Ghost Of The Wind
© Surazeus
2026 03 18

The strange way my thoughts fall into the pool,
transforming into pink petals of hope
that float away on swirls of nonchalance,
startles my heart with beauty of this world
that shimmers bright for no reason at all,
because these feelings are silly and cute.

Though none of my thoughts are original,
having been felt in equal depth of passion
by billions of humans who lived before me,
I savor these feelings with intense faith
because I experience them at this hour
as I gaze entranced by the fragile flower.

Soft grass glowing green with warm rays of light
emanating from one immortal sun,
tree leaves whispering in soft river breeze,
birds chirping surreal language of desire
as they flutter wings with innocent hope,
all conspire to wake feelings in my heart.

I keep those feelings hidden in my heart
where they gently fan butterfly wings
through weird intensity of obvious fear
that shadow of death will spring at my soul,
so I look around at the sudden world,
conscious with eternal suspense of thought.

Breathing deep with shock of scopeless insight,
I stand with sudden clumsiness of fear
as if my heart is sparked by deep alarm,
but I float suspended in changeless thought
and wonder what startles me to observe
demonic silence that knows I am real.

White apparition on the distant hill
alerts my anxious sense of mute surprise,
so I peer with intention to perceive
nature of that beast that stares down at me,
and gasp with joy to see the graceful horse
who often gallops with ghost of the wind.

Yanking apple from basket of friendship,
which I plucked as gift for my ghostly friend,
I hold it out with tense arm of respect,
and almost think the sky-dancer will come
accept it from my heart, but flash of light
briefly blinds me, and the wild horse is gone.

Sudden gust of wind scatters apple blooms
of pinkish disappointment in my hair,
so I eat the apple with grumpy sigh
at sudden tilting of the unknown world,
then I wander back to my secret cave
where I lie in moonlight and dream of flight.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus searches for Pegasus as he wanders along the Alpheus River while filling baskets with apples for Ophelia to sell at the pyramid market.

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

House Of Broken Toys
© Surazeus
2026 03 17

When Jesus calls me on the telephone
to borrow my car I stole from his dad
so he can take Venus to his beach house,
I climb to the mountain peak of world fame
and toss Holy Book in the burning bush,
yet find my mask in house of broken toys.

When Dionysus meets me in glass church
to confess his wish to become a monk
devoted to prayers of self-sacrifice,
I play electric guitar on lit stage
and howl mad wolf-song of the fallen god,
yet find my heart in house of broken toys.

When Apollo hires me to map dire fate
depicting networks of utilities
that provide services to every house,
I fly airplane to Plutonian hills
and bomb the stately dome of Xanadu,
yet find my soul in house of broken toys.

When Jupiter requests I paint his tower
with murals that depict scenes of his life
as chief psychologist of Kingdom Come,
I take Rapunzel home to Avalon
where we live in quaint cottage by the lake,
yet find my mind in house of broken toys.

When Odin grills burgers in parking lots
to feed five thousand refugees from war
who are eager to watch the Super Bowl,
I play violin in the concert hall
while Minerva and Phoebus sing the blues,
yet find my brain in house of broken toys.

When Jehovah steals industrial plans
to build new computer-powered starship
so he can rule the world from Samarkand,
I compose novels of angst-humored man
with old typewriter on shifting sand dunes,
yet find my name in house of broken toys.

When Achilles dresses as Judy Garland
and sings Over the Rainbow with brave voice
that inspires new generation of clowns,
I repair broken lyre of Mercury
displayed inside velvet-lined case of glass,
yet find my skull in house of broken toys.

When Lucifer campaigns around the world
to win our votes as President of Earth
in quest for secret of the Holy Grail,
I construct new radio from bird bones
to chat with Melusine in Oregon,
yet find my ghost in house of broken toys.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus helps Abraham paint marble statues of gods, lined in the temple of the luminous phantom, with bright colors of the rainbow.

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

Mindless Business Of Days
© Surazeus
2026 03 17

Now that spring is approaching with regret,
we organize mindless business of days
with porous unconcern for getting sleep,
adrift on horizon of innocence
because seasons of providence we flee
retaliate for spilled secrets of love
in terrible incidents we ignore.

If Death comes home with us before our hearts
are ready to breathe dust of obstacles,
we could hide in alcove of singing books
without desire for what matters the most,
because I just want to hear your soft voice
explain why the sky pretends to be blue.

Alone with my madness stuck in third gear,
I study the flower with countless eyes
that tells me love must change every new day
with gradual expansion of honest scope,
because bees sing about color of trust,
authentic with chronic engine of hope.

I cannot repeat puzzles of my dream
over and over of variable thoughts
trapped in books nobody will ever read,
disguised as the turtle of confidence
that boldly traverses waste land of faith,
so I drape my heart in knowledge of self.

Atrocious fanfare of enchanting trees
ignores how I stumble over dead books
with marvelous body of poisoned words,
so I observe torments of wounded hearts
wrapped in laughter of children who know
how to restore discord of fervent faith.

Elegant madness of panicky rout
perfumes austerity of lonely souls
who trade their consecrated memories
for horror that twists faces of the loved
to seek gratification through free will
by choosing to glorify undead gods.

I want to ask for shelter from the ghost
who wanders mutely with the noonday crowd
to find the mansion where no one else lives,
yet nothing happens till the clock explodes
with betrayal of language time invents,
so we speak with one voice of surprised love.

I build the mansion where we will now live,
nursing wounded dignity of soft pain,
so we can find the pattern God will break
when we sleepwalk together back to Eden
if we should watch the geyser dance with grace
as we regurgitate hymns of salvation.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus turns around suddenly and stares at the old man with spectacles who grins with teasing transparency of insane obviousness.

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

Soul Of Star-Eyed Phyllis
© Surazeus
2026 03 16

Though I vow to never allow my mind,
governed by strict logic of intellect,
to be seduced by sweet feminine charms
that emanate from soul of star-eyed Phyllis,
I find I play horse to her Aphrodite
as Aristotle who obeys her will.

Eager to please Goddess of Liberty,
whose gentle voice commands kings to obey,
I let her bridle my aggressive passion,
and rein my ambition to rule the world
with solemn duty to maintain our home
as secure haven for her to raise our children.

Harnessed to wagon of productive hope,
I focus attention of energy
to increase wealth garnished from heart of Earth
when I channel material of desire
through constructive factory of respect,
designing machines that Beauty requires.

Inspired by Beauty embodied as Woman,
who transforms spirit of my urgent faith
to mold new body of organic flesh
that houses immortal spirit of genes
in new child whose face replicates my mind,
I fulfill requests My Love asks of me.

Though I roam mountain forests in moonlight
as wolf-furred woodwose hunting river vales,
wise Phyllis captures me with flashing eyes,
and with sweet kiss through passionate embrace
converts my Enkidu to Gilgamesh,
domesticating werewolf of my heart.

Her bright Ishtarian demeanor translates
my Grendel demon to Beowulf angel,
morphing me from Azrael to Gabriel,
for her sweet smile of amorous respect
civilizes savage ghoul of my heart
from dragon-slayer to philosopher.

