Kaaba Of Her Destiny
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Walking toward the sea to find her lost words
that rise in blazing glory of red dawn,
Sepideh sings with strange enchanting voice
about innocent birds that lose their wings
so they find refuge in the cypress tree
and nest in tangled tresses of her hair.

Untangling tresses of her long black hair,
Sepideh frees the wingless hearts of men
who long to remain in trap of her heart,
but she finds it sweeter to wander free
across deserted Biyaban of hope,
and make her bed on burning sand of faith.

Far from the crowded cities of locked doors,
where men with iron hands grasp at her heart,
Sepideh finds in dark deserted cave
Apron of Kaveh tattered in the dust,
so she cleans Flag of Freedom with her tears,
then bears it as she walks the signless road.

Kneeling by bright pond in Biyaban,
where gold sun frames her heart with wordless grace,
Sepideh gazes in mirror of love
past mask of her face in the Ayeneh
where she perceives divine Light of Zurvan
that luminates pure nature of mankind.

While she follows flow of the Haraz River,
that winds through oak woods to Mount Damavand,
Sepideh smiles when morning Saba breeze
brings scent of cloves to soothe her aching heart,
bearing secret message of yearning love
from faceless lover she may never meet.

She finds no roses in the Biyaban,
where no Majnun, possessed with bitter grief,
flees from oppressive rules of social pride,
nor hears forlorn song of the nightingale,
yet boundless regions of the houseless waste
expands scope of true love in her vast heart.

Seeking star-eyed beauty of the Simurgh,
which emanates from her love-wounded heart,
Sepideh walks the roadless wilderness
on treacherous journey of her aching soul,
disoriented by shattering of her mask,
so she dances wildly with Saba wind.

Awake in Golestan, garden of fruit,
reborn from horror of the Biyaban,
Sepideh sings with mercurial voice
while caressing rose petals of respect,
then laughs as she drinks wine of starlit truth,
safe in the Kaaba of her destiny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury while lounging by pool in the Golestan while Sepideh sings heart-enchanting tunes about ache of the heart for divine truth.

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

New Lamp Of Diogenes
© Surazeus
2026 06 15

Though the world grows dark from cruel tyranny
through oppression of greedy oligarchs
who have seized power in grand halls of state,
I shall walk forth on signless road of fate
bearing the new Lamp of Diogenes
so we can unite to fight against hate.

With pompous heart of King Lear on the heath,
commiserating with wretches of fate
pelted by pitiless storm of despair,
I raise my wounded soul up from the ground
to bear the new Lamp of Diogenes
and prove the Heavens are just to the wronged.

Concerned about weird state of world affairs,
corrupted by gangs of exploitive thieves,
I take clear measure of humanity
to analyze chess games of global power,
then bear the new Lamp of Diogenes
to find the honest leader we can trust.

Through knowledge of suffering people endure
I transform pity to attentive grace
by looking in my heart of eager faith
so I may know what vision to invent,
beamed by the new Lamp of Diogenes,
that luminates our way to paradise.

When sunlight coils saturation of loss
by folding feathered swirls of timeless truth,
my heart shall annotate redacted code
that could obliterate our spectacle
tuned by the new Lamp of Diogenes
so we surf endless waves of social change.

Though I do not know name of every soul
who lives in every land of spinning Earth,
I know we share same dreams of love with hope
for we are neighbors in opposing states,
tricked by the new Lamp of Diogenes
to believe we all can achieve world peace.

Around bright campfire of our global faith
we gather with lost refugees of fate
when tyrants bomb our homes to steal our land,
then feast and sing with faith in loyal trust
forged by the new Lamp of Diogenes
as light that guides our quest to nurture love.

With lion heart of courage we shall walk
with Sharbat Gula on long road of fear,
enduring cruel vicissitudes of fate,
for her green eyes of wisdom glow with faith,
sparked by the new Lamp of Diogenes
to dispel darkness of cruel tyranny.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus photographs young girl in refugee camp whose green eyes glow with ancient wisdom of the suffering soul who seeks beauty in a war-torn world.

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

Ghost Of My Fractured Soul
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Bright ghosts of all the lives I could have lived
swarm all around me in the maze of myths,
so I assign each alternative self
weird variant on the name Odysseus,
for though they set out on their quest for home
they each live and die in some foreign town.

I hear their songs in silence of the day,
so I record memories they throw away
because they have all disappeared from time
which leaves me now alone of all my selves
erased from possibilities of fate
while still alive in shadow of my home.

Strange cry of sorrow tainted by pure joy
rings out through endless forest of dead trees,
so I climb every mountain in the world
to find source of this cry of bitter hope,
till I realize with laughter of soft rain
that it comes out of my own aching heart.

The scarlet raven on my shoulder sings
with pure voice mimicking the nightingale
to prove the dire wolf glowing in my heart
keeps me alive on journey to the west
when I search cathedral ruins of dead gods
for holy scripture that lives in my heart.

Since I take the low road where the sun shines bright
I hear birds of hope sing in grieving trees
though I wander where the wildflowers spring
for I hope to meet my true love by moonlight
where we had parted in the shady glen
as lovers on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

Though every living thing on Earth will die
and wither in the turning flow of time,
we glow with mystery of the universe
when we stand in the field where lilies bloom
and let the timeless gleam of ancient stars
penetrate our hearts with ache of true love.

I wish to be as generous as Death
who treats each living soul with gift of joy
since we glow fragile as the lily bloom
that sprouts in jagged rocks of the glen pool
with kind attendance of the honey bees
though thunderstorms crack illusion of faith.

I may never see misty glens of Scotland
in fleeting drama of my secret life
yet spirit of your love blooms in my heart
no matter where I roam in this wide world,
so I send last ghost of my fractured soul
to meet you on bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings "The Bonnie Banks of Lock Lomond" with heart-enchanting voice of the lonely glens.

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

Stories Mirrors Tell
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

I have read all the stories mirrors tell,
pursued by gold-tongued furies of concern,
unreal as angels in our grocery stores,
startled by scattered brilliance of false faith
that severs my heart from kite of the sun
with suddenness of unwanted world fame.

Waves of green memory engulf my heart
with tattered pages of electric books
that recount fight for crown of global power,
though I sail far on argosy of hope
in vain attempt to find the Promised Land
that always vanishes as we approach.

Though rational light of social insight
disperses shadows of religious faith,
I cling to fractured rainbow of one fact,
that we are temporary flames of light
undone by ecstasy of secret dreams
which I decode in stories no one reads.

Green odor of strange darkness in the tree
uncovers coldness folded inside leaves,
moon rays that rustle softly into words
which weave strange web of silver-shimmer light
that binds support pillars of belief
to bridge vast emptiness between our hearts.

Strange seeds of proverbs, secretly discerned,
flicker forth from arched bough of ecstasy
to veil my grave with pages of old books
at supple rocking of infernal light
that teaches darkness how to flow till dawn
so I taste perfect sorrow of desire.

