Windshield Frame Of Hope
© Surazeus
2025 11 16

Perpetual journey of my restless soul
urges me to spend my wild precious life
forever on the road to somewhere else
as fairy-tale character on vain quest
to map our messy world with one neat myth
that answers all our questions in weird code.

Though all my ancestors had journeyed west
to find ever-elusive Promised Land,
I journey east to find their origin,
but get stuck in lush Appalachian hills
while war planes bomb homes in Scythia
where my first mother ran with prancing wolves.

No fair destination of my fierce heart
shines brightly in the windshield frame of hope,
so I keep driving past the pearly gates
since paradise becomes prison of fear
where desperate believers pray on their knees
for Jesus to return with sword of justice.

I drive the lonesome highway of the heart
to find the sea cave where the sun is born,
but stop in roadside cafe by rail tracks
to eat hamburger of grilled dragon meat,
then sit on the front porch ten thousand years
and play grunge folk songs on battered guitar.

When war-winged demon of lost history
escapes the falconer in widening gyre,
I know the central world view of our nation
spins wild with anarchy of innocence
so we must surf destructive waves of change
at ninth coming of Goddess Liberty.

Now paralyzed with complicit despair
that thieves have seized control of government,
we rise with brave Valkyrian respect
to march with holy flag of liberty
lead by Helios in chariot of fire
against bold tyranny of oligarchs.

For twenty thousand years small human tribes
journey along rivers in sturdy boats
to colonize valleys of singing ghosts,
but now we drive fast piston-engine cars
on pillared bridges above water flow
with nostalgic songs on the radio.

Unbounded spaciousness of endless plains
invites our journey into solitude
across existential bleakness of faith
through constellated night of unmapped fate
which I perceive in windshield frame of hope
that only has the meaning I assign.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus and Ophelia drive on a road trip from Oregon to Georgia to find that the Promised Land was always an illusion of refugees from religious wars.

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

Glaucus Golden-Eyes
© Surazeus
2025 11 16

Deep in many-roomed mansion of the sea
demons of human hunger lurk in gangs
administered by Glaucus Golden-Eyes
who cackles with delight when thunderstorms
toss burdened cargo ships on playful waves
to threaten profits of the merchant king.

Exchanging tongues of sorrow with blind gods,
Glaucus trudges across cement piers of ports
to inventory goods in ship containers
manufactured by economic slaves
whose eyes refract rainbows of liberty
through revolution of the humble clown.

In counterbalance to perpetual labor
we extract our eyes from diamonds of wealth
with enormous promise of tinsel profits
based on false paradox contrived by thieves
that wealth will trickle down to working hands
despite how Glaucus proves that theory wrong.

Though Narcissus stares down at his own face
he thinks the image he sees in dark water
is someone else who might know all the answers
but fails to delineate his real self
through equilibrium of fantastic truths
designed to concentrate our scattered minds.

Through failure to communicate our views
about allusive function of the world
our minds that grope for broken evidence
beep from disorienting arrogance
achieved by mapping towns destroyed by bombs
where children play chase in cathedral ruins.

Unmerging of realities on stage
consoles our pain-wracked bodies with perfume
of inadvertent lies from frightened angels
who work for Glaucus in gray offices
arranging shipments of factory-made goods
to lonely villages in third-world countries.

Yet when Narcissus struts on dim-lit stage,
wearing mask of Glaucus, lord of the banks,
the cynical audience laughs at his jokes
mocking insatiable greed of corporate kings
who rise as zombies from law-broken tombs
and eat brains till they transform into bronze idols.

I hear no mermaids singing each to each
while I wander homeless on foggy beach,
yet I hear voices from nightly news shows
justify crimes of political vampires
who launder taxes to private accounts
while the people drown in floods of despair.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus rescues Glaucus and Narcissus from the bank when the terrorist bomb placed by followers of King Midas destroy the government agency of financial oversight.

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

If I Meet Jesus
© Surazeus
2025 11 16

If I meet Jesus strolling in the field,
near fish lake formed by the electric dam,
we could hang out under the apple tree
and chat about the art of being a leader
who nurtures skills of people in their care
instead of exploiting people for wealth.

When gang of immigration officers,
wearing bullet-proof vests and black face masks,
surround us with black trucks and flashing lights,
and try to arrest him with assault rifles
for living freely in America,
Jesus flies to Heaven on angel wings.

I find Jesus again several months later
with his white van full of donated food
for hundreds of homeless people with children
who live under the highway overpass
near the cathedral and the private bank,
but speeds away just as police arrive.

When I take my mom to the hospital
after she is diagnosed with breast cancer,
I meet Jesus again in sterile ward
wearing white robe with red cross of compassion
where he treats her with chemotherapy
and sings soft psalms when she passes away.

While covering the factory workers strike
when they request a more fair living wage,
I watch Jesus leading the union members
as they negotiate with corporate owners
to secure health benefits and insurance,
eyes flashing with passion for justice done.

Last year while visiting the large high school
to teach class seniors about poetry,
I notice Jesus wearing overalls
as he cleans the bathrooms and mops the floors,
and chats with students, sharing clever jokes,
then gives money to poor students for lunch.

Though I visit every church in the land
filled with wealthy people in stylish clothes
who sing hymns of praise to Jesus the Savior,
I never see him at their podiums
preaching sermons on national politics
that favor conservative business ploys.

If I meet Jesus striding down the street
he always takes me to the homeless shelter
where he assembles children in a room
to teach reading, writing, and arithmetic,
then helps their parents search for jobs to live,
leaving Heaven empty on shifting clouds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus joins Jesus as he leads protests against illegal arrests of hardworking people with families.

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

Modes Of Dream Intensity
© Surazeus
2025 11 15

Juxtaposed concepts of essential truths
refuse to concentrate chemical lust
with certain modes of dream intensity
that fracture world views with base clarity
to chronicle return of the sad seer
who would confront neither nature nor grief.

Inspired by monuments of faceless gods,
who cheer our search for naked paradox
through unfathomable state of surreal faith,
we generalize painful experience
with plot of success for the noble cause
that contrasts unique authenticity.

Disequilibrium through miracles
allows our souls to pervade cosmic planes
with obvious progress of intact plays
when we launch our project to conquer hate
with gentle brutality of brave hope
embodied by twisted yucca in mist.

Grotesque idol of Daphne comes alive
with thwarted happiness of dancing dolls
whose fractured bodies imitate the moon,
jagged shards of severed relationships
we cannot revive with the damaged tool
to commemorate failure of true love.

Sheaves from tattered novel of the blind girl
swirl too slowly in anonymous wind
to understand emptied boxes of thoughts
stuck forever in taut telephone lines
where voices of the dead still crackle faint
with sense of contradicted knowledge lost.

Frustrated plot of paralyzed respect
lurks out of sight in sequence of weird scenes
unclouded by oppressive rules of hate
which cannot communicate sudden fear
through clocked antics of brushstrokes that impress
our minds with tangible surface of lies.

