Yet Still I Row My Boat
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Glass bridge of laughter questions Game of If
where nameless people wander distant shores
with plans to steal new souls from grocery stores
who vanish in strict mirror of the cliff,
yet still I row my boat past paradise
because important things should have no price.

Electric lightbulb of the smiling sun
sends garbage trucks to take lost memories
discarded by housewives with broken keys
who seek salvation of the holy gun,
yet still I row my boat past Eden tress
where angels give math books to chimpanzees.

Life is the angel wearing mirror mask
to work for advertising companies
with clients selling psychic clarities
to robots who refuse to do the task,
yet still I row my boat past libraries
where demons work for social charities.

Brave butterflies of pencils with nine brains
flock merrily around sly Mercury
who teaches jesters art of jollity
who prance at midnight in honey-gold rains,
yet still I row my boat past empty church
where Cinderella continues vain search.

Trapped by strict duties of proud happiness,
where horses of the king eat grass of gold,
my father shows me how to dream-unfold
airplane wings above Sea of Nothingness,
yet still I row my boat past apple groves
where wives of senators slave at hot stoves.

Despite sincerity of obvious love
that cripples crow of Heaven with false faith,
I formulate how God is stellar wraith
that conjures worlds with psychometric shove,
yet still I row my boat past matrix schools
to learn how primates invent farming tools.

Since fatal geographies of state power
provide framework for tyrants to play god,
brave blacksmiths disarticulate the fraud
with guidance from Rapunzel in her tower,
yet still I row my boat past bombed-out homes
to watch gods wrestle in glass thunder domes.

Conceptual language of the creditor
reframes the meaning of life we employ
to reconstruct the sacred halls of Troy
based on project designed by Lucifer,
yet still I row my boat past gates of Hell
to gather dream runes from the serpent well.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus rows his boat past the White House where King Midas screams in rage that prophet of the woke is invading his house that sinks into the waters of the sea.

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

Restore Greatness Of America
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

If I should paint the wide subversive sky
true color of your heart when we first meet,
the people of the world might analyze
sufficient romance of my sacrifice
against synopsis of the seminar
to judge my brave sincerity of love.

If I should find crippled crow of my heart
hopping frantically across the wet lawn,
the angels of the mountain might require
visual conformation of my despair
revealed by neon sign of vacancy
that flashes intermittently till dawn.

If I should hear the sharp objective cry
of morbid nurses in the bitter wind,
the devils in cathedrals might expect
guards at the gate of Hell to optimize
nutritious medicine of martial law
that traps us in Nirvana after all.

If I should see the glowing Face of God
that beams from center of the universe,
the grim professors might demand I write
my doctoral thesis about poverty
that traps the talented in menial jobs
while mediocre fools run governments.

If I should write the holy manuscript
that prophesies new empire of the lost,
the tongueless preachers might demand I burn
idols of heroes from religious tales
to cleanse the sanctuary of the lamb
who rules through journalist integrity.

If I should map whole history of the Earth
that details how great empires rise and fall,
the housewives in schools might demand I play
games with children of crippled warriors
who volunteer to count the treasury
when priests sell them shares to the Afterlife.

If I should decree new socialist creed
to restore greatness of America,
the lawyers in banks might demand I steal
celestial wings of flight from Icarus
so they can storm Heaven in holy coup
to crown shy Jesus Emperor of Earth.

If I should play role of messiah sleuth
through rational performance of my heart,
the oligarchs might demand I program
new world view that excludes divinities
to build from ruins of America
new state based on equal rights in one law.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus visits every city on Earth for ten thousand years, attempting to photograph the Face of God by photographing every person who ever exists.

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

Church Of Broken Clocks
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Because stars shine indifferent to us,
not knowing we exist so far away
on small fragile globe of shuddering water,
I watch my children play in the back yard
with joyful laughter of ambitious hope
that they will rule their own nations one day.

Obsession of the water-shining stone
that glistens in the front yard of my home
inspires me to admire the humble soul
who rises up from crowd of frantic fear
to rule the nation accidentally
when wild waves of change sweep them into power.

Though names and faces of the global dead
are forgotten in the spinning of time,
we merge them all into mythical gods
who simplify their spirits on one trope
which preserves their general character
while their details dissipate in the wind.

Because the eyeless ghost of my sponge brain
keeps slipping back and forth in stream of time,
soaring on wings I stole from Icarus,
the random story of my awkward life
becomes the palimpsest of future heroes
who follow my map through the labyrinth.

Each day that I grow older than the moon
I store more information about Earth
through grand encyclopedia of the brain
in tales about great empires of the land
and all the haughty kings who ruled their lives,
then faded to paintings in history books.

Since sparrows on statues of generals
express opinions about their noble deeds,
we hairless monkeys hide in libraries
to prove we are wingless angels of time
blessed to thrive on Earth millions of years more
since we crawled dripping from the wordless sea.

Searching for the one book that reveals truth
in library of human memory,
I row my boat on river of world dream
to find the secret island of fruit trees
where messiah sleuth plots world revolution
that will unite all nations in one game.

While spiders spin world matrix of our minds
we gather in the church of broken clocks
to decipher riddles from arcane code
that explain the nature of human greed
till prophets teach us to embrace nonbeing
though we make mindless gods from random stars.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus teaches the constellations to young children who attend the Astronomical Observatory of Divine Phenomena for their school trip.

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

My Feet Write Cuneiforms
© Surazeus
2026 10 04

Afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts
that curl down through genetic memories
programmed by dreams all my ancestors share,
I drift with gentle tides of social change
with stubborn heart that beats time with the stars
so my feet write cuneiforms of hope.

While my feet write cuneiforms of hope
on signless road that takes me everywhere
beyond the broken walls of paradise,
I map cave passage through maternal hearts
down timeless halls of mirrors to perceive
face of first mother who watches my life.

Face of first mother who watches my life
seems to appear on every tree and cloud
as if her spirit through lush Nature shines
with faint penumbral glow of divine truth
so I translate her wordless thoughts of faith
to songs I sing while strolling road of fate.

Weird songs I sing while strolling road of fate
project strange visions of my flashing brain
each time I face new obstacle of fear,
providing methods of proactive deeds
that guide my way on landscape of desire
through endless labyrinth of confusing myths.

Through endless labyrinth of confusing myths
I trace ancestral journey to myself
based on the tangled narrative of faith
which my ancestors map in fairy tales
depicting how people fail or succeed
to generate new life before they die.

