Church On The Seventh Day
© Surazeus
2025 09 07

On the seventh day till the end of time
the woman in the window calls my name,
so I walk alone down the signless road
to find glass church of the hypnotic toad
who preaches salvation of dreamless trance
since nobody deserves a second chance.

Young woman in her cozy living room
cuddles her large furry cat of bright gloom
while smiling at the ghost of everywhere
who stands on his head on the fragile chair
till she asks him why people suffer pain
so he runs out and laughs in the wild rain.

Dressed in pink gown that flutters in the wind,
she smirks at the man with computer mind
who calculates how frail butterflies fly
since she weeps silently at his cruel lie,
but then she saunters on the river shore
to paint magic sigils on every door.

Amused at how people with fractured eyes
pray for eternal life in golden skies,
Ophelia explains with logical code
that every conscious creature in the world
will die and vanish into gleaming light,
fizzled with enormous clockwork of fate.

Untroubled by the loneliness of truth
which she formulates with psychotic math,
young woman, wearing pink gown sewn from wings
of angels trapped in spiral clock of rings,
describes strange beauty of this world we love
to war refugees gathered in the cave.

While eating apples stolen from the Tree
that Adam planted by the oil-slicked sea,
war refugees share photographs of homes
before they were blasted by holy bombs,
then conspire to overthrow the mad king
who stole their memories to which they cling.

Clutching soft sand with insensitive rage,
gentle girl in pink dress on empty stage
splits rays of light in curling threads of hope
that weave our brains with lies that help us cope
with naked truth that every soul will die,
euphemized through proverbs of Adonai.

Baking loaves of bread in the grocery store,
Ophelia ponders secret of the core
that spins at center of our pear-shaped globe
mapped by laser beams of the psychic probe
which records weird wishes that people pray
when they attend church on the seventh day.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus watches while Saturnus creates the Earth in six days, then plays lyre of Mercury while the satyr god feasts on roast beef and drinks wine during his rest on the seventh day.

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

Temple Of Your Heart
© Surazeus
2025 09 07

If I lie back on soft excessive grass
to contemplate process of growing love,
I might discover absence of your ghost
beside me under canopy of hope
because we walk together on one road
going the same direction throughout life.

Though love begins with passion of desire,
and cools at reality of shared needs,
we achieve solidarity through trust
as we work together gathering food
to share rich treasures garnered from the Earth
when we protect each other every day.

Sometimes we travel back and forth through time
in constant loops of spiral-wound respect
that binds our hearts with rich coincidence
as we perform characteristic roles
refining persona masks through which
we express secret energy of love.

Each day when I emerge from mist of dream
I think about strange beauty of your face
which radiates from loyal core of your heart
as spirit-warming glow of honesty
when we give each other constructive gifts
on which we build safe haven of our love.

Whenever you are absent from my sight
while you venture beyond scope of my eyes,
my heart aches with courteous anxiety
that flashes vivid visions in my mind
depicting ways you suffer harm from fate
so I breathe deep to ease dramatic fear.

Sharp dazzle of bright sunlight on the lake
lures my wild heart in timeless trance of trust
to stage assertive ritual of insight
based on principles of constructive force
through strict attention to ingenious plans
for feeding people with fresh food I bring.

Thus I have built this sturdy shelf from oak
with broad solidity of stocky strength
where you can organize your cooking ware,
made of bowls, plates, utensils, pots, and pans,
to support functions of your kitchen work
where you prepare meals for the dining hall.

To aid intensive labor of your hands
preparing nutritious meals of respect,
I attend creative acts you perform
with quick assistance of my steady love
to bring articles for items you need
so all feast well in temple of your heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury on stage in Temple of Zeus while Ophelia cooks meals that nymphs of Artemis bear to tables where travelers feast while watching the show.

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

Mad Ghost Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 09 06

The meadows of sorrow are full of owls
who talk about unfolding spell of hope
that leads the wanderers of broken doors
forever lost in valley of glass skulls
that transform into cameras of lust
with which we photograph mad ghost of truth.

Tall wheat that shimmers in the field of lies
decides not to be baked into whole bread
which feeds five million refugees of war
who flee from mocking laughter of the gun
to conquer wilderness of fallen gods
with great army lead by mad ghost of truth.

At revelation of the shattered moon
love worries about children without eyes
who gather in the city park at dawn
to throw chess pieces in the river mud
till God accepts their newest testament
as binding contract from mad ghost of truth.

The old woman selling small apple pies
tells everyone to be kind to themselves
but they all run randomly on highways
where empty semitrucks race to the moon
to find the chicken god with thirty wings
deep-fried and consumed by mad ghost of truth.

On head of fallen Colossus we stand
to pledge allegiance to the starless flag
which angels follow to conquer the world
till every protestor against the king
has been stomped into silence of despair
despite futile prayers to mad ghost of truth.

Preaching exegesis through fairytales
that depict how the good men always lose,
Orpheus declares with confident bluff
that every man must kneel before the sky
to accept their fate decreed by the stars,
defied with courage by mad ghost of truth.

Each new fool who joins the Argonaut Team
brings secret treasure of their darkest heart
as sacrifice they must offer to gain
admittance to the weird society
which rules the world with arcane code of hymns
programmed from our dreams by mad ghost of truth.

Because he risks his life for amnesty
embodied by faith of the flying fish,
Orpheus rows frail boat across the sea
to climb rugged hills on gold Isle of Skye
where Skythe roasts fish in her secret cave
with respect to honor mad ghost of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus tries to set Colossus upright on the pedestal, but its legs are too badly bent, so he tells children in school that it is a metaphor for the fall of America.

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

Virtual World Of Faith
© Surazeus
2025 09 05

Startled by laughter of the river stone,
Orpheus looks up at the fractured sky
and ponders why men grasp for social power
to enforce illusion of their vain beliefs
so other people obey their commands
till we all crumble into wind-blown sand.

Eating gingerbread cookie with big eyes,
Orpheus climbs holy mountain that gleams
gold from arrogant rays of stark sunlight
which illustrates meaninglessness of life,
and gazes at peak of Yosemite
that reflects ancient beauty of this world.

If it were so easy to reprogram
eccentric spirit of the holy ghost,
I would eat the terrible dread of hope
that fuels assertive project of my heart
to map complete history of human tribes
fighting each other for whose god is real.

Poisoned stone of compassion in my heart
tricks me into singing the morning song
that guides our journey to the Promised Land
till we get lost somewhere along the way
and spend the next thousand years of regret
expanding our village into an empire.

Rehearsing to perform my tragic role
on stage of wisdom in the temple hall,
I plan each clever quip and snarky spell,
but all that affectation falls away
when I take off the false mask of my soul,
and play the person hidden in my heart.

Twisted by sorrow of losing to death
precious people of my fierce family,
I walk the entire length of the Great Wall
till I arrive at other side of Earth
where my eyes are shining in the huge cave
glistening with visions of global peace.

Sweet fragrance from the moon of naked words
swirls in gold clouds over pine-bristling hills
that veils the endless city of glass towers
where millions of people in secret rooms
interact as personalized avatars
forever young in virtual world of faith.