Night flowers into stories angels steal
by giving fruit to wounded refugees
who crowd streets of clean cities with despair,
forbidden to own land or labor well,
as if our hearts are leeches to be crushed,
so we clutch handfuls of hydraulic dust.

Roots twine about my pulsing heart with faith
that all we build will crumble into sand
through fertile season of electric birds,
so I leap over garden walls of hope
that harden brave around astringencies
when I adjust somnolent grace at dawn.

Though we still process summer balances
with frantic gaiety of elephants,
I package fractured memories of fate
in polished casement of Plutonian pride,
which I intend to hide in state archives
that should preserve decrees of solitude.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus polishes mirrors in Palace of Apollo which has ten thousand more than lost Palace of Versailles where devils prance in silk and cotton wings.

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

Win The Apple Of Eris
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

Assembled angels on the Pantheon
watch horses race across the roadless plain
to win the Apple of Eris with speed
that honors wind ghost of the primal seed
from which all creatures of spinning Earth spring
at spark of love when Daughters of Time sing.

When people thank God for their victories
in sports competitions to win Gold Keys,
I laugh because they still believe the creed
which Al-Ghazali taught in fevered screed
that God controls where every atom goes
so what occurs is Law that God bestows.

If every act of force that I perform
was decreed by God before I was born,
then I am but dumb puppet of his Will,
so I commit no sin, though I may kill,
and thus cannot be punished for some crime
that God makes me do in flow of space-time.

Yet supernatural conscious God of Fate,
who forces us to play his game as bait,
is not as real as priests want me to think,
since atoms randomly swerve at the brink
which causes them to swirl in globes of life
where brain-urged creatures clash in hungry strife.

If flashing atoms always beam too straight
through boundless void of space due to their weight,
they never would collide in coils of light
that form matter of the universe right,
so Epicurus taught that atoms swerve
in random deviations of the curve.

If we could predict where each atom moves
our actions would be locked in legal grooves,
predetermined by divine will of God
which would make us puppets committing fraud,
so random swerves of atoms in the void
breaks chain of necessity we avoid.

Thus we assert soft force of our free will
when we ascend to fruit grove on the hill
where we tame horses with sweet fruit of trust,
subsuming mindless energy of lust,
so we can bridle passion of their flight
in race to achieve the heavenly height.

How far across the spinning globe I fly
on horse of wisdom to discover why
our bodies spring from laughter of the sea
as we investigate how to live free
when we assert free will by conscious choice,
then chronicle events with honest voice.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tends to his horse who glides gracefully in the meadow, admiring how she reflects beauty she inherited from her ancestor, the Darley Arabian.

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

Incarnation Of Saint Michael
© Surazeus
2026 06 14

The narrow dusty road across bleak plain,
that takes me past wind-weathered hills of hope,
seems to extend forever to the sky,
but I know somewhere far beyond despair
stands shining temple of wise Jupiter
who hosts grand banquets for lost travelers.

But by the time I arrive at his hall
ten thousand years of reckless social change
have transformed villages of hungry farmers
to vast metropolitan maze of streets
so piston-engine cars glide past glass towers
where Jupiter reigns as bank president.

The silver airplane Daedalus designed,
which Icarus pilots with focused faith,
zooms swiftly far in high celestial realm
so wingless angels manage world affairs
in global council of state ministers
where Jupiter presides with wise insight.

Peter chuckles at vision of the world
that Michael proffers with clever grin
where mythic spirits of conceptual gods
provide vigor of ideal characters
as psychic force of social energy
which incarnate in normal mortal men.

Consider how mythic tag of our name
acts as key to initiate psychic force
of social role performed in state of grace
by that original person whose mind
may exercise broad visionary scope
through our contemporary mental form.

That first Michael, human who bore my name,
now sanctified as archangel whose soul
exerted deeds of duty to assert
central authority of Jupiter,
whose name signifies Jehovah Pater,
has become glamorous ideal of the hero.

By assigning name of that great archangel,
Michael who slays dragon of the cruel tyrant,
whose devilish spirit possesses men
each generation with ambition to rule
with greed, exploiting human slaves for wealth,
my mother hopes I will act with his spirit.

Therefore, it is my duty in this life,
as mortal incarnation of Saint Michael,
to save America from tyranny,
but how I shall perform this sacred role
has yet to manifest, so I employ
patience to act well when the time is right.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus stares at broken lyre of Mercury while Daedalus, in his workshop along the busy street of Heaven, works to repair his instrument of prophecy.

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

Waves Of Vanishing Desire
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

When Phoebus follows river of his eyes
that flow through broken window of his heart,
he finds his body in the ocean house
that floats on airplane wings of dragon eggs
which nurture horse with honeysuckle wings
who teaches him how to dig his own grave.

Weary on waves of vanishing desire,
Phoebus builds another bridge from sparrow bones
that gives him strength of harpy butterflies
to endure endless days of everywhere
because the past returns in loops of laughter
where river of his eyes flows to the sea.

Heart bruised by shadows of the faceless dead,
Phoebus lies on grass while the clock rewires
how his sponge brain perceives eternal light
that glows from skin of Columbine when she strips
mask of her happiness to bare her soul
studded with milk-white stars of unmarred faith.

Concluding with sly grin of knowingness,
Columbine asks the charlatan to prove
she has no right to live in paradise,
but he sells Bibles to the gullible
who cheer when Harlequin erases words
to steal the falling star of honesty.

Amused at clashing cymbals of respect,
Columbine rescues the blind hanging man
who sells her memories of their love trysts
to kind sorcerers from Bohemia
who ask Phoebus to reign as their new king
while he rocks his daughter in gentle arms.

When Harlequin returns from Kingdom Come
and asks bold Columbine to marry him,
Phoebus interferes with their fake romance,
intending to repair the garden path
where Melancholy dances with Disdain
as if they are new deities we love.

Clotilde points to angels in the sky
whose bodies fall as snowflakes on the Earth,
so Phoebus makes small snowman on his lawn
with twisted tree branches as devil horns
while children gather coins from lake-shore mud
stamped with cute scene of Bacchus and his pards.

While she plays tambourine with broken heart
beneath the weeping bells of Notre Dame,
Phoebus gives Columbine peach juice to drink
so she teaches Clotilde how to paint
faces of ghosts who descend from the sky
with metallic wings of terrified birds.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus poses with lyre of Mercury by ruined temple of dead gods while Clotilde paints his portrait with blood of angels fallen from Heaven.

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

Moment Of Lost Time
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

Now that I am halfway through my life tale,
I want to walk with you on the dirt path
around the lake where summer breezes blow,
and take photographs of your graceful soul
to preserve this moment of our lost time
so our image will remain though we die.

Concerned about the price of tangerines
that gleam with waterdrops on the store shelf,
we weigh advantages of eating fruit
in contrast to expending hours of hope
researching variant types of meadow birds
who seem to know our final resting place.

