Sea Of Timeless Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Almost drowning in sea of timeless truth,
I breathe celestial sorrow of mankind
which swells my heart with spirit of respect
so I sail onward through the seven seas
to find the secret island of your heart
where you supplicate tree of fruit for love.

Still sailing across sea of timeless truth
in swollen ship of my love-wounded heart,
I navigate by stars of your black eyes
that guide me to the island of mad gods
who howl with laughter at absurdity
that constitutes brave beauty of this life.

To measure thought on sea of timeless truth
based on pure symbol of the Antichrist,
I dare unravel paradox of fate
that we are born with basic character
that dooms us to choose how we live each day
so prophets predict effect from its cause.

Gliding high over sea of timeless truth
on frantic wings of mortal ardency,
I translate song of strange immortal bird
that still sings perilous beauty of love
since ancient days of emperors and clowns
that charm me to search forlorn fairylands.

Reborn as god from sea of timeless truth,
I shroud dim specter of my transient soul
in ectoplasmic shroud of fragile flesh
that converts thought-form of my aching heart
to normal person cased with marble mask
as I escape cold idol to live warm.

Diving deep down in sea of timeless truth,
I search for long-lost idol of my god
designed to manage energy of lust
that drives meat bodies to regenerate
children from obsessive hope to live
beyond the final nothingness of death.

Borne by wild winds on sea of timeless truth
against mute will of our love-wounded hearts,
I wander endless beach of shining sand
to share small cup of honey-flavored tea
with roaring demon of the godless deep
who sips, then offers me her gratitude.

Awake at last on sea of timeless truth
at far edge of the nowhere of our faith,
I must refuse to confirm or deny
that I exist as clump of molecules
in temporary node of consciousness
though I sing about beauty of your soul.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus tries to map the sea of timeless truth but, every morning when he reviews his work, he finds that everything appears like a whole different world.

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

Holy Bridge Of Evermore
© Surazeus
2026 10 31

Stuck on the holy bridge of evermore,
still seeking sacred truth of pungent fruit,
I watch eight billion people on our globe
search for their paradise in crowded hell,
though half asleep in sorrow of desire
while longing to join the heavenly choir.

Blind on the holy bridge of evermore,
yet driven by fierce motor of my heart,
I map the endless maze of transient fame
where some among the billions are transformed
to mindless idols of adoring fans
who laugh at vanity of life-style plans.

Deaf on the holy bridge of evermore,
head throbbing with illogical respect,
I translate ancient song of ocean waves
to human language no one understands,
so we disguise ourselves as long-dead gods
to trick-or-treat on misty houseless roads.

Trapped on the holy bridge of evermore,
with hawk wings in the golden cage of fame,
I unspool timeless clock of psychic code
to program how my brain perceives this Earth,
because you see my mask, not the real me,
commissioned to play role of Liberty.

Lodged on the holy bridge of evermore,
as guest of Cronus in dark mountain cave,
I incarnate as Orion with bow,
that humble policeman in your small town
dedicated to serve everyone well
despite death tolling of the midnight bell.

Stalled on the holy bridge of evermore,
in car with engine Barsanti designed,
I drive three thousand miles of asphalt roads
Miami to Seattle with the wind,
so I can find the land where I was born
before angels blow apocalypse horn.

Crowned on the holy bridge of evermore,
by wise Athena with her eyes of steel,
I reinvent new reason for my life
based on the moral codes of prophet kings
who built foundation of our global state
and left me to monitor its jeweled gate.

Bored on the holy bridge of evermore,
with all eternity of one brief life,
I play the lyre of Mercury and sing
about religious wars that humans fight
over who has the right to breed and eat,
and who will sit on the Perilous Seat.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus helps Orion arrest human traffickers when they rescue and free hundreds of girls enslaved by powerful and wealthy men of the land.

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

Witching Hour Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

At witching hour of faith, when graveyards yawn
ghosts of our ancestors in bitter mist
of cruel desire to claim gem of the moon,
Basemath drinks hot cider of god blood
to smear contagious words of hypocrites
on cracked foundation stone of ruined fane.

Bearing bag of skulls from dead haughty kings,
that clatter with strange voices in dark woods,
Basemath watches for mischievous sprites
who bring ingredients into stone-wall fane
where three witches boil juice of secret truth
which they trick weary travelers to drink.

Aware she treads parallel course of faith
against suggestive council of the oak,
Basemath wears mask of heavenly show
when the slick-suited man with specious eyes
pours pestilence of doubts into her ears
that good she wills to do corrupts her heart.

Reluctant to present her soul as good
when she performs deeds that foster good will
among poor people seeking food to eat,
Basemath provides jars of fresh juice
and baked bread in food booth by the gate
where hungry people praise their benefactor.

Enmeshed in foul contradictory rumors
that taint her reputation with false greed,
Basemath hurries down dark alleyway,
but men abduct her from way of her heart
and lock her in prison with other girls
who plead for freedom from harsh slavery.

Mind full of scorpions from anguished fear
that jocund comfort has deserted her,
Basemath summons from cave of her heart
vile spirit of Hecate with dreadful spell
to energize her fight for liberty
when she details plan for their bold escape.

Luring young guard into cell of desire
with honeyed promises of secret pleasure,
Basemath strangles him and wears his suit,
then leads enslaved girls from cell of despair,
by moonlit gliding toward riverside cave
where they hide from soldiers hunting their souls.

Free to frolic in dream light of the moon
from radiant presence of wise Hecate,
Basemath federates freed slaves with plan
to farm fertile land with fruit trees and herbs,
establishing self-sufficient commune
so they thrive with liberty of free will.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus brings wagon of wood and carpenter tools to commune of Basemath who welcomes him with apple cider as workers construct homes for the freed slaves.

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

Book Of Psychic Codes
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

My ghost remains in homes where I once lived,
scattered in towns across the continent,
so they send signals through the ethernet
that shimmer through the walls of everywhere
to trick my meat-brain of hungry hope
into accessing book of psychic codes.

My ghost assembles fragments of my dreams
into this meat-puppet that emanates
radio waves of my temporary soul
which conjures gust of wind outside my door,
embodied by the soulmate of my heart
who declares that she has become my Muse.

My ghost strolls with me in the neighborhood
while beaming images of you in wind
so, when I glimpse blue glitter of the sea
between the houses where strangers watch me,
I see in water of its timeless flow
source of language that fountains from our mouths.

