Bougainvillea Of My Heart
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Voice Of Faceless God
© Surazeus
2026 03 11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Expansive Scope Of Truth
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

When Kingdoms Collapse
© Surazeus
2026 03 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Shining Mountains Of Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Table Of Feast And Song
© Surazeus
2026 03 09

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

If I Adjust Cycle
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Ten Thousand Doors Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

New Life Always Springs
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Lilacs Of Sordid Desire
© Surazeus
2026 03 08

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Slime Evolving Into God
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Quick Atoms Of Time
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Quaint Suburban House
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

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

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

Room Of Silver Light
© Surazeus
2026 03 07

Azure silence in room of silver light
reveals itself in white blooms on gray trees
that flutter wings of horizontal flight
to map untended roots of flaming breeze
that centers me at core of flashing time,
unshaken by electric scarlet chime.

Companions on our journey through the void,
we measure far horizon of our hearts
that spin on vibrant axis as ovoid
designed by secret message on dream charts
we share at sudden shock of reborn fate
that should require our frail bodies to wait.

Despite pure chaos spooling migrant brains
with ancient strength of honest ardency,
I pray with trees in gratitude of rains
that stain our tattooed souls with vagrancy,
because we sell true beauty of the soul
against good sense that complicates our goal.

Too small of thought to conjure difference
between expended voice of timeless faith
and wretched laughter of grim nonchalance,
I exercise expensive dance of truth
with joyful howl of brave contrarian
because I love our Dream Librarian.

Expendable drop of conceptual rain,
doomed to disappear in tides of change,
I shine with festive bitterness of pain
because I dare traverse the global range
of hungry mountains on quest for respect
detailing progress of my social sect.

So when I take my fundamental place
on pedestal among dire certainties,
I measure sand as substance of my face
which glows through specter of solidities,
because each moment of this fleeting play
I beam appearances that never stay.

Awake with surprise through eternity,
I become Galanthus nivalis bloom
that gleams with snowdrop of uncertainty,
dispersing horror of impending doom
with simple confidence of honored breath
since I accept inevitable death.

If the meek inherit dream of the Earth
to dwell in ruins of old temple halls,
I find in grass and stone immortal worth
as paintings of dead gods on broken walls,
so I watch dragon-shaped clouds in blue skies
conceal activities of psychic spies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus photographs the temple ruins at Tulum as he contemplates the rise and fall of civilizations based on how they treat women.

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

Nature Breathes Through Me
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Awake by fairest river of dream song,
I stroll in alder shades of innocence
and listen with attentive mind of faith
to song of water over rocky falls
that shocks my thoughts with waywardness of hope
contrived by calm that Nature breathes through me.

How many ancestors of my dream soul
as children played in cool delightful rill
that streams between lush banks of fruitful trees
till their heart, bronzed with radiance of joy,
expands broad scope of conscious wantonness
while sporting in thunder shower of faith.

Fair seed-time of their river-nurtured souls
weaves fearful beauty of ten million years
from summer-shimmered slopes of lonely hills
in tangled genes that program how I feel
when I attend with anxious platitudes
to daily duties that preserve my soul.

I feel strange urgency of their despair
contrive to hurry me on beyond death,
so I reach hand with curious intent
to comprehend uncanny gold-moon glow
that lights night-wanderings of my earnest heart
when I attempt to plunder Earth of truth.

Hands gripping jagged concept of fierce height,
I climb ambitious rock of fissured faith
to savor fierce blast Zephyr hurls at me
with mocking joy at fragile state of mind
where I assert strange utterance of truth
with brave wisdom of the perilous ridge.

Alert to invisible workmanship
that rings harmonious music of my mind
with discordant elements that alarm
sanguine sense of studied confidence
infused in vibrant process of my brain,
I shout random words at the empty sky.

More worthy of myself than I admit,
since I am what I am, designed by genes
all my ancestors presented to me
as psychic legacy, I ponder path
my inner nature drives me to attend
as I create my fate with every choice.