Standard perspective of museum paintings
implies procedure everyone adjusts
with surficial strangeness misaligned
before chessboard shadow of uncrowned king
strips all memories of painful assaults
from minds of abandoned clones in the church.

Maples frame strange relation of contempt
with uprooted tribes trapped in city zoos
to play protagonists of talking birds
who sell precious faith to unmarried clowns
wearing silver suits in banks where they work
stealing memories from demented kings.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus teaches psychic calculus code of surrealism to students at the University of Zarathia who study to become oneiromancers at the Global Bank of Fairytales.

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

Scorpion Wine Of Desire
© Surazeus
2025 11 15

When our hearts are poisoned by bleak despair
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
which should detoxify bitter regret
and cleanse our souls with pure angelic love
so I may walk with you in apple grove
and wish on our star that our love will grow.

Since vastness of the world contains us both
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
so light expands from abyss of our hearts
through nuclear radiation of true love
because we give each other everything
till we become the stranger we adore.

Flustered by rattle of demonic bones,
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
to taste conceptual chintz of arrogance
that flashes ancient river of contempt
where weeping angels drown in tears of thirst
to hide blank faces of the dead from God.

Erased by flash of sunlight on the lake,
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
to forget frantic pain of obscene trees
while yearning to hear owls with broken wings
resurrect our clay bodies from despair
that bruise our hearts with alligator laughs.

Despite electric traces of false faith,
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
to calculate negation of our hopes
by racing speed boat in harrowing gloom
when police chase us to end of the world
deep in the sultry swamp of politics.

After Death replaces our eyes with gems
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
to free our spirits trapped in sapphire brains
when stars smash windows of unfathomed homes
where children purchase penance from the moon
who sells their bodies to the vampire king.

When our bodies crumble to dust at death
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
brewed by the Devil with angelic blood
and sold in bottles at all grocery stores
which clink in the bag as we bike back home
to eat pears and cheese in the dark back yard.

Eager to dispel bane of exiled gods,
we will drink scorpion wine of desire
we bought from Lucifer behind the church
who asks that we donate blood to his cause
to breed invisible oranges of faith
that would revive our children killed in war.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus and Ophelia drink scorpion wine to detoxify their bodies from poisonous colonialist attitudes of racism and xenophobia that infected their souls so they can save America from tyranny.

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

Alive In Me This Hour
© Surazeus
2025 11 15

Seeking perfection in the sublime song
that radiates spirit of the human heart
in glamor that displays our divine soul,
I wander deep in endless maze of myths
where every experience humans endure
remains in idols of weird characters.

I never find true idol of my soul
for I am still alive with conscious mind,
yet I find fragments of my scattered self
in every statue of some long dead soul
whose special character refracts pure light
that radiates from First Flash of the God Eye.

Climbing thousand steps of the ziggurat
where Ishtar holds high Lamp of Liberty,
I strive with loyal passion of my heart
in scaled ascension of my psychic growth
to soon embody beauty of that God
who gleams as ideal state of mental health.

Able to transcend limits of this flesh,
that frames material spirit of the stars
as atoms woven in chemical threads,
I spread ethereal wings of hopeful breath
to glide above vast maze of human towns
while I map history of humanity.

Though we are stuck in this body of flesh,
which generates our glow of consciousness
through psychic functions of the neural net,
we exercise forceful motions of hope
with bold assertion of divine insight
till we grow old and crumble into dust.

With dream key of seed our fathers provide
our mothers generate new frame of flesh,
based on genetic blueprints of true love,
from egg with immortal soul of our genes
to perform our own temporary role
in generating life before we die.

Every truth, which all our ancestors learned
through experience in evading death
from conception to conception with love,
programs how our brains perceive the whole world
so they are all alive in me this hour,
guiding my way to generate new life.

With weird perfection in the sublime song
I race through maze of life successfully
when I meet my soul mate by random chance
so we raise children our love generates
while I sing epic of philosophers
to map history till I vanish at death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus teaches people how to follow lamp of liberty made by their ancestors which Ishtar holds on ziggurat of Ur to guide our way to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

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

Revelation Jesus Wrote
© Surazeus
2025 11 15

If I spend all day in the twilight zone,
chatting with God on the red telephone,
I might soon comprehend eternity
that radiates from star of sublimity
contained in sentences of songs I sing
while attempting to sew my soul-flight wing.

Stuck going nowhere on the signless road
in search to find hypnotic buddha toad,
I build another house with dragon bones
to raise new generation of brain clones
who perform their role in the game of life
where we succeed by overcoming strife.

I always take the road less traveled by
to investigate the real reason why
our bodies are composed of molecules
that flash alive with psychic chemicals
through competition to control the world
in wealth game designed by the cosmic herald.

I think I wandered past the Promised Land
when I decided to join the rock band
because I sing the same songs every night
while leaping around in the flashing light
to entertain people from factories
who labor mute in the maze of dream keys.

While riding home from fighting in the war
to embrace his loving wife in the door,
he gets thrown from the horse and breaks his back
where he stares at Heaven through cosmic crack
till the farmer finds his bones by the road
eighty years after he becomes dirt code.

His skull placed on stone altar of the church
prophesies success of our sacred search
for Scroll of Revelation Jesus wrote
before he sailed away on crystal boat
to raise Atlantis from the stormy sea
where wild angels live in land of the free.

After dwelling for eighty thousand years
in palace of Heaven on crystal spheres,
I fall to Earth and incarnate as man
destined to wander without any plan
so I cultivate energy of light
in noble bid to achieve wingless flight.

After my three-month vacation is done
to bask in glorious fame of the sun,
I get back to work in the cubicle
mapping history of man based on the tool
we use to build food-production machine
managed by water genius Melusine.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus works as assistant to Melusine while she runs the global food-production machine as Empress of United Nations of Earth.

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

Holy Ziggurat Of Ur
© Surazeus
2025 11 15

Halfway through long life of our universe,
I lounge on planet of my beating heart
and contemplate how anxious sense of fear
motivates me to manipulate thought
with gentle gestures of my crafting hands
to conjure virtual model of the world.

I watch how organic creatures of light
sprout glowing from pungent soil of this globe
in temporary flames of conscious thought
to dance with passion of reluctant flight
through timeless song of beautiful delight
then flicker out and dissolve into night.

Our bodies formed from flares of chemicals
spiral wildly fierce from heart of the Earth,
constrained by bonds of energetic faith
when lovers embrace with intense desire
to generate new life before we die
in bodies that transform from fish to god.

Awake with timeless awe for changing growth,
I remember four hundred million years
swimming in the sea, wriggling up the stream,
crawling on the shore, climbing up the tree,
running along the river, leaping high
with eager passion of the fool to fly.

I feel my body change with each new life,
fish to lizard to mouse to cat to ape
to monkey to human to wingless angel
who flies airplane in clouds above the world,
then stands brave on stage in religious hall
and sings hymns about our human adventure.

Strange spark of psychic energy glows
deep in bottomless abyss of my heart
which I translate to harmonious hum
to sing through melody of fine-tuned verse
conceptual vision of our universe
that provides framework for creative roles.