To generate new life before we die
we gather food from bounty of the Earth
till strangers take it all before we can,
so we build forts on hills and fight fierce wars
to gather food in bags from hungry woods
by building empires on the skulls of gods.

While building empires on the skulls of gods
we erect idols that depict wise souls
of leaders who unite our hearts with goal
to dominate the world with clever plans
organized by the father of our tribe
so we present dead mortal as our god.

Though we present dead mortal as our god
because he gave us mission to unite
all nations of the world in Holy Church,
I leave that endless game of thought control
and walk to waste land back to Wonderland,
afloat in randomness of whorling thoughts.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus joins Jesus, Apollo, Odin, Buddha, Mohammed, Krishna, and Tengri in the Crippled Pegasus Cafe to share poems they write about the beauty of humanity.

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

Lake Of Dreamless Eyes
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

When I find myself at the huge blank wall
where shadow of my soul mocks my vain pride,
I open window into nothingness
and watch one hundred thousand years of wars
when angry men transform to humming trees
where children of their enemies play games.

The house is quiet and the world is calm
but I am not the book of ancient gods
because nameless ghosts rise from writhing words
and dance around me in the summer night
so I invent strange truth from what I see
and write their stories no one ever reads.

How many human faces I have seen
on endless journey through vast maze of towns
that takes me through the mystery of faith
long hidden behind numbered doors of homes
where strangers hide their secrets inside books
that angels burn before they break the world.

My house hangs from the pendulum of doom
that shakes with throbbing of remembered rain
though I lose treasure of strange memories
that lead me to the shadowed woods of time
where voices of the people I still love
echo too faintly in receding mist.

I find their names with letters of bright blood
fast fading from old books of glimmering leaves
because wild throbbing of my heart inspires
fearful rebellion against tyranny
so I dance by the lake of metal flame
with radiant laughter of deceptive fame.

Though I go back and search my tangled dream
to find the beacon of our anguished pride
lit by aggressive anger of desire,
I kneel beside the lake of dreamless eyes
which casts mercurial gleam on my glass face
so I become the demon I fear most.

I hear wild song of ravens after storm
who gather on electric wires of thought
to translate noise of brains that buzz with rage
to solemn hymn uniting wounded hearts
in global nation of objective faith
that helps us navigate our maze of myths.

Awakened by the shouts of jostling flowers
that toss my body to the humorous moon,
I surf the flashing tides of global change
which carry me to land of burning fruit
where we hold hands and gaze at timeless stars
that spell our fortune we choose to create.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus gathers fragments of lost stories from books torn by teeth of angels and assembles them into puzzle that presents inspirational myths of one new world religion.

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

Bard Banner Of Our Muses
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

While I am wandering in dark tangled woods,
alone in changeless glimmer of dead gray,
I find the fallen banner of the bard
who wrenched it from the western skies with verve
to light the beacon of musical truth
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow.

With trembling hands of my lost legacy,
which sparks awake the timeless glow of faith
in my young witch-wrought heart, I lift up high
that noble banner of our ancient clan,
then light again with flame of prophecy
that beacon on the bleak Parnassian height.

I find the broken lyre of Mercury,
that Apollo strummed with passionate heart
some thirty centuries of change ago,
which passed through skilled hands of many brave singers,
Phoebus, Homer, Ovid, Virgil, Dante,
Shakespeare, and Milton, to my hand this hour.

After tuning strings taut with intense faith,
I strum the lyre of Mercury and sing
enchanting hex that conjures from mute gloom
ghosts of great singers in my bardic clan,
Philip, Anne, Oliver, William, James, Sarah,
Edwin, and Robert, who flock to my tune.

Joining in spontaneous choir of sweet song,
they beam mercurial voices of bright truth
in threads of eerie melodies that weave
grand tapestry of visionary tales
which illustrate our transcendental faith
in spells blessed by the Muses of our hearts.

High on transcendent peak of arcane faith,
I sing the ancient tale of human hope
while bearing banner of our bardic clan,
and tend the sacred flame of divine truth
that shines from Parnassus with holy glow
to light our world with wisdom of the Muses.

Through eerie silence of human despair,
from hearts crushed by destructive wars for power,
strange songs of disharmonious ardency
emerge from hundred million wounded hearts
whose spells of hope from isolated rooms
swell whole together through aspiring wind.

Now that bard banner of our Muses flies
aloft in pure wind of ethereal song,
brave voices of hundred million Earth bards
fuel flame of truth in beacon of our hearts
which beams from sacred peak of high Parnassus
to light the Way for people of the world.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus teaches me how to tune the lyre of Mercury and sing great stories of the human heart that radiate from our bodies with intense passion for the beauty of love.

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

Blinded By Star Words
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Blinded by star words of exploding thoughts,
Citlali washes her face in the lake
till all the tears of suffering women flush
her wounded heart clean of observed despair,
then she tends garden of electric corn
while children play within scope of her eyes.

Cupping her hands with soft voice of the wind,
Citlali scoops water from the silver lake
that reflects peak of snowy Tlaloc Mountain
where her grandmother dwells in secret cave
to commune with soul of the serpent god
who speaks through song of rivers in the woods.

Amazed at glory of eye-blinking stars
that sprinkle fairy dust in human hearts,
Citlali twirls slowly with graceful calm
despite aggressive passion of her heart
that urges her to rise above this world
and float with ecstasy of butterflies.

Singing with exquisite respect for light,
Citlali bakes Tlaxcalli corn flatbread
on clay griddle comal with quick hands
then rolls them thick with mushrooms, squash, and beans,
seasoned with peppers, tomatoes, and herbs,
which people eat as raindrops flash from leaves.

When great horned owl with glowing golden eyes
appears from Mictlan with message of hope,
Citlali walks along the mountain path
till she finds young man tending cacao tree,
so Tecolotl smiles and gives her cup
filled with hot xocolatl beverage.

Sipping the bitter sorrow of this world,
sweetened with chili and vanilla juice,
Citlali ponders nature of the stars,
and asks Tecolotl with inquiring voice
if he thinks stars might be souls of the dead
who watch us live with synergy of love.

From swirling fog after wild gush of rain
Coatl leaps and grabs her by the arm,
demanding that she bear child of his soul,
but Citlali tries to escape his grip,
so he pushes her down, flat on her back,
till Tecolotl stabs him with sharp spear.