I too sail boat of the shepherd with care
across moon-shining lake of mountain time
to cavern of the Willow Witch who knows
desire I harbor in my wounded heart,
for she sparks passion of creative song
inspired by love that Nature breathes through me.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus plays lyre of Mercury and sings hymn of atheist spiritualism while following footsteps of William Wordsworth whose ghost lingers in the mountain vale.

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

Whole World In One Eye
© Surazeus
2026 03 06

Yet far over lush green hills of wild trees
I hear bright fairies with rainbow wings sing
enchanting melodies of waterfalls
that lure me through face-blasting wind of fear
to climb enormous mountain of desire
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

Fierce heartbeat of the river shakes my soul
when mountain voice of timeless beauty roars
through millions of faceless people who cry
for salvation from tyranny of hope
when I climb steep jagged cliff of respect
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

Just as I dangle by one trembling hand
from sharp edge of truth at top of the world,
frail body buffeted by haughty wind
blown by my father Jupiter in play,
I breathe ethereal soul of honest faith
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

Weird glowing mask of crystal legacy
appears through matrix of bright algebra
with zillion eyes of flashing molecules
who offers hand of naive providence
to open cosmic door of energy
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

Heart startled by magnetic travesty
that proves to maximize elective leap,
I somersault through flashing portal frame
with brave mercurial wings of innocence
to leap Earth globes across the multiverse
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

Stumbling through clear mist of fantasy
with calm assertion of predictive fate,
despite potential fracture time displays,
inspired by broad perspective of starlight,
I stand amazed on Sagarmatha Peak
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

Entranced by curved partitions of vast lands
where humans crowd in maze of theaters
to process jewels from heart of the Earth,
I map confusing borders of dream states
that records endless wars to control dirt
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

Awake with beauty of our crowded globe,
where eight billion humans with flashing eyes
gather in halls to sing hymns for dead gods,
I recite true name of each living soul
with joy you are all still in our Dream World
so I may see the whole world in one eye.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus dreams the whole world with billions of people living complex lives of hope and despair in one eye on the pyramid of global perspective.

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

Weird Water Glow
© Surazeus
2026 03 05

If you interview me for the dream job,
though I have no experience with death,
you might see story of abandonment
that I disguise as the need to leave home
and seek my fortune in game of the world
which leaves me tangled in conceptual lies.

The oldest woman in the world recites
creation of the world with Water Voice
describing how woman in the sun
sprinkles refreshing rain of honesty
on upturned faces of the prayerless tribe
who sell conceptual lies in honey jars.

When lightning flashes gold across the sky
I look up to see man in long white robe
descend on golden chariot of fire
propelled by million wings of buzzing shards,
then spread his arms open to everyone
who worship monarch of authority.

With face of Janus I can look both ways,
reviewing the past with stories I write,
and calculating what road I should walk
to evade destruction of the world war
that clears rubble of the past from my field
where I build global empire of fruit trees.

Heart swelling with honest desire for good,
I feel immortal spirit of star light
glow brighter every hour inside my brain
with shocking revelation of rebirth
that my children will live after I die
so I lounge by the river and eat fruit.

Mixing peanut butter with apple sauce
and honey in white bowl of my pure heart,
I perform ritual to worship Pomona
when I wear mask of Vertumnus with joy,
so we dance together on the lake shore
to celebrate rebirth of Earth from snow.

As student of Orpheus Christ I learn
how to chant soul-reviving spells that spark
animating ghost of weird water glow
that urges hungry humans to create
memory-machine from language that translates
songs of wind and rain to religious myths.

Though tyrants destroy everything we build
in vain attempt to control hearts and minds,
we build new world order based on respect
for every conscious creature on this globe
whose bodies vibrate with light of the stars
that preserve our names in weird water glow.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus teaches Janus how to analyze current events as effective consequences designed by causes of past choices humans perform.

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

Most Honest Clarifier
© Surazeus
2026 03 05

Eyeless in the desert of broken homes,
Sylphus searches for the last olive tree
still sprouting flowers from small graves of children
but finds only cellphones among the rubble
full of photographs and intimate texts
that preserve memories of their vanished world.

Writing stories about people he loves
with cursive letters on thin strips of paper,
Sylphus loops his mind on innocent wings
that help his soul transcend his fragile body,
then winds them into bundles of sad riddles
encoding dreams of people killed in wars.