Then sings my soul to Ishtar Queen of Love
who stands on holy ziggurat of Ur
and teaches us to consider grand works
of fertile worlds the universe displays
where conscious creatures sing praise to the light
that glows from atoms swerving in the void.

When through lush forest glades of beaming Earth
I wander with you ever by my side,
on lofty mountains where streams sparkle clear,
I feel eternal beauty of all souls
refract through diamond-mirror of your eyes
as we two strangers generate new life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus stands before Ishtar on Holy Ziggurat of Ur and strums lyre of Mercury while Apollo sings Gothinette hymns from the Astarian Scriptures.

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

Where To Dig Graves
© Surazeus
2025 11 14

My secret grave under the starry sky
protects me from the soundless dark of fate
which stares into vast hollow of my heart
with loving laughter of indifferent time
so all remorseful guilt of selfish hope
dissolves to terrible beauty of truth.

Unresting death of endless solitude
pretends to horrify my aching heart
with nothingness of my specialized self
so I play music on the turtle shell
bound tight with tendrils of taut harmony
since nothing I believe is ever true.

Beyond edge of my vision I perceive
unfocused ghost of honest arrogance
that fuels my endless journey somewhere else
to share my story with the faceless god
who stares at me from mindless stone of faith
till I explain how wind fills me with hope.

Exhausted from my endless quest for truth,
I lounge beneath the apple tree of trust
till all illusions of conceptual thoughts
dissolve to sudden swirls of splashing rain
which cleanses my love-wounded heart with facts
too brutal to destroy lies I believe.

I wish I could narrate with noble themes
random events of my fidgety play
through incoherent principles of fate,
yet I trudge lost with agitated faith
in restless circles till my anxious feet
blaze new way that bypasses paradise.

Blind postman who delivers messages
wears mask of Mercury I stole from death
with divine mission to heal broken hearts
who come to expect my visits each day
with packages of volatile regret
abandoned on the road to paradise.

Clutching diamond that glitters with bright stars,
I focus fierce attention of despair
on hope that divine light of its god eye
will guide my restless steps to paradise
where I would play role of the holy seer
who prophesies when lightning cracks the sky.

Curious about state of Earth today,
I drive my car from sea to shining sea
three thousand miles through countless little towns
to sell farmers and factory workers books
with secret code that helps them calculate
where to dig graves under the starry sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus counts every grave that has ever been dug in the history of civilization to find the secret door to the Underworld.

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

Molecular Matrix Of Mind
© Surazeus
2025 11 14

Because there is no Heaven and no Hell
where disembodied souls with conscious glow
float blindly in slow-swirling cloud of dust,
I sing my dream while I am still alive
for my voice will never become the wind
that howls with passion in the rain-swept sky.

While I am still more tangible and real
that shadow of my body on the grass
or smudge of smoke dissolving in the air,
I reach my hand with curious intent
to treasure essence of material beings
that glow beneath my nonexistent wings.

My psychic spirit is invisible,
which animates with flash of chemicals
organic cluster in my frame of flesh,
yet I am programmed by ancestral fear
to hope my conscious sense of unique self
outlives this body for eternity.

Wrapped in molecular matrix of mind,
my body-soul asserts conceptual right
to exist in current genetic form
through evolution fish to singing god
by expressive force of passionate voice
declaring logical reason to play.

Though Pythagoras declared with firm hope
that conscious souls persist after our death
as beams of light that radiate down from stars,
which billions of people on Earth believe
with fierce hope life is not so temporary,
I know my soul will vanish when I die.

Crossing stream of water on cautious legs,
I measure ceaseless flow of molecules
that spiral from rain to the swirling sea
with energy acquired from the first flash
which hurls galaxies of star-nurtured worlds
from which our conscious bodies sprout to sing.

Because this brief glow of bright consciousness
springs from electric currents of desire
and will soon vanish into nothingness,
I sing in harmony with global choir
of human voices expressing our dreams
to help each generate new life.

We create Heaven or Hell on this Earth
through organized system of tribal gangs
when we incorporate conflicting goals
as one global food-production machine
governed by United Nations of Earth
to fund liberty and justice for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus guides souls of the dead to the nothingness of stories in books that the living read to remember their names and deeds.

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

Sad Ghost Of Alcatraz
© Surazeus
2025 11 13

Sad ghost of Alcatraz eats alphabets
yet believes love is just like algebra
so she asks the blind alligator why
people pray to Nobody in the sky
for wealth they earn by molding psychic soil
in idols of dead gods who make us toil.

Sad ghost of Alcatraz draws happy ghouls
by tracing shadows of fake human souls
that capture passion of the hungry Christ
who sells salvation that is overpriced
to farmers he fools with pyramid scheme
to believe Heaven is more than his dream.

Sad ghost of Alcatraz schemes with rich kings
by giving them subjective magic rings
to break trade unions and close public schools
through readjustment of all social rules
so they can enslave men in factories
to generate wealth like fierce honey bees.

Sad ghost of Alcatraz cheats on exams
then gets rich quick through sly real estate scams
by selling property he does not own
till Sisyphus casts down the rolling stone
and leads revolution of working men
in endless civil war they never win.

Sad ghost of Alcatraz tries to hide files
that proves he twists the minds of juveniles
who flee to island of the laughing owl
to learn expression of despair through howl
that shakes foundation of the empire state
which traps every soul in their bitter fate.

Sad ghost of Alcatraz climbs mountain slope
to swim in Crater Lake of cleansing hope
but sweet Persephone gives broken lyre
to psychopomp smeared as religious liar
because he proves no one returns from death
since we are bodies sparked by divine breath.

Sad ghost of Alcatraz considers cat
who serves bright glory of demonic bat
through reverent duty to the empty sky
that shimmers bright as cobalt in his eye
because she ponders how babies are born
though Joshua blows loud victorious horn.

Sad ghost of Alcatraz drinks by moonlight
with cheerful Li Bai in the river boat
that floats across vast galaxy of stars
which shimmer bright as headlights of our cars
when we drive to reunion in the park
to meet our friends again before the dark.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus visits the sad ghost of Alcatraz who insists the election was stolen from him as he rocks back and forth in the cold prison cell built from his arrogance and greed.

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

Realistic Tales Of Love
© Surazeus
2025 11 13

Relationships between water and stone
resemble dance between soul opposites
who twirl around each other every day
stuck in their passive-aggressive romance
displayed on television screens at night
to illustrate plight of humanity.

Confined to realistic tales of love
in which the serious novelist explores
complex inner life of each character,
Apollo tries to break through the third wall,
but everyone in the audience laughs
at silly foibles of his failed love life.

Black and white photos on gallery walls
present angst-ridden life of urban teens
who wander restlessly in crowded streets
in fruitless search to find the holy grail
which lies forgotten in dumpster of faith
where stray cats lick tuna from opened cans.

The most intelligent rat in the world
scratches blueprints on the brick factory wall
detailing how to build from wires and tubes
perpetual motion machine of regret
which violates laws of thermodynamics
contrived by Raven Witch of Zathamar.