My ghost leads me to tree of tangerines
that gleam bright as the sun on twisted limbs,
so I breathe scent of flowers in the wind
that fuels intense ardor of wanderlust
to plot the mathematic flash of faith,
yet I remain in room of countless doors.

Ghost of my body emanates from me,
posed idol-still on broken wall of fate,
so I arrange smooth river stones in rings
to mark its hollowness as sacred space
where I stand safe on spinning globe of thought,
pretending I still have my angel wings.

Ghost of my brain vibrates with psychic waves
when I open door to the fairy house
where crystal eggs of angels glitter gold
through which I teleport to distant worlds
which all reflect state of this current world
as mirror that presents alternatives.

Ghost of my pulsing heart designs new face
for me to wear when I leave fairy house,
perched on the jagged cliff beside the sea,
and visit market town with bag of coins
so I can purchase book of psychic codes
from lonely woman by the empty well.

Ghost of my bones inherits song of waves
so I assert attention of my heart
to channel voices from the Otherworld
who ask for secret of the Holy Grail,
which I explain refers to how our genes
incarnate in our children as new souls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus explains to the not-yet-dead that their souls are only temporary emanations of consciousness from the chemical functions of the brain.

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

Television Tube Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 30

When sparrows spring from sudden songs of hope,
I hold ever-flowing hourglass of fate
with supple laughter of our arrogance
that happiness of flashing synergy
could be more than frail bubble on the stream
that vanishes with mist on web of dawn.

Grand symphony of my eccentric heart
swells with vibrant shadow from my grave
as sunlit clouds that crack with thunder song
to drench our city in spiritual rain
with noisy burden of my wordless voice
that radiates waves of songs on radios.

Our spirits rise from swirling sea of dreams
through bleached evaporation of desire
to form enormous clouds of mindless gods
that soak the waste land of the roadless west
in screaming riddles of electric ghosts
who transform into humans without hope.

Dry Earth soaks our spirits into its heart
so we bloom tall in trees of humming faith
that morph our bodies into juicy fruit
consumed by insatiable hope of Death
who dances when I dare play violin
for gods in abandoned aquarium.

Ghosts of my Puritan ancestors glow
as gold candles in pumpkin heads of gods
when children dressed as cowboys and vampires
loot strange treasures from mansions of the rich
which they return to history museums
to honor our savage civility.

Trapped in the television tube of truth
with masks of characters from fairy tales,
I captain our sleek starship among stars
to visit strange new worlds where devils trick
humble farmers to support haughty kings
till cities are destroyed by nuclear bombs.

Emerging from vales of the jagged Alps,
where lizard men dwell in bright jeweled caves,
I build empire with Wand of Jupiter
based on nutritious passion of wheat bread
so I can find lost grave of Icarus
and rebuild sky-ship of his broken heart.

While growing old with sorrow of lost time,
I carve weird riddles on black obelisk
with serpent runes of star-engendered love
that flash on television tubes of truth
to hypnotize new children of dead gods
who wrestle hovering cherubim of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus walks with Sir Patrick Stewart along flashing wing of our galaxy as they discuss essential nature of bodiless gods that play with humans like puppets of vanity.

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

Bills Of Righteous Greed
© Surazeus
2026 10 29

If I am shadow of thought in your mouth,
flowing in and out on forbidden wings
to modulate terror unbinding fate,
I might choose to dismiss obsessive hope
that we may shape our commonality
with pattern of assertive nonchalance.

Strange letters in the mailbox of my heart
present excessive bills of righteous greed
disguised as sentimental anecdotes
designed to prove faith can overcome fear,
which liberates our spirits from our brains
based on new theory of the wounded ghost.

To wax enthusiastic about death,
that follows us all the days of our lives,
I map diaspora of our noble clan
dispersed by war into the Neitherlands
where wanderers follow the Tanglefoot
who seems to know the way to Wonderland

Unscathed theme of problematic concern,
on which we base fake courage of the fool,
presents alternatives to loyal faith
through momentary freshness in the air
since sunshine always prevails in the end
before we have the chance to calculate.

Stuck on our return journey to the garden,
where plangent chants of sorrowful belief
teach us to breathe dislodged attentiveness,
we study contrast between truth and lies
embodied by the cake of holy days
we celebrate with clandestine despair.

Locked up inside unframed window of truth
by absoluteness of the river boat,
I edit memories of my childhood
to taint their sorrows with embittered joy
by which I stitch the obvious wilderness
with new system of values death defines.

Irascible with courage of the hero
dedicated to achieve peace on Earth,
I legalize my monstrous appetites
with laundered puzzles of soul ambiance
funded by institutions that demand
obeisance to unwritten laws of right.

Though strangeness of this world is marvelous
with aromatic vapor of the heart,
deodorized by fraught religious faith
in glamorous lie of the afterlife,
I ask the stranger in the maze of shops
if they have heard the good news about death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus assembles poems of the mad prophets in the Best American Poems of the past thousand years of holy wars against Midas and his bills of righteous greed.

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

Vaudeville Clowns Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 29

Diverted by wisdom of horoscopes,
he rides the wild-winged chariot of time
to chant sharp spells with rhetorical zap
that demask spies in Museum of Truth,
trapped by bland interchange of morbid thoughts
when dancing unrestrained in bitter joy.

Gone homeward to the land of broken masks,
after fighting against cruel tyranny,
the prophet flies gray airplane beyond Heaven
to visit every college in the woods
and discourse on the valid route through Hell
that angels trod to transform into gods.

With wagons of encyclopedias
the lonely prophet of the Promised Land
knocks on doors of housewives after the war
but they refuse to buy gold-lettered tomes,
which leaves him stranded on the windy heath
as uncrowned salesman of forgotten truth.

Startled by cataracts of brave applause
that resurrect the vaudeville clowns of fate,
the lonely jester wearing suit and tie
counts all the land deeds he has won at cards,
but never visits those abandoned farms
where devils hide wingless horses in eggs.

No god invented from his memory
haunts churches and cathedrals before dawn
as faceless saints that gamble for the chance
to predict the future in how birds fly,
while tax collectors search the empty fields
for skulls of prophets that refuse to sing.

New index of his power transcends fear
when he plays auctioneer of treasured lies,
dispersed as payment for quick services
rendered with the sentiment of clerks
who program computers to calculate
amount of faith left in our heart accounts.

Through exegesis of his puzzling jokes
we analyze his false biography
to glean conceptual clues of ardent faith
that help us decode riddles of his spells
based on defiant paradox of love
since he hides in the world he sings about.