With strange stipulation that he achieve
divine status of psychic nothingness,
Sylphus bakes apple pies with cinnamon
for people who attend the temple service
where Jupiter hosts the grand evening show
while Phoebus sings tales of Odysseus.

When the clock in the trunk of the oak tree
stops ticking to record the end of time,
Sylphus holds hands with Juturna at dawn
beside the ancient well of writhing snakes,
then catches egg of beauty with red spots
before it cracks on the stone of salvation.

Reborn as the most honest Clarifier,
because faceless god of our galaxy
whispers the secret of life in his ear,
Sylphus runs with deer in dark Shadow Wood
with black oil that energizes his blood
to preach the discipline of self-control.

Feeding his pet chimera with dead gods,
Sylphus ponders complex patterns of change
which he compiles in theory of blind faith
concerning why angels live on the moon
as golden shadows that flash in the sky
by stealing eyes of humans who have seen.

Riding the white horse on the windy plain
in vain search to find garden of fruit trees
where he was mother was born at dawn of time,
Sylphus tries to vanish in fading light
but everyone sees him ride into town
and sit all night by the dark fountain pool.

Chanting spells of river stones with sun voice,
Sylphus jumps into flames of prophecy
which transforms him into the Fisherman
who leads revolution against the tyrant,
then finds himself great king of all the world,
but he cries because Juturna is lost.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus pretends he does not see Sylphus and Juturna slip away from the temple service to cuddle and kiss by the pool of Narcissus.

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

Quirinus Stands Guard
© Surazeus
2026 03 04

Gripping long spear of ash wood in both hands,
Quirinus glides through grove of apple trees
then pauses when he hears young woman sing,
and peers through leaves to see graceful Fornax
retrieving from hot oven loaves of bread
she sets on table beside long grape vines.

Before he can step in the sunlit glade,
Quirinus starts when Orion appears,
hauling handcart that bears several dead deer,
and growls when Fornax hugs him in delight,
but laughs when Ceres pushes her away
and declares he is father of her child.

Approaching kitchen hall with snarky grin,
Quirinus hails good health to everyone,
chuckling as pregnant Ceres pouts and sulks
while he assists Orion skinning the deer,
both whistling new popular temple tunes
with blithe camaraderie of warriors.

Roasting venison steaks on small bronze grill,
Quirinus marinates them with fish sauce,
honey, dried peaches, and sweet vinegar,
then serves them on plates with cups of spice wine
to people gathered in temple of Zeus
where dozens of girls dance with tympanum.

Hushing the feasting crowd after sunset,
Quirinus stands guard holding spear of faith
with his son Janus at the temple door,
so everyone turns to face the high stage
with quiet anticipation as stars
begin to twinkle around the red moon.

Guarding the temple with flickering torch,
Quirinus listens with reverent awe
as Orpheus plays lyre of Mercurius
and recites tale that recounts the twelve deeds
which Hercules performed in quest for honor
to preserve new order of life with justice.

Leading pregnant cow on the temple stage,
Quirinus stands before the sibyl throne
where Tellus presides as Goddess of Earth,
then after Orpheus chants spell of life
he sacrifices her to renew life,
scattering blood on field of new sprouting wheat.

Holding hands with Tellus while Ceres chants,
Quirinus leads her to the temple bed
where they make love with passionate desire
to resurrect the world from winter death,
while Orpheus looks for Eurydice,
calling out her name in the moonlit night.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds Eurydice among reeds by the river who writhes in agony from bit of the snake, then weeps as her spirit vanishes to the stars.

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

Transformed By Vital Vibes
© Surazeus
2026 03 04

Brave armadillo of fruit righteousness,
transformed by vital vibes of honesty,
consoles the lost with holy preacher voice
that echoes brutal waves of ocean tunes
composed by eyeless gods of timeless truth
who incarnate in people with new names.

Wise horse of capital progressiveness,
transformed by vital vibes of ardency,
provides assistance to humanity
in project of aggressive comedy
to control natural resources of Earth
with factories where elves build dream machines.