Suckling daughter she bears with Tecolotl,
Citlali smiles about his flustered shyness,
then explains she names their new child Meztli,
for she is offspring of the humble owl,
so he makes faces, causing her to laugh
as moon girl reaches out her tiny hands.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus follows enchanting song to find young woman Meztli in long skirt of flowers singing as she dances on shores of Lake Texcoco where grasshoppers play.

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

Holy Depths Of Nothingness
© Surazeus
2026 10 03

Kneeling waist deep in glowing silver waves,
Khaos dips soft hands in swirling lake of stars
and lifts from holy depths of nothingness
enormous galaxy of spinning worlds
which lifts its face and stares into her eyes,
so she bears the turtle to her beach cave.

Observing how shape of the turtle shell
resembles mountains rising from the beach,
Khaos envisions how world of wind-swept trees
floats in vast ocean of conceptual hope,
so she explores steep slope of humming trees
to find the highest point of innocence.

Tall tangle-haired man wearing wolf-skin cloak
extends right hand and offers sun-orange fruit,
so she consumes light of the flashing rain
while he fills her with spirit of the moon,
then wanders back to cave beach of her heart
where she expands huge as the surging sea.

When darkness swells inside her aching heart,
and bulges round as galaxy of worlds,
Khaos gathers clams and roasts them on hot flames,
then slurps delicious meat of energy
that motivates her heart with shock of faith
to sing heart-radiant hymn of holy love.

When she gives birth to child with gleaming eyes,
who wriggles wildly in her trembling arms,
Khaos weeps with fierce compassion of surprise
then suckles him at breasts of starry milk,
humming as he gazes at her with love,
then speaks his name, Erebus, with respect.

While gathering clams in leather bag of hope,
Khaos shows Erebus how to bundle wood
as they stroll laughing on broad beach of sand,
then stand together when strong gust of wind
whips hair around their faces with bright joy
and sunlight weaves their bodies with delight.

When wolf man from the cloud-high mountain grove
appears on windy beach with long sharp spear,
Khaos notes sharp features of his rugged face,
then gazes at face her curious son,
and feels sweet glow of wisdom flush her heart
to realize how she incarnates his soul.

While weaving baskets from flexible vines,
Khaos watches wolf man and Erebus play,
running swiftly along sun-gleaming beach,
gathering sticks and stones with clever hands,
then crafting tridents with three sharpened points
to catch fish they eat beneath twinkling stars.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus joins Erebus on the beach as he sets skulls of his parents on large stone, then arranges shells and jewels in shrine to honor their beautiful souls.

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

Vibes Of Social Harmony
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Trapped by avalanche of identities
which narrate riddles of anxiety,
Zemyna describes elements of life
as wheat that sprouts as her long curly hair
in meadows lush with flowers of her breasts,
while she holds crystal sphere of flashing stars.

We celebrate Earth Mother of our hearts
because her love sustains life of our souls,
then takes our bodies back into her soil
so we are ghosts in great lakes of her eyes
who dance in birch groves with attentive grace
till we lie down at death in her embrace.

When I hear weird spell Mother of Graves chants,
that echoes softly in moon-haunted woods,
I play water tunes on flute of my heart
to radiate vibes of social harmony
that soothe brittle anger of wounded hearts
till we attend grand feast Zemyna hosts.

Even while I walk crowded business maze,
conducting business of product exchange
within parameters of strict contracts,
I hear enchanting voice in blustering wind
when Mother of Ghosts addresses my soul
with fate-unspooling hex of fertile faith.

Advanced to messy edges of our lives,
I bind with oath of honest privilege
new secret purpose of the glowing cloud,
based on abundant wealth of bankruptcy,
to revive heritage through instruments
of fiscal gravity attracting ghosts.

By teaching me how to interpret rain
as splatter of inflated integers
that model ordinance of future states,
Zemyna arms my atmospheric mind
with orchestrated process of respect
so I could certify demonic faith.

Attuned to misdirecting equity,
depicted by strange cultural entities,
contrived by deviant currencies of hope,
Zemyna reprograms dream gallery
with ardent frequencies of mental force,
so I accept my role as guardian.

Attending marathon of humble spies,
who rewrite rules of dire linguistic tricks,
Zemyna teaches me with anecdotes
how to locate the liberal positive
based on marketing techniques of bold faith,
so we survive their avalanche of lies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus takes Zemyna on a date to an Italian restaurant, then they stroll along the River Styx where angels transform idols into human beings who give each other love.

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

Ocean Waves Of Thought
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

I want to talk to you about the rain
is if broad wings of angels could erase
conceptual bitterness of twisted pain
that we accept as normal for the face
that shields our souls against psychotic fame,
tricked by the king of clowns to play his game.

With ache of longing to taste juicy fruit
while stuck in deep lake of demonic tears,
I reach my hand to grasp the bitter loot
that blinds my eyes to arrogate false fears
while haughty Tantalus laughs at my plight
because my agony is rendered trite.

Startled awake from dream of writhing snakes,
Selene sees her daughter Herse leap
at flash of lightning that shatters soul lakes
with sudden laughter that all life is cheap,
so Hermes swoops down to embrace the girl
whose honest hex hurls him in ocean swirl.

Old pastor gripping Bible to his chest
demands I tell important anecdotes
which relate need for boys to go on quest
exploring secret to construct sea boats
on which we sail to conquer paradise
with certain shock that we must pay the price.

I want to hold sweet Thetis in my arms
because our son is destined to perform
great deeds of valor on skull-cluttered farms
where Hera makes love with the God of Storm,
but she prefers the humble man who knows
how to tame horses when the full moon glows.

Enraged that I can never obtain wealth,
I smash old idol of Hermes in grief
which scatters gold coins with obnoxious stealth,
so I buy friendships that prove to be brief
which leads me to knock at steel gates of Hell
that shake at shocking mockery of the bell.

Knee deep in sloshing waves of solitude,
I wade into cold ocean waves of thought
to swim with mermaids whose sweet songs are rude
because they insult the divine robot
who tries to conquer nations of the Earth
without understanding what faith is worth.

With calm compassion for the wounded soul,
I roll Rock of Salvation up the hill
to build enormous palace without goal
through firm intention to ignore the bill,
till I find fractured skull of Sisyphus
that vibrates with contempt of bitterness.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wears mask of Zeus and sits on throne of judgment to offer the Golden Apple of Eris to Athena so he can gain enough wisdom to calculate twelve iterations of his fate.

