith back home
though roofs of our houses have fallen in
from frantic gravity of civil strife
between nationalists and globalists.

Imminent prayer for everlasting doubt
writhes with elegant disdain for lost faith,
prefers to chronicle our false mistakes
that we decide to offer with stiff hands
insignificant meaning clowns exchange,
and tricks the simple to believe in death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus cleans the window glass of faith for the International Zarathian Bank where homeless people get loans to buy cardboard boxes for sleeping behind the deserted church.

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

Secret Voice Of Earth
© Surazeus
2025 09 15

After rain of my hope evaporates
and tree leaves glisten with indifference
of nature, I stretch my hand to the moon
to hold shell of its hollow beauty firm,
then analyze vicissitude of fate
that charms my heart with agony of faith.

I loop my heart on wild angelic wings
far out into the world of nameless forms
to translate song of waves to truth I bear
with casual eagerness of my fierce heart
that hangs as apples from the tree of faith
where the wren tells me why we are alive.

Therefore I chase the black butterfly home
past grove of apple trees on the lake shore
to catch sad song of vanished languages
which leads me to the anvil of my heart
where I forge sword of faith from bleak despair
so I can save the world from tyranny.

With bones of ancient gods I build my home
far from centers of political power
so I can hear the secret voice of Earth
bloom through flowers on high mountain slopes
and flash in rivers tumbling over stones
when I become wrens flocking in the clouds.

Surprised by topaz shimmer of the sky
while stumbling clumsy in cathedral woods,
I listen for the deer that knows my name
to learn strange art of the ventriloquist
so I can perform my role in world play
without weeping for stirred beauty of the sea.

Shocked at how often dreaming creatures die,
I wrap jagged shadows of twisted limbs
around frail tremor of my apple heart
to gnaw on bleeding fruit of morbid faith
through celebration in wild rites of spring,
pungent with passion for vegetable soup.

Death strikes my heart with light rays of the moon
so I remember how to analyze
aggressive actions of terrified souls
who thrash with anguish in tangle of words
because they cannot express how they feel
in struggle to survive another day.

Yet star-eyed owl on bent branch of the tree
shakes dust of dead souls on my golden path
so I grasp stone of confidence with dread
to blaze my path beyond hard walls of power
till I become clear slanting beams of dawn
that weave my body from songs of the dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus records secret voice of Earth with mysterious code of symbols, that no one is ever able to translate, in huge volumes preserved in the Zarathian Archive of Ancient Manuscripts.

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

Safe In Boat Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 14

When you appear before me in the wind,
face glowing with achievement of your faith,
my heart reframes weird concept of your name
with untamed light of innocent disdain
so we become one shadow of true love
resoftened by embrace of thought we share.

Catastrophically aware through attrition
that I might not be real as river stones,
I leave excessive thoughts designed by light
to squirm assertively through radiant mud
with thrashing attitude for laughing joy,
naked in cold darkness of everywhere.

Each time I open bold door of my car
I feel electric storm of calm respect
flash bright across brute mirror of my mind
that snatches vastness of the holy sky
so flames of solitude entwine my body
with tangled sentences of coded words.

She almost knows that hope could break my heart
despite how sparks of soul connectedness
combine our pulsing eyes with silent fear
since battle to control our wordless thoughts
may never happen in the sun-blind noon
though we float awkwardly beneath the ground.

Regret confuses swarms of buzzing ghosts
who plunge with fierce desire in sea of eyes
to show me path of opportunity
that I should follow on my quest for wealth
if I would rule this undulating space
where masks of my lost selves sink in the lake.

I leave fake feelings on the cement road
with fractured glasses of divine insight
crushed by the rubber tires of capital
which gives me power to buy factored faith
when I go out with lanterns of bright doubt
to find the idol that reflects my soul.

To find your spirit faint among bright stars
I gaze through telescope of loyal trust
where you glide gracefully on angel wings
in imitation of Corvus the Clown
who scatters diamonds on the bloody ground
which cleanses Earth of endless civil wars.

You vanish every time I look for you
with mocking laughter at the social clue
which I attempt to buy with magic beans
so I can hear the spirit of the times
explain where tide of history will flow
to bear my family safe in boat of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus rows the boat with his wife Ophelia and children Orion and Ostara safe across the ocean as storms destroy the vast city of robots wearing human faces.

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

Blankness Of All Time
© Surazeus
2025 09 14

Waking up from the blankness of all time,
eyes bulging with undreamed memories of hope,
I stand in shady glade of apple trees,
still wet from endless sorrow of green rain,
and shiver with tweets of birds in my bones
till wordless melody swirls from my breast.