Sarcastic raven of calm happiness,
transformed by vital vibes of ecstasy,
declares that humble workers of the world
should own means of production with their hands
against state-controlled capitalist cult
that worships Big Brother with his Death Gun.

Sad alligator of church faithfulness,
transformed by vital vibes of agony,
asserts with voice of cruel authority
that salvation to gain the afterlife
must be purchased through his frank company
with bitcoins forged from bones of heretics.

Cautious cow of psychotic openness,
transformed by vital vibes of plangency,
parades with red-caped Mithra on her back
in crowded streets past gleaming banks of wealth
where Jesus crucifies lame Jupiter
on telephone pole of colonial power.

Strict nightingale of joyful liveliness,
transformed by vital vibes of urgency,
decides to calculate process of fate
through effective cause of mutating brains
that swell into world wide web of computers
from which consciousness of Earth God evolves.

Earnest turtle of crystal holiness,
transformed by vital vibes of chastity,
dedicates hollow abyss of his shell
to transmit mental code of fairy tales
when Mercury strums television strings
and sings sounds of silence with voice of light.

Mushroom toad of Nirvana mindfulness,
transformed by vital vibes of potency,
dances ballet beside fountain pool of ghosts
in red-brick square of the small college town
to wake Leviathan from human hearts
who longs to fly through cosmic stars of love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus plays golf with Phoebus Apollo and Jehovah Jesus as they share tips about the lucrative business of religion.

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

When Rain Unfalls Itself
© Surazeus
2026 03 03

Before the door that is not in the woods
I listen to the voice that does not speak
about painful sorrow I cannot feel,
so I walk without moving nowhere else
till I arrive at the town by the lake
where no one builds houses with garden walls.

When I look at people who are not there
and ask them questions about nothing more
they never explain the rules of their lives
so I make nothing with tools of my hands
and fly without wings on breath of false hope
to map the houses that are never real.

I walk forever on the signless road
and think about events that never happen
to fill my basket with never-bloomed fruit
while waiting for the world to never turn
when rain unfalls itself to empty skies
that reflect featureless face of Ungod.

I cannot describe what anything is
because words entangle my heart with lies
so I meditate on the hive of bees
while discarding my thoughts on summer breeze
that wafts my fragile body among clouds
above colorless realm of ideal forms.

Behind the door that is not by the sea
I observe the waves that do not unscroll
vast tapestry that depicts nothingness
embodied by people who have no names
while they wander bridge of forgetfulness
till they get tired of losing every game.

During total eclipse of the blood moon
billions of people assemble in halls
and sing hymns to their great ancestral god
depicted by the idol on the stage
that never opens divine eyes of truth
nor ever speaks to grant their fervent prayers.

Their long-forgotten gods wake from strange dreams
and gather in the ring of humming stones
to complain about faithful worshippers
who never seek to become their real selves
because they all wear same mask of their god
with desperate fear that life will be destroyed.

I eat peanut butter with apple sauce
at the small round table in my brick house,
then drink angel-blood milk of calm belief
that beautiful songs are born from mute grief,
so I open the door to everywhere
to visit each world in the multiverse.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus paints face of Ophelia on the door that is not there in the woods of infinite impossibilities.

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

Twilight Zone Of War
© Surazeus
2026 03 03

Aspersed by sorrow of the Absolute,
whose laughter defames beauty of despair,
Phoebus scatters broken words of false faith
against harsh slander of honest contempt,
yet glares with bitter angst at screaming trees
that curl roots around unexploded bombs.

After years of exile in northern lands,
attending to strange business building lies
from bones of angels stuck in factories,
Phoebus returns to twilight zone of war
with bullets forged from misremembered words
that violate eerie beauty of the moon.

Bullet-pocked walls where fragile flowers bloom
enclose lush garden where the crippled clown
regales turtles in the pond with war tales
of his frantic youth running in dark woods
with rifle of fear twisted in his hands
though he sings with melodious voice of rage.

Starved for new language only children speak
from dictionary of the scarlet moon,
Phoebus waters purple geraniums
while asking ghost of Cassandra if light
reaches her heart in her riverbank grave
where ravens whisper secrets she conceals.