No grumpy old man on the windy heath
shouts about injustice loud as King Lear,
except the Everyman with offices
above the bank whose business acumen
provides framework for him to purchase Heaven
and rent crystal palaces to false gods.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while John Ciardi stands in Museum of Faceless Ghosts and recites his translation of the Divine Comedy for the hushed audience.

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

Awake With Quantum Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 29

Concatenation of our wordless love
binds our bodies with invisible chain
forged by hot thoughts of hungry memory
which flashes us awake with quantum truth
through ignorance of pleasure satisfied
by flowers bursting from the lonely stone.

Provisional concern of unstretched thought,
that unwinds spirit winds on campus lawns,
provides new frame of social reference
for hungry minds to find conceptual faith
rotting on bent tree of knowledge at dawn
so space expands to mountain by the lake.

To speak of spatial silence with stone words
through menstrual fountain of our equal rights,
we recognize extent of suffering
bodies endure with anonymous shouts,
kept alive by cold breath of spider webs
so we become imaginary self.

Another lesson in anatomy
confounds perception of the vanishing
from kitchen womb of competent desire
so we bloom from despair of faceless faith
against abuse of power, dramatized
by subtle quietness of shadowed veils.

Inspired by supple rhythms of spring light,
we learn new tricks through sociology
at frantic funeral of the desperate girl
enslaved by thoughts of liberty from duty
which she performs on empty stage of fame
with passion based on longing for undeath.

If she dares sing about mental release
from uncompressed agony she hides
in blank book of forgotten fairy tales,
she may face postmodern obscurity
obtained from gallery of broken masks
when we forget the argument of breath.

Stunned by the cancellation of vain hope
at fractured laughter of the mocking clock,
she holds small fragments of her truest self,
once scattered on the field of humming stones
who seem to know why caged birds never sing,
while dancing on cold mornings of regret.

Awake at whisper flow of silver clouds
that part at coming of her honest ghost,
she gives her name away to lonely trees
so when they call each other in sunlight
she hears her name echo in empty groves
through haughty doubt of sacred solitude.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus observes mysterious woman with admiration as she expands scope of her consciousness to include the galaxy where billions of planets teem with psychic angels.

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

Yearning Of My Glass Brain
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

Soul transformed by yearning of my glass brain,
I walk the endless maze of city streets
with Death as my companion in silk gown
whose black eyes, vast as swirling galaxies,
inspire my heart to sing beauty of life
though engine roar mangles its melody.

My mother and my father have grown old
from searching vast maze of elusive hope,
but spirit of desire they sparked in me
powers my progress to become whole Self
that combines all my ancestors in one soul
which fractures into children of our genes.

Each person is convergence of god souls
whose genes weave their new body from desire,
so we are tangled memories of love
converted from despair that drives our will
to transcend limits of our fragile frames
as souls that swell huge as our spinning globe.

When I get lost in maze of flashing doors,
that lead to many different worlds of fate,
Death takes my hand with gentle vigilance
and guides me to perform role of my heart
so I choose to create, and not destroy,
with prudent attention to psychic needs.

Though I am temporary node of genes,
in which unconscious soul of atoms gleams
as radiant passion to generate life,
I program vision of our multiverse
from mythic legends of religious books
in world view that mirrors reality.

I build whole world religion in my heart
that refracts through yearning of my glass brain
virtual model of our complicated world
so I can make through clear analysis
informed decisions in how I behave
so I live as I will, if I harm none.

Join me in Temple of Goddess Ishtar
that shines with truth on Ziggurat of Ur
to feast on harvest of productive hands
and drink wine from fruit of our loyal hearts
to bond our souls with contract of respect
that nurtures United Nations of Earth.

I see her light appear in gloom of fear
when Liberty arrives with Lamp of Truth
to wield honed sword of Justice with firm hand
so we enforce equal rights for all souls
who dwell together on this spinning globe
that spirals from yearning of my glass brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus votes for Ishtar as Secretary-General of the United Nations and helps her organize all the nations of Earth in common focus on justice and liberty for all.

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

Westward On The Signless Road
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

My ancestors have always left the land
where they had lived since the dawn of their dream,
traveling westward on the signless road
to follow the sun across the great sky,
then settled down in some new fertile vale
to raise their children in the Promised Land.

Now after ten thousand years of lost time
I can look back on the long winding road
of their journey each generation west
over mountains and across seas in search
for something they had never understood,
and see there is no reason for our quest.

Since I am just one individual node
in ever-reincarnating chain of being,
evolving through each life to become god
in human flesh, awake with cosmic light,
I know our endless journey is not done,
for I have traveled sea to shining sea.

What restless spark spurs my incessant trip,
forth from safe haven of my childhood home,
still urges me to walk the endless road,
though I have aged, and prefer to remain
quietly mapping history of mankind
in marble temple of the Water God.

As I cease forward motion of my soul
and settle into daily work routines,
that restless spark flashes bright in young hearts
of my children, eyes glowing with that flame
of hope that guides us far beyond the known,
so they shall journey on as I rest here.

Each land along the journey of my soul,
which my ancestors left so long ago,
still teems with descendants of other souls
who stayed tied to our original land,
and thrived in generations to this day
so they remain in vale of my first dream.

I long to travel back on road of hope
to visit every land they left behind,
and meet the people who still live there now,
distant threads in tapestry of our genes
that bind us all in matrix of world mind,
so I can understand this urge to search.

From one small tribe on fertile river shore,
who thrive between the mountain and the sea,
we spread in all directions of the wind
to colonize the world with Calibans,
so I would climb the Ziggurat of Ur
to hear the ancient song of Ishtar ring.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus stands alone on Ziggurat of Ur, as Zephyr dances around him with sorrow, and gazes across the waste where thousands of gardens once bloomed with families of happiness.

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

Revelation Of The Ardent Nurse
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

Though my soul has not yet drifted away
on quick waters of ever-changing time,
I measure alterations by the day
to calculate how soon the deathly chime
will vibrate soft melody of my name
so I die before I am trapped by fame.

Now withered with strange wisdom of the tree,
I lounge in my pedantic Babylon
and ponder how our actions make us free
while plotting how to retake Avalon
where my ancestor reigned as Fairy Queen
till she was replaced by the Dream Machine.

With stylus, forged from the same meteor stone
which Arthur used to hone Excalibur,
I wrote formulas on tablets which zone
my legal right to reign as Lucifer
because I bear Lamp of Diogenes
to wield the thirteen magic Spirit Keys.