Almost successful in his enterprise
to eradicate poverty and hunger,
Apollo presents paper on the subject
at the International Conference
on Trickle-Down Economics in Paris
where everyone eats sandwiches with wine.

Bumping into each other by the fountain
where water spews from mouth of Jupiter,
Apollo and Raven Witch fall in love
at first sight as they stare in glowing eyes
that mirror soul mate they are looking for
till someone honks and they snap out of it.

Entranced by dynamite kiss of true love,
Paul and Raven in matching leather jackets
play guitars and sing grunge folk on the street
beside the fountain where they fell in love
about two aliens who fell to Earth
yet long to return to their shattered world.

When Raven gets pregnant they buy a farm
thirteen miles from the English town of Troon
where they pretend they live on the green moon
while dancing in the ring of fairy stones,
and laugh that everyone on Earth are clones,
entranced by vibe of Apollonian charm.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus and Ophelia visit Apollo and Raven at their Green Moon Farm where thousands of people converge every Samhain to celebrate the Witching Hour.

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

Marriage Vows Of Respect
© Surazeus
2025 11 13

Through self-delusion of our conscious brains
each soul believes we are immortal God,
but we are clumps of atoms in the void
dreaming our little hour of gleaming light
that flares with hope inside eternity
to savor pleasure till we dissipate.

I pluck ripe apple from the blooming tree
and twirl around on twinkle-toes of joy
to sing romantic ballad of respect
for that one soul in all the universe
whose eyes enlighten me with faith in love
who calls me secret name in misty woods.

Together we explore the cluttered world
and give each sensual thing our eyes perceive
essential name that signifies its state
as we vibrate with energy of hope
when we leap high on undulating wings
in fluid harmony with everything.

When obstacles of fierce aggressive rage
appear to blockade progress of our search,
we spiral gracefully on prancing feet
around conceptual walls of arrogance
with lithe assertion forcefully performed
that proves uprightness of precise career.

Abstract campaign of valid thought exchange,
compiling concepts bound in formal words,
founds honest forum of excessive truth
on which we build ontology of fate
depicting function fusing space through time
because we share marriage vows of respect.

Assurance that impacts our mental state
regarding legal insight of impressive art
provides insurance forged from graphic dreams
which guarantees bold heritage of hope
we sell each other to illustrate how
genetic code installs brave innocence.

Inflexible intent of licensed loss
through hybrid honesty of loyal pitch
exposes casual stress from narrative
predicting patient prize of privacy
revealed by puzzle no one wants to solve
which should portray true face of our world god.

Proposed inquiry in our quantum brain
referred by royal jester with no soul
surprises us with fraught synthetic lies
programmed by syntax of orthodox faith
based on performance of one faceless ghost
who weeps in vast pavilion of the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus and Ophelia explore the forest of Bohemia, visiting Valhalla where Odin and Freya employ them to perform epic tale about the ancient hero Odysseus searching for home.

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

Thinking I Am God
© Surazeus
2025 11 13

Inside black diamond apple of my heart,
suffused with ultraviolent rays of faith,
immortal soul of genes sparks consciousness
which emanates divine sense of True Self
to shimmer with celestial energy
thinking I am God till I deliquesce.

After I assemble machine of thought
to build instrument of conceptual truth
from humming alphabet of bright ideas,
I breathe ethereal energy of love
to charge up psychic battery of my brain
with visions of this world as paradise.

I share no secrets with the constant moon
who wanes and waxes through cycle of light
in pastel harmony with charming flutes
that shimmer with translucent energy
through lavish opulence of lavender
that fills my emptiness with divine truth.

Delicate with soft laughter of respect
that flutters swifter than hummingbird wings,
my heart transcends sharp bitterness of fear
to seek sweet flower of the apple tree
that washes its limbs with the evening sky
through slow accumulation of weird facts.

No matter what I gain from loss in pain
by living every day before I die
with nonchalant reverence of joyful snark,
I feel my body swelling with desire
to generate new life from fear of death,
then withering to nothingness of light.

Bright flash of consciousness lighting my brain
reflects electric storms of divine truth
illuminating caverns of my brain
which conjures virtual model of the world
so I comprehend how history works
compelling humans to contest for power.

Avoiding strict trajectory of faith
that plots my career path from birth to death,
I swerve away from their expected role
to reinvent myself as troubadour
who sings about noble philosophers
who quest to reveal true nature of things.

Translucent color of my dreaming brain
radiates black diamond apple of faith
that fools me into thinking I am God
because I feel myself awake with light,
till I laugh that I am one mortal soul
of zillions who glow briefly in the night.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus lectures about how genes provide blueprint from Ideas of Plato to structure atoms into material bodies with conscious brains who are fooled into thinking I am God till we all die and return to dust.

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

Ghost Who Maps Epiphany
© Surazeus
2025 11 12

You always ask me how I feel today
though I reply I have no time to pray
for every person killed by greed for wealth
when tyrants cleanse their countries of the filth
who dare oppose their brutal tyranny
lead by the ghost who maps epiphany.

If you remember birthday of the clown
who plays world king embodied by my clone,
you could provide key to the cosmic code
that reflects our faces in the rain cloud,
concerned with getting tricked by villainy
since you love to recite church litany.

With each petition scared workers submit
for equal wages from the hypocrite,
they clamor for money more counterfeit
than sacred doctrine smeared in holy writ
through preternatural glamor seers express
while singing on Bridge of Forgetfulness.

You search beyond the ordinary thought
for secret key that maintains Camelot
with self-defense against the juggernaut
that Krishna drives across the parking lot
when you configure systemized empire
governed by grand parliamentary choir.

Gazing entranced in the ruby gemstone
that flickers with first flash of the soul tone,
you apply to Jupiter for home loan,
but he thinks you long to sit on his throne
and rule the world with humble ardency
by passing laws that favor verdancy.

Arrested for drunk driving into church,
you lounge with your guitar on the front porch
to sing new prophecies Cassandra writes
with blood of tyrants on fate-signal kites
when you lead people wandering lost on Earth
who try to buy secret of second birth.

You tell me I am Jupiter reborn
in thick material flesh pierced by the thorn
which proves I descend from his dreaming brain
but choose to endure artificial rain
on which you sail beyond the Promised Land
where Lucifer rules with his red right hand.

Where curlews strut across mudflats of fame
I gather spotted eggs to host the game
when martial artists battle for the crown
that bestows right to judge life of the town
so you lead us to defeat tyranny
trained by the ghost who maps epiphany.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus purchases navigation software from the ghost who maps epiphany because he wants to build new global social system that helps mothers raise children.

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

Dream Ghost Of Everywhere
© Surazeus
2025 11 12

I contemplate whatever floats my boat
with reverent nonchalance of snarky joy
to prove I am more serious than Death
who always laughs at every joke I tell
to ease the pain of sudden nothingness
that every conscious being experiences.

With yearning eyes of eager quietude,
white cat in the window of the black house
watches red sparrows flit between pear trees
in frantic search to find the holy grail
which floats above the valley of cracked skulls
expertly handcrafted to mimic gods.