Distraught by stories in the daily news
about women and children who escape
bombs that deconstruct their family homes,
we turn the television off at sunset
and stroll about the quiet neighborhood,
waving to every person who drives by.

My favorite mural in town of Pompeii,
painted on thermopolium cafe,
shows graceful Nereid with curly hair
riding blue Hippocampus with fish tail
while strumming golden lyre of Mercury,
for you are incarnation of her soul.

Agathodaemon slithering in my heart,
with jeweled eyes that know the universe,
flutters rainbow feathers along its spine
as she protects sacred space of our home
where we dwell safe from mobs of hungry souls
who clamor for salvation from stone gods.

To open crystal portal door of faith
and slip back in time to when we first meet
so we can avoid our too-tragic fate,
we sit together on the river shore
and talk about philosophy of being
as if we are still Phoebus and Carmenta.

Wearing masks of the Singer and the Sibyl,
we perform play we wrote about their lives
on the outdoor stage in the city park
where people gather every Sabbath day
to celebrate birth of Zarathia
we build from ruins of America.

Once romantic play of our lives is done,
and all the ravens in the writhing oaks
have flown beyond fake walls of paradise,
we board small boat of skulls that Charon rows
to glide across the oil-black River Styx
and live forever in Elysium.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds Phoebus and Carmenta wandering in the meadow of Elysium, so he invites them to his temple where they study the murals of Pompeii.

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

Quest To Find Meaning
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

I have wandered river landscape of Earth
two hundred million years of spinning time
on endless quest to find meaning of life,
and each moment I almost understand
I generate new body with my mate
so I continue journey to the stars.

Just on the other side of the bright hill
where nothingness of death looms over me,
I find another world of wooded vales
where tribes of people live on river shores
so I keep climbing endless hills of hope
till I discover that our world is round.

I keep on walking to the end of time
while singing to beam visions of my eyes
which helps me organize my memories
in coherent tales of cause and effect
so I can map the endless road of faith
where other people walk before I come.

I follow the rising sun every dawn
forever toward the endless sea of light,
but then turn away toward the setting sun
because I keep walking circles of fate,
one hundred thousand years till I arrive
at the edge of the world in Oregon.

With you at my side on the ocean shore
I listen to the endless song of waves
which I cannot translate to human words,
and explain to you the meaning of life
which I discover in my vain attempt
to evade death and live another day.

If I can find the wings of Icarus
and fly above this world of hills and lakes,
I would ascend to world of swirling clouds
to find grand crystal palace of the gods
who live forever in dreams of our minds
as our ancestors who watch over us.

Stuck in this soft body of hungry flesh
as temporary node of deathless genes,
my spirit writhes with passion to transcend
confining limits of this transient life
to savor psychic glow of ecstasy
that expands my mind through epiphany.

There is no meaning to this sudden life,
so we invent religions based on myths
of people whose grand deeds of public life
are framed with tragic consequence of fate
because they try to assert thought control
instead of flowing with the tides of change.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strums lyre of Mercury and sings as he performs at the folk festival in the streets of the small university town on the hill of laughing skulls.

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

Fairyland States Of Zarathia
© Surazeus
2026 06 13

As psychotic elite who rule the world
from Fairyland States of Zarathia,
we record spells of the heartless Mermaid
from old riddles of her Three-Legged Crow
to publish prophecies of faceless gods
performed by Oberon on the Late Show.

Working late in East Wing of the Black House
in Fairyland States of Zarathia,
Titania develops social programs
designed to help mothers raise children well,
but Midas bulldozes her office suite
so he can build a Winter Palace Ballroom.

Returning home on tattered wings of faith
to Fairyland States of Zarathia,
Icarus founds start-up tech company
that ploys artificial intelligence
to automate tedious business tasks
which garners wealth for man in the glass mask.

Nontoxic masculinity of faith
through Fairyland States of Zarathia
contrives mental recipes of fraught faith
from bland conviction social rules require
for sorting souls by color of their skin
against creed of Heaven death nullifies.

Campaigning to become next President
of Fairyland States of Zarathia,
Oberon journeys to the mountain cave
where Saint Fillan convinces the wild wolf
to plow fields of wheat in place of the ox
because the farmer is the key to wealth.

Marsh orchids blooming purple from lush hills
in Fairyland States of Zarathia,
give courage to lost refugees of war
afflicted by gang of cruel oligarchs,
so they smuggle ginger wine into Hell
where they dance on corpse of the fallen tyrant.

Driven from Hibernia by dream thieves
to Fairyland States of Zarathia,
we wander signless road of nowhere else
because we never find the Promised Land,
so we build amusement park Wonderland
where wingless angels pretend they can fly.

Unlocked gates of technological Heaven
in Fairyland States of Zarathia
expose collectible memories we share
as mass delusion of national pride
when we experience television shows
to celebrate birthday of our lost empire.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus sells map to the Fairyland States of America which reimagines the corporate empire as a collective of communal rainbow gatherings on family farms.

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

Winding Road Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

When I am ready for the leap of faith
from crumbling tower of religious hope
I spread wings I borrow from Icarus
and wonder with amazement of mute awe
why I am me and no one else alive,
then lean against the balustrade and sigh.

Solaria beams rays of holy light
through web of branches in the Tree of Life
to luminate deep cavern of my heart
where wise demon of my genetic soul
conducts analysis of social vibes
so I navigate vast maze of myths well.

Telluria molds genes of memories
from tangled vines of innocent desire,
transforming body of material flesh
four hundred million years from fish to god
that programs how my mind perceives the world
so I generate life before I die.

Venturia breathes whole ethereal soul
through brave pneumatic gust of energy
which animates my body of frail flesh
with compassion of visionary hope
that flashes conscious sense of secret self
so I sense cosmic God wake in my brain.

Thalassia swirls waves of timeless faith
across courageous landscape of my heart
which motivates ambitious quest for truth
that drives my progress on the road of life
to conserve stories of human exploits
in chronicles of failure and success.

Saturnus wakes my spirit from strange dream
and guides my way on winding road of change
to navigate confusing maze of ghosts
so I find broken lyre of Mercurius
that he designed six thousand years ago
from turtle shell and strings of aching love.

Apollon finds me tangled in despair
so he frees my heart from lustful desire
by teaching my voice to manipulate
images of feeling with words of thought
so I transcend greed with selfless concern
when I articulate soul of mankind.

As wingless angel born from womb of Earth,
I crawl from sea along river of hope,
climb generous Tree of Life to eat fruit,
then follow river to Mountain of Truth
where I map history of humanity
as we strive to transcend despair with love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus finds me paralyzed in the empty church so he strikes my heart with lightning and teaches me to sing with voice of the ocean waves.

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

Who You Journey With
© Surazeus
2026 06 12

Who you journey with on rough road of life
is far more important than where you go,
so I keep you within scope of my eyes
with attentive care to our circumstance
to ensure your precious spirit is safe
while I gather fresh fruit for you to eat.