Amazed when thousands of people appear
with real human faces and public names,
Orpheus strums the lyre of Mercury
and sings bold epic of philosophers
recounting growth of academia
which energizes world democracy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus walks home after the concert and slouches on the couch to watch historical dramas that explore the tragedy of political power.

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

Morbid Princess Of The Sea
© Surazeus
2025 09 05

Mask of the sad princess floats in the air
because Phoebus weeps in front of the portrait
of Mona Lisa on the cavern wall
which still reflects dynamic disks of shadows
exposing portals to the multiverse
where detectives and ballerinas kiss.

Dipping his hands in the cold river flow,
Phoebus asks morbid princess of the sea
to ponder relationships as spirals
obscuring endless swirls of vibrant waves
which unravel bitterness of emotions
entangling puzzles of fraught marriages.

Wild children leap through space with mental blades
to fall asleep in bright maze of rose bushes
where Fear sells comic books as holy scripture
to astronauts who challenge thunder gods
for domination of the empty skies
till we all fall to Earth with crippled wings.

Strange names Adams invents to symbolize
personality traits as animals
reveal eccentric grace of Jupiter
who recites laws for Noah to record
since God creates the virtual universe
by naming objects as formal ideas.

Gathering lavender from dew-wet fields,
Phoebus wanders lost through Elysium
with plan to ask Emzara in her bower
to marry him before the towers fall,
but she hurtles her glass tablet computer
which shatters on the tombstone of her father.

To study weird physics of global fame,
grim black-haired daughter of Odin explores
ghost-haunted forest of the laughing crow
to evade grand popularity parade,
but the more she repels insidious pride
they more it magnets to her iron heart.

Gripping hammer of Thor with eager hope,
Phoebus forges the law-sharp sword of justice
from meteor stone that blazed from the heavens,
then leads grand army of the free republic
to overthrow the tyrant on gold throne
and free financial slaves from psychic debt.

Though rotary phone on the kitchen wall
never rings in asylum of the mind,
Phoebus sits at the table of false dreams
to arrange fragments of history facts
with code that shows how empires rise and fall,
framed by analysis of private jokes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus presents the findings of his study on the rise and fall of empires to the International Symposium on Psychic Tyrants at the Zarathian Institute of Global Fame.

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

Wisdom Of World-Wondering
© Surazeus
2025 09 04

Cold wind from off the sea tells me the truth
that hides in swirling mist of nothing new.
Uncanny cry of Moon Crow in the pine
startles me while I drink electric wine.
I will not know when I vanish in death
but till then I will only love the true.

Mask of my face shimmers bright as the sun
when I contemplate beauty of the weird.
Yet beauty dazzles me with holy angst
when I brood about God in mindless trance.
My view of God is ideal character
toward which I strive till my reward is won.

If I become human brooding on God
I might rein fierce desire to rule the world.
My heart is dazzled by soul of the sky
who teaches me to analyze the Why.
I love the pensive Goddess by the pool
who shows me how to sing my sacred thought.

The long signless road from Heaven to Hell
is terrible for mortal men to walk.
Though weird code alters dreamworld of my brain
I breathe in trance to transcend mental pain.
God is bright mirror programmed by love spell
refracting virtual vision through my talk.

Flung down to Earth on wings of suffering,
I grasp at flash of light in storm-tossed tree.
I rein excessive passion of my soul
to bind puzzles in game of self-control.
My bones bleed wisdom of world-wondering
with urgent need to steal fruit from the tree.

Fate sparks my brain to wake from dreamless gloom
so I rise up to touch the touchless sky.
Fear motivates my project to explore
strange world of shadowed light beyond the door.
Pressed firm against the solid ground of try,
I measure vastness of the unwalled room.

Faith drives my feet to climb the winding stair
so I float far above the changeless globe.
Step by step of motion fueled by desire,
I climb attentive mountain with my lyre.
I sing in chorus of the counter-turn
to stand idol-still on the errant slope.

My heart is dazzled by eternity
of pure unmeasured time constrained by light.
My body casts long shadow on the Earth
that weaves my spirit for the game of worth.
Touched by the woman with ten thousand eyes,
I figure out strange puzzle of the Why.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus lies laughing on the signless road after finding the secret of the holy book that preserves riddles about wisdom of world-wondering.

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

Absurdity Of World Fame
© Surazeus
2025 09 04

I leave my body on the ocean shore
drowsing in eerie glow of the gold sun,
done with electric passion of the soul
that pulses in my breast with eager hope
for bold confidence about what to think
when I dust the crown that tumbles to Earth.

Because the garment mirror knows my face
and pulls me close to silence of the night,
I drift in quietness of bitter calm
to rest in shadow and rejoice in rain
with no more doubt entangling my free soul
in astonishing beauty of the Earth.

On the subject of assurance I draw
birds on painted walls of the empty church
where special visitors from alien worlds
walk on stilts in snow of the fervent wish
to translate language of the silent cold
that molds the body as its empty shell.

Alive in rare convergence of distrust,
I fling my sun-starved body at the sea
to dance with sensual brandishment of Now
on crooked bridge of collective regret
from commodified collapse of our state
through subtle embrace of the Eden Fall.

Still trapped in corporate machine of greed,
driven to crave vacation from hard work,
I protest dire injustice of the king
who exploits the people of our great land
for his own gain against laws of the sky
so I climb the tower of faith and cry.

Abandoned factory on the river shore,
where workers once canned tomatoes and corn,
welcomes lost refugees from civil wars
to worship prophet in the sycamore
who puppeteers the greedy president
with blighted angst of the treasonous clown.

With raucous prayer of the engine-beat heart
the holy savior of the plastic god
bestows foul blessings on blind followers
who follow him off the cliff of despair
when great empire of America falls
so Zarathia may rise from its ruins.

Evading divine light of the doubting heart,
I return to Garden of Eden at dawn
to find the origin of world empires
who fight against hegemony of power
till all cities transform into the flower
that blooms from absurdity of world fame.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus hosts the operatic tragedy at the Zarathian Performance Center for the Arts which presents the tale of the mad tyrant who destroyed America with his greed.

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

Broken Angel Wings
© Surazeus
2025 09 04

Or we can flap our broken angel wings
and pretend we can soar high among clouds
despite heavy stone of sorrowing pain
that chains our clumsy bodies to the ground,
because we must accept limits of flesh
that weaves our spirits in the cosmic mesh.

My frail grandmother carves and polishes
new pair of eyes from marble of despair
so I can see the real world as it is,
composed of atoms swerving in the void
instead of manifestations of forms
based on eternal ideas of thought.

Avoiding competitions for world fame
that trap the human with gold mask of god,
I wander lonely as the glowing cloud
with golden hordes of dancing daffodils
to strum the holy lyre of Mercury
and sing to stones and trees on mountain slopes.

With Alastor I sail across the sea
in fragile boat of humble honesty,
then climb faint winding mountain trail of faith
to find the ancient cave of gleaming gems
where Lord of Death once ruled the Underworld
now filled with shadow-faced ghosts of the dead.