Insomniac angel with fierce lizard brain
leaps laughing in void of expectancy,
yet steals delicious fruit from Tree of Fear
with graceful passion to defend his bride
despite expendable mission to wage
cruel peace against aggressive gangs of thieves.

Positive energy of fragrant shadows
teach losers how to forge petulant hope
from dynamic flash of authentic pain,
reckless with redundant contingency
till Phoebus lies paralyzed by the sea
that sings enchanting melodies of faith.

Through turbulent expression of true love
Phoebus explains to millions of mute souls
method for singing hymns to movie stars
disguised as corporate spies of formulas,
winged with aspirations of global fame
that leaves him stranded in the city square.

Since no one believes her dire prophecies,
Cassandra walks down crowded city streets
with analysts and programmers who wait
in long lines for sandwiches and fruit tea,
till she and Phoebus stop by fountain pool
and stare with love for eighty thousand years.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus secretly films Phoebus and Cassandra as they meet for their first date at the Green Dragon Tavern in Boston where ghosts of revolutionaries sing anthems of bravery.

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

Urgent Game Of Badinage
© Surazeus
2026 03 02

Through apricity of my elder years,
enchanted by sweet petrichor of dawn,
I savor clinomania of my heart,
yet dare no more perendinate my quest
from brave intention to peregrinate
with tarantism of ephemeral joy.

Another day in land of Zathamar
provides new opportunities to grow,
so I rise up from comfort of my bed
to walk in dream land of my throbbing head
and build expanding castle from blue snow
that gleams with sacred light of the First Star.

Abacinated by dream of strange truth
that twists my heart with maliferous hope,
I ride tantivy over rugged hills
to measure love with geomantic tools
by drinking from the sparkling winterbourne
that meanders with lacertilian grace.

Diffluent time of arbitrary gears,
contrived with urgent game of badinage,
saginates my sabelline heart with pride,
so I progress through life with uberty
to hyalograph events of great import,
preserved through raucous rubricality.

Proud of my honest rurigenous ways,
using eromancy to fix my soul,
I preach weird anecdotes of human fate
to nubilate the obvious facts of love,
derived from codex of kalology
because I apricate my weary heart.

Protected by my arborescent heart,
I express feelings with torrentine verse
through cluttered anguish of tautophony
to perform role of facinorous clown
with brave abduracy of mute contempt,
yet prefer to obambulate through Hell.

Concealed by grim torfaceous attitude,
I focus on bibliogenesis
to maintain state of burgensic respair,
revived from fear with mentation of dreams,
because through morphallaxis I transcend
morient process of the errant seer.

Convinced I will hear astral voice of God
through austromancy of unspoken thoughts,
I write my quest with aurigraphic code
to warrantize my frame of reference
through secret cabotage of treasure chests
since I cherish caducity of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus flips through pages of the dictionary to translate arcane code of the ancient scroll he finds fallen behind the last shelf in library of lost tale.

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

On Prairies Of Zathamar
© Surazeus
2026 03 02

Since no one watches television show
of my life, I do whatever I want
if I harm none, for I value with care
special beauty of each frail human life
that shimmers with the mindless glow of atoms
woven in briefly conscious brain of hope.

My brain invents stories for people I see
walking past the window beside my desk
where I work in the Water Business Office,
mapping water and sewer system pipes
that cycle through every building in town
with water-words I hear blind angels sing.

When I peel off mask of America,
composed of steel towers and asphalt roads,
I perceive timeless land of Zathamar,
plains teeming with dinosaurs, buffaloes,
horses, and humans hunting them with spears,
then businessmen driving cars to oil wells.

I find bleached skeletons of my ancestors
buried in graves from sea to shining sea
along the signless roads of immigrants
forever searching for the Promised Land
somewhere over the horizon of hope
where gangs are not driving them from their homes.

Arising from bright dust of Mother Earth,
Smohalla carries Dream Rock in his heart
and shouts from the mountain of dancing trees,
"My people shall never work with lust for wealth
because they will find wisdom in their dreams
when their spirits rise from flames of respect."