When Juturna finds creek of clear cold water
trickling in thick woods between rugged hills,
she follows sparkle of light into gloom
till she finds spring that fountains from dark earth,
so she proclaims to Janus with sweet voice
that she has now found their forever home.

Calling out to her mother, Rumina,
older woman with long hair and green eyes,
Juturna guides her to the fountain grove
where they rest in shade of the broad fig tree
as Janus plucks sweet fruit for them to eat,
then brings them water in new turtle shells.

Janus builds temple beside broad fig tree
with oak for foundation of the firm floor,
four silver firs as columns for roof beams,
and cypress for walls and two sturdy doors,
around stone hearth that preserves flame of light
where Juturna and Rumina cook meals.

When Juturna exclaims two cows are gone,
Janus and their son Quirinus grab wands
and track the cows to large bone-littered cave
where the grim giant Cacus snarls in rage,
so while Janus distracts him with sharp spear
Quirinus leaps on his back with thick vine.

After strangling greedy Cacus to death,
Quirinus explores dark cave with bright lamp
where he finds large diamond that glitters clear
as ice-white silver moon on winter nights,
so they bear it back to their temple home
where Janus sets it firm on altar stone.

Gazing deep in crystal sphere of pure light,
Juturna sings verse of oracle spells
describing visions she sees with her mind
how the first flash flares forth from the big bang
so threads of sparkling light form spinning globe
from which gods and humans spring into life.

When pregnant Juturna goes into labor,
Rumina attends process of childbirth,
then washes the new-born girl clean with care,
so while Juturna nurses her with love
Janus bestows name Carmenta with pride
and gazes in eyes of his reborn mother.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus meets Carmenta on the peak of the Palatine Hill where she stands on a large flat stone and proclaims that one day man will fly to the moon.

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

Persistence Of Secret Love
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

I call out to dark shadow on the shore,
thinking they must be somebody I know,
but they have never existed in time,
mind designed with fear-automated gears
that wind our mouths with beams of earnest light,
reckless with persistence of secret love.

If I should offer pessimistic codes
without bitterness through security
for industrial passion of eager hearts
with expeditious game of narratives,
I may voice constant struggles to transcend
thematic alarm of personal faith.

Larger forces in our shared catastrophe
render masters of sloganeering tricks
responsible for scouring observations
designed to model how we weigh our worth
when we inhabit avatars of faith
against diminishment of miracles.

Aghast at framing device angels use
to change trajectory of mutant ploys,
I gaze in gleam of well water with goal
to measure firmament of splendid souls
who precede cosmic fixture of old fruit
in harmony with psychic consequence.

Thus I invert heavens with casual stance
in potent reversal of separateness
through isolation of our frantic hearts
to find divine spirit of clarion faith
in subterranean space of pulsing brains
where we shelter in place from foul disease.

Set on evading fraught taxonomy
through calm bewilderment of honesty,
I tally inventory of my dreams
to comprehend rich treasures I possess
while trudging dusty road of jagged thoughts
as mordant observer of ardent faith.

I taste cathedral stone of elegy
amid debris of crumbling tapestries
that shroud hope-wrecked cars in junkyard of faith
to weep for poisoned land of brutal truth
that foils green memory of warm sun
calibrated with moral questions of fate.

Safe on mixed-grass prairie of humble pride,
I build new kingdom of wind in the heart
that converts veritable floating ark
of nameless creatures writhing in my heart
so I broadcast signal of wordless songs
that roots my body as idol of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus investigates factories that dump toxic waste in River Styx though Midas sends gang of thugs to erase his words from chronicle of truth.

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

Ruined Temple Of Diana
© Surazeus
2026 06 11

Today I am so happy being alive
that I forget to shout at the Blue Sky
about the problems humans cause each other
till I remember nobody is up there,
so I walk around streets of Rome to visit
Basilica of Santa Prudentiana.

Disgusted with the life I used to lead,
tricking people with scams to steal their money,
I rename myself after Novatus,
then journey to Lake Nemi that gleams blue
to sit by ruined Temple of Diana
and weep for the loss of beautiful souls.

When eerie voice of sorrowful desire
rings through dark forest of the eyeless wolf,
I walk toward mysterious grove that glows
with solemn anguish of the fallen angel
who sings with aching wisdom of the stars
about the man who sacrificed his soul.

Willing to die for the people he loves,
Prudentiana sings in gold moonlight,
the honest leader who came from the stars
nurtures every person with tender care
so we develop talents into skills
instead of enslaving us for his gain.

When I see three men with sharp spears and chains
grab Prudentiana with hands of lust,
and drag her toward their wagon cage of slaves,
I pick up shark rocks from the river shore,
whistle as I toss them high in the air
that whack them with my wand of liberty.

After cracking skulls of slavers with rocks,
I unlock wagon cage and set slaves free
who fall to their bruised knees with gratitude
and proclaim me savior sent down by Zeus,
then beg me to play shepherd of their clan,
so we journey forth to the Promised Land.

Rebuilding ruined Temple of Diana
with stones we haul from hill of granite cliffs,
we reinstate rituals of daily life,
tending gardens of herbs and herds of sheep,
with Prudentiana, our clever leader,
performing role of Domina Silvarum.

Gathered at round table heaped with good food,
we celebrate success of our new venture,
former slaves working rich communal farm,
as Lucina brings light and pitcher of juice,
so I strum lyre of Mercury and sing
that spirit of God lives in every heart.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus presides at wedding of Novatus and Lucina in vine-shrouded bower on shore of Lake Nemi, then plays lyre as they feast under the stars of faith.

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

Ruthless Winners Like Me
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

Time has no frantic pace I can discern
that leaves all mortals in cold graves of faith,
so I race headlong toward high peak of fame
in desperate contest to achieve success
above all other losers on this globe
whose skulls crumble to dust beside my own.

Long tedious days crowd endless short years
with daily contests to gather more wealth
than competitors in shadowy woods
who pray to faceless spirit in the clouds
to grant them random luck of generous fate
while I hoard food in cold castle of stone.

Ignoring cries of homeless refugees,
driven from rich lands by laws I decree
that river-nourished woods are mine alone,
granted divine right to gather and hunt
for secret treasures of bountiful Earth,
I lounge in tower with coffers of plunder.

Though hungry hordes of rebellious fools
clamor desperately at gates of my Heaven
with revolutionary fervor of blind rage
that I gain power through law over land
to defeat them in chess game against death,
I sip sweet wine and dine on roast beef steak.

While they beat drums and pipe with Bacchic frenzy
beneath electric horror of the moon,
I strum gold strings of the elegant harp
and chant harmonious hymns of reverence
to praise Lord God whose frank benevolence
has blessed me with wit to pilfer their wealth.

Removed from teeming crowds of vagrant churls
who cry for justice to the empty sky
for infernal judgment against my power,
I fund their passage on mercantile ships
across stormy sea of indifference
to slave on my farms in the colonies.