My gaunt grandfather carves new mask of god
for me to wear on the holy crusade
when I lead army of devilish clowns
in coup to overthrow the king of gold
who hurls our nation in chaos of greed
so I can save good people of our land.

Yet on my journey to the Promised Land,
while wandering in small town of simple folk,
I find God working in the bakery
selling loaves and bread with grilled fish and wine,
so I wait tables in smoky nightclub
while my lost love sings on the spot-lit stage.

When evening veils city of glowing towers,
I drive my car through endless maze of streets
luminated by streetlamps and traffic signals,
forever racing circles nowhere fast
till I park in field by the loading docks
and watch cargo ships on river of bones.

I find no meaning to life in this world
except that Life is so in love with Death
he gives her endless gifts of living souls
whom she keeps in Museum of the Dead
forever preserved in quaint fairytales
that parents read to children before bed.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus leads every dead soul up the faint winding mountain trail through fields of daffodils to the Museum of the Dead where they give masks of their faces to Ishtar.

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

Tricks Of The Astral Plane
© Surazeus
2025 09 03

Toward the furthest reaches of anywhere
beyond ultimate coldness of the heart,
Sylvia walks along car-busy roads
to buy eggs and milk at the grocery store,
aware that no one can see her real self
though they look at her with camera eyes.

Through fragile glass door of the grocery store
with vine-woven basket on her crooked arm,
Sylvia browses shelves of alien fruit
grown in dank jungle of the hungry ghost,
picking lemons, wheat flower, and gold pears
to cook fresh meal for Doctor Frankenstein.

Strange visions crowd her kaleidoscope eyes
with dancing demons of the lower chakra
that play nightmare tricks of the astral plane
to gather hellish forces of the mind
as squirming monsters of the snarling heart
that materialize from weird memories.

Amused at small red demon with gold eyes
and four sharp horns curling from its egg skull,
Sylvia hides snicker behind her hand
as Pazuzu hops about on sharp claws
and plays dirty antics on hapless shoppers
who shriek in surprise at the unseen sprite.

Walking back home with basket full of food
as the world vanishes in sunset glow,
Sylvia pauses on the rocky shore
to gaze at eerie shimmer of the moon
that tints clouds with unearthly silver light
above buildings of the town that gleam gold.

Alert with sudden shiver of stark fear
at something lurking in shadow of time,
Sylvia seems cute demon from the store
emerge from glow of moonlight on the tree
as tall gangly monster with bulging eyes
that reaches long thin arms to snatch her neck.

Patiently attentive to gusts of wind
that tangle precise reverence of respect,
Sylvia twirls around with leap of faith
to grab the rainbow sword of honesty
and slash mask of the demon with lithe care
when she smacks the man with oak walking stick.

Cautious at fraught error of holy ground
described in manifesto of the wise,
Sylvia calls police with her eye-phone
who arrest the bleeding man for assault,
then bakes pear pies with cinnamon and cloves
for her demon to eat before he dies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus tells Sylvia how much he enjoyed the pie as they lounge on the front porch and watch people strolling in groups in the early evening glow beneath silver clouds of the apocalypse.

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

River Of Lost Tales
© Surazeus
2025 09 03

Eager to learn strange language of stones,
I kneel beside the river of lost tales
to contemplate cruel beauty of its light
reflected in smooth mirror of thought-flow
that hides mute sorrow of my memories
where no one can find them but the blind sun.

Too honest for the river of lost tales,
I ask Orpheus if he knows the way
throughout confusing maze of godless myths,
but he just smiles at death and turns away
to scatter chess pieces on river mud
where turtles bear them to the Promised Land.

Shocked at the amount of civilized trash
that floats in fragments of bitter regret
as litter in the river of lost tales,
I build great empire of conceptual gods
with bricks I bake from river mud of faith
where my family may feast without care.

Because I should catch desire by the tail,
I shudder when transparent doors light up
to illuminate shadows of five apes
eating carrots in dark amusement park
though the last clown tries to climb up the slide
to analyze the river of lost tales.

Here days never dissolve in pulsing moon
shaped by astringent shell of separation
too desperate for the manic wind of faith
to sharpen senseless promise of sweet lust
tumbling in the river of lost tales
till all my words vanish in howling books.

Roots of demon trees extend hieroglyphs
from fingers of my hands that grope at light
with solemn struggle to enter the night
in crystal boats on river of lost tales
sold by the wicked lady who cooks meals
because she sings with horses of the wind.

Paralyzed by shame of still being alive
against predictions of astrologers,
I serve utilitarian tenderness
to refugees of war who ask for jobs
while wrapped in flag of their nation-state
long erased by the river of lost tales.

Angels drown in the river of lost tales
before the second coming of the clown
who works fifty years in dank coal mines
with heart of Jesus beating in his breast,
once baptized in the river of lost souls
so his son programs computers for banks.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus maps the river of lost tales on time-animated globe of the Earth that gleams on the screen of every eye-phone in the world.

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

Bloody Cross Of Fear
© Surazeus
2025 09 03

Regret cannot disturb her twisted mind
with useless sentiment of family faith
since she walks in shoes full of shards and nails,
so she smiles deadly as foul mushroom wine
which will intoxicate my heart with love
when we kiss potently in moon-red rain.

Assertive attitude angels teach boys
fuels forceful domination of the Earth
through disciplined armies of savage pride
who march beneath the bloody cross of fear
to conquer every land around the globe
with noble empire of stoic despair.

Contempt for holy hymns of ardency
shifts psychic gears in heart of Artemis
who races gracefully through tangled woods
to catch frail Icarus in nursing arms
when he falls wingless from tower of faith,
so she cradles him on the ocean shore.

Wild waves distribute mental energy
through socialist program of equal rights
when she attempts to raise him from the dead,
but Icarus lies withered in her arms
till Artemis weeps tears of slimy oil
that seep into his brain with sparks of rage.

Through contemplation of uncertainty,
based on phantasmagoric fantasy,
I study abstractions of mental states
presenting interior space of the brain
trapped in immensely huge frame of desire
to build theology of suffering.

Impromptu performance of the mad king,
who imitates his jester with panache,
shocks every watcher in the stadium
who partakes of the shadowed agency
for frequent collusion with faceless ghosts
bathed in the ghastly splendor of despair.

No frantic game, long unaccounted for,
provides facility for scamming fools
better than cathedral of singing skulls
where fervid believers in the Ungod
harass rhapsodic agents of the seer
who study wisdom of the sufferer.

Awake with morbid condition of lust
compiled by auditory nerves of hope,
I play stringed instrument of Mercury
with eerie notes that should enchant the soul,
but everyone on Earth is deaf to truth
so they drown in the sea of hungry greed.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus paints Artemis on the beach cradling the wounded Icarus in her arms in a portrait that hangs in the Zarathian Museum of Classical Art.

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

Holy Breath Of Ecstasy
© Surazeus
2025 09 02

If no one calls me on the telephone
I will open every door in the world
to find the holy breath of ecstasy
which lame social rules require I inhale
in order to transcend bounds of the body
because I keep waking up still alive.