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

Unclock Chance Of Fate
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

Aside from how fast stars always explode
into light fairies with gossamer wings
who bring bottles of root beer to blind clowns,
Gearthe considers why white horses laugh
at the wild-haired king chasing the giraffe,
because she wants to paint portraits of ghosts.

As if respectful turbulence of planes
reveals how deep the psychic manhole goes
for devils to hide from raven disease,
Gearthe scatters pumpkin seeds on sidewalks
while asking glass-shelled tortoise of dark faith
how long it takes for alphabets to grow.

Since no more than seven ages of man
show our regressive pattern of regret
by disobedience to laws of Glow Clouds,
Gearthe advertises her expertise
for extracting souls from god-twisting books
to rescue children from the war machine.

Though no one knows when the last god will die
from embarrassment of drowning in tears
that humans shed from constant suffering,
Gearthe walks one hundred thousand miles
to find the new-born angel with nine eyes
who is destined to work as a janitor.

If Death considers what the stop sign means
that stands forever at crossroads of fate
till Jesus cheats Krishna at game of cards,
Gearthe will give away to bitter monks
all the most famous paintings about queens
who were forced to marry privileged thieves.

Backward up Stairway to Heaven at dawn
with random plan to unclock chance of fate
at crack of gears in broken time machines,
Gearthe gazes through swirling fog of time
to navigate valley of singing skulls
because the future is one step beyond.

Yet when three prophets of the global bank
distract attention of the humble folk
through lamentation at the death of God,
Gearthe holds flowers by the faceless pool,
then asks shy Narcissus to marry her
while echoing his religious beliefs.

Till seeds expand into towers of steel
that frame glass spirits of unusual faith
based on undulations of interest rates,
Gearthe decides not to proceed with plan
to purchase glass castle from Jupiter
till he admits his conceptual mistake.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus searches for Gearthe all over Earth till he finds her in Garden of apple trees in Germany where Gerthmanians dance around the Maypole to celebrate her reign as Fairy Queen.

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

Surf The Waves Of Change
© Surazeus
2026 10 02

When tyrants take control of government,
appointing thieves to higher offices,
and funnel dollars of our hard-earned tax
from programs that support the common folk
to coffers of their private bank accounts,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When humble lawmen from the government
ride into small towns on the wild frontier
to challenge barons who own all the land,
and integrate them in the empire state
that trains sons of farmers as banking clerks,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When Midas, Nebuchadnezzar, and Lear
imprison angels from Elysium
to extract minerals from the mines of Hell,
and build tanks and airplanes with bombs of hate
to fight over who controls the most land,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When oligarchs of high-tech companies
design artificial intelligence
to perform functions of analysis
that disemploys millions of programmers
who fight video wargames in cyberspace,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When farmers attending church on Sundays
no longer receive fiscal subsidies,
while brave migrant workers from southern lands
are deported to towns run by drug lords
so no one is left to harvest their crops,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When prophets disguised as cartographers
rename the ancient lands of everywhere
to realign conceptual state of mind
that conjures virtual model of the Earth
so we navigate tides of history,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When democratic republic of hope,
which we built strong on noble principle
that every person born across this land
has inalienable right to liberty,
collapses under greed of oligarchs,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

When Gothinius, descended from two gods,
Jesus and Odin, through Holy Grail bloodline
of Faramundus, and Frank Queen Argotta,
unites the warring nations of Europe
in unified state of Gothinia,
all we can do is surf the waves of change.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus works as personal assistance to Gothinius as he unites the nations of Europe in new powerful empire of Gothinia to protect our people from invasion.

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

Lost On Ghostless Moors
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

By stretching my mind across centuries
to wind my heart with frantic memories
my soul becomes the boundless sky of doors
through which I wander lost on ghostless moors
to gather blossoms from the playful breeze
so I forge trauma into psychic keys.

Because I am calm enemy of hate,
tricked to play happy by swindle of fate,
I am uninterested in fraught game
of who suffers most to achieve false fame,
so I transcend stark agony of pain
by floating wingless in electric rain.

If I cast hex of calibrated spells
through inefficient laughter of church bells,
I may revive my equestrian heart
long enough to check fortune-twisting chart
against status of episcopal faith,
fabricated through lust of the Star Wraith.

Since I may inherit Book of Weird Lies,
composed by children of dynamic spies,
I may attempt to grow angelic wings
through spiral sparkle of demonic rings
that proves my soul is native to this land
as frightened rebel of divine command.

Concealed by silence of old broken truth,
designed by ravens acting out of ruth,
I analyze consequence of my deed,
then adjudicate fault through mental need
to exercise free will within constraints
applied by nature to create more saints.

Through ballads, strictly coded to express
moral values that conjure happiness,
I document events of this wild age,
performed by sly mortals on global stage,
depicting tragic passions of blind gods
whose arrogance transforms them into toads.

Across the waste land of eccentric rules
children wander nowhere past fractured schools
to learn of freedom for the wounded soul
who studies secrets of the flashing whole
so they can sell anger in holy books
because temple priests are restaurant cooks.

With tale-tattered quill, from my crippled wing,
I chronicle our age of suffering
by giving voice to the marginalized
who storm Heaven though they are unbaptized,
then compile ten billion stories with runes
that dissipate into soul-haunting tunes.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus reads poetry from his Book of Weird Lies at the Bookstore of Graveling Fame where hordes of star-eyed followers gasp with awe at his satires against wealthy elites.

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

God My Brain Invents
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

When dawn sun gleams over apple creek,
piercing my heart with agony of love,
I fool myself one hour of glowing thoughts
that I am one with some vast cosmic mind,
and not alone and small on giant globe
that slowly spins in void of nothingness.

How comforting to think that cosmic mind,
beaming from hills and clouds with warming love,
observes my being with soul-nurturing care,
empathizing with strange feelings I feel,
and would protect my frail body from harm
while teaching me to see nature of things.

This hope for huge protective soul of love
that gleams as ghost in sun-refracting clouds,
I wonder if my mind derives its sense
from memories my ancestors reviewed
because they all experienced sweet care
their living parents performed in each life.

My mind projects care of this cosmic mind
based on experience of each new life
from memories of their childhood that transfer
brain to brain on dream-weaving strings of genes
which feed complex glow of my conscious mind
so I expect care from ghost of this world.

No parental spirit, bodied in flesh,
hovers over me with cherubic wings
to shield my frail embodied soul from harm,
so my mind projects as ghost of their care
incorporeal being in God my brain invents
that shimmers as illusion of my faith.