I learn to walk upright in ocean waves
after I lose my coiled tree-swinging tail,
so now I chant hymns in shadow-weird caves
while Helios herds milk cows in the dale
through holy act on which empires are built
that correct actions through brave sense of guilt.

Phoebus hoops civilization with peace
through illusion of justice based on rules,
so kings judge deeds enforced by thought police
while farmers produce food with humble tools,
yet hermits search for God on Mount Meru
outside frame of our religious world view.

Fanatics frightened by liberal self worth
attempt to crucify the humble clown,
but his descendants thrive to conquer Earth
by adding jewels to his thorny crown,
so Rapunzel sings in Tower of Troy
while Hamlet wanders the waste land of joy.

Since I am still running to Paradise
with the last penny of faith in my cap,
I find fame is won by toss of the dice
that turns its golden cage into the trap
from which the wise seer can never escape
though all the spinning world is their dreamscape.

Before the second coming of the ghost,
born from bitter witch of the city slum,
I eat good breakfast of fried egg on toast,
then sail Titanic to Byzantium
with revelation of the ardent nurse
who programs our view of the universe.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus climbs Mount Meru where he finds the ardent nurse as she meditates with Shiva and chants hymn that hypnotizes the Serpent of the Knowledge Tree.

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

Frantic Fairy Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 28

Aroused by unkept memories of light
reflected by slow flutter of oak leaves,
I weave the spin of bike wheels with the flash
of stops signs where ravens never assert
strange answers to imponderable concerns
that milk smells sweetest in the cereal bowl.

Startled by unsung melodies of love
that crackle on the untuned radio,
I imagine that the round blue sky-dome
is one enormous eye of innocence,
like my eye with green isle inside blue sea
where people live in memories of their hopes.

Alert to unspooled stories in old books
that wait for magic of my eyes to glow,
I replay half-cut scenes of my short life
to map my journey to the somewhere else
from mountain far away where I was born
as half-told tale of frantic fairy faith.

Though I have stumbled randomly awake
through decades of existence to my state
of present being in small town of desire,
I weave coherent tapestry of fate
that narrates my life as some noble quest
to become who I always choose to be.

Enormous silence of eternal now,
that hovers over me as cloud of light,
slowly flaps excessive wings of words,
so I gaze in eyes of my private Seraph
whose face reflects, in one mask of the Self,
all my ancestors who designed my being.

Though split by storm of arrogant regret,
the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
still provides fresh apples for me to eat,
so I join sweet Ophelia by the lake
who bakes apple pie from our wounded hearts
which we share with Sigmund and Beowulf.

Alone in vast white-walled museum room,
I assemble from fragments of old tales,
and news stories about tragic events,
perceptive puzzles of the human soul
that almost mirror psychic ghost of hope
who haunts our dawns with wails of wordless prayers.

Clouds float above broad field of barns and poles
where cows graze among trees by the dirt road,
this firm foundation of productive pain
from which empires rise through labor of our hands
when we weave memories of humble strife
in religious tale of the sacrificed king.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus looks through photo albums arranged by his grandmother to depict the visual narrative of their family blooming from the farm house of lonely apple trees.

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

Weird Beauty Of The Dead
© Surazeus
2026 10 27

Perched on polished shelf in Museum hall,
my skull will sing my puzzling prophecies
ten thousand years after I turn to dust,
for I have seen weird beauty of the dead
who follow me down to the cave of dreams
where they are shadows haunting books of tales.

After I leave ghost of Eurydice,
who haunts quaint bookstores of small college towns,
I wander by deep river of lost souls
where I spy corpse of sweet Ophelia
floating on cold waves of bitter tears
while clutching flowers of Persephone.

I hear voice of the world in tweets of birds
whose melodies enchant our wounded hearts
with vision of life blooming from our death,
but humans remain dead in dust of Earth
while flowers bloom again as the world turns
so I become laments sung for the dead.

While I continue living in this world,
singing sweet tunes of elegiac desire
for lovers to embrace with loyal trust
to generate new life before they die,
ghost of my hope as fertile bride I lost
haunts liminal space between life and death.

Holding hands with gentle Ophelia
as we stroll garden of Hesperides,
my mind projects ghost of Eurydice
so I sense nearness of her absent being,
but when I turn at flash of her sweet thought
I see Ophelia smiling with faith.

No human ever born from womb of fate,
flesh animated by spirit of hope,
has ever returned from blank nothingness
once our fragile forms of thought dissipate,
yet still the living wake with otherness
that binds our hearts with memories of the dead.

Awake with luminous song of my Self,
which emanates from God Eye of the All,
I translate dreams of stars to human songs
that mirror abyss of the hungry heart
so we assert attention of control
to balance passion swirling through our souls.

With rhythmic pulse of energetic faith
our bodies writhe in ecstasy of love
so we may generate from flash of hope
new body node to maintain coil of dreams
that spirals from immortal soul of genes
so Orpheus incarnates in my brain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus gazes in eyes of Ophelia and listens with attentive love as she explains the healthy attributes of various herbs and flowers in garden of her heart.

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

New War For Mind Control
© Surazeus
2026 10 27

Since green light has been premise in my eyes
as metaphor for psychic arrogance
for eighty years of harvests and rainstorms,
I contemplate how generations change
in wild tides of conflict and fellowship
to nurture fruit trees from the barren lands.

World view untwisted by barometer
of social change in spectrum of false faith,
I calmly record in world chronicle
tragedy of new war for mind control
that we fight to show impersonal green
transforms our bodies from moist soil to flesh.

My mind expands cosmological eye
with vivid dream of how mankind evolves,
refracted through vast prism of our brains,
so I stand bewildered on mountain slope
to study maze of streets in cityscapes,
parallel with vagueness of wingless gods.

Since polished mirror of my brain perceives
ghost of God as horizon of new light,
I map complexity of mortal lives
in passionate competition with Death
to prove their worth before they dissipate
against fulfillment of the final phase.

Though wizards bear wands and warriors swords,
I carry pack of spatulas and pans,
so when I wear One Ring of Divine Light
I feel tempted to transform the waste land
to garden of fruit trees where children play,
but decide to toss that ring into Hell.

Yet when I turn to broad experience,
where sun-bleached skeletons of angry gods
lie scattered on the sand with dream-wrecked ships,
I wake inside cosmological eye
to gain perspective of immortal mind
in complex progress of world history.