I jump into the deep lake of your heart
to float with turtles of intense brain-flight
where shadows wend beneath mask of the Earth
which I forge into universal key
I twist to open locked door of contempt
jammed with slanting rays of assertive light.

I learn to walk upright in ocean waves
so I can stand tall as fierce vertebrate
and reach my arms to touch the argent thought
in bold attempt to bridge the gulf of fear
so I can name my children at their birth
whose brains are programmed with dreams of the Earth.

The world that spins in chaos of the void
invites my soul to meditate with faith
on pulsing hill of ardent errantry
at vibrant still point of the multiverse
so sacred crows of psychic loyalty
burst from my breast with arrogant respect.

Because the glass sky seems to know my name
I pause at intersection of two roads
where divine mind of the universe glows
filtered through interstice of dreaming brains
flushed with determined passion for the light
that beams without concern I know its Why.

By moving with mad maintenance of mirth,
supported by strange answers no one buys,
I feel my brain unwind eternal tales
that pollenate your yet-born brains with love
unworded by theology of fact
according to analysis gods steal.

Surprised that everyone she once adored
plots to kill her so they can maintain power,
the lonely goddess on edge of the cliff
weeps in despair at uselessness of love,
they leaps into boundless abyss of faith
so wings of hope sprout from her wounded heart.

Shocked at unfolding of percipience
that expands wide enough to catch the wind,
she flies above the endless maze of myths
till she finds me in Garden of Delights
so she gives me glass book of timeless truth
as we eat under the pear tree and laugh.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus teaches how to breathe the holy breath of ecstasy in class on meditation at the Zarathian Institute of Insanity.

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

Supersonic Sea Of Lies
© Surazeus
2025 09 02

I map conscious geography of time
to keep my mind from noisy strife of faith
by treading sacred ground where god bones rot
with sweet lascivious passion of regret
for weird delirium unsourced by fear
enclosed in ruins of my shapeless soul.

Rich substance forming fragments of my mind
assert emotional right to transgress
spray-marked perimeter of garden groves
where elders of our tribe reveal the face
they wear in fierce remembrance of desire
embodied by the cake she cooks for us.

My heart sings awesome hymn of honest horror
with ardent energy of wind-bent signs
that misdirect swift traffic to the field
where bright-lit horses graze on hopelessness
when flashing starship descends from red clouds
to send frightened wind running in the woods.

Yet paper butterflies of long-dead gods
bring secret stories about tragic love
weightlessly floating on the silver lake
where star-eyed owls play haunting melodies
on flutes carved from bones of draconic gods
who want to reincarnate in my brain.

Blind angels reconstruct lost memories
analyzed by strip-mall astrologers
with ardent prophecies turtles present
at annual conference of historians
who love to solve mired mysteries of fate
which determine how long great empires last.

If the elegant chatelaine of trust
gives me fairy robot for my birthday,
despite starlit bravado housewives strip,
I may dismiss urgent exigencies
for profit lost in pursuit of weird truth
because I cultivate flowers of evil.

With raucous laughter of the fractured mind,
I throw fake words in sloshing lake of rage
through worship of the clumsy ballerina
who grabs my hand and runs with me too far
beyond the fearsome loneliness of faith
till we kiss on bridge of forgetfulness.

Crosscurrents bear my fragile boat of faith
across the supersonic sea of lies
to floating island lost in tortured mist
where holy goddess of the world resides
in haunted temple built from hidden guilt
where I still map geography of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus sails ship of puritans across the supersonic sea of lies to colonize the ancient holy land of Zarathia.

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

Academic Path Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 09 02

The academic path of truth I follow leads
my curious quest through waste land of the heart
to find I must create the Promised Land
by planting seeds of faith in fertile soil
then tending theories with measuring hands
to cultivate true vision of the world.

I wonder about vision of the world
that bridges alien planets of our hearts
with taut-wound rope of attentive respect
that provides strong emotional support
when we dance across vast abyss of death
to overcome ourselves and become gods.

If I should memorize how beams of light
slant through cathedral windows of tree groves,
I might hear soft primeval songs of birds
spark ancient program of perceptive faith
that projects virtual model of the world
to remember evolving fish to god.

Thus with electric eyes of honest love
I feel sacred shine of the universe
radiate from aching sorrow of my heart
so I walk outside temple of my mind
to weave each individual twinkling star
in constellations of immortal gods.

When I transcend bound limits of this flesh
and soar above the world on angel wings
so every dreamer sees mask of my face,
I almost believe I have become god
till I wake still stuck in my mortal brain
and realize my journey is but a dream.

Walking beneath the tree of nectarines,
I bear my new-born child in cradling arms
to stand in rays of sunlight on wet grass
and feel the endless spinning of the Earth
till dizzy with strange vision of the world
I float away into the cloudy sky.

We are the Lost Ones on the signless road
forever walking toward land of the sun
yet stop along the way to build new fane
where we relax and feast with dance and song
every thousand years till empires fall
and send us wandering toward the setting sun.

Though we walk far ten thousand lonely years,
we stand amazed on harsh shore of the ocean
to sing with solemn hymn of swirling waves
that fills our brains with pure forever vision
depicting evolution of the soul
since all we build is washed out to the sea.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus paints portraits of the gods of every culture in bright colors on walls of the endless cathedral deep beneath the ocean waves.

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

Jester Of The Greedy King
© Surazeus
2025 09 01

Beneath soft laughter of the maple tree
we try to discover meaning of life
encased in fragile stones of river beds
disguised as Grecian statues of the mind,
so we hide honesty in gloom of faith
with impossible light of time-bound hearts.

Though our brains are full of arrogant gods
that mirror those trapped in conceptual stars,
we walk together in the maze of myths
with project to dismantle attitudes
that fool some fearful people to believe
they are much better than the rest of us.

Though honesty of the writer is praised
yet they freeze in cold house of poverty
when snow suffocates the world in despair
as they write bitter truth about the world
with the swan-feather quill on fragile page
that would keep them warm burned in the stone hearth.

My brain orbits the Earth faster than light
that splits metallic symbol of my heart
with subtle reference to the puzzling code
which penetrates obscure frame of the weird,
inscrutable hex designed by the ghost
to misdirect attention of the sleuth.

The father kneels before the weeping child
with calm compassion of the basilisk,
inspired by jester of the greedy king
to teach him prayer that soothes the frantic heart,
but he hears no one ever answer back
despite his fervent obsession with faith.

Lost-distance search of the desperate devil
shrinks long unspooling road of botched abuse
with stark compression unraveling truth
through sacred bloodline of the holy grail
from which I drink communion wine of rage
with lavish promise of the howling owl.

Uncanny promise of enduring faith
compressed at core of music by despair
reveals happy ending of fairytales
despised by children of the bloody moon
who throw gold balls at engine of the car
that hangs upside down from the Tree of Lies.

Through dull condition of the afterlife
we lounge without concern of refugees
in deserted palace of the mad king
who burns the holy books of bitter gods
while drinking communion wine at eclipse
that erases our bodies from the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus plays jester of the greedy king with intention to eviscerate Midas who has crowned himself dictator of the Earth.