When screaming butterflies of Zathamar
reveal second coming of Phoebus Christ,
I crouch in cavern of the humming gems
which flash bright with dream ghost of everywhere
who always seems to know just how I feel
about the golden hurt of knowingness.

Because dream ghost of everywhere knows why
every organic being designed by lust
will wither with excessive fire of age,
I open every door to somewhere else
in the multiverse that bears number code
where all my doppelgangers become me.

Stark obsolescence of the sailing ship
confines my body to the cubicle
where I explore whole world of strange lands
in quest to understand the human mind
programmed by first mother of all mankind
to dispel illusion and see the real.

Thus every summer in the Promised Land
I wander snow fields of Antarctica
till angel wings sprout from my pulsing heart
so I can fly beyond the atmosphere
to float in tin can high above the world
one hundred thousand miles of silent light.

Orpheus strums wood lyre of Mercury
to translate timeless silence of the light
from anguish twisting weird psychotic truth
to pure religious doctrine of blind faith
that hypnotizes billions of weak minds
to believe God watches them from the clouds.

Enlivened as dream ghost of everywhere
with psychic ability to know why,
I stare at my face in mirror of art
till who I am becomes mask of my death
preserving Idea of the Blind Seer
who sees real structure of the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus explains to children in Sabbath School how God is the dream ghost of everywhere who incarnates in every human who has ever lived.

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

Footsteps Of Parental Souls
© Surazeus
2025 11 12

No lonely orphan clutching broken clock
forgets bus schedule to the school and back
except when ravens laugh about mad clown
who dances high on ringing telephone
to steal demonic wings of fortitude
when scolded to improve their attitude.

Persona we daily wear must be fake,
orphans never explain to the proud woke
who sell their bodies to the corporate king
after programmed to perform right for wrong
at well-paid jobs adjusting pulchritude
they sell in stores as packaged platitude.

Their parents haunt them as the holy ghost
whose shadows hide dark secrets of the past
so they design image of God to match
bitter experience purchased by the rich
as stories of life on the silver screen
composed through artificial dream machine.

Trapped by type of human character trope
assigned to them by name scrawled on the tape,
they mythologize random life events
based lamely on religious precedents
which scale their progress in the Holocene
shaping how they play the most tragic scene.

All people become orphans in the end
when their parents dissolve into the land
and leave them stranded on the signless road
till special features of their faces fade
in restless wind that whistles over hills
while they figure out how to pay the bills.

Our bodies transform shape through each new birth
till I wake in mist by the Firth of Forth
after walking one hundred thousand years
to find where the sun is born from the stars
when I follow footsteps of parental souls
who disappear before I reach my goals.

Whether my father guides path of my life
by teaching me how to keep my heart safe,
or I wander alone without sage guide
in search for wisdom of the singing toad,
I find the stranger glowing in my eye
who helps me create life before we die.

We merge our separate spirits in new soul
to weave our alien brains in dreaming whole
which incarnates immortal soul of genes
so we evolve from fish to god machines
as wingless angels feasting in the hall
while global empires we build rise and fall.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus visits the orphanage every week to bring toys and sing stories of the human adventure so the lost children of the world create new communities of friends.

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

Museum Of Sacred Art
© Surazeus
2025 11 11

While digging post holes along the dirt road
to erect barbed-wire fence around his cows,
Scott finds large clay pot buried in thick mud,
so he washes it clean in the cool stream
and sets it on the table by warm hearth
for while he reads books in the leather chair.

Despite adverse spallation of his heart
that suffers impact from teasing of friends,
Scott relates grand tale of discovery
with humble pride of sagacious respect
at how celestial fate revealed his prize
when gold beams pierced dark clouds of ignorance.

While sipping coffee in late evening glow
that shimmers through lace curtain by his head,
Scott explains to every awed visitor
that this clay pot he found by the dirt road
was made at least one thousand years ago
by hands that invented abstract art.

While rubbing gritty side of the clay pot
during revelation of its sacred state,
Scott gawks with unbelieving eyes of faith
when sparkling spirit swirls from hollow pot,
like genie from the lamp Aladdin found,
and glows before him with Plutonian aura.

Surprised at appearance of the star ghost
that incorporates in tall black-haired woman,
Scott listens as her thunder-subtle voice
proclaims her sacred name is Onatah
for she embodies spirit of this land
that nurtures corn with its silky gold hair.

Awed by transcendent beauty of her face
that images fertile soul of the land,
Scott shields his face from her electric glow
which emanates from eyeless mask of love
as radiant gleam on surface of the pot
with heart-transforming sense of timeless truth.

Packing clay pot in sturdy box of faith
wrapped tight with cushioning pads of respect,
Scott transports sacred treasure from his field
to university-funded museum
preserving fragile artefacts of art
in glass cases for people to observe.

As docent in Museum of Sacred Art
where he volunteers after he retires,
Scott narrates to curious visitors
respectful tales of ancient native tribes
that highlight progress in science and art
based on cultured bonds with cycles of nature.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus gazes at the clay pot in the glass case and sighs as he remembers how her eyes sparkled when Okwaho showed him how to make this clay pot from river mud.

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

Land Where All Live Free
© Surazeus
2025 11 11

My heart is not hard as the monument
carved from stone of bones from brave warriors
killed in battles against slavers and fascists,
so it aches with sorrow of brave survivors
who gather to honor those who defend
life through liberty and justice for all.

Reflection of my face in mirror stone
embodies spirit of the human race
programmed to join the native brotherhood
in loyal army of orphans and sons
who follow fearless leader with star eyes
projecting dream of land where all live free.

Names of the dead carved on grand monuments
transform to ravens flocked in sprawling trees
who watch us mourn their deaths in brutal wars
described by Homer in bloody detail
how indifferent spears and bullets tear flesh
and hurl their bodies into nothingness.

Young boy on grassy field of poppies points
to silver airplane gliding among clouds,
piloted well by the archangel Michael
who cannot find heavenly halls of light
where God and Jesus reign on thrones of power
for royal castles crumbled long ago.

Bearing bright sword of patriotic pride,
which he wielded to slay the dragon Fafnir,
Sigurd turns away from rain-worn tombstone
where body of his father rots to mud,
then bends blade into plowshare he can use
to cultivate fields of flourishing wheat.

Faithful attendant with assertive hands,
Sigurd plows soil and sows seeds with respect
to assist his wife Ceres Promitor
when she distributes grain with open hands
to all who offer coin stamped with her face
so everyone feasts on Thanksgiving Day.

Appointed Consus of the grain warehouse,
Lord Sigurd presides as honest loaf-ward
who pays for sacks of grain hard workers bring,
then leads brave warriors from each family
to defend bank of wealth with wheat and coins
against the greedy thieves who steal from farmers.

Gathered to honor veterans of wars
who defend farmers and craftsmen from slavers,
we recite their names and tales of their deeds
to narrate story of our strong republic
founded on principle of liberty
where we do what we will, if we harm none.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury at the harvest festival presided over by Sigurd dragon-slayer and his wife Ceres wheat-giver as millions of people honor veterans and celebrate Thanksgiving.