Though I wear mask of divine discipline,
concealing demon dance of Dionysus
with rational cantillation of Apollo,
that primitive ape programming my mind
urges my quest to generate more life,
obedient to will of woman I love.

Emotional battery in my heart
powers robotic habits of my body
through survival instinct of anxious rage,
which I restrain with logical project,
so I confirm my soul with self-control
through liberty in law of my free will.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus teaches me how to balance wild spirit of Dionysus with strict logic of Apollo to maintain productive creation of poetic art.

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

Pierrot And Persephone
© Surazeus
2026 03 16

I steal idol of God when I realize
Persephone falls in love with Pierrot
since she adjudicates how angels fly
by driving cars on highways of desire
through thunderstorm of global social change,
so she gives him pomegranate to eat.

While he wanders metropolitan maze
from sea to shining sea of broken dreams,
Pierrot gives mask to every soul he meets
so they can wear his face with honest pride,
then he grows another face from despair
that mirrors how each faceless human feels.

While she administers prison of fear,
preparing hell-loop punishment of pain
for each soul lost in delusions of hope,
Persephone waits on soft leather couch,
sipping wine and watching comedy shows,
for Pierrot to find his way to her heart.

When we gather for the Spring Festival
in Temple of Artemis by Dream Lake,
Persephone brings food to every table
so we feast and share our stories with strangers,
then listen with reverence of solemn faith
when Pierrot plays the lyre of Mercury.

Just as Pierrot, with lyre of Mercury
he found in cave of illusions in Hades,
arrives at jeweled gates of paradise,
Petrus judges he may not enter Heaven
because he cares for all souls lost in time,
so faceless clown of the moon weeps in silence.

Each drop of water sloshing on this globe
of ours that spins in starless void of hope
has animated billions of conscious souls
through four hundred million years of evolution,
so tear of Pierrot that stains Book of Fate
rewrites false judgement of Petrus with blood.

Ascending Stairway to Heaven with faith,
Pierrot enters Temple of Artemis
and kneels before Persephone at dawn
to give her mask he wove from dreams of love,
so they attend grand ball of shining gods,
and dance while Phoebus directs the orchestra.

Amazed with joy, we love to watch unfold
romance of Pierrot and Persephone
as symbol for state of our world today,
Mute Weeper in love with Guardian of Ghosts
who win awards for suffering they endure
with names we write in fairy tales of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus writes new play for Pierrot and Persephone to perform on stage in Temple of Artemis to celebrate the birth of the sun.

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

Tammy Understands Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

When Tammy drinks raindrops on window glass
to taste sorrow of strangers on the Earth
who pick raspberries from the unfenced field,
she feels eternal light gleam in her eyes
so she sees essence of each human soul
that helps her disappear in stream of words.

If Tammy explains lassitude of gods
with words of gold embossed on marble tombs,
we might hear endless cries of suffering
in fields of mourning where milk cows eat grass
because they steal strange memories of our eyes
with anxious experience of trembling joy.

Though Tammy mistranslates edible smells
to shimmer of ghosts on the primrose path,
she hides her naked heart with waves of light
when she invites me to swim in her lake
halfway to completion of her weird dream
blessing heavenly bridge between our hearts.

Yet Tammy discovers with blush of faith
her heart is impenetrable to contempt
contrived by unfulfilled passion of respect
we share with mutual acceptance that death
tries to mislead us with sweet fantasy
that we live forever in paradise.

Before Tammy maps ruins of our love
she intimates that angels without mouths
imitate how she sings with butterflies
to repeal law against our sacred bond
commanded by invisible police
who impose gratitude with scarlet pulse.

Because Tammy dissociates our trust
to stamp purpose of living on our hearts,
she finds me inscrutable to her sense
of freaked amusement without radar vibes
despite our vow to share star messages
submerged in supple waters of the pool.

Since Tammy understands dreams I conceal
with psychic sense of obvious solitude,
she hungers for my face that fades with time
while I sketch writhing maps in blood-stained clay
depicting habitat of horse and owl
to illustrate process of soul decay.

Still Tammy leads me to cave by the sea
where First Mother of all humanity
chants ancient song of ardent innocence
which nurtures how civilizations thrive
based on weird mysteries of the common place
that beams from still point of the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds Tammy and Federico eating raspberries at the still point of the universe behind the car-repair garage run by Thor with his hammer.

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

Garish Face Of Busirane
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

The old man stumbles against the red brick wall
so green leprechaun hat falls off his head.
"I should not have yelled at Clara like that,"
he mumbles at the wingless bird of fate.
Gold key of salvation falls from his hand
as he fumbles to unlocked jeweled gate.

The white raven swoops down from power line
and snatches key of salvation away.
The old man shouts at the cloud glowing gold
and shakes his fist at unfairness of fate.
Jesus approaches him slouched at the gate,
sizing him up with sly skeptical eye.

"When Britomart escaped deceptive house,
dismayed at how tapestries disappeared,"
he snarls at bright apparition of God,
"she found herself on the perilous porch,
eyes unveiled by delusions of desire,
so she could see the real world as it is."

Rattling gate of Heaven with fierce concern,
the old man, with plastic leprechaun hat
on his sore head of weed-entangled hair,
pretends he is Jupiter who can change
shape to the graceful swan in love with Fate,
then slips and falls on wet mud of respect.

When Britomart tears off the plastic mask,
printed with garish face of Busirane,
his heart cries out in shock of mute surprise
that glory of his power vanishes
at dreadful flame that writhes with holy angst
as loss misshapes his soul to howling ape.

Groping blind in dark blast of midnight wind,
the old man cries out in his bitter pain,
"I loved sweet Amoret with loyal faith,
but she ran off with clever Scudamour,
leaving me lost in maze of false desires
where Jupiter mocks my brave innocence."

Waking startled at sudden flash of dawn
that pierces his eyes with absolute truth,
the old man clambers to his trembling feet
beside locked gate of his community.
Trudging through front door of his six-roomed house,
Patrick calls Clara in white emptiness.

Kneeling by Clara on the bathroom floor,
Patrick cries in shock at her lifeless eyes.
"I have come too late to apologize,
so I hope you know how much I love you."
The white raven with his key of salvation
stares at him through cracked window of his heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds the Knight of Chastity wandering dazed on the desolate plain, so he gives her juice to drink, and leads her home to Cleopolis.

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

Unanswers That Explain Why
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

Each time I wander too close to the sun
wild spirit of Icarus wakes in me
so I run circles on the White House lawn
with arms outspread as if I can fly free,
then fall on my back under Great Blue Sky
and ponder unanswers that explain why.

Wheels of my bicycle flash in the sun
when I heave deep breath up the steep-hill road
then lounge by the fountain of secret pain
near the Mizpah Gate to gossip with God,
asking about delusions of my eye,
and dismiss unanswers that explain why.

Wearing pink dress and tattered shoes of hope,
Christina crawls across the grassy field
toward gray-wood house on the wind-battered slope
where nothing blooms but the frail marigold,
so I bear her soul in my arms and fly,
and rewrite unanswers that explain why.