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

Green Abyss Of Vanity
© Surazeus
2025 09 01

The ancient cathedral of fractured stone
lurks tortoisely between frail shells of glass
with demon eyes. The bent steel cross asserts
reptilian hunger for obsessive souls
that bleed prayers of guilt. The prophetic rat
chews on stale communion wafers of faith.

The fallen angel shivers on cliff edge
of bitter despair after shocked surprise
that everyone she loves now wants her dead.
She clenches her fists of galvanized fear
at taste of metal salt. The sun gleams gold
over endless mute hills shrouded in mist.

No more compliant at the angry shout
that shatters mirror polished by blood words,
the fallen angel leaps in nothingness
and floats in green abyss of vanity.
With vigilance of monumental hope
she scatters pages torn from book of hymns.

One thousand fragile leaves of lonely death
swirl suddenly from agitated thoughts
that buzz her egg-shell head. Commercial lies
pierce rock-hard heart of photographed contempt.
Glass idols of famous singers collapse
at whispered gossip sold for sterile beans.

Yet vision of the painter, paralyzed
by lust for fame, refracts corrosive light
through grace of accuracy. Dead gods yearn
to taste lost voices squirming on church floors
despite garish rapidness of false love
cynical people trade for treasure maps.

Each ghost that carves hole in my pulsing heart
consumes considered field of potter wheels
unspinning fate from crippled hands of hope.
Ashes of the dead suffocate book words
lively with frantic songs Cynthia sings
to understand strange silence of the church.

She continues to sparkle off in smoke,
the hungry angel clutching bones of snakes
when snatching promise from bankers and clowns
who fight over the rose she throws away.
None would scatter roses of agony
on forgotten graves where my mothers laugh.

Aware that angels would refuse to die,
she wanders market streets late afternoons
preaching salvation for sale at the church
to earn enough for one swift rocket trip.
She sees my secret when I kiss her skull
she programs to forge cryptocurrency.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus arrests thieves who cheat people with pyramid scheme of cryptocurrency, then frees their slaves from computer factories.

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

Decisions Make Us Free
© Surazeus
2025 09 01

How thoughtless of me to think you are not
weird as the demon hopping on the shore
who laughs at how waves swirl around their feet
in vain bid to disassociate fear
with frantic flapping of their wingless arms
designed to measure ecstasy of forms.

We always think we know what is most true
as if all our decisions make us free,
but we are programmed by ancestral dreams
to act within confines of social rules
that we forge from our mute terror of death,
thinking everything is caused by the wraith.

Thus I decide to climb over the wall
and steal apples from sacred Tree of Knowledge
that God thinks nobody should eat but Him,
aware that rewards are great as the risks,
so I hide my true face with demon mask
I carve from rotten trunk in Tree of Life.

Flock of children, imitating wild crows,
follow me down the winding mountain road
from Delphi to the rugged ocean shore
where dragons crawl on bitter sands of time
to eat the sacrifice of lonely hearts
which crawl away in shield of turtle shells.

Still falling from Heaven on tattered wings,
I think about the long path of my life
in calm reflection on each minute choice
that leads me to the next fork in the road
where I pause to see the less traveled by
so I can ponder emotional why.

Deceived by vision of my deep desire,
I walk the long way to my chosen fate,
past buildings that crumble at the earthquake,
to find the Garden of Eden at last,
deserted long about by jealous God
who grew old and died alone in his Hell.

How dishonorable of me to request
that you obey behavioral laws
I carve on tablets of stone to provide
clear guide for actions that create the good,
for it is way too easy to destroy
since souls cannot be revived after death.

Assertive spark of life wakes egg of hope
so new life blooms from passion of our hearts
to generate fresh bodies from our bodies
which replicate our memories in their brains
so all my ancestors live in me now,
together singing hymn of honesty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/09/…

Orpheus takes off his demon mask and hangs it on the wall in the Zarathian Museum of Primitive Religions, then lectures to visiting students about the balance of good and evil in the human soul.

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

Delivery Of The Keys
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Whoever asks the angel for her name
will vanish in wind of meaningless words
by teleporting to the Promised Land
that turns out to be the galactic zoo
where happy children are brainwashed in school
to worship face of the arrogant fool.

Somebody keeps knocking on the back door
so Michael stumbles over divine spear,
but no one is standing on the back porch,
so he drinks beer and watches football game
between Angels and Devils for thought control
when God and Satan gamble for our lives.

Orpheus fills out job application forms
at every busy car factory in town,
but no one wants to hire the psychopomp
who, they fear, would form strong union of workers
to oppose unfair business practices
because they earn low wages for long hours.

When Michael, racing his pickup too fast,
knocks over motorbike Orpheus drives,
they fistfight outside the locked Baptist church,
then eat hamburgers at the country bar,
yet both fall in love with the young blonde girl
who plays guitar and sings of broken hearts.

Venus goes home with the archangel Michael
and gasps with pleasure when he spreads his wings
that shimmer silver as wings of the swan
just as the clock in the oak strikes thirteen
to signal coming of the serpent princess
born nine months later from the queen of love.

While wandering in vast maze of city streets
Orpheus sneaks in library of books
where he sees Aurora with long red hair
reading books about the history of art
so they talk about linear perspective
devised by wise Filippo Brunelleschi.

Invited by the savior of the world
to attend the delivery of the keys,
Orpheus waits on the plaza at dawn
to understand where the sun goes at night,
but decides that angels do not exist
though Michael has become his new best friend.

Piloting the passenger jet in Heaven,
Michael explains over the intercom
that they are passing over Rocky Mountains
where nymphs and satyrs dance in alpine meadows
till they are arrested by black-masked agents
and deported back to Arcadia.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus forms union of autoworkers and fights to enforce the rule that they work no more than eight hours a day for fair living wages.

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

Evolving Fish To God
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Startled by how fast the world spins in space,
I sip hot chocolate on the river shore
and listen to weird ghosts of carolers
sing sweetly in the hot late summer night
about the birth of the heir to the king
who will lounge in safe castles till he dies.

Eager to understand why devils laugh
while dancing with abandon of the mad
in sparkling sorrow of the waterfall,
I pet the stray kitten in the bookstore
while people wander lost in Wonderland
to find the oldest woman in the world.

Amazed at beauty of the human race
that blooms in rich variety of forms,
I make one puppet for each human soul
to play their part in pageant of desire
with fierce expression of their blazing eyes
at tragic consequence of bitter fate.

Amused at strangeness of electric stars,
I lie alone beneath the boundless sky
and watch the Pleiades glitter with joy
as apples hanging in the tree of life
where swift Orion stops to rest a while
who weeps because his shy sister is lost.

Hungry to consume words of ancient tales,
I turn my bare face to the urgent sky
to feel eccentric drops of frantic rain
construct assertive format of my mind
while I break bread with hands of honest faith
to feed eight billion people of the Earth.

Absolved of sordid sins my heart denies,
though I do what I must do to survive,
I walk two thousand seven hundred miles
from Seattle to Denver to Miami
where I float on my back in the clear sea
and remember evolving fish to god.