Therefore I choose calm life of daily rites
with wife and children in our cozy home
instead of waging war against mad gods
whose haughty pride of arrogant disdain
will cause their own downfall from throne of greed
when I let Nature cripple tyranny.

Complex landscapes sprawl in my lonesome eye
as I adjust perspective of my heart
based on new framework for world history
designed to map progress of psychic growth
when I assemble puzzle of world view
from individual tales of birth and death.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus measures infinite eternity of the cosmological eye that seems to perceive itself through every atom flashing in the universe of our brains.

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

Home At Last To Avalon
© Surazeus
2026 10 27

When garden of her heart has grown too wild,
and swallows idol of god with tree roots,
she tends grief of fire smoldering in her bones
while lurking in vast shadow of the Sphinx
till pendulum of fortune swings her way
and knocks her to the ground with broken wings.

Her father grows from tangled roots of fate
in overgrown garden of screaming trees,
lamenting holocaust of eyeless ghosts
who crowd before locked gates of paradise
till finger bones transform to bitter keys
which open access to the Promised Land.

Surprised by cycle of seasonal change,
when birds with feathers of electric words
fly south at blast of winds from hills of snow
to leave our books they steal on windowsills
of lonely angels in the nameless land,
she laughs that none can pronounce her name right.

At annunciation of her bride night
at midnight in lush garden of deep pools,
she whispers hostile prayer of gratitude
that Death has chosen her of all his wives
to incarnate his divine soul as God,
then climbs wall of Heaven and runs away.

Arriving at train station in bleak snow,
young woman in the blood-stained bridal veil
gives gold coins to poor people in torn clothes,
then transforms into white bat with silk wings
to haunt great kitchen of the castle witch
who teaches her how to bake blackbird pies.

Trained as brave somanaut by crippled clown,
young bride of Jesus Frankenstein wears mask
as she descends to Underworld of dreams
to find the broken lyre of Mercury
rusting on tomb of Orpheus the Christ
which she repairs and sells to Tamerlane.

To analyze material of this world
and understand support of mental vibes,
young bride in black lace dress of innocence
designs new starship for her secret soul
so she can time-warp through the multiverse
and visit all her doppelganger selves.

Returning home at last to Avalon,
by tapping Tree of Knowledge with her wand,
Minerva gathers refugees from wars
and founds new nation based on equal rights,
that may never exist on spinning Earth,
where she tends garden of the wild goat boy.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wakes up from his nap and looks all over frantically for his lyre till he hears its strings vibrate, so he teleports before throne of Tamerlane and grins.

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

Emerald Tablet Of Faith
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

Bright spark of truth you long to clearly see
evades attentive focus of your mind
by slipping through containing words of fact
to slither stealthily straight past your face
in flashing sponge computer brain of god
who sings salvation of the humming toad.

Earnest commitment to study the sea
inspires your hungry heart to understand
brutal ghosts of honesty books depict
as noble heroes corrupted by vice
for greed to live beyond death as robot
entranced by drunk revelry of the goat.

Justice you fight to achieve every day
wanders blind in waste land of silent prayer
with plan to steal Emerald Tablet of Faith
on which is written riddles of your fate
in writhing runes that burn your staring eyes
as you evolve beyond the fake-god phase.

Reluctant to pursue the Golden Way,
you linger in tower room with cracked mirror
where Rapunzel gave birth to the God Wraith,
and ponder what drives wounded souls to hate
oligarchs who rule the world with dream spies
while you wander lost in religious maze.

Trembling in harsh cold of state negligence
outside castle door where the elite squad
gather to praise each other for their poems,
you snarl with bitterness they left you out
instead of forming new exclusive club
for your own gang of dolls who love your work.

Winning grand awards without precedence,
you proudly proclaim you are not the fraud
who howls with angst that the circus clown roams
endless streets of gold to earn social clout
as leader of three men in the wealth tub
who sail seven seas where mad dolphins lurk.

Startled by sudden undoing of laws
that governed good behavior in our land,
you try to vote for Minerva the Wise
who would arrest Midas with his small hands
for treason against decency and truth,
but Bacchus steals the crown of thorns Christ wore.

Measuring effects of the primal cause
by which wild swerving atoms form star band,
you fail to parse his endless stream of lies
entangling logical concerns with brands
of wealth decoded by messiah sleuth
who leads wounded angels on the sea shore.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus removes mask of the You Persona, and reveals his intention to discombobulate the masses by deconstructing their cherished world view.

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

Weird Voice Of The Dead
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

I want to be normal, like everyone
else who walks around like they know the game,
but I would rather perform Belshazzar,
slouched securely on unearned throne of fame,
than Apollo prancing around on stage
as if I speak with Weird Voice of the Dead.

Tripped up by hungry beauty of the heart,
that drives me with ambition to compete
against glamorous stars everyone adores,
I sing heart-aching verse fate will delete
to arrest downward spiral of despair,
then stumble gracefully in silent rain.

Cruel devil of Pride haunts my halting steps
with urgent passion to express in spells
weird visions flashing in vault of my brain,
which I find writhing in moon-vortex wells,
so I tear off my performative mask
to expose raw horror of being alive.

Obsessed with hoping people will perceive
ghost of my being as spirit of insight
equal to great seers, whose visions provide
guidance for nations to thrive in the light,
I flee town square crowded with frightened mob
who seeks salvation from prophet of hate.

Preferring to play the prophet of love,
I hide in wilderness cave of despair,
eyes blinded by illusions of harsh truth,
and seek in shadows of my demon lair
puzzles I need to construct new world view
that frames events with values we perform.

I see all objects of material form
are structures of atoms that grow from cause
inherent in seed of their origin,
so I devise strict set of moral laws
that we do what we will, if we harm none,
when we construct rather than destruct things.

When I descend from mountain of Fire Ghost,
bearing emerald tablets carved with Thought Code
that describes physical nature of life,
I find mankind worshipping the Gold Toad,
so I shoot arrow of Apollo straight
when I sing spells with Weird Voice of the Dead.

Struggling to escape egg of the blind horse,
I grasp the broken lyre of Mercury that sticks
bent from trunk of the ancient rotten tree,
then climb headless idol of the World God
to stand on shoulders of the giant fool,
and laugh as empires collapse into gangs.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus ventures back to the city of the world that teems with chaotic energy of civil conflict over whose god may rule on the ziggurat of arrogant pride.