If I were not projecting ghost of care
as ideal god that presents in thought
absent parent my programmed brain expects,
I would begin to tremble with stark fear
that sharp-toothed monsters of death lurking near
may attack and destroy my tender soul.

Thus with fake confidence of specious faith
I strut landscape of terror to account
for secret treasures I extract from death
as fruit which I consume to sustain life
that flushes with tense strength of ardent pride
transient self which I navigate with care.

Now stuck with ghost of God my brain invents,
programmed by psychic memories of hope
that my ancestors conjured from stark fear
to navigate through gangs of hostile men,
which helped them survive to generate life,
I protect and guide my children with care.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus explains to his son Linus that our brains invent the concept of the Father God in the clouds who watches over us and guides our sons to the garden of fruit.

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

Pool Of Her Luminous Heart
© Surazeus
2026 10 01

While angels and devils fight in the sky
as lightning flashes in swirling black clouds,
I wander along crumbling asphalt road
far out in the desolate countryside
to the abandoned mansion of gray wood
where faceless ghosts float in one thousand rooms.

Before rotten stump of the ancient tree,
that once sheltered children with joyful eyes
who played games on long summer afternoons,
I kneel and touch small sprout of tender leaves
that struggles to grow from its legacy
and bloom with apple rubies of true faith.

When I touch roots with anguish of regret,
that radiates from despair of wounded hearts
since people I love were slaughtered in war,
passionate beam of psychic energy
spirals through expanding scope of consciousness
which manifests in tree of global faith.

Celestial goddess robed in tattered pain
vibrates with spark of cosmic synergy
that spirals from pool of her luminous heart
so she creates our spinning world of souls
to pulse in ocean of atomic waves,
then sings while drenched in golden seeds of faith.

Emerging from weird visions at gray dawn,
I ponder meaning of that vague word, Faith,
which weak men, trapped by duty to succeed,
wield as weapon of spiritual control,
so I gaze at old crumbling house of hope
that creaks in wind of innocent desire.

How fiercely I longed to escape this house
and live with passion in city of lights,
but vampires cloaked in dapper suits of wealth,
instead of humble knights with crafting tools,
became obsessed with beauty of my face
and sucked bright spirit of my naive heart.

Instead of Penelope waiting at home
for Odysseus to return to warm hearth,
I am Medusa searching for true love,
for I have left behind gods turned to stone
as tragic lessons no one cares to learn,
yet hope to find Perseus waiting for me.

Wrapping her long tangled hair in firm bun,
Mary unlocks door of her family home,
cleans every room with broom and mop of faith,
then sits in leather armchair by the hearth
to sip hot chocolate and watch snowflakes
flash in timeless light of the gold Full Moon.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/10/…

Orpheus wanders toward the old mansion shining gold in the dark snowy night till he shivers and tumbles on wingless sorrow to float in arms of the old woman who knows.

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

Fruit Tree Of Untime
© Surazeus
2026 09 30

I live beside the river of blind souls
who dance around the fruit tree of untime,
awake with arguments of lonely flowers
while flapping crippled wings of honesty
that flare against infinity of hope
till we become new houses for our dead.

I bury seeds of sorrow in wet Earth
to nourish with tears fruit tree of untime
that curls thirsty roots into my thick heart
with passionate intensity of faith
that startles me awake from wordless dream
beneath the mirror sky of burning eyes.

Forever down long winding road of thoughts
I walk away to fruit tree of untime
through endless loops of returning progress
since I arrive back where I once began
to find the beginning is now my end
except I want to start the way again.

With crowd of angels on high ziggurat,
gathered around sprawling tree of untime,
I hold high brass wand with emerald eye
refracting beams of sunlight in rainbow
that lights bright faces of ten billion souls
who sing hymn to the glory of our globe.

When God wakes in atoms of dreaming eyes
that blossom ripe from fruit tree of untime,
I feel glow in my body every soul
who will ever live on every world globe
in all the universe of swirling galaxies,
so I transmit songs of their aching hearts.

Like every tree that exists in Spacetime
manifests perfect fruit tree of untime,
so Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, Zeus,
and Odin manifest, as mortal men,
perfect Tribe Leader who cares for the people
who trust him to organize their lives well.

Vibrating with eternal buzz of light
that spirals out from fruit tree of untime,
I declare with radial galactic voice
that I am atoms which always exist
for all things emanate from my God Mind
through transient bodies of organic souls.

As temporary being with conscious self,
nourished with love by fruit tree of untime,
I savor strangeness of this universe
and treasure beauty of your radiant soul,
so we embrace and generate new life
who will live and sing long after we die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus stands before crowd of people and expands into enormous angel of eternal atoms and declares that he has always existed and all things emanate from his being.

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

Beauty Of Her Cosmic Soul
© Surazeus
2026 09 30

Gold Key of Wisdom I forge from my heart
opens doors of happiness to safe homes
where ghosts of apples as organic beings
share visions of their minds in songs of faith
that shine as lamps to guide us on the road
which we traverse to build new paradise.

When I observe strange objects of this world
that shimmer with light in vale of my heart,
my mother Reitia writes words that she speaks
as runes she carves on smooth tablets of wood,
then teaches me how to cast magic spells
as hex that projects vision of my mind.

When I see pretty girl with long gold hair
and blue eyes gleaming bright as valley lake,
I grab her with my hands to kiss her mouth,
but mother Reitia twists my arm and frowns,
then teaches me to treat girls with respect,
admiring beauty of her cosmic soul.

Appointed to accompany Her Way,
I guard sweet Artemis with magic wand
as she attends duties of her routine,
protecting her soul from monsters and men
as she gathers fruit, berries, nuts, and eggs
from eerie shadows of the mountain woods.

Though I save her fertile body from harm,
stopping men from enslaving her as wife,
she saves me from blind selfishness of lust
because I come to know her secret heart,
as I attend her progress every day,
when I focus true love on her, not me.

When her mother contracts marriage of state
for brave Artemis as obedient wife
to manage household of the wealthy banker,
I relinquish duty as her soul guard,
then drift with broken heart in obscure woods
to linger by her favorite turtle pool.

As I convince myself to let her go
and respect freedom of her private will
to marry the wealthy man she may choose,
Artemis appears in our secret grove,
where I stare at reflection of my face,
and calls my name with voice of genuine love.

Attending mirror of her glowing eyes,
I burst with joy at tenor of her words
that she loves me because I love her soul,
nursing her freedom to live as she will
instead of striving to control her body,
so we hold hands and stroll back into town.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus presides at wedding of Pythios and Artemis, helping protect the bride with angry Pluto arrives with gang of thugs to kidnap the bride.