Dropping quarter in the dorm pop machine,
I buy ennui in cold can of root beer,
then wear mask of Jesus for Halloween,
because I am son of the Puppeteer,
encouraging hopeless people to try
and design unanswers that explain why.

Inspired by victory of the faceless god,
I build castle in Caledonia,
then search with amusement in putrid sod
for crowns of kings from Macedonia,
because I choose to play the clever spy
and bury unanswers that explain why.

Hands strong with spirit of Odysseus,
I forge sword from stone that blazed from the stars,
since in Scotland I am indigenous
to misty hills where fairies drive fast cars,
so I map ruins where lonely girls cry
and extract unanswers that explain why.

Each hour cathedral bells of anguish toll,
I build wood ship to sail where dragons lurk,
yet in world theater I play my role
with fierce compassion of satiric smirk,
then chant formulas which may not apply,
and tangle unanswers that explain why.

Reborn as Icarus without brave wings,
I ask shy Christina to be my bride,
so she bakes hot apple pies while I sing
folk songs about how lost people abide,
then we kiss at sunset of the firefly,
and record unanswers that explain why.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus visits house on the hill where Icarus and Christina are raising three children who run around in the field and pretend they fly.

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

Wounded Heart Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 03 15

I hear the raven in the apple tree
tell me about the old woman who dies
after baking ten thousand apple pies
so children driven from their homes by bombs
may eat the wounded heart of innocence,
but all her pies rot in warehouse of greed.

I hear the toad beside the forest pool
tell me about the hungry man who dies
after delivering mail to every house
where ghosts of angels haunt bright living rooms
to hide the wounded heart of innocence
in stories on the television screen.

I hear the alligator in the swamp
tell me about the young student who dies
after drinking beer in the crowded bar
then wanders in haze of frantic memories
to drown the wounded heart of innocence
in turbid river of the singing skull.

I hear the horse in the wire-enclosed field
tell me about the racecar driver who dies
while speeding on the winding mountain road
and finds salvation with the humming toad
to steal the wounded heart of innocence
if he knows why the caged bird never sings.

I hear the cow in old abandoned church
tell me about the solemn priest who dies
while drinking holy blood from rusty grail
in restless search for virgin girl of faith
to sell the wounded heart of innocence
though she teaches her son to play guitar.

I hear the dog in the misty graveyard
tell me about the brave preacher who dies
before he sees Jesus return from clouds
in starship beaming our lost souls from Hell
to buy the wounded heart of innocence
while tearing pages from Bibles in rage.

I hear the unicorn in the warehouse
tell me about the mad artist who dies
while painting emotions of brave despair
in murals of folk heroes on brick walls
to break the wounded heart of innocence
reborn from farmers on justice crusade.

I hear the demon in the tower vault
tell me about the haughty god who dies
while counting gold coins of his stolen wealth
derived from labor of the working man
to heal the wounded heart of innocence
that slithers on marble museum wall.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus conducts souls of the dead along the signless road across American from sea to shining sea to the amusement park of Wonderland.

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

Energy Of Ardent Hope
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Honey and butter on toasted sourdough bread
delight my heart with pleasure of sweet taste
when I contemplate strange meaning of life
at home with my family on Sabbath night,
soul bathed in nurturing glimmer of light,
revived by energy of ardent hope.

No angel may hear me when I cry out
with terror at beauty of life and death,
but humans on Earth understand my song
when I vanish in power of soul light
that designs my mind with loving insight,
transformed by energy of ardent hope.

Unleashing wings of desire from my heart,
I throw emptiness out of my bound arms
to expand space of joy where I may breathe
ethereal spirit of demonic might
on which I pass fear with intimate flight,
propelled by energy of ardent hope.

Pure Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
rises from rotten desire of my heart
to tremble with silence of timeless change
that intimates beginning of my flight
to sing with Orpheus in sheltering light,
enshrined by energy of ardent hope.

Sparked awake by first blissful tone of love,
which Orpheus teaches me to express
with ringing melody I play on lyre,
I ask Death to elucidate mortal plight
as theme that consumes me with anguished fight,
restored by energy of ardent hope.

Alert to monstrous horror of desire
that drives men to kill each other for power
in mindless rage to gain immortal life,
I seize divine strength to play slender lyre
with passionate breath of pneumatic rite,
contrived by energy of ardent hope.

Message that creates itself from my voice
when I declare with optimistic faith
that we weave our fate with each choice we make,
grows monstrous when exposed to cogent light
that glow of our conscious mind is finite,
unbroken by energy of ardent hope.

Possessed by spirit Orpheus radiates,
I sing redemption of passionate love
that fills our hearts with mountain strength of faith
to aid each other when our souls recite
holy hymns we help playful sprite ghostwrite,
designed by energy of ardent hope.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus takes me to meet Rainier Rilke in Duino Castle where I play guitar to translate song of ocean waves against jagged cliffs into solemn hymns angels sing in cathedrals of skulls.

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

Nameless Son Of Jove
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Draped in ermine robe of authority
with assignment to adjudicate laws
designed to rein aggressive lust of men
within bounds of respect for other men,
I wield sulfurous bolt of thunderous Jove
from Merciful Heaven to humble pride.

Though wrath of Oberon attends my heart
with plot to train each wild child of dark woods
as loyal warrior of my scouting train,
I channel passion to manage estate
of rich productive farms with guardian gangs
while lounging in the spangled starlight sheen.

Though I am merry wanderer of the night,
I jest on stage in temples of rich feast
to play role of Oberon with fierce joy
that sparks sweet laughter of relief from men
who sweat in labor to tend fields of wheat
which flushes resentment from their hard hearts.

Dismissed with mocking jest of pungent fear,
I twirl in whistling winds by flashing sea,
lost in contagious fog of jealousy,
but fall fatigued by stone-paved fountain pool
full of crackling leaves instead of fresh spring,
and weep for beauty drowned in tears of truth.

Disturbed by crackling shifts of jolted time
which readjusts world view of what is true,
I realize wealthy mean in towers of glass
conspire to enslave common citizens
to labor in vast factories of regret,
producing goods that profit bank accounts.

Alone on yellow sands where Neptune dwelled,
I watch fragile ships tossed by swelling waves,
pregnant with products of slave factories,
so I search in my heart for warrior soul
of Jupiter or Zeus that strengthens me
with courage to oppose cruel tyranny.

Heart pierced by love-shaft blind Cupid discharged,
I rise transformed from tomb of Oberon
to lead lost boys disenfranchised by hate
in noble army of brave warriors
to follow Minerva on bold crusade
dedicated to restore Liberty.

While my peculiar quest for truth is bound
with rational armor of my strict mind,
I grasp electric bolt of honest hope
as nameless son of Jove, son of Yahweh,
to reign as king in nutshell of heart
which frees our world democracy to thrive.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus records noble deeds of the new Oberon who assists Minerva in crusade to expel greedy King Midas from throne of authority.

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

Language Devils Speak
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Dehydrated in sunlight of all time,
I wander waste land of the urban zone,
lured to paradise by angelic chime
that rings from beating heart of the God Stone,
so I climb to the highest mountain peak
where I invent weird language devils speak.