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

Hard Soil Of Desire
© Surazeus
2026 10 26

The angel may need their clandestine sorrows
to fuel aggressive progress of their soul,
but humans rely on religious faith
to veil reality from their sharp eyes,
so I reach out my trembling hand of hope
to snatch ripe apple from the snake of fate.

The seed of thought that blossoms from my brain,
then fructifies as spirit of the self,
binds me to cherished frame of reference
that is my fragile body of hard flesh,
since glowing wind of mindless clouds conveys
breath of infinity through my sponge brain.

Lodged by design or random accident
of fateless chance through passionate discourse
of strangers, who embrace with hope to leap
beyond abyss of death on frantic wings,
I wake as flower of this dreaming globe,
deluded to believe I might be God.

Through unknown process of electric thought,
my sense of conscious self expands each hour
that I express through motion of intent
concern for maintenance of my soul flame
that flickers fragiley in blast of time
when I scrape food from hard soil of desire.

When I attempt to outstrip bands of time
with breath-fueled bout of energetic faith,
then stand unjaded on high peak of thought
and challenge faceless clouds of gusting wind,
who seems aware that I assert my right
to exist, I feel my heart swell with love.

Proud men with gangs of mindless warriors,
who obey commands of his voice to kill
lone men who dare defy his right to rule,
sit on high thrones of judgement to declare
rules that govern how men should interact
to maintain the food-production machine.

When I stand before that proud mortal man,
who insists he reigns by right of the sun,
I wonder that he hopes with bitter faith
to live forever as God on this Earth,
because false glory of all human gods
will fade as they decay and dissipate.

Vain humans who believe that they are gods,
commissioned by the mindless fate of fear
to organize complex societies,
come and go in strict tides of social change,
but farmers who produce food from the soil
remain in gardens where their children play.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus eats cake that Emily Dickinson provides on porcelain plate painted with pastoral scene, then strums lyre of Mercury as she sings her hymns.

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

Literary Swamp Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

My body undulates with grace of change,
emerging from green slime of solitude
to dance with laughter on cracked skull of God
mistaken as foundation stone of fate
on which priests build religions of regret
to claim vibe of salvation with false prayer.

I catch the cannonball of psychic fear
fired from political mouth of greed
that reassembles houses of blind souls
who gather diamonds from angelic graves
so we can prove our right to eat old books
dredged from the literary swamp of truth.

Yet iron frog of wisdom crawls from screen
of screaming television to adjust
stark focus of our minds on eyeless clocks
that tick in breasts of mermaids who recall
halcyon days in dark Seattle streets
where twisted jesters cheat naive bank clerks.

My brother climbs fake pyramid of gold
to ask the ghost of telephones why fate
chooses some to be true face of the times
while others labor in obscurity
with humble commitment to noble truth
which tricks their hearts with illusion of fame.

Still undefeated by bland mockery
that time hurls at glass faces of sad seers,
I dare express defiant words to show
wreck of my life, on highway of concern,
reveals that spinning wheels fortune designs
trick sirens to rescue my soul from books.

Stuck in the literary swamp of truth,
I pave ten thousand roads between small towns
where fairies play banjos in grocery stores
with noble purpose of the iceberg queen
who fishes sorrow from polluted pools
till we lean against brick walls without cause.

If you have nothing better to do now,
meet me at the book bazar in the park
so we can tear the ghosts of bitter fools
from fairy tales of arrogant dismay
before blind senators can legislate
how we may use our bodies to know love.

When old man on the beach of lonely waves
asks why do we live and why do we die,
I take two cigarettes out of his hand
and give him apple that I bought from Eve
so we can know strange pleasure of the heart
expanding scope of truth beyond the swamp.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wades through the literary swamp of truth, dredging up books of prophets from the past, then hanging them on telephone lines of ambitious lust for fame.

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

Tree Of Flashing Brains
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

Despite skillful disorder of rain clouds
that knock my body around on the hill,
I am the wondrous man with winged feet
because I know strange secret of the wind
who whispers programmatic code of love
which helps my find the tree of flashing brains.

Disperser of rich grace on stepping stones,
I gather snowflakes into books of dreams
which I bear to peak of the mountain thought
to weave bright laughter of wild ocean waves
within unsullied passion of my heart
through generous wisdom of the loyal moon.

When I walk with the departed through Hell
on dainty feet of ballet nonchalance,
I find beguiled bride of the empty well,
perplexed by faithless lust of abstinence
that fuses bodies of strangers with hope
to incarnate as ghost with mask of glass.

I follow empty chairs on winding road
through fields of wheat where alabaster crows
breathe beauty of the light in human flesh
who paints the face of God as apple sphere
which I bake on the plate of hungry clay
that proves my right to live in liberty.

Transformed from wood dolls with emerald eyes
into lithe boys and girls with moonlit skin,
we race along the river of glass skulls
to crown the winner with the crown of thorns
forged with gold melted from idols of gods
whose faces reincarnate as our souls.

Wild mob of people run in driving rain
and crowd into Museum on Skull Hill
in frantic flight to escape swirling flood
that sweeps their farmhouses and herds away
so fields of wheat become bright sea of tears
that fills their hearts with desert emptiness.

The oldest woman in the world declares,
while holding million-year-old skull of God,
that we must thrive through curiosity,
always asking questions to understand
how Death will measure fortune of our lives
when lovers almost touch at end of time.

Millions of people killed in civil wars
crowd shore of the River Styx at midnight,
but Charon shouts that they must all return,
so faceless ghosts of hungry refugees
haunt shopping malls from sea to shining sea
where they sing beneath tree of flashing brains.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus hangs Christmas ornaments on the tree of flashing brains that grows huge in the fountain square of the largest city on Earth where ghosts sing hymns to Inanna.

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

Humble Prophet of the Cow
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

To understand how light of long-dead stars
animates human brains with fierce desire
to fly with joy above this rumbling globe,
I ask the humble prophet of the cow
who gives me holy grail of milk to drink,
so I feel tree roots curl into my heart.

Cassandra walks beside the spinning wheel
that rolls home-wagon on the windy plain
on endless walk to find the Promised Land
ruled by the humble prophet of the cow
who writes strange puzzles on tablets of clay
that cause time visions to flash in her eyes.

Crouched by the wagon wheel of wordless hope,
Cassandra watches with obsessive eye
her father walk into the shadowed woods
to ask the humble prophet of he cow
which way they need to go on signless road
to find the palace of the laughing clown.

Head buzzing with mute terror of undeath,
Cassandra treads the liminal expanse
of sorrow toward horizon of her heart
to hear the humble prophet of the cow
proclaim his hegemonic state of mind
which traps brave people in harsh tyranny.