Astonished at the way our world view shifts
expansive scope of faith at shock of truth
that reframes how my brain perceives the world,
I assemble vast puzzle from weird facts
that redefines the meaning of our being
in virtual model of the multiverse.

Embarrassed that my Self might not exist
as more that figment of my imagination,
I wear crystal mask of Zeus Cosmetes
at the wild fantastic Halloween party
that lasts ten thousand years of history,
then trudge home and fall asleep on my lawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus performs the cosmic play of the Olympians with puppets for children gathered at the bookstore on Sunday afternoon.

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

Great American Tree
© Surazeus
2025 08 31

Harsh reality of this changing world
never matches ideal state we dream of,
yet I hold high bright lamp of that ideal
as guide to light my way through endless maze
in bold courageous quest to change the world
so we live well through peace of liberty.

Based on grand concept of the ideal state
designed with equality to enhance
justice through truth as the American Way,
I strive to live up to those principles,
though greedy people grasping to gain power
sully our reputation with vile deeds.

All human beings who live on this broad land
across vast scape from sea to shining sea,
regardless of their gender, race, or creed,
possess inalienable rights at birth,
whether in her nest, or across the sea,
to live in freedom from any control.

We confirm innocent state of our soul
through conscious discipline of self-control
within attentive bounds of legal force
to live as we will with creative hope
as long as we cause other souls no harm
when we create good instead of destroy.

Grand vision of our American Way
presents progressive process of creation
through conservative adjustment of action
to produce food and goods we sell in stores
with capital investment for production
then social distribution to all who need.

When Adam needs tools and seeds to grow crops
expanding scope for the Garden of Eden,
he climbs ziggurat of Heaven at dawn
to ask God for investment of gold coins
as loan so he can produce crop of wheat
in fields fertilized by milk-flowing cows.

Adam and Eve tend crops and fruit-tree groves
while Lucifer, the finance minister,
scribe son of the priest, who worked his way up,
contends with son of God, the crown prince Jesus,
to rule the kingdom when the old man dies,
tempting farmers to vote for him as God.

The Garden of Eden, in land of Sumer,
enclosed by sturdy walls of paradise,
which I constructed with my bleeding hands
to protect my wife and children from harm,
expanding far the past six thousand years,
blooms now as the Great American Tree.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings epic tale about the fall of Lucifer and paradise lost for Adam and Eve as they feast with their huge family of descendants.

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

Obelisk Of Infinite Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 08 30

Lost in obelisk of infinite eyes,
body twisted in spiral galaxies,
Orpheus asks the old woman with eyes
gleaming bright in open book of her hands
where he can find the Garden of Delights,
but she gives him the flute she carved from bone.

Headlights of passing cars gleam on the house
where no one has lived for two thousand years
so often beams of energy transform
from darkness into shadow of the girl
who wears the clean white lace communion dress
so Orpheus stops and steps from the car.

Skipping around him in the midnight rain
while chanting Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
the young girl tosses silver butterflies
that flock around him on hurricane wings,
so he unlocks door of the empty house
and walks down infinite hallways of time.

Each door Orpheus passes opens wide
as portal to another mirror world
that all branch off from the only real world
to glow as concepts of what could have been,
then fade away in gloom of yesterday
since each choice we assert creates tomorrow.

While he plays haunting melodies at night
on bone flute carved by Tethys in the cave,
Orpheus ponders why all conscious souls
that animate fragile bodies of flesh
will vanish in the nothingness of death,
but finds no answer in the silent dawn.

Ten thousand ghosts, who keep following him
as he plays eerie tunes on the bone flute,
dissipate when rays of dawn unveil fear
and recreate the teeming world of forms
composed of atoms swerving in the void
while he watches people fish on the beach.

When Orion finds on the ocean shore
tall black obelisk of infinite eyes,
he asks his blind mother Ophelia
if she remembers where the old road goes,
but she sails away on the wind-winged ship,
so he carves idol of Ozymandias.

Returning home in hills of Arkansas,
Orpheus drives long winding country road
through ancient forest of the smiling ghost
to rickety cabin by the stony brook
where Ophelia bakes sweet apple pie
beside obelisk of infinite eyes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stares amused at thousands of television screens that show his complete life cycle he lives on countless mirror worlds of the multiverse that does not exist except in his head.

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

Orange Peels Curl
© Surazeus
2025 08 30

The childhood book tucked beneath the floorboard
preserves sad fairytales of long-lost lands
which crawl across the yard of rotting leaves
where orange peels curl in strange innocent rain
that patters softly on piano keys
because letters from her lover dissolve.

He finds strands of her hair swirling in wind
from branch of the apple tree by the pond,
and also on the pillow in dark hall
where the afternoon sun lays her warm head
after rain storms off with angry despair
to leave ghost of her absence in his heart.

Climbing the mountain path before sunrise,
feet crunching rocks where arrogant gods strode,
they search for light beyond the end of time
with vow to build Utopia with their hands
just as Aurora blazes bright with flames
dispelling darkness of their anguished hearts.

Awake with sweet delirium of truth,
shy lovers embrace on the mountaintop
at orgasmic blast of the rising sun
that fills their bodies with billions of stars,
each one nurturing its planet of souls
with frantic miracle of charity.

At sparkling center of our multiverse
Orpheus drinks cinnamon apple wine
with nonchalant contempt of hungry death,
while shy Ophelia swirls the rainbow
to paint the marble statue of her god
who always tries to run away with faith.

Orange juice stains his hands with sweet stickiness
as he peels delicious fruit of the sun
and watches children play chase in the yard
with young horses that shake shimmering manes,
aware that the bright meteor of desire
streaks across enclosed mirror of the sky.

They survey cluttered landscape of the Earth
with eyes of the moon wolf who understands
song of ocean waves which readjusts fate
each time another blind person decides
to sell their family name to the sad clown
who chooses greed as the best way to live.

The farmer stands alone in field of wheat,
hand clutching instrument that programs need,
and asks the princess with torn angel wings
if she would be his wife till end of time,
but she flies away to Elysium
and weeps alone under the apple tree.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stares shocked at his face in the mirror of the multiverse, and asks Ophelia if she is friends with Eurydice.

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

Theorem Of Important Fears
© Surazeus
2025 08 29

Born out of laughter buried in my heart,
I float on waters of awakening,
aware of random words twittered by birds
with throat burrs whispered in the eglantine,
diminished weight of oaths unbalanced near
beyond the fractured limits of our words.

Still tense with apprehension of false time,
against corollary measured by thoughts,
unproved by theorem of important fears,
I squirm from cramped space of my humming skull
through game of elemental urgency,
yet eager to resolve divided tricks.

We know nothing of disillusionment
expressed by ticking of the faceless clock,
trapped in the haunted house of nowhere else,
yet drunk on sugared periwinkle wine
too pungent to wake the lion from dream,
tagged as the sailor lost without his ship.

Hiding in the private place of your heart,
I mingle sorrow with tenacious facts
too original to be elegant
whenever we feel worthless in sunlight
because fate strips away our mask of pride
to show the world raw hunger of false faith.