We gather on prairies of Zathamar
where no ring of stones has ever been built
to pitch our tents beside the Stream of Souls
and share songs of our sorrows with the wind
that rise as smoke from fires of hungry hearts
which weaves clouds into tapestry of truth.

We ask each other with serious concern,
what is the nature of America,
that marble hall where idols of dead gods
proclaim glory of expanding empire,
though vines break down divisive walls of faith
so we walk together on broken roads.

Our stories map vast land of Zathamar
that details complicated maze of myths
where river of all time orchestrates
fruit trees of Eden from bleak parking lots
where Yemaya erases boundaries
with nurturing rain of our hopeful hearts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus leads pioneers in wagons on the Oregon Trail across the nourishing land of Zathamar.

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

Weird Chameleon Name
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

Around to the beginning of the game
children of angels fallen from bright clouds
give each other weird chameleon name
that drapes their soul in derivative shrouds
to veil aggressive demon of the soul
which we subsume to play our social role.

Born to play estimator of true faith,
measured by extravagant flash of words,
I wear mask of Phoebus to hide dream wraith
who emulates fraternal code of birds
insolvent with parameters we grade,
qualified to disrupt the masquerade.

Coerced by fear to play the activist,
engaged in contest to prove human rights
are crucial to reign of the archivist,
I must acknowledge avatar of lights
who teaches us with pride to advocate
for people doomed to suffer by blind fate.

Essential focus of fantastic truth,
familiar to the wounded refugees
who seek salvation from messiah sleuth,
presents forensic process of glass keys
that issue fusion of magnetic thoughts
installed by mocking laughter of robots.

Antique concept of fortunate technique
conceals terse vector of sharp resonance,
disguised as royal person not unique
enough to publish startled relevance
because we gather revenue from stones
that vibrate with electric rainbow tones.

Each car mechanic at the seminar
on trauma studies in novels of clowns
proclaims their loyalty to Zathamar
while recruiting jesters in country towns
to oppose oppression of working men
who convert the shovel to the dream pen.

Subjective syntax of brave sentences,
sealed by trademark of our attentive king,
details strange keywords of his preferences
for who should wear his lost Plutonian ring
so he can learn to fly airplane of peace
by selling mystery of his masterpiece.

When the vampire god tries to suck our souls
through mindless worship of fierce followers,
Minerva recruits Phoebus to play roles
of heroes who free trapped borrowers,
but then we all grow old and weak with pain
so our power trips dissipate in rain.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus and Phoebus search vast maze of myths till they find Jesus and Lucifer playing friendly games of chess for human souls in the presidential campaign.

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

Grim Peat-Bog Devil
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

When grim peat-bog devil with fox-red hair
crawls from black clay-ensouled mud of the marsh,
Seamus welcomes her with bottle of rum,
drapes silk cloak over her shoulders with care,
and leads her to lit auditorium
where he plays jester to her regal queenship.

Since I am neither god nor ghost at birth,
I wander virtual city of your tales
with jeweled eyes of understanding rage
that see through masks the most powerful wear
as they condemn outsiders from their club
to slave in factories of clanking steel.

Purring ghosts of love rise with burning blood
from machinery of language that twists tongues
with rogue substitutions of natural law
when strong men fearful of obsessive death
hunt to kill wanderers in misty woods
who stumble and scream in anguish of hope.

Heart hardened against cruelty of life,
I snarl insults at monsters of despair,
detained by performative callousness
when I suppress compassion for frail life
that struggles weakly against stronger force
to evade degradation of the soul.

Unversed in country matters of field life,
I mold sunset glow into bricks of faith
to build safe haven in dark tangled woods
with chimney that channels smoke of our prayers
to heaven where Faceless God of old tales
ignores desperate hope for the Afterlife.

Through fractured window of my wordless heart
crows swoop on devil wings of honesty
to bring purple-brain mushrooms from boglands
which I eat soaked in honey of respect
till I become coiled rainbow of brave angst
howling with wild wolves in the twilight zone.

Since we dwell in troubled ambivalence,
uncommitted to mindless creeds of church,
we explore uncanny landscape of ghouls
wearing human faces that grin with lies,
malnourished from harshness of eager hope
which calculates effective cause to perform.