Stepping cautiously among twisted trees,
where gold-eyed snakes with flashing rainbow scales
slither hissing among apples that gleam
from crystal rays of sunlight, I approach
faceless apparition of pulsing angst
who vanishes in blankness of all time.

Weird voice of passionate faith penetrates
squirming anguish of my volatile heart
hazardous from arrogant ecstasy
that spurs through hedonistic heresy
my mission to extract from festering fear
meticulous monster of my seized mind.

Slightly skeptical of sociable skits
we are required to perform with sly trust,
I spook the spineless spirit of my heart
with spectral motion of spontaneous faith
against the better judgment of my conscience,
attuned to slothful slander gods deny.

Residual puzzles, from resurgent faith
that dissipates through rhetorical tricks,
confound those ebullient loyalists
who sing effusive praises of respect
before gold idol of elaborate code,
trapped in cartesian framework of the world.

Chromatic concept of the holy book,
encouraging capricious cannibals
to devour decadent theologies
contrary to deterministic facts,
opens wide devotional wings of hope
that frees my soul from diabolic jokes.

Shocked awake by Delphic diaphonies
through discordant measures of numbered tones,
I dispel deceitful spells of despair
to activate diligent rites of passage
with dexterous gestures of relevant riddles
that could restore the world view I compose.

Rabid rivalry of sordid respect
traps our souls in conflict of interest
between free will and predetermined fate
from which I leap through blankness of all time
to stand retired on beach of humming sand
and catch the rain with shadow of my hand.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus paints mural of human history to cover the blankness of all time with conceptual illusions of our superiority.

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

I Hear Crickets Singing
© Surazeus
2025 09 13

Now that the soul-shooter has been revealed
to be the vampire shadow of their fear
they should apologize to everyone
they demonized as being responsible,
for we are innocent of their vile charge,
yet they would rather eat dirt and spit wind.

I hear crickets singing in the grim night
when all is quiet in my neighborhood
where ravens gather in tall creaking oaks
to chat about fierce wars that humans fight
over who has the inalienable right
to live without harassment in this land.

Their shadows gleam among indifferent trees,
the people forced to flee land of their birth,
as they wander lost in the wilderness
far from the garden where they mothers sang
before their bodies crumbled into dust
that feeds the fruit trees blooming in sunlight.

When hungry gang of thieves ambush Du Fu
and run away with bags of food he bought,
he cries out to the cold indifferent sky
that sends wind to batter his fragile home
so his young children have nothing to eat
while the king feasts well in palace of power.

Though nationalists declare this land is theirs
because they conquered it centuries ago,
and try to chase all newcomers away,
they will exhaust themselves screaming in hate
till their bitterness dissolves into misery
so the rest of us can live on in peace.

People from every land across the sea
gather together in land of the free
to share stories of their tortuous quests
how they escape fascist dictatorships
and join their hearts in democratic cause
where every person lives through liberty.

Our Goddess of Liberty still stands tall
with Lamp of Truth shining bright in the gloom
to luminate laws of equality
providing framework for constructive deeds
so we confirm our soul with self-control
that sustains liberty within the law.

We all dwell together in this great land,
united in cause of justice for all
as we fight against exploiters and thieves
to protect each other through empathy
so every person breathing air of truth
may thrive with faith in dignity and love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus leads the people in fight against oppressors to establish social system where every person is equal in justice and opportunity.

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

Tick Of My Clockwork Heart
© Surazeus
2025 09 13

If you hear sharp tick of my clockwork heart
echo in ancient forest of stone trees,
wrap your sinuous arms around my chest
and embrace wordless anguish of desire
that sparks pleasure when our bodies entwine
with nonchalant excess of perfumed faith.

Languorous in sensuous sea of flesh,
we writhe with agony in dazzling dream
of sailboats voyaging across wild waves
with bodies open to the glorious sky
that shimmers with eternal heat of hope
as we emerge from shadows of lost time.

Shadows of the unveiled invisible
reveal electric spirit of my brain
sparked by imperishable swirls of truth
that reflect hallucinations of hope
which lure me far across the rain-wet field
through horror of derision and despair.

Disheveled tresses of the pretty ghost,
who holds ticking clock of my vibrant heart
with languorous fascination of the mad,
veil atrocious cavern of my vast mind
where I chase rainbow of progressive fear
to cracked fountain where I drink blood of faith.

Bold mother of memories utters prayers
illumed by glow of coals in fractured heart
with divine attention of lightning strikes
that open pure door of momentous fright
when I give infinite kisses of trust
which rejuvenates the sun in my brain.