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

Augustan Heritage Of Power
© Surazeus
2025 11 11

When the old gaunt man in long ragged coat
tries to explain scream of the butterfly,
I give him communion wafer to eat,
but he just wants to drink hot blood of angels
as he wanders with disgruntled despair
through shiny offices of wealthy banks.

Yet he reveals where the uneasy dead
are buried under asphalt parking lots
so sorrows of their hearts may fertilize
insatiate hunger of the brutal land
where necrophilous angels of the heart
hurl corpses of empires in velvet sand.

Based on Augustan heritage of power
which he extracted from cave of desire,
the old gaunt man with one dark raven eye
grabs shadows of our souls from empty graves
to lead our holy army of brave heroes
to fight against grim shadows of our fears.

Disfigured by fierce villainy of hate
that bears witness to patriotic pride,
the old gaunt man hanging in the ash tree
throws rune-carved stones of cleromantic sight
through divination of the scattered word
to conjure warriors from mute peace of Hades.

Through reconciliation against fear
at wordless trembling of estranged respect
the old gaunt man who knows the ring of fire
still offers sage advice to angry boys
asserting passion of purposeless hope
to defend our way of life from invaders.

Since he lost his marriage certificate
that proves his adoration of Queen Mab,
gaunt Odin gambles with Zeus to contest
over whose empire shall rule the whole world
with auspicious riddles of innocence
inspired by firecrackers of true love.

As half-blind doppelganger of my soul,
attended by wolf and raven at dawn,
grim Odin teaches me to play roulette
with greed of tyrants to manage the world
based on fake randomness of reverence
which humans express in cathedral hymns.

I cannot translate to real human language
weird infernal scream of the butterfly,
so I cast runes of fate on sandy shore
to calculate when our empire will fall
so we can build on ruins of its lies
new world republic through justice for all.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus catches Odin and Zeus cheating at the roulette table, so he turns them into cats who lie about all day in beams of sunlight on the living room floor.

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

New Language Of The Heart
© Surazeus
2025 11 10

High in suspended leap of twisted truth,
I dream I fly above the broken world,
recycled spirit nurtured by nine stars
sparked bright to animate frame of my mind
that binds my body firm with ardent faith
through delusion of immortality.

Weird memory from my random life of hope
reverses mirror image of my brain
projected on taut tapestry of time
with grafted token of reluctant pride
entranced with patterns of humility
that children imitate in mocking play.

Reborn as Waterbearer for the world,
I stride bleak desolation of regret
with pitcher full of sweet demonic tears
imprinted clear with august arrogance
which culminates in victory for the swift
who focus brave attention on the truth.

Despite adverse arrangement of hard words
plucked from heart of the siren with my need,
my ghost engages strangers on the road
in wordless dialog of hollow hope
that sings in wind on tips of changeless dunes
because we build our home on shifting lies.

Since hurricanes of fierce indifferent faith
speak not the same language our brains invent
we stand awake in eyes of faceless ghosts
when we explore the endless maze of doors
where people talk about the civil war
that rages in some weird land far away.

Engaged in journey to the Promised Land
that shimmers bright in words of holy books,
we ask each other questions about faith
so we might grow through solidarity
though trees bend humbly in torrents of rain
which teaches us new language of the heart.

When I arrive on shore of this brave land
after sailing frail boat on the storm-wracked sea,
I speak of how I feel to blooming trees
but all my thoughts disperse as autumn leaves
so I forget odd mystery I had seen
which leaves my soul stranded in paradise.

Though voiceless after losing train of thought,
I walk in every city of our land
filling cups of the thirsty with strange tales
that fill their hearts with new experiences
so our dark hearts bloom as refreshing fruit
that angels eat to remember our names.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus emerges from cave of the underworld and sits alone on thought-stone by the river to contemplate how language frames our perceptions of the world.

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

Laugh With Joyful Travesty
© Surazeus
2025 11 10

She wonders if she can ever be happy
as birds that flutter in arrogant trees,
but decides she likes to scramble her eggs
between thin slices of grilled sourdough bread
with sliced tomato and pepper jack cheese,
and glass of apple cider angels brewed.

Ignoring incessant rumble of engines
as cars and trucks and motorbikes glide past,
she studies equations for algebra
at small table outside the sidewalk shop
where her mother serves bowls of spicy noodles
to people shopping at the market place.

Two men shout as they argue about money,
then punch each other and roll on the ground
as old dog on the leash barks at their fight,
so she hits them with the broom on their backs
till they stomp away, cursing at the clouds,
then she sighs and naps on the open book.

Young woman in high heels and yellow skirt
runs swiftly past with hair flying in the wind
and shouts something about their scheme gone bad
despite her warnings that no one would heed,
so she wonders why bright clouds never fall
except as rain that cannot manage sorrow.

Reluctant to gamble for her salvation
displayed for sale from the man in the moon,
she offers sandwiches and beverages
to homeless people camped behind the bank
who eat while she performs her magic act
causing beast of despair to disappear.

If anyone can bring out her good side
and make her laugh with joyful travesty,
she might be fooled at their sincerity
instead of searching for their hidden motive
which drives every being on the Earth
to fight for their gain against fateful odds.

When the ship bearing steel ore on the lake
cracks apart and sinks in hurricane storm,
she catches souls of dead sailors with kites,
like the fisherman who hooks fish with hope,
which gives them wings to sail beyond the moon
on sacred journey for the Promised Land.

One fallen angel with storm-crippled wings
limps painfully slow on field of red poppies,
cradling the last dragon egg in the world
to her nurturing breast with tender care
because she wants to conquer every nation
and forge them into empire of the heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus asks Ophelia where she found the last dragon egg in the world, but she just gives him her Mona Lisa smile as they eat grilled egg sandwiches.

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

Food For Everyone To Eat
© Surazeus
2025 11 09

On that fatal day of my soul rebirth,
when kingdoms and empires fall into ruin,
I stand before blind goddess of the moon
and pray that justice be dealt equally
to all who struggle daily to survive,
but she just smiles and shimmers gracefully.

With hammer of freedom I smash the wall
that long divided nation of my heart
so we can walk again with heads held high
through arch of triumph built from skulls of gods
and feast with strangers on the Gottesplatz
who cheer resurrection of brave Sigurd.

Awake in mountains of Bohemia,
where ravens teach me mysteries of the world,
I search for secret cave of emeralds
which gleam as eyes of Earth with ancient dreams
revealing code of atom-woven genes
through radiant essence that defines my soul.

Subtracting random variants of my breath,
pulsing with bright quintessence of my dust,
I formulate grand principles for love
asserting vigor through tenacity
that drives my progress to transcend my soul
with brave enthusiasm for rebirth.

No supernatural beings of spirit force
haunt us in shimmer of electric light
except what we hallucinate through fear
that faceless demons disguised as good men
control our bodies with systemic laws
to suppress our will to live our own way.

So I leave city maze of market stores
with coins of metal forged from bones of workers
to chat with star-eyed owl in the World Tree
who teaches me how deeds of common sense
unite hearts of the people to create
fair state where we bloom in adversity.