Ruled by harsh law of the grim wilderness,
that those who are stronger and wiser win
in brutal battle of wits to control
religious narrative of the whole state
based on systemic privilege of wealth,
this world honors ruthless winners like me.

So though our nameless skulls sit side by side
on lightless shelf in cathedral of faith,
as if we are equals in realm of death,
I stamped my name on grand buildings and laws
in legal framework that enforces power
of my descendants to exploit your own.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus deconstructs systemic privilege of the patriarchy that provides legal framework for oligarchs to exploit people of America for their own gain.

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

Simple Life Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 10

I shall go out to field of tangled briars
to build myself small hut from bones of birds,
and there with brave attention of the wind
begin grand process of devouring myself,
so I may gaze with passion of the oak
at image of my soul in Walden Pond.

Lounging on front porch of the small wood cabin,
which they erected beside Walden Pond,
Henry Thoreau and his walking companion,
William Channing, sip hot herbal tisanes
that they brew from pine needles and mint,
and chat about philosophy of life.

Because the complex rituals of our lives
are frittered away by involved details
that lure our progress into labyrinths
of trivial necessity through care,
we must eradicate tangled obligations
and simplify slate of our daily tasks.

If one man who follows preordained paths,
assigned by social duty of his state,
cannot keep strict pace with his companions,
perhaps he hears beat of another drummer,
so let him step to music which he hears
however boldly measured or far away.

Thus I proceed with confidence of faith
in clear direction of my secret dreams
to live this simple life of solitude
that I imagine while I ponder fate,
for the great characteristic of wisdom
is to abstain from doing desperate things.

When I observe human society
I see thousands hacking at branches of evil,
while one who sees what he is looking for
strikes at deep roots of selfish greed and hate
that foments strife through jealousy and fear
with action that obstructs destructive deeds.

However mean and poor your life may seem,
meet circumstance with passion of respect,
and do not shun its most difficult events,
for fault-finders find fear in paradise
while thrill-seekers find elation in hell,
for it is better to serve than to reign.

When dawn gleams gold on sheen of Walden Pond,
Henry and William eat sweet hasty-pudding
of cornmeal, molasses, ginger, and milk,
then set out down the signless road of hope
on yet another vigorous walk-and-talk
with goal to climb rugged Mount Monadnock.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus joins Thoreau and Channing on their walk-and-talk along the beach of Cape Cod where they watch angels and devils battle for human souls.

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

Weirdness Of Eternal Now
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Through tight control of intermittent thoughts
we wind disparate memories in spheres
of flashing strategies to burn god stones
with tattered pages from ancestral books
so prior tests we dare contrive from code
enchant our hearts when sad nightingales sing.

While sitting blindly in windowless house
with numberless door of inequity,
I roam the whole universe of strange lands
though tethered to fragile skull of my soul
since gushing mountain river piles logs high
against enormous stone of innocence.

Slouched by unkempt grave of the famous seer
who harvested peaches from tangled trees,
I mutter prayer of sorrow to his mask
to checklist deeds I refuse to perform
through mechanism of uncertain grief
that covers me in random leaves of hope.

No star-eyed visitors appear from mist,
seeking redemption from gratified corpse
to highlight uselessness of sentiment
that could not resurrect my pardoned heart
from graceless circumstance of fortitude,
since love might manifest in dormant seeds.

Could I return from underworld of faith
with contract that impacts my credit score,
I would sail leaking boat across dark sea
to harrow blatant sense of urgency
with greatness death displays at crack of dawn
when everything I knew as true is wrong.

Up jagged cliff of ambition I climb
against assertive gusts of lonely wind
to count bright sparkles on the silver sea
by wishing goodness for each soul alive
who walks alone the signless road of fate
to prove people can govern themselves well.

Inspired to extract my body from roots
of ancient trees, I breathe faith to express
despair we deny pierces hearts with truth
despite our vow at picnic by the lake
to savor weirdness of eternal now
by drinking sorrow brewed in bitter herbs.

I seek sublimity of perfect thoughts
that swell at suddenness of your sharp eyes
beaming subtle blast of rainbow bliss
with cheerful jubilation gladly struck
in harmony of love we blithely share
with brokenhearted document of faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus searches for ghost of John Keats in the grove of fruit trees where a thousand nightingales used to sing, but they all seem to have disappeared.

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

Cartography Of Tropes
© Surazeus
2026 06 09

Attempts to eradicate sentiment,
that tangle my heart with vines of desire,
prove more than difficult to implement
when I am but one voice in the global choir
that sings hymns about bright Heaven above
through universal law of selfless love.

Strange feelings shaped by artificial hope
writhe in my heart with fierce draconic need
to manage programmed rites that help me cope
with social drama from religious creed
designed to chain my heart with rigid rules
which I dismantle with conceptual tools.

Emotions based on vision of the real,
my mind projects through frame of my world view,
propel my progress on the Fortune Wheel
when I attend my quest to code the true
defined by ideal trope of my dream state
that helps me choose condition of my fate.

My naming secret specter of my soul,
expressed well by character mask I wear,
asserts specific space where I play role
attentive to cause effect that I dare
present as purpose of deeds I perform
which models fluid response by the norm.

Tending inner identity through code
that weaves fragments of memories in verse,
I shift thought gears to spool efficient node
that binds my body to the universe
as phantom sprouting from matrix of light,
enhanced by radiant wisdom in dream flight.

If I attempt to frame my psychic being
through universal template of mankind
I find my soul defined by angel wing
that spreads wide scope of my expanding mind
so bright compassion of my glowing heart
flows out beyond grid limits of my chart.

With courage of feelings, I navigate
Slough of Despond to find the Promised Land,
but Petrus stops me at the Pearly Gate,
demanding I show passport with my hand
that Jesus signed and stamped with Bloody Cross,
so I build New Heaven as my own boss.

Intense passion of feelings are no good
for guiding my way in vast maze of myths,
so I advance by faith through gloomy wood
with Lamp of Lucifer to megaliths
since I prefer cartography of tropes
to journey safely on rough mountain slopes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus explains that poetry relies on tropes rather than sentiment to efficiently guide the questing soul through Slough of Despond to the Promised Land.

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

Attempts To Question Fate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Home on little island Neptunus bears
in cool flowing waves of the Lydian Lake,
I relax rejoicing in fruit-tree grove,
safe in stone walls of secret paradise
on vine-entangled shore of Sirmio
where Catullus teaches me to chant songs.

Fierce-eyed Cybele with long tangled hair,
enthroned on river-smoothed Oracle Stone,
shows how bodies, animated by souls,
spring from scarlet egg of Chthonian womb,
designed by passion of the swirling sea,
then leaves my skull smiling in cold moonlight.

Sweet Diana, mistress of secret glades,
swift daughter of Jove, son of Jupiter,
son of Jehovah, guide me with your star
through mountain forests to your olive grove
where you teach us to hunt the fleet-foot deer,
for you protect boys and girls with your love.