Hunched on enormous boulder of respect,
I gaze from mountain slope in frantic wind
at wordless shimmer of the boundless sea
where beautiful hawks glide above the world
with proper privilege of sudden faith,
invisible yet everywhere alive.

Yet when I pause in shadowed atrium
and listen to soft burble of the stream,
weird howl of silver clouds above the sea
refracts strange memory of the muddy path
where she appears in flash of sudden light
with eyes that understand the why of death.

Though you hear soft tick of my clockwork heart
that vibes in harmony with ocean waves,
teach me to focus on the here and now
with clear perceptive eyes of fragile faith
accepting how flowers bloom from my brain
when I try to regenerate the dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus tries to explain his adventure to his daughter when he returns to the cave of shadows by the sea where she shapes clay into pottery with administrative hands.

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

Tick Of My Clockwork Heart
© Surazeus
2025 09 13

If you hear sharp tick of my clockwork heart
echo in ancient forest of stone trees,
wrap your sinuous arms around my chest
and embrace wordless anguish of desire
that sparks pleasure when our bodies entwine
with nonchalant excess of perfumed faith.

Languorous in sensuous sea of flesh,
we writhe with agony in dazzling dream
of sailboats voyaging across wild waves
with bodies open to the glorious sky
that shimmers with eternal heat of hope
as we emerge from shadows of lost time.

Shadows of the unveiled invisible
reveal electric spirit of my brain
sparked by imperishable swirls of truth
that reflect hallucinations of hope
which lure me far across the rain-wet field
through horror of derision and despair.

Disheveled tresses of the pretty ghost,
who holds ticking clock of my vibrant heart
with languorous fascination of the mad,
veil atrocious cavern of my vast mind
where I chase rainbow of progressive fear
to cracked fountain where I drink blood of faith.

Bold mother of memories utters prayers
illumed by glow of coals in fractured heart
with divine attention of lightning strikes
that open pure door of momentous fright
when I give infinite kisses of trust
which rejuvenates the sun in my brain.

Hunched on enormous boulder of respect,
I gaze from mountain slope in frantic wind
at wordless shimmer of the boundless sea
where beautiful hawks glide above the world
with proper privilege of sudden faith,
invisible yet everywhere alive.

Yet when I pause in shadowed atrium
and listen to soft burble of the stream,
weird howl of silver clouds above the sea
refracts strange memory of the muddy path
where she appears in flash of sudden light
with eyes that understand the why of death.

Though you hear soft tick of my clockwork heart
that vibes in harmony with ocean waves,
teach me to focus on the here and now
with clear perceptive eyes of fragile faith
accepting how flowers bloom from my brain
when I try to regenerate the dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus tries to explain his adventure to his daughter when he returns to the cave of shadows by the sea where she shapes clay into pottery with administrative hands.

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

Womb Of Our Singing Sea
© Surazeus
2025 09 12

Humanity has no future in space
for we are singing spirits of the Earth,
though we have longed to soar on angel wings
above cluttered messiness of desire
to dwell in heavenly Realm of Ideas
where God the Craftsmen molds eternal forms.

That perfect Heaven, paradise of peace
and soul-soothing pleasure, does not exist
except as fantasy of endless joy
through virtual world inside our dreaming brains
programmed by priests for two millennia
to believe their lie of the Afterlife.

I prefer rich messiness of real life
that gleams rough as diamond of timeless truth
inside dream-flashing network of my brain
which I designed one hundred thousand years
running with wolves in vast Caucasian woods
that flourish around our Hyrkanian Sea.

Instead of gliding on angelic wings,
soaring high in propeller-driven planes,
or blasting rockets into outer space
with ridiculous fantasies of Heaven
or planets thousands of lightyears away,
I treasure complex weirdness of our Earth.

Humanity should learn to live on Earth,
satisfied with paradise this globe offers
to us hairless monkeys who lost our tails
then started building empires of farm fields
ruled over by gods in pyramid temples
for we spring from womb of our singing sea.

Because we humans are stuck on this globe,
which spins relentlessly through empty void
as cluster of atoms sparkling with life
through psychoactive chemicals of lust,
I celebrate intense shimmer of love
that animates my fragile shell of bones.

Programmed by billions of ancestral lives,
whose memories design the virtual world
that glows as functions of my dreaming brain,
I journey on the signless road of life
to find the secret of the Holy Grail
in womb of woman who creates new life.

Reborn from womb of every mother soul
life after life four hundred million years,
I know myself as complicated human
evolving through each quadruped, from fish
to newt to mouse to cat to ape to man,
as I strive to become concept of God.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus strides back and forth on stage before the huge audience and preaches salvation through figuring out how to live in productive peace on this planet instead of ignoring problems by trying to live on other planets.

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