Providing food for everyone to eat,
Jesus offers respect to every soul
who stands with dignity of hopeful breath
to craft necessities with honest hands
in service to communal needs of all
who work in harmony of paradise.

Though tyrants always rise from poverty
with fierce determination of despair
to control how everyone lives and loves,
they fall from excess lust of bitter pride
so we can work in harmony of hope
to help each other thrive till we all die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus operates food banks in every city from sea to shining sea where millions of hungry people, working for low wages, go each week to get sacks of food conjured by thoughts and prayers.

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

Dark Animal Of Fear
© Surazeus
2025 11 09

Dark animal of fear stalks empty homes
wracked by incessant winds of hungry hope,
so I read stories backward from the end
to calculate how far we have to fall
as institutions of our empire state
collapse in anguish of religious faith.

Taking advantage of my second chance,
I escape to sacred country of Death
where trembling wren of my heart sings of hope
that faceless ghosts breathing celestial light
blaze new roads for the still-living to follow
so we can manage madness of the heart.

I find my house at the end of the world
after walking ten times around the globe,
but, just as roots of brave stability
curl down in heart of darkness with strong faith,
tides of history change and sweep me away
so I start again where my wrecked ship lands.

Secret face that all my ancestors wore
is only revealed by weird photograph
that no one ever sees framed on the wall
in museum of insurance where gods
assemble to discuss dire fates of men
who dare defy their power to decide.

My eyes are open in the nothingness
where light is forged from tense divinity
connecting atoms through eternity
based on strict copyright of cultured fame
so I see images of naked minds
struggling to be born from infectious muck.

Safe in library hall of singing books,
I modulate regressive miracles
mapping matrix ghosts of maternal love
through moral network of religious codes
contrived by charlatans who sell blind hope
so I can understand why all souls die.

Promotion proffered by surprised roulette,
revised by router sampling manic thoughts,
reveals my secret passion to construct
glider of Icarus from raven bones
because I want to fly above the world
and map the ever-shifting maze of faith.

Dark animal of fear embodies god
whom humans of each xenophobic tribe
worship with obsessive discography
by singing hymns in building by the sea
where efficient workers emulate fool
who sacrifices himself to kill the beast.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus plays enchanting tunes on the lyre of Mercury to entrance the dark animal fear so he can lure its monstrous hate back to the underworld.

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

Eye Of The Rainbow Stone
© Surazeus
2025 11 09

Without sweet sorrow of eglantine flowers
my heart cannot remember fear of death,
so I too bravely wander in the world
despite alarm of caution in my heart
that blares at sight of anything unknown,
though I peer through eye of the rainbow stone.

Three times each day I pray to God of Death
who wakes my heart to beauty of this world
so I perceive true essence of each thing
that radiates nuclear spirit of the sun
as I investigate nature of life
that glitters in eye of the rainbow stone.

Though my soul was conceived beneath that star
which guides eccentric fate of wanderers,
I play both prince and pauper in the world
through romance of transcending poverty
by working hard with crafting hands of hope
to draw wealth from eye of the rainbow stone.

Since pleasure of true love has been no more
that whisper of the drowsy summer breeze,
I incarnate deep joy from ache of pain
to warm my heart on bitter winter nights
by laughing as I sing with hungry angst,
trapped by dream in eye of the rainbow stone.

When I find brave Brunhilde with sea-wild eyes
surrounded by high ring of flaming fire,
I wrestle Death with courage of desire
to free her from horrible truth of death
till horn blast of my heart breaks prison walls
as foretold by eye of the rainbow stone.

Still lost in mist Death only can breathe clear,
I lead Brunhilde through dark wire-tangled maze
to secret Garden of Gethsemane
where Odin hangs from the cosmic ash tree
as sacrifice to save humanity
from demon in eye of the rainbow stone.

While clutching bayonet of national pride,
I charge through howling hordes of warriors
to find self in grim Plutonian cave
before awful face of Persephone
who gives me pomegranate of respect
that blossoms from eye of the rainbow stone.

Insouciant that Brunhilde may ever love
courageous honor of my warrior soul,
I stand as guardian at the pearly gates
while angels play harps in grand mirrored halls
though millions starve from sea to shining sea,
nameless ghosts in eye of the rainbow stone.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus directs documentary about soldiers who write poetry while fighting in the trenches of the first world war to celebrate the life-death of patriotism.

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

Escape From Paradise
© Surazeus
2025 11 09

For all I am is grass beside the stream
which splashes over jagged mossy stones
then winds beneath the steep mist-shrouded hill
to flow into the ever-swirling sea
that sings indifferent to you and me
with timeless voice of bitter honesty.

So long on journey through light-blurring fog
on silver beaches that dissolve in waves
I forget destination of my heart,
yet keep on trudging, steadfast in my faith
that I will soon arrive in open vale
where clear sunlight streams through cracks in the sky.

Concerned about conundrum of the cloud
that scatters strict cerulean rays of time,
I study spectral shadows of huge birds
that circle basement of Heaven in clouds
where angels play harps in vast mirrored halls
that lure me to climb high mountain of hope.

Yet when the clever wren of earnest hope
alights in lone elm on the mountain top
I find myself alone in paradise
far outside pillared halls of pompous pride,
mask of my soul preserving gusts of wind
that fill my breast with coldness of respect.

Resplendent essence radiant from my skin
conjures bewildered butterflies of faith
which motivate me with tremulous wing
to question why bleak sorrow wounds my heart
with passion to absorb with thirsty heart
luminary darkness of loyal love.

Unearthly height of Heaven in dark clouds
exposes fragile nothingness of me
shivering on vast mountain slope of fear,
so I gaze down at rounded world of air,
half bulging stillness of valleys and hills
and half flat motion of billows and waves.

While I gaze at vastness of the round world,
terrible sense of meaningless rage
strikes my heart with despair to understand,
so I seek purpose in the empty sky
where some tell me perfect Heaven of truth
waits for me to transcend my loneliness.

Then sudden beam of pure heavenly light
illuminates large ship with billowed sails
that sparks plan of escape from paradise,
so with three coins I earned by shoveling mud
I purchase passage to America
where Heaven glimmers on this messy Earth.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus captains ship full of people escaping Scotland with dreams of a better life in the new world of America.

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

Code Of Common Sense
© Surazeus
2025 11 08

Everywhere in vast city maze she goes
Sibyl hears wordless voices of the dead
so she writes their stories in melting snows
till they become flowers stuck in her head.
Humming on the balcony of her heart,
she waits for the apocalypse to start.

Aligned on bare walls of houses and schools,
portraits of the dead frame the narrative
we tell about the tragedy of rules
that destroy both jaded and sensitive.
Skipping across lush meadow of her heart,
she follows angel of the apple cart.

Aware that time is not measured by clocks
that spool our memories in twisted code,
Sibyl oils gears that wind conceptual rocks
which channel ambition down signless road.
Tweaking details that compose fairy tales,
she weeps for the jester whose project fails.