Advanced against blurred obstacles of faith
to transcend metaleptic wall of fear
erected by postprandial somnolence
before the humble prophet of the cow
can catch the angel falling off the moon,
Cassandra parts veil to the Otherworld.

Inspired by spark of new insightful vibe
that channels flow of psychic synergy,
Cassandra abjures fractured paradigm
spooled by the humble prophet of the cow
that affirms function of male privilege
exploiting fertile nature of the womb.

Spearheading progress of leveraged love
against systemic power of desire,
Cassandra gathers riddles of glass skulls
forged by the humble prophet of the cow
to build impactful program of respect
ensuring mothers feed their children well.

While drawing soul of serpents from the well
whose whispers teach her secrets of dream runes,
Cassandra gazes back down road of life
paved by the humble prophet of the cow,
and wonders how her brave children will fare
in game of life long after she is dead.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus walks across the hills of Arcady till he finds the humble prophet of the cow lounging by the River Alpheus while his sons build the palace of Xanadu.

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

Rope Of His Attentive Love
© Surazeus
2026 10 25

Sunlight streams in stained-glass window of Christ
as Shepherd herding sheep in river vale
inside the Seventh-day Adventist Church
on hilltop in small town of Keene in Texas
where people in flower dresses and suits
gather on Saturday morning for Sabbath.

Exiting the large Sabbath School classroom
with his leather Bible pressed to his chest,
Albert glides with large crowd in long hallways
and downstairs to main sanctuary hall
where he sits beside his mother and sisters,
but hopes to see sweet angel of his heart.

Pastor Ron Halverson, who had grown up
as a Beachcomber gangster in Brooklyn,
steps up to the podium on the broad stage,
looking like Stephen King in a gray suit,
and points up to stained-glass window of Christ
to illustrate his role as selfless Savior.

The Lord of Truth is Shepherd of my soul,
for his bounty supplies all that I need,
so I lie in pasture by tranquil stream
after his guidance through dark vale of fear
restores my soul with fruit from Tree of Life
when we feast in safe haven of his care.

When I was young in wild streets of New York,
my friends and I would play a dangerous game
where we would tie long rope of haughty faith
on southern side of the high Brooklyn Bridge,
then dive into swift tide of the East River
that flows swift to the Upper New York Bay.

Diving down in swift tides of the East River,
that flushes back and forth for hours each day,
is like our plunge into flow of desire,
so we would have to breathe deep breath of hope
and swim up fast enough to grab the rope,
or tides of greed would sweep our souls away.

Our Shepherd Jesus reaches down his hand
with loving gesture of the bridge-bound rope,
so we must reach our hands with honest faith
to grab strong rope of his attentive love
and climb with faith back to the sturdy bridge
to secure our place in Heaven with God.

After they sing the hymn Amazing Grace,
Albert searches through the large milling crowd
till he finds Daphne Stuart in green dress
with blue eyes and gold curly hair who smiles
when he gives her small box of chocolate,
and she gives him her painting of a horse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus finds several people washed up on the shore of Liberty Island who failed to grab the rope after they dove off the Brooklyn Bridge into the River Styx.

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

Cosmic Self Of Ungod
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

Every conscious soul of organic flesh,
woven from quick coils of electric eyes,
who wakes from pulsing passion of desire
on every planet in the universe,
then sings with love to generate new life,
dreams alive with cosmic self of Ungod.

Though alone in forever now of me
as I stroll along winding stream of hope
on this one globe of all time-spooling globes
that teem with souls across the multiverse,
I sing with universal choir of souls
so alive with cosmic self of Ungod.

While trembling with fear in the wilderness,
wounded from attack of demonic rage
when my husband drove me out of our home
because I bear no children from his seed,
I gaze at silent sky of gleaming stars
that swirls bright with cosmic self of Ungod.

Our world of high mountains and surging seas,
that seems so huge at center of all space,
is but one tiny globe of transient souls
in one small galaxy of countless stars
in humungous ocean of streaming light
that spirals from cosmic self of Ungod.

Old bearded prophet with star-flashing eyes,
Isaiah gives me bread and juice to eat,
then guides me across waste land of despair
in tour along safe edge of the abyss
till we arrive at garden of fruit trees
that blossoms from cosmic self of Ungod.

With gentle hands of attentive concern
Isaiah gives me shelter in his heart,
so, while he writes fierce prophecies in verse
to guide our king on path of righteousness,
I weave tapestry that depicts creation
of our world from cosmic self of Ungod.

When I bear strong child from seed of Isaiah,
and name him Sariel, the Prince of El,
cruel husband who drove me out of our home
appears and demands I return to him,
but ravens swoop down from the Tree of Love
and drive him from cosmic self of Ungod.

With nimble fingers of expressive joy
Sariel plays harp of David and sings psalms
describing oneness of our universe
where every conscious being of mortal flesh
glows with immortal spirit of the stars,
born as souls from cosmic self of Ungod.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus and Sariel tour together to play concerts in every town of Earth where they sing hymns of Orpheus and psalms of David about the cosmic self of Ungod.

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

Unjust Death Of The Honest Man
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

When Proserpina, daughter of Ceres,
returns after the harvest festival
with Mercurius to resume her role
as manager of jewel mines for Pluto,
skipping as she sings psalms of blooming fruit,
Hecate opens gates with Key of Death.

Eyes sparkling with joy from her summer play
with her sweet mother in Elysian Fields,
Proserpina twirls to show off her new dress,
hugs cute Mercurius, who blushes shyly,
then skips past gates down to the mines of Pluto
where criminals dig jewels from deep caves.

Just before Hecate locks gates of Hades,
Jesus Florian Silva from Mexico,
who died in crowded cell in Texas jail
while in the custody of officers,
slips free from Underworld of the mute dead,
eyes glowing with light of the Watchful Owl.

Following power lines that glow bright gold
in vast network of word-shimmering voices,
Jesus searches for flames of energy
that glow in hearts of his children and wife,
then spots their sorrow as they return home
from his funeral in the humble church.

Haunting the home he built with his own hands
after working thirty years in construction,
Jesus watches his wife, Sofia Dolores,
born in the rugged hills of Venezuela,
prepare supper for their extended clans
who gather to remember his kind soul.

Standing before crowd of family and neighbors,
gathered at the evening velorio,
Sofia, wiping tears from her eyes, relates
tale of his hopeful quest across the desert,
then working sunrise to sunset each day
so their Texas-born children attend college.