Amused by dancing skeletons of fate,
I collect bones of huge dragons and gods,
assemble them in Museum of the Great,
and teach children how they grow from soul pods,
which inspires new generation to seek
books of legends in language devils speak.

Revealed to be son of messiah sleuth,
who once roused revolution of soul change,
I set out on quest to find the real truth
that leads me along the world mountain range
till I transform into ring-powered freak
and sing grand hymns in language devils speak.

Assured I will reign next king of the world
if I dethrone my father Jupiter,
I accept sacred role as cosmic herald
and play my part with mask of Lucifer
since killers inherit Earth from the meek
by propagating language devils speak.

Awake from sorrow of the broken land
where homes are shattered by religious bombs,
I journey back to hills of Samarkand
where I find apple queens in ruined tombs,
so I kneel and weep by the timeless creek
that whispers spells in language devils speak.

Strengthened by support of the faceless dead
who flock around me when I sing their tales,
I birth Athena from expanding head,
who rescues Jesus from cross of sharp nails,
because they exude uncanny mystique
when they perform star language devils speak.

Startled by loud horns priests of Joshua blow
to invade Garden of Eden with thieves,
I defend lush Heaven of Jericho
while the crippled widow of Hector grieves,
so I preach that, though life on Earth is bleak,
we will survive with language devils speak.

Inspired by Isaiah to sing satires
that spur tyrants to mend oppressive ways,
I connect world minds with computer wires
that help mankind evolve to our next phase
which provides voice for the abused and weak
who write fair laws with language devils speak.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus compiles and publishes official dictionary for language devils speak after eight thousand years of research and editing.

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

Weird Spirit Of Salorin
© Surazeus
2026 03 14

Sea breeze shimmers green-gold feathers of pride
when Salorin, Poet of Zathamar,
appears on stage in crystal temple hall,
and strums seven strings with celestial chimes
in harp from rib bone of Queen Zathamut,
then sings epic tale of her life and death.

I sense her gold eyes gleam inside my heart
when I stand on street corner in Miami
and feel weird spirit of Salorin wake
brave courage to express her ancient song
that vibrates eighty million years of light
in waves that gleam on bright Florida coast.

My callused fingers pluck six coiled bronze strings
that vibrate through shell of spruce wood guitar
to wake soul of Salorin in my heart
so I sing grunge folk songs of human life
beside small fountain in the market square
while pedestrians and cars traffic past.

Long curly brown hair of the Anglo Bard
blows around my face as I play guitar,
dressed in leather boots and green woolen coat
caked with red dust of New Mexico hills,
while I sing surreal ballads that depict
rough journey of the brave Quester for Truth.

Grand vision of life on our spinning globe,
that flourished eighty million years ago,
glows from projection of my humming verse
that depicts evolved race of dinosaurs
who built vast cities of enormous diamonds
where they performed tales of Saurian gods.

Diamond cities in land of Zathamar,
where civilization of dinosaurs
thrived for millions of years on Earth,
have all been ground down to sands on the beach,
tiny fragments that gleam with their great songs,
and ring with chimes of their long-silenced voices.

I see their ghosts in glitter of the sand
when I lounge on Miami Beach at dawn
after sleeping all night among tall reeds,
and hear their voices of sharp ringing chimes
in susurration of green ocean waves,
so I channel their tales in my street songs.

As Quester for Truth on the signless road
that winds along rivers among tall hills
across this ancient land of Zathamar,
I ever walk toward Pyramid of Ishtar
whose song of wisdom shines in every heart
who thrives in United Nations of Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus gazes at statue of the ancient dinosaur bard Salorin with his rib-bone harp that stands in the endless Temple of Tellurian Gods.

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

Brave Tritonian Faith
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

Long since grown from child of the wandering sea,
where I once ventured vast unshadowed main,
I lounge with nonchalance of purpled wings
on wave-smooth stone to sun my streaming hair
and study fragments from my ship of pearl
that shimmers gold with lustrous coil of faith.

From sunless crypt of aching solitude
my father Triton wanders in wild gust
of laughing wind, that gallops from stark peaks
of jagged mountains, to kneel on cold sand
and blow wild tune in chambered nautilus
that rings forlorn on desolate beach of faith.

Awake with howl of my unresting sea,
that slithers silver waves around my feet,
I stretch frail frame of flesh with ache of hope
that broad sky-dancing wings of fortitude
may sprout from beating passion of my heart,
that fills my heart with brave Tritonian faith.

Though Triton, ancient withered ocean god
who sired my soul from fertile womb of light,
lies sprawled on glistening sand of arrogance,
unsouled by ruthless blast of grinding time,
I feel spark of his ocean spirit gleam
with weird immortal energy of faith.

When I kneel and weep by round pool of light
that glitters framed by empty shells of truth,
I see face of my father Triton glow
with animated urge of my own heart
as if I wear mask of his bearded face,
for I am reborn replicant of faith.

Fair phantom of my pulsing heart appears
through emanation of courageous fear
with fierce intention to investigate
source of power that compels my quest
to transcend bounds of self-enclosing name
and claim commission to preach deeds of faith.

Now that my father Triton vanishes
from dream time of my fate-perceptive eyes,
I measure segments of transforming change
that gears strict increments in scale of growth
so dawn light swells from nothing of my heart
to shape this world of forms from wordless faith.

Inspired by scripture of footprints on sand,
which I compose in magic runes of dream
with wand I forged from sharp draconic bone,
I run with carefree joy in wingless flight
by breathing clear Zephyrean air of hope
to fight despair with brave Tritonian faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus laughs with delight when young Oliver Wendell Holmes blows Tritonian tunes with the chambered nautilus he digs up from glistening sand of time.

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

Spectrum Of Strange Truths
© Surazeus
2026 03 13

When my Muse reveals spectrum of strange truths
arrayed as statues of demonic clowns,
I fuse my mind with weird riddles to bind
devious virtues through feverish respect
from solemn turmoil of typewriter thoughts
unspooling world view I always believed.

Despite intermittent sequel of moves
attending game of mirth against bleak death,
I push against bounds of physical hope
that limit expansion of ardent scope
radiant with fractured words I never speak
till I reach interval of intact breath.

Each time our world changes with subtle grace
through duplication of existing states,
I leap deceptive loom of glorious fear
to weave convincing vision of events
yet to unravel with undefiled force
at sudden dreaming of explosive fate.

Uncertain glory veiling mindless trust
blossoms in flowers from corpse of our god
corrupted by greed for global control
where humming children gather by the pool
to vote with laughter for the haughty fool
as king of nothing because he lies well.

Reluctant fallacy of social prayer,
embodied by galactic ghost of time,
vibrates with overtones of magic math
enthralling searchers for evasive truth
who seal humiliating deeds in jars
buried in graveyards of outdated creeds.

Gigantic cactus of conceptual law
waits lonely in putrid grotto of stones
tangled with hair of thirty thousand queens
whose names Time erases with flood of tears
when sluggish vampire king of loyalists
charges rent for houses he never owns.