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

Arthurian Code Of Conduct
© Surazeus
2026 09 30

When hexagonal ice crystals refract
spirit of the sun through sphere of my brain,
I see crowd of red and black balls swirl wild
in flashing spirals of electric coils
that scatter into flocks of silver crows
who gather in oak trees to sing my name.

Because astonishing light of my being
emanates from mortal frame of my flesh,
I dream delusion of immortal life
glowing from conscious system of my brain
which tricks my mind to feel as if my soul
exists long before it beams from my body.

Contained within limiting bounds of being,
my soul vibrates from waves of chemicals
that interact to conjure glow of life
through finite channels of time-woven space,
designed by my ancestors so my genes
construct this temporary self I am.

Spurred to perform act of the noble soul
by story of the tyrant who exploits
bodies of people to increase his power,
I journey road to the high mountain pass
where statue of the goddess glows alive
and commissions me to defeat the king.

Inspired by her vision of global peace,
I fight against every tyrant on Earth
with passion of brave Cronus in my heart
to cast cruel Uranus from throne of greed
and free the hungry people of the world
to operate farms with communal faith.

Just like Saint Lucia asks Empress Maria,
who asks Princess Beatrice for assistance,
who sends Vergilius to guide Dante to Heaven,
so Athena asks Apollo, who asks
Mercurius, who sends Orpheus with lyre
to guide my journey to the Promised Land.

Thus wise Athena teaches me to see
essential spirit in each human being
so I may attend to their secret needs,
and nurture innate talents into skills
that allows them to create way of life
fulfilling dreams of their ambitious hope.

Wielding Sword of Justice in hand of faith,
applied to my care by the Fairy Queen,
I follow Arthurian Code of Conduct
opposing tyrants, enslavers, and thieves,
protecting farmers, herdsmen, and craftsmen,
and protecting women who create life.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus takes me to Temple of Truth where ghosts of all the great epic poets of history haunt the pool of visions that mirrors elusion of my temporary face.

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

Far Side Of Reality
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Quick leap to far side of reality
through oscillation of brave opposites
connects the lonely island of my heart
to lush continent of humanity
as bridge of compassionate ardency
which helps me find missing treasure of truth.

Slow fall to far side of reality
from transient twirling of excessive tries
may channel frantic energy of faith
in pulsing tunnels of my sponge-wet brain
to motivate attention of my love
laser-focused on dark needs of your heart.

Grim trudge to far side of reality
across dire waste land of the spotless mind
reveals bold quality of strong friendships
designed by manufacture fervid faith
bonding hearts of strangers with calm words
disguised as solemn hymns of potency.

Deep swim to far side of reality
in bottomless abyss of weird insight
exposes monstrous demons of my heart
who hunger to consume galactic fruit
that shimmers so enticingly correct
from twisted hands of sad demonic trees.

High flight to far side of reality
above gold clouds of crystal palaces
lures thirsty angel of my bitter heart
to hope for afterlife of pleasant bliss
strolling with God in Garden of Delight
where my doppelganger plays lyre of faith.

Bright prance to far side of reality
inside wide ring of tall emerald stones
attracts shocked apparition of my brain
to hope my spirit lives eternally
before and after this organic frame
contains assertive passion of success.

Mad quest to far side of reality
around Plutonian forest of wise crows
tricks me to follow Golden Way of Weird
where I assert prophetic state of mind
because I see in vision of dream code
events that never happen on this Earth.

Brave strike to far side of reality
against oppressive gang of psychic thieves
compels me to rebel against false gods
who reign on hill of skulls with holy word
because this space of land around my head
provides foundation for my sovereignty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus lingers of bridge of compassionate ardency to contemplate what energy of frantic hope conjures consciousness of the arrogant soul.

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

Trick The Algebraic Vain
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Exquisite concept of the codicil,
that supplements virtual world of my brain
with legal formalities of false creeds,
contrived to trick the algebraic vain
into believing in the Afterlife,
facilitates my quest to find the Grail.

Though I was born to emulate the god
who honors fabricated states of mind
with brave expenditure of sordid faith,
I strive to graduate from fairy school
through evanescence of inglorious jokes
that deal explicit codes of ardent grace.

Assigned to play adjacent analyst
through progress of attractive avenues,
I claim my heart has been reauthorized
to track essential functions of desire
through formulas of courage birds invent
by dancing in exotic episodes.

Though self-contained by modular regret
through optimal duty of honest leaps,
despite elite membership of my brain
in building framework for our new world view,
I compile facts for divine currency
concealed by mortgage of the covenant.

Calm grandeur of incisions once revised,
by calculating new visions of clouds,
requires misspelled austerities of love
to reassemble cracked puzzle of pride
that glorifies deep beauty of true hearts,
expunging envy through obsessive joy.

Through fractal letter of soul maintenance,
reversed by secret techniques of concern,
we shop for shocking gossip at the church
where angels store grain in bags of despair,
till wooden robot of ethereal fear
provides welfare for winners who still fail.

Awake at aperture of dreamless domes,
where haughty angels boast of bankruptcies,
I balance catalogs of proofless facts
with mental functions of the carnival
because we must express impassioned creeds
which polishes expanding scope of truth.

Thus I will broadcast biblical welfare
through wireless workshops of witless thieves
who rank themselves pleasant entrepreneurs
whose hearts are bound by rainbow allergies,
or else we all will die from laughing bombs
that disassemble our religious faith.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus finds the ark that Noah sailed to escape the global flood buried in the backyard of the old tongueless clown who sits on his cow and flaps fake wings.

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

Lurid Hills Of Ithaka
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Since Ithaka is always on my mind,
forever just ahead in swirling mist
toward which I journey by the starry map,
I gather riches of sorrowful truth
in my constructing hands so I can build
safe haven for my children to grow wise.

Through curtains of uncertainty I leap
into frame of the sudden photograph
where I hang frozen without angel wings
till paper crinkles and dissolves to dust,
then I fall into well of gravity
to hold my loving spouse in gentle arms.

Though brave heretics against holy thoughts
emerge in flames from tomb of confidence,
they cast all superstitions to the ground
in challenge to the Gorgon of the church
that lurks as faceless ghost of arrogance
in twisted shadows of the broken house.