Inconsequence through tenuous respect
always tells the truth no one dares deny,
yet stricken words stick in the surprised brain
however oversold with ecstasy
too intimate for children to escape,
because we almost hate our noble strengths.

Because not all of paradise is lost,
crystalized by embittered mountain winds,
we build vast temples for the faceless god
who bathes in hot springs on the jagged slope
to protect charming emblem of true love
that glows from phosphorescent clock of eyes.

Admittedly my brain of pulsing lust
is not translucent as Orphean mask
that hungry refugees of war must wear
by drinking milk around the crackling fire
as we hum hymns of hollow victories
we fight to save our bodies from stale fate.

Since we know nothing of the day or hour
we might fall wingless from the crystal tower,
we give each other books we never read
about romance for adolescent girls
who boldly live with liberty in law
in calm defiance of the patriarch.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus strides across bright-lit stage as he preaches about theorem of important fears at the International Conference on Poetics of Transrealism.

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

Uproot Burning Bush
© Surazeus
2025 08 29

Grief lifts torn wings and screams at nothingness
with voice of every soul that every lived
to wake god of the dead from rotten soil,
so I stride busy market street at dawn
to buy delicious loaf of butter cake
then sit and eat with ginger hot chocolate.

Despair unleashes fear-sharp falcon claws
to tear at pulsing veil of earnestness
that rends corpses of gods from our mute hearts,
so I browse pretty books of poetry
in the quaint bookstore by the flower shop
where Alette reads fairytales to young children.

Transforming from rose to owl back to girl,
Alette drifts slowly through the teeming crowd
of people swarming in the shopping mall
to find the Tyrant with the heart of steel
so she can uproot burning bush of hate,
arresting his coup to control the world.

When shy Alette with leap of innocence
descends to underworld of howling ghosts,
she walks with quiet pace of God far west
to drag down mountains from the fractured sky
and scatter apple seeds in muddy creeks
that sprout into radios with happy songs.

Black storm clouds wander blithely over hills
where old wood houses lurk in yellow grass
to hide from dusty roads that stumble lost
past moaning oak trees crowded with blind crows
despite desire that fuels my aching heart
to catch bitter sparks of rain with my hands.

Cautiously stepping along the rain-worn fence,
Alette shines flashlight in eyes of the owl
that flicks its ears with warning of the fall,
so she looks down to see coiled rattlesnake
sleeping peacefully on grave of her god,
so she turns and flies away on swan wings.

Calling out to lost people of the land,
Alette weeps for all those she could not save,
so they walk to school and sit at bone desks
in bright fluorescent-lit classrooms of grief
to carve devil runes on door of the church
always locked with the deadbolt of discourse.

The oldest woman in the world, with eyes
bright as diamonds buried billions of years,
gives slices of cake to lonely travelers
who stop for a rest in temple of skulls
to ask Orpheus if he knows the way,
but he just smiles frail as the butterfly.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus stares shocked at the butterfly that descends from the sky while he clutches his rifle and crouches in the trench to hide from bullets of prophecy.

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

Face Behind The Mask
© Surazeus
2025 08 28

Trust laughs at how rain floods the silver plain
with solid evidence of brutal faith
despite foul murder by the lovely host
who putters about in garden of flowers
that bloom from bodies buried in the soil
of thieves who invaded her cottage at night.

Rain patters roof of the crooked hotel
perched daintily atop the skull-round hill
where battered black car with gleaming headlights
parks halfway up on the narrow sidewalk,
windshield wipers squeaking on fractured glass,
watched by the raven on the broken sign.

Black boots crunch shards of shattered window glass
as Samuel pushes open old oak door
and steps into the lobby with one table
lit dimly by one almost-burned out candle
that flickers madly in the eerie gloom
to highlight wrinkled face of the old witch.

One eye blue as the sea after the storm
glares up at gaunt face of the visitor
who smiles with sinister joy of the jester
wearing black fedora and black trench coat
as he asks if she knows the pastor named Fink,
but she just taps the sign-in book and sneers.

The young girl with long blond hair and green eyes,
who wears cute yellow dress and pink felt hat,
descends the narrow stairs beside the desk,
then smiles brightly at the jester in black
as she unfolds the red rose of her hand
to reveal the gold grail studded with jewels.

Though he reaches hand to acquire the grail,
the star-eyed girl whispers with thunder-soft voice
that echoes solemn prophecy of fate
how time will readjust conceptual frame
programming how our human brains perceive,
which transforms the grail into the black owl.

The lovely host appears with tray of tea
so they all sit at round table of faith,
the jester, the girl, the witch, and the host,
to play recurring game of psychic chess
till jester reveals his face behind the mask
to be detective from the court of Hell.

While the wily detective without his mask
weaves tapestry of crime from random clues,
the three fates unravel web of his brain
in writhing tendrils that connect the stars
through our enormous galaxy in swirl
of singing angels when he tries to run.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus asks the lovely host if she can show him where she buried the bodies in her garden of beautiful fragile flowers, and she smiles.

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

With Spirit Of Mercury
© Surazeus
2025 08 28

If I fall from Heaven and crash on Earth
in blow that hollows out space for my soul,
I will hide wings of sorrow in my heart
so I may walk the signless road of time
to understand how bodies bloom and fade
through surge of growth and crumbling of decay.

With spirit of Mercury in my heart
I fly on frantic feet of fortitude
to map our spinning globe composed of dreams
that human brains weave from experiences
in animated tapestries of hope
that chronicle our quest for Wonderland.

Forever through the endless maze of myths
I search for persona face that presents
intimate contours of my secret soul
so I reveal innate nature of my mind
in mask that shields my heart from searing pain
when I whistle nonchalantly in rain.

Before locked temple door of honesty
I wait for goddess of my aching heart
to heed my plaintive cry for amnesty
for actions I perform to save her life
till she appears in blaze of divinity
to reinstate my role in her grand court.

I walk east to follow the rising sun
one hundred thousand years of mountain trails
from Africa across Persia and India
to climb the towering peaks of Guilin
where I eat peaches and sing for Kwan Yin,
then chase the sun west to the Caspian Sea.

I pave the road of my ancestral quest
with skulls of my fathers solid as stone
ten thousand miles from sea to shining sea
to build foundation of my world empire
where every human fights for liberty
to gather in grand temple of Ishtar.

These visions of the past one million years
flash in sunlight on surface of the lake
as mirror that reflects weird memories
for how my ancestors survived each day
which program how I live my life today
in endless journey to the Promised Land.

After falling from Heaven without wings
one hundred thousand years of history
I lie on my back on the grassy lawn
and listen to the ceaseless river sing,
then translate its song into human code
so I can navigate way back to Heaven.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus learns how to play the lyre and sing ballads of human history from Mercury as he grows old and dissolves into dust in the wind.

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

Each Choice I Make
© Surazeus
2025 08 27

Everything leads to the twist of fate
I try to avoid with each choice I make
when I dance with abandon on the wall
and laugh in despair at heavenly fall
on thoughtful angst of wingless solitude
to crawl in the million-year interlude.