New discoveries in scientific labs
alter matrix of reality with jokes
squeezed from crackling machines of twisted bones
through convoluted atmosphere of words
invented by doctors with fractured eyes
who wander bright shores of Hibernia.

Unsteady dance on twanging rope of faith
tempts naive ballerina to transcend
bottomless abyss of bright nothingness
from church steeple to the honey-bee hive
with lithe discipline of angelic soul
because she likes to hum our river song.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus listens with interest in his role as psychic psychiatrist while Juliet raves about how Hamlet never treats her with honest respect.

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

God Of My World
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

Now that I have become God of my world,
I can erase my body from Dream Time
so my name will vanish in gust of wind
that wanders whistling casually along
with no care for fortune or fame, those traps
that suck innocent souls down into Hell.

Projecting Glow Cloud as God of my world,
I give sandwiches and bottles of juice
to homeless people in the city park
who tell each other tragic tales of loss,
then follow Moses to the Promised Land
somewhere over the rainbow of my heart.

Ascending marble stairs of timeless truth,
I enter Parthenon where Athena reigned
since she planted olive tree of true faith
to feel her spirit glow inside my heart
as ghost of absence still alive in me
that molds chaos in loving harmony.

Loving Athena as God of my world,
I sing this endless eulogy of faith
that Liberty inspires the human heart
to fight for Justice with courageous hand
through opposition against tyranny
that maintains progress of democracy.

Since deathless wisdom is God of my world
I walk the signless road of honesty,
evolving from hungry ape of wild woods
to wingless angel on high pyramid
singing about creation of the Earth
when we build Garden of Eden from mud.

Bathed in Holy Light from God of my world,
I walk with crowd of people on the street
in metropolitan maze of the Earth
where I see angels in all human eyes
forever searching for pure beam of light
that fills our bodies with celestial song.

Measuring time to play God of my world,
I map extensive patterns of desire
to plot complex graphs for effect of cause
which calibrates our mental state of being
resolving formulas of psychic math
that program reason in passionate brains.

Wearing mask that portrays God of my world,
I conjure virtual world from dream of Earth
through simple proverb of conceptual faith
that we get in return whatever we give
since we reap what we sow with crafty hands,
then become dirt of Earth from which we bloom.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus wears mask of Jove son of Yahweh to become God of his world who creates the vision of the universe with magic spell of the song of life.

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

Pactolus River Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 03 12

If rain erases motorcars from time,
deleting time machines from dream of light,
then I will reinvent the piston engine
so I can teleport on rubber wheels
in chariot designed by Ezekiel
with wheels Helios fashioned from desire.

When Janus locks temple door of respect
against small hands of King Midas at last,
we shall find wealth, that bitter king of hate
stole from treasure bank of our thriving state,
washed into Pactolus River of Fate,
so we may restore world democracy.

Then humble Philomel, shepherd of souls
attuned to emotional needs we hide,
shall rise with divine power of the sky
to lead us along Tagus River shore
in our quest to find the lush Promised Land
to thrive with peace in hills of Zathamar.

Lounging on lush river shore by tall elm,
Sirena herds sheep with attentive eyes,
and sings harmonious melodies of hope
in tune with swans that float on silver waves
when comets blaze in brightness of her soul
with calm in raging tempest of the world.

Crowning her gold curls with wreath of pink blooms,
Philomel plays haunting tunes on wood flute
as graceful Sirena in long red skirt
dances joyfully with cool evening breeze
with gray-bearded Zephyrus brings them pears
and teases her to marry his shy son.

Adorned with pearls that gleam on her white breast,
Sirena gathers berries, nuts, and eggs
in baskets with her mother Ostara
who teaches her to brew liquor from fruit
which Philomel pours in clay jars of hope
they bury by the river to ferment.

Driving time-machine car from urban maze,
swift as wind along winding country roads,
Ezekiel arrives in Garden of Zatham,
bringing Cinderella and Romeo
to visit Juliet and Percival
whose daughter Epona rides her white pony.

Gathered at large round table of the feast,
everyone drinks red wine to celebrate
birth of our new nation Zarathia
we build from ruins of America,
then Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury
while Ophelia sings Ballad of Hamlet.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds Hamlet down by the Pactolus River pouting because Juliet married Percival instead of him, and tells him bad jokes to make him laugh.

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

Bougainvillea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Lost in harsh waste land of the modern world,
I find bougainvillea of my heart
thriving through resilience of suffering
with cool menace of eye-enchanting flowers
concealing unnoticed thorns of despair
with treacherous allure of sirenic beauty.

Enduring legacy of my grandmothers,
within bougainvillea of my heart,
thrives with fragile compassion of respect
connecting my body with my ancestors
as scarlet flowers shroud crumbling tombstones
with persistent beauty in ruined homes.

Flourishing in vast cement maze of myths,
vital bougainvillea of my heart
conquers the world with scarlet privilege
through nostalgia for lost time of ripe oranges
that drip with blood of angels on my lips
when I consume resources of the Earth.

Flower-crowned mask of my delicate nymph,
who tends bougainvillea of my heart
with nurturing hands of innocent faith,
reflects divine face of wise Mother Earth,
reborn each generation from her womb
through brave extension of life after death.

Vibrant beauty of resilient strength,
that blooms bougainvillea of my heart,
veils shattered ruins of democracy
where skeletons dance with bears in red rain
with the grateful dead of our burning land
as immigrants displaced by endless wars.

Kneeling in hilly jungle of Brazil
to sketch bougainvillea of my heart,
Jeanne Baret studies its delicate leaves
that hide treacherous thorns of bitterness,
amazed at how it flourishes in ash
as deep pink gash of death-defying beauty.

Both beautiful and dreadful, fragile blossoms
that mask bougainvillea of my heart,
sprout from roots that curl deep into hard soil,
gripping rocks of mountains with angel hands
which suppresses depression with fierce joy
of urgent passion to live beyond death.

Tangled in excessive tendrils of faith,
wired from bougainvillea of my heart,
I struggle against bounds of time and space
to expand scope of curious consciousness
broad enough to enclose every lost soul
who attends show in garden of blind ghosts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus attempts to rip huge tangled vines of bougainvillea from walls of the Garden of Eden, but their thorny tendrils trap him in anguish of paradise.

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

Voice Of Faceless God
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

Voice of faceless god reverberates
through weak eyes of mortals who testify
to inner beauty of dream-beaming brains
that bind psychotic scales of timeless hope
with absolution of fantastic guilt
which leaves us floating in oblivion.

My heart curves into silence of the Earth,
imploding boldly with brilliant words
unbound by principles of blithe respect
through unconditional rules based on fear
defined by sea waves swirling on hot sand
on which I tumble with tedious faith.

Constrained by monotonous disbelief
in ceremonious rites of mental growth,
I manufacture miracles from lust
for mind-expansion of absurdist wind
which entertains my sense of dignity
through recreation of humility.

My voice dares mountains to explain why pain
contrives our wishful bleariness of thirst
by trudging vainly toward garden of gods
while I pray with serendipitous rage
for brave interludes in false paradise,
demanding haste of madness to debate.