Alone on shadowy road of my life,
from which no living soul ever returns,
I remember dancing with Juturna
in honey-thick fields of Elysium
as I descend to cave of flashing jewels
to fight Orcus and free slaves from despair.

With quivering wings of brave Zephyrus
I seek Rhamnusia in Temple of Fate
to read sacred Book of Aquarius
whose riddles reveal secret formulas
that help me choose which road of deeds to walk
when I help Orion defeat cruel Pluton.

Lured by song of Laodamia for my ghost
to possess wood statue of her dead spouse,
I climb Mount Latmos with my broken lyre
to pray Apollo repair its cracked shell,
but I find Endymion in moonlight
who asks me to consult his horoscope.

When I ask innocent Harpocrates,
who plays with toy lyre on lap of his mother,
star-eyed Isis, who peels orange for her son,
if he has seen his father, Horus Sky-Walker,
that devious godling taps finger to his lips
to silence my attempts to question Fate.

While I drink deep from cool Hippocrene Stream,
from climbing long trail up Mount Helicon,
I hear someone call my name, Hecatus,
so I turn around and look everywhere,
but Artemis is hiding among trees,
so I call her name to the empty sky.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus and Catullus lounge in garden on the shore of Sirmio Peninsula in the Lydian Lake to gossip about the tragic fate of Romeo and Cinderella.

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

Mad King Of Bitter Hate
© Surazeus
2026 06 08

Last night under the fractured bloody moon
I discovered I failed to verify
my faith subscription to the resurrection
so I find myself, when I wake at dawn,
stranded in endless maze of asphalt streets
that binds cities of Earth in cyberspace.

I knock on glass door of the Happy Church
to ask if they sell updated maps to the soul
but the robot wearing a blue preacher suit
tries to sell me shares to the Afterlife,
so I steal tattered wings from Icarus
and leap from steeple of the mocking owl.

Gliding high over maze of city streets
with message scroll I swipe from Earendel,
I try to find statue of Lucifer
who bears the shining Lamp of Liberty,
but mob of factory workers tears it down
to build new bowling alley with a bar.

Landing in Garden of Eden with grace,
I stroll rocky shore of the River Styx,
cluttered with skulls that prophesy world doom,
and search for the Tree of Knowledge and Lies,
but find King Midas hacking at its trunk
because he wants to build a huge ballroom.

When I call Jesus on the telephone
to report vandalism in paradise
he sends Azrael with electric wings
to wrestle the mad king of bitter hate,
but Midas accuses him of being crooked
then storms away to sulk by the Dead Sea.

Grasping scepter Nebuchadnezzar dropped,
Midas rides huge gold hippopotamus
past bomb-blasted gates of Jerusalem,
through crowds of angels jeering at his face,
but he sneers and snatches gold Crown of Thorns
to crown himself emperor of the world.

Swift Hawk of Horus swoops down from Blue Sky
and transforms into Lucifer Sky-Walker
who wields law-sharpened sword Excalibur,
to behead greedy demon of despair,
but blade of justice crackles hologram
that flickers, then returns to bloated hugeness.

Soaring up to High Castle on Golgotha,
I break through third wall of apocalypse
to smash computer racks of corporate banks
so eidolon of Satan dissipates,
which dispels cloud of doom shrouding the world
so people of Earth rejoice in the streets.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus pops enormous balloon of King Midas so full of hot air it screams in agony as it deflates to limp corpse of egomaniacal fear.

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

Mirror Of Forgotten Masks
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Happy in mundane failure of my life
to play grand role on stage of history,
safe from glaring spotlight of random fame,
I gaze in mirror of forgotten masks
where faces of my ancestors combine
whole shadow of my soul that glows awake.

Calm in acceptance of my mundane life
where I carve prophecies on river stones
recording who gets cursed by random fame,
I float in mirror of forgotten masks
as eight billion humans with dreaming brains
who enter contest over who plays god.

Surprised by joy that fountains from my heart
as surreal vision flashing through my brain
detailing how to evade random fame,
I leap through mirror of forgotten masks
to navigate combat zone of thought mines
that could explode at misstep of each choice.

Entranced by beauty of my Mountain Muse
who gives me crystal sphere of timeless truth
that maps path I take beyond random fame,
I swim in mirror of forgotten masks
with time-animated globe of world history
evolving from shy fish to singing god.

Inspired by wisdom of my Honest Spouse
who tends Garden of Eden with crafty hands
so Tree of Knowledge blooms with random fame,
I rise from mirror of forgotten masks
to build castle of faith on hill of beasts
where angels sing in choir of tragic loss.

Nourished by healing fruit of the Dream Tree
which sprouts from rotten corpse of Jupiter
to translate selfless love from random fame,
I bloom from mirror of forgotten masks
to drive my car to work at flash of dawn
where I map features of our cluttered world.

Crazy with passion to understand why
our bodies of genetic coils are formed
from atoms swerving against random fame,
I soar through mirror of forgotten masks
on wings of Icarus designed by hope
till I build Heaven in Hell where I fall.

Amused by complex political games
ambitious tyrants, driving blind by lust,
play to gamble so they win random fame,
I polish mirror of forgotten masks
so people visiting the Oracle
may see dire consequence of every choice.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus repairs fractured mirror of forgotten masks so each person who visits the Oracle may perceive the future based on choices they are making now so they can change their fate.

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

Mercurial Wail Of Solitude
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

Our world may be mask for the eyeless god
who veils immortal light of its vast face
behind endless swirling of the storm cloud,
yet my airplane in the sky leaves no trace
as proof of life that glows outside my head,
born as Winged Victory of Samothrace.

This puzzling world pretends to be more real
than Heaven I imagine in my mind
so I sing with roar only oceans feel
when blazing sun, no peaceful god designed,
sinks deep in surging waves of timeless wheel
with eerie tune that sailors strive to find.

Struck by mercurial wail of solitude,
I see sweet siren with long flowing hair
lounge on large jagged island in sad mood
while gazing past my face in sunset glare
with casual horror of her pulchritude
enchanting me with love because I care.

Dark places of this world within my heart
blaze bright with power of the holy word
which I find written on my secret chart
by potent wisdom that long rings unheard
with aching privilege of faith to start
assertive games that reclaim the preferred.

Alert to readjustment of the bomb
that never touches strangeness of dark hills,
I search vast maze of rubble for my home
with buoyed innocence of moon-splashed walls
to calculate social power of doom
as blind force of fate that obeys no rules.

Through misty groves of academe I fly
beyond enchanted place I know is fake
to find where frivolous gods still ask why
we cannot keep great treasures our hands make
unless I agree to play the dream spy
by searching for source of the magic lake.

Till morning gleams with shifting mutant forms,
which reframe our psychic identities,
I meditate with peace of lightning storms
to transcend religious serenities
that deconstruct all our conceptual norms
with divine right of mortal entities.