Since travelers still ride their placid ways
in cool shade of the nuclear missile bomb,
we give each other tickets for the train
that never takes to Heaven nameless soul
who flocks around my passion-wired mind
as loyal bride in tattered wedding dress.

Because the yellow sea ghost of desire
derides our plan derived from mordent leaves
to follow blood-thick river of respect,
I leap the lunar silences of fate
while I record sweet music of the sand
to prove that Heaven is our fantasy.

If snow disfigures idols of our gods
that stand by frozen brooks of travesty,
I may decide to run with gentle wolves
through evergreen forest of lonely vales
far from the illness of my fractured mind
so I become light of the afternoon.

Now that my deconstructed soul of masks
has been regenerated by the egg,
my mother asks the spirit of her god
to beam from stars and animate my mind
with solemn honor of the upright creed,
but I would somersault the laughing beach.

With unconstraining voice of solitude
I dare rejoice at rapture of my heart
when I guard healing fountain with sharp eye
that waters lurid hills of Ithaka
with ghosts of heroes who give away names
of their brave spirits to the world today.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus wanders the lurid hills of Ithaka with vain hope to find his wife and children whose faceless ghosts follow him in the lunar silences of fate.

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

Crippled Wing Of Fire
© Surazeus
2026 09 29

Forbidden sorrow of the cherry tree
reveals sweet nothingness of urgency
that spurs my climb in tangled certainty
from dissolution of the river flow
that casts me paralyzed in comfort snow
since love diminishes my anguished pain.

Soft pink of dawn reveals my long-lost home
en route to unconsoling ocean shore
where I am shadow of my mute desire,
face glowing rose from crippled wing of fire
that concentrates my numbing loneliness
as swan that glides on mirror of my mind.

Unburdened kindness of the leafless tree
that resurrects brave dinosaurs of love
inspires strange wonder of my swollen mind
to ponder shrieks of gulls in frantic breeze
that flicker in wide circles of concern
though children invent new systems of state.

Red rabbit of my half-excited heart
darts swift through endless maze of wordless prayers
that young girls whisper in the doorless church
while washing speckled hands in bowls of oil
which they smear in black words on courtroom walls
to indicate precisely what they mean.

She hides her stories in the broken box
beneath worn dresses on the attic shelf
which then transform to zombies of desire
that wander buzzing streets of afternoon
where carpenters repair our broken homes
while devils fix electric wires of faith.

Through open window of her wounded heart
she hears sad crickets of apocalypse
sing all night long about the formula
defining process of soul gravity
that drives celestial bodies to transcend
market stalls where angels sell lemonade.

Through gaps of naked trees on hill of skulls
the full moon shimmers with ten billion eyes
because we see ourselves in how it smiles,
distorting concept of the human soul
that dissipates to nothing when we die
because our atoms form bodies again.

Alert to shocking insult of the stone,
she stares at ocean waves of restless rage
that sloshes inside porcelain teacup
as she floats up in white-lace wedding dress
and hovers with enormous angel wings
above the world that feels her suffering.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus sells angel wings at his booth near the pyramid where Mithras reigns as God of Contracts, but no one seems to believe the wings will work for them.

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

Beauty Of My Changing Face
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

Remote as starlight in eyes of the dead,
I gather yellow apples of the sun
to sell for copper pennies of regret
to lonely housewives in suburban zones
whose children reincarnate ancient gods
while angels paint roses on temple walls.

To dwell in pale mirage of fractured homes,
where healthy demons wear cute human masks,
we blink as slow as stars in river waves
and cast strange treasures on soft satin mud,
though death projects our spirits at black clouds
so words we speak could conjure cosmic minds.

Since we are atoms flashing in the void,
we are the cosmic mind of nothingness
that beams from countless stars of swirling gas
till we evolve from sloshing waves of hope
and crawl with agony of gasping breath
on muddy shore beneath the tree of fruit.

Thus I rise up from gravity of fate
to stand half-steady on this wobbling world,
and reach with dizzy confidence of lust
to grasp sweet fruit of frantic innocence,
then eat with laughter of the falling leaf
that fools us with the cycle of rebirth.

Since I am gray with sleepiness of time
while nodding by the fireless hearth of faith,
I watch forgotten tales in ancient books
transform to shadows of the nameless dead
who weep for beauty of my changing face
though I sell sorrows to the smirking toad.

If love has fled across the mountain range
with urgent mission of the messenger
who scatters letters on numberless graves,
I wake the pilgrim soul of ardent faith
to travel nowhere on the signless road
till I become the house where no one dwells.

When I was new-born child of the dead king,
old bearded wizard of the jagged cave
received my body from wild ocean waves,
and taught me how to improvise bold tales
while strumming sacred lyre of Mercury,
but I run bank to finance struggling farms.

Gold rays of sunlight beam through stalks of wheat
with timeless shimmer of transcendent truth
that fills my heart with scope-expanding awe
so wingless angels of this wicked world
perceive weird beauty of my changing face
in masks of god that pulse on temple walls.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus writes doctoral thesis with raven quill on parchment made from skin of devils that analyzes beauty of my changing face in Halloween masks.

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

War-Machine Of Fear
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

Our bodies, ground in war-machine of fear,
transform from angels to demonic gods
who fight for plot of land to plant fruit trees
when greedy tyrant on the ziggurat
demands obedience to him as sun lord
so we pay taxes for his lazy guards.

Hoping to escape war-machine of fear,
we run across the swirling waves of fate
to leap on angel wings into bright clouds,
but plummet to grave Earth of broken hearts
in crash that clears space in the Holy Land
for us to build new empire of dead gods.

Transformed to ghouls by war-machine of fear,
we mortal bell-brains clanged by shouts of hate
howl wild in chorus with electric wolves
that prance through arch of triumph to pretend
our savage slaughter of our enemies
grants us rewards of noble gratitude.

Confused by code in war-machine of fear,
I walk through abacus of glowing trees
to translate pungent scent of after-rain
from shock of surging blood in twisted veins
to hunger magic through imperatives
that we exchange gifts with oppressive goons.

Sun-dazzled fierce by war-machine of fear,
I stumble lost in labyrinth of ghosts
who fail to possess idols of dead kings
based on transcendent nature of god eggs
to dwell in yet-unrealized dreams of peace
contingent on obedience to the king.

To reinvent the war-machine of fear
as faith-expansive gyroscope of love,
I build wood bridge across abyss of death
so angels may cross from their world to ours
and give us treasures on the moon-gold night
where laughing waterfalls preserve our thoughts.