If I succumb to sudden shift of fate
with untainted love for merciless skies,
my heart may swell against locked doors of truth
to reach absolute void of heartless love
because my body decays with each day
I dream magnificence of fruitful trees.

Disturbed by alien anguish I deny,
I prepare to leap shade of wretched chime
with yearning passion of never-read books
by craving darkness of death-anxious fruit
where wordless thoughts whisper in humming trees
so I catch rain with shadow of my hands.

Insignificant doll of rotten flesh,
birthed by wet sorrow of maternal moon,
I break conceptions of unperformed wrongs
that could destroy illusions of strange joy
cherished by nameless strangers who contrive
to fool the laughing ghost of broken stones.

No fervid wish of seamless fortitude
could crack my dreadful trust in shameless death
despite investment of my hungry heart
in grand delusions of unwanted fame
that cripple my assertive vanity
with shocking wisdom of genetic gain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus sits in his private office in the bank built of white marble like a Greek temple and ponders the strangeness of being real.

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

Expansive Scope Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

When I am worthy of myself at last,
after my random journey through the world
on roads in both natural and urban zones,
I shall attend with cloud-calm dignity
to treasure my expansive scope of truth
designed by divine workmanship of hope.

If Nature seems to frame my fragile being
as favored worshipper of her weird state,
this award bodes as generous testament
to faith-focused progress of my intent
with honest will to transcend weak account
in dispute with fear that discharges guilt.

Exposed to harsh elements of despair
that blast my soul with grim indifference,
I ramble rugged terrain of false dreams
with troubled pleasure of aggressive stealth
to discover source of time-sparkling light
that casts ethereal glow on craggy steep.

Clear pool of water among humming trees,
that seems Plutonian phantom to conceal
with supple mist of voluntary faith,
extracts from framework of my filtered heart
judgmental horror as keyword revised
by lurid lecture of contemptuous wind.

Awake with eerie insight of respect,
I row tenuous boat of my heart forth
across moon-shattered lake of bold grandeur
while vulgar passions seethe with discipline
to intercourse with Nature against Death
among gloomy hills of sweet solitude.

Resounding echo of my wordless cry
cracks no ice-hard precipice of weird truth
with good intentions of my anxious heart
to earn kind favor of Nature with song
of tranquil sleeplessness in morbid dreams,
though my soul emanates from River Stone.

Awed by Presences of Nature that glow
on surface of this universal globe,
I hide delight of triumph behind mask
of calm ennui, impressed with character
of my brave spirit molded into mask
I wear to shield my heart from hungry fear.

When I devise puzzle of virtual Earth
through scheme to map whole history of mankind,
I carve runes in cyphers on trunks of trees
recording names and deeds of forest kings
till Fortune taunts me with lightning-blazed fire
that erases our story from the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strides with William as he explains the words-worth beauty of Nature whose indifference reveals truth of this universe.

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

When Kingdoms Collapse
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

Chronic concept of the fortified mind,
compiled from facial circuit of blank fate,
contributes to spate of unlicensed fame
contained by keyword of improved impact,
based on fair complexion of my grim mood
which notifies my colleagues of the news.

Unfractured friendship of forgetful faith
reveals my desire to prepare canned goods,
jars of peaches, applesauce, beets, and pickles,
because I must stock basements shelves with hope
that I could survive collapse of the state
alone on prairie of my nameless ghosts.

Young woman with long hair flowing in wind
arrives with the hurricane after dawn,
and gives me book of ancient fairy tales
that tell strange stories of powerful gods
who play with humans as puppets and pawns,
so I turn my face to gold fields of wheat.

Heaping bags of wheat on the wagon plat,
with four sturdy wheels Helios designed,
I transport goods to warehouse of stone walls
where the Loaf Ward buys bags of wheat with coins
of gold stamped with face of Phoebus Apollo,
so I forge coins into crown with twelve rubies.

While driving black car down the dusty road,
teleporting in time machine of hope,
I wonder at the speed I race away
far faster than the swift-galloping horse,
then lean against the brick wall of the bank
and sing folk songs while I play beat guitar.

Death comes to me as the woman in black,
with eyes that flash bright as the Morning Star,
who gives me my heart trapped inside the rock,
which she breaks free with hammer of desire,
so I transform into the moon-eyed owl,
and my heart beats when the mountain wolves howl.

Maybe I will understand the world war
being fought between England and Germany,
lands where parents of my parents were born,
so my divided heart now fights itself,
unless I climb jagged mountain of snow
and cry out to the blind angels of Heaven.

Let the grandsons of Queen Victoria
fight each other over the Crown of Jesus,
while I plow my fields with hands of respect
and can the produce of my honest heart,
for nations will rise when kingdoms collapse,
designed and built by hands of loyal men.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus teaches the young farmer how to drive the new tractor to more efficiently plow fields to plant more wheat for the boys in uniform.

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

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

The purple columbine of my aching heart
blooms beside rocky mountain valley spring
that sings with ancient voice of wordless joy
while washing all my sorrows to the sea,
so I almost believe that I can fly,
but I breathe spirit of the sky instead.

Attentive wisdom of snow, crusted white
with timeless beauty of starlight, displays
faceless beauty of our immortal soul
all humans share, molded by suffering
from passion into social mask we wear,
which almost mirrors divine mind of light.

Exhausting though the climb may be, rough path
of glacier-fractured stones winding sideways
in rolling basin of the mountain vale,
I breathe patient endurance of orange clouds
with persistence of pioneers, that fuels
progressive quest of my immortal genes.

Far from people-crowded streets of commerce
that wind through cement canyons of ambition,
I stand tall in rugged meadow of flowers
among the vast Shining Mountains of Light,
and watch with awe how dawn rays of the sun
luminate Tava Kaavi, Mountain of the Sun.

Gazing east far over mountains and seas,
I strain to see around curve of the Earth
Mount Olympus where All-Father was born
who strode on rugged clouds of broken stones
to fill his heart with courage of the wind
in fight against cruel Titans to live free.

Bright apparition of some great world savior,
robed in white, hair blowing in divine wind,
appears on white horse with gold horn of power
and shining wings of star authority,
so I wonder what god my eyes perceive,
Zeus, Brahma, Jesus, Odin, or Shangdi.

Perhaps one man descended from them all,
combining their divine souls in one mind,
may appear from turmoil of history
and unite warring nations of the Earth
with open hands of generosity
that rule justice and liberty for all.

This fantasy of one wise global ruler
inspires nationalist pride of every tribe
who believe their own god will rule the Earth,
but I know they are all but mortal men
who fight each other over dirt and rain,
so I walk with the person I love most.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings epic tale about each great tribal god of human history who lived and died in ancient mists of time.

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

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

When the wind blows through doors of my heart,
I wake from dream where our world falls apart,
so I stroll among flowers of the field
to contemplate virtual world on war shield
which Achilles bore with defiant arm
when he fought great war of feminine charm.

Programmed with dreams of the language machine,
my brain assembles from weird puzzling facts
patchwork world view that frames what might be real
through fraught ontology my thoughts design
that centers everything on Death and Tax
since Earth is indifferent to how I feel.