When our huge Ship of State strikes the iceberg
that swells through oligarchic tyranny,
I swim to island of the laughing lark
who welcomes me home to my barony
where I study process of orange clockwork
in vain attempt to plot weird irony.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus strolls with Derek Mahon in the dark hills around Belfast past the sleeping giant to Cave Hill where Aisling floats glowing over the Oak of Faith.

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

Bitter Faith Of Innocence
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

To remove mask of my identity
as whatever gender and race I am
in temporary drama of my life,
is to expose inner gears of my brain
through universal character I play
by deconstructing social privilege.

I may seem to be straight cisgender male
through Europeans in America,
motivated by Scythian ardency
essential to soul of Gothinians,
yet I relate with empathy of love
to every person living on this globe.

My nature, signified by social labels
imposed by time and place of my soul birth,
radiates psychic energy of faith
signed by First Mother of humanity
who lived two hundred thousand years ago
in Okavango Delta of my heart.

I feel pulse of her heart animate mine
with passionate respect for sparkling rain
that drenches endless grassland with clear song
she channels through sweet voice of eager hope,
so I express her vision in my verse
that wakes her soul in every human heart.

We are the children of her star-lit eyes
who multiply from womb of Mother Eve
to carry Stick of Truth and Stone of Faith
while wearing Cape of Wisdom to keep warm
as we explore expanse of spinning Earth,
and share our tale in song around the fire.

Dividing into countless warring tribes,
all branching from First Mother of our souls,
we reframe our social identity
to differentiate our noble clan
from all the others who invade our space
as we fight over whose Father is God.

Inspired by bitter faith of innocence,
that spurs aggressive progress of my plan
to expand United Nations of Earth
which assimilates all races in one,
I let First Mother of humanity
possess my body with spirit of love.

Every race and religion on this globe
originates from First Mother we share,
so my heart aches at blaze of civil war
that sparks my passion to adjudicate
new world religion binding every creed
in song that honors One Mother of All.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus leads choir in Cathedral of Ishtar to sing hymn of solemn veneration for Eve, First Mother of Humanity, from whom all nations of Earth spring.

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

Name Of The Rose
© Surazeus
2026 06 07

The bald-head man with glasses and mustache
adjusts tweed jacket and laces work boots,
then sweeps huge pile of old discarded books,
heaped on rain-slick sidewalk, against brick wall
next to glass door of some abandoned bank,
lamenting how knowledge of the past gets lost.

"I cannot decide what to name the Rose,"
he muses while staring with rain-blurred eyes
at tattered covers of paperback novels
that depict bitter women in torn dresses
and angry men with guns and loosened ties,
"since the girl from the village is my mother."

When he was young student in art history
forty years ago at the university,
he traveled to Italy for the summer
where he climbed the steep Stairway of the Dead
to find lost book that Aristotle wrote
hidden in gloomy Abbey of Saint Michael.

One cover shows corpulent businessman,
in blue suit and red tie, wearing a blond wing,
whose face resembles the ravenous pig,
so he remembers how Odysseus
was wounded by sharp horn of a wild boar
while hunting on slopes of Mount Porcorianus.

Greedy tyrants who clutch with manic fear
at transient illusions of fiscal power,
elusive as Hound of the Baskervilles,
since Hugo was cursed for kidnapping women,
attempt to burn the sweet innocent girl
because she laughs at their frail vanity.

Residing in lush Garden of Delight,
the Girl from the Village with golden hair,
tends delicate rosebud of her thorned bush
while her train of nymphs wearing flower wreaths,
named Chastity, Danger, Reason, and Shame,
play with elegant grace in stone-rimmed pool.

The Lover wearing clothes of Everyman
gazes entranced in Fountain of Narcissus
where reflection of Rosebud sparks true love
to blossom with desire from aching heart,
as if sharp arrow pierces him with hope,
so his voice echoes with Name of the Rose.

Adjusting tattered books on metal shelf,
the balding hippie with glasses and boots
sells them to passing strangers for one penny,
then visits grave of his wife, Rose Marie,
who died from cancer twenty years ago,
and cries how beauty of this world is lost.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus gives rose to Ophelia and asks her to marry him as they stand together in the Abbey of Saint Michael on the Mountain of Pigs near Turin.

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

Time Maps Our Dreams
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

She tells me I can never understand,
so I carve her face on the crystal moon.
Rose petals flutter from her callused hand
at subtle fracture of the bone-flute tune.
Time rearranges fragments of strange truth
in pages of books she sells at her booth.

She holds my hand with casual arrogance
while we stroll by blue river of lost souls.
Great warriors driven by brave innocence
fight over water that washes their skulls.
Time scatters bones of angels in cold stream
which transform into cars in mundane dream.

She laughs with courage of the howling wolf
when I attempt to build cottage of stone.
Our bodies writhe as we swim in the gulf
so our hearts pulse with harmonious tone.
Time allocates conceptual words of fate
providing signs we use to navigate.

Moonlight gleams in her eyes with arcane code
that adjusts conceptual frame of my mind.
While she translates proverbs of the God Toad
I deconstruct world zeitgeist Zeus designed.
Time animates psychic gears of my brain
when she takes me dancing in summer rain.

She knows the secret thoughts my brain conceals
by flapping swan wings on cape of her pride.
I retrieve from Death treasures Terror steals
to build safe haven where she may abide.
Time programs how my brain perceives the world
that fools me to think I am the cosmic herald.

She pauses on edge of the jagged cliff
to show me where ships with tattooed sails sink.
Wanting to impress her, I act too stiff,
so she melts my heart with sly kiss and wink.
Time maps our dreams on animated globe
that highlights when she sings in silky robe.

She whispers strange tales of gods in my ear
so I write surreal plots in tangled verse.
Trained by Apollo to play puppeteer,
I chant epic poem of philosophers.
Time weaves my songs in tapestry of truth
that presents life of our messiah sleuth.

She appears before me in flash of light
on Mount Takoma where I meditate.
She gives me Lyre of Mercury to fight
world exploitation by tyrant of hate.
Time transfers magic of Mount Helicon
to hidden landscape of my Avalon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus explains to class of students at University of Zarathia that Mount Takoma is the American version of Parnassus and Helicon as home of the Muses.

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

Emanation Of My Brain
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Innocent hope twists my heart with vain faith
that humans love each other selflessly
and work together with one set of rules
to cherish bodies that nurture our souls
for I am emanation of my brain
that flashes with dreams of eternity.

Someday people with respect for the truth
will build Astarium, Temple of Truth,
to honor courageous philosophers
and brave scientists who investigate
complex nature of our weird universe
to formulate codes that explain its laws.

Through rational derangement of my senses,
with prodigious process of deconstruction
that fragments memes of our global world view
in morphing puzzle pieces of weird facts,
I jailbreak Sibyl from her golden cage
so she can teach me wisdom of the heart.

When I draw back crystal dome of Blue Sky,
I find lightless gloom of eternity
where Ophelia floats on calm black waves
till she blooms awake with white lily lips
at blinding flash of countless flaming stars
that sparkle in every cell of my soul.