Lost in dreamless haze of the drifting boat,
I ponder code of the practical joke,
trapped in phenomenon of the weird rule
that requires employment of mental tool
to finetune engine of angelic flight
in starship powered by conceptual light.

Each fragment of thought encased in the word,
which I invent from twitter of the bird,
contains linguistic reference to strange truth
designed by hum of the messiah sleuth
who stops surprised in the vast maze of myth
to study tales carved on the monolith.

Defined by name on identity card,
with proves my right to play the global bard,
I strip off mirror mask of holy faith
to expose my soul as the godless wraith
that swirls in flashing spirals of pure air
through undulations of the anywhere.

Though every living creature on the Earth,
through tangled web of fortune wound at birth,
lives soul-connected to all other souls
in complicated game of clashing goals,
we all dream alone inside our own heads
as three half-blind sisters entwine our threads.

Depicted on the tapestry I weave,
the living gather by the lake to grieve
while building walls of Heaven from our bones
constructed by maidens, mothers, and crones
who invent one world language we all speak
with aggressive ghost of the mountain peak.

Though I translate ancient song of the wave
that echoes in hollow heart of my grave,
I calm my mind by whistling happy tunes
to bless lost children who ask me for boons
though I hide in glass tower by the lake
and preach salvation of the mindless fake.

Gods cannot calculate what life is worth
to measure value of misery and mirth
as we crawl hungry from electric stones
to shout obscenities at empty thrones
by deeds of hope that unbalance time scales
for homeless refugees on desert trails.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus takes Ophelia flying above the maze of myths in the airplane powered by conceptual light that beams from center eye of the universe.

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

Snarky Crow Of Prophecy
© Surazeus
2025 08 26

She walks in misty woods of anywhere
forever toward bleak light of loneliness,
though she tries so hard not to miss the life
she never lived in craving for relief
since she cannot find shadow of her soul
in solid wilderness of nothing real.

She wants to establish the window frame
as whole transparent plane of reference
which separates the vast world of the viewer
from three-dimensional illusion of space
to imitate nature with logical portrait
depicting how our brains perceive the world.

She arrives at the fractured gates of Hell
to ask the smirking centaur standing guard
if she can give mask of her earthly self
to someone else so they can live her life,
but he gives her required identity card
with her secret name no one understands.

She looks for love in the forest of ghosts
because the sun always explains the truth
but instead she finds love in the wild man
who dances laughing in the waterfall,
but he disappears in the flock of crows
who tell her the sun never had a face.

She asks the snarky crow of prophecy
about the future of her fate in life,
so he declares with stark ominous voice
that her casual indifference to fate
will lead to her demise, but she just laughs
because she knows that everybody dies.

She lives with demon of her hungry heart
who always treats her with gentle respect,
giving her fruits and herbs to prepare meals,
but she watches him with suspicious fear
while he constructs sturdy shelter of wood
where they huddle close when thunderstorms rage.

She decides she will always think good thoughts
about grand progress of humanity,
but not too good or else she might get stuck
in fantasy that causes her demise,
so she keeps her view of life realistic,
nurtured by constant alertness to danger.

She feels tomorrow creep its petty pace
to last particle of discarded time
when candle of her soul will flicker out
and leave her stranded on the empty stage
where tears of sorrow water pretty flowers
that bloom from the dust of her nothingness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus listens as Ophelia explains how she has survived wandering the bleak wilderness for one hundred thousand years of hope for tomorrow in the land of milk and honey.

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

Electric Waves Of Words
© Surazeus
2025 08 25

Sinking down into dark lake of my heart,
I spread my arms wide as demonic wings
to float in sunless abyss without breath
till I become electric waves of words
shaped by ideas that our brains design
so I can stand awake on shore of time.

While building sturdy house of scented wood
on stone foundation of arcane beliefs,
I savor pleasure of using my hands,
which modulate electric waves of words,
to transform raw material of desire
in sacred haven that shelters my soul.

Shocked by strange beauty of the midnight sun,
I wander endless maze of humming trees
in rays of sunlight slant with bright insight,
expressed clear by electric waves of words,
that gleam from sapphire gem of the sky,
primeval with detachment of the heart.

Though I seek riddles in eccentric books,
composed by faceless heretics of faith,
my lamp-bright heart guides me past paradise
once revealed by electric waves of words
since angels dwell in groves of apple trees
till they transform into swift motorcars.

With quill of curiosity I write
declaration claiming shelter from fear
that links ten thousand bridges in one road,
mapped again for electric waves of words,
down which I travel to the Promised Land
where people give each other unread books.

Heart beating calmly in chaotic times,
I run the opposite direction from death
one hundred thousand years across the land
to follow on electric waves of words
through psychic agency of broken books
into white butterfly of divine truth.

Despite how the sun transforms every night
into mothers who mimic the warm moon,
we give each other holy eyes of god
that gleam clear with electric waves of words
because this country becomes strange to us,
crowded with singing doors of Nevermore.

Detached from my body of aching flesh,
and sealed in casket of the serpent witch,
I sing my adoration of the queen,
now inspired by electric waves of words,
who gives tangerines to the hungry poor,
trapped in delirium of the helpless heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus measures electric waves of words that flood the land with visions of the new world order where the teacher of truth is revered.

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

Theology Of Global Fame
© Surazeus
2025 08 24

Refusal to accept star-tangled fate
fuels my ascendance to the gate of truth,
alone for twenty thousand years of change
while writing brain programs from clownish rules
that form theology of global fame
for people who refuse to play the game.

Exposed to bitter elements of fear,
I gather words of flowers from dark fields
with hope of unconcerned naivete
to reassemble world view we designed
from fragile tokens of assertive faith
that fools employ to prove their right to laugh.

Reluctant to remember how I die
each hour the fractured sky of gleeful glass
falls as snowflakes on the naked land,
I huddle by the ever-flowing river
to study how my stream of consciousness
nurtures trees that grow from rotten brains.

I have no innate need of being versed
in country things for houses in the wind
or stony roads that wind into sunsets,
regardless of how often we face death,
so I invite sly birds of everywhere
to fly through broken window of my heart.

I dwell long on what has been in the past
in order to see where I need to go
across the muddy field of innocence
in fruitless bid to rebuild friendly walls
where lilacs bloom around the rotten elm
now staged as home for honey bees to live.

On snowy evenings under diamond stars
I stand on back porch of suburban house
where I lived when I was sixteen years old
with book of essays Ralph Emerson wrote
to stare at ancient gleam of Mount Rainier
while waiting for my angel wings to grow.

As swinger of birches, born in the woods,
I study cobwebs dripping gold with dew
to understand perfection of the eye
that generates virtual world in my brain
where I can fly up to Heaven with wings
instead of stumbling lame on mindless earth.

Indifferent Nature understands my heart
stirred by desire to cultivate the land
with seeds of fate I scatter with my hand
in soil that willfully misunderstands
puzzle of fate I assemble from dreams
that leave me sad when I wake before dawn.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/08/…

Orpheus gazes at Mount Rainier glowing gold at sunset and wonders if the sleeping volcano may erupt from wrath of Jupiter.

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