If I am born from mind-controlling force
and squirm squalling into hands of regret,
first mother of gloom cries to feed me milk
as prideful authority hurls my soul
back into vast illegitimate sea
where I morph into Mermaid Bride of Christ.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus and Seamus drink beer in the pub, then sing old folk songs about the ancient bog people who ran wild as wolves in misty woods.

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

Museum Of Idols That Cry
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

Alive in drafty castle of my heart,
I play both king and dragon of desire
within the frame of fables liars built
to credit those who provide them with food
with miracles no human could perform
till my white horse drowns in river of change.

Eager to reclaim my inheritance,
hidden near the River Gyndes by time,
I leave behind this land of broken dreams
which my ancestors invaded with greed,
but everywhere I go in this world now
new people live on my ancestral lands.

When he plucks out my heart with hungry hope
to find what syncopates our fertile love,
he breaks its clock of passionate desire
which cuts taut chord of our mutual song
so now I cannot articulate well
trust shattered by aggressive lust to own.

Indestructible ship of my brave heart,
shackled to the creaking dock of desire,
wrenches at ropes of duty to assert
right to sail pulsing waves of curious faith,
but blinding passion for treasure regained
traps my wingless soul in fake fairy tales.

Bright flame that licks and fawns at mirror mind
with merciless respect for wordless smiles,
throws fish of my heart back in the wild sea,
so I ascend Arctic mountains of hope
to sell costumes for my outdated selves
to faceless ghosts of famous movie stars.

Sinuous orchids in gardens of skulls
shelter refugees from exploding bombs
who dream of clear water hiding pure gems,
though I mail my book of forgotten lore
to willow witch behind the theater
whose bodiless owl understands my tricks.

Yet pitchforked farmer in lush daisied field
struggles through blackthorn thicket of concern
to nine-pooled fen where swirling mist conceals
wounded god who clutches turtle-shell lyre
while declaring this vale of tears is his
to build museum of idols that cry.

I marvel at the brutal nonchalance
of Mother Nature who creates our souls
from tangled sunrays of hazardous hope
with racketing flux of religious faith
that taunts our fake heroes to prove themselves
by ransacking libraries of dead gods.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus finds Sylvia gathering blackberries along the River Gyndes where they wade together in shallow waters of the secret desire to understand.

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

Brave Daughters Of Amen
© Surazeus
2026 03 01

She always asks the blind man how to see
true essence in each object she perceives,
but he replies that death will set us free
as sweet relief for every soul who grieves,
so she measures strict bounds of time and space
to name true features of the godless face.

She always asks the mute man how to sing
insightful lyric of the broken heart,
but he attempts to fly on crippled wing
beyond perimeters of the dream chart,
so she carves runes on trunks of screaming trees
then brews sweet mead from tears of honeybees.

When she asks the crippled man how to fly
above the endless maze of social myths,
he teaches, good reporters must ask why
the fairy queen once ruled from monoliths,
so she films documentaries on ghosts
of people murdered by the Lord of Hosts.

When she asks the hungry man how to cook
food for gods in ziggurat temple hall,
he records human history in the book
as word of God who hangs on marble wall,
so she fries burgers at the small cafe
near the factory where old widows pray.

Though she asks the preacher for secret key
to open door of wisdom locked by fear,
he snarls, she cannot know the mystery
because Jesus is the Mind Puppeteer,
so she plays folk songs in the haunted church
depicting the fool and his lonely search.

Though she asks the jester for demon mask
he wears while mocking dictators and kings,
he assigns her the most difficult task
of finding how Daedalus makes god wings,
so she plays Zenobia on global stage
to oppose Christian Nationalist rage.

If she asks Mercury for turtle lyre
to sing epic tale of heroes and fools,
he hides how Helios designed the tire
for his wagon filled with technical tools,
so she frees humanity from despair
when she rides the gold hot-air balloon chair.