Learning how to shape dreams from Morpheus
so Ideas of Plato catalog
objects I perceive with subjective stance,
I weave vast tapestry of fractured tales
that represent patterns of psychic tropes
which nurture how our hearts survive on hopes.

Wearing discarded mask of Orpheus,
I search through endless swirls of verbal fog
to find my brain expanding from dream trance
with solemn beauty of wise ocean whales
who float with jeweled crowns and red silk robes,
and discuss organic life on earth globes.

With Lamp of Liberty and Book of Deeds,
I walk crowded streets of America
as prophet who returns from the waste land
with sacred proverbs based on moral rules
that define good and bad as acts we play
to construct or destruct structures of atoms.

I worship the Sun as Solaria
that weaves our bodies from soul-beams of light,
and worship the Earth as Telluria
that generates our souls from singing waves,
for I am temporary name-masked soul
attentive to perform my chosen role.

Wise Shepherd in lush field of sparkling wheat
guides us with his staff of comforting light
through the valley of the shadow of death
to the lake that teems with delicious fish
where he prepares table of feast and song
so we dwell in house of wisdom he built.

When the wind blows through the doors of my heart,
I rebuild our lost world with new star chart
to shelter every refugee from war
who shares labor in the field and the store,
while Aeneas reigns in tower of dreams
to guard our tribe that dwells by flowing streams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus studies star chart for the new world order that he intends to build with help from Phoebus, Jesus, and Jesuvius.

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

If I Adjust Cycle
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

If I adjust cycle of my emotions
to match exploding stars of naked words,
I might find Lost Princess with seven eyes
singing in forest of eccentric clowns,
yet when I turn on the glass radio
ghosts from distant stars call my secret name.

If I adjust temperature of my rage
to counter pain of patient pertinence,
I might wake on the moon in time to see
God break every pattern of human faith,
yet I anticipate the second coming
while typing at my desk in the hot swamp.

If I adjust ingenuous mode of reason
to lock my brain with alternative truth,
I might caress sensuous contours of time
to surf tidal wave of continuum
silhouetted by dramatic regret
when I follow claw-prints in bloody snow.

If I adjust celebration of wisdom
in spite of artificial victory,
I might taste resolve of the Gardener
to rebuild Garden of Eden in Hades
that matches permanent state of respect
fractured by pendulum unwound by fate.

If I adjust lassitude of each season
that returns with ostensible perversion,
I might reclaim discolored photograph
that proves I committed those evil crimes
based on defeated memory of chimes
gracious with flowers of frantic endurance.

If adjust flight of arrogant breath
by swooping wingless over power lines,
I might remember who gives me their mask
by calling my name on the telephone,
which I deny outside of time and space
because I am spectator of the race.

If I adjust standards of moral values
to style our fight as matter of survival,
I might sense absence of psychotic color
by starting enterprise of stolen wealth
with uncommon manners of noble clowns
who fight each other for the secret key.

If I adjust scale of false modesty
to join holy cult of the Water Book,
I might sidle past the house of dead gods
to rendezvous with Death down by the river
that flushes human bodies to the sea
with indifferent auspice no one perceives.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus adjusts cycle of his emotions to match the television show about the girl who calculates how to fly to the moon while eating burgers.

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

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Strange beauty of inflections keys my mind
with barbaric flash of the star-black eye
that gazes from core of the universe
to dream my soul awake with flashing words
frail as icicle on limb of the tree
that whistles casually in winter wind.

Lucid shadow of my eternal soul
traces indecipherable cause of hope
through bodies of all my ancestral souls
who speak with inescapable concepts
about great circle of euphoric light
that glitters sharply at far edge of time.

Great river of my adaptive heart flows
with brave insistence of electric snow
that molds our bodies from evasive fear
so we climb trees and swing vast canopies
six thousand miles from sea to shining sea
till we transform from monkeys into humans.

Silver-eyed blackbird in the apple tree
recounts obsessive journey of my soul
one hundred million years to find the cave
where the sun is reborn every new day
till I forget what I am looking for
and live by the river ten thousand years.

Blue clouds occur above my empty house
where I collect raindrops in open eyes
unfractured by contorted strength of faith
to prove I first designed the wheel of time
that mimics eye in mirror of the sun
which survives the death of every state god.

One fragile candle, glowing gold with faith
one fleeting moment through eternity,
contains dim conscious sense of self I am
because I play the Mad Astronomer
whose eyes have seen galactic deities
possess chemical shells of mortal gods.

Essential shadow of my abstract mind
proves my organic body must be real
when I eat apples of the mountain slopes
that teach my animal mouth how to speak
so I walk through ten thousand doors of time
to find lush valley of my singing skull.

Only the blind remember how the past
shines clear in tragic tales of story books
which I record with raven quill of truth
I dip in gold ichor of divine blood
till time erases every word I write
so all your names vanish from cliff of truth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus chats with thirteen blackbirds in the tree of tangled words who lead him to the grave where Wallace Stevens drinks a glass of Meursault.

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

New Life Always Springs
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Vague splatter of misty rain on soft grass
frames frantic despair of my heart with glow
of mute sorrow at constant loss of life,
yet new life always springs from mud of death
with flourishing passion of timeless desire
for us to dwell together in our space.

Paused at flaming gates to leave paradise,
I look back at shining temples of gold
where people cheer song of the noble hero,
then turn my face to emptiness of hope
and walk in graveyard of the lonely world
where billions of people killed in wars wait.

I almost hear their voices in the wind,
each one telling me of their tragic fate,
till all their spirits swirl in hurricane
of mocking laughter at God on his throne
who glares enraged that his authority
crumbles at relentless process of fate.

Instead of arranging flowers on graves
of innocent people mangled by bombs,
I scatter apple seeds that sprout in trees
so cemetery of our endless wars
transforms into vast forest of fruit trees
which nourish my body with love for life.

Billions of trees blooming from our dead bodies
transform material of our dreaming brains
to stars that glitter in vast void of space
with unrequited love for worlds of souls
who live and die with endless swirl of change
as we evolve from fish to singing god.

On every planet in the universe
one conscious creature pauses on their way,
and gazes through infinity of space
to see each other in mirror of love,
our special faces becoming one face
who sings our dreams in timeless song of light.

Though I may weep for every conscious soul
who ever lived and died on every world,
collective radiance of their countless brains
weaves my small brain in matrix of their truth
so I dream complex patterns of their lives
when I sleep under watch of the Moon Crow.

When I meet Circe on the ocean shore
and drink wine offered by her generous hand,
I find my mortal body of desire
transformed into immortal beam of light
when she gives birth to me from seed of hope
that drives me to live ten thousand years more.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus herds pigs for Circe who lounges in large temple on the hill and drinks wine till she asks him to play lyre of Mercury and sing because she is bored.

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

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

Attuned to song of river stones, I climb
ladder of ideas with bravery
to find wild fiddler on the mountain slope
who causes lilacs of sordid desire
to bloom from corpses of huge dinosaurs,
so I photograph it all with my brain.