Twirling wild with frantic delirium
on jagged stones where ocean waves ferment,
I transform from the helpless boat of fate
to roaring serpent with electric wings
while strumming vibrant strings of the bone lyre
till my body dissipates in storm wind.

Ensconced in mystic horrors of weird truth,
I reassemble fragments of my soul
by clamping mask of Phoebus on my face
so with eyes of the sea my heart perceives
luminous phantom that devils call God
reflected in vast mirror of my mind.

Thus I bathe naked in languor of faith
against national pride of blood-stained flags
while riding Behemoth of revolution
to free my people from huge prison boats
so we swim lost in surging sea of change
till Liberty guides us to Hall of Hope.

Eternal Spinner of atomic souls
transforms my body of chemical lust
to ethereal phantom of conscious love
who evolves Leviathan to Gabriel
as writhing spirit of my hungry heart
so I give Mary glass of milk to drink.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus kisses white lily lips of Ophelia who wakes from dream of eternity to whisper secret of reincarnation in his ear with mystical code of love.

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

Gospel Of The Holy Toad
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Spurred by vision of human dignity,
derived from gospel of the Holy Toad,
I search boundless land of America
for brave men bold enough with hearts of gold
to fight cruel tyrant and his oligarchs
so women are free to choose how they live.

Creative power of the female soul,
described by gospel of the Holy Toad,
consists of generating life from hope
and molding body of material flesh
from ideal pattern of genetic code,
so they should be free to choose how they live.

Protecting women from abusive harm,
through law in gospel of the Holy Toad,
inspires men to build havens with strong walls
so mothers raise their children with calm care,
safe in surrounding walls of paradise
where they play free in garden of fruit trees.

Beneath golden glow of the bright Full Moon,
in tune with gospel of the Holy Toad,
free women dress in gowns of scarlet hue
to dance in rings of stone on crowns of hills
and sing with sweet mercurial voice of faith
attentive hymns to Spirit of Rebirth.

Where men once guarded women with true love,
designed by gospel of the Holy Toad,
they now imprison women with cruel greed,
attempting to control with jealous rage
their reproductive power to create
new body for immortal soul of genes.

Though men would nurture life of women well,
inspired by gospel of the Holy Toad,
with solemn oath in binding marriage vows
to shelter and feed children of their wives,
weak men now snarl with bestial rage from fear
and kill precious women they should protect.

Trapped by patriarchal creed of command,
repealed by gospel of the Holy Toad,
men strive for centuries to legalize
social control over bodies of women
to manage reproductive privilege
they exercise to increase their offspring.

New mission to restore feminine rights,
proclaimed by gospel of the Holy Toad,
propels new generation of good men
to assert matriarchal rights to decide
when and with whom women will procreate
through passionate wisdom of divine love.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus tends Ophelia with attentive care while she is pregnant with their son Orion, feeding her apple juice and roast lamb, then sings as they relax by the lake.

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

Snow-Kissed Apple
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

Snow-kissed apple on the arching bough,
teach me how hope inspires the heart to love,
though disease and death haunt our lonely town
and twist angelic bodies with harsh pain,
so sweet juice of your truth, from sun and rain,
may fill my wounded mind with energy.

Strange glow of sunlight through web of tree limbs
exposes eerie ache of wordless hope
for faces that smile bright with cheerful mien
on summer afternoons by sparkling stream
where we play games among the market stalls
while men in ring of stones discuss great things.

Heart latched on swift angelic flight of dreams,
I search for secret name carved on gray cliff
which indicates what nameless soul I sense
awake in tangled shadows of lost time
so I may channel wisdom they perform
with courage to challenge despair and win.

Dazed by hard sunlight of relentless faith,
I shelter under Arcus Gaviorum
built by mind and hands of Vitruvius,
and listen to the dainty sparrow chirp
sharp thoughts of passion to rejuvenate
spirit of Janus in full flush of spring.

Snow-kissed apple beneath the great blue sky,
revive my wounded heart with honesty
that nothing matters in this frantic world
but fellow travelers on road of life
who spring with me from turbid lake valley
where bones of our ancestors grow as trees.

Thin wail of sharp mercurial regret
sparks in my wounded heart strange memory
when we assemble in tall ring of stones
to sing in tribal choir of loyal faith
with one communal voice of eager hope
that we this hour glow bright with light of stars.

With pulsing wolf-heart of hysteric rage
I race through tangled forest of contempt
to rescue from aggressive chains of greed
my clan enslaved by gang of haughty thieves
who mock me when I hurl courageous spear
and leave me crippled on the raven hill.

Snow-kissed apple hanging from the moon
so high and far from trembling hand of thirst
till sudden flutter of dark sparrow wings
shakes fruit of heaven loose so it falls straight,
fill me with light of stars and wind of hope
so I may free my clan from slavery.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus joins Janus and Jesus on crusade to harrow hell and free innocent people enslaved in mines to extract jewels and gold for greedy oligarchs.

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

Clear Light Of Atar
© Surazeus
2026 06 06

My heart longs for the bright Hyrcanian Sea
where morning sun gleams gold on silver waves
so I run free with White Horse of the wind
to free world people from cruel tyranny
who dance with joy in groves of apple trees
till death disperses souls in evening breeze.

Blue breeze of the mystical radiant force,
that emanates from aching heart of hope,
blows through branches of pomegranate trees
while Ahura Mazda gives Kingship Ring
to honest Ardashir with generous heart
on sacred Mountain of the Lion God.

Bold sense of Justice glows still in my heart
eighteen hundred years from that solemn hour
brave Ardashir enforced rule of fair law
through programs funding work of humble men,
farmers raising crops from soil of Earth,
and craftsmen constructing wagons and homes.

Lush pomegranate tree grows from my heart
on sandy shore of our Hyrcanian Sea
where spirit of First Mother lingers still
in swirls of silver wind that bear starlight
as holy flames of truth from cave of dreams
which animate my body with desire.

Strong thread of wisdom, forged from light of truth
by gentle hand of Anahita, weaves
my secret heart in tapestry of faith
to noble goal of justice for all souls
brave Ardashir attends with righteous eye
to bind contentious tribes with common goal.

With brave Sassanian spirit in my heart,
which urges me to create health from pain,
I maintain psychic balance of firm faith
between conservative respect for safety
and progressive vision for social growth
that nurtures dream of each person to live.

Though we seem to wander far off our road
in desolate gloom of the bleak wilderness,
Clear Light of Atar, which flares from our hearts
at clarion spell that Zoroaster sings,
dispels grim darkness of bitter despair
so we see Golden Path of Righteousness.

Awake with soul of Zurvan in my heart,
trained by Nairyosangha, his Messenger,
I aid Arshtat, Goddess of Truth and Justice,
to maintain order in our whole world empire
that unites nations of Earth in one faith
which values women and choices they make.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/06/…

Orpheus wanders along sandy shores of the bright Hyrcanian Sea, and weeps as he remembers graceful beauty of Anahita and her charming voice of song.

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