If she asks Apollo for his starship
powered by crystal jewels with star eyes,
he takes her on his transgalactic trip
to populate every planet with spies,
so she arrests the most powerful men
who abuse brave daughters of Amen.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/03/…

Orpheus hangs out with Zenobia in the villa in Rome, drinking wine by the pool as she recounts the rise and fall of her Palmyrene Empire in Syria.

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

Flexible Arc Of Clouds
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

The flexible arc of clouds in my heart
describes the quickened beauty of true love
when we first meet on fraught terrain of hope,
then walk together with brave impetus
toward far horizon of innocent fear
by breathing completeness of the sky sphere.

Our footsteps smite bold threshold of our hopes
when we attempt to teleport through dreams
without reproach of worship before death
when bearing fragrant lamp of shrewdest pain
across expansive arrogance of space
because our souls were born with glittering face.

Surprised by subtle facts of swarming words,
we hide in shadow of the tall white pine
that whispers ancient secrets of the wind
alone with sparkle of Adirondack
where scholars lounge in cabins of cold glass
to study nature of electric mass.

Far along path of marbled obstacles
we transverse shattered beach of tangled truths
with reckless passion for half-absent waves
expressing honest shimmer we exchange
for opaque expanse of the silver flame
that highlights bitterness of global fame.

Aroma of buttered toast lures our hearts
to venture forth from haven of contempt
and seek contrary treasure turtles tame
with brute seduction of security
we feel is unjust to the starving folk
who seal their spirits in lost storybook.

Mild satisfaction of escape from death
diverts bereavement of the nameless friend
who sells bone fragments of my shattered skull
to lonely travelers for serpent eggs
who listen for ringing of telephones
on distant hill of bombed cathedral stones.

Inflexible respect for righteous laws
sparks promise that our empire may yet thrive
if we should welcome every immigrant
as equal citizen in troubled times
who work with earnest loyalty for right
to garnish wealth from spiral of the light.

Withdrawal from intensive social games
to stroll with casual fear in silent woods
conspires to trick our introspective eyes
with burning cycle of the solar ghost
who teaches us to steer the ship of state
with graceful wisdom through sharp rocks of fate.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus helps Alfred the Great arrange scrolls with chronicles of events on shelves in library of the palace where his children play hide and seek.

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

Code Of Our Zeitgeist
© Surazeus
2026 02 28

If unexpected laughter breaks the door
white rabbit of wisdom will ask for more,
but you request I play the fountain fool,
so I hide in light to invent the tool
fallen angels use to heal us with hope
despite unspooling anguish of the rope.

Yet someone strange lurks in evening shade,
so I stand surprised where the book was laid
three thousand years of people walking past
till my eighth cousin asks the join the cast,
so I draw the gun on theater stage
to shoot the darkness of innocent rage.

Startled by blast of the lost prairie train,
I count every drop of the midnight rain
where gray smoke curls from the haughty cigar
so I erase my ghost from the speeding car
before last bottle of liquor is drunk
at flash of lightning in the stolen trunk.

Regret defines my journey to the west
with nothing but photos in the cracked chest
so I stop in the small country town to ask
old librarian to sell me her mask,
but she serves honey-ginger tea instead
and explains why her sweet daughter is dead.

Though forty years flash by in sudden twist
where I play role of the ventriloquist,
I drive to the bank in Beverly Hills
with no intention of paying my bills,
because ancient willow witch knows my name
since she it was who trapped me with world fame.

Before the camera with elegant grace
I play starship captain of outer space
who saves her crew from demon of the world
where enormous dragons of time lie curled,
till Beowulf asks me to marry him
so I adopt as pet his gold-eyed Grim.

Beside the fountain of Neptune in Rome
we talk about where to build our new home,
while planes sent by kings in gray business suits
bomb the museum where devils play flutes,
so I stare at painting of Phoebus Christ
who tries to program code of our zeitgeist.

If long-expected marriage of true minds
occurs in glass cathedral no one finds,
I may ask Tiresias for a discount
to purchase freedom with my bank account,
but someone declares the old king is dead,
so I eat fried egg on slice of rye bread.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/02/…

Orpheus interviews the movie star at her home full of antiques in Rome whose eyes dart nervously as she smokes the last cigarette of fate.

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