Beneath veneer of civilized respect
shy mountain wolf wakes in my wounded heart
while I trudge alone on Sahara dunes,
clutching rifle to my chest with vain prayer
that whistles in the waste land of concern
with holy shimmer of the godless sun.

I gather gold coins from fallen empires
to catalog their depictions in code
of kings as gods who rule with wand of death
by whacking people on the low-bowed head
to teach them wisdom of subservience
loyal to the angry man in the tower.

Separate from likeness of the changing world,
I remind myself that time spools my brain
with memories that I weave in tapestries
showing epic tales about tragic heroes
who grasp lightning bolts with courageous hands
to photograph everything that occurs.

After I might have figured it all out,
listening to thousands of people talk
about mistakes they made, or their victimhood,
I walk away from city of blind fools
to sit on the hill where butterflies flit,
and watch their buildings burn when thieves attack.

While we sit face to face beside the lake
at small round table of the quaint cafe,
I measure distance between our brain worlds
that gapes wide with magical mindfulness
recorded through songs on the radio
which I sing with aching voice of desire.

When tangle of our bodies is undone
by emotional memories we share,
hearts aching with pleasure of vain regret,
I work to keep everyone I love safe
from sudden disintegration of truth
that leaves us stranded without guiding myths.

Pretty inwardness of angels we love
radiates from religious paintings of saints
martyred in spiritual climate of fear
through mind-numbing fantasy of false pride
that angels guide our nation to subdue
unruly states who worship their own gods.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus decides his country is worth the effort in restoring its grand institutions of democratic liberty and justice for all as he walks nowhere.

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

Slime Evolving Into God
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Since I am slime evolving into God,
halfway along mutation way of truth,
I play chess with blind angel of the sea
who smiles at me from her aquarium tank,
but when I break her free from stereotype
she flies away into the Great Blue Eye.

I sing through solid stone of my sponge brain
the sacred name my angel dreams for me,
so I invent the primal alphabet
depicting people fishing by the sea
which traps productive souls in myths of gods
who wield sharp knives to carve death into time.

Since I am slime evolving into God,
reborn from heart of darkness seven ways
from fractured kingdom of the gothic rose,
I wear skull of the dragon on my head
to reign as Pope for thirteen thousand years,
tending fruit trees in Garden of Zathar.

Wrapped in cocoon of letters Eve designed,
I transform from small furry dinosaur
to long-legged cat that scampers in tall trees
where I sing heart-enchanting tune of love
in mind-expanding code of tree-root truth
from which I weave vast tapestry of tales.

Since I am slime evolving into God,
I fly ingenious plane with angel wings
among bright clouds where crystal temples shine,
then drop aggressive bombs on ancient towns
that shatter schools where young girls sing in choirs
whose bodies float on bloody wings of light.

Perplexed at sight of planes in turbid skies,
Mercurius runs through maze of crowded streets
till bomb destroys illusion of his state
so he lies mangled in museum ruins
still clutching lyre of turtle shell he made
that rings romantic songs on radios.

Since I am slime evolving into God,
I join the barbarous brotherhood of faith
to fight for who will own Narcissus Pool
till all weak losers crumble into dust
so warriors alone inherit the Earth
destroyed by bombs exploding in our brains.

I build new Heaven on ruins of Hell
from spiraling orbs of terrible truth
where Isaiah sees six-winged Seraphim
create our bodies from atomic rays
that radiate waves of frantic molecules
from God Brain at core of the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus studies how slime evolves into God through eight hundred million years of evolution till we transform Earth into a starship and fly away.

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

Quick Atoms Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Paid by the hour to invent clever lies,
I mow dusty lawn of my glass moon house
beneath uncanny sky of innocent whisps
that swirl from sparkles of typewriter keys
while I study ancient Little Red Dots
that gleam one billion years at dawn of time.

Bare gray trees wait for bells of hope to ring
but no one in the oak-wood suburb speaks
about the ghost horse with emerald eyes
that haunts the car-less streets on afternoons
when butterflies transform into old books
unread by children till the end of time.

Behind every locked door on silent streets
faceless women hide from arrogant men
who fight each other in world cyberwars
till safe temples and schools in distant lands
are blasted by the microphones of hate
which leaves souls twisted by the curse of time.

Early spring rain of the gold-shadowed sun
drenches houses in towns of rolling hills
where no nymphs or satyrs have ever played
because they wander stuck in glowing screens
as ghosts of fairy tales no one believes
so we go to work in the nick of time.

Sun gleams gold in raindrops on window glass,
refracting spirits of eight billion brains
in wordless whirl of shimmer-shattered myths
too neatly packaged and labeled in stores
for purchase with the credit card of faith
that startles me awake at flash of time.

Concerned about the state of politics
unspooling principles of sacred laws,
old half-blind jester of the castle court
lounges in library of melting books
and laughs at dissolution of world views
disassembled by quick atoms of time.

No quirky character of mental mirth
appears from patriotic fog of war,
except for cruel knight of the dented axe
who throws his shining armor in the dirt
and shoots brave angels with rifle of fear
to oppose strict democracy of time.

Rude riddles of unruly rectitude
recalibrate our world colonial state
when Midas and Nebuchadnezzar fight
world war over who owns oil wells of power,
and will marry Rapunzel in gold tower
whose lamentation unwinds clock of time.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings prophecies with Isaiah as if every day where the last day of the world apocalypse.

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

Quaint Suburban House
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Every time I focus my camera
on special beauty of some human face
that glows clear in crowd of the vampire race,
sunlight fractures perception of my brain
so I see essence of spiritual stain
transform our souls through psychic formula.

Lost on my way to find America
to which I have never even got close,
I open sacred book to diagnose
song of mad gods that radiate from the stone
because I walk the desolate hill alone
where I worship the sweet tarantula.

Exiled from my throne in Babylon
through clever trick of the deity ruse,
I find new employment as crazy muse
for sad poet who writes enchanting tune
that pictures face of his love on the moon
till he falls dead in hills of Aragon.

Discussing wisdom in the portico
as key to enter gates of paradise,
Bragi and Mercury fry eggs with rice
to share with Juliet and Clementine
who wear jeweled crowns from the Pluto Mine,
then ride gold carriage home to Jericho.

Done singing her part in the opera
in theater without official lease,
Roma weaves my cape from the Golden Fleece
so I can battle ghost in the machine
manipulated by Queen Melusine
whose star shines in our national cinema.

Inspired by noble soul of Onatah
whose spirit haunts my quaint suburban house
in sacred body of my secret spouse,
I feed all the hungry people in town
who cheer when she appears in red silk gown
with wand to kill wealth-sucking Dracula.

Trapped in weird castle maze of Avalon
with zombies who insist on loyal faith,
I transform into dream-controlling wraith,
projecting visions with words of my mouth
that lead refugees of civil wars south
to build world empire based in Oregon.

Reborn with brave spirit of Lucifer
dedicated to predicting the truth,
Jesus will return as messiah sleuth
to crown himself emperor of the world
by wearing gold mask of the cosmic herald
that hides his state as son of Jupiter.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus the real estate agent shows the quaint suburban home of my heart to Romeo and Cinderella who want to buy a home after their marriage.

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