My kind-hearted Jesus Florian Silva,
who always worked hard and obeyed the law,
and paid his taxes though he could not vote,
was arrested and beaten without cause
by the cruel immigration officers
who left him to die in the crowded jail.

As everyone weeps and wails in outrage
about unjust death of the honest man,
Jesus glides away from his crowded home,
follows glowing wings of Mercurius,
and walks back through the jeweled gates of Hades
where Morpheus gives him cider to drink.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus visits Jesus Florian Silva in the Underworld, bringing him photos from the wedding of his daughter Martina with her college sweetheart Richard Sjoberg.

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

Melodies Of Psychic Math
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

While I wander endless maze of hard streets
through crowds of angels wearing human masks,
my heart sings melodies of psychic math
to reprogram private religious faith
by weaving all national fairy tales
in single epic of the human race.

I drive through black rain drenching country road,
that winds through forest of satyrs and nymphs,
but slam breaks hard when ghost of innocence
leaps into headlight beams with bloody face,
so I lift from sharp gravel of despair
fallen angel as hysterical girl.

Shivering beside me in brown vinyl seat
while I race Chevy Malibu to town,
young girl in jeans, white blouse, and cowboy boots,
whispers her tragic story with hoarse voice
that slithers on snake skin into my spine
so shudder at horror of her fear.

I drove from Florida to Tennessee
to study computer programming code,
where nice boy, who seemed interested in me,
lured me into dark woods behind the school
where his jealous girlfriend cut me with hate
then bashed my head with chunk of sharp cement.

While I stare at her fractured skull in shock
where her brain pulses with divine god-mind,
my heart screams melodies of psychic math
that program human brains with love and hate
so we fight for our place in game of power
where some may win, but all die in the end.

I wonder what fraught formula of hope
drives humans, seeking to protect their rights,
to kill other humans who block their way,
which manifests as endless bloody wars
fought by nations over ten thousand years
for whose ancestral god is the True God.

When I arrive at the hospital door
that glows warm in the freezing rainy night,
I call for help to nurses in white gowns,
but when they arrive with their healing hands
the wounded girl I rescued from dark woods
is nothing more than a broken Barbie doll.

While I kneel at grave of the murdered girl,
whose ghost sought my help one dark rainy night,
my heart prays melodies of psychic math
so I can calculate cause and effect
of greedy lust that drives humans to kill
so we confirm our souls with self-control.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus plays guitar in the country bar and sings ballad about the tragic murder of Colleen Slemmer while drunk cowboys throw bottles at his head.

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

Time Unfolds The Nothing
© Surazeus
2026 10 24

Since time unfolds the nothing of our joy
which we have built on memories of pain,
I walk away from shambles of my faith
and wander nowhere in the wordless world,
then sit alone on river shore of fate
with nothing but my hope to contemplate.

Befuddled by confusing stream of thoughts
that jumble memories of suffering
in scattered puzzle of painful abuse
that people hurl at me with bitter hate,
I watch clear water of the river flow
in trance that seems to cause the world to slow.

Intense arrest of sudden fractured fear
suspends me in unmoving quietness,
so I begin to float on breathless wings
of ardent sparrow outside frame of flesh,
soul swelling far beyond shell of my mind
through undulating horror hope designed.

Too clear before my eyes of bleeding rage
I see again that scene I would forget
when cruel men dragged my mother from our home,
then left her bleeding by the dusty road,
so moment light of life flashed from her eyes
now shrouds my soul as shadow of dark skies.

Three days and nights of endless bitter tears
wound my disbanded heart with anguish tight,
too wounded from despair as I cried out
for her to wake from nothingness of death,
then buried her with flowers by the tree
that tricks me to believe her soul is free.

When gang of boys from town surround my place
of refuge in bright forest of fruit trees,
I whirl oak staff I carved with serpent face
to bash their heads when they grab at my arms,
till they all crawl as dogs on dusty ground,
then vow I am their queen on goddess mound.

Brave warriors of my heart obey my words
when we attack high ziggurat of power
and fight the bankers in their halls of wealth
to free humble farmers from slavery,
then wear the crown of law on judgment throne
to rule the land with fair justice alone.

Since time unfolds the nothing of our sorrow
which we have built from memories of pleasure,
I return to garden of our respect
to shelter you with wisdom of my heart
so we thrive in temple of our world view
till death erases us from dream of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury in Artemisium Temple and sings the tale of how Arinniti established ancient empire of justice and equal rights for all.

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

God Mind In My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 10 23

When darkness of my heart breathes stellar lust,
I dare collude with psychic force of hope
to fight against oppressors of the mind
who try to poison fruit from Tree of Life,
but I know apples sweeten in the dark,
which tames the serpent of my heart with love.

When beauty writhes from fractured egg of light,
I gaze through trees to see soul of mankind
that shimmers deep inside our pulsing hearts
till beams of passion radiate from our brains
so we become wild angels in fruit trees,
immortal genes that coil from ocean waves.

I visit every temple in the world,
built long ago by reverent hands of faith,
and stand in darkness of their ruined truth
to feel brave spirit of humanity
that hides in terror inside sunless halls
from writhing serpent of our hungry hearts.

Waist-deep in green pool of the mountain stream,
among enormous stones of jumbled thoughts,
I bathe in tears of devils who perceive
how darkness nurtures light of human hearts
to cleanse my body of selfish disease
so I may transform into swirls of light.

The common belief, that the human soul
beams down to animate our mortal flesh,
then remains whole with conscious sense of self
after our bodies crumble into dust,
has been the greatest falsehood of all time
that still deceives most people with vain hope.

How comforting to believe that our soul
could exist intact before we are born
and might still remain long after we die,
because few conscious beings alive on Earth
are willing to accept with aching heart
that we are transient flames of flashing light.

Because whole mental program of my brain
has been designed by each subsequent life
of my ancestors struggling to survive
as they evolve four hundred million years,
my sense of conscious self glows fiercely bright
so I feel divine God Mind in my brain.

Tricked by this feeling of immortal life
that animates my million-year-old brain,
I breathe ethereal spirit of this Earth
and sing epic poem of philosophers
who seek to understand essence of truth,
translating mute fear into light of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus explains that souls cannot return from the dead to animate new bodies because our consciousness is nothing more than a memory-computing function of the brain.

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

Mirror Of Indelible Truth
© Surazeus
2026 10 23