Paralyzed by the war-machine of fear
that churns out greed-blind devils of the church,
I wash my face in pool of Hippocrene
which causes wings to sprout from my sponge brain
so we pick vegetables in falling snow
and eat hot soup around fire of despair.

Concerned about the war-machine of fear
by mining silver from deep Laurion caves,
we build huge fleet of ships with billowed sails
to fight great empire of the tyrant king
and save our nation from enslaving chains
so we may live and die with liberty.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus accompanies Themistocles as he oversees construction of the fleet of warships designed to protect our homeland against invading hordes of colonizing thieves.

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

Alive With Pleasant Pain
© Surazeus
2026 09 28

The dry sand of the desert teaches me
the preciousness of water from the sky,
so I pray thanks through humble orisons
to the faceless Cloud Ghost who cannot hear,
yet drenches me with cold indifferent rain
that shivers me alive with pleasant pain.

Soft purple shimmer of the morning sky,
that shines with holy glimmers in our eyes,
wakes tender bodies on soft flower beds
so we rise up from graves of frantic dreams
to sit in circle by the sparkling stream
and eat sweet apples as we sing strange hymns.

Though haughty angels of sharp mountain peaks
mock frail flames of our conscious ardency,
we stride against doomed sorrow of our fate
that we all die from monsters or old age,
for faceless Cloud Ghost haunts our sentient steps
as blind death that swallows all life in gloom.

Together working with our crafting hands
we build long sturdy bridge of fallen trees
to cross the gushing river of despair,
so Death rewards our cleverness with gifts
that trick the foolish with an early death
yet reward the wise with creative life.

The wet mud of the river teaches me
the preciousness of warm light from the sun,
so I carve wand of wisdom from tree branch,
and sharpen stone I bind with vine of faith
in spear I thrust to kill demonic hate,
then fashion cloak that conceals me from Death.

With diamond sphere refracting light of truth
I lead my curious tribe on holy quest
to map strange landscape of this spinning world
through journey to explore the Promised Land
where we build empire of the Watching Eye
that rules our lives on ziggurat of faith.

Once bravely young with passion to explore,
I now stand aged with knowledge of the world,
old as the twisted oak on hill of skulls
where I hang, one-eyed, forty thousand years
above the well of words where serpent runes
morph me to wingless angel with star eyes.

Strange beauty of this world inspires my heart
with love for every living soul on Earth
to see in constellations of bright stars
clear chart that maps the fortune we create
as destiny we choose with our free will
to generate new life before we die.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus leads us up winding road of Mount Purgatory so we can vast roundness of the world that spins forever in the godless void of hope.

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

Ring Of Humming Stones
© Surazeus
2026 09 27

While dancing inside ring of humming stones
that refract sunlight into rainbow beams,
Shimut transforms to eagle with broad wings
when he twirls wand with sharpened diamond tip
to drive fierce wolves into the wilderness
as guard protecting souls in space of hope.

Crowned with gold halo ring of jeweled light,
Shimut stands guard on ten-foot ziggurat,
protecting people in space of his strength
who dwell safe inside ring of humming stones,
eyes watching how they act through self-control
to maintain rich commerce of give and take.

When Manzat, Lady of the City Doors,
who makes our city flourish with strict rules,
assumes seat of judgment on ziggurat
of far-watch, Shimut guards her soul from harm,
enforcing verdicts of her sentences
when she decrees how people should behave.

Though star-eyed daughter of their fertile love,
Tiranna, born from lightning flash of faith,
feels overwhelmed by duties of her state
as daughter of the Rainbow Queen of Truth,
she dances laughing in the sudden rain,
so she lights up the ring of humming stones.

Descended from star goddess of the hills,
I wake from dream of her attentive life
eight thousand years since she gave birth to me,
and taught me how to read future events
in flashing constellations of the sky
where Shimut guards Manzat with loyal love.

While bright spirits of Shimut and Manzat
vibrate in visions of my flashing brain,
I ponder how to manage flow of love
that surges through my body every hour
with ache of wisdom to translate weird song
of ocean waves to words humans can hear.

Their spirits animate my body now
with tense concern of voiceless prophecy
to preach salvation with attentive zeal,
achieved through dance in ring of humming stones,
to billion souls of hungry urgency
who gather to worship in halls of faith.

Attentive focus of Shimut, to guard
good citizens of Earth with ardent faith,
still motivates my quest to organize
chaotic passions of the human tribe
encamped in nations fighting to survive
as ghosts who dance in ring of humming stones.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus gazes with awe at carving of Shimut and Manzat with their daughter Tiranna on large black stone that stands alone beside the ancient river bed.

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

Axiom Of Free Will
© Surazeus
2026 09 27

Driven to live by axiom of free will,
we humans clash in wars to control air
by twisting light of quick atomic lust
into swift piston-powered time-machines
so we race through expanding maze of dreams
to catch ghost of wealth before we all die.

I dare not pay this time its needful woe
since grief, at thought that millions of sweet souls
suffer and die in shocking agony
through countless centuries of clockless change,
twists my heart with helplessness of desire
to protect the living from pain of fear.

Our fragile bodies of bones bound with nerves,
and muscles tense with terror of attack,
vibrate with passion of powerful faith
to fight against oppression of the strong
as we secure safe haven from their greed
in loyal union of communal creed.

Through better act of purposes we play
direct attention to commissioned faith
that blinds our eyes to perceive what is real,
since faith presents what we most hope is real,
yet veils the real that pains our hearts to see,
which leaves us stumbling against obstacles.

We overcome through axiom of free will
illusions of hard obstacles that block
assertive progress of our psychic growth
as we reprogram how our minds perceive
complex process of social games we play
through fraught interactions of give and take.

I cry woe for brave people of this land
who once thrived well to work daily routines
constructing goods from raw material forms
to produce wealth of our national pride,
but now our free minds are enslaved by greed
through sweet enchantments of commercial thieves.

Deceived by outward show of businessmen,
whose flashy wealth convinced our eager hearts
that hard work will earn rich rewards of wealth,
we clutch at tattered rainbow fantasy
that money trickles down to callused hands,
which we stretch empty to the godless sky.

Inspired to work by axiom of free will,
we sort through trash of treasures we obtain
by plundering bounty of this generous globe,
yet find no more than baubles of regret
that clutter quaint suburban homes with junk
which gleamed so bright in church of holy lies.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2026/09/…

Orpheus carves axiom of free will on huge marble arch of triumph that shimmers not on Columbia Island near the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

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