Focused on how fragments unpuzzle her brain
in star mirror that reflects cosmic souls,
Sibyl studies process for growing grain
written with demon blood on crystal scrolls.
Adjusting how her eyes perceive the world,
she searches Hades for the cosmic herald.

Anywhere she walks in the city maze
in lonely quest to find the long-lost crown,
Sibyl finds idols that portray each phase
humans take to expand their market town.
Sketching flow chart that illustrates growth,
she analyzes strict religious oath.

Amalgamation stitching random facts
in theory that accounts for everything
directs how Sibyl computes weird aspects
which surface-bind spiral-coiled psychic ring.
Counting endless cycle of numbered wheels,
she indexes states of human ordeals.

Amused by abstract perimeter wall
surrounding Heaven with protective glow,
Sibyl attends chapel rites in prayer shawl
with pious attitude of those who know.
Attending song of wrens in chestnut trees,
she smells Gabriel floating in the breeze.

Face to face in Garden of Zathamar,
Sibyl and Gabriel gaze in surprise
to meet their soulmate of the rainbow star
in new-met stranger with familiar eyes.
Reaching out her hand with brave insolence,
she falls in love through code of common sense.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus conducts wedding ceremony between Sibyl and Gabriel in Temple of Ishtar on Ziggurat of Ur, then Kwan Yin sings while David plays the harp as they all feast.

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

Keyed To Open Minds
© Surazeus
2025 11 08

Baked cookies are flying saucers of the heart,
warming my soul on chilly autumn nights
when oak leaves shroud my house and yard in names
of all the people who have ever lived
so I remember stories of their lives
as I eat sweetness of our innocence.

My heart remembers what it contemplates
with aching sorrow drawn from memory
that raises ghosts of people I once knew
from mute oblivion of being unnamed
as they haunt silence of dark evening hours
and ask me to write their names in the dirt.

When birds sing cheerfully in evening glow
I am fooled that Gabriel has returned
with another message for me to write
with blood of angels killed by speeding cars
so I pause in half-open door of fear
to translate solemn words of prophecy.

Yet when the Future speaks into my heart
dumb echo of its voice reverberates
down endless corridors of city streets
in coded signs of weird profundity
which substitute old meanings for new lies
through execution keyed to open minds.

Aligned with travelers of bravery
who never turn back to the homes they leave,
I measure vastness of the changing sea,
heart split by lightning flash of new respect,
which Nature leaves undated in the sky,
for I still live though love has burned my heart.

If Earth reverses hemispheres of fate
by how time could unstitch our universe,
I would record strict circumstance of chance,
appalled by ghastly wisdom children find
as serpents slithering in tall grass of faith
because I stand alone with ghosts of time.

Unworthy talent of my shy attempt
to bandage wounded heart of travesty
convinces few to gamble liberty
for souls that retake moments of despair,
hearts laden with unwanted guilt of failure,
since horror always finds us vulnerable.

Arresting fall from Heaven on bold wing,
I rise with courage of attentive theme
designed to resurrect my wounded heart
from grave of sadness so I fly again
on swift plumed feet of delirious angst
and give cookies to homeless on the street.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus leans against the lamppost outside the bookstore filled with shoppers for holiday, and contemplates the mystery of human existence.

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

Crowns Of Jeweled Power
© Surazeus
2025 11 08

I try not to begin with sudden rain,
but how it leaps from hollow hole of light
startles me awake from numb reverie
to wonder at strange mystery of its way,
drawing wild torrents from the surging sea
to soak sun-sorrowed hills with agony.

Collapsing into absence of desire,
I hide from eager caress of cold rain
that seeks to penetrate my silky skin
and flush my brittle body with hot words
from lush-grass humming of laconic lust
that saturates my heart with subtle faith.

Though desiccated by sardonic hope
with arid honesty of withered will,
I cling to concept of enormous hills
protecting me from mockery of sharp rain
that splatters into pungent mist of fear
which scatters wingless soul of everywhere.

Trees stripped of contemplative ecstasy
endure aggressive rage of bitter rain
so I persist beyond extracted light
against contagious hate with polity
by organizing ghosts through bravery
to shelter against winter in my heart.

Each day another seer of ancient truth
stumbles down steep slope of indifference
and crumbles into globs of mindless mud
washed away by deluge of ruthless rain
so all grand visions of his divine brain
dissipate into mist of molecules.

When fierce warriors with arrogant swords
clash in civil conflict to control rain,
Death thrusts sharp blade of pain into their hearts
and teaches them frail vanity of pride
as they hang impaled in helpless surprise
that power is delusion of the weak.

Safe in tangled web of sheltering trees,
I watch opposing armies of fierce men
hack each other into quivering steaks
on which feast black-eyed ravens of blind death
till sudden rain of indifferent thirst
exposes fragile skulls to ache of time.

Not even their two competitive kings
still stand alive as they thrust blades of pride
in cold fraternal hearts when they embrace
and die face to face on blood-muddied field,
so I bury their crowns of jeweled power
hidden in hollow darkness of my heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus finds young girl staring at two dead kings in the middle of a field heaped with the battle-mangled bodies of noble warriors, and gives her an apple to eat.

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

Plutonian Halls Of Fame
© Surazeus
2025 11 07

Death welcomes me to her bountiful feast
each day I visit her cavern of gems
that gleam with bright Plutonian light of stars
which she brews in nutritious wine of fear
which intoxicates my heart with pure love
for all conscious souls of the multiverse.

Venomous wine, brewed with demonic blood,
inebriates my sponge brain so I perceive
strange shadows cast on mirror of the world
by ghostly absence of people I know
whose voices echo softly in cold breeze
that scatters pages of books in my house.

Numb from excess sparks of telephone wires,
I watch as Thea tries to rouse Saturnus
from sorrow of defeat in civil war
when bold Hyperion cast him from high clouds,
so my hand offers cup of demon blood
which transforms his body in polished marble.

Bright shadows of melodious utterance
bleed bitter words of epic deeds on vellum
that guide my feet in melancholy trance
to eternal domed monument of fame
where Pythia waits in hooded sacrament
to bless my heart with solemn prophecy.

Sole priestess who still sings in the waste land
extracts shade of memory from my breast
so I expand through planetary eyes
enormous as fermented lakes of faith
when I unravel web of holy lies
to find I am Saturnus in grim woods.

Though no force seems to wake me from my trance
I breathe celestial flames of innocence
that rouse me from my slumbrous solitude
to stride reborn through crowded city maze
and sing with bold pernicious code of fate
to claim moral victory against greed.

No more will I bewail my earthly loss
since I strum dolorous tunes of respect
on tragic harp of earnest honesty
so faceless gods humanity forgot
may never fade in mist of history,
preserved as masks in hall of global fame.

In form of grand Saturnus every day
I feast well in Plutonian halls of fame,
then strum my tragic harp to recite tales
recording fate of every conscious soul
who ever wakes in fleeting dream of life,
then place mask of their soul on wall of death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/11/…

Orpheus offers Saturnus plate of roast beef with baked potatoes, and bowl of cottage cheese with pineapple rings, so they feast and share anecdotes about the fall of America.

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